Even the secrecy made sense.
Both Trudy and Bill were enjoying mild flushes of celebrity. Unless they maintained a convincing, continuous pretence of Aliceon and Bill’s marriage being genuine, the whole sham would fall apart and the sacrifice would have been for nothing. If it got out that they were still involved in a relationship, the scandal would be excruciating and embarrassing. For Aliceon it would mean she was taken away from her only family and the country she had come to call home. For Imogen it would mean the loss of her mother and her baby’s grandmother.
‘You’ve been very understanding about all this,’ Bill told her.
‘It wasn’t like I had an option.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘But I’m just saying thank you. It is appreciated.’
He brushed a finger against her cheek, moving a stray blonde curl behind her ear. Then he was kissing her again and this time she responded without hesitation. She wriggled into his embrace and savoured the way he managed to excite every millimetre of flesh by simply kissing her mouth and stroking his hands over the curves of her scantily clad figure.
They were in another motel room.
The furnishings were so bland that Trudy couldn’t tell if it was somewhere she’d never previously visited, or one of those where she and Bill regularly liaised. Usually Bill checked into a motel. He’d send a text saying which room he was staying in and she’d visit him.
The arrangement had a deliciously seedy feel that always added fuel to her arousal. If any of her friends, such as Charlotte or Daryl, knew what she was doing, Trudy thought, they would say she was nothing more than a convenient booty call.
But Trudy knew it was more than that.
She was sure it was more.
Even if it wasn’t, she could argue that she was getting as much from each late-night rendezvous as Bill was enjoying. Considering the amount of pleasure he usually gave her, she’d have been happy to claim that she got more from the arrangement.
She stopped her mind pursuing those details. She didn’t want to be a mere booty call and it felt like she was trying to argue against the thought.
It was easier to do as Bill instructed and bend over the motel room’s cabinet. She was wearing a short skirt, black stockings and heels. There was a mirror above the cabinet and she could have studied her reflection or smiled at Bill as he stood behind her admiring her rear. She had worn a low-cut top for the evening and, bending over the cabinet, her reflection was displaying an enticing valley of cleavage.
She glanced at Bill’s reflection and wondered if he had noticed.
He was staring at her rear. His grin was broad as he appraised her raised backside. His finger stroked lightly against the seam of her stockings and then smoothed up beneath the hem of her skirt. She could feel the fabric being lifted. The movement was a tender caress that she associated with so many shared pleasures. When he peeled the skirt away from her cheeks, exposing the panties pulled taut across her buttocks, her need for him swelled urgently.
‘Ms McLaughlin,’ he muttered. ‘You really do have the most splendid backside.’
‘Thank you, Mr Hart.’
Inside her bra, her nipples were so hard they hurt. The muscles inside her sex clutched and clenched as though they yearned for his touch. Her stomach felt queasy with her mounting need for him.
Gently, with the skill of an artist unveiling a cherished creation, Bill began to slip the panties from her buttocks. His touch was soft. His hands were firm and warm. He slid the panties from her cheeks, over her thighs and down to the floor.
Trudy’s arousal went into overdrive.
‘Move your legs slightly apart,’ Bill murmured.
His fingers were on her upper thigh, touching with an intimacy that made her crave him. She could feel the accidental caress of his knuckles touching the slippery wetness of her excitement. It was the subtlest of contacts. But it was enough to have her weeping with need for him.
She responded immediately.
Glancing back in the mirror she could see his interest remained fixed firmly on her rear. His focus was so concentrated she could almost feel the weight of his gaze on her backside.
‘You seem very excited, Ms McLaughlin.’
‘I am very excited, Mr Hart.’
He slid a finger through her wetness. His touch was a delicious balm that urged her body close to the thrill of orgasm. She held her breath and wondered if he would be able to push her past that climactic response with such a simple touch. A moment later, when he slipped his finger away, she didn’t know whether she was groaning from relief or disappointment.
‘And I think we’re agreed that you have been very naughty,’ he decided.
He stepped back and his hand landed heavily on her backside.
It wasn’t technically a spank. The sensation wasn’t sharp enough for that. But Trudy could already feel the pale skin of her backside blushing from his weighted caress.
‘As you say, you’ve been deceiving your friends.’
The hand landed against her rear for a second time. This time there was more weight there. Trudy refused to let her eyes close as the pleasure rolled over her. She basked in the thrill of the sensations flowing through her body. There was a mild frisson of discomfort accompanied by a spreading flush of raw heat.
‘You’ve also refused to consider returning to Boui-Boui,’ he reminded her.
The hand landed with more force this time. She heard the crisp smacking sound just after she felt the ripple of stiff discomfort thrill through her cheeks. His tone of voice, although ostensibly playful, now held an undercurrent of seriousness. ‘I offered to increase your salary and amend your hours.’
The hand landed again. Harder. More powerful.
She gasped.
‘But you’re still avoiding my restaurant.’
‘It would be awkward working there.’
