Honeytrapped

by Justine Elyot

  She shut up. Not because the words stopped coming, but because a pair of lips had sealed her mouth from above, quietening the stammered flow with the overpowering efficiency of a lightning strike. For a few seconds, her body went into panicked revolt, the trembling so violent it resembled seizure. Then, as his sweet, hard heat flowed into her and his strong arms wrapped her tight, she began to loosen, letting him in, letting it all go, letting it happen.

  Minutes of delicious, swoony kissing, all tongues and sighs and grabbing and rubbing passed before an inconvenient thought burst through all the sensuality to establish itself in Tilly’s rational mind.

  I’m not supposed to be enjoying myself. This is business! And Melinda, poor cow, is going to want to know about this.

  Chapter Two

  It took Tilly a while to break free, putting a flat palm against Norman’s chest and working to push herself backwards, away from the siren lure of his pleasure-giving mouth. Even as she cut oral contact, he bobbed forward, frowning, making an inarticulate sound of disappointment, his hands speeding to the best positions for holding her at his mercy.

  “No,” she muttered, turning her face away. “I’m sorry, but you’re busted, Norman.”

  He raised his face from the side of her head, where he had been burying his nose in her ear as though ready to take a luscious bite of her neck.

  “I’m sorry. What did you call me?” His whole body had stiffened.

  Tilly felt as if she was lashed to a rock. She looked him full in the face. His expression was of genuine perplexity.

  “Norman, Melinda hired me to test your fidelity. I’m sorry. You failed the test. I guess the wedding’s off.”

  He let go of her and put his hands in his hair, raking it from the hairline, bending as if the weight of this revelation had hit him in the solar plexus, before standing straight again.

  He laughed, but the laugh was not one of amusement. “I’m not Norman,” he said. “Norman—at least, the one I think you must mean—quit taking this class a month ago. I’m his replacement.”

  The full horror of this struck Tilly immediately, but it was some time before she could unfreeze from the attitude of stoneclad shock and mortification the man’s words induced.

  “Oh.” She turned away, casting around wildly for her coat and bag, the fight-or-flight response stuck firmly in flight mode.

  But he took hold of her wrist before she could escape, frowning. “Oh no you don’t,” he said. “At least do me the courtesy of explaining what the hell’s going on.”

  “This N-norman.” Tilly was tearful with self-loathing and regret. “Do you know where he went?”

  “No. He just quit. Rumour is, he’s seeing one of his ex-pupils. But that’s just a rumour. What’s it to you, Tilly? What’s all this about busting me? Or him?”

  She shifted from foot to foot, feeling ridiculous, and knowing that not-Norman had every right to be furious with her. “I’m a private detective.” She was almost laughing at the very un-Philip-Marloweness of the moment. Sherlock Holmes would never have found himself in a fix like this one.

  Not-Norman laughed, a more genuine outburst this time, though laced with abundant surprise and a smidgen of disbelief. “You’re a what? Seriously?”

  “I got made redundant a few months ago, from the council. I’ve always loved detective shows on TV. I thought it looked interesting. So I spent the payout on some equipment. Like this.” Guiltily, she pulled the wire out of her dress.

  Not-Norman’s jaw dropped. “Fuck me, you are serious.”

  “Thing is, it’s like that old show with Pierce Brosnan where nobody hires the female detective, so she invents a male version of herself. I wasn’t getting a lot of business. I was getting a bit desperate, to be honest. Melinda was my first client. She’s Norman’s fiancée. I didn’t really want to take on that kind of work, but I was desperate. I’m so sorry. I’ve been an idiot.”

  Not-Norman looked up at the striplit ceiling, lost in thought, then he wrapped a hand around his lower face, searching Tilly with his eyes until her ears and cheeks were burning.

  His fingers slid down to cradle his chin, freeing his mouth to speak. “So, Tilly…is that your name, by the way?”

  She nodded miserably.

  “Right. I’m Calum.”

  “Hi, Calum.”

  “You came to the class to trap Norman. You’re a honey trap.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You’re a private detective who didn’t think to ask your client for a photo?”

