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“I’m Ted Brown,” he tells me, as though it’s an inside joke. “I sell stationery.”
“And what else does Mr Brown do besides sell stationery?”
He laughs a little. “Mr Brown strives towards world peace, and fucks pretty little virgin girls in expensive hotel rooms.”
I laugh along with him. “Then I guess Mr Brown is very good at selling stationery.” I gesture to our surroundings. “He must be.”
“Mr Brown is very good at a lot of things.” His eyes are dark again.
I take a breath. “I don’t doubt it.”
He opens the dresser drawer. My heart thumps as he pulls out a briefcase, one of the ones I know so well. He unclips the catches and I see the set of sex toys I’ve been thinking about non-stop since I found them in his bedroom. He hands me an envelope. A thick envelope.
“This gets the practicalities out of the way,” he says, then lowers himself back in his seat.
I nod. “Thank you.”
I realise this could be my moment. Maybe my only moment.
I take my handbag from the side and make a mountain of pulling my things out to fit the envelope snugly. I act like I’m clumsy, juggling my lipstick and purse in my splayed fingers as I slip it inside.
And then I let the little velvet bag tumble. I watch it fall, watch it bounce on the carpet between us, then scrabble for it as he does, making sure I’m a couple of seconds too late.
“Phew,” I breathe as he hands it back. I jangle the bag. “Thank you. I really don’t want to lose these.”
He takes the bait. “These?”
I shove everything else away in my bag. “You’ll think it’s silly,” I tell him.
“Silly?” He raises an eyebrow. “If that’s a bag of white powder, then maybe so, yes.”
I laugh. Then I tip the crystals out into my palm.
His poker face is good, but his jaw tightens.
“I keep them for luck,” I tell him. “Stupid maybe, but I love them.” I hold the little red stone up to the light. “This is garnet.”
“From Rajasthan, I imagine,” he says. He takes it from my fingers. “They mine most of the gemstone grade quality there.”
My belly flutters. “You know about crystals?”
He holds out his hand and I offer him another, the green one.
“Malachite,” he tells me. “They have the most incredible vase made out of malachite at the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg. It’s really very impressive.”
“Have you been?”
“Yes,” he says, and reaches for another. I give him the amethyst. “Very pretty. I have an extraordinary piece from Siberia. It’s the very deepest purple. Stunning.”
“You collect them? Really?”
“You could say that.” His eyes meet mine. “What a coincidence.”
I shrug it off. “Oh, I’m not a collector. I don’t really have the funds. I just love them.”
“Love them enough to carry them in your handbag.” He smirks. “I may collect them, but I don’t carry them around in my pockets, so I think you win.”
I smirk right back at him. “I may carry them around in my bag, but I don’t have an amethyst from Siberia. I think you win, Mr Brown, sir.”
He tips his head, stares at the palm I’ve been so carefully rolling my quartz in. “And that one?”
“Oh this one?” I meet his eyes, determined to make him see what I want him to see. “This one’s special. It’s my favourite. I carry it with me, all the time.” I laugh. “Normally in my hand like an idiot. It’s like my lucky charm.”
He holds out his. “May I?” I hand it over gladly. My heart thumps as he holds it up to the light. “Rutilated quartz.”
“Angel hair, yeah.”
He squints as he stares inside, and he looks so serious. “This is a very nice specimen.”
“Thanks.” I will him to hold it in his palm like I did, will him to roll it in his fingers.
Will him to like it.
He does roll it in his fingers. He really does. “I can see why it’s your favourite.”
“Nice, isn’t it?”
“Very nice. I don’t have one. I’ll have to put it on my list.”
I act surprised, even though I know his collection by heart. “You don’t?”
“No. I’ve not yet had a specimen come up that I liked.”
I shrug. “Guess I got lucky with mine.” I hold out my palm, and he places the stone back in it, but my fingers grasp his before he pulls away and flip his hand over. I don’t let go, not for a long moment. “Keep it,” I tell him. “To remember me by.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Oh no, I couldn’t.”
“Please,” I insist. “I have more, at home. Maybe it’ll bring you luck too.”
I’m sure he’s going to protest. His eyes burn mine, but my smile is easy. “Please, Mr Brown. I’d like you to have it. A memento.”
