Dirty Seduction

Since she was going to be obnoxious and ignore my question, I was going to do the same to her. I was relieved when the cashier finished ringing through my items and I could swipe my card on the machine.

“Have a nice day,” I said to the idiot neighbour, but that was all. I didn’t give her so much as a backwards glance.

I was out of there as quickly as possible, jumping into the taxi with my haul. Our forbidden cocoon time was running out, especially now that I’d given Trisha more fuel for the fire. The egg timer had most certainly been turned.

Rosie was organising her stash of clothes in the wardrobe when I returned home with my armfuls of shopping. I put the bags on the floor and presented her flowers with a kiss on the cheek.

She looked at them in delight as she took them. “Wow! They’re just beautiful. Thank you.”

Her joy was infinitely more beautiful than a bouquet could ever be.

“Have you never been given flowers before?” I asked, and she shook her head.

“No. I just…” She threw her arms around me, still clutching them tight. “Thank you. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Flowers are only the beginning of today’s festivities,” I said, smirking as I took up the rest of the shopping from the floor.

She followed me, and used one of my pint glasses as a vase as I began to unpack the supplies.

“No peeking,” I said from the refrigerator. “Tonight will be a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Yes. I’m going to show you the full extent of my culinary talents.”

“You’re going to cook a meal? A posh one, I bet.”

“I’ll certainly be making more than just a fry up. You can rate it for poshness once it’s completed. I just hope you enjoy it.”

“I’ll enjoy anything you make,” she said. “Anything. Always.”

Her heart shone through her eyes, and I got a flash of adoration that warmed me through to my soul.

My conscience prickled at that, because maybe I should have told her about my run in with Trisha, but I didn’t want to take away from her happiness in that moment. I would save that news for later.

Beef wellington took a while to prepare that afternoon. The crisscross of perfect pastry needed to be made to perfection.

“Smells amazing!” Rosie called from the living room at regular intervals, sitting cutely cross legged on my sofa with my laptop on her lap. Turns out, it wasn’t just my voice reading my old documents that she was interested in, since I was busy. She was curious enough to be scouting through them onscreen. I felt strangely on trial, even though I’d been the professor doing the marking for years.

She was wide-eyed with affection when I took a solitary rose from the kitchen and placed it on its own in a small glass on the table. I laid out our mismatching cutlery and took the champagne bottle from the fridge, inviting her over by pulling out her chair as I was ready to dish up our main courses.

She clapped her hands together as she took her seat. Her childlike excitement was a joy.

“Bon appetite,” I said as I presented her dinner, quite proud of my work.

I’d forgotten just how much I enjoyed cooking, just as I’d forgotten how much I’d enjoyed life itself. I was alive to a new tune as I poured our champagnes and raised mine in a toast.

“To us, Rosie. And to the beautiful way you saved me.”

“To us, Julian,” she said. “And to the beautiful way you saved me.”

She tucked into her meal with mmms like I was a Michelin starred chef. I watched her eat the last of her roasted parsnips in fascination. She glowed with such enthusiasm over such simple pleasures. I could only begin to imagine her level of joy at the wider world.

She praised my writing, and she praised my attentiveness, and for the skills I’d shown in the kitchen. It felt incredible to be so appreciated.

She was sitting finished, her hand on her stomach as she turned the conversation to more serious angles.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked. “If Mum throws me out, or she lets me stay, because I don’t know. I think there’ll be a lot of shouting, but for once I’m going to stand up to her, and anyone else that wants to talk crap at me. They’ll be wrong. Every single one of them that thinks bad of you will be wrong.”

I wished I believed her, but there was no chance of that, hence there would be no chance whatsoever that anyone else would.

I, Julian Lockley, am a sex addict, who likes the degradation of barely legal girls.

This time I was completely in love with one of them, but that wouldn’t make any difference to the outside world. I’d still be a pervert exploiting a sweet little rose.

“I’ll be here regardless,” I said. “Whatever it takes, whatever it needs, whatever it demands.”

“I love the way you talk. What you mean is that you’ll be a hero, isn’t it? You have been from day one. You’re better than the heroes in your novels, you know? You should write one about yourself, not a guy trying to solve a murder mystery.”

I laughed at that, taking her hand and squeezing it in thanks.

“I could write one about being the guy in a murder mystery if it ever comes to it. I’d happily be that character if needed. Not much of a storyline though. Did you kill the cunt? Yes. I did.”NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

Rosie laughed at that. But it was true. I’d do it and stand by it, if I needed to. I’d always be Rosie’s hero, even if it meant sticking a knife into an abusive bastard’s rib cage.

She raised her glass again. “To us, and to my hero. And his yummy beef wellington.”

“To us. And yummy chocolate fudge dessert. I’ll go and get it.”

I finished up my champagne and felt the tension as I leant in close to take her plate. Her kiss lingered on my cheek as she gave more sweet thanks, but the chemistry was already pulsing. Her breaths were already shallow.

The undercurrent was always there between us, thrumming deep in mutual fixation. But tonight there was the added build-up of the climax. One final night before the storm.

My cock was throbbing hard when I got our desserts and walked through to the dining table with the cream. I was offering Rosie’s cake to her when she took unspoken initiative and pulled the top of her PJs up and over her head. Mutual fixation didn’t even come close. Her tits were there waiting, nipples hard, and that was it. Cake forgotten.

I practically dropped the bowls onto the coffee table as Rosie kicked off her panties and PJ bottoms. Holy fucking Christ, she drove me crazy.

I was still suited as I lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the dining table. She tugged off my tie as she landed her mouth on mine, and my hands were besotted with her, teasing at her nipples as I moaned around her tongue.

I spread her legs by the knees, uncaring of everything else in the world but the need for her. She was bloody, and sensitive, gasping as I played. More. Her body screamed that she wanted more. She leant back on the table, arching herself, but that wasn’t enough for me. Seeing here there, in that position, was enough to set the scene.

Chocolate fudge cake wasn’t the only dessert I wanted with cream.

I pushed her onto her back so she was lying flat, her legs reaching for me over the edge. She was the new dinner spread. I undressed myself in a fervour as she watched me, confidently. Her hair fanned backwards and her glasses sat clumsily, but she was secure in her own skin, eyes shining. She really was becoming my vixen. A beautifully dirty little princess.

A princess who deserved a gift from the knight out to take her.

I pulled the single red rose from its makeshift vase and trailed its petals right the way over her tits, down her stomach, to tickle the inside of her thigh. A rose for my Rosie. My pretty dessert at the end of our meal.

My fucking God, I was hungry for her.

With that, I picked up the pot of cream from the table, held it high, and poured it all the way down her body. She braced herself, moaning as the cream splattered and ran, and that made my cock throb even more.

Bon appetite, indeed.