Page 83 of The Man Upstairs

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 bethatcharacter if needed. Not much of a storyline though.Did you kill the cunt? Yes. I did.”

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. Andyummychocolate 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 wantedmore. 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.Shewas 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.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rosie

Julian was an artist with cream.My tits were streaming with thick white rivers. He trailed splashes down my stomach. And lower…

I gasped as he covered my pussy in long dribbles, squirming and grinning as he made his way right back up again. Slowly. I knew what he was going to do as he held the pot of cream up over my face. I offered him my tongue, and he treated my mouth like a slut needing cum – tipping the pot from way up high. My glasses got splattered, and my freshly washed hair was a mess, but I didn’t care. My lips were dribbling, and my tongue was drenched, gooey, and it was perfect. Cold and sweet.

I didn’t swallow any of the cream until he kissed me. His tongue lapped around my lips, smearing more, and then it was wet, thick, creamy kisses as I moaned along with him. He had me. I was crazy for him. Absolutely, full-on crazy for him.

I was a sloppy mess when he took hold of my face and broke the kiss. His lips were as smeared as mine, glistening, and I wanted more. Always, always more.

I pulled him back for another kiss, my creamy fingers in his hair. I held him close, caking his bare chest in white as I wrapped my legs up around him. Blood, cream, mess… I didn’t care, and neither did he. I wanted the cream onhisskin, though. I wanted him to be as slippery and as messy as me.