by Primula Bond
Before I could ask him what he meant he was away again, rummaging about in the freezer. He returned with a bag of peas which he pressed on to my foot.
‘Not for too long. You’ll get frostbite. What say we explore this place when your ten minutes’ ice treatment is up?’
Ten minutes later he was leading me through the house, whispering as if we were burglars. He tiptoed exaggeratedly about and I hobbled after him, up and down staircases and creaking corridors. Upstairs he told me which guests had slept where. Mr and Mrs Grey didn’t appear to share a bedroom, but I let that one go. I was more interested in watching the muscles in his strong legs flexing as he moved along in front of me.
There was something illicit and sexy about peeking in to all the guest rooms at the rumpled bedclothes. Most of the rooms had four-posters. I couldn’t help thinking of all that red-blooded romping after a long hard gallop and a long night’s feasting.
Merlin stopped at the end of the upstairs corridor, all hung with tapestries. We had looked into all the rooms and, suddenly, we were both silent. I felt a crippling shyness stealing over me. The insolent banter we’d shared at the stables and even snooping round the house had been fun, but the grand surroundings were getting to me. Merlin seemed to know the house really well. He’d obviously been up here many times in the course of his working at the stables. But to me it felt like we were trespassing. It was exciting, as well as scary. They could all have come galloping back at any time and found us. Or the butler and maids could have come back early from their day off.
My heart started pounding ridiculously, as did my foot. Merlin flung open the double doors in front of us, as if he owned the place.
‘And here we have the master’s bedroom. Sir Simeon’s quarters.’
Now I really did feel like an intruder. The thought of Sir Simeon doing something as intimate as undressing and coming to bed here made me blush like a schoolgirl, but I stepped inside nevertheless, unable to resist my curiosity. It was a vast room with a gigantic four-poster bed piled high with quilts and pillows. It was comfortable as well as old-fashioned, with chairs and cushions everywhere, a huge fireplace and, to my surprise, a lovely fire burning there. Huge windows looked down over lawns towards the fields and the stables.
‘It looks like those bedchambers one sees when walking round stately homes,’ I remarked loudly, to cover my awkwardness. ‘Like no one ever sleeps or lives in here. Apart from the fire burning in the grate, there’s no real sign of life in here at all.’
I limped over to one of the big windows of the master bedroom and stared out across the misty fields. Down on the gravel drive I could hear our horses stamping their hard feet and rattling the clips where Merlin had tied them up, their breath rising in steamy curls from their impatient nostrils.
‘Oh, he sleeps in here all right. He was here last night, in fact.’
‘He was here? Then why on earth hasn’t he appeared to speak to me?’
The thought of Sir Simeon in this room sent a shiver up my spine. Those eyes alone could drag you to bed . . . I could almost hear the bedclothes rumpling as Sir Simeon threw them back, let the thick curtains fall round the mattress, and pulled a mystery woman in there with him . . .
‘I’ve no idea. He’s probably dodged off again on one of his ploys. Or he might walk back in here any minute. But I’m glad he’s not here right now.’
Behind me in the ornate bedroom, I could hear Merlin moving towards me. I could see his reflection in the frosty glass as he came up close. My own face was fixed there like a pale moon, framed by blood-red velvet curtains, his face swimming up beside mine. All of a sudden he looked different. Everything was different. It was being in that grand old room, like naughty children playing hide-and-seek, but we weren’t mucking about. He had this serious air about him, like the atmosphere of the house had changed him into someone else. He’d grown in stature, somehow, he was someone big and impressive, someone to be reckoned with, and I liked that.
Our eyes were huge and dark in the reflection, mine especially. He must have felt there was something different about me, too. He couldn’t have known that I’d just been fantasising about Sir Simeon. I hadn’t got as far as peeling off his silk pyjamas in my imagination, but I wasn’t far off. Were those thoughts reflected in my eyes?
Certainly Merlin must have thought I was inviting him, because he reached under my hacking jacket, pulled my thin jumper out from the waistband of my tight jodhpurs and started to brush his warm fingers up and down the ridges of my spine. And did I want to resist? Did I hell.
