Trust by PJ Adams

felt it building, deep inside.
    An increasingly urgent tensing of muscles in my abdomen, a clenching in my ass and pussy, a sharpening of those stabs of pleasure radiating through my body from the hard nub of my clit as he pressed and rolled and yawed his hand against me.
    I was biting my lip so hard now I was frightened I would draw blood of my own.
    I was so close!
    And still, he pressed and rolled, not varying the pressure or the pace, relentlessly taking me to the edge and keeping me there, teasing, holding, controlling my responses – owning my response just from his reading of my body, of the expression on my face...
    He pressed just a fraction harder, and this time I did taste fresh blood from my lip as I bit down to stifle a cry.
    Orgasm tore through me, an involuntary response. Everything tightening, surging. I clamped my thighs together, trapping his hand, never wanting to let it go. Arched my spine, grinding my head back into the soft seat.
    He pressed, held, keeping pressure in just the right places so that my climax drew itself out and I’d forgotten to breathe and I felt blackness seeping in from the corners of my vision and still I... couldn’t... breathe...
    I slumped.
    Sucked air deep into my aching lungs.
    Still clamped my legs together.
    Wouldn’t let him go.
    Not yet.
    §
    The car pulled up outside the house we’d visited earlier for tea. The one the Baileys owned. The safe-house. Mine for as long as I wanted, he’d told me.
    He led me by the hand, as if he didn’t want to let go.
    He was an enigma, this Dean Bailey.
    Full of himself. That all mouth and no trousers thing.
    Then, when I started to discover the world he occupied, it had been chilling. Nobody reaches that kind of position without having been involved in some seriously unpleasant activities. It made me sick, even to think about it all.
    And now, clinging onto my hand as if he was frightened I might dissolve into the air if he let me go for even a moment.
    He fumbled with the key at the door, then stepped back to let me enter first, finally relinquishing my hand.
    I didn’t understand what was in my head, just then.
    I’d stepped into another world.
    §
    Inside, he took my hand again, and suddenly I was up against a wall, his hard body against me. He pinned that one hand above my head, against the wall, and his other hand moved down to my waist, holding me hard against him.
    He kissed me, full of hungry passion where before it had been all about the tenderness and newfound intimacy.
    His tongue drove deep, teeth clashing hard against my lips. He caught where I’d bitten my own lip earlier, just as climax had taken me – I flinched, grunted at the renewed pain, and briefly that broke the moment.
    He slowed, drew back, lips now soft against my mouth, eyes wide open, locked with mine.
    He broke away. Turned from me, then back again. Came to stand with hands flat against the wall, either side of my head. Something intense in his look, a darkness, even.
    He shook his head.
    “What is it?” I asked, confused.
    He shook his head again, as if trying to dislodge something, his eyes remaining locked with mine.
    Finally, he said, “I don’t do this.”
    He turned his head away, then back to me once more.
    “I think I’ve just fallen head over heels...”

10
    There was only one point that evening when Dean Bailey had been truly scared.
    Not when Putin and his limp-dick bodyguard had confronted him. Nobody was armed in there, and he knew Putin wouldn’t dare do anything more than sneer and look menacing.
    He hadn’t been scared when Reuben’s boys had stepped in and started to dish it out to him. He’d known that was coming: you don’t stir things up at one of Reuben’s nights. They all knew the unwritten rules. He’d known he was crossing that line when he’d taken the first swing, and he’d known well enough that Reuben could never let something like that pass.
    He hadn’t even been scared when Lee had taken his beating at the