Girlfriend By The Hour

Girlfriend By The Hour

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


When Imogen accidentally interviews to be the social companion of Andre Lachlan, she never imagines what the job will entail.


When Imogen accidentally interviews to be the social companion of Andre Lachlan, she never imagines what the job will entail.

Chapter29 (v.1) - The Truth

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: June 19, 2015

Reads: 1011

Comments: 3

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: June 19, 2015



His first mischievous smile. He was plotting something as he guided her onto the sofa, laying her down and straddling her hips, and she thought, finally. This wasn't supposed to happen outside of the Hell suite, but it didn't matter.

She was his everywhere.

And so he kissed her everywhere: her lips, her temples, her neck, her shoulders, her arms. When he kissed her breasts and she reflexively rubbed the back of his head, he didn't stop her. Nor did he clamp down on her nipple, not like usual. He wasn't lying when he said he'd be gentle. He coaxed her nipples to rise with kisses and playful licks around her areola. When the cool damp lifted them, he nudged them with his nose and circled them with his lips.

The feathery brushes were silent prayers in her heart. She'd lied to herself when she thought she wanted Hell. No, she wanted love, if only for a couple peaceful moments.

By the time he moved down. Her breath came out in shallow bursts and her hips swayed mindlessly. He pulled her hands away from him so he could lace their fingers together and anchor them to her hips while he kissed her belly. The only thing firm about it was the way he squeezed her hands in his.

When he kissed the soft mound between her thighs, her breath hitched. She cursed herself for being unable to control such a stupid, unwanted reaction. The monster was fourteen years gone, rotting away for the rest of his life on death row appeals she'd long since stopped worrying about.

Andre wasn't the monster.

He proved that by moving away, up those few critical inches to massage the tension out of her abs with more feathery kisses.

He squeezed her hands. She looked down to find him staring up at her, waiting for a cue.

She nodded. He didn't need words to ask permission.

His lips returned to the mound. She couldn't help tensing again; it was the only way to hold back all the other nasty reflexes.

"You trust me to be careful with you, right?" he whispered.

She closed her eyes to hold back her stupid, stupid tears and nodded.

"I'll be so gentle. I'll never, ever hurt you. Trust me."

She understood it then. He knew her pain wasn't physical. He’d known for a while now, and it was why he was so apologetic when he was rough with her. He knew she was broken, and all he wanted to do was mend her. He was trying to be gentle with her so she would trust him to do all those things she’d never before trusted anyone to do, but gentle wasn’t his way.

And he couldn’t mend her. There was some broken that could never be fixed.

"I know," she mouthed, unable to put sound behind it. He couldn’t mend her, but he was trying so hard.

“Okay. Why don’t you put your legs on my shoulders?”

He could have done it himself, but that would have robbed her of a chance to prove she was ready for this. His hands stayed firmly on her hips the entire time she squirmed beneath him, pulling her legs through and resting them on his back. He would keep her safe and steady. He would hold her through this.

She closed her eyes tightly, not wanting to see him looking at her there, not when she knew what his intentions were.

His grip tightened as he pulled himself up, folding her so he could bring their lips together.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise I won’t.”

She didn’t mind the repetition now. “Say it one more.”

He grinned and kissed the corner of her eye. “I’m going to treat you properly, Ima. You deserve to be happy, and I’m going to do everything I can to make you happy.”

She kissed him this time. “You already have.”

“Good. This should be easy then.”

He kissed his way back down, this time moving on to her inner thigh, running his tongue along the crease that was oh, so close.

She could do this. She could let him in this way.

She heard him inhale deeply, breathing her in, and she bit down on her lip.

This was okay.

His lips touched the mound.

She dug her nails into the backs of his hands.

“I’ve got you,” he said, and he was so close she could feel his breath on her clit, her inner labia, lower.

He had her. She was okay; he had her.

His lips brushed against the outer fold.

The faintest whimper slipped through.

“Shh, baby. Just let go.”

That was it. She had to let go.

The other side of the fold wasn’t so bad. Just a kiss like anywhere else. They’d done so much more than this, it shouldn’t have been anything at all.

And then his mouth opened a little wider, just enough that she could feel his lips across the divide. His tongue swiped delicately across her clit.

Wrong. All wrong. Absolutely not.

“Andre,” she whimpered, squirming away.