I had to go through the motions, though, surely. We’d only just met, but everything was pointing to the inevitable. Everything was becoming more and more unreal. I couldn’t believe I could be seduced just by the atmosphere of this grand sensuous bedroom in this grand house, or by the shadow of Sir Simeon. I started to walk across the bedroom away from Merlin to see if the action of walking, even the throbbing in my bruised foot, would wake me up. But who was I kidding? There was no blue-eyed shadow seducing me here. There was a living, breathing Cherokee god in the room with me, tugging at my clothes. He was real enough. I’d seen his bum. I’d seen that line of black hair trailing down his stomach. I’d seen the tantalising bulge in his tight white breeches . . .
Merlin stopped me leaving the room. It was no great effort. He just stayed close behind me and wrapped his hand round my waist, under my jumper, flattening it on my stomach. He pulled me back against him, back against that fantastic crotch. Releasing a little moan of surrender I let him take charge.
In all the other rooms the beds were marooned in the centre of the room, miles from the windows or doors. But this one was positioned close to the window so that when you sat on it, you were almost falling out into the fresh open air. Next thing we were sitting on the bed, both staring out at the fields and listening out for the horses and for any returning guests, but all the time he was stroking me, so I wasn’t aware of how we’d landed there, and I realised how stiff I was, and cold, but it wasn’t out of fear. It was just the nature of the place. Perhaps the house, the bedroom, were haunted, after all, but that only made the atmosphere of what was about to happen that much sexier. Add a voyeur ghost to the feast!
Suddenly, we were on this bed, the house empty, the log fire crackling away, and Merlin had both his hands on me, warming me up.
‘I thought you might be cold,’ he murmured, illogically explaining why he was undressing me.
His hands were soothing and warm on my skin, as if he was grooming the flanks of one of his horses. His hands were gentle, but strong enough to lift me. And to lay me down on my back, which is what he did next. Down on the bed.
‘I’m freezing,’ I said. ‘Keep doing it.’
As I lay submissively on the rich bedspread and let him pull the jumper higher and higher up, I wondered lazily how this guy knew I would want him? He’d seen a pretty tough, defensive-looking girl in the stable yard earlier, even if she did scrub up reasonably well in her jodhpurs. But how did he know I wouldn’t punch him in the face the minute he laid a hand on me, and yell blue murder?
‘You might think you’re one of the boys,’ he said, reading my mind as accurately as if it had been flashed up on a screen, ‘but I can see the female in you, even under all that bravado. We’re like animals, us men. Like horses that can smell fear from their rider, we can smell attraction. And I was right. You’ve melted just listening to me. We sniff you women out, whether you like it or not.’
‘So you’re a woman whisperer,’ I joked.
‘Perhaps that’s it.’ He stretched the neck of my jumper and pulled it deftly over my head. Thank God I was wearing yet another of my marvellous bras: a seamless, smooth cream satin which didn’t show under the tight polo neck but which still lifted my breasts up to him like a snack. ‘We rugged outdoor types have more instinct than the city types I daresay you come across in London. We’re closer to the soil. We just go for it. We just listen to our loins, no argument or discussio
n, see the woman, PR executive or kitchen maid, and take her.’
‘I don’t know anything about city types,’ I gasped, as he reached under me and easily unclipped the bra. I could almost hear my breasts sigh with relief as the constraints were lifted away from them. ‘But you’re as civilised as the next man, whether you like it or not. Just because you wear ripped jeans and drive a battered old truck . . .’
‘Sure I’m civilised. And you’re just a simple country girl, I suppose?’
I decided not to tell him too much. Let him think he was taking a posh city girl by storm, if he liked. I didn’t want him to know how similar we were. He was gorgeous and already familiar, and that was enough. My foot hurt, I was tired, and the bed was soft, and the fire was kind of singing, and I didn’t want to stop him. I suppose I should have put up some kind of token struggle, but I didn’t. I was aching for it the moment he laid his hands on me. He didn’t feel like he was a stranger. Sir Simeon could vouch for him, anyway, so it felt totally natural, but more than natural, it was still all new, because my whole body was kind of crackling and singing, like the fire, and we were in this strange bed.
