‘You’re probably right.’ Jay reached out and took some of the same cheese. ‘We men are like that, mostly.’
‘Maybe so. But it cuts both ways. If he met me now, he’d probably find that I’m not a bit like the girl he remembers. There’s nothing I need rescuing from. I rescue myself.’
There was a long silence. No sips of coffee. No nibbles of cheese. It was as if they were frozen in time, preserved in amber.
‘Yes, I get that. I admire you for it,’ said Jay eventually. Sandy half-expected him to reach for her, but he didn’t and her body cried out for him. And not just her body.
Don’t be stupid, she told herself. You’ve only known him a day, and he’s obviously not here for long. It’s like a one-night stand, but without the night. Just quick, but wild and gorgeous sex. Nothing wrong with that.
In fact, as she looked around, she saw things had changed. A sombre charcoal-grey suit hung alone on the wardrobe door now, along with a shirt in anthracite and a tie in the same shade. The laptop had been stowed in a case that matched the attaché case. When she glanced back at Jay, she saw that beneath his robe, where it gaped open, he was wearing grey jersey jockey trunks.
He was leaving.
‘Time to go now?’ she said as lightly as she could, giving him what she hoped was a casual untroubled smile.
His eyes tracked over her face, as if he were assessing every feature, just as the Terminator would, and making calculations based on the configuration and tension of muscles to assess her mood and her responses.
‘Just for a couple of days. I have some meetings down in London, but I’m coming back here at the weekend. I’ve retained this room.’
She forced herself to stay cool, but Jay must have seen the response on her face because his own expression morphed into a smile, smug and male.
‘OK! I’m pleased,’ she admitted, her head coming up. ‘I … I like the sex! We have fun. I’d like a bit more of it. So, yes, I’m glad you’re not leaving for good just yet.’
Jay touched a finger to her chin and looked down into her eyes. ‘You’re a special woman, Princess. Your fantasy hero guy was an imbecile not to stay around and get to know you. I’m going to try to not be quite so stupid.’
Sandy’s heart leapt, wondering what the implications of that were.
But as he brought his mouth down on hers, she saw shadows in his eyes.
‘Why the hell don’t you just Google him and be done with it?’ demanded Kat, gesturing wildly with the breadknife the next morning as she and Sandy made sandwiches for the lunchtime trade.
It had occurred to her. In fact, last night when she’d returned home late from the Waverley, Sandy had fired up her laptop, put Jay’s name into the search engine and had her finger hovering over ‘Google Search’ for several seconds. But when it had come down to it, she’d closed the browser and opened email instead to send a few messages to her family and far-flung friends.
It came back to that hunger for more of the sex, the closeness they were sharing. The pleasure that might come to a standstill if she found out something about him that made her dislike him, or be disillusioned in some way. Her gut said there was some secret or other, and that it wasn’t a very good one, but her body and, yes, her pussy, said don’t pursue it.
And not just her body. Her mind preferred to remain in their special bubble of time together too. He was intriguing, unusual, intelligent, and also profoundly and mysteriously glamorous in his scarred and troubled way. How likely was she ever to be involved with a man who drove an Aston Martin again? Her ex had been quite well off, but nothing like in Jay’s obvious league. The car, the beautiful clothing, and everything about him really, screamed that he was wealthy in a way beyond her modest world.
‘I don’t want to,’ she told Kat, tamping down a turkey and cranberry sandwich with a polythene-gloved hand. ‘I don’t want to know anything about him, really. It’s just a brief “thing” while he’s in the area, nothing more. Why complicate it by knowing who he is and potentially spoiling everything?’ She sliced the sandwich neatly, and slid it into the plastic container, then sealed it and slapped on a holly sticker ‘This is the first time I’ve had a full-on, just sex and pleasure relationship, and I’m going to make the most of it. You of all people should appreciate that, the way you are with Greg.’
Kat gave her a long look. ‘Greg and I talk, and have fun out of bed as well as in it.’ Unable to stop herself, Sandy glanced at the replacement butter dish, and when their eyes met again, Kat laughed. ‘You know what I mean. Non-sex fun out of bed. I like him, I really do. And you could probably like Jay that way too, if you knew you could trust him, by knowing more about him.’