“Shh. You can do this. Deep breath.”

She tried, but it was pointless. She knew it even as she filled her lungs. How many times had she been here, had she tried to pull herself together after that flare of danger? It never worked.

This time he simply kissed the nub.

“I can’t,” she moaned, her head tossing back and forth. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“You can,” he said firmly, lifting his head up enough to relieve the panic boiling inside her. “You are the strongest person I’ve ever met. You can do anything.”

“I’m not,” she sobbed.

“Only because you make yourself think that. It’s a lie, and it’s robbing you of something normal and natural and beautiful. I’m going to make sure you love it, Ima. You’ll never have to be scared of this again. You just have to be brave.”

She could be brave. For Andre, she could be whatever he wanted. He waited patiently for her to calm herself again, and then she nodded.

When his tongue stroked along the swollen nub, so desperate for any touch at all, a thousand nightmares slammed into her. Gagging and bleeding and the doll’s empty eyes and the rain pounding the tin roof and pumping and shoes in the dryer and dead little girls and the belt and—

“Stop!” she shrieked.

“Okay,” he said calmly, but he was too close still.

He let her fingers slip from his, and she smacked him hard across the face.

He didn’t recoil. He didn’t snap at her or even look upon her with anger. He only frowned, and damn him because he wasn’t upset about being slapped. That would have been too easy. No, the way he looked at her, she knew he was only sad that she was this fucking damaged and he couldn’t do anything about it.

He took the hand that hit him and brought it to his lips. “Don’t worry, we’ll get there. If it takes forever, I’ll wait that long.”

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do any of this, not right now. He tried to pull her to him, and she struggled against his arms.

“I’m just going to hold you,” he assured her.

She slapped him again.

This time he did release her, but still she saw no anger in his eyes.

She stood, fighting off a woozy sensation as she wrapped a blanket around her. “I have to go to bed,” she mumbled, unsure of what else to say.

He nodded and watched her leave.


Imogen awoke to the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. It wasn't just an illusion, either; Andre stood in the darkened doorway, casually leaning against the frame. He wore only pajama bottoms, loose and low on his hips, revealing just a hint of the vee of his pelvis and the thin trail of black running down his center.  He had one thumb hooked on the waist band. His other arm was propped up on the frame, his head resting in the crook, his hand flopped over and absently rubbing his temple.

Imogen should have been creeped out. Not so long ago, the sight of him looming there would have sent her into a panic. She might have cried, and he'd definitely find the worst way to comfort her.

Now...just having him there made her feel better. He’d seen her at her worst tonight, but he still wanted to see her. If he had given her permission to do something, only to slap her for doing it, she would have been long gone. Even if it was in Hell, if she followed his commands exactly and was still punished, she’d have been done with him.

But Andre stood over her, protecting her from herself at his own expense.

His scowl belied the even rise and fall of his chest, as did the creases in his forehead. He was trying to hold his calm but inside was turmoil. He did what he wanted, but he was governed by his own laws.

"I can't," she whispered. “I tried, I really did. And I want to…but I can’t.”

"I know." The words broke his resolve. He wrapped his arms around his chest to contain the roil. His face scrunched up and from his mouth something that might have been an apology slipped free.

Imogen smiled. The poor thing. This wasn't his fault. "I asked you to stop and you did. There's nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who screwed up tonight."

He sighed heavily enough she could hear the rush of air across the room.

"What?" she asked, careful to keep any edge off the word.

"I'd like to sleep in here tonight, if you'd let me."

She patted the spot next to her. Andre approached slowly, with an odd caution she'd never before seen from him. Sure, he was careful with her, but this was different.

This was...timid.

Imogen raised a speculative eyebrow.

"May I touch you?" he asked finally.

"Uhh, what are we talking? I don’t think I’m ready for…but, like, cuddling?"

He sat down on the edge next to her and patted her hip through the blankets. Not quite a touch. "I'd like to massage you if that's alright. Nothing sexual."

She smirked. "Liar." He frowned, so she clarified with, "Never once has your massage not been sexual. But yes, you may."

He grinned and started to lean down but hesitated. "May I also kiss you?” He brushed her hair back from her temple. “Just right here?”

Okay, this was starting to get weird after all. Imogen sat up, and Andre was careful to shift so their bodies wouldn't accidentally brush. As soon as she was upright, his head dropped, breaking eye contact.

