Page 55 of The Client
“Rhys, Rhys, Rhys,” I wail, all my inhibitions gone.
I’m thrashing now, the rug creating friction on my lower back and stinging my skin. My head falls back, and I stare into the shifting flames of the fire as I grab his head and grind even harder against him, so his swirling tongue puts extra pressure on my clit every time I thrust.
“Rhys,” I moan desperately. “I’m going to come.”
“Not yet you aren’t,” he says, pulling back and roughly turning me over onto my belly. “Get on your hands and knees.”
I do as he says, ready to let him take what he needs. I can hear the clink of his belt buckle, his zipper, the sound of a condom wrapper tearing open. He listened—he listened! But the repercussions of what it means are…I’d rather lose my thoughts in the sensations. It’s easy, given how wet I am, so when he enters me from behind, he glides in hard and deep and right. We instantly find a rhythm, perfectly in tune with each other, every stroke drawing moans from both of us in tandem.
“You feel so good,” I moan. “So good. So damn good.”
In response, I get a slap on the ass. I yelp at the sting, but it only turns me on more.
Outside the cabin’s window, I can see the snowy peaks of the French alps, and in the dim light of the fire, I can almost believe we’re really there. Just me and Rhys, making love in a romantic, secluded ski cabin. I lean into the fantasy. I let myself believe. Somehow, this feels more real, more intimate, than any of the other times we’ve had sex at Rhys’s actual house. Here, I can pretend I’m not just another member of his paid staff. And that Rhys McConnell is just…Rhys. My Rhys. And we’re together because we want to be.
His hand cups the base of my neck and then he trails his nails down my back. Tingles rise in the wake of his touch. He does this again and again, tenderly stroking my back as he rams into me, scratching the hills and valleys of my spine and making my skin sing. My body jerks forward and back, my breasts shaking, my knees aching as I desperately chase my orgasm. I grab the edges of the rug, bunching the fake fur in my hands, doing everything I can to just hang on as Rhys fucks me into sweet oblivion.
“Take that cock. Take it all. Tell me how much you like it.”
“I love it.” And I do. God, I do.
He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls hard, his thrusts increasing as I cry out in pain. He pulls again, and again, jerking my head back each time. It hurts, but it’s the kind of hurt I can’t get enough of.
“Rhys, Rhys, Rhys,” I chant, feeling my orgasm building fast.
I quicken my pace, riding the high, impaling myself on his dick. I’m determined to make it last, but suddenly his cock swells and he curses softly, a throaty growl escaping him as he starts to spill into me. The sound of him coming, the harsh jackhammer of his final thrusts, it all pushes me right over the edge. It’s all I can do to keep up with him as my climax hits, sapping my energy with every hard, crashing wave. For just a second, I look out the little window at the snowy mountain backdrop and let myself believe we really are in the French Alps.
He’s slow to pull out of me afterward, and I shudder at his absence. I feel bruised and sore, in the best possible way.
Rhys lifts me easily to my feet and hands me my clothes before even discarding the condom, then starts putting on his own. I just stand there, still weak in the knees from our exertions. Lifting my chin, Rhys kisses me with equal tenderness and possessiveness, and a flash of that hunger again.
“Go change. I’ll take you home.”
Picking up my discarded robe, I slip into it and then hurry to the wardrobe area.
As I dress, I think back to what he said earlier, when he came rushing in here today. About how I’m not just a body. Strange for him to say so, considering that he literally bought me, yet…he seemed genuinely concerned about my well-being on this shoot. Which doesn’t seem to jive with his rules about our relationship. Instead of being indifferent and simply using me, it almost seems like he’s starting to actually care about me.
Maybe he’s starting to see me.Reallysee me. And maybe…maybe I can start to trust him. Maybe he’d be on my side if he found out the truth: that I’m not the one making money off of this arrangement. That I was forced into this whole thing.
I give my face a quick swipe with a cotton pad soaked in makeup remover, then gather my things. I’m still shaking. Rhys just gave me quite a workout.
“Let’s grab takeout on the way home,” he says when I join him.
“Okay.”
“Do you like Moroccan food?”
“Never had it. But I’m game.”
“Lucky you,” he says. “You’re in for a treat. Trust me.”
How I wish that I could. Our entire relationship is based on a power play. We didn’t have a meet-cute and go on dates and fall in love. We weren’t set up on a blind date, or bump into each other in the street. Rhys bought me for six months. He’s using my body and my time. I’m not sure trust is built in what we have.
But what if Icould? If he knew the truth about how I ended up in this position in the first place, would he believe me? Glancing at him, I quickly look away. But then he takes my hand and opens the door to the takeout counter, as if he knows exactly what I need.
Comfort.
Food.
