by Rachel Green
She gave a little squeak as he entered, gasping silently through her open mouth. She wrapped her legs around his waist and used the leverage to get his further in, thanking the gods for all the Kegel exercises over the years..
“Fuck me, girl, you’ve got some serious moves on you.”
“Fuck you?” Meinwen grinned into the soft curls above his ear. “I thought you were fucking me.”
Winston’s breath came in a series of short pants. “I’m not so sure who’s fucking who any more.”
“Does it even matter?” Meinwen found his nipple and he gave a yelp as his buttocks tightened beneath her fingernails.
Chapter 15
“That was pretty good” Meinwen grinned at Winston over the cup of tea they hadn’t had an hour ago. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“Pretty good? Admit it. That was the best you’ve ever had.” Winston winked. “Today, anyway.” He added sugar to his cup and took a sip. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“All the way at one point.” Meinwen laughed, looking up and down his chest. “Why do you keep that covered? You could have the pick of any woman you took your shirt off for.”
“Superpowers should be used sparingly.” He retrieved his overalls and climbed into them shutting away his magnificent chest. “So what now?”
Meinwen searched for a clock on the wall, couldn’t find one and fished in her handbag for her phone. It took her a few moments to find. “Look at the time. It’s ten o’clock. How did it get to be ten o’clock?”
Winston pointed to the car. “The bonnet, the boot, the back seat, the front seat…”
“Very funny.” She took a larger swig of her tea. “I’ve got to go. I was supposed to scan in my drawings for the Myths of Laverstone book tonight but it’s already after my bedtime.”
“I’ll give you a lift.” Winston put down his mug and pulled his coat from the hook by the door. “Somehow I’m not in the right frame of mind to finish the brake system of that car. What drawings, anyway? I didn’t know you were an artist.”
“Only self-taught. I needed an illustrator for some of my booklets and couldn’t afford to pay a proper one. I started doing my own, though I look at Standing Stones of Wiltshire, the first one I illustrated and cringe.”
“I do a bit of drawing, as it happens.” He crossed to a bank of switches and started turning lights off. “Went to art college once, though not for long because once dad was gone there was no-one earning a wage in the house. Mum did her best but with Lettie in college…”
“The burden fell to you.” Meinwen linked arms with him as they left the garage and paused while he locked up. He led her down the short, mud bath of a drive and across to his car. He opened her door first and waited while she got in before he went to the driver’s side and climbed in himself.
“Pretty much. I ended up as a lathe operator until Jim went to work at Magelight and I got made redundant. I still keep my hand in from time to time but not as often as I used to. The garage takes everything I’ve got these days.” He switched on the engine, then cupped his hands and blew into them. “Give her a minute to warm up.”
“You should show me your drawings. I bet they’re better than mine. If you were willing to barter I could print them in my books and pamphlets. Perhaps even sell the originals in the shop. For a small commission.”
“Sure. Sounds good.” He pulled off and turned into Wood Street, heading east toward Meinwen’s house. They could see the spire of St. Pity’s lit up in the distance.
Meinwen sat on her hands to warm them. “Thanks for the lift. It’s appreciated.”
“You’re welcome. I was going home anyway so it’s no bother. Besides, I think it’s my fault you ran out of energy.”
“Partly your fault.” Meinwen smiled in the darkness.
They had to pause at the end of Wood Street while two police cars roared past their lights flashing. “Somebody’s late for their tea.”
“They’d best not let Inspector White catch them doing that speed. He’d scream blue murder.”
“Perhaps there’s a fire somewhere, or a crash on the M4.” He pulled away again and moments later was turning into Meinwen’s own road. “Here you go. Thanks for tonight. It was fun.”
“Do you want to come in? You said you had nothing to go home to.”
“Unless there’s a spider in the bath waiting to be rescued.” Winston grinned. “Sure, if that’s okay.”
“Of course it is. You can even share my lentil bake.”
“Ooh, not so sure.” Winston held out a wavering hand. “Lentils and me don’t go together too well if you know what I mean.”
“Right. I’ve got some eggs.”
“Yeah, cool.” He switched off the engine. “Will the car be all right here?”
“I don’t see why not. The road’s a dead end so unless there’s a big funeral tomorrow you’ll be fine. It’s not double yellows.”
“Good.” He switched off the engine.
Meinwen unbuckled her seat belt and reached to open the door.
“Wait.”
Winston’s voice made Meinwen pause, the car door already open and one hand still on the handle. “What?”
“I want you to have this.” Winston reached to open the glove box and took something out. He pressed it into her hand.
Meinwen looked down. It was a key, a heavy one designed to fit a mortice lock. “Is this to your house?”
“No, the garage.” Winston grinned. “It’s in case you get caught short again and I’m not there.”
“That’s good of you, Winston. Thanks.”
“I want you to have it.” He closed her fingers over it. “It doesn’t entitle you to free services or anything, but you are allowed to make tea and do the washing up.”
“Gee, thanks.” She leaned across to give him a peck on the cheek. “You say the nicest things.”
