Always Alchemy: The Ever After Book (Alchemy #6)

21. Caught in the Act

21

CAUGHT IN THE ACT

ANTON

I love my hedonistic lifestyle these days.

I adore having so much more time to spend with Gen—and with my children, when they’ll tolerate me.

But I have to say, being back in my old office is heady in a way I didn’t anticipate.

Not much has changed. Max got rid of the big old leather chair behind my desk and replaced it with a fantastically ugly ergonomic one that I’m sure is far better for his posture. The books on the shelves are different, of course. But almost everything else in here remains the same as when this was my kingdom and I reigned over my businesses and my women with glorious autonomy.

Graf, the photographer, has set up the shot, finally happy after two hours of his assistants perfecting the lighting. They’ve all gone outside for a quick smoke, and I’m alone in here with my wife. I have to say, the lighting is wonderful—dim and atmospheric, a more photo-friendly take on the ambiance we enjoyed that evening that will forever be branded on my brain.

This time, she loves me.

This time, it’s me and only me she wants to touch her.

This time, there’s no Max. No David. No Athena. There’s just me and the woman I love, completely in sync and ready to perform, to create a series of the most achingly erotic tableaux for this extraordinarily gifted photographic artist. I already know we’ll buy every shot.

Since Graf came on board a few weeks ago, things have moved quickly, and the artistic brief has been refined with the help of Adam and Natalie. The inspiration: those grainy, sexy, shadowy noir -style photos Helmut Newton used to take in the Seventies. The entire calendar will be in black and white, each shot arty and atmospheric enough that it will feel more like a series of movies in which the viewer can drown.

Gen and I have discussed at length what we want from our scenes. The Christmas one was a bit of fun—I enjoyed having my very own ice queen sitting on my lap, rubbing my cock—but this afternoon’s scene is the important one for us.

At the time, I thought that debauched evening in here was a victory far beyond what I’d hoped to achieve, even if Gen wouldn’t let me touch her. It was a victory of minds. Today, we’ve come so much further. She is my world. She’s still the woman of my dreams and my desires. And by getting her on this boardroom table and immortalising this moment between us, I believe I’ll find a very specific kind of closure.

It’s a vindication of every bit of pain I felt that night as I watched David and Max undo her right here, right in front of me, as I ached and ached to touch her .

‘Crikey,’ Gen says, slapping the table. ‘Do you think it’ll hold my weight?’

I scoff. ‘It’ll hold ten of you. Now get up there. I want to warm you up before that lot come back.’

She narrows her beautiful blue eyes at me and lays a palm flat on my chest, over the crisp white shirt I’m wearing. ‘Did you have a nefarious reason for suggesting that vape break?’

‘I have a nefarious reason for absolutely everything I do. I thought you’d have worked that out by now.’ I drag her in towards me, drinking her in. For our little tableau, she’s wearing an ivory coloured silk dress. It has feminine ruffles at the neck and wrists and, more critically for our purposes today, little buttons that undo all the way down to the waist and a full, flimsy skirt that can be rucked up with no effort at all.

‘And that’s why I love you,’ she purrs, wrapping her hands around my neck. I don’t want to spoil her scarlet lipstick—well I do, but I won’t—so I content myself with pressing my lips to her forehead as I let my hand roam over her fantastic arse.

‘Okay,’ I say, releasing her with a little slap on her bottom. ‘Get on the table, sweetheart. Let’s rough you up a bit.’

‘Won’t Tobias want to do that?’ she gasps, but she steps backwards so she’s sitting on the table.

‘I’d like to see him try.’ I step forward, and she opens her legs for me. ‘Now, let’s see. I want you looking déshabillée and utterly ravishing, which, of course, you will.’

I have a very clear vision in my mind for this scene. My wife, undone on the table, an intoxicating concoction of silk and legs and lace, while I’m the marauding invader who’s been caught plundering her. I want it to look exactly as though Graf has intruded upon a private moment while giving the viewer—or voyeur—precisely none of the access to those parts of her that delight me so much.

I put a hand behind her head and lower her gently down onto her back. Her arms fall out to the sides. It’s a wonderfully submissive pose. ‘Lovely. Now, shimmy back a little and put your legs up. I want your heels on the table.’

She obliges, raising her knees and planting her nude stilettos on the polished walnut. As she does, I push the skirt of her dress up so it pools in a soft pile of silk around her waist, giving me and me alone a perfect view of her thong and the camera, a beautiful old Leica M6 already set up on its tripod to one side, the lovely sight of the lace tops of her stockings, her suspender straps, and the golden curve of her arse.

