The Client 5: In Which She Gets The Long End Of The Stick

5: In Which She Gets the Long End of the Stick
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Naked, I crawled under the covers. The darkness – coupled with my closed eyes – did little to make me overlook the fact that I had a hand between my legs because I felt like a man who was led on by a c.o.c.k-tease and had to resort to finis.h.i.+ng myself off.

Is pússy-tease a thing? Because it should be, when it comes to Reed Lancaster.

I was so wet it was illegal. Kids could swim inside me, as long as they didn't venture into the deep end. Sighing, I pressed an experimental middle finger against my throbbing clít. The slight pressure only intensified my need and I had to thrust two fingers inside my wet heat to lessen the ache.

“d.a.m.n,” I breathed, when my fingers came out soaked to the bone. I circled my clít with my forefinger, pinching the swollen nub whenever it struck my fancy.

But it wasn't enough. There was nothing like being filled with a thick, long c.0.c.k. My hands were too small, my fingers too thin and ineffective.

I needed Bobby.

I reached for him in the nightstand; blindly scrabbled around for a bit, pus.h.i.+ng my gun aside before s.n.a.t.c.hing him up. My battery-operated boyfriend was hot-pink, seven-inches long, and wouldn't scurry away when I was about to come.

That's not fair, Lena, said the voice in my head, affronted on behalf of Reed. He has his own issues and you're too much for him.

Yes, but it's such a waste of such a perfect díck!

Even just the idea of Reed's c.0.c.k had me dripping anew. I parted my thighs, flicked the toy's tiny switch to a low level, and pushed the head against my clít. A loud moan left my lips at the feel of the solid tip vibrating against my sensitive flesh.

My eyes were shut and I ran the c.0.c.k along my slit, holding it at my centre before pus.h.i.+ng it all the way in. My inner muscles welcomed it, hugging it and clamping down, grateful for the intrusion.

“s.h.i.+t,” I groaned, undulating against the shaft, pinching a nipple with my free hand. The buzzing was soothing and, coupled with the wet sound the mock cóck made as it moved in and out of me, seemed way too loud in this big room. But I didn't care.

No, I arched off the bed, moaning that it was so good, that I wanted to come. The pressure was becoming too unbearable and I imagined Reed was fúcking me. Would he be slow and gentle, a.s.suming that was the way s.e.x was supposed to be? Or would he be as unable to help himself as I would be, and give in to the primal need to fúck – fúck hard and fúck fast?

The image of introverted Reed Lancaster losing control because he'd found Nirvana inside me was what propelled me over the edge, and I came with a high-pitched cry.

“Wow,” I told the dark, panting for air.

In answer, the traumatised darkness disappeared and light suddenly flooded the room.

“Are you OK?” Reed's voice was demanding as he hurriedly approached me, casting a long shadow over me. He frowned, a.s.sessing eyes filled with confusion when he saw that I seemed to be fine. “I heard a scream,” he announced stiffly, standing awkwardly over the bed.

Beneath the sheets, I was torn between renewed arousal – because G.o.d, a s.h.i.+rtless Reed was a health hazard to any woman with a pulse – and a slight twinge of mortification. Embarra.s.sment won.

“Everything's fine,” I muttered, trying to discreetly disengage the battery-operated toy from between my thighs. Bob was a thick phallus, way too thick to silently exit my pússy without fanfare. It must have looked like I was playing with myself but finally, finally, it popped out.
“But you screamed.”

Had I? Maybe. Past lovers – and neighbours – had commented on my noise level but I never realised I was so loud until after, when I had the headache to prove it. In the throes of ecstasy, there was no way I could ever control myself. Now, I just didn't care. It was Reed's fault that I had been reduced to masturbating so late at night.

“Because I came, Reed.” My voice was hoa.r.s.e, I noted; way too hoa.r.s.e to be considered s.e.xy.

Reed's bewilderment only grew and he rubbed at his eyes with the tips of his fingers, yawning. “Came where?”

Still, that was when I knew that even after what had happened between us that day in the bas.e.m.e.nt, Reed was still like a newborn, an innocent. He might have been the most intelligent, talented guy I knew but in many ways, he was still the boy he'd been before the accident that had clearly marred his life. Someone like him needed…someone tender, someone sweet. That just wasn't me.

So I heaved out a sigh of resignation, clamping my thighs together when I felt his green-eyed gaze scorch my damp skin.

“I had an orgásm, Reed,” I calmly elaborated. You know, that thing you wouldn't give me? I wondered if I should mention that it was his c.0.c.k I'd been imagining inside me; that it was his c.0.c.k that had made me come.

Now that I knew exactly what he was packing, it was never going to be possible to get the image out of my head – not that I was trying. In fact, now that I really thought about it, Bobby just wasn't enough. My pússy was still so greedy – for a certain blonde artist.