She said the words softly but with absolute conviction. Working alongside him had always been a pleasure. He made her smile. She could spend a day beside him and be dizzied by her swelling need. There was something about the way he spoke to her that inspired her constant arousal. If she had to work alongside him now, and was forced to pretend that they were no longer in a relationship, it would be unbearable.
‘We’ve spoken about this,’ she reminded him. ‘It would be too awkward.’
In the mirror she could see him nod. ‘I appreciate it wouldn’t be easy,’ he agreed. ‘But I still need to find reasons to legitimately punish you. And complaining about you being away from the restaurant seems like the closest thing I’m going to get to a legitimate excuse.’
She nodded and braced herself for another slap on her backside.
‘In that case,’ she admitted, ‘I’ve been very naughty and I need punishing, Mr Hart. Give it to me as hard as you can.’
His hand slapped against her rear.
She stiffened, shocked by a delightful blend of discomfort and pleasure. As the waves of escalating excitement rippled through her, Trudy wondered if he knew how much she wanted him.
The punishment was only a small part of what they did.
She savoured the hypersensitive redness of her backside and stifled groans of mounting eagerness. When he finally deigned to penetrate her, sliding himself deep into her and taking her from behind, the first of the evening’s orgasms burst through her loins in a fluid eruption.
It was a divine experience.
Bill rode her for half an hour and it was a period of delicious sensory overload. His length slipped easily in and out, stretching her tightness and filling her to such depths she teetered on the brink of losing consciousness. He held her with a possessive ferocity that was both frightening and warming.
By the end of the evening Trudy felt weak from the repeated climaxes. The muscles inside her sex ached from the excess of exertion. Her knees felt ready to give. She had been bent over the cabinet when they began. Now she was slumped across it, using it for support.
Bill pushed into her w
ith deep and vigorous strokes. He clutched her hips in his strong hands and repeatedly pulled her back to meet the thrust of his erection. When his climax finally came he gripped her tight as his length throbbed and pulsed in her deepest depths.
The sensation was enough to fire a final orgasm through her inner muscles. It was a sweet and savage bliss that tore through her body with enough satisfaction to make her want to sob.
They staggered away from the cabinet and the mirror and collapsed on to the bed together, laughing and embracing. He encircled her in his arms and hugged her passionately.
‘We shouldn’t be doing this in motel rooms,’ he sighed.
She refused to let herself agree. ‘It’s what we need to do for the moment,’ she reminded him. ‘As soon as we can do it differently, we’ll do it differently.’
He ran a finger down her cheek. ‘I do intend to do right by you.’
‘I know,’ she said, nodding. ‘I’ve never doubted it.’
‘Harvey’s working on securing Aliceon’s citizenship.’ He shrugged. ‘Technically it’s naturalisation but I suppose that’s quibbling over word meanings. But Harvey’s working hard on securing her status in the country.’
Trudy nodded sympathetically. She and Bill had discussed this previously. He had explained, several times, that Aliceon claimed she had once had the paperwork confirming her British citizenship. She couldn’t find her copies of those documents, and had repeatedly turned her cottage upside down as she tried to locate them, but she still insisted that they had once existed.
‘We will be together soon,’ Bill promised.
‘I know,’ Trudy agreed.
She might have said more but her mobile chose that moment to break the mood with the announcement of a text message. For the past few weeks she had been reluctant to address text messages because the majority of unexpected ones seemed to come from Donny and usually contained a threat or a vindictive subtext.
Nevertheless, she checked the message and was relieved to see it was not from Donny. This was from Charlotte and it offered an invitation she didn’t want to accept.
7
Boui-Boui was deserted. It was early Tuesday morning and the restaurant wasn’t due to open until six in the evening. Trudy stood nervously outside the main doorway, not sure what she should be expecting.
A light drizzle fell from gloomy grey skies. It ran slickly down the restaurant windows and pooled on the paved walkways that led from the car park up to the main doors. She could see Charlotte’s Audi and Harvey’s Mercedes parked side by side in the car park. Yet, even though she’d been invited to this meeting and knew her agent and her best friend were waiting inside, Trudy still felt like an intruder.
This was Bill’s territory and, although they had a secret relationship, she felt as though she was no longer welcome at the restaurant. She fought against the urge to turn around, cry and flee. Instead, shivering beneath the shelter of the entranceway’s canopy as the rain continued to pour down, she knocked lightly on the restaurant door. While she waited for someone to answer, Trudy plucked the mobile phone from her pocket and turned it to silent. She suspected the meeting would be important and she didn’t want any unnecessary interruptions.
Aliceon opened the door and welcomed her inside.
As usual, the maître d’ looked meticulous and efficient in her dark suit. She didn’t offer Trudy any suggestion of a friendly acknowledgement. She didn’t even allude to the fact that she was now married to the man Trudy loved. She simply said, ‘They’re waiting for you on table thirteen.’
Trudy thanked her and walked into the familiar chintz of the restaurant. The layout of the room was comfortable and familiar. She knew that, to her right, the tables were closer to the kitchens. To her left were the tables that had a view of the picturesque scenery outside Boui-Boui and directly ahead there was a well-stocked bar. She stepped to her left and headed for table thirteen.
