Page 54 of The Client
Rhys places a hand on my lower back and guides me back to the set. The huge industrial loft we’re in feels different now that everyone is gone and most of the lights are off. All the frenetic energy has dissipated. It’s nice. Relaxing, almost.
Our footsteps echo against the cavernous ceiling, and the set suddenly looks a lot smaller in the yawning room. I was too focused on work to really notice the scale of everything, but now I take in the four separate sets, laid out in different areas of the wide-open space, each designed to transport the viewer to another kind of fantasy. A Paris street at night; a wide-open, grassy field; the Palace of Versailles in its decadent heyday; the tranquil ski cabin.
A lot of detail went into the cabin set. Now that I have the time to really look, it’s obvious someone’s job was to make it look just like a real cabin, high in the Alps. A backdrop of majestic, snow-covered mountains hangs behind the set, visible through the windows, along with a brown and white sign that says, “Bienvenue à Chamonix Mont-Blanc!”
Rhys stops and I turn to face him, still unsure why we’ve stayed behind. Reaching for the neckline of my robe, he runs a finger down the front and then pulls it open, revealing my little white halter top. It’s crocheted so I’m not wearing a bra underneath, and I know the pink of my nipples is slightly visible. He hisses an appreciative breath and then slides the silken fabric over my shoulders, down my arms. When it hits the floor, a shiver runs through me.
“Have you ever been to Chamonix?” he asks.
“No. I’ve never been to France,” I admit.
“Perhaps I’ll take you there when things calm down. To a cabin in the mountains just like this one,” he says. “Where no one can hear you come but me.”
My mouth goes dry. I gaze up at him, unable to stop the hard beat of my heart, a hot tug pulling at my lower belly as he feasts on me with hungry eyes. What is happening? I waited for him last night, naked and ready, and he never came to bed. Or, if he did, he didn’t stay. And now he suddenly wants me?
But why am I questioning it? When it comes to Rhys McConnell, my job is to submit to him, completely. So that’s what I’m going to do. Because it’s my job.
Not because I want him, too.
Indicating that I should stay where I am, he walks onto the set and looks around until he finds the switch that turns on the fake flames of the electric fireplace. Then he turns off all the other lights in the room. Everything goes dark save for the warm, soothing glow of the fire. It almost looks real.
Rhys comes back toward me, and without a word, he pulls me against his rock-hard body. His hands slide down to cup my ass as he kisses me, hard and bruising. I slide my hands into his hair, and when he lifts me in his arms, I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the set, but I’m barely conscious of it as I get lost in the thrust of his tongue.
Until I realize he’s laying me down on the floor in front of the fireplace, the rug plush and soft under the bare skin of my back. Rhys kneels between my legs, breathing hard. That look in his eyes is my undoing, as always. Lust, desire, awe. A heady cocktail of want.
I don’t break eye contact with him as I reach up and untie the halter straps behind my neck. I lower my top, letting Rhys take in the sight of my breasts while I work on the second set of ties that are knotted at my waist. Before I can get them fully loosened, Rhys rips the top off me, a groan escaping him just before he drops his mouth over my left nipple, sucking hungrily.
“Ahh,” I moan, arching my back.
His lips and hands are everywhere, trailing fire. My breasts, my belly, my neck, my shoulders, the soft spot behind my ears. Unlike when I lied to my sister, this man legitimately can’t keep his hands off me. The throb between my legs becomes an urgent pulse, a hot ache that I can’t possibly control. I need him. I need to feel him inside me. I reach for his zipper, stroking the bulge beneath, but he bats my hand away.
Hooking his fingers in the sides of my shorts, Rhys draws them down, taking my underwear with them. Now I’m naked on the rug, the yellow glow of the fireplace dancing over the curves of my body. Rhys is still fully dressed, but he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to change that. Instead, he slowly unbuttons his shirt, tosses it aside, and lowers himself between my thighs. I gasp as he pushes my legs farther apart. A low rumble works from his throat as he looks at my bare pussy. The air is cool against my wetness.
My skin crawls with the need to be touched, tasted. Tense with anticipation, I cry out when his tongue touches my opening, dips inside, and then drags up my slit. All I can do is pant helplessly while he devours me, lapping me up and down until I’m trembling.
“You’re too quiet,” he growls. “Make noise for me or I’ll stop.”
Rhys plunges two fingers inside me, and I moan loudly in response.
“Louder, Izabela. I won’t tell you again.”
He starts pumping, gliding in and out of my soaked pussy.
“Yes,” I sigh, lifting my hips to meet the thrust of his fingers.
“Say my name.”
“Rhys. Yes.Rhys. Mmm.”
The passionate sounds spilling from my lips echo around the empty room, growing louder and more desperate by the second.
“That’s a good girl.” He strokes harder, in and out, sending sparks of electricity through me. “You’re going to pay me back for getting you this job. You owe me.”
“Yes. I owe you, Rhys,” I pant, fucking his fingers even faster. “Anything you want.”
“I want your orgasm, Izabela. It’s mine. It’s my payment.”
He wraps his lips around my clit and starts sucking, his fingers still plunging deep into me as he sucks. It feels incredible, his tongue and his hands working me at the same time. I’ve never felt anything like this before. I’m on fire.
