by Kait Jagger
They ate in the formal dining room, a slightly macabre setting decorated with scores of stag skulls on the ceiling, the fruit of the Wellstone family’s prodigious hunting obsession. Quirky, is the way Luna described it to herself, taking comfort from the fire Stefan had built in the brick and stone inglenook fireplace in the middle of the room. Indeed, between the fire and her somewhat eccentric attire of a tunic covered by one of Stefan’s jumpers, plus a scarf around her neck, it felt more like autumn than the beginning of June.
Dinner conversation largely revolved around ways to maximise income from the Scottish estate, a subject Luna found fascinating but which clearly held no interest for Gus’s tiny blond wife, who kept trying to distract her with talk of local spas, or shopping in Glasgow, or myriad other frivolous topics that Luna normally kept in a box marked exclusively ‘The Girls’; subjects she would happily discuss with Kayla, Nancy and Jem, but which otherwise made her impatient.
Gus was running through the pros and cons of renting out the house to hunting parties when his wife rolled her eyes at Luna and said, ‘It’s not enough that he spends fifty hours a week on this stuff. He brings it home too.’
Really, Luna reflected, she couldn’t abide women like her and Liv, under-occupied at home and plainly resentful of their husbands’ work lives. She was trying to think of a polite way to shut the conversation down when Stefan came to her rescue, placing his hand on hers and asking, ‘What do you think, Luna? Would Augusta countenance giving up the lodge?’
Giving his hand a grateful return squeeze, Luna admitted, ‘I’m not sure. Really, I wonder if it would be worth the trouble to you and the staff here, Gus. There are so many things you’d have to do to the house to make it rentable.’ She glanced up at the forest of antlers above them. ‘And why would hunting parties pay a premium to stay here when you’ve just built that lovely clubhouse down the way?’
Gus made a resigned face, like she was just articulating his own reservations.
‘I was thinking, though,’ she ventured, ‘while I was out running today.’ At the mention of her outdoor pursuits, Stefan’s fingers curved around hers and his index finger stroked her palm. Determined not to be distracted, Luna went on, ‘Have you thought about rally driving? I’m sure there are companies that’d love to come in and organise the whole thing, just pay to use the estate…’ She faltered as Gus directed a broad grin at Stefan.
‘See, Stefan?’ he laughed. ‘Luna agrees with me!’ Ah, so he’d already proposed this option. And apparently been shot down.
Stefan sat back in his chair and reached his arm over to the back of Luna’s, saying sceptically, ‘And you think Augusta would tolerate rally cars screaming past the house.’ Luna felt his fingers gliding along her neck, insinuating themselves under her scarf. This was going to have to stop.
‘Actually,’ she said hurriedly, ‘I was looking at those aerial photos in the library yesterday. I think you could create a course that bypassed the house entirely.’ Next thing she was on her feet and she and Gus were off to the library, talking a mile a minute. Leaving Stefan to converse with Gus’s wife about spa treatments or clothes or whatever, Luna thought with an inward grin.
By the time the Walshs left two hours later, Luna and Gus had plotted out a possible course around the estate and an outline brief to present to the Arborage board at its next meeting at the end of the month.
She and Stefan remained in the doorway as their guests’ car pulled off, Stefan’s arm around her. She wondered fleetingly what it might be like, doing more of this, and briefly pictured the two of them standing in the portico at Arborage House. Her stomach gave a funny and not altogether pleasant little flip at this mental image and she quickly put it out of her mind.
‘Glass of port?’ Stefan enquired.
‘Mmm,’ Luna nodded, almost immediately regretting it when, before she could stop him, he was off toward the one room she’d hoped to avoid during this visit.
Feet dragging, she followed him as he entered the parlour adjacent to the snooker room. He moved to the mahogany drinks cabinet and extracted a glass decanter of port, pouring two glasses. Despite or perhaps because of the heavy ornate mirror hanging along one wall, the room felt oppressive to Luna. Claustrophobic. She caught a brief glimpse of her reflection and remembered standing in this exact spot five months ago, surrounded by Russian thugs and Parisian prostitutes, completely at Florian Wellstone’s mercy.