Imogen wanted to touch his shoulder, maybe rub her cheek against it, but something was happening she didn't understand and she didn't know the rules.

"Andre, what is this? Are you okay?"

He nodded, but even then his head never lifted completely.

Imogen's heart fluttered against her ribs. "I don't believe you," she said, her voice tight. "Something's wrong. I really am sorry I flipped out." She did touch him this time, a brush of the back of her hand on his slightly reddened cheek. Thankfully she hadn’t thrown a punch.

He put his hand over hers. "You were scared. I’m not mad at you. But this is your space, not mine, just as it's always been."

She was confused for another heartbeat, but then she laughed lightly. "You don't have know, submit to me here. Just slow down if I say no and stop if I say stop. The real world rules. You don't need permission to kiss me."

He took that liberty fervently, pulling her against him and claiming her lips without hesitation.

She placed her hand on his chest and urged him away with the lightest pressure. "Gently though. Please. I’m still a little raw."

He hugged her even more tightly, but he rested his cheek against hers and dug his hand into her hair. "I thought I might have lost you."

"Where would I have gone that you couldn't find me?" She wrapped her arms around him and dropped her chin to his shoulder. He was the one who misunderstood, he was the one who didn’t know why she had her limits, and her heart was the one that ached.

She had to tell him why she was so difficult. He had to know her restrictions had nothing to do with him. "Andre, I'm not...I'm wrong. I should have told you from the beginning, but I'm..."

"Shh, not now. Lay down on your stomach for me. I'll make us feel better."

The pressure in her chest released as his arms freed her. This was Andre how she wanted him, assertive but soft with it.

The moment his fingers touched her spine and his lips touched her neck, she melted into boneless sensation. Pleasure rumbled in her chest and echoed in Andre's.

There were none of the fancy massage oils or lotions within reach, but the ridges of his finger prints, the rough patch of callous on the sides of his thumbs, the warmth of the friction between them broke Imogen so much more efficiently. She wanted to be strong for him, controlled and steady and durable, but goddamn him for knowing exactly how to touch her. How to make her roll into the boil. It took everything she had just to keep herself on the mattress.

His fingers tugging at the roots of her hair. His nose brushing the hollow behind her ear. The heel of his palm digging up under her shoulder blade. His breath up the valley of her spine. His hands reaching low to grip her pelvis.

His thumb nail scratching along her hip before snagging on something and pulling it free.

"Erm, Andre?"


"What was that?"

"Fuck's sake, Ima. How many times do we have to have the erection conversation?"

"Not that! On my skin."

He nudged her waist with his nose. "Oh, I don't know. A little rough whatever. Blemish. It's cool, it's gone now."

Blood burned in Imogen's cheeks. "What? No! Not cool." She huffed and pushed away enough that she could pull her blanket up and bury her face in it.

A pimple! Like a damn teenager!

The mattress dipped as Andre stretched out next to her and pulled the blanket down just enough that she had to turn her head the other way. No way was he going to see her embarrassment this time.

"Don't you think you're overreacting a little?"

"Overreacting? How am I supposed to be, like, sexy for you when you're pointing out stuff like that? Ulk!"

Andre dug his hand under the mass of blankets and hooked Imogen's waist, dragging her over him and shaking her free from her cocoon. She tried to bury her face in his chest but he gripped her shoulders to keep her from dropping down.

"I didn't point it out. I very casually scrubbed it away, and then you pointed it out. And it doesn't matter. I want you in your entirety. Your perfect tits and that ass I want to bite into so much more often than I do." He reached down and squeezed her rump hard enough she couldn't help but clench up beneath his grip. Her eyelids drooped. "Your eyes, you've no idea what your eyes do to me. Your brain, every little unexpected response. Just when I think I get you I find myself lost again, and it makes me feel alive.

"And the weird scar on your arm and your white girl feet that I swear I could use to keep the contents of my freezer safe if the power goes out and every single little blemish. I want it all."

God, he knew exactly what to say. She could live the rest of her years drunk on speeches like that. She was about to break down and lure him to Hell when he craned his head up and licked her shoulder.

She snorted. "Oh my God, why are you constantly licking things?"

He shrugged. "To claim them as my own, obviously. You should try it."

Imogen wasn't bold. That much was apparent. But Andre's warm smile, his hand rubbing her rear, the pounding of his chest against hers, made her reckless.