Mr Henley smiles. A proper smile this time. It lights up his eyes. He grips the stone between his fingers and examines it some more. “Maybe I’ll have to take to carrying one around in my pocket after all,” he says. “For luck.”
I raise my glass. “For luck.”
When he holds it up to the light for a second time I feel it in my tummy.
Mission accomplished.
I down the rest of my champagne.
ALEXANDER
EXTRAORDINARY.
I run my thumb over the cold smoothness of the quartz, staring unapologetically at the delightful creature whose cherry I just popped.
I shouldn’t take her lucky crystal. I should thank her for her generosity and hand it back, but I don’t want to. It’s so smooth in my palm, so pretty under the light. Not rare, or expensive, or even high grade. It’s just a plain old tumbled-quartz gemstone from any old hippie shop in town, and yet I’ve not wanted a crystal as much as I’ve wanted this one for a long, long time.
I’ve not wanted a pussy as much as I’ve wanted this one for a long, long time either.
Her eyelashes flutter as she catches my gaze, her breath quickening as she registers my intent. She places her empty glass so gently on the dresser, then drops her other crystals back in her handbag.
My case is still open, my collection of toys in full view, and I feel like a cunt as she looks over them. I feel like a cunt for bringing them here to this girl’s very first time.
She makes light of it. “That’s an, um, interesting collection…”
I bluster it away, make to close it and take it out of view like it’s nothing, but her hand lands on my wrist and squeezes.
She’s close. Her eyes big and transfixed. Her breath shallow.
“Show me,” she whispers. “Please.”
“You’ve done enough,” I assure her. “I paid for your virginity and I took it.”
She shakes her head. “You paid for more than that.”
“And I’ve already got my money’s worth.” I brush my thumb across her cheek. “Really, Amy, you don’t need to do this.”
She shifts her weight onto her hip, and her eyes are hooded as she takes my hand and places it on her breast. “Please…” she whispers.
Her nipple is hard against my palm, she leans into me as I squeeze her, wrapping her arms around my shoulders as I pinch that beautiful pink little bud between my fingers.
“I want to see everything,” she whispers.
“Everything?”
She nods. “You brought that stuff here for a reason, right?”
“Peculiar tastes, like I said. You’ve already sampled some of them.”
?
?So show me the others.” She murmurs as I palm her sweet little breast, pressing her hips to mine and pinning my cock to her soft belly.
“On the bed,” I tell her, and she lets me go.
Her smile is beautiful as she climbs up and waits for me.
I slip the crystal safely into my jacket pocket before I join her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MELISSA
I WATCH him as he slips the crystal into his jacket pocket, and my heart swells.
He likes it. He really likes it.
And my body really likes him.
My skin is shivery and sensitive, my belly a knot of butterflies as he heads over with the case in his hands. It pains me that he believes I’m here for money, but that doesn’t seem to bother him, doesn’t stop his eyes burning into mine as he climbs up onto the bed beside me.
I inch towards him, desperate for contact, and he runs his fingers down my ribs. They tickle my belly on their way between my thighs. I open wide for him.
“Are you sore?”
“Not too much.” I flinch as he slides two fingers inside.
“I think that sweet little cunt’s had enough this evening.”
The disappointment pangs. “But I’m fine…” I insist.
He dangles a string of purple beads over my face. “No need to worry, Amy, I have many interests. Pussy is just one of them.” He trails the beads down my body and the bumps tease my nipples. “I need you to hold your knees up for me, nice and high.” I do as he asks without hesitation, and he lowers himself down the bed.
I’m nervous. My mouth dry as he taps the beads against my pussy. They’re rubbery, heavier than they felt on the rest of me. His fingers splay my pussy and I suck in breath, hoping I’m not still bleeding. I gasp as his tongue flicks against my clit, moan as he sweeps all the way down. He digs inside, and then he sucks. He sucks my pussy and it feels so good my feet twitch.
And then he licks my ass, circling his tongue and it makes me squirm, makes me quiver as the tip pushes inside.
“Take a breath,” he tells me, and I do.
I hear him spit on his fingers, craning my neck to see. His dark eyes are fixed between my legs, a look of concentration as he pushes one long finger inside.
It’s uncomfortable but nice and I can’t think straight, can’t tear my eyes from the way he’s staring at me.