“I know.” Winston looked out of the windscreen. “Now let’s get inside. It’s freezing out here.”
“That’s November for you.” Meinwen climbed out and hurried toward her cottage, not waiting for Winston. He’d catch up if he didn’t break his neck on the path. Solar lights were all well and good in the summer but in the winter there wasn’t enough sunlight to charge them. She wondered if she knew anyone who’d make her a wind generator.
She left the door ajar while she went into the kitchen to put the kettle and the oven on. At least the house was warm. She’d left early this morning to open the shop early, and then had been on multiple errands since. Winston came in and closed the door.
“This is nice. Cozy.”
“Thanks.” Meinwen smiled at him through the kitchen doorway. She’d never seen a door in it, but the frame was there. “I didn’t realize you’d never been here. I’ve known you years.”
“Four, I think.” She could hear him moving about in the sitting room. “How’s your fella?”
“Who?” She came to the doorway.
“The ice-cream man.” He held up a photograph of her and Dafydd on the Cardiff Eye.
“Dafydd? He’s not my fella. We just have an understanding.”
“Yeah, I know how that goes.”
Meinwen left him looking around and concentrated on making tea and putting something to eat on the table. She knew there was a reason she’d bought milk and eggs yesterday when she hardly ever ate dairy. It must have been a sign she’d be having a guest. She put some rye bread under the grill and put some eggs on to soft boil. She made the tea and took him a cup, adding a couple of individual packets of sugar she’d taken from the café on the park. It wasn’t stealing when they’d already given them to you, was it? He was in her study, a tiny annex off the sitting room which had the docking station for her laptop and her bookshelves.
“These are your booklets then?” He’d picked up Standing Stones of Wiltshire.
“Yes.” She set the tea down on the desk. “All self published and self illustrated. I warned you they weren’t very good.”
>
“I think they’re great.” He flicked through the pages, pausing at the illustrations. “You can tell what it is. I can see this stone’s got a big crack in it, for example.”
“That was a line of shadow.” She took the book from him. “I didn’t realize how much detail the printing would strip away. I’d spent so long getting all the shading right in the drawings and none of it came out in the print.”
“I’ve seen much worse.”
“Have you?”
“From the way you described it I was expecting stick figures and a round blob for the sun.” He covered her indignant mouth with a kiss. “Look, give me a list of the places you want illustrated and I’ll draw them. If you like them you can print them for nothing, how’s that?”
“That sounds fair. Do I get the drawings to sell in the shop?”
“Okay.”
“It’s a deal then” She tapped the computer. “And could you send me that image of the Joseph’s key?”
“Tomorrow, sure, though it’ll have to be the JPEG because your machine won’t recognize the 3D one without the software.”
“That’ll be fine, thanks.” She grinned and flounced back to the kitchen where the lentil bake threatened to be burned to a crisp and the rye bread she’d put on for Winston had become small lumps of charcoal though not suitable, sadly, for drawing with. She put some more in and fished out the now hard-boiled eggs. It was distracting to have a man about the house.
She called out. “Do you want your eggs hard boiled or soft?”
“Fried, please, if they’re going on toast. “Or poached, if you have a conscientious objection to fried food.”
“I can do poached.” She set aside the hard boiled eggs and filled a small pan with hot water from the kettle. As soon as it began bubbling she cracked in two eggs and put the lid on then fished out the toast before it burned.
“What’s this?” Winston appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a bottle, inside which was a jumble of objects bound in string and wax. There were bent iron nails, small bones, hair and what looked like feathers and strips of meat. On the top was a bird’s skull that looked larger than the hole in the bottle. “It looks like a collection of things I’d pull out of a flat tire. It looks disgusting.”
“Put it back.” Meinwen’s voice took on a hard edge, even to her own ears. “It’s a witch’s bottle, designed to keep the house safe from malevolent curses. I found it under the floorboards shortly after I moved in.”
“And you kept it?” He grimaced. “I’d have thrown it away.”
“But nothing bad has ever happened here.” She came up to him and stared into the bottle. “By rights I should donate it to the Witchcraft Museum at Boscastle but I’m sure they’ve got better examples and it was put there for a reason. I always feel safe in my cottage.”
“Has anything bad ever happened here?” Winston replaced the bottle in the little niche in the stone fireplace. “Not to you. I mean in the history of the house.”
“Not that I know of.” Meinwen paused. “The last owner was murdered, though she didn’t live here at the time.”
“Perhaps your bottle encouraged her to move out.”
Meinwen laughed. “Perhaps it did at that.”
“Mind you, it let me in.”
“Why shouldn’t it? You’re not evil.”
“But I want to do bad things to you.” He licked his lips. “All night long.”
Chapter 16
Eden wound the muslin around David’s still form one more time. Although the Egyptians had wrapped mummies with their arms crossed over their chest, Eden had kept David’s at his side before the wrappings went on. Being alone had made the process difficult but not impossible. She’d begun with his arms while he was upright, holding each out from his body while she unwound the rolls of linen around his flesh, continuing with his torso and pelvis. His head and neck next, but leaving the area from his chin to his eyebrows clear so she could see his face until the last possible moment.