  “Yeah. I’ve learnt from my mistake, thanks. Won’t be doing that again.”

  “And what you did to me…you meant to do to Norman?”

  “Mmm.” Tilly couldn’t meet his eye. This was altogether too much like being in the headmaster’s office, getting a good telling-off for cheating in the French test.

  “So it wasn’t personal? You would have kissed Norman. You would have done all that to him too?”

  “Well…I probably wouldn’t have…” I can’t say this!

  “You probably wouldn’t have what?”

  “Umm…there was kind of…a blurring of borders, maybe…between business and pleasure. So, yeah, thanks for that. It was nice. I really should go now. Bye.” She ran towards the row of pegs on the wall, her sand-coloured special detective trench coat representing freedom and escape.

  Her fingers fumbled. Get off the hook, get off! His footsteps, big, loud footsteps, behind her, closing in on her. She plucked the coat off the hook. His hands clapped down on her shoulders and his lips touched her earlobe.

  “So you enjoyed your work tonight?” he whispered. “Because I certainly did.”

  “Calum…” she breathed. There was nothing else she could say.

  “That kiss wasn’t a chore, was it? Hmm?”

  She shook her head, feeling his skin brush hers at the side of her neck with each little swivel.

  “I thought not. I’d have known if it was one-sided. It takes two to tango, after all.”

  She giggled, despite herself. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Being so…ohhhhh.” A lip-shaped press of warmth had landed on her neck and one hand had moved down to her hip, pulling her back into his body.

  “Being so…what?” One thumb was massaging small circles in the hollow of her nape. His lips fell again, harder this time, with the tiniest little accompanying nip of teeth.

  Tilly’s chest began to rise and fall in irregular bursts, her breath halfway between sighs and sobs. “Are you trying to mess me about? Is this a game? Are you trying to get revenge?”

  “No, I don’t want revenge,” he murmured, licking the spot beneath her earlobe that always sent a rush of damp heat between her legs. “I just want to carry on where we left off, before you started getting all Cagney and Lacey on me. Don’t you want that?”

  She moaned. His right hand was rubbing her hip, causing the horrid spangly dress to rise higher and higher up her thigh.

  “You don’t have the right to remain silent, by the way,” he said. “I need an answer. Do you want me?”

  “Oh God, what do you think?” She began to grind her bottom against Calum’s strong thighs.

  “No!” He patted her hip in reproof. “That won’t do, Detective. Answer the question.”

  “I want you,” she said, although the wanton flexibility of her body must have made this abundantly clear by now. “Oh God. I really do.”

  “Good. So this is where your wire was?” The hand at her neck slid down, plunging into her cleavage and finding the little spot where the microphone had been taped to her skin. His fingers bumped against the soft curve of her breast, then sidled over to her nipple, which was hard. “Mmm, did wearing it turn you on?”

  “No…that’s…you.”

  “All down to me? I’m very glad to hear it.” He nudged her face around until it was angled up to his, in the perfect position to submit to another plundering kiss, while his fingers tweaked her nipple mercilessly.


  She had no choice but to respond, shivering at his touch, her crotch melting into a pool of need.

  “So,” he crooned, inching her around so that she was held in that tango clinch again, minus the arms to the side and with groins jammed together. “You put out for money?” One broad palm dropped to rest on the curve of her bottom.

  Tilly flinched, wiggling against the possessive hand. “You make me sound like a hooker.”

  “Not a hooker exactly,” he said, with a kiss of her forehead and another on the tip of her nose. “But you aren’t a good girl, are you? A good girl wouldn’t entice her tango teacher into a frenzy of lust, would she?”

  “Hey.” Tilly giggled, pushing back against that crudely-placed hand, starting to understand from its light patting motion what he might have in mind. “You’re responsible for your own lust frenzies, you know. You can’t blame me.”

  “Oh, yes I can. You’ve been a bad girl, Tilly. What do you think happens to bad girls?”

  His fingers grabbed a succulent handful of rump before patting it a little harder this time.