Unable to articulate any of this to Stefan, Luna lingered next to the door, hands clasped behind her back. Placing the glass stopper back in the decanter, he inclined his head at her. ‘What’s wrong, Luna?’ He began to smile. ‘Don’t tell me you think this room is haunted.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I… Florian…’
He understood her, then. Handing the glasses to her, he swiftly ushered her out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind them. They went back to the dining room and he pulled a chair away from the table and set it next to the fire, pressing her down into it. To her mortification, Luna looked down to see the glasses shaking in her hands, on the verge of spilling. Stefan took them from her and placed them on the dining room table.
Drawing up another chair, he sat facing her, his face dark with warring emotions.
‘Luna,’ he said eventually, ‘are there things you haven’t told me? Did Florian… did he take liberties with you while you were here?’
‘No!’ Luna exclaimed, horrified by his train of thought. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘I just don’t like that room.’
Stefan exhaled and sat back in his chair, running his hands through his hair. He opened his mouth, then appeared to think better of whatever he was going to say and shut it, reaching for Luna’s glass and handing it to her. Luna took a sip and let the port trickle down the back of her throat. ‘This is very good,’ she said, eager to change the subject. ‘Have you broken out Augusta’s private reserves?’
The corners of Stefan’s mouth lifted slightly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Kicking off her shoes and stretching her toes toward the fire, Luna tried a different tack. ‘Could you tell how much Gus’s wife got on my nerves?’
At this he made a visible effort to shake off his mood, remarking facetiously, ‘Did she? I had no idea.’ Then looked down at the wooden floorboards beneath them. ‘I’m surprised there aren’t skid marks on the floor from how fast you and Gus shot off to the library.’
‘I don’t understand how she has absolutely no interest in this place.’ Luna shook her head and took another sip of her port. ‘It’s her husband’s livelihood and it’s fascinating in its own right, even if you weren’t connected to the estate.’
Stefan lifted his glass to his lips. ‘Not everyone is like you, Luna.’
She glanced at him and asked worriedly, ‘Did I overstep the mark? Gus is so enthusiastic and I just wanted to help.’
‘You didn’t,’ Stefan said simply. And again, she got the feeling there was more he wanted to say. But instead he took another mouthful of port and looked her up and down. ‘My jumper suits you.’
Luna screwed up her mouth. The jumper, indeed, her entire schoolmarmish ensemble, had been a necessary sartorial compromise. She felt the reasons for this necessity even now, digging into her waist, stretched taut between her breasts, slung around her hips. Her forfeit for the loch incident earlier.
‘I confess,’ Stefan added, eyes shining, ‘it’s given me a great deal of pleasure tonight, sitting next to you…’
Luna drained her glass, placing it on the table.
‘…knowing what was going on under my jumper…’
She stood, unwound her scarf and dropped it to the floor, then removed Stefan’s jumper and handed it to him. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled.
‘…thinking about what I was going to do to you once the jumper came off…’
Luna placed her hands on Stefan’s shoulders and straddled him, descending onto his thighs as he lifted her tunic over her head and dropped it, too, on the flo
or. Grasping the tassels at her neck with one hand, he raised his glass to her lips with the other, transfixed by the movement of her throat as she swallowed the last of his port.
‘And you, Luna?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Sitting beside me, my rope around your neck. What did it feel like to you?’
In answer, Luna dug her fingers into his scalp and jerked his head backward. ‘Like something I could get used to,’ she whispered, lowering her port-stained lips to his. Dark, dark it was, eyes sliding shut, tongues joining, his hand tugging on the rope around her neck, her torso undulating against his, his hips flexing rhythmically up into hers.
Momentarily, he placed his hands under her butt and stood, lifting her with him. She heard the sound of crockery and silverware being swept aside as he laid her out on the table, under the candelabra. The scent of melting wax filled her nostrils as his hands glided up her chest to her neck, exploring her jawline. He slid his index finger along her bottom lip and Luna captured it between her teeth, biting down just hard enough to hurt, then sheathing her teeth and sucking his finger gently.