She dropped down and licked his sternum, just slightly to the right. And then cringed. That might have been too much.

Andre chuckled. "You claimed that as your own long ago."

Imogen's head snapped up. Andre didn't say things like that, not even hints. Not vocally, at least. His every touch spoke volumes, but not his words. And it was all too foreign for Imogen to trust her translation. Maybe that bond between them was nothing more than the bond between a submissive and her master.

But it terrified her to think this was mere flesh and bone.

"Hey now, don't read too far into that," he said.

Just like that, Imogen was crushed into the ground. She'd showed him her cards. She could have licked his forehead to be silly or his hand to show her appreciation of his touches. She could have scooted low and licked him exactly how he liked it and maybe gotten a glorious reward from his fingers for it, but no. She'd tried to claim his heart and failed.

He guided her ear to his lips and whispered, "I meant only that I've been madly in love with you as long as I've known you. But you knew that already."

Imogen's breath stopped. Her heart stopped, her brain stopped. But only until she blinked her eyes, and then everything swelled to the point she didn't know how she contained it.

He loved her. In love. It wasn't pretty words to a perfected cadence. It was sincere, it had to be. And it was overwhelming.

Andre's eyes widened as he swiped a tear from her cheek. "Oh God, what did you think I meant? I just said the wrong thing, didn't I?"

Imogen laughed and surprised herself with how raw it sounded. "No, I just...I didn't know. Not really."

"Wasn't it obvious?"

"No! Or, I don't know. No one has ever loved me before. And you definitely didn't love me the first time we met."

Andre squirmed beneath her until he'd gotten himself propped up against the headboard, resuming his usual stance of just slightly above her. She curled up on his lap and rested her head on his shoulder, but she could look at him comfortably and he could kiss her as much as he wanted.

"The first time I saw you, I imagined you in Hell in that ugly suit pretending to be a bashful girl interviewing for a job, and I would be the boss who took advantage of that naivety and fucked you stupid on the desk. And then I thought, well, that's the plot of every shitty submission porn ever. And for a second I imagined it was all a facade and you were there to dominate me, and I wasn't completely turned off by that—which is not a hint at anything. I like you submissive—but I would take you however I could have you. I will love you however you'll let me."

Imogen twined her fingers in his chest hair. His body wasn't perfect, either; his toe nails grew funny and despite his arduous workout routine, he rocked some love handles. But she wanted to lick his entire body to claim it as her own, and she couldn't. That wasn't fair to him. He had needs she couldn't meet. He claimed he wanted her however he could have her, but that wouldn't last forever. It wasn't fair to him to expect it, either.

She curled into herself a little more and hated herself a little more. "I'm sorry," she said as loudly as she could manage without her voice cracking.

Andre squeezed her arm. "It's okay, you don't have to say it."

"What? Oh. I love you, too. But I've said it before."

"Orgasm declarations don't count, not when your body is still shaking like an over-caffeinated guinea pig."

"I meant I'm sorry I can't...I love you, and I want to love you. Like, love love you. I just..."

Andre lifted his knees up, wrapping Imogen neatly in his limbs and tucking her away from the monsters that lurked in nighttime corners. "I get it. I mean, at first I thought it was because of your relationship with Sal, but I'm not stupid. I know I push too close sometimes, and every time I do you completely freeze up like something horrible is about to happen. Like something horrible has already happened. And I meant what I said: I'm happy how ever I can have you. I'm happy with this."

Oh. He already knew exactly how she was broken. Of course he did; wasn’t it painfully obvious? Just as obvious as the fact he’d let her take control of him. He pretended to dominate, but it was a joke. And it wasn’t him any more than this was her. "What if I'm not happy with this?"

He pressed his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply. "Then we'll work on it. Slowly. At whatever pace you're comfortable with. But not tonight. Let's just sleep tonight."

That sounded amazing, but it wasn't good enough. He had to know what he was getting into before he committed to it.

"Andre, what you think happened to me, it's so much worse than that. You've no idea."

He lifted her chin to kiss her properly, without any of his earlier urgency. This wasn't sex, this was love. "Tomorrow. Tonight we'll sleep, tomorrow you'll tell me. Or not. That's up to you."

And it sounded perfect, but even then Imogen thought, the best laid plans of mice and men...

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