Page 169 of The Man Upstairs

I bucked up at him as he tugged my dress down in the moonlight, and he paused as he saw my bare tits in the pale glow.

I’d already written it for him, while he was getting his suit on in the hotel room, jagged marker pen over my skin in the bathroom.

Yours.

He could write slut, or whore, or dirty bitch, or whatever he wanted to, right over me, but tonight, that one word said it all.

I was Julian’s just as he was mine, and that wouldn’t ever change, not for anything.

I just hoped that one day his family would see the truth of it… just like mine had.

Epilogue

Two yearslater

Rosie

Who’d have ever thoughtI’d be in an upmarket suburb in Oxford on the eve of my twenty-first birthday, welcoming in my special day with a fifty-year-old man brandishing a whisk as a sex toy.

“Come on,” Julian said, with a smirk. “Call it a birthday present. An early one.”

The whisk he was holding was new, and bigger. He tapped it against his palm to make it rattle, and my pussy tightened at the thought.

“I’m not using that for the main cake, Julian!” I told him. “No way!”

“You’re not making your ownmain cake, Rosie. You’re making a little pre-birthday dessert for just the two of us. Let’s ice it with something sweet, shall we? Somethingreallysweet.”

As if I could ever resist him…

His eyes were full of filth, and mischief, and I couldn’t help myself. I never could. I shunted my mid flow cake making efforts to the side and hitched myself up on the worktop. Themarbleworktop. It was cold on my ass when Julian pulled my panties down and off in one swift motion. I put my heels up either side of me on autopilot, spreading my legs open wide without a care in the world, just for Julian – savouring the joy on his gorgeous face.

I was Julian’s slut whenever I wanted to be now, and that was a huge amount of the time.

We both worked from the same home office. Him writing hot, dirty filth, and me blogging about it. A life of dreams.

I’d been almost nineteen when he’d hit publish on his first novel – The Girl Downstairs, and it went viral on my nineteenth birthday, hitting the top one hundred with a boom. He’d written two since, both of them winners. He could say it was Lola’s cover design that had launched his career into the romance world with a bang all he wanted, and she deserved one hell of a lot of credit, sure, but that wasn’t it. His words were magic, just like her covers were. And so were his fantasies… all of them.

He tugged my dress up, a sweet white one I’d chosen on purpose, because I knew it drove him crazy. He ran the whisk up and down my pussy lips, and I sucked in a breath. It really was a big one. Much bigger than the last.

“You can take it,” he said, reading my mind. “I’ll make sure of it.”

I had no doubt of that. Fuck, it was going to stretch me open to a whole other level, though.

I spread my pussy lips for him, and he twirled his filthy tongue around my clit, driving me wild in seconds. I’d been desperate for it all day. Birthday balloons, and shopping for the visitors coming tomorrow, and making sure the guest rooms were ready had taken up hours, and now I was desperate. Julian’s desperate little slut.

As well as his fiancée.

He’d proposed to me last year, just three days after his divorce had come through. That’s how sure he was of it. I was going to be his, on paper as well as in words. Undisputable.

He spat on his fingers before he pushed three right inside me, but it wasn’t enough. I begged him for more. More, more, more, always more, and he always delivered. Pushing me beyond boundaries I never knew I had.

His thumb was on my clit as he pumped his fingers inside me, and I heard my wet pussy nice and loud as I tipped my head back.

“More…”

“Take what you’re given, slut.”

I gave him a cheeky, slutty smile.