With the partially wrapped form horizontal, she proceeded to wrap the legs first separately and then together, running the muslin up the torso to bind his arms to his sides and tie it off at the shoulders.
She kissed his lips and placed a piece of soft flannel over his face, then used a long, thin veil as a winding sheet for his head, covering his closed eyes but leaving his nose and mouth free but for the loose flannel.
She leaned in to where his ear made a raised area under the shroud. “All right?”
“Yes, fine.” His voice held a dreamy quality. “I feel like I’m floating.”
“Good.” Eden looked at the time on her phone. She’d give him twenty minutes before she pulled him out of it. Unwilling to leave him alone in case he had a panic attack, she picked up a book. Noise in the room would distract him from whatever dream river he travelled on, so television, radio and music were out. She couldn’t wear headphones in case she missed a safe word, something she and David had agreed upon beforehand in case he needed to be unwrapped. They generally used the word ‘red’ since it was a universal danger signal.
She opened the novel and began to read, pleased to find it was set in and around Highgate Cemetery. Was it wrong to divide her passion for the dead between her work, her hobby and her recreation? She glanced over the top of the page at David. He never seemed to complain.
When the twenty minutes were up she put on some classical music very softly. By the steady rise and fall of his chest, she judged David to be asleep and padded down to the kitchen for candles and ice cubes. His breathing had changed when she returned two minutes later, the deep sighs of sleep replaced by the light breath and murmurs of someone dreaming. She lifted the flannel from his mouth and pressed her lips to his and after a moment he returned to full consciousness and kissed back.
She ran an ice cube over them and he smiled, licking the water away. She repeated this three times before dropping it back in the glass and turning to the protuberance at his groin.
Some deft work with a scalpel freed David’s penis from the bindings. It shriveled when the cooler air of the room hit bare skin but soon recovered, helped along by the warm embrace of Eden’s lips and tongue. David moaned, unable to prevent or encourage her from inside the wrappings. He quivered as she manipulated him close to orgasm then backed away.
She alternated applying her mouth to the area with the use of ice and then when both had the effect of making him strain to come, lit a plain household candle and let that drip onto his skin. He hissed with the shock and she soothed the suddenly warm area with an ice cube with made him gasp.
Grinning, she alternated all three treatments, ice, wax and lips, varying the length and frequency of each. Sometimes she’d give him a whole minute of oral sex before switching to a single drop of hot wax. Another time she’d build up a whole coat of wax, then peel it off and use up a whole ice cube soothing it again.
Eventually the candle had burned down, the ice cubes had melted, the music was on its third repeat and her lips had gone numb. She slipped off her knickers and lowered herself onto his shaft, one foot on either side of his pelvis and guiding it inside her with one hand while she steadied herself with the other placed lightly on his chest.
“That feels so damned good.” His voice was a throaty whisper.
“Ride ‘em, cowboy.” She alternated squeezing him with her vaginal walls and rising up and down on his shaft, careful not to let his cock slip out as she rose. She’d done that once with a lad at college and almost bent it double when she came down again. His screams had woken his two housemates.
Not so with David. This was the very best way to have sex. There were dozens of positions she enjoyed but with David completely bound and immobile it was the closest she could ever get to marrying her job. Not that she had either interest or desire for necrophilia. Skimming the fantasy like this was as close as she ever wanted to go.
She felt his muscles go stiff. He was trying to prolong her pleasure by holding back his orgasm. Ble
ss him. What had she ever done to deserve such a considerate husband? She leaned forward. “It’s all right. You can come.”
It was hard to gauge how well a man lying on his back with his arms and legs bound immobile could buck, but Eden found her position precarious when he did. She rode him out until his bucking was surmounted by his orgasm inside her and lessened until he was still.
She stayed in position until his penis became flaccid and slipped out without any help from her. She hadn’t come herself but didn’t care. She’d enjoyed it all the more because of his obvious delight. It gave her enough that he was satiated. She’d have hers another time.
Chapter 17
Enfield House was a hive of activity. Michelle and Graham had been confined to the kitchen since the first uniformed officer had turned up to investigate George’s call to the emergency operator. Before the officer had even reported in an ambulance and second police car had arrived and now it was long past Michelle’s bedtime with no end to the evening in sight.
Graham stood, the pine chair scraping across the tiled floor and attracting the immediate attention of the female police officer guarding the doorway. “We need to go home. It’s eleven o’clock already and I’ve got to be up for work again in six hours.”
“Please sit down, sir.” She stifled a yawn. “I’m sure you can appreciate how busy the inspector is at the moment. I’m sure he’ll get to you as soon as he can.”
Michelle touched his arm. “It’s not her fault, Graham. She’s just doing her job. It can’t be easy, just standing watch over us.”
“I just wish I knew why. It’s not like we’re going to suddenly emigrate, is it?”
“They don’t know that. For all the police know, we could be contract killers about to skip town at a moment’s notice.”
“I doubt that very much. They wouldn’t leave one young lady in charge of two contract killers.”