Table thirteen was where she had first sat with Bill.
Table thirteen had become their ritual place for the meals they shared after the long nights when they worked together. On those curiously intimate evenings she and Bill would sit at table thirteen, sharing a bottle of wine or a large glass of Chivas Regal, and they would offer their thoughts on the issues they’d faced through the day.
Those evenings were no longer happening.
Trudy remembered that Bill had once made love to her on table thirteen. It had been late and dark and there had been no one else in the restaurant. She smiled at the memory, recalling that the experience had been wonderful. On that night, because the arms of her blouse had accidentally become entangled with the arms of her chair, Trudy had found herself restrained while they made love.
The experience had given her a passion to explore the pleasures of bondage.
Her smile broadened.
Restraints and bondage were a passion she still enjoyed exploring. And, although she was keeping it a secret from everyone, it remained a passion that she solely wanted to explore with Bill.
‘Trudy, there you are.’
Harvey got up from the table and embraced her. Aside from being Charlotte’s fiancé, Harvey was also Trudy’s agent. He asked how she was being treated on the set of Master Baker, how the radio show was progressing, and if her newspaper column was doing well.
Trudy took a seat with Charlotte and Harvey.
She was relieved by the questions. Harvey was a competent agent and she was confident he already knew the answers to all of them. He was in regular contact with the production team on Master Baker and he contacted the radio station on a weekly basis. He was also a close friend of her editor on the newspaper and would be aware of the column’s success and the positive comments it was generating. She suspected the questions were Harvey’s way of trying to make himself feel a little more comfortable in this potentially awkward situation.
‘It’s all going well,’ she assured him. ‘How are things with you two?’
Harvey reached to his side and took Charlotte’s hand in his. Their fingers interlocked and Trudy thought they fitted together like two jigsaw pieces.
‘Things are good with us,’ they said in unison.
‘Obviously we’ve still got a lot of planning to organise,’ Charlotte added.
‘And we need to make a couple more decisions,’ Harvey agreed.
Their hands squeezed together. Their smiles met again and Trudy could have sworn she saw their eyes sparkling with pleasure. Was it legal for a couple to be so happy with each other?
Harvey glanced toward Aliceon. A flicker of impatience darkened his brow as he called, ‘Where the hell is he?’
Aliceon checked her watch. ‘It’s barely ten in the morning. Where the hell do you think he is?’
Charlotte glanced warily at Harvey.
‘Lazy fucker,’ Harvey mumbled. He offered a terse apology and stood up. As he walked toward the restaurant door he asked Aliceon, ‘Is the cottage door open?’
‘The back door’s not locked.’
‘I’ll go and get him,’ Harvey decided.
He hadn’t made it to the door when Bill stumbled into the restaurant. He wore a sports jacket over a V-necked T-shirt. His jaw was peppered with an iron scrub of beard. His lip was curled into his typical start-of-the-day sneer. It was a scowl that told anyone who looked at him that he was not a morning person. In his hand he carried a mug of steaming black coffee.
He looked glumly at those gathered and then turned to the maître d’.
‘Aliceon,’ he began, ‘could you nip into the kitchen and organise some croissants?’
‘No. I’m a maître d’, not a chef.’
‘I’m not asking you to be a chef. I’m asking you to put some croissants on a plate.’ He paused and stared at her incredulously. ‘Is that what you think being a chef involves? Taking food out of a packet and putting it on a plate? Is that what you think we do in the kitchen every night?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Aliceon said firmly. ‘I don’
t work in the kitchen.’
Bill shook his head and seemed to dismiss the conversation. When he glanced up he saw Trudy was sitting at the table.
‘Trudy,’ he said cheerfully. ‘How lovely to see you here.’
She shook her head, aware of what he was about to ask without needing to hear him say the words. ‘I don’t work in your kitchen any more,’ she reminded him.
‘This is going to be a long day,’ Bill decided. He yawned and settled himself at the table. He blew on his mug of coffee and said, ‘So, why have I been summoned to such an early start to the day?’
Harvey glanced at Charlotte.
She nodded.
‘Charlotte and I are getting married,’ Harvey explained.
Even though she already knew the news, Trudy smiled as though she was hearing it for the first time. She congratulated them both. Bill echoed the words and his smile looked enthusiastic and genuine.
‘We need a best man and a chief bridesmaid,’ Harvey went on. ‘And we’d like you two to fill those roles.’ He paused and added, ‘But we’re both aware that you two might not be comfortable working in such close proximity.’
Bill glanced at Trudy.
She looked away, unable to meet the probing ferocity of his gaze. It crossed her mind that she should have done as he asked and gone to prepare some croissants in the kitchen. At least that would have taken her away from the table and kept her from having to suffer his disconcerting attention.
‘A wedding,’ Bill exclaimed cheerfully. ‘What a chuffing marvellous idea. Do you want to use Boui-Boui for your reception?’ he asked. ‘I can sort out reasonable rates for you, if you’re interested. We had a celebrity wedding of sorts here last –’
Just Desserts (Sweet Temptation, Book 3) Page 5
