Free MasterStroke by Dee Ellis

nipples hardened cruelly and she knew that she was wet again. He didn’t even need to be in the room. The thought of his hard, lean body, the way she had been blindfolded and in complete darkness yet with her senses heightened to his touch, and the heat of his soft moist lips as they closed around her intensely sensitive clit and brought her to such a screaming climax, was ramping up the desire.
    Instead of shame, she felt oddly exhilarated. Give in , her body was saying. You loved it. He worshipped your body, gave it the pleasure you craved. Don’t be afraid. Let him in.
    She wanted to discover more, about herself, about Jack’s potential as a lover, about all they were capable of together.
    It’s your choice. Don’t be scared. You’re in control.
    Sandrine reached for the telephone and he answered on the second ring.
    “I was getting worried,” the familiar deeply masculine voice said.
    “Sorry. I was caught up.”
    “I was just about to come over and break down your door. You seemed pretty upset when you left.”
    “I’m fine now. I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed last night.”
    “Me too. Let’s do it again.”
    “Yes, I’d like that.” It was true. She’d more than liked it. She wanted it and needed it with an increasing urgency that pulsated deep inside her. There had been a certain one-sidedness to the previous evening. Jack had been quite the gentleman and, while she wouldn’t call it an obligation, she had an intense need to show him how appreciative she could be.
    She unfastened her jeans and slid her hand inside. He has such an effect on me , she thought, as her finger dipped into the steamy silky wetness and brushed her achingly erect clit. She gasped slightly as she traced a slow tight circle on this most sensitive area.
    “And soon,” she continued, her voice dipping with a slight huskiness. “And this time, it’s my turn to do the entertaining.”

Chapter Eleven
    Monday morning. Bright and clear and distinctly chilly. The cold weather was predicted to last for some weeks but, at least as far as the calendars were concerned, spring was on the way and Sandrine was looking forward to packing away her heavy winter coats. She did have a preference for European seasons, definitely disliked hot weather, but she’d lived through enough winters to know that snow, while it appeared romantic on Christmas cards, could turn dirty and sludgy so easily and ruined good shoes. Ever the practical one.
    Before she left for the store, she checked her emails and found one from Marcus Buckingham, an unusual occurrence as he generally sent emails directly to work. It was short and relatively brief of news aside from saying he would be back in a few days and that he’d sent a couple of portfolios of art prints and some especially noteworthy books via an international courier company. He urged that, upon arrival, they be immediately stored in the large walk-in safe installed in the rear storeroom.
    It was a leisurely fifteen minute walk from her apartment to the shop. Along the way, she picked up coffee and a cherry danish. Juggling the morning’s newspapers and her handbag, the windy conditions made for careful progress and she barely noticed the large late model Mercedes with dark windows that was parked illegally outside the store; she gave it little thought as she busied herself with turning on the heat and lights, booting up the computer and readying for any early customers. The weather being as unwelcoming as it was, it was likely that any browsers would be light on the ground until at least lunchtime.
    She was only mid-way through the first section of the newspaper when the bell above the front door tinkled. Looking up, her initial curiosity gave way to a surprised alertness.
    The three men who entered certainly did not look like book lovers. They had identical builds and colouring, being tall and solidly built with pale hair cut short. They were dressed in dark overcoats over dark suits with no