Tag: erotic thriller

Artist: Suzan Bushnaq, Intimate.

This Post contains strong language and sexually explicit content. 

Our time in London ignited a magical thrill, an excitement I had not felt for many years. I felt alive. When not attending presidential election meetings or out dining we were ensconced in the luxury of our suite at the Capital Hotel. Locked away from all distractions, we completely relaxed with each other. We listened to music, talked, kissed, cuddled and loved each other. It became apparent we had the same tastes in art, poetry, music and books. We both had a passion for politics. Chris was particularly excited that we both loved Pink Panther movies. The trip was an ongoing discovery of us. On our last day, we visited Frieze Art Fair, for which I receive a VIP pass every year as an art collector. Set in Regent’s Park in purpose-built units, the fair is one of the most important events on the art calendar, hosting galleries from all over the world representing the best of contemporary art. It takes place the same time every year, and I was excited about introducing Chris to an art world that was so integral to my life. Chris loved the experience—the buzz, the diversity of galleries and the art. He was thrilled to get this insight to the international art world. Appropriately wearing wedges that I find easy to walk in, I guided him around the space, introducing him to friends and colleagues. He engaged with enthusiasm, like a child in a sweet shop. Once we had finally weaved our way around the galleries, we grabbed a quick glass of champagne before moving on to dinner and then to the airport to catch the 10 pm flight home. We boarded and settled into the short flight, tired but happy in the knowledge that our relationship was much more than a sexual one, that we now felt we were, as Chris put it, soul mates. The trip was a long way from my normal weekend activities, walking my dogs, visiting my mum, pottering around town or meeting a friend for a coffee. Ordinarily I would have spent a Friday or Saturday night reveling at one dinner party or another, the setting different each weekend but the content the same.  I always felt a void and did not know what it was until now. I was missing passion, and Chris gave me that in abundance. He made my life feel alive and real.

I don’t give a shit about discretion or prissiness. You ambushed me. You are destroying me, you have wounded me, and I am supposed to keep quiet. What words am I supposed to use for what you’ve done to me, for what you’re doing to me? What should I think you’re doing with that woman you described as a non-entity in your life? Do you kiss your breath into her life? Do you fuck her till she can take it no more? Do you tell her she is the love of your life? Do you? I hear your words – “We are soul mates. We should die rather than  not be together.” – a hundred thousand times, I hear them at night, I hear them eyes open, eyes closed.

Dublin, Thursday 13 October

We disembarked the flight from London quickly and rushed to the short-term garage where we had parked on departure. We were hoping to catch the back end of a book launch by a well-known chat show host. When we arrived the event was still in full flow, and Chris introduced me as a colleague from the campaign. We mingled for about an hour before tiredness hit us both and we snuck out.

We entered the dark corridor of the house, and as Chris went to switch off the alarm I turned on the small light on the landing.

As soon as Chris switched off the alarm I pulled him to me.

“Kiss me,” I said intently.

He scooped me up in his arms and kissed my lips slowly. He pressed his body close to mine. His kissed me for a long time, with all his body, his lips devouring mine, his tongue parting my lips, sucking and licking my tongue, his hands pulling my head tightly to him and his crushing kiss.

Then he looked into my eyes and kissed my forehead gently, affectionately. I was blissfully happy. He took my hand and led me upstairs to the darkness of the bedroom, lit only by a streak of light from the hallway. We undressed in silence. I lay on the bed, and he lay down next to me and touched my cheek softly. Then he leaned over to kiss me again. He slowly moved his lips along my neck to the tips of my nipples, sucking them gently. He buried his face in my neck and breathed in.

“I love you.”

I smiled at him as he sat up and straddled himself over me. I ran my hands across the panes of his chest, over his abdomen, and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He clasped my wrists above my head, kissing the back of one hand as his moved it, and dragged his lips across my arm. We were both lost in the intensity and warmth of being together. He kissed me again, faster. I left my arms above my head as he moved his lips down my neck and my breasts. He continued to move lower, down my chest, and over my stomach. He pressed his fingertips into my hips as he leaned down to kiss me. I sat up on my knees. With ragged breath, I arched my back as he pressed his body onto mine, ever desperate to get even closer. I moaned, longing for him to slip into me and give me the inexpressible joy that I could feel building. He pressed his firm hands on my hips and rolled us over, so I was lying on top of him. I pressed my hips onto his, trying to get him inside, but he grinned evilly and pulled away. He caught my head between his hands and pulled it down to him in a fast, passionate kiss, slipping his tongue into my mouth, sucking my breath away. When he finally pulled back, I gasped and moaned again, his hands caressing my back. My body shaking, I was desperate to feel him inside me.

