‘What do you make of them, our host and hostess?’ Venny asked as Dani sipped seawater-blue absinthe and continued to sway to the hard Latin beat. Her pert little cherry-nippled breasts swayed too, and Venny found her eyes tracking them back and forth. It was like watching Wimbledon, only more fun.
‘What do you make of them?’ countered Dani.
Venny told Dani what Micky had told her. That they were miserable together because they’d got married rather than continue living in flexible sin.
‘That’s precisely the impression I got,’ said Dani, jiggling away now that the tempo had quickened. Their hostess passed by, smiling briefly. The grey eyes dipped reflectively to Dani’s front, and then up to Dani’s face. Dani smiled back at Flora. ‘Her tits are enormous,’ Dani hissed to Venny. ‘Every man in the room’s wishing she had them out on display like ours. What was I saying? Yes, her and Caspar. Well, that’s marriage for you. You know how you can tell if a marriage is heading for the rocks?’
‘Nope,’ said Venny, seeing Micky pass by arm-in-arm with a dinky little blonde vampette. They were dancing so close together that you’d need a machete to get them apart. She watched Micky’s hips rubbing against the blonde, and noted the rapt, dazzled expression on the blonde’s face. God, she was almost at the point of orgasm, thought Venny, turning away.
‘They move, they build an extension, or they have a baby. They’ve moved, right? You just watch. Next comes the extension, then the baby. Then it’s off to the divorce courts and change partners.’
‘You’re such a cynic,’ said Venny.
‘I’m never wrong.’
‘And you’d be waiting to comfort Caspar, I suppose?’
‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ Dani crowed with delight. ‘He looks so wrung out, poor sweetheart. Do you think they still fuck? Do you think she climbs on board him every night, slips his cock up her and puts those stupendous great tits of hers to his mouth so he can suck her nipples? I bet she does. No wonder he looks shattered. She must take a lot of keeping up with.’
‘His brother’s here, too,’ said Venny, pondering interestedly over the vision of Flora and Caspar in a fucking frenzy.
‘Caspar told me he was. The tall gorgeous bloke with the spiky hairdo. Nice eyes, too. Micky.’
‘He’s a chef,’ said Venny.
‘Is he?’ Dani’s eyes widened. ‘Well, that’s just great. You’re looking for a chef.’
‘Yes, but not him,’ said Venny.
‘Why not him?’
‘Because he’s trouble.’
Dani tutted and leaned confidingly towards Venny. One of her nipples brushed tinglingly against one of Venny’s, and Venny experienced an almost unbearable flash of heat. God, I’m drunk, she thought. Being drunk always got her incredibly randy.
‘Honey,’ said Dani with a smile, ‘you need that sort of trouble. Desperately. Take it from me, you do.’
‘What I need is to lie down,’ Venny informed her stiffly. She had to speak stiffly, because she was afraid that if she didn’t keep rigid control over her speech, she would start slurring her words. ‘Next door. Right now.’
‘What, already?’ Dani looked around at the heaving merry-making crowds. ‘The evening’s young, babe.’
‘I am going next door,’ said Venny carefully. ‘To bed.’
‘Well … OK,’ said Dani with a regretful shrug.
Venny started to weave her way – stepping carefully, because she was drunk, and when she was drunk her knees seemed to go in the most alarming fashion – across the room to the door. She cordially and carefully thanked Flora and Caspar, and nodded and smiled her way towards the exit. Basking in a rare sense of achievement, she opened the door. She’d made it, drunk though she was, without falling over or embarrassing herself in any other way. And then she realised that someone had followed her out into the cool, airy corridor. It was Micky Quinn.
‘Glad I caught you,’ said Micky, closing the door on the party noise. Still the Latin beat thrummed through the walls. Suddenly the corridor outside the flat seemed cold and empty to Venny. ‘Look, my cheque book’s in the car. Walk me down and we’ll settle up now, OK? Save me posting the cheque on to you.’
