by Duka Dakarai
We stagger, still entwined, through the rooms to the bedroom, before he forcefully throws me onto the bed. He stands for a moment looking down at me, his nostrils flare with need. He remains still, breathing hard, looking down at me. I slide my dress up slowly, inch by inch, gliding passed my thighs until it reaches my naked pussy. I part my thighs as I watch him close his eyes briefly, roll his head back, groan and look down again.
“Fuck…..I said you were bad news, sweetness. You are so fucking good, and so fucking bad all rolled into one.” He growls, grabbing at the buttons of his jacket.
I keep my focus directly into his eyes as I slide the remainder of the material up my body and over my head. I stretch a spiked heel towards his cock, stroking slow motions up its length, smiling as he wildly pulls himself from layer upon layer of dress uniform. Finally he is naked, save for his trousers. He grabs for both my ankles and pulls me towards him, stretching my thighs wide, bending down before me.
He bites and suckles along the length of my inner thighs, licking long strokes with his tongue. I arch my hips hungrily, aching for his touch on my sex. He plunges his tongue straight into my folds and I thrust upward in response. He groans his own pleasure, the vibration so raw making me pant with anticipation. He holds my sex against his mouth, cupping my ass with each hand, pulling me tighter into his mouth.
Again, plunging into my folds again, in, out, in, out, making love with his tongue. He releases, beginning small circles around my clit. The tightness and pull of imminent orgasm is almost unbearable, pain and pleasure combined. He quickens the pace of his circling before taking my clit whole in his mouth, sucking hard, taking me there….taking me over the edge.
“Yes, Logan!” I cry out my release as he drinks and savours every drop of my juices, plunging his tongue deeper and harder into me.
He raises himself up to me, finding my mouth. Surrounding his lips upon mine, he kisses deep and slow, his tongue tasting all around my mouth. He begins to rock deliberately against me, stroking his erection through my sodden pubes. I push my hand down through our bodies, reaching to stroke his shaft. He groans as I squeeze gently through the material, sliding up and down the hardness. “Let me taste you, Logan” I pull on his belt, edging him up the bed until his knees are either side of my head. I unzip him, draw his cock out fisting him slowly. His hips begin to rock, his face fixed with arousal, his eyes blazing wildly.
I dance my tongue around the head, lapping circular motions before sliding my lips over the edge of the head and down his cock. Pulling up and down, drawing him further into my mouth. He throws his head back, his eyes rolling backwards, a raw growl spitting from his mouth.
“Fuck, baby….your sweet mouth is so good” He pants becoming raspy and hoarse.
He cradles each side of my head with his hands, beginning to rock his cock into my mouth deeper, holding me there, fucking my mouth, his increasing groans of pleasure spiking heat again into my pulsing sex.
“Christ….I don’t want to stop. Fuck!” He rasps, thrusting harder, holding tighter, hands fisting in my hair. I can feel his cock swell as his release builds in intensity. He jerks himself out of my mouth suddenly.
He throws himself down, pulling me onto top of him. “Straddle me, baby. I want to watch you come again.” I roll each knee to either side of his face and lower my pussy onto his tongue. He pierces my folds, darting his tongue up and through the folds. He pulls my clit into his mouth, sucking hard until I buck and shudder, flooding his mouth with another release.
As the waves continue to surge through me, he jerks his trousers down, his hands grasp my hips drawing me down onto his cock. He thrusts upwards, breaking entry through the folds, rocking up into me. He is arching his hips into me, as I pace him thrust for thrust, growling out each groan…. beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.
I lean forward taking his nipple hard between my teeth….biting, sucking, biting. “Fuck, Amber!” He yells out a long harsh growl as he spills his seed, his body convulsing as the orgasm rides through him.
We lie, panting, entangled and drowsy with spent desire. After a long while, he kisses me long and tenderly before slowly rising, beginning to re-dress himself.