He rolled us back over so he was on top and ran his hands slowly over my breasts and up to my neck, rigidly clasping it and making it hard for me to catch my breath. He looked deeply into my eyes and pushed himself slowly into me. I moaned in ecstasy and closed my eyes. He pulled out slower than he’d gone in and pushed back in, making my body shake with pleasure. His hands were still heavy on my neck as I moaned again, racked with feverish arousal. I tilted my hips up to feel him deeper. He resisted my move and kissed my lips just as slow as he was moving inside of me. He ran his tongue over my stinging lips. I caught his eyes, vacant and distant—a now-familiar gaze in our heightened sexual moments. His grip and weight on my neck intensified, as did the look in his beautiful soft blue eyes, and he pushed in further. I whimpered softly, powerless, and asked breathily, “F-faster?” He tilted his head back, pushed in harder. I grabbed his hands, trying to ease his weight and clutch.

“Move your hands,” he growled quietly.

I shook my head and managed to squeak, “Loosen them a little.”

I sucked in air the instant he removed his grip on my neck. Suddenly, he placed a hand over my mouth and nose, suffocating my breathing. At the same time he pushed himself hard into me. His force and control racked my body with an instant orgasm. I locked on his darkened eyes as he thrust and thrust, faster and faster, his hand solid over my mouth. The lack of breath sensation and him pumping into my body drove me wild. He drove into me harder and faster. My body was in continuous spasms as I orgasmed over and over, my head quavering for relief from Chris’s hand over my mouth. When he finally, suddenly freed his hand,  a scream of ecstasy surged out rebounding in the stillness of the room.  I did not want it to end. I kept yelling, “Faster! Harder!” And he kept going, faster and harder. With one big final thrust I orgasmed again in the shuddering of his body just as I felt the warmth of his pleasure inside of me. Immersed in me, he continued to pulsate. I was blissfully euphoric to the point it hurt.

I closed my eyes and arched my back further until my upper body lifted from the bed and I was in a sitting position. I pushed him backwards. His eyes were burning with anticipation as I took control, straddling myself over him. I pushed myself onto him, shivering as my sweating body felt the cool air. He laid his hands over my breasts, pinching my nipples, as I pressed on his dick. I moved back, losing him, but his hands clutched my waist and pulled me down onto his cock, jabbing into me, pushing deeper than before, fast and hard. I followed, moving my hips in sync with his feverish breaths and jabs. With no respite, he held the bottom of my hips, guiding my movements, harshly pushing me up and pulling me down. As exhaustion began taking over, my body weakened.

“Don’t stop. Keep going,” he demanded.

Pulling on my energy reserves I went for it, relentlessly pounding him. “Yes,” he moaned, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me down on him, his body shuddering against mine as his cock erupted the hot flowing liquid. I lay on him for a few minutes, lovingly feeling the semen seeping out around my clit. Chris moved me off him, got up, and went to the bathroom. I threw myself to the side of the bed and clutched the sheet over my sweating, naked body. He came back and got in beside me, pulling me into his arms. I lay with my back against his chest. He whispered in my ear.

“I love you… you’re my everything… you mean the world to me… we are soul mates forever…”

We fell asleep, exhausted.

Dublin, Friday 14 October

We were now exactly two weeks to the election date. Sitting back in my chair at the campaign headquarters, I sipped my latte and studied the PR plan for the money bomb launch the next day. Before I left for London, I had signed off on the video. We used a song by Irish band In Tua Nua, “All I Wanted,” as the soundtrack. A large screen had been placed in the window of the office on which the money bomb video was to play during the reception. I was frustrated the screen was not working, and no one had thought to bring in an engineer to fix it. To make matters worse, Chris had booked the PR launch for the money bomb in the pub against my express wishes. The plan was for the event to be centered around the bus, but this was now impossible because the pub was located on a clearway street and the bus wouldn’t be allowed to park out front.

I was now back in the office in the cold light that a lot of work needed to happen to bring in any amount of funding. Sitting at my desk on the first floor I could hear an ongoing stream of well wishers and supporters popping in to the reception downstairs. They were a captive audience to support and promote the money bomb, but there was no promotional material available, and no screen working to show the video. The video presented inspiring images of the Candidate in the community, in his work environment, and with his human rights achievements. I believed it had the potential to raise funds if properly utilized and promoted, but right now it was dead. I had been keeping an eye out for an email I was expecting from the driver of the bus, and finally it landed:

‘Hi Aliki, I spoke to the traffic gardai as you asked. Unfortunately, they said it will not be possible to pull the bus up outside the pub. We will have to keep driving up and around and down the street. I know it’s not ideal, but there is nothing else we can do.’

I buried my head in my hands. What a mess the whole thing was, and Chris was not getting it. I decided to call him and encourage him to change the plan. Nothing had gone to the press yet, so there was still time to change the venue. Lillian answered the call.

“Hi Lillian, how are you?”

“I’m great,” she replied warmly. “What can I do for you?”

