She really thought he might bend down and bite a chunk out of her.
Instead, he grabbed at the strawberries, took a handful and scattered them across her torso. He picked the tops off two and mashed them down on her nipples until they stuck there, like mad, scarlet caricatures of what they covered. The rest were pushed between her lower lips, into a jumble that might eventually become a purée. How soft and firm and cold they felt, added to the thick cream and her own streaming juices. Jason kept the heel of his hand at her pussy, holding the fruit in position, while he lowered himself over her and began to lick and lap at her belly and breasts.
His heat coupled with the cold collation brought the pitch of sensuality high. She twisted and gasped and tried to push her pussy, full of strawberries, further into him, to crush them and turn everything to pink mush.
‘Mm,’ he said, raising his head. ‘Getting it ready for me, babe?’
His tongue drew lines and swirls in her warm cream coating, sucking it from her skin until it was bare again, but shiny from his attentions.
He made her wait, kissing every inch of her upper body, before lowering his face between her thighs. He took his hand away from the crushed strawberries and flicked his glance towards her face.
‘Time for my just desserts, then, eh? Sorry.’
Her groan at the joke was soon transformed into another kind of outpouring. The workings of his tongue and lips on her sweet, fruity centre melted her until she was pure juice, gushing into his mouth. He devoured her, feasting off her clit, her lips, her widespread inner core, until she was dizzy with it and her orgasm began to circle wildly into being.
The climax pushed her bottom off the floor into his greedy face, making him laugh on her pussy and lick harder.
‘Oh God,’ she cried. ‘What are you? Oh God, oh, God, oh God!’
When he finally knelt up, sometime after her third orgasm, and set her free from the tyranny of her own body and sex, he had a glow of feral victory in his eye that made her pulse race, despite her ragged state.
‘Never been licked like that before, eh?’ he panted.
She could only shake her head.
‘Those big Hollywood dicks can’t do it like this Bledburn boy, eh?’
Again, a shake of the head.
‘You’re something else,’ she managed to say.
It took some effort of will, but she propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at her ravaged body, sticky and patterned here and there with drying pink fruit pulp. Then she looked up at Jason, kneeling in only his boxers, which were significantly tented.
Fair was fair.
She dragged herself to her knees and rummaged in the shopping bags.
‘What you looking for?’ he asked, amused, guessing her intent.
‘Just … Hmm, Madras curry paste, probably not.’
‘Fuck, no!’
‘Peanut butter?’
He shook his head rapidly. ‘I’m allergic.’
‘What about Marmite?’
He laughed loudly.
‘Whatever turns you on, darlin’.’
‘Not Marmite. Ah. Now.’
She smiled radiantly at him, drawing from the bag a jar of lemon curd.
‘I haven’t had that in years,’ he said. ‘Used to love it in a sarnie.’
‘A sarnie isn’t what I have in mind. More like a breadstick.’
‘Breadstick? Don’t take the piss. This ain’t no breadstick.’
He lowered the waistband of his boxers over the straining lump, unveiling the rampant beast within.
‘Well, something you can dip then,’ she said with a giggle. ‘Maybe a crudité.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘Celery. Or cucumber.’
‘You’re making me hungry. Get to it.’
As invitations go, it might not have been the most romantic, but Jenna needed no further encouragement. She unscrewed the cap and scooped up some of the sweet viscous substance on to a finger. She stroked it on to his twitching erection, slowly and smoothly, as if plastering a wall, until it bore a sheeny, lemon-smelling coat of the stuff.
Then she cupped his sacs in one hand and wrapped her lips around his shaft.
Oh, lemon curd was more delicious than she remembered. She lapped and sucked it with such hunger that she barely noticed each inch of him, slipping further and further into her mouth. She rarely allowed herself anything sweet and this was a treat of treats. Once it was all licked off, she reapplied it, rather to Jason’s tormented impatience.
He got hold of her hair when she took him back into her mouth, growling that this would be her last helping.
