The Birthday Present

by Lizzy Grey

  Jamie was standing under the coffee shop’s awning as the cab pulled up outside. She paid the driver and got out.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” she said. “The traffic was bad as usual.”

  “No problem.” He smiled and she looked him up and down, admiring the navy blue suit and white shirt he was wearing. “You look great.”

  “So do you.”

  “I’ve booked a table at a restaurant around the corner,” he said, taking her hand.

  She had steak for the first time since her operation and he grinned as she put her knife and fork together on her empty plate.

  “I think you enjoyed that.”

  “I did,” she confessed. “It was delicious.”

  “Desert?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I could.”

  “Coffee?”

  “No, I don’t think so. You go ahead, though.”

  “I think I’ll give it a miss.”

  “I’d like to pay,” she said, reaching for her handbag.

  “No.” He grabbed her hand. “Absolutely not.”

  “Yes,” she insisted. “You paid for the hotel room and it must have cost a fortune.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m paying for this meal.”

  “Please, let me?”

  “Next time.” He squeezed her hand before letting it go.

  “Next time?” There’d be a next time?

  “I promise.”

  Leaving the restaurant, they walked slowly along the street and she couldn’t have felt more out of her depth. No coffee after the meal, so what now?

  “What time do you have to be home?” he asked.

  “I’m not sixteen anymore.”

  “I know, but you must have told your parents something?”

  “I’m out on the town with Amanda and Liz.”

  He nodded. “And are you staying over with them?”

  “I don’t know.” She turned to face him. “Am I?”

  “Would you like to?”

  “What is this?” she demanded. “Twenty questions?”

  “No. But did you think about what I asked you? Do you want a relationship? Or do you just want sex?”

  “That from the man who texted me three times in a row wanting me to go out to dinner with him the very next evening and to call him ASAP. You said you wanted a relationship, have you changed your mind?”

  He sighed. “No, but you can’t blame me for being human. Come back to the apartment. Let me make you coffee. Let’s chat. Then, shall we see how things progress?”

  His apartment was on the third floor of a low rise block and the living room – with kitchen off it – was surprisingly spacious with wooden floors and two brown leather sofas at right angles to each other in front of a widescreen television.

  “Espresso or filter coffee?” he asked.

  “Filter coffee, please.” She followed him to the small kitchen and watched as he put coffee powder and water into a machine before switching it on. “I like this apartment. How long have you lived here?”

  “Since I was eighteen,” he told her as the coffee machine began to gurgle and hiss. “It was a dump back then so the mortgage was ridiculously low. I own it now and I feel so much more secure owning the roof over my head.”

  She walked to the kitchen window and looked out, feeling his eyes on her. “I’m going to ask Liz and Amanda if I can move into their apartment. At least they won’t try and marry me off to every single man who comes within ten feet of me.”

  “Who is the latest?”

  “His name is Marcus Wakefield and is probably the most boring man on the planet. I had to sit next to him at dinner yesterday evening and all he could talk about was cricket.”

  “Maybe he’s shy?” he suggested.

  “No.” She turned away from the window. “He’s just dull.”

  “Okay.” He laughed. “Is he rich?”

  “Yes, very. He owns land and property all over the place. His mother told mine that he’s attracted to me. His mother.” She shook her head. “Can you believe it?”

  He just smiled and lifted two blue mugs down from a cupboard. “Your mother’s the daughter of an earl?”

  “Yes. Well, the sister of an earl now. Grandfather died five years ago. I don’t know any different before you ask me if it’s strange. My father is her first cousin, so it’s not really surprising that I ended up with a heart complaint. I’ll try and marry outside my stagnant gene pool, I never want to go through what my parents went through with me. Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asked and he shook his head.

  “No. It’s always just been me. You’re an only child as well, I read.”

  “Yes. Mummy had an awful time having me, apparently, and that was it.”

  “So you’re doubly lucky to be here?”

  “Very lucky,” she said softly, turning his face towards hers and kissing his lips. “I’ve nearly died a few times. I shouldn’t really be here.”

  “I’m glad you are,” he murmured. Holding her waist, he slowly pulled at her lips with his before releasing her. “Milk and sugar in your coffee?”

  “Just milk, please.” Walking to the living room window, she smiled as she peered out at the busy street below. “I could just sit here watching people, wondering where they’re coming from, or going to.”

  “Nosy, are you?” he asked, and she heard the humour in his voice.

  “A bit.” She returned to the kitchen and kissed his cheek. “I was bored stiff in hospital. I used to go through a book a day and after a while, I completely read myself out. I’ve only just started reading again recently. I used to sit in the day room in hospital just watching people.”

  “Do you know who your heart came from?” he asked as he poured the coffee before adding milk to his.

  “A twenty-five-year-old woman who was killed in a car crash. The first thing I did when Mummy finally allowed me out on my own, was to get an organ donor card. I don’t know if my heart can be used again, but there are other bits of me which can. Do you have a donor card?”

  “No.”

  “Tut-tut,” she teased and accepted a mug from him. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll get one, I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come and sit down and watch me, or something.” He ushered her into the living room and towards the sofas.