My feet tapped restlessly. I was worried about the launch, anxious to have it resolved.

“Is Chris there?” I asked.

“Yes, hold on, I will put you through to him. Talk soon.”

“Yes, great, thanks.”

A moment later Chris was on the other end, and my heart fluttered.

“What do you want, Aliki?” He startled me with his abruptness.

“I need to talk to you about the money bomb launch.”

“I am at a meeting. I told you this morning I had a busy day,” he snapped, throwing me off my train of thought.

“Sorry, I will go then.” I hung up feeling very unsettled by his tone.

Instantly my mobile rang—it was Chris. I answered thinking he had realized how he had spoken to me and wanted to apologize.

“Don’t ever hang up on me again,” Chris barked.

I flared, “Are you at a meeting or not? What’s your fucking problem?”

“I am dealing with you now.”

“‘Dealing’ with me? What the fuck does that mean?”

“Don’t swear.”

“Why did Lillian put me through to you if you are at a meeting?”

“I told her to always put you through. But I told you this morning I am busy today. What do you want?”

“The PR plan for the money bomb is not going to work. We can’t have it at the Trading Pub. The whole point is that the money bomb video plays on the side of the bus, and the launch needs to be around the bus. The press needs to see the bus. They need to have access to the bus. That is the story and the photo.”

For a few seconds, he remained silent.

“Since when are you a PR expert?” He deliberately menacingly pronounced each word.

Marg the administrator and reception manager appeared upstairs, commandeering the desk in front of me and logging on to the computer. The campaign team by this stage was firmly divided in two opposing groups. One lead by Chris and the other Cathal. She was closely aligned to Cathal or as  Chris called him ‘The Saboteur.’

Stupid bitch, I thought, she wants to listen and report to Brian or Cathal. I got up, went into the meeting room, and slammed the door shut behind me with my foot. In a lowered, exasperated voice I replied,

“It does not need a PR expert to know that holding the launch in a stinking pub at midday, in a place where the bus can’t pull up outside, is not going to work.”

“You drive me crazy,” he bellowed. “I can’t function when you fight about everything.”

Bewildered, I retaliated.

“I am not fighting. I rang you to have a normal, objective discussion about the launch, and you have been difficult. You are the one fighting, and I have no idea why.”

“I am not talking to you when you are in this mood. The launch stays as planned. That is my final word,” he said vociferously. “Now leave me alone for the rest of the day.”

After he hung up, I sat in the meeting room for a while, stunned and upset. I wanted to call him back and challenge his behavior, but a pang of nervousness stopped me. I did not know how to manage Chris when he was like this. I had seen his mercurial moods with others, but never with me. I was special. I was his soul mate. What the fuck just happened? He does not speak to me, the love of his life, like this.

Darkness was falling as I gathered my belongings and finished up at the office. My mobile rang; it was my husband calling from the States. When I answered, he told me he was now in New York and planned to be home on Sunday morning.

“Will you be home?” he asked.

“I am not sure yet. The pressure is on with the campaign.”

“I would like us to have dinner on Sunday.”

I had not heard a word from Chris since he hung up on me. I felt disconcerted, uneasy and tense.

“Yes, that would be nice. The campaign can survive without me for one night.”

“Do you miss me?” His question took me aback; my husband never asked me things like that.

“Where is that coming from?” I retorted.

“Nothing. I miss you,” he said. He sounded lonely.

“Yes, I miss you,” I lied, wanting to make him feel better and ease my conscience.

Marg shouted up.

“I am locking up. Are you ready to leave or will I leave you my keys?”

I shouted back, “Coming.”

Marg locked up, and we talked for a few minutes on the street before going our separate ways. It was a mild, dry evening, one of those evenings that invites you to lounge under the stars with a cold glass of Chablis in your hand. I headed towards the Westbury Hotel, where my car was parked. My mobile started ringing in my handbag. Thinking it had to be Chris, I frantically dug in my bag, pulling it out just as it stopped ringing. The missed call was from my mum, not Chris. I was fraught with disappointment. Why was he blanking me?

My mind was in a whirlwind of not just Chris’s abuse but also the ongoing tensions within the campaign. The presidential campaign was moving in divergent directions, with no coherent strategy being followed. I was starting to feel isolated and helpless at the core of all the trouble. Chris and Cathal were the two antagonists, and the Candidate was allowing them to ransack the campaign.

I reached the hotel and started to make my way down the ramp to the garage. The valet—tall, lean and young with a thick mop of glossy hair—shook me from my thoughts. He’s new, I thought, I don’t recognize him.

“Good evening. Would you like me to bring your car up?”

“Yes, thank you,” I answered. “Do you know which one it is?”

“Yes, I saw you arrive this morning. It’s the silver Porsche?”

“That’s the one.” I threw him a smile.