  “Oh God.” She trembled on the threshold of a fantasy, one she had never allowed her conscious mind to process. But now this man was doing this to her, it all seemed so clear and so right.

  “Is that your answer? It’s not the one I was looking for. What do you think bad girls need, Tilly?”

  “Do you want to… are you saying you want to…” She couldn’t say the word.

  “I’m not saying anything. I’m asking. You give me your answer and I’ll see what I can do. And I can’t believe a girl who’d blatantly seduce me on the dance floor is shy of telling me what she needs either. Say it, Tilly. Tell me what you…deserve from me.”

  “Oh, can’t you just do it?” She jiggled her hips so violently that the paillettes fringing her skirt jingled.

  “Do what?”

  “Do it to me. Your hand. My, um, my posterior.”

  “Uh huh. It’s there.”

  “Hit me.”

  “Say the word.”

  “Oh, you swine. Spank me, then. Spank me if that’s what you want.”

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “Spank me!” The words rang around the echoing room.

  Her head was thrown back in deranged abandon until Calum’s hand fell, just heavily enough, on her left bum cheek. She hissed out an “Ohhhhhh.” It felt better than she imagined, distracting her from the itch in her pussy, yet at the same time intensifying it.

  “My pleasure,” he growled. He bent her over one sinewy forearm and lifted her skirt to her waist, taking some time to rub the thin cotton surface of her knickers before starting in earnest. “Who’s been a bad girl?” he whispered, running his thumb along the centre, ploughing a furrow along the crack of her arse. “Who’s going to get what’s coming to her, hmm?”

  He knew exactly how hard to slap, and exactly where to place his palm for the most giddying effect. Tilly never felt something as concrete as pain. Instead she breathed and sighed into the delicious tingly sparks he awoke with each smack, feeling her behind catch light gradually but inexorably until it was warm enough to heat the echoing chamber around them.

  “You’ve done this before then?” he asked, laying a volley of pitter-pats on to the bare flesh below her knicker elastic, making her squeak a little.

  “Never.” She squirmed over his stalwart arm, lifting her feet on to tiptoe.

  “Seriously? This is your first time? You’re a natural.”

  “Thanks. I mean, that’s good, I suppose. Ooh. It stings a bit now.”

  “Too hard?” He held his spanking hand in mid-air, awaiting her word.

  “Not really. I like it. Like that sting. Do you do this often?”

  He tested her with a loud, scorching smack before answering, holding her steady at the small of her back while she writhed her way through the impact.

  “No. Unfortunately, I don’t. Oddly enough, it’s not every day a shameless little minx misbehaves herself in my class. Life is cruel like that.”

  His fingers hovered beneath her knicker elastic. Tilly held her breath. He seemed to be waiting for her permission. She gave it by gyrating her centre, urging the material down and off her glowing rear.

  “You’re single?” she gasped, biting her lip at the idea that he was looking down at her hot red bottom in all its naked splendour. Suddenly the ache of need in her pussy became unbearably intense.

  “Of course. I’m not Norman the Love Rat. I can be bad, but not that bad.” His hand fell, leisurely now, as if punctuating his thoughts. On bare skin it was even better.

  After a slow dozen or so, he said, “I think you’ve learnt your lesson.” His hand travelled over her well-spanked bottom, as though assessing its heat and tenderness.

  Tilly parted her thighs, making a nice easy chasm for his hand to slip into. If he didn’t do something about her raging horniness right now, she thought the taut string of tension inside her might snap.

  “Yes, I’ve learnt it. I’ll be good now. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”

  He took the bait offered by her split thighs and dipped inquisitive fingers into her wet, swollen sex. “Hmm, I think you will. Judging by how wet you are.” One finger began to twist and turn against her entrance, finding its way inside with ease.

  She groaned and relaxed, all her weight against that incredible rock of an arm. He wasn’t even trembling. It was like the arm of a chair.

  A metallic rattling from the door of the building broke the erotic spell. Calum withdrew his finger, pulled Tilly up and held her against his side, apparently forgetting that her knickers were around her ankles.