Reed swallowed, a blush creeping up his neck. “Oh. Yes. Right. Of course. I…I'm half-asleep.”

I was instantly turned on by that blush, by his obvious discomfort and arousal. Oh yes, he was aroused, if the tent in his pyjama pants was anything to go by. He was standing so close to the edge of the bed that – even though my head was elevated by my pillows – it was practically shoved into my face.

So I did the most natural thing that came to me in that moment…and pulled my sheets away.

Reed's sharp intake of breath told me that I'd stunned him. Well, I'd stunned myself. Bold didn't even come close to describing what I was but under his heated stare, I felt more womanly than I'd felt in a long time. I was reminded that my b.r.e.a.s.t.s were heavy with need, that my nipples were rock-hard and yearning for a hot mouth around them in turn. I was reminded that my lips were soft and feminine, that they felt good against Reed's stubbly chin. And I was reminded that my shaved cúnt needed to be filled with the unmistakable thick shaft of a man.

Keeping my eyes locked with Reed's, I pressed my palms against my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, slowly ma.s.saging them, testing these unchartered waters. This was as much for his pleasure as it was for mine and a small part of me wanted to be his…object of l.u.s.t. So when his eyes travelled down the length of my body and paused at my apex, I parted my thighs once more, baring myself to him. The low groan he released was music to my ears. It sent a stab of pleasure to my clít and I had to rub it, had to do something to it.

“I'm so wet for you,” I murmured, toying with the tiny nub. “You can see that, right? How wet you've made me. How much I want you to fúck me.”

I could come from this, I thought in amazement. Just because he's watching me. Just because he's as turned on as I am.

Reed's eyes were dark, nearly obsidian, and almost as if he couldn't help it – or, most likely, didn't know he was doing it – he palmed himself through the fabric of his cotton pants.

“Do you want to watch me come?” The words fell past my lips, unapologetic and strong.
“Yes,” Reed said, in a raspy voice.

I ran my tongue across my lower lip, heart thumping so loud he could probably hear it. “Sit.”

He did, settling himself between my open legs, his eyes never leaving my glistening flesh. We weren't touching and yet…yet, I could feel the heat of his body, the rush of blood staining his skin crimson.

My pússy throbbed, pleading for attention, and the only thing I could rasp was, “What do you see?” as my hand slipped between my thighs.

He let out a sigh of pleasure when I stroked a finger down my opening. “Pink. Wet. So, so wet,” he murmured, stroking himself through his pants.

“Do you like it?” I breathed, cupping a breast with my other hand. I pinched the rigid nub, jerking my pelvis and driving two fingers deep inside.

“Pretty. Like a picture.”

And for some reason, just the idea of a replication of this – my wetness; my puffy l.a.b.i.a, pink and obscene – made me thrust my fingers faster, more erratically. I moaned my pleasure, ma.s.saged my clít. Sweat made my hair cling to my face, made me feel like I was drowning in liquid arousal. I was so lost in my own ecstasy that I hadn't noticed that Reed's hand had slipped inside his pants but when I finally did… It took me back to the night I'd walked in on him.

“Let me see,” I gasped, so close to exploding that the words were a struggle. “Let me see your beautiful c.0.c.k.” I sighed at the sight of his pants coming off completely, rendering him as naked as I was.

No underwear; nothing but the smooth, thick length of his erection. He bracketed my steepled legs with his stretched ones, his skin singeing mine. Our breathing was loud and laboured and our gazes tangled. He gripped himself in his hand, stroking upward in fast, desperate pulls. This was much different from watching like a voyeur because now, he was touching himself for me.

I bit my lip, my clít pulsing against the pad of my finger. “You're so hard for me, baby. I love watching you fúck your fist.”

Reed's strokes became more frantic and his eyes heavy-lidded. “s.h.i.+t, Lena,” he growled. “Coming. Coming hard.”

I withdrew my fingers, winded with want. “Come on my t.i.ts.”

His eyes widened, so darkened by l.u.s.t they were pits of onyx. “You sure?”

“Yes,” I said, and my throat was so tight with aroused antic.i.p.ation, even that one word was a struggle to get out. Reed gracefully raised himself to his knees, looming over me. His c.0.c.k was in his hand, the angry-red tip leaking in earnest.

Surprise made my stomach clench when he reached down with his free hand and pinched the tip of my right breast between two fingers. Hard. Painfully hard. I needed to clench my thighs together to relieve the resultant ache – but Reed was between them, making it worse.

“Come for me, baby. Come all over me,” I murmured, locking my knees at his sides.

