Sometimes it took him back to the first years with Hannah, and then he had to stop and put it from his mind.
Kim was a different creature altogether. She seemed formed from the elements and made for sex, a free spirit who had come to release him from his lonely prison for a season. He tried to bear in mind that this couldn't last forever, but as each long summer day merged into another, time itself seemed to stretch out for them.
Hard work, good food, sunshine and lashings of sex – it was the life he had always dreamed of.
In the evenings, they shared a bath, drank a bottle of wine and played some sexually-charged version of chess or Scrabble until their yawns could no longer be contained and he would carry her up to bed.
"Chess," she said, wrinkling her nose with distaste the first night he suggested it. "That's boring."
"Not the way I play it," he insisted.
"What's different about the way you play it?"
"Every time you lose a piece, there's a forfeit."
"Oh yeah?" Her brazen smile showed that she knew what was on his mind. "Good at chess, are you?"
"I'm not bad."
"Well, I'm rubbish. So you'll beat me easily."
"That's what I was counting on, actually. Come on. You be white, I'll be black."
His attack was swiftly mounted and she soon found herself short of pawns.
The forfeits were easy enough at first.
"Take off your shirt."
"Come over here and snog the face off me."
"Show me if you can get your nipple into your mouth."
She managed to take a pawn off him, and made him get on his knees and kiss her toes.
But when the pieces of higher value started to fall, he grew more demanding.
Taking her castle, he looked her slowly up and down, enjoying the way she seemed to hold herself taut under his gaze, waiting for the blow to fall.
"OK," he said softly. "I want you to spread your legs nice and wide, that's it. Show me what you've got."
As she had been, as usual, naked under the shirt, this was easily done. She leant back against the armchair and parted them, watching him with challenge in her eyes, keeping her knees drawn up.
"That's nice," he said. "Now I want you to touch yourself. Show me how you do it."
She looked swiftly over her shoulder, as if to check for observers.
"I think we're alone, love," he said with a chuckle.
"Just in case Skip…" she said.
"She's asleep in the kitchen. You're fine. You won't be corrupting an innocent dog." He nodded, with a deliberately wicked flash of his eyes. "Go on, then."
She was blushing, he noted with satisfaction. He liked to see the colour creeping into her cheeks.
Her frank stare was gone now and she looked down at her hand as it headed towards its destination. She kept her movements small and contained. She was embarrassed.
Was it cruel of him to find this even more exciting? Did it make him a bad person? He dismissed the shadowy thoughts the moment her fingertip made contact with her little peeking clit. She pressed into the deep pink bud for a moment, then lifted her arm again and licked her fingers, swiftly, with her head bowed, as if she hoped he wouldn't notice.
But of course he did, and his blood shot to his groin, making his already stiff cock painfully harder.
Now, with her wettened fingertips, she began to circle the swollen oval of flesh, then to rub at it, keeping her brows low and her hair over her face as much as she could.
He could see that she was trying to hide as much from him as possible, holding her hand over her mons, and he clicked his tongue in reproof.
"I want to see it," he reminded her. "Hold yourself open with one hand and use the other to touch yourself. I want to see everything."
She huffed and puffed and tried to squirm out of it, but eventually she held her labia wide with the fingers of one hand while she used the other to manipulate her clit, slowly, under Rhys' instructions.
Much as he enjoyed watching her rub and stroke, he was almost more involved with her face. He wanted to know what she was thinking when she shut her eyes and parted her lips and seemed to drift away from him.
"What's on your mind?" he asked quietly.
"You," she whispered. "Things we've done."
This answer made him want to push his hand down his trousers and wrap it around his cock. God, the thought of him was enough to bring her off! He had never felt so like a king.
But perhaps she was just flattering him.
"What things?" he asked.
"Oh, Rhys, you know what things. Yesterday, when you bent me over that hay bale and pulled up my shirt and smacked my bum. I wanted you to do it. That's why I poked that straw in your ear. You just knew it was what I wanted, and you did it. Good and hard too, until I was sore. And then you fucked me. Oh, oh."
He loved the way her voice cracked and trailed off, overcome with the erotic weight of its words.
She wriggled on her bottom, pushing herself into her self-pleasuring fingers.
"Hmm, that was good," he said, shifting uncomfortably, concerned that his cock might punch a hole in his jeans. "And thanks. How's it going? Are you close?"
"Quite…close," she panted.
"I want you to get really close," he said. "Really, really close. And then I want you to stop."
Her eyes flew open, as he'd hoped they would.
"Oh, you…" she moaned.
"I know. I'm a very bad man. I can't help it. You make me this way."
"Ohhh." Her fingers were a blur now, her thighs flexing in a fast rhythm.
"Don't you go coming without telling me, my girl," he whispered, leaning over the chess board to get a closer look. "I'll know."
"Oh God," she exclaimed, snatching her fingers away. "You total bastard."
She clutched her face in her hands and wrenched at her hair, snapping her knees tight shut again.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he said with a low chuckle, reaching out to take her hands away. He bent and nuzzled her face with his, nipping at her lips while she tried, unsuccessfully, to draw back. "That was mean of me, wasn't it?"