Undaunted, she polished off every last drop of the preserve, until her tongue ached and her jaw was slack, then she sucked extra hard just to make sure no tinge of sugary citrus flavour remained on his tumescent skin.
It was a different kind of taste in her mouth once the lemon curd was all gone – a quick burst of bitter salt, spurted to the back of her throat by the thick length that gagged her.
She swallowed with grace and aplomb, then removed Jason’s softening cock from her mouth and licked her lips like a cat.
‘My compliments to the chef,’ she said, and the pair of them cackled with laughter then kissed and wriggled together on the now-filthy duvet until they were too tired, hungry and sticky to resist the seductive ideas of bath, dinner, bed.
She spent much of the next day trying to get her computer up and running while Jason painted. He declined to help with the technological headache, protesting that ‘me mind’s not built that way’ and she let him off on the grounds that he was an artist.
She had almost forgotten about the restaurant opening, until Lawrence texted her a reminder, and she hurried to compose herself into something that was recognisably the Jenna Diamond they would all know from the TV.
‘Where you going?’ asked Jason, coming down from the attic, with paint all over his face and hair.
‘A restaurant opening thing I was invited to. Honestly, since I’ve arrived here I’ve been plagued with these invitations. Opening here, reception there.’
It was true. Jenna’s PA had been texting her a steady stream of invitations for every event in the Bledburn social calendar, however tiny. She had advised the woman to return polite refusals. This one was her only engagement, and only because Lawrence had personally railroaded her into it. She had come here seeking peace and quiet, and peace and quiet was what she would damn well have.
In between all the detective work, that was. And the sex. So much sex.
Jason, at the bottom of the stairs, made a grab for her in her cocktail dress and costume jewellery.
‘Don’t!’ She put her hands up, laughing but a little alarmed at the prospect of paint on her pristine silk.
‘You look so perfect,’ he said. ‘I want to mess you up.’
‘When I get home,’ she said, looking into a flyblown old mirror on the hall wall, a relic of years past. ‘If you want to wait up, that is.’
‘You aren’t going to be late, are you?’
‘Oh, no. I’ll eat whatever they shove in front of me and leave, I expect. It’s just a photo opportunity for the restaurateur, basically.’
All the same, she was nervous of Jason seeing her get into Lawrence’s car, and silently thanked the previous owners for the high box hedge that hid the house from view of the street.
‘Don’t eat too much garlic,’ he advised.
She tiptoed up to give him a light kiss on his stubbly, white-spirit-smelling cheek.
‘I won’t. See you later.’
Stepping out into a warm summer evening, she wished everything could be different. If only she could be taking Jason as her guest, instead of being Lawrence’s arm-candy. She pictured herself introducing him to everyone as the up-and-coming young artist, he in a smart suit, she in her silk. Or perhaps he ought to dress more hipster-ish. She smiled, imagining Jason faced with a fringed scarf and pair of snakeprint skinny jeans.
She mouthed the words in his accent, smiling to herself as she click-clacked along the pavement to Lawrence’s waiting car.
‘Something’s funny?’ he asked as she climbed in.
‘Oh? No. Just thinking. You look nice.’
He was groomed to within an inch of his life but he’d overdone it on the aftershave, she thought, straining not to cough.
‘Thank you. You’re stunning. A face made for television, Ms Diamond.’
‘I don’t go by Diamond any more.’
‘Sorry. I forgot. It so suits you, though.’
He gave her a long look and she had to fidget with her bag and check her phone before a blush crept forth.
‘So, what kind of food did you say this place specialised in?’
Lawrence, denied a flirtation, reached for the gearstick, clearly resigned to polite chit-chat all the way to the restaurant.
The food was gastropub fare, the restaurant averagely pleasant and stylish, the company a gaggle of town councillors, local paper journalists and small business proprietors. Most of them were visibly and staggeringly starstruck by Jenna, but she caught the owner of a dog grooming parlour telling her friend she ‘looked older than on TV, and those pictures in Glamour were obviously airbrushed’, which made her smile. Comments like these were par for the course in showbusiness; she had long ago learned to shrug them off.