‘No, I—’ started Venny, but he had taken hold of her elbow and was guiding her towards the ratchety old steel-cage lift. Micky stepped inside, taking Venny with him. She propped herself against the wall of the lift and watched as he closed them into the steel cage and pressed the button for the ground floor. The lift lurched after a stuttering moment or two and started edging its way downwards. This was not high technology or high speed, this lift. In fact, all the residents had complained to the builders who had refurbished the warehouse block about the lift being so slow; but the builders had insisted that the character of the building called for such a lift. And maybe they were right, thought Venny foggily. It was charming. You could see the corridor and the stairwell through the meshed steel bars as the lift ponderously descended. It was a nice lift.
‘Don’t nod off on me,’ said Micky.
Venny opened her eyes with a jolt. She had been going to sleep, right here against the cold lift wall. She shook her head a little to clear it. Micky was standing very close to her.
‘So houris drain their victims, do they?’ he asked, his eyes twinkling blue as neon.
‘They do,’ said Venny positively. Ten out of ten, full marks. She wasn’t slurring her words at all.
‘So.’ He leaned both hands on the wall, one on either side of her head. Venny glanced at the hands. Long and thin, dextrous. She liked his hands. She looked up into the laughing blue eyes. ‘Drain me, Venny. Drain me to the dregs,’ he said, and his head came down and his mouth covered hers in a hot, enveloping kiss.
Wow, she thought. Oh, holy wow.
Either this man was a great kisser or she was even drunker than she’d thought. She swayed into the kiss, into his arms. She felt how hard his body was, how stiff his cock against her belly. The suit he wore was soft, summer-weight, silky. Such thin material. And with her belly naked as it was, with only the tiny thong and the purple chiffon covering her crotch and her legs, she could feel the whole length of his cock. As his tongue entered her mouth and teased her own, her hands dropped irresistibly between their bodies to feel him.
She outlined the big rearing organ with her hands, smoothing the fabric that covered it, marvelling at its concealed strength. Her touch had the desired effect. Micky’s mouth left hers suddenly and his head went down with a moan of pleasure. He stretched out a hand and the lift juddered to a halt beside the stairs. Anyone using those stairs could see them in here, Venny thought. And she found that she didn’t care. As Micky’s mouth sucked on one rock-hard nipple, she clutched his head with her hands and sighed with complete delight, throwing her head back in abandon.
‘I haven’t been able to take my eyes off these all night,’ muttered Micky, changing over to the other breast in case it should feel it was being neglected. Then his mouth was too busy for speech.
Venny leaned back and let him take her tits into his mouth with long, greedy sucks and kisses. Her cunt felt like liquid fire, wide open and flowing like honey. Her clitoris twitched and rose so that she pressed her hips against his, seeking release from this crazily mounting inner pressure.
Micky’s mouth left her nipples and trailed downwards. His hands clutched at the narrower indentation of her waist and his lips anointed the skin of her belly until the skin fluttered and she moaned louder. Then his hands slipped down, and were suddenly under the sides of the thong and beneath the flimsy chiffon of her harem pants, and he pushed both down around her ankles so that she was totally naked for him now – or at least only wearing the crossed gold belts at her breast, and her jewellery.
With a long gasp of pleasure Micky ran a hand down over her neat little toffee-coloured bush and, with one deft movement, his outspread fingers pushed her legs apart so that he could see how wet and ready for him she was. Venny was panting helplessly now, almost lying against t
he lift wall for support. Micky went down onto his knees and stuck his tongue out to tickle her clitoris. Then he moved in closer to suck at the tender little nub while his hand moved back and found her opening. His thumb slid easily into her. Venny cried out and ground her hips mindlessly against his probing mouth, begging him for more.
And Micky gave it. Through half-open eyes Venny was aware of someone – a girl – passing the lift as she went downstairs, and pausing for a moment to look at the enticing scene inside it; the man on his knees, his head buried between the wide-spread legs of the naked, gasping woman.
This is crazy, thought Venny, but she could feel the mad pleasure building and building as he lapped at her, eagerly cramming his fingers now into her wide-open and willing cunt, pumping wildly at her as if he was using his penis, his lovely stiff penis, and not just his hand.
