Blueprint Edward

October 23, 2014 Erotica

About the Series

Unlike anything ever written before, the ‘Blueprint’ series utilises two books that fuse to tell an erotic tale that’s gripping, psychologically stimulating and fraught with suspense. With one book written for men and the other for women, the story of Edward and Lizzy are already bringing couples together to enjoy a booming genre usually reserved for a female audience.

The two visitors rise from their seats and turn to face me. Fuck me, she’s hot – really hot! Since when did ball-breakers start looking like this? No one had told me she was this attractive. Sure, everyone seemed to really like her, to rate her work, love her cakes and no one had a bad word to say about her, but somehow the fact she was beautiful had slipped their minds.

I can’t help checking her out. My eyes travel instinctively from her shapely calves to her hips, her breasts, her long neck and golden hair. Mmm, very nice.

“Mr FitzWilliam, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Her soft English accent drips off her pink tongue, calm, confident and so sexy.

I notice the firm handshake, the softness of her hand, the direct eye-contact, her dazzling bright green eyes and the way she looks at me squarely, holding my gaze. Not many people look directly at me. Well, not unless they’ve read the latest Success in Business book and want to project their confidence and all that crap. This is different though. She is looking at me, into me. I can’t decide whether I like it or not. I look away first, my eyes caressing again a slow path up and down her body.

I shake Cameron’s hand. He has a good firm handshake and smiles warmly and looks away first.

“Miss George, Mr Grewal, I have heard a lot about you from Daniel. Shall we begin?”

I avoid the head of the table seat, to confound expectations. I don’t need to prove that I’m the boss and that I’m in control. I know that already. It always amuses me when men jostle for the alpha-male seat position. They really are pricks if they think sitting at the top of a table entitles them to respect or authority. I head for the same side as Daniel and sit a few spaces back so I can see everything, read everyone’s body language and get a good vantage point from which to study Miss George.

She begins.

“Firstly, I would like to thank you for the opportunity to meet with to you today. We have prepared a short presentation which will hopefully demonstrate our capabilities and vision for Garden Court.”

Cameron brings up the first slide: Our Company.

“EG Associates was founded in 2008 and we have grown gradually to now employ a large team of architects and interior designers. We pride ourselves on offering a personal, professional serv… ”

I listen to her smooth, honeyed voice. I love the English accent. It reminds me of mom, who would pronounce each word individually and correctly, but Miss George’s has an extra level, a character of its own. Maybe it’s nerves which cause a very slight husky tremor but it adds a sexy depth to her words. It’s actually very sensual to listen to, but I didn’t come here today for War and Peace.

“Move on, move on,” I interrupt, shooing my hand at the screen.

Daniel shoots me an icy ‘please behave’ look, which I ignore.

“Listen, Miss George, I know how good your practice is. Daniel has been banging on about you for months, so can we cut the crap and move on to this project?”

I can tell she is pissed. She has obviously taken a lot of trouble in preparing a long, detailed presentation for me, but she wouldn’t be in this room if Daniel didn’t believe she was capable of delivering this scheme, so I don’t need to suffer Death By PowerPoint to make the same point.

“No problem, Mr FitzWilliam.”

Cameron quickly skips through a few more credentials, research and site-survey pages. I scan the slides, each one impressive and obviously well-planned and professionally executed. Miss George isn’t flustered by my directness. She patiently waits for the slides to progress, and doesn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless waffle. She is clearly a confident person and I like that. Over the years I’ve learnt to spot bullshit at a mile away, but this is ok; I’ll give Miss George some credit – so far, so good.

As you know I didn’t have very high expectations for this meeting. Square Peg were my favourite option until they screwed up this morning, and I’ve already met some other award-winning US architects, and none of them had got it. Sure, their visions of spectacular glass boxes looming over and intimidating the London landscape below were impressive in their way, but I want more than that. I don’t want the scheme to dominate; I want this building to complement its surroundings, to be something which looks like it belongs. Yes, it should also be impressive and innovative but I’m not conquering the UK in glass and steel. I am creating something beautiful for the future. I’ve seen images of The Shard and love its towering confidence, but it wouldn’t be right for Covent Garden, so if the top creative architectural brains in the US couldn’t wow me, then how could this tiny practice from Bath do it?