Stefan’s free hand moved to his belt buckle and Luna’s lips curved around his finger, anticipating him climbing atop her body in a few moments’ time. He removed his finger from her mouth and reached for the tight bit of cord between her breasts, pulling her up off the table. Luna arched her back, offering herself to him, but he smiled and shook his head.
‘Not what I have in mind,’ he murmured, lowering her back down. He removed his belt, looking down at her with such hungry, animal intent that Luna knew a moment’s unease. Stomach muscles tightening, she tried to sit up, but in response Stefan yanked her down till her bottom was just at the edge of the table, legs dangling over the side. His hands shot out, grabbing her wrists, forcing them down against her chest as he swiftly threaded his belt under the rope and looped it around her wrists.
When he was finished securing her, he stepped back. With some difficulty, Luna lifted her head off the table to find him surveying his handiwork, eyelids hooded. She stretched her fingers, felt the belt tightening against her wrists, heard the leather creaking. Then watched as he unbuttoned his cuffs and slowly, deliberately rolled up his sleeves. Like a man who had work to do. Luna’s neck swayed, and her head fell back onto the table with a dull thump.
Soon she heard the sound of his chair scraping along the wooden floor, felt his hands parting her legs and lifting her feet up onto his knees, followed by his breath, warm against the inside of her thigh.
‘I am going to make you beg me tonight, min tjänare,’ came his voice. ‘I’m going to make you beg, and plead, and weep for me.’ With that, he placed his fingers on her vulva and pulled her wide open, nudging his face into her and placing the tip of his tongue onto the very tip of her clitoris. Luna bit her lip and shuddered, eyes rolling back in her head.
He toyed with her that night, on that table, in a way he’d never done before, not when they were doing this and he was normally all business, intent on bringing her to orgasm. No, this time he teased her, finding a sensitive groove and stroking it with his tongue till she was gasping, trembling under his mouth. Then stopping. Or using his teeth, lightly sucking at her till her clitoris quivered in readiness. And stopping again.
Plead she did, by the end. ‘Please, please, Stefan,’ she moaned as he rubbed the bridge of his nose against her and her thigh muscles tightened to the point of pain. And then the sweet joy of it, when he responded by covering her entirely with his mouth, sucking, and biting, and licking till she… till it… ah the blessed relief, exploding under his mouth, her entire pelvis clenching and unclenching. The sound of her cries filling the air, increasing as the movement of his tongue against her became unbearable and she’d have pushed him off her if she had the use of her hands.
He didn’t stop till she was sobbing, tears rolling down her cheeks as a second orgasm gave way to a third and she was at the very precipice of her endurance. Then and only then did he lift his head from her and stand, barely managing to pull his trousers down before slipping his cock into the swollen bed he’d made.
*
Luna’s flight back to Shetland wasn’t until late the following afternoon, so they went for lunch at the Kelpie, which was heaving with Sunday custom when they arrived. Being the heir presumptive came with its privileges, however; the minute the manager recognised Stefan, he quickly guided them to a table in a quiet alcove.
Luna insisted, then, that Stefan talk her through the past few weeks at Arborage, his ongoing difficulties with Helen, who now refused to take his calls, and with Augusta, who was preoccupied with the Marquess’s health to the exclusion of everything else. She made a point of offering no advice, simply asking questions and listening carefully to his responses, hoping that her concentrated attention was the same kind of balm to him that his always was to her.
It was only as they were sharing a dessert of sticky toffee pudding that Luna said, almost as an aside, ‘By the way, I’ve asked your father to release me a month early from my assignment.’
Stefan raised his eyebrows and she hurried on, ‘I’ve… delivered all the deliverables in my contract. I’d feel guilty, continuing to take Sören’s money when I’m just sitting there twiddling my thumbs.’
‘And my father has accepted this?’ Stefan asked.
‘Yes.’ Luna shrugged and added, ‘He’s asked me to come see him next month in Stockholm, but—’
‘I’m coming with you.’
She blinked at him. ‘There’s no need for that.’
‘No, I’m coming.’