  An elderly man in a long brown overcoat stood in the doorway, eyeing them uncertainly.

  “I thought you finished at nine,” he said, averting his eyes from Tilly, who edged round behind Calum and pulled her knickers up with shaking hands.

  “Sorry. Thought I had time for, um, well, yes. I lost track of time. Sorry.” Calum took Tilly’s arm, marched her over to collect the music deck and the coats and fled from the hall before the caretaker had had time to remove his wide broom from the cupboard.

  Chapter Three

  “Oh my God,” Tilly gasped, tottering after Calum across the cinder car park in those ridiculous shoes. No wonder they called them killer heels. They would be the death of her. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

  “Nor can I. But the real question is, what are we going to do next?” Calum stopped by a low wall at the back of the building and pulled Tilly down on to his lap, fixing her with an earnest gaze. “I can’t quite believe my luck tonight, so I won’t be surprised if it ends right now…but I’d like to think my luck might hold…even if it’s just for another hour or so?”

  Tilly did not need coaxing. She was so far into Calum that she couldn’t imagine ever finding a way out. “My flat’s about five minute’s drive from here. By the marina.”

  “Are you sure? You haven’t been frightened off by my raging inappropriate kinkiness?”

  “Raging-Inappropriate-Kinkiness is my middle name. Well, that and Two-Left-Feet.”

  Calum laughed, squeezing her close for a ravishing kiss.

  After a short but intense drive to Tilly’s apartment spent with Calum’s hand on her thigh, they fell backwards on to the sofa in a heap of silky, spangly, breathy, greedy lust.

  “I wanted you to have me right there.” Her tongue had been loosened by its long occupation of Calum’s mouth. “On the floor of the hall.”

  “I’d have done it. I was about to do it. But I wouldn’t have had you on the floor. I’d have had you up against the wall.”

  He commandeered one leg, sliding it up so that her thigh wrapped around his hip, opening her up to his further explorations. He lowered the spangly shoulder straps of Tilly’s dress while his crotch introduced itself to hers, grinding itself in her juices, dampening his dancing trousers.

  She watched the handsome face lower itself into the embr
ace of her breasts, uncovered now and ready for any attention they could get. He squeezed and suckled at the mounds of pale flesh, ravenous as a hungry wolf cub, using his tongue to stiffen her nipples and then lick tantalising tingles around their areolae before enclosing them in his warm wet mouth.

  Her appreciation was vocalised in short squeaks and ecstatic whimpers. Calum pressed her tits together and breathed hot air on to the sensitive nipples until she shifted her bottom wildly on the slippery leather sofa, bucking into him, grabbing his hips and pulling him down. Not that there was any further he could go, without undressing.

  He glanced up devilishly, her breasts still captive in his hands. “Do you want something?” he asked, incongruously polite.

  “You.”

  “I’m here.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No. Tell me.”

  “I want you to fuck me.”

  “I will. But first…” He knelt between Tilly’s thighs, releasing her breasts and rising magnificently from her core, like a lean, broad-shouldered predator preparing for its final pounce. Her eyes travelled up the powerful thighs, past the sinuous hips, across the broad chest, following the curve of his neck to the dark stubbled underside of his chin—even that was gorgeous—and into the hypnotic force field of his face.

  There was only one thing wrong with this man. Too many clothes.

  “First what?” she asked, querulous with frustrated need.

  “First you have to show me how you do it,” he said with a wicked smile. “Go on. Take off your knickers, hitch up your skirt and play with yourself for me.”

  “Oh, you pervert,” gasped Tilly, nonetheless moving to obey his instructions almost before they were out of his mouth.

  “Yes,” he said laconically. “I am. But you aren’t, obviously?”

  “Obviously.” She laughed before lifting her legs into the air and easing the knickers over her spiky-heeled feet.

  “Your arse is still red,” Calum said with satisfaction before Tilly brought her legs back down on to the sofa with some force. “Get those legs nice and wide, Tilly. I need to see exactly what you’re doing.”