The Inheritance

‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Brett.

The cab ride was almost unbearable. Aware of his body next to hers, the rock-hard thigh beneath his trouser leg bumping occasionally against her skirt as they sped through the cobbled streets, Tatiana sat rigid and alert. It was as if she were preparing herself to react to danger, to a threat. And yet it was she who’d invited the danger in, she who wanted it like an addict craving a hit. She could stop the car at any time. Get out. Go back to Marco’s place, end the madness. But the electrical sexual tension between her and Brett kept her rooted to the spot like an erotic force field.

Brett’s flat was in Mayfair, so close they could almost have walked it. He paid the driver, then wordlessly took Tatiana’s hand and led her first into the lobby, then the lift. His hands felt warm, his palms surprisingly rough, like a labourer’s. The lift was of the old-fashioned type that closed with a metal cage.

I’m trapped, thought Tatiana. Locked in with the tiger. But when Brett increased the pressure with his fingers she returned it instantly, so wracked with desire she was half surprised that her clothes hadn’t already melted off her.

They got out at the top floor. ‘The penthouse,’ said Tati wryly. ‘Of course.’

They were the first words either of them had spoken since they left the bar at the Ritz. Brett made no answer, other than to open the door to his flat and pull her inside. The moment the door was closed he kissed her, pinning her back against the wall, his hands grabbing at her hair, then sweeping down over her breasts to settle on her waist. It was tiny, like a doll’s. For some reason that excited him even more. Tati closed her eyes as he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, dropping her onto the bed. When she opened them again she found herself in a luxurious but utterly masculine room. The walls were lined with taupe silk paper, there were black and white photographs of old racing cars and some bizarre, red-tasselled piece of chinoiserie above the fireplace. All the furniture was in heavy dark wood, and even the silk quilted bedspread was brown. It was like lying on melted chocolate.

It’s like a hotel, thought Tati. Completely impersonal. There’s nothing of Brett in here, nothing real, nothing revealing.

As she thought it, suddenly all of Brett was on top of her, naked and demanding and as strong as an ox. When had he got undressed? Other than her shoes and jacket, which she’d somehow lost en route to the bedroom, Tati was still fully clothed. It was a shock to see Brett without his armour, exposed like an animal. But the bare skin of his broad boxer’s back beneath her palms felt wonderful, and the sensation of his powerful legs and chest bearing down on her was wildly exciting, like being pulled into a riptide of pleasure. Reaching behind her, Tati started to unbutton her skirt, but Brett grabbed her hands impatiently, pulling them down to his simply enormous erection. Then he pushed her skirt up around her hips, tore off her underwear and launched himself inside her so suddenly and violently that Tati gasped. He let out a loud cry of relief, like a tortured prisoner finally breaking his chains. Then he relaxed, settling into a slower rhythm as she arched her back against him, tuning in to her responses and exploring her glorious body.

Somehow Tatiana managed to wriggle out of her blouse and bra. Marco was a good lover, inventive and patient and technically proficient. But he couldn’t match Brett for raw desire. Brett wasn’t making love to her, or even fucking her. He was devouring her; sating himself on her body like a bee gorging on nectar. For Tatiana, the release was incredible. Here, in Brett Cranley’s bed, there was no room for grief or rage or pain or loss. There was nothing but the delicious sensations sweeping through her body, the bliss of knowing that in this moment she both owned Brett completely, and belonged to him completely.

Slipping off her skirt at last and running his hands languorously over her bare buttocks, Brett rolled her onto her stomach and took her from behind.

‘You’re incredible,’ he whispered in her ear as he moved in and out of her with agonizing slowness. One hand was between her legs, teasing her, brushing against her clitoris but never quite giving her what she wanted. ‘I want to feel you come.’

‘Oh God, Brett, please,’ Tati moaned, so excited and frustrated she felt close to tears.

‘Tell me you want me. Tell me you love it when I fuck you.’

‘No.’ Tati shook her head, even as her hips bucked and squirmed upwards against him. ‘I hate you.’

Brett moved both hands upwards to her breasts. Taking both nipples between his thumb and forefinger he squeezed hard, increasing the pace of his thrusts. Tati yelped with pleasure.

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