‘No. I’ve made up my mind. Why mess with a good thing?’ Something in her heart told her that Jay’s entrance into her life would be followed fairly quickly by his exit again, and she was determined not to muck up the intervening days.
‘Fair enough,’ conceded Kat. ‘But if you won’t find out more about him, and he’s going to remain a mystery man, you’re completely free to tell me all about his kinky sex preferences.’ Sandy’s mouth dropped open, but Kat went on blithely, ‘And don’t try to tell me he isn’t kinky, because he’s just got that look of a delicious pervert written all over him.’
‘How can you say that? He might be totally conservative in bed for all you know.’
Sandy felt hot. Memories were already flooding in. She felt prickly and embarrassed to be thinking about all the things she and Jay had crammed into their so-brief acquaintance, right here, in the company of her friend. She wasn’t Kat. She’d always been more the willing listener, not the one to tell every lurid detail about herself.
‘Well, we didn’t do anything all that pervy and fetishy. It was more a kind of vanilla, but intense, you know what I mean?’ Which she supposed was a true representation, thus far. Not to say that Jay hadn’t talked about such things, whispering outrageous scenarios in her ear while he’d fucked her fiercely, face-down across the chintz duvet cover after their improvised congress in the shower. He’d murmured of erotic toys and spanking, of bondage and erotic games, but the sex itself had been straight, hard and workmanlike. He’d obviously been thinking ahead, planning his London trip and his business, whatever that was, while he’d been thrusting inside her. Men!
‘Early days, hon, early days,’ observed Kat sagely. ‘A man like him, he’s a dead ringer for a master. The sort of guy who’d dress you in leather lingerie, tie you up and spank your bottom, then fuck you senseless until you couldn’t see straight, and begged for mercy.’
‘How do you know all about leather and masters anyway?’ Sandy demanded, going on the offensive. Kat was far too close to the truth of what Jay had whispered about. ‘Does Greg do all those things to you? As part of the “experimenting”?’
Kat’s grin was creamy. She tapped the side of her nose. ‘Yes, he likes to experiment. But you know that.’ She paused, then seemed to make a decision. ‘We’ve been to “special nights” at the Waverley. Held in the private function suite. You know, leather, bondage, erotic punishment and whatnot. Just the sort of thing I swear your bloke is into.’
‘He’s not “my” bloke. I barely know him.’
‘He looks as if he’s yours.’
Sandy looked hard at her friend. Kat had a serious expression on her face now, thoughtful, almost worried. ‘He has the look of a guy who’s been obsessed with you for years. I don’t know, but he stares at you as if you’re the woman of his dreams.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Shaken, Sandy started fiddling with the home-made cranberry sauce, stirring it in its bowl even though it was already well mixed. ‘You’ve only ever seen him looking at me on a couple of occasions, how the hell do you come to that conclusion?’
‘Hey, simmer down, love. It’s just an impression I get. Maybe I’m wrong?’ Kat laid down the breadknife and patted Sandy on the arm. ‘You just enjoy him for a while, eh? He’s obviously a classy man who knows how to treat a wom
an. You make the most of him. He’s obviously got pots of money too, so you’ll probably get lots of pampering and lovely pressies out of it, even if it is just a temporary thing.’
‘What kind of a person do you think I am?’ Sandy protested, guilt pricking her. The luxurious facilities at the Waverley and the room service had been nice.
‘A woman, kiddo. That’s what I think you are.’ Kat took up her knife again and nodded towards Sandy and the bread, the butter, the fillings. ‘Now get a move on, or it’ll be sandwich time and there’ll be nothing to sell.’
‘OK, boss,’ replied Sandy with a laugh. But as she buttered and filled and passed the finished sandwiches to Kat, her mind was whirling with thoughts of Jay, and of obsession.
And stupid notions that she might have been obsessed with him for years too.
On Friday morning, to the accompaniment of an ‘I told you so’ nod from Kat, a parcel arrived.