Suddenly, he was a beautiful new man, delivered to me on a plate, or at least on a horse, with a mouth, hands and a cock, offering me all this pleasure, all this luscious pleasure was just radiating out of his fingertips. I sat up again, put my mouth on his, and started kissing him. It was possibly the first time in my life that I’d taken the initiative. But now I wanted it, wanted him, more than anything.
‘I wanted to rip off your jeans the moment I saw you back there,’ he muttered into the corner of my mouth. ‘I knew there was a real woman under there, instead of a flat-chested boy, and –’
‘Stop talking, Merlin. The ghosts might hear.’
I couldn’t get enough of his lips. They were straight and firm, like a man’s should be, and yet they had a softness in them, and I was making them wet with kissing. I could taste port, and coffee, and the outdoors.
I could have gone on kissing him all day, but when I felt the tip of his tongue, warm and slippery, all kinds of bells and whistles started up and down my body. The rest of me was opening and loosening until a deep sinking feeling started right between my legs. I was warm and slippery, like his tongue, and I wanted him inside me. Already I was aching for it, like he’d pressed the accelerator and it was too soon. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d already forgotten how just licking someone’s mouth could send all those ripples down inside you. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever felt quite like this, not with the prince, not with anyone. I was afraid the sensation would drown me and I’d look stupid, so I kissed him harder, sucked on his tongue and his teeth, it was feeling so good. He lay me down again and pulled away. He was smiling, and his mouth was wet. He tugged my hair out of the net I’d put on for the hunting, and I tried to shovel it back in, it was always so messy, but he pulled it out around my head so that it was spread all over the pillow. It had grown long while I was living in the sun. When it was brushed out properly, it fell right down to my waist. I was planning to get it cut.
It was the first time for ages that I’d felt truly feminine. He was looking at my hair, tangling it in and out of his fingers, as if it was some kind of treasure, not just an annoying appendage that I never took any notice of other than to shove it out of sight. As he played with it, and the tugging of the roots on my scalp turned me on even more, I wondered why it was that, since I was a kid, I was often so determined to distort myself, hide myself, deny this womanhood. Chrissie was always chiding me for it.
The prince had unlocked something primeval and wild in me, but after a while I had realised I wasn’t the only special woman. I was just part of his stable of women. It hadn’t particularly mattered and, anyway, he was ancient history now. But this Merlin, after an hour or so since meeting him, was making me realise what I was put on this earth for and, for the moment, I was the only woman in it. So I let him lay me back down on the bed. He took my clothes off, just made me lie there and, all the time, we were silent in that fire-lit room. He unbuttoned my breeches, pulled off my damp knickers, then he sat and looked at his handiwork. His eyes kept returning to my breasts. His face lit up, lust burning in his eyes. I started glowing all over because I realised what he was seeing, and I was proud of it. He made me proud of my body. I knew I was fit and toned but, for the first time in months, I saw myself as sexy and beautiful as well, and I wanted to show him.
Then he opened his breeches and there were the tight black boxers again, outlining the contours of his cock. He was a god to look at, and even more so naked. He peeled his own clothes off slowly and, with every inch I saw of shoulder, chest, stomach, all tanned and smooth, with every inch that he showed me, I was gibbering with longing. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, he was so lovely, and we were all alone, and he was showing me his body. I was dizzy with longing way before he got down to his groin. He hooked his fingers in the boxers and slowly pulled them down. My heart was knocking somewhere in my throat. I crossed my legs to still the uncontrollable trembling and fidgeting. And there it was, hot and hard and pulsing with its own beat. I’d seen stallions worse hung. I longed to touch it. It was standing out, pointing at me, quivering and proud, and tanned dark like the rest of him. I wanted to cheer when it sprang out from his trousers to greet me. All I felt was greed, lust and a powerful longing when I saw it.
