His fingers moved in long strokes, touching her everywhere. Sliding just inside her, then back out to trace lazy figures of eight on her clitoris.
“I’m going to lick you here.”
Sophie groaned with anticipation. God, she wanted his tongue there.
“And here.” He slid his fingers inside her again for a second, then slipped them out again and around to caress her bottom.
“And here.” His finger stroked the tight little entrance, making her squirm with shock.
“Lucien! No.”
He sunk his teeth into her lower lip. “No?”
He didn’t move his fingers away from her bottom, but his touch was so feather-gentle that she stopped trying to wriggle away. “It might surprise you.”
She shook her head. It was a taboo that she’d never been interested in breaking. And she still wasn’t, but there was something undeniably sexy at the feel of Lucien touching her there.
“I’ll add it to my list,” he breathed into her mouth.
Sophie lifted her head a fraction, and the movement pushed her spine downwards, which in turn pushed her backside down a little deeper onto his hand. Her eyes opened wider. He said nothing, but instead gave her a long, knowing look. He was on to her. He knew that she’d already grown to like the alien feeling of his attention there.
“What list?”
“The one in my head of things I’m going to make you do this week, Princess.”
Sophie felt beyond filthy. She was lying on top of a man who was playing with her bottom and filling her ears with promises of a week of unadulterated, uncensored pleasure. She was full to the brim with dark, luscious desire, and ready to follow this big Viking sex god into his thrilling, unfamiliar world.
His hand lingered for another moment on her backside, then he sat up and rolled her off him.
“Get dressed, Sophie. We’re going downstairs.
CHAPTER TEN
Sophie hung back by the open door to Lucien’s suite, dressed once again in her green dress and high heels, but bereft of her knickers. They were in Lucien’s pocket, and no amount of pleading for them back had made the slightest jot of difference. He’d laughed at the idea that she’d never before left the house without underwear, and pocketed them regardless of her protest.
He stood at the bottom of the small flight of stairs and beckoned to her.
“Come on, Sophie. I’m going to do a full walk through, and you’re coming with me.”
“But…” she glanced desperately down at his pocket. She really wanted the security of her knickers.
“Stop looking at my crotch and come here.” He reached for her hand, taking the edge off his words. She stepped uncertainly down to stand next to him, feeling wrong and exposed even though she looked perfectly decent to the unknowing eye.
“That’s better, Sophie. Now, I’m going to do a full check on the place, and you are going to do your job as my PA and accompany me.”
Sophie found small solace in the fact that he’d given the event a work-related slant.
“Shouldn’t I have a clipboard, or something?” she asked. She’d feel so much better if she looked official, distinct from the rest of the club’s clientele. Something to mark her out as staff, rather than as a pleasure-seeker.
Lucien laughed at her.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re aiming to blend in, not stick out and put people off their…” he turned to her and licked his lips. “Their stride.” He ran a hand over her backside and leaned close to her ear.
“I don’t think I’m going to let you wear knickers again this week.”
The man was lethal. This was all a big game to him, and he was a world-class player. Sophie straightened her spine and pushed her shoulders back. The thought of seeing the club with people in those rooms, on those beds… she shivered. She sort of wanted to run home, even without her knickers, but she had to acknowledge that a bigger part of her wanted to stay and see what lay beyond. She reminded herself that regardless of everything else, she was supposed to be here in her capacity as Lucien's PA. If she thought of it that way, maybe she could make it through the next few hours.
“Lead the way, Mr. Knight.”
He inclined his head and placed his hand on the small of her back.
“Stay close to me. No one will touch you unless you touch them first.”
She’d been apprehensive before. She was terrified now. What if she stumbled into someone, or brushed past them by mistake? Would they tie her to the bed and give her thirty lashes? And would Lucien intervene, or would he consider it all part of her sexual liberation?
“Sophie?” Lucien came to a stop and looked down at her. “For God’s sake, just relax, will you? This way.” He moved towards a fire exit, and threw her an enquiring look when she didn’t automatically follow.
“We’ll go down this way and come in through reception,” he explained, holding out his hand again. “I want to see it through the eyes of our paying customers.”
Sophie threw one last, longing glance over her shoulder at the now locked door that stood between her and sanctuary, and then followed Lucien out onto the fire escape.
Sophie clamped herself against Lucien's side as they bypassed the small queue at the front door. The club looked different now that darkness had descended. The smoked glass exterior took on a menacing stance without the sun to glint off it, and the subdued lighting in reception added to the air of anticipation that radiated from the waiting customers. Sophie sneaked the smallest glance at them as she passed, then looked away hastily. From what she could see, most people looked pretty regular. Maybe she’d overblown things in her mind. It was a club. She’d been clubbing enough times, the people in the queue had been no less dressed than regular clubbers.
Lucien nodded at the security staff and placed his hand on Sophie’s back again to steer her past reception and through the double entrance doors.
He leaned down and placed his mouth close to her ear as they stepped down into the packed, shadowy club.
“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.” The unexpectedness of the phrase made her suppress a giggle. She relaxed a little. Sophie let her eyes rove around, taking in the fact that this previously empty room was now filled with people. On first glimpse, it almost looked like any other club. Music pumped, the bar glittered with countless spirit and mixer bottles, and the dance floor heaved with gyrating people. However, a closer look confirmed that they weren’t dressed like the clubbers outside. Obviously the changing rooms were mostly a place to get rid of eighty percent of your clothing. Women shimmered in tiny, see-through dresses, or basques, and occasionally next to nothing at all.