"I hate you," she breathed, but she gave in to his kiss without further demur.
"No you don't. Now, I think it's your move."
Rhys suspected she simply gave up even trying to play the game to win after that. Her pieces fell like ninepins, and she performed each corresponding forfeit with mock-grudgingness.
He was moving into his endgame by the time they lay, top to tail, on the hearthrug, with him pushing his tongue down inside her pussy while she sucked on his cock. Her thigh pressed down on his ear and he ate her like a starving man presented with his last meal, trying not to be too distracted by her attentions to his shaft. Buried here in her scented darkness, he wondered if he was going a little mad. She had him under a spell, always ravenous for more of her, always thinking of her, always wanting more of her than he could have.
Should he just draw back a little and appreciate it for what it was – incredible no-strings sex? He had a niggling feeling that this was no longer possible for him. He had crossed a line and now, every time they got close, he was going to fear the moment she had to say goodbye.
He lapped up her juices, grabbing her arse cheeks as she squirmed against his face, moaning out her orgasm. Having a little way to go until he reached his own climax, he decided not to let up on her but to continue the pressure. He knew she would feel sensitive there and if he carried on licking it would be exquisite torment for her. This gave him a sense of satisfaction, as if he were gaining some kind of obscure equality with her. She would never have another man like him.
Her voice vibrated around his cock, a little whimper of protest at his failure to have mercy upon her. Her poor pussy had been so thoroughly used these past few days that penetrative sex was off the agenda for the evening, but she hadn't put any limits on her clit. That was going to get the full treatment.
He held her by the tops of her t
highs and growled into her spread lips. Again, that vibration, tickling his shaft from root to tip. She tried to kick, but he had her fast. Her sucking of him gathered pace and she used her tongue with skill, flicking at the underside of his cock. When she took hold of his tight sac and squeezed, he felt his control fly out of reach. Keeping his mouth firmly on her clit, he thrust himself down her throat, giving her every drop, giving her everything he was.
In that orgasmic moment, he knew for sure that he couldn't let her go.
When eventually they sat back up, groggy and shining with sweat, there was a strange barrier of shyness between them. Kim, not looking at him, took a sip of wine.
"Did I taste that bad?" he said, but it didn't sound like a lighthearted remark somehow.
She shook her head.
"You taste good," he told her. "I could eat you for hours."
She swallowed, a slightly bitter look on her face.
"You're too bloody perfect," she said, and he had the strong feeling it wasn’t a compliment. He could hear the tears on the edge of her voice.
"Hey," he said, reaching out, but she took up the wine again.
He looked down at the chess board.
"I can check mate you in two moves," he said.
"Go on, then. I've lost this game anyway."
He moved his pieces around the board, idly, a formality.
"That's that, then," said Kim.
"Not quite. One more forfeit."
"Rhys, I'm done in."
"Tell me something. How long are you staying?"
She looked up at him.
"As long as I can," she said.
Chapter Seven
"You're sure you don't want to come with me?"
Rhys, aided by Skip, was herding sheep up on to the trailer while Kim watched, barefoot and virtually bare-arsed, holding on to a mug of tea as if her life depended on it.
She shook her head, smiling wistfully.
"Another time," she said.
"I was thinking we could get lunch out. And you need clothes. Are you really prepared to trust to my taste?"
"As long as you don't get them from the sex shop."
"I'm pretty sure there's no sex shop in Brecon. They've got some good pubs though. Come on. You'd like it."
She shook her head.
"I'm going to give the farmhouse a good clean. Top to bottom," she said.
He made a disappointed face.
"I'll miss you," he said, trying to keep his tone light.
"Hurry back then," she said, with the same strange, tight intonation.
He scooped her up for a goodbye kiss, making her spill tea on the mess of dried mud, straw and chicken feed she stood on, then jumped into the jeep and turned the key in the ignition.
He watched Skip bound after her, back to the kitchen, from the rear view mirror. He felt a little flat. He couldn't deny he'd been looking forward to squiring her around Brecon, though he could understand that she didn't want to be hanging about the marketplace in an outsized shirt and nothing else. It was fair enough, he supposed.
Having sold his livestock and shared the usual grim news round-up with farming colleagues, he made his excuses and drove to the supermarket on the outskirts of town.
Never having spent much time in the ladies' clothing section of a shop, he felt every eye upon him as he wandered through rails of sundresses and shorts.
Shorts. There was a thought. He'd just buy her a ton of very short shorts.
But then that meant he had to fiddle about with buttons and zips.
Maybe dresses then. These long flowing numbers would look good on her, though they weren't wildly practical for day-to-day farm life. Floating around in a floral maxi and flip-flops wouldn't be much help with the shearing.
He hurried past the underwear shelves without even bothering to look.
Finally he made it to the counter with: one pair of floral wellies (size 4), since they didn't seem to sell sensible green ones; one pair of lace-up tennis shoes; two pairs of denim cut-offs (irresistible); a three-pack of multi-coloured vest tops (would look good without a bra); one colour-block jersey maxi-dress; one lightweight raincoat; one straw sunhat.