His fine mouth went on smiling as he leaned over me, pushed my hair out of my eyes, smoothed the same hand down over my face, down my throat, over my breasts, and paused. He took one breast in his hand and made it bounce heavily against my ribcage. He licked his lips and mouthed the words ‘later, later’ as he stroked my breasts and made my nipples perk up in surprise, and my excitement mounted at the thought of more of this, the whole day spent like this, lying with him, rolling with him on this huge bed, with the thrilling threat of Sir Simeon – where was he, anyway? – coming home any time and discovering us humping on his bed. My bruised foot was forgotten amongst all the other, deeper aches that were taking me over.
He played with my breasts for ages until I was arching and writhing beneath him, trying to sit up to push them into his face. I wanted him to fasten those firm lips round them; I’d never realised my nipples could burn so urgently, throbbing in their hard desire for him to lick and bite. But he kept his big hands on them and he was laughing softly, teasing me, but he was teasing himself as well, because I could see his cock quivering and jumping, feel it nudging and pushing against my thigh. I opened my legs to wrap them round him, feeling the ready wetness of my swollen sex lips slapping against his balls and the tiny sound was suddenly huge in that quiet room, and it was too much to resist any longer.
He let go of my breasts and raised himself further up on his strong arms, so that he was hanging right over me like some kind of big hound. There was too much air and space between our bodies. Through that space I could see the fire burning lower in the stone fireplace, and a feeble ray of winter sunshine arrowing briefly through the window, and then he was closing the gap. I could feel the warmth of his torso before it came to rest on me, his elbows shaking with the effort to be gentle, and I sank into the soft bed beneath him, raising my hips to meet his, feeling the tip of that beautiful cock introducing itself to me. He was cautious, edging the first couple of inches inside, stopping and starting gently, so that I started to wonder how experienced he really was, despite his cockiness. But my body enfolded his taut length easily because my lubricating juices were already trickling out of me on to the tapestry bed cover, welcoming him, making an easy slide for him.
My body melted effortlessly into his, literally melted so that I couldn’t tell where my stomach and pussy and legs ended and his stomach and cock and legs began. He rested on his forearms, leaned down and started kissing me again, nudging my mouth wide open so that his tongue could imitate what his long hard cock was doing, reaching its destination deep inside me, filling me completely and stopping my cries.
As soon as his mouth slid sideways, my cries started up again, louder and higher. He thrust inside me and all the tiny muscles and surfaces of me held on to him, rubbed themselves against him to milk every last new exhilarating sensation out of him, driving on the wave of ecstasy that had been hovering in hidden places I couldn’t describe. The wave started building and approaching. I opened my eyes and looked at him. My knees flopped sideways and my head was washed through with utter bliss, and then there was an explosion of colour and the sensation of millions of big flowers bursting open inside me. I was calling his name as his cock slid in and out of me, and we shuddered like our horses would after a long hard gallop. Just when I should have been expecting it, but wasn’t, I came in a juicy flow all over Sir Simeon’s brocade bedspread.
Leaving the gorgeous Merlin asleep on the bed was like Chinese torture, but the sun was setting and I had to return the car, and myself, to London. I looked at him for a moment or two, after-shocks of pleasure jabbing through me. I noticed that the silver earring was not in the shape of a dagger, as I’d at first thought, but was curved into the Roman nose of a horse.
‘Like Cinderella,’ I said, when he pulled at my arm to stop me leaving, his eyes still shut, ‘I have to go.’
‘Go then,’ he muttered, flopping on to his back. ‘It was only a bit of fun between stable hands.’
He was still half-cocked, his penis lifting a little from the nest of jet-black hair. For two pennies I would have lowered myself on to it. But his insolent air had returned, and I didn’t want to hear how he might sum me up after our surprise coupling. Besides, Sir Simeon, Mimi and the club all beckoned, and he wouldn’t like me to admit to that, either. Best to put on the London face, and be gone.