It came via courier delivery at about ten o’clock and, once she tore off the outer wrapping, Sandy discovered a beautifully constructed package from a world-famous London lingerie house. The box was white and gold and adorned with soft pink ribbons and, despite the fact that Kat’s eyes were out on stalks, and she protested bitterly about the ‘unfairness and mental cruelty’ of being denied a glimpse of the parcel’s contents, Sandy excused herself and sneaked away into the flat to open it up.
Inside, swathed in layers and layers of tissue in multi-shades of pink, was a collection of the most exquisite beauty: several bra and G-string sets in sumptuous combinations of colours and fabrics, not to mention a number of cellophane packets containing gossamer-fine hold-up stockings, and a gorgeous black camisole in heavy satin with matching knickers.
Sandy handled the lovely things, full of wonder. A set in a sweetly virginal white net caught her eye. It was trimmed with delicate lace edging and cheeky little embroidered daisies with smiley faces that made her want to smile back at them. Next, she pulled out a coffee satin confection, encrusted with elaborate chocolate lace and appliqués of autumn leaves and sea shells. There was even a racy red and black set that was the high-end version of the naughty but imaginary peephole and split-crotch ensemble that she’d described to Jay.
There was no card with the extravagant goodies, but she’d have bet a year of the Teapot’s takings that they were from him. Who else could have sent her such a gift? There was nobody in her life, in her sexual life, other than him.
When the hell did you have time to choose all this lot? Weren’t you going back to London on business?
A rather horrible thought occurred. Perhaps he had a faithful secretary or P.A. who he sent out to exclusive knicker boutiques to buy presents for his latest conquests?
Sandy threw the red-and-black fripperies back into the box as if they’d burnt her. Emotions churned, and the vilest, greenest and most shaming of them was jealousy. She imagined the secretary, seeing Jay every day, working with him closely. Maybe even having a drink after work with him. Dinner. Perhaps more.
Fuck, you don’t even know if he has got a female secretary! Maybe it’s a bloke?
Was that worse?
Or maybe Jay had slipped discreetly into the exclusive shop during evening opening hours, carefully choosing all these beautiful things for her himself, picturing them on her body, and then getting hard as he put himself in that picture and imagined taking them off her again.
Picking up the white bra, she imagined the feel of the delicate net against her nipple. Abrading the sensitive crest when it was hard and erect, just the way it was now. And Jay’s hand would close around her breast, cupping it. Still rubbing the fine white fabric between her fingers, she cupped herself with her other hand, trying to make herself believe that her narrow fingers were Jay’s bigger, stronger ones. He’d lift the weight of her breast, roll the flesh a little, then perhaps pinch her nipple in that infernal way he seemed so fond of, inflicting a pleasure-pain that shot straight to her clit and made it swell.
She was distracted, turned on, horny, just from looking at a few bits of posh underwear and thinking about the man who’d sent them to her. Low in her pelvis, the heavy weight of desire gripped like a vice. Gripped her like Jay’s hand. Not knowing when it’d started, she found herself breathing heavily, almost panting. She wanted to touch herself. Pincering her nipple, she clenched the muscles in her pussy, her bottom, working herself without actually giving in to using her fingers. Her chest felt hot, her crotch moist, her head light as thistledown.
Collapsing onto the kitchen chair, she closed her eyes, fantasising that Jay was here, lifting her skirt, bending down to slide his hand between her legs and then slipping his fingers under the elastic of her knickers. The white bra fell to the floor. Her fingers became his, wriggling into her panties to seek and find her clit.
As she stroked herself, she became the director of her own shadow-play as well as the star performer. While she masturbated the tiny sensitive little organ in a complicated rhythm, Jay assumed the role of servant, for once, doing her bidding. With his clever curving fingers at her command, he filled her vagina and – ooh – her anus, a living sex toy.
Sandy’s heels dragged along the kitchen floor. Two more flicks, here, there, and she was tumbling over the edge into orgasm. Her pussy rippled like a flame. She chanted ‘Jay, Jay, Jay,’ under her breath, in an agony of soundless stolen pleasure.