I raise myself onto my elbows, watching as he pulls each layer onto his body. When he is finished, he sits slowly back onto the bed slumping his shoulders over. He rests his head in his hands, his elbows hard against his knees. He sighs, deep and long.
“What is wrong, Logan?” I sit up, anxious.
He breathes in sharply one last time, before straightening himself, his shoulders tight and firm. “I have got to go, Amber.”
He stands, smiles down at me slowly, and makes his way out of the door.
***
Major Logan Grant enters the elevator on the top floor of the Dorchester. He leans his head against the coolness of the glass interior, cursing under his breath. He didn’t want to walk away so harshly but it was the right thing to do. For both of them. He scrapes a hand down his face, knowing. Knowing that Amber Templer was already under his skin.
Chapter Eight
I have not seen Logan since that night. I returned to the unit at Queen Elizabeth Hospital a couple of days later to be informed by Aiden that the Major was returning to Afghanistan in a couple of days so would not be visiting the unit, instead he was in Norton Manor Camp, the base of 40 Commando in Taunton, Somerset preparing to leave.
As I sit with Aiden now, waiting with him while he receives his discharge from the unit, my mind is flooding with thoughts. He does not know what happened between the Major and me. I would not do that to him. It is obvious that he has a small crush on me. I am trying to remain in light conversation, chatting casually about what he will do when he leaves the ward but inside I am a mess of emotions. And it is my own fault. I should not have slept with Logan.
“You keep drifting off” Aiden snaps me from my thoughts. He cocks his head, a shy smile on his face. “I think you are going to miss me”
I return his smile. “Yes, you are right there. I will miss that goofy smile!” I playfully cup his face.
“Amber?” He bows his head, looking up at me through thick brown lashes.
“Yes, trouble?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Can we keep in touch, you know, write and text? I-I-I think you know I like you.” He stumbles out the words, his handsome face blushing.
“I would like that very much, Aiden. Let me write down my address.” I reach for my bag to scribble my address. And I do want to keep in touch.
An hour later and I am walking through the car park with Aiden. His parents have arrived to collect him, and after hurried introductions, they are waiting by their car. We link arms playfully as we swing towards them. Suddenly, Aiden pulls me into a tight hug squeezing every breath from my lungs.
“I will miss you, Amber. You will write to me, won’t you?” He breathes softly against my neck.
“I will. I promise. Now get going before you make me cry.” I pull away from him, a lump building in my throat.
He releases me, walking casually towards his parents. As he climbs into the back seat of the car, he shouts out as I turn away.
“I will keep you up to date with the Major, Amber.”
I turn, sharply. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“Just because.” He smiles and shrugs slowly, his expression now sad. He closes the door behind him and I watch the car drive away.
***
Two Months Later
Hi Amber,
A quick letter because I’m knackered and really need sleep. It’s been three weeks since I’ve been back here at Helmand. Didn’t miss the heat and dust when I was with you at QEH in Birmingham! But glad to be back with the lads, I can’t lie.
Great news on getting a studio and gallery for yourself! Will come and visit you there for sure. You are a great artist and you deserve it. Don’t give Drew a hard time for wanting it for you. That is what older brothers do.
Major Grant is ok, I think. Seems
to be kicking ass even harder since he got back here this time around. The other night at meal break, I told him we were in touch, and writing to each other. He gave me a look like he was going to remove my head and use it for target practice. Moody fucker needs to find himself a woman!
Anyway, don’t go worrying about me. I’m ok. And stop watching all the news items and going on the websites about us. It will drive you mad, honey.
Take care, lovely lady
Aiden xx
***
Hi Aiden,
Thanks for the letter, and all the letters. I love reading them. I’m glad you are ok. Of course I worry about you. But I will ease up on the website and news, I promise.
The studio and gallery are going great. I know I should not be mad at Drew but I can afford these things for myself. I just choose to do it on my own. Hey, I sold a piece yesterday. £650! And the guy said his wife would probably commission another piece in the near future.
Dr Rowe says to say hi. It is my last week at the unit next week. Mia and I are planning to do more work for The British Forces Foundation. I will let you know we are up to.
