by Maya Hess
‘You really are eating yourself up, aren’t you?’ I didn’t know I was doing it until I felt the warm, silken skin in my hand and the irregular stubble on his chin scouring my lips. I stroked his erection, pulling it to painful limits while I teased his mouth with mine. My body pressed against his flat, firm belly, touched with a light covering of hair from his navel down, and I felt him tense as the rhythm of my hand increased. His breathing became jerky and forced and a frown pinned his eyebrows together.
‘Stop!’ he cried and the vehemence of his demand made me back away instantly. ‘If you carry on, I’ll come and that’s not right.’
Now I didn’t know what to think. I had assumed, perhaps wrongly, that the kinky scenario was designed for pleasure and that when I had brought him to orgasm, I would demand that he do the same to me. It was only fair.
‘You don’t like me?’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘Look what you’ve done to me. Of course I like you.’ Dominic’s voice was gravelled and strangely filled with regret. I didn’t understand so, lacking any other ideas and unwilling to return to my cleaning duties, I knelt and took Dominic’s still erect cock between my lips. It wasn’t as if he could do anything to stop me, even if he was drowning in guilt from something I knew nothing about.
Because I was unsure whether Dominic would oblige and push his mouth between my legs and ease the heat that was welling there, and because I couldn’t be certain that he would kiss me or touch my breasts the way I liked, or even try a flick of the crop across my own naked bottom, I slid my jeans down and worked a couple of fingers into the wetness that had virtually soaked my panties. It was as if I had completed a complicated electrical circuit – the lightly-veined cock filling my mouth and nudging my throat, and the tender touch of my own finger – and all over our bodies thousands of silent volts shocked us into a series of spasms as we climaxed.
With Dominic’s slackening penis still entrusted to the warm cocoon of my mouth, it was fortunate for him that his guilt remained private. The temptation to bite would otherwise have been too great.
9
I thought Steph would have insisted on my preparing for the party with her at Connor’s cottage, especially as she should have been trying to make up with me for stealing my diary, not to mention the man I could have loved. But she was obviously still mad at me for nearly kissing Connor although, strictly speaking, I should be angry at her. Strangely, though, as hard as I tried, my irritation was now limited to the inconvenience and frustration of not being able to add to my journal rather than the obvious embarrassment associated with losing it. That, coupled with her likeable cheek, made it very hard for me to loathe the girl, even though, on another, deep-rooted emotional level, I should have been clawing her eyes out. It was obvious that she had won Connor over completely.
So I bundled up my dress and at least persuaded her to give me a lift to the cliff top before darkness came so that I could boil some water for a wash.
‘It takes ages,’ I told her, thinking of how easy it would be to slip into Connor’s bath.
‘But I bet it’s quite exciting, washing standing up.’ That wasn’t the reply I was hoping for.
‘You obviously haven’t tried it then.’
‘Hey, I’ve been travelling for months and put up with some pretty grim facilities at hostels along the way. I’m no stranger to hardship.’
I glanced at her while she pulled the Land Rover onto the verge at the top of the beach track. ‘Of course you’re not,’ I said with a full helping of sarcasm. ‘Thanks for the ride.’ I opened the door.
‘This is for you.’ Steph caught my arm and presented me with a large toiletries bag. ‘You might find some of this stuff useful.’
‘Thanks.’ I tried to sound grateful as I stepped out into the wind that had whipped up from the north. My hair lashed around my face and I had to fight to hold onto the dress as its skirts billowed.
‘See you later!’ And Steph crunched the gears through a three-point turn and tooted as she drove back to the estate. Back to Connor.
Thankfully, the fire was a brilliant bed of orange with small flames still licking at a crazed and ashen log. After a quick poke and more fuel I was able to remove my coat without a deep shiver setting into my bones.