A couple passed by on the stairs, pausing to smile and point at the lovers in the lift. Venny saw them, was scandalised at her own reckless behaviour, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t, not when these glorious feelings were overtaking her, changing her into the houri, the man-eater, the wildcat she only ever was in her darkest dreams. Now, with Micky giving her cunnilingus, right now she enjoyed their startled, eager eyes upon her naked, heaving breasts, enjoyed the fact that she could see the watching man had come erect, that the woman’s eyes were avid with arousal. The couple passed on and were gone, and at that instant she came in hot, crashing waves of release, shrieking with pleasure. Micky’s hand squeezed her thinly concealed mound and she came again, instantly, and kept coming until the unreal feelings of sublime ecstasy were gone and she was left there panting in the lift, with this laughing-eyed stranger who was now standing up and kissing her lips so that she tasted herself on his tongue.
‘Oh God,’ said Venny weakly when they finally broke apart. Coming back down to earth, she realised that she felt a little cold; quickly she bent and tugged up the thong and the transparent purple harem pants, aware of him lustfully watching the heavy swing of her breasts as she moved.
‘Your nipples are still sticking out,’ Micky observed in a voice roughened by passion.
‘I’m cold,’ Venny excused herself.
‘I could warm you up.’ He kissed her hotly, stirring her again in a way that she could not quite believe possible. ‘And why did you pull your pants up? What makes you think I’ve finished with you? I haven’t come inside you yet.’
Venny glanced down the front of his body and saw the hard jut of his cock under his trousers. She had a momentary vision of her hands unzipping him, letting his cock spring naked and hot into her hands. He wasn’t, she thought, wearing underpants. His penis would be bare. And what colour would it be? Brown or white or red or even purple in its passion? Venny groaned lightly, unable to stifle it, and looked up to see that he had read her thoughts.
‘You want it,’ he murmured, coming closer. ‘Come on, Venny,’ he whispered coaxingly. ‘Push your pants down. Let me in. Let me fuck you now.’ His lips were leaving a trail of kisses upon her shoulders and on her throat. She shivered with arousal. ‘I’ll fuck you hard, Venny. I’ll fuck you until you can hardly stand, and then I’ll lay you on the floor right here and bring you off so hard you’ll think World War Three’s started. What do you say?’
Chapter Five
What Venetia Halliday said, to Micky Quinn’s absolute shock, was no. Even when he woke up the next morning in his little Whitstable base, yanking back the curtains to stare accusingly at the grey ocean as it churned up onto the pebbled beach not twenty yards away, he could still not quite believe it. He wasn’t the type of guy to think he was God’s gift to womankind, but even so his pride was hurt. He was, after all, an excellent cocksman, and she’d certainly enjoyed herself in the lift, and so, not surprisingly, he had thought that her answer would be yes. Or even yes, please.
But she had said no.
Damn.
He glared at the gulls, dipping and spinning in the hot shrieking blue of the summer sky. He glared at the fishermen’s boats, which were hauled up along the beach. Some of the men were mending nets. Others sat and smoked and talked. He exhaled, releasing his pent-up irritability as he always could when he was here. He loved this place; it had always felt like home to him. All right, it was little more than a shack that had been passed down through the mostly impoverished Quinn family for years. The hut had been changing hands within the Quinn clan long before Whitstable had become the chic weekend retreat it now was for Londoners – long before he had even been born, much less dreamed of being a chef, of owning his own restaurant. Or chain of restaurants, better yet.
He wasn’t normally the type of guy to brood, either. That was brother Caspar’s bag, not his. He was happy-go-lucky, cheery, the life and soul of every party. But as he stood there naked and looked out at the pounding surf and the sky and the birds and the fishermen, he felt far from his usual happy bunny state.
She’d said no.
And dammit, he had really wanted her to say yes, because, OK, he fancied her like crazy. But he did have another angle. Her pal had filled him in on the dirt about the restaurant she owned. The bank had turned her down on Monday for a loan, and her chef had walked, taking her staff with him.