I received a lovely card from your mum and dad this morning. What have you been telling them about me?!! It was a gorgeous, handmade silk painted Thank You card.
Oh, got to dash. Someone just walked into the gallery. Will write again soon. Try to ignore the moody Major. Probably work related and nothing to do with you.
Please take care. Be safe.
Amber xx
Chapter Nine
The Old Police Station is a do-it-yourself Art centre in an architectural infrastructure, an occupation of the old Edwardian Deptford Police Station housing artist’s studios, cells for exhibition, independent project spaces, a radio station, band rehearsal studios and social spaces.
The last Friday of every month is DIRTY COP FRIDAY, the monthly social event and after-party for local late gallery openings with charity fundraising bar.
The Old Police Cell Block and Fingerprint Room compound has been occupied by a series of concept pop ups. These have included curated Supper Club, Speakeasy Cocktail Bar, Photographic Archive and Cafe.
To gain studio and gallery space here requires an application to be put onto a very long waiting list. Unless your name is Drew Templer and your brother, Jake, is engaged to Mia Fox. You get the picture.
However, after my initial frustration at the intervention from Drew and Jake, I have to say I am delighted. I am in the heart of the most ‘happening’ Art scene in London, possibly Europe. And we are also raising money for charitable causes so I could not be happier.
***
I tuck my letter to Aiden in the back pocket of my jeans and make my way through the corridors, past the ‘cells’ and out into gallery areas. Ray, one of the resident artists had interrupted my letter writing to tell me I am wanted in the gallery. A very expensive looking lady is stood enquiring about a sculpture Ray enthusiastically tells me. So here I am walking through the corridors ignoring the thoughts of Logan Grant that rush into my head every time I read a mention of him. It has been two months and he is still under my skin.
As I swing around the corner, I see the flash of red hair and instantly recognise my mysterious potential customer is Mia. Although I am always pleased to see her, I still need very sale I can get. So my heart sinks a little.
Turning at the sound of my footsteps, she rushes across to hug me tight. “Hey, Amber.”
“Hi, Mia. What are you doing here? Please don’t tell me you want to buy one of my pieces.” I shake my head at her, raising a slightly irritated eyebrow.
She releases me, holding my at arm’s length, fawning hurt. “I will buy one if I want. But that is not why I am here if you must know so you can put that eyebrow down and wipe the disappointed look off your face.” She drawls.
“So, you are just visiting?” I smile, purposefully pulling the eyebrow down.
“Well, Jake is off buying my surprise birthday present from Graff in Bond Street so I’m here about to take you to lunch if you will let me. I need to talk to you about something very important.”
I raise my hands in exasperation. “How do you know about Jake visiting Graff’s? And what is the important news?”
“Because my gorgeous fiancé left the brochures ‘hidden’ in his bedside drawer. The first place I would look for fuck’s sake! And the important news will happen over wine and food. Now where shall we eat? We have a car at our disposal so you choose. But make sure it is pasta. I’m starving!”
***
“I don’t think that is a good idea, in fact, it is definitely not a good idea” I take another sip of my coffee, clanging the cup into the saucer anxiously.
We are sat in Caravaggio. Formerly opened by Luciano Pavarotti in 1996, Caravaggio still remains one of the firm favourites with the movers and shakers of the square mile. Occupying the imposing premises of what was formerly a banking hall, the space has been opened up to create a gallery which runs around the room at mezzanine level. It is my once a month treat with Ray. And I knew Mia will love it.
“Why is it not a good idea?” Mia waves a frustrated hand, leaning inwards.
“You know why, Mia! 40 Commando is his unit. I might see him.” I can feel my anger bubbling at the surface. I cannot believe she would suggest such a thing.
“Yes, true. But you might see Aiden. Imagine how he would love that.” She bats away my anger as though it were an irritating fly.
“Don’t play that card, Mia. Please!” I feel a tear prick at my eye. Yes, Aiden would love to see me. Especially on a surprise visit to his camp in Helmand!