I hung up the dress, which had fortunately survived the windy walk to the beach cottage, and filled the iron cauldron with water. My father had once used it to boil shellfish and I smiled as I recalled popping the rubbery whelks and cockles into my young mouth. I had spat them out immediately. I heaved the large pan on top of the fire and tiny bubbles soon began to fizz at its bottom. While the water was heating, I took a look inside the flowery bag that Steph had given me. An attempt, I supposed, to get back on my good side, although I wondered why she was bothering.
A floral scent wafted out as I studied the contents. There was a packet of soap petals that really smelled of sweet summer roses, a bottle of body lotion and a tub of moisturiser plus more practical items such as deodorant, a razor and shampoo. I grinned.
‘Thanks, Steph,’ I said and then stopped short when I pulled apart the clip on another compartment of the large bag. Aside from a selection of make-up, perfume and nail polish, Steph had included some beautiful jewellery – an antique necklace with a huge jade pendant hanging beneath ochre-coloured droplets, and a matching bracelet and several rings – but also, wrapped carefully in layers of tissue paper, an ornate tiara that looked more like a crown than a hair decoration. I stared at it. It would look stunning with my gown and tears started as I realised that my father had never seen me in such an outfit. The thought made me more determined to shame Ethan Kinrade in front of the island’s entire social elite. And for that I had to look my absolute best.
I began at the bottom and worked up. Steph had thought of everything and I was able to give myself a quick pedicure and paint my toenails a shameless scarlet. I shaved and exfoliated and massaged body lotion into my skin so that, with the remains of my Spanish tan, I was smooth and glowing. Sadly, though, I knew that tonight was the one night when no one would have the chance to enjoy my pampered body. I would be too preoccupied with overthrowing Kinrade to give thought to any naughty antics. Besides, Connor would be there as my date, and if I couldn’t have him…
The water began to simmer and I added a splash of cold so that when I drenched the sponge, again from Steph, and added some bubbles I was able to give myself a decent all-over wash. I lathered my hair, soaked it in an intensive conditioner and wrapped it in a towel. After drying my body, I put on the stunning red lingerie that Liz had given me and gently eased the sheer stockings up my legs. Before putting on the gown, I sat huddled in my outdoor jacket and carefully painted my fingernails the same shocking red as my toes. Already I was taking on an air of superiority which I knew was vital in my attack against Kinrade.
I couldn’t think about food. My stomach swirled and churned like the blue-black sea that dumped weed and driftwood and the occasional tin can onto the shore. It was getting dark so I lit all the candles and pulled the grubby curtains across the window to block out the worsening weather. I thought about my imminent journey. It was tough enough in regular clothes, in the ball gown I didn’t expect to make fast progress across the rocks.
By six o’clock I was nearly ready. I had fought with the skirts of the dress, continually stepping inside the wrong layer and terrified of tearing the vintage fabric. I was nestled within the bodice and, with the help of Liz’s boned basque, my breasts rose above the low neckline in gentle and tempting hillocks. It was my hair that was proving difficult to style because it was still slightly damp so I pulled out all the pins, released the chignon and mussed my hair by the fire. Then my cheeks turned red from the flames so I cooled them with a chilled sponge, which messed my make-up so I had to redo that. At seven o’clock, I inserted the final grip into a very professional hairstyle – a tight twist rolled high on the back of my head with several seductive tendrils winding down my cheek
s – and took a candle into the back room of the cottage to inspect myself in the cracked mirror that was hanging crookedly on the wall.
The yellow glow provided an eerie light, making me wonder if what I was seeing was real. The mirror was frosted with over a decade of dust and salt, which gave my reflection a timeless quality. I saw not myself but a society woman from several centuries ago. The crown twinkled in the flickering light and, when I put on the feathered mask, I knew that Ethan Kinrade would surely crumble when I revealed who I was and stated my intentions.
‘Nice job!’ I gathered up my skirts, gave myself a wink in the mirror for luck, put on my walking boots and warm jacket and stuffed the high-heeled shoes into my pockets.