Unflustered she skips a few more slides and goes straight into the building visuals and 3D fly-through. As the movie rolls the building appears from above. I am shocked; it looks amazing! It has everything I am looking for: imaginative tradition does modern minimalism. Fuck me, this is brilliant! The simulations continue and I finally feel that elusive tingle down the spine that tells me something great has been conceived here. My eyes focus on Miss George. She is standing now, pointing at the screen, animated, and describing the vision. Her breathing becomes shallow, her breasts heave beneath her white shirt, and her bright green eyes are dancing with enthusiasm. I surreptitiously study her body again. She really is hot: a nipped-in, small waist, curvy hips and tight ass. Watching her excitement and seeing my own aspirations coming to life at the same time, I feel oddly aroused. My cock thickens in my slacks, pushing uncomfortably against the fabric, but I remain motionless, conscious that I don’t want to give my reactions away or encourage a full erection.

As the movie pauses, samples appear: steel, glass, cladding, wood, all of which are caressed as they are presented. I watch silently as Miss George’s mouth moves, words tumbling out with an easy, natural passion, her tongue occasionally glancing over her lips, her body gliding and swaying. She leans over the table to reach for a sample and her shirt opens slightly and I catch a glimpse of nude lace cups, her breasts tipping over the top wobbling slightly as she moves. Did I catch sight of a nipple then? Surely not, was it? Her shirt tightens over her body and as she moves I can see the lace and bones through the cotton. Is she is wearing a basque? I hope so, I love basques.

She is reaching further now, bending over the table, unaware of the effect she is having on my cock. I follow the line of her body from the nape of her neck, down her back, over her rounded bottom to the hem of her skirt. It lifts up at the back, the split opening fleetingly. I can see lace again and this time the hint of a stocking-top. Is she wearing suspenders as well? She reaches forward again and again, rocking hard against the edge of the table. I wish I were pushing into her, making her rock.

I can hear her words: ‘Cutting-edge technology… mixing the old with the new’ but really all I want to do now is walk behind her, bend her over onto the table, lift up her skirt, pull down her panties (although it wouldn’t surprise me if she wasn’t wearing any), and thrust my cock hard into her and fuck her until I come all over those creamy lace-clad thighs.

“Mr FitzWilliam, what do you think?”

My fantasy is suddenly broken and I look Miss George squarely in the eye.

Come on, Edward, pull yourself together, man! This is a business meeting and you know you don’t mix business with pleasure, but what a pleasure it would be with Miss George, for me anyway!

I compose myself and take the opportunity to move in my chair. My cock is really uncomfortable now and needs to stretch sideways towards my hip.

“That’s all very well, Miss George, but how much money will it make me?”

Taking a deep breath, she launches at me, confident, assured and so fucking sexy. My cock twitches; he likes this fiery blonde. I’ve got a massive boner now. Easy boy, calm down. I push my chair closer to the table. I’m glad it’s not one of those glass-top types; now that would be embarrassing.

“We estimate that construction costs, fees etc. will come to £310 million. We recommend that you sell the apartments first, which should generate £270 million, and retain the freehold and the rest of the building. The income from the office space, hotel, service charges, retail units etc. will generate circa £21m per year, therefore breakeven point is year two to three, with a ten-year profit prediction, after running costs, of £150 million. If you decide to sell the building on as an asset disposal, I suggest that we wait until we have secured 80% tenancies on a ten-year term. The building would then be valued at around £415 million, based on current market rates, generating a £105 million profit.”

I focus on her words and the detailed financial slide on the screen and find myself impressed with the pitch; she really understands that this is not a folly, or some kind of vanity project, that ultimately it has to make me money. Her presentation is insightful, and unlike the formulaic rehearsed presentations I am used to, where I’m expected to participate and give approval at every word, this is different; she is confident, has a clear vision and doesn’t just tell me what she thinks I want to hear.

But to make this project happen will take more than just great ideas and pretty pictures. I need someone who can deliver the finished scheme on time, on budget and who has the authority and tenacity to control all the subcontractors.

“With respect to you, Miss George, and your small, inexperienced practice, you have never completed a project this big. How do I know you can keep the costs in check?”