Lawrence was barely able to exchange a word with her, so monopolised was she by curious local politicians wanting to know if Colin Samson, Talent Team’s Mr Nasty, was like that in real life, or if she’d ever partied with the show’s winners.
It wasn’t until the pudding course – which she eschewed in favour of a black coffee – that he was able to direct a little of her attention towards him.
‘Sorry they’re all such nosy bores,’ he muttered. ‘The highlight of their year is usually some dispute about a conservatory roof. You can’t blame them for going a bit crazy, I suppose.’
‘I don’t, at all,’ said Jenna. ‘Honestly, I expect it. I’m used to it. I don’t mind.’
‘You’re very professional, which is wonderful, my dear. But you must long to go out somewhere you won’t be recognised, and besieged by questioners, sometimes.’
‘I used to,’ she said. ‘Especially when it all started. That was insane. From obscure nobody to huge star – Deano, I mean, I was still in the background then. It was all too quick, really. But that seems to be the way in this business. Your career changes on a hair’s breadth. One photo in the right magazine, one line of a song that touches hearts, one off-the-cuff remark at an awards ceremony. It can be anything, really. I mean, my career is built on making it happen, but I still get the mix wrong sometimes. If the mix is wrong, the magic doesn’t work.’
‘How poetic. You deal in magic, Jenna, in dreams.’
He spoke the words with a smoky intensity that made her respond to him despite herself. He was smooth, she caught herself thinking. Too smooth. She shouldn’t be drawn in.
‘Don’t be fooled. There’s cold hard strategising behind that magic and a lot of those dreams fall flat. Remember The Gold Standards? No. Well, there you go. I put a lot of time and effort into them, but I couldn’t make it work in the end.’
‘Everyone fails sometimes. Your successes far outweigh the flops.’
‘Yes, that’s true. But I can’t take all the credit for it. I’m not the talent.’
‘You’re an alchemist. You take base metal and turn it into gold.’
‘Or the Gold Standards.’ She laughed briefly. ‘Lawrence, you have a very exaggerated idea of my skills. A lot of people could do what I do. I’ve just been lucky. And worked bloody hard. Luck and hard work. It’s what most success is down to.’
Lawrence looked away from her at that, taking a sip of his coffee and brushing off a question from a councillor’s wife at his other side.
‘I have an idea,’ he said, turning back to her. ‘I’ve been thinking of it ever since I saw you outside that youth club yesterday. A little project we could do together.’
‘Oh, Lawrence, you know my thoughts on that.’
‘I don’t mean business. This is for the good of the town.’
‘Really?’ She was slightly alarmed at the prospect of getting more intimately bound up with this attractive but slippery-seeming man. ‘I’ve got a lot on my hands with the house renovation and—’
‘It wouldn’t take an enormous amount of input from you, I promise. I’d do all the preparation and publicity, if you like. You just need to lend your name to it and come along on the night.’
‘On what night?’
‘Talent show night. A very special Bledburn Talent Team. It’ll be good for the youth club, for the kids, for your profile, for the local paper … Well, come on. It would be fun, don’t you think?’
‘Well, I don’t know. It’s a bit more than I was planning for …’
‘Jenna, you could find the next Madonna, the next Michael Jackson – here in Bledburn.’
‘You know, I think every town is capable of throwing up a Madonna or a Michael Jackson,’ said Jenna. ‘If talent is nurtured properly, it can turn into stardom. But I’m not here to do that, Lawrence.’
‘Oh, look, it’s just a bit of fun. A nice ego-boost for some local kid with a nice voice. And it’ll be good for Bledburn. How about it?’
‘I had a plan of my own that I thought would be good for Bledburn.’
‘Oh? What’s that?’
‘To restore the Miners’ Gala. Obviously without the Miners’ bit. But a big summer party for the whole town in the grounds of Harville Hall, just like I remember it. Bands, entertainment, stalls, free food, big beer tent, all of that. Wouldn’t that be great? I was thinking, September time, once the house is done but the weather is still fine.’