  “I’d rather sit beside you than opposite you,” she said, sitting down on one of the sofas and crossing her legs. She saw him glance down and followed his eyes. The tops of her stay-up stockings were showing and she went to uncross her legs.

  “Don’t,” he said, laying a hand on her knee to stop her. “I like stockings. Do you always wear stockings under a dress?”

  “In Summer, yes. I wear thick woolly tights and granny panties in Winter.”

  He roared with laughter. “I look forward to seeing the granny panties.”

  “And you’ll be in thermal long johns?” She smiled.

  “Naturally.”

  “When I came out of hospital, where it was constantly roasting, I was freezing cold for weeks. Then, we had a hot summer and I began to acclimatise. I’m more or less back to normal now, temperature wise. Do you like the cold?”

  “I like wrapping up warm and going for a run along the Thames on a frosty morning. I like snow for the first day or two before it turns to dirty mush. Trudging home in that mush with shopping on a freezing cold evening – no. I suppose you get your shopping delivered?”

  “That’s Mummy’s department, but, yes.” She finished her coffee, put her mug on the wooden coffee table and her dress rose up her legs even more. “Where is your bathroom?”

  “It’s off the bedroom. Through there.” He pointed to an open door at the far end of the room.

  “Thanks.” Getting up, she pulled her dress down and walked the length of the room, feeling his eyes on her all the way. She glanced quickly around his bedroom as she passed through. The wooden bed was huge and the walls were cream. She opened the
door to the ensuite bathroom and closed it behind her. After using the toilet, she washed and dried her hands, staring at her reflection in the mirror over the wash hand basin. Was he going to ask her to stay? If he did, should she stay? She noted the huge walk-through shower before returning to the living area and standing at the entrance to the kitchen. He was still seated on the sofa and she jerked a thumb back towards the bedroom and ensuite. “I love the shower.”

  “I’d always wanted a big shower. Somewhere I could stretch out. So I treated myself last year and got it done.”

  “Mine is tiny. I’m always banging my elbows on the walls while I’m washing my hair.”

  He stared at her. Was he visualizing her in the shower, she wondered.

  “Show me your stockings,” he instructed softly. Giving him a little smile, she slowly eased up her dress and showed him the lacy tops of the stay-up stockings. “Turn around,” he added, twirling his forefinger. She turned around and saw him nodding. “Very nice. Now, take your panties off.”

  She flushed but reached for the waistband of her panties and slowly eased them down her legs before stepping out of them.

  He reached out a hand. “Give them to me.”

  She walked to him and handed the lacy black panties over, watching as he held them to his nose and inhaled deeply. Blood flowed into her cheeks and she went to turn away.

  “Don’t,” he added, putting her panties in his trouser pocket and getting to his feet. “Give me your hand and get up on the coffee table.”

  A little puzzled, she clasped his hand and carefully climbed up onto the wooden coffee table. “I’m going to fall off.”

  “I won’t let you.”

  He pushed her skirt up before sliding his hand between her legs. She opened her legs to accommodate him and he inserted a finger into her. She sucked in a breath then forced it out as his thumb began to rub her clit in a circular motion. She found herself rotating her hips to match his thumb and she saw him smile. Bending his head, she felt his tongue slip between her pussy lips and lick her clit. She jerked towards him and reached out and placed the palm of her hand on the top of his head to steady herself. He licked her slowly but steadily, building up a rhythm, before suddenly straightening up. She had felt herself starting to come and grabbed his shoulders, almost falling off the coffee table.

  “What is it?” she whimpered.

  “I want to come, too. Wait there.”

  Standing on the coffee table, the skirt of her dress around her waist, she glanced around the room. None of the Venetian blinds were closed and she could see right up the street. Could anyone see in, she wondered, then turned as he came back into the room. He was undoing his trousers as he walked and she watched as he pulled his cock out. Stopping beside the coffee table, he pulled open a condom package and rolled the condom on.

  “Come down.” He gripped her waist and lifted her down before he sat on the sofa, his erection pointing straight up.” Sit on me.”

  She climbed onto the sofa and straddled him. Taking her hips, he eased her down onto his cock, grunting a little. She began to raise herself off him, but his hands forced her hips down again.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Don’t. I want to stay in your cunt. Just rock your hips. Rock them.” She did as she was told and felt his thumb rubbing against her clit again. She moaned and saw him smile. “Keep rocking them, that’s right, like that. Good.”

  It was slow but it felt amazing. “I want to come,” she murmured. “I want to go faster.”

  “Lift yourself up off me a little,” he told her and she adjusted her position, kneeling on the sofa. He began thrusting hard up into her and she gasped. “Better?” he asked.

  She managed to get out a “Yes,” and he smiled, thrusting up so hard into her that he almost knocked her off her knees.

  “You love my cock slamming hard into your cunt, don’t you?” he added and she groaned. “No, don’t groan. Answer me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what.”

  “I love it.”

  “Love what?”

  “I love your cock.”