He tugged at his c.0.c.k once, twice, groaning low and long, jerking with a murmured, “Coming,” and finally, jets of hot s.e.m.e.n exploded from the slit of his cóck and splashed across my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and stomach. I only had to rub my tender flesh once and I was joining him, closing my eyes as I lifted my pelvis off the bed, surrendering to the torrent of pleasure. My eyes flew open when I felt Reed's hands on my chest, rubbing his come onto my skin.

“So gorgeous,” he rasped, squeezing my b.r.e.a.s.t.s together. “So unbelievably gorgeous.”

I whimpered, unable to drag my eyes away from his rough ministrations. There was…so much of him on me.

“Did I hurt you?” His hands froze at the sound I made, his eyes meeting mine.
“No.” I put my hands over his, making him push my t.i.ts together again. “Feels too good.”

“You feel good.”

My b.r.e.a.s.t.s weren't the biggest but Reed was transfixed by them as if they were straight out of Baywatch. Or maybe it was the way they looked, covered with his come. Either way, he spent an awful lot of time caressing them, tweaking my nipples, driving me bats.h.i.+t.

I let him have his fun because…this was probably his first time handling a pair.

But there was only so much I could take. I dipped two fingers inside me before sitting up and holding them out to him.

“Taste what you've done to me.”

He stared at my hand and, after a moment's hesitation, wrapped a hand around my wrist, shutting his eyes as he sucked my glistening fingers into his mouth. We both groaned, and my fingers slipped out of him.

“How do I taste?”

“Bittersweet.” And he slid his fingers between my thighs and pushed an explorative finger into me himself.

“Oh G.o.d, Reed. I –”

My phone rang from the bedside, cutting off what would have been a desperate plea for Reed to get inside me. I would have let it go to voicemail – if it hadn't been my father's ringtone, La Roux's Bulletproof.

“I have to get this,” I breathed with regret, expecting Reed to remove his hand.

He didn't.

Quivering, I reached out and grabbed my phone, pressing a little too hard on the green b.u.t.ton. Because Reed's finger had just gone deep. “Dad, hey,” I said, my voice a little too high-pitched to sound like me. “A little late to call, don't you think?”

“Lena, I've just been on the phone with Lancaster's brother.” Of course, he had to get right to it. No greetings, no pleasantries. Work was work.

“What's uh-up?”

“What's wrong with your voice? Never mind. You need to listen to me,” he said in a no-nonsense tone that made me still Reed's hand with my own. “The man responsible for Nathan Lancaster, Sr.'s death has been released on parole. Nathan Junior failed to mention any of this until now. He received a letter last night.”

“What…what did the letter say?”

“That he's innocent. That he wants the Lancaster brothers to believe that, even if it's the last thing he does.”

“Nutcase?”

“Probably. Listen, malyshka,I called to give you a heads-up and let you know I'm emailing you the info. If it gets too…much, you can always –”

“I'm going to stop your right there, Dad. I'll be upping our security measures and waiting for your email. 'Night.”

“Problem?” Reed asked as soon as I set my phone on the table.

I considered not telling him but that would have been stupid. So I simply relayed my father's message to him and tried not to make it that big of a deal.

“Parole,” he echoed once I was finished. “Parole.” He withdrew from me, both physically and emotionally.

“Hey,” I began, putting my hand over his, “don't worry about him. I'm sure getting anywhere near you is a violation of his parole and if he's too stupid to do it, I'm here.” I paused. “Do you…want to tell me what happened?”

My father would brief me in his email but it wouldn't be the same hearing it from Reed. I already knew that both his parents had died when he was young but the idea that his father, who had been some kind of investment banker, had been murdered was too intense.
“I'd rather not.” He gently extricated his hand from mine. “I should go, Lena.”

I nodded, instantly struck by the pain visible in his eyes. “I guess so.”

“You should probably wash…that off.” He nodded at his drying c.u.m on my chest before he snagged his pants from the floor.

“I don't think so,” I told him. “I kind of like the idea of sleeping with some of you – well, a lot of you – on me.”

From my vantage point, I was able to see the tips of his ears turn pink before he pushed himself to his feet and turned away from me.

“Goodnight, Lena.”

Once he was gone, I jumped into the shower, intent on getting dressed to take a night walk around the estate. There was no way in h.e.l.l a killer was getting anywhere near Reed. Not if I had anything to do with it.

***

Two empty cans were left standing on the wall. The crumbling wall was as high as my chest, the only remnant of an old building at the back of the Lancaster mansion. I focused, aimed at the can on the right, and pulled the trigger, rewarded with a sharp clang as the tin can fell to the gra.s.s.

“Nice aim.” Reed came out of nowhere from behind the tins.

“Are you out of your mind?” I yelled at him. “I could've shot you!”

I couldn't see his face that clearly from where I stood but I was sure he was grinning. “Now, that would've defeated the purpose of your reason to be here,” he called back, s.n.a.t.c.hing the remaining can and placing it on his head. “Fire.”