I stroke it gently. ‘How’s this? You comfortable giving everyone this view?’

She smiles up at me, trusting me. ‘Yes.’

‘Excellent. You know, my wife looks very, very sexy lying on my old boardroom table.’

Our eyes lock. We’re both thinking the same thing.

‘I wish it had just been you that time,’ she whispers.

I nod. ‘I know. So do I. But we got here in the end, didn’t we, darling? And we’re here now, so let’s make it count.’

I lean forward and begin unbuttoning her blouse. This ivory lingerie she has on today is very Hitchcock heroine , and it’s making me hard. I get the buttons down to just above her navel and tug at the blouse so it falls prettily open, exposing not only the curves of her breasts but the lace of her corset. Once I’ve got her just exposed enough, I fan her hair out so it lies in platinum locks across the glossy wood.

‘Now, you lie nice and still until they get back,’ I croon, brushing my knuckles down her cheek and over her jaw before trailing my fingertips down the valley of her breasts and further south. ‘Let’s see what we have here.’

Here is the scrap of lace bisecting her legs. It’s damp and warm and wispy enough to move easily when I drag it to one side so I can shove two fingers deep inside my wife. She gazes up at me, lips parting in an O of approval, and I have the oddest feeling of being in two places, two times, at once. I’m here with her now, and I’m back in that— this —room again, watching like a drooling fucking dog as Max and David touched every place on her body that I craved.

She’s so hot , so wet; she’s home and heaven and everything I’ve ever wanted. And I am the only man on this earth who gets to touch her. To explore her. To drive her higher and higher.

‘Feel that?’ I murmur, and she nods.

‘Mmm. Yes. Just like that.’

I stroke my thumb over her clit for a few moments, noting with extreme gratification how it swells under my touch. She starts to move, starts to grind her needy cunt against my hand. I’m rock fucking hard as my wife fucks my hand.

‘God, darling, hurry up,’ she moans, writhing on the table. Her eyelashes are fluttering, her head is turning from side to side as I work her.

‘I intend—’ I begin, and then stop abruptly at the intrusive click of the office door opening.

‘Fuck,’ Gen says feebly. It strikes me that she’s too close to actually give a shit about us being caught. I jerk my head around, my fingers still inside her.

It’s Graf.

‘Give us five minutes,’ I order.

‘No fucking way,’ he spits out. ‘That’s the shot, right there. ’

He’s right, I realise. Even without having his vantage point, I know instinctively that we’ve just arranged ourselves in precisely the way I’d envisioned being shot—without the extra touch of my cunt-soaked fingers, possibly.

‘Okay,’ I concede. ‘If Gen’s happy, let’s go ahead and get this done. Quickly. Your gang can stay outside.’

‘Go for it,’ Gen manages, and I turn to her and smirk.

‘That’s quite the breathy little voice you’ve got there, darling,’ I say under my breath.

‘Fuck you,’ she mouths, and my grin broadens. That’s my girl.

I withdraw my fingers delicately, both to piss Gen off and for the sake of common decency, and pull her thong temporarily back over her pretty pink cunt, but I keep my hand there, resting on her pubic bone.

Graf has advanced to the camera which, if Gen’s head is at twelve o’clock, is probably at four or five o’clock. Whoever looks at this image should feel exactly like a voyeur. From what I can tell, this angle will capture my arse in its bespoke trousers, that perfect curve of arse and leg and stocking, and my wife’s aroused face.

‘Okay, turn your faces towards me, both of you,’ Graf orders, stooping to look through the viewfinder. ‘Genevieve, I want yours twisted but relaxed, as though you’re in the throes of—yes, not unlike that, actually. Very good. Anton, I want a more aggressive twist of your body. Bring that right shoulder towards me. I want you looking outraged that you’ve been caught in the act. Understood?’

It doesn’t take many shots. We hold the poses while I stroke my wife’s lace-covered cunt with the knuckle of my index finger. I can hear the effort it’s costing her to keep her breathing even.

As soon as Graf has got the shots, I firmly suggest another vape break for him before he and his team take down the equipment. My wife comes on my fingers almost instantly, and I have the distinct pleasure of flipping her over before pulling her towards me and taking her, hard, fast and brutally, over the table.

When we receive the photographs, they’re exactly as I envisioned, sultry and erotic and spontaneous. Graf’s use of flash makes me look for all the world like a man a private investigator has caught in the act of ravishing his improbably hot secretary on his conference table.

One look at my wife, laid out for me on that table, tells me no one would blame him.