He was so unyielding that Luna was too taken aback to mention her other reasons for requesting an early release, reasons relating to him and wanting to be with him. It was a strangely unsatisfactory end to their lunch, and as he drove her to Glasgow Airport Luna felt a current of anxiety building up inside her. By the time he pulled into a spot in the airport car park, she was alive with it, grabbing her backpack from the back seat and swiftly jumping out of the Land Rover.
‘I’ll, um, see you next weekend, then,’ she said, up onto the balls of her feet, ready to dash into the airport.
Stefan looked at his watch and observed mildly, ‘Your flight doesn’t leave for almost two hours. I’ll keep you company.’
‘But you’ll want to get on the road back to London, surely,’ she protested.
He wouldn’t hear of it, of course, so they headed off to the terminal, Luna walking so fast that Stefan struggled to keep up with her.
‘Luna!’ he said finally, grabbing her arm as she headed toward the queue for security. He spun her around to face him and Luna briefly pulled away from him, only for him to tighten his grip. ‘Why are you running away from me?’
Unable to meet his gaze, she stared at the floor with her shoulders hunched and hands balled into fists. How to confess her weaknesses to him, tell him that she didn’t want to go back to Shetland, and dreaded the thought of walking into her empty cottage? That she was tired of being a good girl, tired of being responsible for Dagmar, and Malcolm, and the farmers. That after a weekend of being dominated by the heir of Lionsbridge, she just wanted her boyfriend back, the one who bled her radiators and made her breakfast and understood her.
But he was there, he’d been there all along. Seeing her fraught expression, Stefan pulled her away from the security line and led her to the deserted executive lounge. He sat down on a sofa there, putting his arm around her and rubbing her shoulder while she haltingly admitted her failings.
‘And you don’t even seem happy that I’m coming back to London,’ she concluded sometime later, voice quavering a little.
At this, he pulled back from her, objecting, ‘I’m very happy you’re coming to London.’ He put his hand under her chin and lifted it, smiling brightly at her. ‘See? See how happy, älskling?’
Luna buried her face in his neck, listening to him continue, ‘I was just thinking, that’s all. Things like, what drawers can I clear in my bedroom for Luna’s clothes, and
what will it be like to have her hair brush and perfume and her beautiful self in my bathroom.’
‘So it’s okay, me staying at your apartment?’
He pulled away from her again and shook his head sternly. ‘You will make me angry, talking like that. It’s your apartment now. Our apartment.’ He lowered his forehead to hers. ‘I love you, Luna, and I am very happy.’
Chapter Seventeen
Following her mini-meltdown at Glasgow Airport, Luna gave herself a stern talking to upon her return to Shetland, spending the next several days tying up loose ends and hosting an inaugural meeting of the wool cooperative. She ploughed through enough work that her conscience was clear by the time she arrived in London on Friday morning, a good eight hours before the flight time she’d given Stefan, with a list of things to do and people to surprise.
After crossing off the business end of her to do list, at midday Luna made her way to Rod Studios’ offices in trendy Shoreditch. Slipping through the office’s floor-to-ceiling glass doors, she tiptoed across the acid-washed concrete floor toward Jem’s desk, where her friend was typing away on her laptop. Off in a far corner at the end of the office, the usual clutch of tech geeks were hard at it on the PlayStation, including games designer Scott, who raised his hand and waved excitedly to her. Luna lifted her finger to her lips and snuck up behind Jem, placing both hands over her eyes.
‘Jemima Evangeline, my dulcet darling,’ she intoned next to Jem’s ear, whereupon Jem leapt out of her seat and flung her arms around Luna’s neck.
‘Luna!’ she cried. ‘Rod, lovey, look, it’s Luna!’ Rod, who was on the phone across the room, lifted his hand and gave Luna a wink. ‘I didn’t expect to see you till tomorrow,’ Jem said, looking Luna up and down. ‘Wow, you look posh.’
Indeed, Luna had her hair in a topknot bun and was wearing a form-fitting navy wrap dress teamed with matching pumps. ‘Meeting with a recruitment agent this morning,’ she explained, adding casually, ‘I don’t suppose you fancy skiving off for a few hours, going with me to the farmer’s market down the road, do you?’