I rolled my eyes at him. Clearly, he was high on…paint fumes? He'd shut himself in the bas.e.m.e.nt since the night in my bedroom – and that was two days before. His seemingly jovial mood was too strange for me to process. Obviously the news that Wyatt Parker, his father's killer, was out in the land of the free had hit him hard. I never knew Reed's father but I knew that no one deserved to be shot in their study while their sons slept two doors down.

“How do you know I won't deliberately shoot you?” I asked curiously, c.o.c.king my gun at him.

“I trust you. Come on – unless the previous shot was a fluke.”

“There are twelve other cans on the ground, buddy. You'd better brace yourself.”

I never missed but Reed didn't have to know that. I fired a shot just past his ear.

“My bad!” I called out at the same time he said, “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

My next shot hit the can and self-satisfaction warmed me all over. Reed hoisted himself over the wall and strode towards me. As he grew closer, the afternoon sun casting an ethereal glow on his tousled hair, I realised what had him so mellow and crazy at the same time.

He was high and even out in the open, the stench of green was so strong on him, I was sure I could get high off it.

“Weed? Really?” I put my gun away and grasped Reed's hand, intent on tugging him back into the house.

“My name's Reed, Lena. Too much sun?”

It could've been funny. If he hadn't been serious. “Where'd you get the weed, Lancaster?”

“I grow it.”
“Seriously?”

“I wish. Samuel gets it.”

“You send your fifty-year-old butler out to score you some pot?”

He laughed. “Well, now that you put it like that, it does sound like I'm taking advantage of the guy.”

I glanced at his paint-spattered black T-s.h.i.+rt and jeans. “So you need to get high to start working?”

“No, Mom. I need to get high to stop feeling so low.”

I paused at the threshold that led through the back door and into the living room. “Talk to me. Please.”

Brenda made a sudden appearance, a handful of envelopes in hand. She fixed me with a murderous glare before her eyes swivelled to her boss.

“Your mail, Reed,” she said sweetly, before setting it on the coffee table.

“Thanks, Mrs. B.”

“Is…she bothering you?”

She was not excited about being referred to like a vile creature or an STD. “I have no idea why you don't like me, Brenda,” I muttered, “but it's getting on my nerves.” The last part was said under my breath.

Brenda, with her bat-like hearing, snarled, “You and your boss, Nathaniel, are the ones getting on everybody's nerves. Reed is a grown man and does not need either of you poking your nose in his business.”

“Parker's been released, Mrs. B,” Reed said softly.

Brenda's eyes widened before she rounded the table and pulled Reed into a motherly hug. How someone that poisonous could obviously have love for someone else baffled me.

“Oh, sweetie,” she murmured, dwarfed by Reed's tall frame. He hugged her back, probably lingering just a little longer because he wasn't exactly himself. “It'll be fine. We just need to get some security for this place and he'll never be able to get in here again.”

Reed finally let her go. “Lena's here.”

“Indeed. How could I forget? But I meant real security, hon.”

Don't snap at her, Lena. Mom would be horrified by your lack of manners.

Reed mumbled something back and Brenda nodded, turning to leave with one final glare in my direction. It was understandable, I decided. After Reed's mother had died – nearly killing Reed in the process, too, as my father had stated in his email – he probably thought of this toxic old bat as a replacement.

“She thinks I like you.”

“What was that?” I said absently, suddenly aware that Reed was standing closer than he'd been a second ago.

“Brenda's been the only woman in my life forever and now, I think she's…jealous of you. She was my nanny,” he explained when he gauged my puzzled look.

“Oh. Well, my father has eyes on Parker. He won't be able to take a dump without us knowing if he used one-ply or two.”

“I don't want to talk about it, Lena.” Reed released my hair from its ponytail and yanked me to him with a fistful of it. “I want to talk about your pink little pússy. And your t.i.ts. Yeah, I want to talk about those.”

Dear Lord.

“Reed –”

“Relax.” His chest was pressed to mine, his heart beating fast. He was anything but relaxed. “I can't get the taste of your pússy off my tongue.”

“Try Listerine,” I whispered, transfixed by the movement of his pink lips.

“But I don't want to erase you, Lena.” His left hand was still in my hair, his right hand sliding down my side and squeezing a b.u.t.t cheek. “I like you on my tongue.”

Where was the stammering, blus.h.i.+ng Reed? Where was the withdrawn man who constantly left me hanging? Covered in a blanket of Mary-Jane, that's where.

“Stop. Reed, stop.”

He stopped, imploring me with those long-lashed eyes of his. “I'm not so high I don't know what I'm doing. I won't regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Taking you upstairs to fúck you, of course.”