But Lawrence didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm one bit.
‘There’s a reason that ended,’ he muttered.
‘Because the mine shut, yes.’
‘Because my family became pariahs. I don’t want the town reminding of that, not now, after all this water under the bridge.’
Jenna considered this, but she was a bit cross that Lawrence’s personal reluctance was more important to him than some pleasure for the town.
‘Nobody bothers about all that Harville stuff any more,’ she said. ‘Like you said – water under the bridge.’
‘Not for the older people round here,’ he said. ‘For them, Harville Hall is still a symbol. I wouldn’t invite them in, seriously, Jen. It’s asking for trouble.’
‘I’m not a Harville. I’m Bledburn’s best and brightest – well, me and Deano, I suppose. However they feel about you, they’re OK with me. I don’t think they’d cause me any bother.’
‘You’re naïve. Been in La-La-land too long.’
‘And you’re overstepping the mark of our friendship.’
She stood up, reaching for her purse and looking for the proprietor to thank and congratulate.
‘Walking home, are you?’ asked Lawrence with a sneer, standing along with her.
‘There are such things as taxis.’
‘I wouldn’t go and hail one from the cab rank outside Wetherspoons if I were you. Gets rough this time of night.’
‘You think I’ve existed in cotton wool all this time? Showbusiness is tough, Lawrence. I’m tough.’
‘Look.’ He grabbed her elbow and she tried to yank herself free without drawing attention, which proved impossible, so she let him stop her, for the time being. ‘Jenna. I’m sorry. I’ve given you my opinion – I’m not going to force you to take it. Let’s agree to disagree and change the subject, eh?’
She exhaled deeply in an attempt to dispel her irritation.
‘Fine. But don’t ever call me naïve.’
‘I won’t. Overly optimistic, perhaps …’
‘Lawrence!’
‘I’m sorry. Come on, I’ll drive you home, if you’ve had enough.’
�
��I am tired,’ she admitted, with a yawn. But the thought of Jason waiting for her, perhaps with all kinds of nefarious designs on her body, quickened her pulse and chased the beginnings of fatigue away.
They wished the chef all success in his venture, avoided the lone ‘paparazzo’ of the Bledburn Gazette, who was busy smoking by the bus stop anyway, and hurried to where Lawrence had parked before anyone could see them.
‘Thanks, that was nice,’ she said automatically, climbing into the passenger side.
‘Yes, wasn’t it? Look, Jen.’ He looked as if he was struggling to reach for the right words, and a sense of foreboding entered Jenna’s soul. Just turn the key in the ignition and drive, damn it.
‘I really am exhausted,’ she hinted. ‘Even that delicious coffee can’t seem to perk me up.’
Lawrence gave up.
‘Let’s get you home then,’ he sighed, revving up.
Outside Harville Hall, he turned off the engine, which Jenna thought was a bad sign. Did he expect to be invited inside?
‘Thanks again for a lovely evening,’ she said, her hand on the door handle.
She leant over and pecked him on the cheek.
He reached out and cupped her face, turning it so her lips were lined up with his.
‘Lawrence, I’m sorry, I don’t think this is …’
‘Shh.’ She tried to twist her neck away but he held her tight and close. His lips were hard and hot and that aftershave still threatened to overpower, even three hours later.
It only lasted a moment, Jenna making her reluctance absolutely clear by pushing against his chest.
‘I see,’ he said unpleasantly, then he took a deep breath and changed his tone. ‘Too soon. I see that. I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not in the market for a relationship,’ said Jenna. ‘If I didn’t make that crystal clear, then I’m sorry, but you need to know it, so I’m telling you now.’
‘On the Diamond rebound, I suppose,’ said Lawrence, moodily.
‘Exactly. I came here to make my life simpler, not more complicated.’
She felt her stomach lurch at the hypocrisy of her words. After all, what could be more complicated than the situation with Jason?
‘I’m not complicated,’ said Lawrence. ‘All I want is to treat you like a princess. Don’t you feel you deserve that?’
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