Well, snap, he thought. The bank had turned him down on Monday too. That had really pissed him off. He had sussed out a good little place in the West End that he could convert and get up and running. He had worked out a business plan, and he hated working out business plans. He had even forced himself to be appropriately obsequious to that pain-in-the-arse bank manager, and he loathed having to kiss arse.
So here he was, standing in his one single asset, this hut on the seafront, without a business of his own or a job working for someone else. He would have to settle – he knew this and accepted it as a thoroughly bitter pill – for working for someone else. But there was Venny, and where was the harm in combining a little business with a whole lot of pleasure? It could all work out so well. He was a chef; she needed a chef. Perfect.
But when he’d hinted pretty heavily that he was free, she had blanked him. And then, after he’d pleasured her in the lift, she had cut him dead again.
Incredible.
But hey, are we downhearted? he asked himself briskly.
He thought about that.
Well, yes, actually we are, he admitted. In fact, we are very pissed off indeed with that uptight hyper-controlled bitch Venetia Halliday, OK? She’d told him to post the cheque on, and then she’d punched the button to take them back up to her floor, and she’d stepped out, leaving him cold.
Amazing.
And for now he had absolutely no idea what he was going to do about it. None whatsoever.
‘Hey, lover?’ said a soft female voice from the bed. ‘What’s so interesting out there, hm?’
Shaking Venny Halliday from his mind – if only temporarily – Micky turned back to the bed. There, dishevelled from sleep, lay the blonde vampette from Flora and Caspar’s flatwarming party. She smiled seductively up at him, and her eyes strayed down his body with every sign of appreciation.
‘I like the flame,’ she said huskily.
‘What? Oh.’ Micky caught up suddenly. ‘Oh, this.’ He swivelled and glanced down at the inch-long flame tattoo on his left buttock. Then he straightened and grinned at her. ‘I was seventeen when I had that done in Soho. I was a bit drunk too. In fact, it pretty much came as a surprise when I woke up with it the next morning.’
‘I bet all the women love it,’ said the vampette, sitting up without bothering to pull the sheets up with her.
Micky smiled at her. She was extremely pretty and petite everywhere except in the tits department. Now those had definitely come off the peg, he thought. No way were they for real. He’d noticed last night when he was busy mounting her that they didn’t move by a centimetre while he pumped away, and that was a sure sign of plastic pulchritude. Micky held very liberal views on breasts, as he did on most things. He liked them in all shapes and sizes a
nd colours, and if they were plastic – well, that was OK. The only thing he really hated was those cheaty little bra inserts that made everything look more promising than it really was. By the end of the evening, when the bra came off, a guy couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
His little vampette was also a dyed blonde, but he didn’t mind at all that the hair on her head didn’t match that between her short but shapely legs. It was kind of sexy. She’d been hanging around outside the flats getting some air when he’d come out like thunder after being blown out by Venny. And somehow she’d ended up in his four-wheeler, and he’d driven down to the coast, as he always did when he was pissed off.
When he needed to stay over in London, he usually crashed out on Caspar and Flora’s couch, but last night he had felt the need for space, for distance, for freedom in which to think things through. And now here he was, him and his little vampette, and they’d had an enjoyable night – a very enjoyable night, in fact. And he didn’t even know what her name was. Nor, he realised, did he want to.
‘Come on.’ He held out a hand. ‘Let’s get cleaned up.’
The vampette scampered out of the bed like a child after a treat, and they ran naked into the bathroom and into the shower stall. Micky switched on the hot water and found the vampette already stroking his erect cock as he reached for sponge and shower gel. It was one of those citrus-scented gels, the sort he loved, reminding him of sherbet lemon sweets from his childhood. He tipped a thick splodge of it onto the big natural sponge and started to soap the girl’s breasts. Enhanced or not, they were certainly eye-catching. He concentrated on her coffee-coloured nipples, giving them plenty of rubbing in varying degrees of pressure, from tiny tickles to hard presses. The vampette groaned and leaned back against the sea-green tiles of the stall, her hands still clamped upon his rigid penis, stroking and pushing in a way that promised a rapid descent into orgasm and sexual oblivion if he wasn’t very careful.
After Hours: Black Lace Classics Page 6