Mia has become heavily involved with The British Forces Foundation. Having high profile people support a charity is always good. I know that. But now she has volunteered to photograph and document a surprise gig by Sapphire and supporting artists for 40 Commando at their main operating base ‘Price’ in Helmand Province's Nahr-e Saraj district.
And she has bagged me a role as creative liaison.
“I’m not playing any card, Amber. Call it kill or cure. Intervention. Whatever. But it has been two months and you still have Logan Grant under your skin. And don’t lie and say you are over him. I know the signs. Jesus, your own brother had the same effect on me.” She leans forward to squeeze my hand. I snatch it away sullenly.
“So planting me in the middle of his camp in Afghanistan is going to resolve it. Are you fucking serious?” I spit out at her. “Drew and Jake must be furious with you, as am I!”
“Actually, if you ask them yourself, they think it is a very worthwhile cause and will boost the morale of the guys. Of course, they have concerns for your welfare over there but we will all be heavily supervised and protected the whole time. As for seeing Logan or Aiden, you have no guarantee that it will happen. But if you do, then you will know if he has feelings for you and if he is worth fighting for.”
I throw my hands in the air causing other diners to look in our direction. “How many times, Mia! He does not do relationships. He does not want me. I’m trying to forget about him.” I let the solitary angry tear spill onto my cheek.
“And what if I’m right and you are wrong?” She thumbs the tear away with her napkin before signaling to the waiter for the bill.
Chapter Ten
The Chinook Helicopter lands directly on the pad with ease. As the doors open the dust and heat are the first to hit you, followed by the unmistakable colours of military brown, mint green and beige…on the buildings, combat uniforms, nettings, everywhere. We are ushered off the helicopter by security and led towards the engineering tent at the main vehicle park where the gig will take place tonight. On board with Mia, Sapphire and I were TV reporters, Forces reporters and service men and women. Once inside the tent, we are met by representatives from The British Forces Foundation and Captain John McFarlane.
We are given refreshments, briefed about this evening’s event, and shown the temporary stage area. We begin to make our preparations for tonight.
I am keeping myself busy trying to ignore my churning, anxious stomach. Occasionally, a few people will wander through the tent keen to catch a glimpse of Sapphire or Mia.
As the darkness falls, there is a frenzy of activity as finishing touches to the stage and lighting are completed. Mia is busy photographing the troops as they take their seats. Sapphire is applying the final touches to her make-up, humming and preparing her voice for her performance. I am hiding in the background, fetching and carrying, and doing whatever I am told to do. And in five minutes, the show will begin.
***
There is an enormous roar from the crowd as a representative from The British Forces Foundation takes to the microphone to announce that the special guest for this evening, Sapphire, is about to come on stage.
“But first, give a big welcome to Mia Fox and to Amber Templer! Mia, in case some of you don’t know, is the girl who graces many a Forces poster, and Amber Templer who has given many weeks of her time to working with our injured personnel at Queen Elizabeth Hospital. Show them how happy you are for them to come all this way to see you!” He booms as the crowds erupt with wolf whistles and cheers.
Mia gushes onto the stage dragging me forcefully behind her. I can feel my legs weaken with every step. We reach the microphone, and instantly Mia is on form, blowing kisses and waving into the throng of soldiers. I shield my eyes against the glare of the lights just as I hear my name bellowed from the fourth row. A man is frantically waving at me. Aiden. The smile is splitting his face apart, as those around him heckle and tease him wildly. I laugh and wave back in his direction.
As we turn to make our way off the stage, there are more whistles and cheers. We turn again for one last wave, before my eyes fall on a singular figure stood slightly back from the seated crowd. He is stood rigid and tall but his powerfully built frame, blonde hair and piercing blues are unmistakable. And his face is set hard, his jaw clenched so tight, I can see small twitches in his cheek muscles. His strong arms are crossed angrily across his chest. Oh, fuck