Still touching herself, she sat gasping for a moment or two, barely able to believe the effect the man could have on her without even being there. He just had to send her a few bras and pairs of knickers and she turned into a voracious lust-monkey, unable to keep her hands off herself, desperate for pleasure at the slightest provocation.
‘Sandy! We’re getting a bit busy!’
Kat’s voice echoed from the café, making Sandy jump and wrench her hand out of her knickers.
‘OK, won’t be a minute!’
After stuffing the lingerie back in the box and cramming down the lid, she darted to the sink and washed her hands, then drank a glass of cold water to calm herself. At the door, she turned and looked back at her gift, shaking her head.
What have you done to me, Jay Bentley? What have you done?
Fortunately, the second parcel arrived late in the day, almost at closing time.
Sandy had let Kat off early to go around to Greg’s place, to do God alone knew what. With her boyfriend on her mind, Kat seemed to have forgotten the first parcel and, as she clattered down the stairs whistling, Sandy experienced a ‘grrr’ of female envy. Kat would be getting some tonight, and lots of it. And those lots would probably be wild and kinky and experimental. Fabulous fucking, and who knew what else.
I wish you were here, Jay. I wish I was lying on my back on the kitchen floor, with my legs wide open and you between them, pumping hard.
The image was vivid, and kept morphing and morphing and morphing.
Fingers, tongues, Jay’s cock, her pussy, all in infinite combinations and with infinite diversity.
Sandy shook her head to clear it and, as she did so, a rather cute looking UPS man suddenly walked into the café, bearing a clipboard and another large parcel.
‘You all right, love?’ he said cheerfully as he set the box down and proffered his board for her signature.
‘Fine, thanks.’
Was she? Her face was pink and her heart was thudding, and it certainly wasn’t anything to do with this bloke, even though he was nice looking. She hustled him down the stairs with unseemly haste and locked the door behind him. OK, so it was a bit early. She and Kat had already brought the outside tables and chairs in, because nobody much was using them now the temperatures had dropped, and there were no teatime customers in the café itself.
Charging up the steps two at a time, she nearly tripped and the shock of it pulled her up sharply.
What the hell was the matter with her? She’d known a man two days, tops, and he’d turned her into a madwoman and a nymphomaniac. She had to get a grip. She had to get a grip
.
But the second parcel sat on one of the red and white chequer-clothed tables. If the first had been hot lingerie, what the devil was in this one?
Sandy lugged it into the bedroom. Out of sight, out of mind. In the sitting room, Kat was likely to ‘accidentally’ flip open the lid and take a look inside. And Sandy knew without a doubt that this gift had come from Jay just as much as the other one had.
This time the inner carton was black, and tied with scarlet paper ribbon. Ah ha, the classic sex colours. Her heart thumped harder as she teased open the bow.
Inside, again, tissue paper. All black this time. And several printed leaflets, all bearing the logo ‘Personal Indulgences’, and all bearing details of, guess what, sex toys.
But judging by the prices, whatever lay swathed in the layers of tissue paper was a world away from the stuff that Kat had been flogging at her Naughty Girls’ Party. Sandy pulled a delivery note from amongst the paperwork, and even though there was no price on it, and no indication of who’d ordered it, the words ‘Custom Box’ were intriguing.
So the items were specially chosen, but by whom? By whom?
She turned away, not sure she wanted to look, yet dying to.
‘Bugger it!’
She stomped through to the kitchen, opened the fridge and found the open bottle of wine she’d been saving for this evening. So what if it was only six o’clock? She poured some into an old glass on the drainer and marched back to the bedroom. And the box open on the bed.
After burrowing into the tissue paper layers, she brought out a small package, wrapped in stiff black paper and more red and black ribbon. Heedless of the care that had been taken to wrap it, she tore off the covering and revealed a mask.
It was a beautiful confection of off-black suede with wide black ribbons to hold it in place. The lining was satin and very soft. After taking a swig of wine first, Sandy tried it over her eyes, shaking in the darkness it created.
The Gift Page 17