I push harder now, my questions becoming more biting, probing at her competence further to see if she will crack. But rather than forcing her to backtrack, to become anxious or apologetic, I can see her determination and resolution becoming stronger. I haven’t been challenged like this is in a long time; I like her spunk. My cock responds again, her confidence commanding him to attention. I don’t suppose many men would dare disobey her and I detect a slight hint of ‘fuck you, arsehole’ appear in her eyes.

She mimics my opening phrase and speaks with authority and passion.

“With respect, Mr FitzWilliam, it may be difficult for you to comprehend that a small practice could have a detailed knowledge of construction and costings but please let me assure you that I have worked in property and construction for over ten years and all our projects have completed on time and on budget. We wouldn’t be in business if we let clients down. I’m sure Daniel can testify to that.”

Daniel nods and adds, “Edward, you know that Lizzy and her team always deliver the goods.”

I wish she would deliver me the goods. She could deliver the goods to me right now on this fucking table.

I’m keen to see how she deals with the ‘woman in a man’s world’ issue.

“So why should I give this project to you, and not to a larger, more experienced, leading practice? Do you have the balls to see it through?”

I have obviously hit a nerve now. I can tell she is riled; her breathing is shallow and I can see her breasts heaving harder beneath her shirt. The tension in the room intensifies. It is hot and arousing; I am so turned on. Cameron and Daniel sit motionless watching, riveted to this game of verbal tennis, waiting to see who misses a return shot.

“Mr FitzWilliam, whether you award this project to us or not is entirely up to you. However what I can tell you is that you will not find a more dedicated, hardworking and passionate team than mine. We may be small but that, in my opinion, is our strength. We will treat your project as if it was our own baby and spend your money as if it were from our own pocket. And with regard to balls, you may have noticed that I am not a man but I can hold my own with anyone. I will not let you down; if you appoint us, your building will not only be beautiful but it will make you a lot of money – your return on investment will be significant as we have amply and clearly demonstrated.”

Good volley, but I’m ready for the match-point and look her squarely in the eye again.

“Do you masturbate, Miss George?”

I say it before I can stop myself. I don’t know what’s come over me. I suppose I could kid myself that it is a testing business question, something to show me how she reacts under pressure, but all I can think about is how wet she is, how she tastes, how her pussy would feel around my cock.

She is obviously taken aback and I can see her brain trying to digest what I have just said. My words hang in the air like a bad fart nobody is admitting to, but then:

“Excuse me?”

She questions me with her darting eyes, defiantly daring me to repeat what she thinks she has just heard.

I try to hold back or to say something else, but it’s just like the feeling you get looking over a the edge of high building; you don’t want to jump but something inside is goading you to do it even though you know if you do you’ll plummet to the ground and certain death.

“I said, do you masturbate, Miss George?”

For a few moments the room falls deathly silent; no one dares to breathe. Then Daniel sighs and flashes me a look and I know I’ve gone too far. I am about to apologise when Miss George rises slowly from her seat, leans towards me and fixes me with a cold stare without a trace of embarrassment or inhibition as she speaks.

“I don’t know what sort of sick game you are playing here, Mr FitzWilliam, but as far as I can see there is only one wanker in this room.”

Game, set and match. What a great reply: ‘Only one wanker in this room’. I try not to laugh out loud. I feel a faint smile twitch at my mouth, but she doesn’t see it. She has turned away. This girl has balls!

About the Author

The Blueprint books are my first formal publishing venture, but ever since I can remember, I have written short stories, articles and commercial marketing materials, so creative writing has always been a passion of mine.

I love to write. I am consumed by the creation of characters and the worlds they inhabit and I confess I have a girlie crush on my current male lead, Edward; there’s a little bit of Darcy / Sherlock / Dr Who in him!

I wLesleyrite on trains, planes, lying on the beach and have even given up watching TV soaps to concentrate on the creation of my own worlds. Writing is like an addiction to a drug that I can’t resist. Yes, my name is Lesley James and I’m a writerholic.

I first had the Blueprint idea in 2012 while on holiday and watching all the women lying round the pool reading a certain bestselling erotic novel and thinking to myself that it was a shame that their partners were missing out on it. Since then I have concentrated on the research and creation of these twin novels.

When not writing, I draw, bake chocolate cake and act as an unpaid chauffeur, chef and party planner to a teenager.

For more information see:

Or join the conversation at: Twitter @lesleyjames123