As I left, I took one last look around the beach cottage and I’m sure I caught sight of Connor and me as kids, chasing each other around the old furniture while my father mended his nets. I heard our excited squeals as we were promised a trip on his small fishing boat and saw the delight on our faces when my mother arrived with a picnic basket hooked on her arm. The happiness, the laughter and all the potential that went with my memories would keep safe in the little cottage, fuelled by the flames that flickered in the grate.
I closed the front door and stepped out onto the shore, where my breath was taken away by the stinging north wind.
Frustrated by my slow progress, I scrunched my skirts high around my thighs so that my legs were free from the swathes of antique fabric and I was able to navigate the treacherous rocks. Also, I was terrified of ripping the dress because paying for it would have been way out of my reach. Besides, I had absolutely no need for such a gown after the evening was over.
I arrived at the cliff top panting, perspiring beneath my jacket even though the night had brought a temperature of only two or three degrees, and I had bruised my shin on a jagged rock. My hair, thankfully, had mostly resisted being torn down by the wind that was steadily increasing, although I didn’t hold out much hope for its survival as I still had a long walk along the road ahead. My cheeks smarted from the cold.
‘Would madam care for a lift?’
Suddenly, the barren scene was floodlit by two bright cones of car headlights and I had to shield my eyes.
‘Connor, is that you?’
I felt an arm around my waist, guiding me to the source of the light. A strong arm which, when we reached the vehicle – a white limo! – removed my old jacket and replaced it with a scarlet velvet cape trimmed with snow-white fur. My escort was dressed in a similar robe and wore a velvet and gold crown, beneath which was a black mask. Only the firm lines of a nose and clean-shaven jaw remained visible along with several strands of heart-warmingly familiar bronze-coloured hair poking beneath the crown. It had to be Connor!
‘My queen,’ he said and held open the door of the limousine. ‘We have a ball to go to.’ I grinned inanely and climbed in as gracefully as I could.
Once inside the warmth of the car, which was silent apart from the gentle hum of the engine, I unfurled my hitched-up skirts and settled into the plush leather of the seats. Connor slid in beside me and tapped on the glass that separated us from the driver. I was relieved to be free of the tormenting wind whipping at my skin and the incessant crashing of the waves.
‘It’s a pity that it’s such a quick journey by car up to Creg-ny-Varn.’ I trailed my hand over the door leather and opened and closed the drinks cabinet in front of me. ‘Amazing,’ I said, dumbstruck, having never been in such a vehicle before.
‘We have one stop to make along the way.’ Connor removed his mask to reveal his intense grey eyes. They flicked over my body continuously, studying every detail. ‘You look beautiful, Queen Ailey.’ And he took my hand and kissed it.
I couldn’t speak. None of this made sense. Perhaps it was the dress transporting me back into a fairytale time or maybe I’d fallen and hit my head on a rock and I was lying on the shore, the tide creeping over me, and I was lost in a dizzy fantasy world that could never be. Either way, I felt deliriously happy and, for once, free from the adrenalin rushes that had plagued me all day at the prospect of confronting Ethan Kinrade.
‘Your majesty,’ I giggled and before I knew it we were turning into the driveway of Creg-ny-Varn. ‘I thought we were making a stop along the way.’
‘We are.’
In a moment, we had bypassed the big house, which looked resplendent with fairy lights strung across the façade and through the winter trees. Numerous flares illuminated the driveway and already guests were starting to arrive. The limousine came to a stop at the entrance to the Glen Broath distillery.
‘Follow me. There’s something I want to show you.’
Connor took my hand, leaving one free to grapple with my skirts, and we walked across the damp cobbles and into the distillery. It was cold and the sickly sweet smells somehow seemed different in the dark, even more cloying than usual. I was thankful when Connor led me right through the main distillery, past the copper mashtuns and huge fermentation vats, not even stopping at his office but going deeper into the ancient building to the very heart of the whisky-making process.
‘This is where we mature the whisky in oak barrels, sometimes for up to twenty-five years.’ Connor guided me through the door into a pitch-black, extremely damp space and I was relieved to be still wearing my walking boots as I noticed the floor give under my feet. I was standing on wet earth. I couldn’t understand why we were there.