  “Doing what?” he asked, slamming so hard into her that she had to grab the back of the sofa. “Tell me.”

  “Slamming. Hard. In. To. Me.”

  “Good. What to come?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you can’t.” He sank down onto the sofa, his cock slipping out of her pussy.

  “Why not?” she whimpered, reaching for his cock, but he took hold of her hand and wouldn’t let it go. “What’s wrong?”

  “In 1985, when I was four, my parents were evicted from their council flat. They were drug addicts and spent all their rent allowance on heroin. They tried everything to get help for their addiction and, as a last resort, they went to see their local Member of Parliament at one of his weekly surgeries. He wouldn’t see them. A few days later, I was taken into care and two weeks later, my parents were both dead from overdoses. That MP was Daniel Thompson. Does the name ring any bells with you?”

  “Yes. He’s my father,” she whispered.

  “Yes. Your father. Who couldn’t be fucking bothered to help two of his constituents in dire need of help. That isn’t something I can forgive or forget easily. I’ve read all I can find on him and you. He did everything in his power to get you well again. There was no way his little girl was going to die. Well, my parents did die. I called a cab for you while you were in the bathroom. It should be here any minute. Now get out.”

  Shaking, she climbed off the sofa. “Can I have my panties?”

  “No. You can go home pantie-less, like the spoilt, cock-loving slut you really are.”

  She pulled her dress down as far as it would go, tears of shame beginning to spill down her cheeks. “I wasn’t even born in 1985.”

  “Is that supposed to make any difference?” he asked, and she shook her head. No, it had been a stupid thing to say. “Does Daddy know how his little girl lost her virginity? Does Daddy know what his little girl was doing while she was supposed to be at her hugely expensive birthday party? Does Daddy know how his little girl loves my cock slamming hard into her cunt?”

  “You’ve known who I am all along, haven’t you?” she demanded.

  “No,” he replied. “I only found out when I looked you up on the internet.”

  “But you lured me here this evening for this, didn’t you?”

  “You wanted to be fucked. I was in the mood to fuck someone. It worked out quite well, I think.” She jumped, hearing a buzzer, and he smiled. “Your cab.”

  “Please let me have my panties.”

  “No. I want to sit here and wank thinking of you travelling home au naturel.”

  She snatched her handbag from the other end of the sofa and left the apartment, slamming the door behind her. She rode down to the ground floor in the lift and quickly wiped her tears away before going outside. She got into the cab, acutely aware of her pantie-less state. Apart from stating her destination, she sat silently in the back of the cab, shaking a little.

  After paying the driver, she let herself into the house and heard laughter coming from the drawing room.

  “Freya?” Her mother came out into the hall. “I’m glad you’re back. Marcus is here again.”

  “Is he,” she said flatly and walked towards the stairs.

  “No, don’t go upstairs, he wants to speak to you.”

  “I don’t want to speak to him, Mummy.”

  “Freya,” her mother snapped. “Come in here right now.”

  Rolling her eyes, she followed her mother into the drawing room. Her father and Marcus were enjoying a glass of whisky, and both men got to their feet.

  “Freya.” Marcus smiled. He was tall, thin, and blonde and towered over her stocky father. “I’m glad you’re back. I popped over on the off chance that I might speak to you.”

  “I see. Well, what is it?”

  Behind her, she heard her mother give a little sigh of exasperation.
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br />   “May I speak with you in the garden, please, Freya?”

  “The garden?”

  “Yes. Please?”

  “All right, then.” She crossed the room, opened the French Windows, and they went outside. There was only a light breeze, but it was enough for her to wince and wish she had just run upstairs to her underwear drawer. “What is it?” she repeated.

  “Well, your father has been telling me how well you are now and you looked amazing at your birthday party.”

  “Thank you,” she replied as politely as she could, sliding her hands down her dress and trying to mould it to her thighs.

  “Freya, we’ve known each other since we were children, and I’ve always been fond of you.”

  “Fond?” she echoed and he grimaced.

  “Freya, I’m not very good at this but…”

  “But?”

  “Will you marry me?” he asked and her heart lurched then plummeted. “I think we’d be very good for each other. Your mother says you love Scotland, so we could divide our time between the estate up there and the London house. Marry me, Freya. I’d do my damndest to make you happy.”

  Chapter Five

  Bloody hell, what an evening. First Jamie and now this. Her head spun a little and she breathed deeply in and out to calm herself.

  “Do you like scars, Marcus?” she asked.

  “Scars?” he repeated, looking and sounding bewildered.

  “I have an enormous scar which runs from here.” She pointed to just above her cleavage. “To here.” She ran her finger down to just above her navel. “It will fade, but it isn’t pretty. Would my scar disgust you?”

  “Well, I—” He floundered. “I haven’t really given it any thought.”

  “So would we only have sex in the dark?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Or would we not have sex at all? Although, I don’t quite know how you’d get an heir to the estate that way.”

  “I need an heir, Freya.”

  “Sex in the dark, then?” she suggested crisply. “Or, I could blindfold you, if you’re into that sort of thing.”