He was reasonably pleased with his purchases, though the way the sales assistant eyed him as she bagged them up made him feel hot under the collar. Clearly, she wasn't used to men buying women's clothes in here.
Wandering back through the shop, he tried to imagine what the woman had made of him. Perhaps she thought he had kidnapped a girl and was holding her prisoner. He pictured Kim, tied naked to his bed, and couldn't prevent a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face.
Perhaps he'd do that when he got home. He had plenty of cables and ropes about the place. He could tie her up and get something to tickle her with…what could he use? Probably not a chicken feather, maybe an ear of wheat…
He had come to the front of the shop, where the newspapers and magazines were sold, and something at the corner of his eye made him stop and wheel around. What had he seen? Where was it?
There.
He snatched up the copy of Closer magazine and stared at the cover.
It couldn't be.
Could it be?
It was.
*
He parked the jeep, detached the trailer and swept it out, took the carrier bags from the passenger seat and headed for the farmhouse.
Underneath Skip's cheerful barks, a vacuum cleaner droned.
He put the bags on the kitchen table and let Skip jump up at him, crouching down for a hug, holding his dog in his arms while he stared blankly at the living room door.
"There's my girl," he soothed, tickling her neck before straightening up.
If only all women were as uncomplicated as Skip. A bit of affection and a nice meaty bone was all she ever asked. He'd thought Kim similar in her way. But now it seemed he'd read her all wrong.
She was bending down to vacuum underneath a coffee table when he entered the room. Her shirt had ridden right to the tops of her thighs, skimming her luscious round bottom. Any higher and she wouldn't be hiding a thing.
He watched her, his knees weakening, cursing the stirring of his groin. Why did she do this to him?
She must have heard the door click shut behind him, because she straightened up, grinned over her shoulder and switched off the vacuum cleaner.
"Good day at the market?" she asked brightly, then her smile faded. "What's up?"
"No wonder you didn't want to come to town," he said.
"Oh fuck."
"Kizzee."
She collapsed into an armchair, her head between her knees.
"That is your name, isn't it?" he persisted, hating how hard and cold his voice sounded.
She looked up and her eyes were brilliant, on fire.
"No," she said vehemently. "My name is Kim."
"Kizzee's a stage name then?"
"Yes. It's the name he chose for me. It's not mine and I don't want it."
Rhys stood against the door, floored into silence for a moment.
"I think the time's come for an explanation, don't you?" he said.
"Don't make me go back," she said. "I've been so happy here. Please don't make me go back."
"Kim, they're looking for you. There's a frantic search on. You have to at least tell them you're safe."
"But don't make me go back."
He exhaled deeply. "I'll get us a drink. You've got a lot of talking to do."
Kim had curled up in a foetal ball in the armchair by the time he returned with two mugs of strong, sweet tea.
"Here," he said, putting them on the coffee table.
"Hold me," she said.
"What?"
"You sound so pissed off with me and I can't stand it. Please give me a hug. I really need a hug."
He puffed out his cheeks, sighed deeply and sat her on his lap in the armchair, her head resting against his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. "Do you hate me?"
"The thing is, Rhys." She broke off and looked up at him, her eyes huge with appeal. "The last six months have driven me to the brink of madness. When it turned out that you didn't know who I was – hadn't ever heard of me – it was just too good to pass up. The chance to be Kim again."
"Being Kizzee doesn't suit you? You've got everything most girls dream of. Fame, fortune, and all that."
"But the dream doesn't always match the reality, does it?"
Rhys breathed through a stab of emotional pain. She was right there.
"No," he said quietly.
"I feel so stupid, so ungrateful too, but mainly really stupid. I spent years and years trying to get to this point. I worked three jobs so I could pay for a voice coach. I lugged my PA system around every beer-stinking toilet in London. I stayed up till three and four in the morning perfecting my dance routines. When I got through the first audition for Voice of Britain I was hysterical. I didn't stop shaking and laughing for about a week."
"And you went on to win the competition?"
"Yeah. Winning the competition wasn't the same, though. It didn't feel real. I couldn't take it in. Before I could even stop to think, I was in the thick of things. Recording studios, interviews, TV, showbiz parties, non-stop."
"And you said some guy gave you the name Kizzee? Who was that?"
"It was Jonathan Webb."
"Even I've heard of him. Seen him at a couple of events when I was back in town. Always struck me as a sinister bastard."
Kim laughed, a wild kind of laugh that turned into tears.
Rhys held her close, shushing, stroking her hair.
"You're not wrong," she said at last, the words jerking out like hiccups.
"What did he do to you?" A quickening of anger stirred in Rhys.
"After the first audition, he asked to see me afterwards. I was so flattered. He said I was something special and if I took his advice I'd go all the way to the finals, and I'd win. I knew deep down that it wasn't right for him to single me out when he was a contest judge, but I was just so…starstruck. And I didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, you know?"
Ask No Questions Page 6