‘That’s really interesting.’ I already knew all this but didn’t want Connor to think I didn’t appreciate his impromptu tour of Glen Broath. It seemed an odd time to choose, though, as Kinrade’s ball was about to begin. I fumbled in the dark for his hand, not enjoying the oppressive atmosphere and virtual blindness. His fingers entwined with mine as he led me deeper into the store.
‘Some of these barrels have come from France and some from the United States. Many contained bourbon or amontillado and oloroso sherries before the whisky.’ Connor pulled me on, guided by a faint light seeping under the door. Then he stopped, fished something from a shelf and lit a candle which gave off just enough of a glow for me to realise that the cold room went on forever. As far as I could see in every direction were racks and racks of ginger-coloured barrels.
‘That’s impressive,’ I said, truly meaning it. The sleeping barrels, some undisturbed for several decades, represented the very essence of Connor’s being.
‘We have many blends as well as pure single malts. My father taught me well and I pride myself on creating the finest spirit I can.’ He held the candle under my chin. ‘I have something special for you to taste. Come.’
We walked down the avenues of barrels, the soft earth breathing a fusty sigh as our footsteps disturbed its surface. Connor set the candle on a small table that had obviously been prepared earlier. It was decorated with a white linen cloth, a single red rose in a slim vase and two tulip-shaped glasses. Two chairs were pushed neatly under the table and Connor pulled one out for me.
‘What’s this?’ I smiled, completely bemused, but sat down anyway.
‘I want you to taste a very special whisky. It began life fourteen years ago.’
‘When I was twelve,’ I said with a laugh. When I left the island, I thought silently.
‘My father brought it into being at the request of Patrick Callister.’
‘Dad?’ I chilled and my skin erupted in a thousand goose bumps at the thought. I could almost feel him, watching, holding his breath as Connor retrieved a bottle of golden liquid from behind a nearby barrel. He removed the stopper and slowly poured two measures into the glasses. He then sat in the other chair.
‘This is for you,’ he said seriously. ‘Really for you.’ His hand reached out across the table and gripped mine as I clenched the glass. I noticed a slight tensing in his jaw, a flicker underneath his left eye, but most of all I saw the sincerity in his eyes and for that brief moment I forgot why I had returned to the island. My mind was completely free of Ethan Kinrade.
‘Tell me
what you think.’
I copied Connor and swirled the whisky inside the glass. Then I dipped my nose into the vapours and inhaled, almost recoiling at the strength of the fumes. I closed my eyes to prevent them from smarting. After the initial shock, I was surprised and teased by the multitude of aromas.
When Connor sipped, so did I, drawing in the searing liquid and coating my tongue. Again, numerous tastes too foreign to define filled me and almost immediately I felt the whisky lining my throat, kissing its way through my body.
‘You like?’ Connor’s eyes glinted in the flickering light and I guessed he would see the same effect in mine. It was a magical moment.
‘Delicious,’ I said, not knowing any technical language to use. But I meant what I said.
‘Take a look at the bottle.’ Connor passed it to me and I read the label.
Glen Broath. Ailey’s Single Malt. Aged in oak for 14 years. For my Angel.
I sighed and drew a finger under my dampening eyes, laughing a little to conceal my emotion.
‘He never forgot about you. When my father retired as stillman, he gave me instructions to let it mature for as long as you were away. None of it will ever be exported. Your father wanted it kept on the island. It was the only part of you he had to hold on to, I suppose.’
‘He’d be so happy that I got to taste it then.’ I didn’t know what to say. I was overcome. ‘His angel,’ I added.
‘You were. And he was fanatical about the humidity in here and controlling the losses from the barrels, as if he might lose you all over again.’
Connor forgot he was talking to someone who knew little about whisky distilling. I tipped my head sideways, frowned and drew another sip of my whisky. My whisky.