I got some coins ready as a tip. Within minutes he pulled the car up. I handed him the tip, collapsed into the bucket seat, and slammed my foot on the pedal, accelerating up the road. I drove to Chris’s house; we had arranged to have something to eat locally and spend the night together. I slammed to a halt at the closed iron gate. The house was in darkness. I rang Chris. As though he was waiting for my call, he answered instantly.

“Hi,” he said, sounding tense.

“Hi, Chris, I am at the house. Are you on the way?”

“No, I am with my parents. I am spending the night with them.”

“What? We had a plan.”

“You’re all over me. I can’t be with you twenty-four hours. I have to spend time with my parents.”

“Chris, I don’t know what’s going on. This morning we left the house with you telling me, ‘Going to miss you, can’t wait to love you tonight.’ Since that nasty call this morning, I have not spoken to you.”

“In the scheme of things, my parents come before you. I am with them tonight.”

I hung up. I wanted to scream from the bottom of my lungs, “What the fuck are you talking about?” But my hurling gut told me I would get nowhere. I sat still in the car, my heart beating against my chest, every nerve in my body quivering.

I drove home. I pulled into the driveway, turned off the ignition and leaned back into my seat, staring at the large, dark house. I missed the dog barking at the window, now that he was moved in with mum. I needed to make sure he was looked after while I was busy with the campaign, I told her. Of course, the reality was that it freed me up to be with Chris. I felt tightness in my gut like a rope knotting around it. It squeezed tighter as Chris’s unpleasantness resonated in my mind. The knot was a real physical ache. Unbeknownst to me at that moment, it was to stay with me from here on in like a rumbling tumor. Just as I stepped out of the car and the security light switched on, illuminating the driveway, my mobile rang. I leaned into the car to get my phone from the passenger seat where I had dropped it. I answered hastily, missing the call id.

“Hi,” it was Chris. My heart skipped a beat. I said nothing. “Are you there?” I still said nothing, the knot of anxiety strangling my voice.

“Aliki, can you please say something?” he asked tensely.

“Hi, Chris,” I said, trying to control my breathing, not wanting him to sense my upset.

“Where are you?”

“Outside my house.”

“Mum was not well today and I got home to check her and discovered dad is not taking his heart tablets. It has been a very stressful day.”

“Really.”

“Look, Aliki, I love you, but I am under a lot of pressure with my parents. I did not expect to be caught up with them this evening.”

“Why were you so horrible to me? This morning you were ‘so in love’,” I said, mimicking his tone for the last bit. “The way you treated me today was not like someone who cares or is in love.”

“Mum is going to bed soon and I have made sure dad took his tablet. So I will see you at the house at ten.”

Agitated by the way he was dancing around his treatment of me, I croaked, “Chris, you can’t treat me the way you did today.”

“Lighten up, my cupcake, I can’t bear it when we fight. I need to kiss you, to feel you next to me.”

“Chris, I am not fighting, this is not a fight,” I replied in a softer tone.

“Well, it feels like it to me.” Feeling confused and bothered by his onerous attitude, I did not respond. “Come over,” he urged. “I have something special for you.”

“Oh, what is it?”

“You are going to like it. It’s something you want.” I once again said nothing, sensing that my curiosity was weakening my resolve to tell him to go to hell.

“I want you.” His voice took on a sexy, raspy warmth I had longed to hear all day. “I will give you some amazing makeup sex. I need to fuck you.”

My tension was easing. His last words aroused my desire and broke my resolve. “Okay, I will see you later.”

“Love you,” he said as he hung up. I could sense the self-satisfaction in his voice.

Wearily I turned off the ignition as I parked my car in the drive way at the front of Chris’s house. The front red door was framed by two large red flowerpots. I jumped out of the car, leaned in and grabbed my handbag. I turned to take the couple of steps to the door step and noticed a key in the lock. I reached out to turn the key noticing it was on a cupcake shaped keyring. Hm I thought have not seen this before. As I turned the key, Chris opened the door with a wide grin. We stood at the door, him on the inside, me on the porch staring at each other. I looked at him bemused and curious at his obvious, new found happy mood.

“Wow you have cheered up.” I said hesitantly.

He turned to the door and removed the key from the lock.

“This is your surprise.” he said excitedly as he placed the key of his house into my hand.

“What?” I was taken aback.

“I have never given anyone my house key before.  London brought us to the next level. This is my way of showing you how much I love you.”

“Gosh this is amazing Chris.” I gasped.

He kissed me gently, then clasping my hand with the key he whispered in my ear,

“I want you to have a key to my heart.”

He pulled me into the hallway and shut the door to the outside world.

We are on the way with Eventide Love; blog to book. If you would like to receive a book launch offer especially for all of you as loyal followers and fans, please register below. Your details will not be shared. PROMISE. I am wracked with doubts and insecurity about my writing but am lucky to have a wonderful editor, Amy Scott, holding my hand.

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