Stories for When the Sun Goes Down (Sexy Anthology)

by Lily Harlem

  “What.” I push up and glare at him. “On what?”

  “Well you know that trip to Florida you and the kids have been on about for ages.”

  “Yes…” I tilt my head and can’t help but smile in hope.

  “Well it’s all booked, we go next month.”

  I whoop with delight and hurl myself on top of my husband. “Oh, Jack, I can’t believe it… you’ve really booked it, really…?”

  “Yes, really,” he laughs and rolls me over to contain my excited wriggling with his body weight. “It’s the least I can do after you agreed to act out my fantasy.”

  I grin and give him a deep, lingering kiss on the lips. “Well, it was hardly a chore.”

  About the Champagne Whore

  When I wander central London I play a private game. I try to view things as a tourist might; the imposing streets, the grand palaces, and the eclectic mix of people. Doing this always gives me a sense of ownership and pride even though I actually own nothing in the glorious, sprawling city.

  I did live London for a time with a cute boyfriend (who I went on to marry). We were poor, working hard and playing hard, but we were happy. I remember one night we went to bed with the luxury of a borrowed gas heater and woke up covered in sticky floral wallpaper. It had literally slid from the walls overnight because of the extreme dampness in our little flat—which six months later was condemned and pulled down!

  Having progressed from the meager student days and hauling ourselves onto the career ladder, a few years ago my husband took me to a charity dinner at The Grosvenor House Hotel. I knew very few people, and as he chatted with colleagues I was content to sink into a leather chair in the Champagne Bar and indulge one of my favourite pastimes—people watching.

  The ambiance was muted. Men kept their voices hushed and ladies sipped golden bubbles with their little fingers poised. A pianist tinkled in the background and the bar staff were attentive yet discreet. It struck me that with all the elegant dresses and finely suited men, a passing time traveller would have had difficulty guessing the year, or even the decade, we were socialising in. There were no mobile phones, no bluetooths or iPads on show, just chic people on their best behaviour.

  Perhaps a glance out of the window at the cars slicing through dark puddles would have given a clue; Limos, Lexus’, Bentleys and Mercs rushing the rich and famous, royalty and celebrity to other Park Lane venues surrounding us.

  As people arrived in the Champagne Bar and greeted each other it became hard to tell who was catching up with old friends and who was being introduced for the first time. I studied my husband in his pristine tux and holding a thin flute of champagne. He laughed at something someone said to him, nodded and turned and caught my gaze. I returned his smile and wondered what it would be like if ‘we’ were just being introduced for the first time.

  I’m pleased to say if we had just met at that moment, I’d still fancy him like crazy. But what would it be like to play a game, come back and fool everyone? Would people guess by our familiar body language that were a couple and knew each other’s deepest darkest desire? And what about the genteel staff in this sophisticated hotel, would they be so crass as to challenge our behaviour if we thought up the naughtiest way possible to become acquainted? It got me thinking and The Champagne Whore is the product from those musings.

  Shy Bird

  “Have you ever seen a hummingbird dancing amongst the flowers?” Ray whispered.

  “No,” I said in an equally hushed voice. “Never.”

  “It’s beautiful, a wonderful prism of color flitting around.”

  “Where did you see hummingbirds?” I asked softly so as not to disturb the marsh harriers slowly making their way toward us.

  “In San Diego years ago, when I was touring with the bike. Absolutely stunning.”

  We were quiet for a moment, concentrating on the endless expanse of mudflats. I sneaked a glance at him. Like me he was perched forward, elbows on the windowsill of the hide and binoculars primed in front of his eyes. I loved the old moss-green hat he always wore—his lucky charm—and the way his dark curls licked around the edge. From this angle he was picture-perfect.

  “I’d love to go to America,” I said.

  “You will one day.”

  “I’m not sure, the thought of flying is too scary. I prefer to stay here, in Norfolk.”

  “Flying, scary?” He shifted his binoculars and turned to me, a strip of sunlight slashed across the silver lines on his right cheek. “But surely, as a dedicated bird watcher, a committed twitcher, flying is something you’re fascinated by.”

  I huddled lower and drew up my shoulders. His complete attention always thrilled me, but equally it terrified me. “Yes, but not to actually fly myself,” I said, feigning a complete fascination in a common starling that was pecking near the hide.

  “Sometimes you just have to go for it,” he said, his gruff voice held a note of steel.

  In my peripheral vision I saw him realign his binoculars and settle down again. We were waiting for a sighting of a spoonbill. Hopefully we would soon be treated to a glimpse of one of my favorite birds.

  “Even if you’re scared or worried, or you can’t imagine doing it,” he went on, “everyone has to take a risk sometimes and then deal with the consequences the best they can if it all goes wrong.”

  I bit down on my lip as my heart swelled. Ray had taken a risk and then had titanic-size consequences to cope with. He’d had a big, mean motorbike, raced all over with his mates until one winter’s day he’d hit ice. He’d skidded head first into a wall and spent two weeks in intensive care fighting for his life. The scars on his face were the physical marks left on his body, but from our talks I knew there were more inside. He beat himself up over what he put his parents and friends through and the fact that one side of his face now looked like it had a spider’s web spun over it.

  Listening to him talk, as we sat in the hide, was one of my favorite things to do. It was bi-monthly this meeting of twitchers, and the highlight of my calendar since Ray and I had partnered up a year ago.

  “I’m not as brave as you,” I said.

  “I’m only brave because I had to be.” He paused as two glossy ibises landed amongst the reeds, their large fingered wings spreading high as their skinny legs touched down.

  I marked their time of arrival on the log sheet. Something I always did. I liked to be accurate in our documentation.

  “If you had to fly to America,” he went on, “say to see someone you loved, then you would do it, wouldn’t you?”

  “I guess.” The thing was I loved Ray. With all my heart, and he was right here. But I was too terrified to do anything about that love. He was out of my league for sure. He was so damn cool and had a rebellious, bad-boy air about him, also he knew so much more than me about life. I’d always been the quiet bookworm type. Preferring to bury myself in stories or walk along the Norfolk Broads with my binoculars and notepad. Not like him, busy roaring around on a Harley, adding to his collection of tattoos and heading to whichever festival was on that weekend.

  “You would fly for someone you loved,” he said, “I know you would.” Once again he put down his binoculars. This time he reached for the flask of tea and re-filled our mugs.

  “Thanks,” I said when he passed my cup.

  “So are we going to stay late again and see if our friend the short eared owl appears?” he asked.

  A warm glow radiated from my stomach. I wanted nothing more than to spend the evening in the hide with Ray, watching the sun go down, drinking tea, studying his mouth as he spoke and breathing in the delicious spiced cologne he always wore. Afterwards we would go back to The Cart and Slipper the public house-come-bed and breakfast the Wirral Ornithological Society always used. Hopefully he’d suggest we grab a bar-snack and a night-cap and I’d get to sit next to him on the old sofa in front of the fire and listen to more tales from his past. I’d been lucky enough to spend several evenings this way. It was lovely sitting next
to him like that, my leg just touching his, his shoulder brushing mine when he lifted his drink to his lips. I could almost pretend we were a real couple and the intimacy of sharing personal space was something we were used to and comfortable with. “Yes, we should stay late,” I said, hoping I kept the note of absolute excitement out of my voice.

  “Great, in that case we’ll have a little of this in our tea.” Delving into the pocket of his leather jacket that lay over the back of the bench, he withdrew a silver hipflask. “Here you go.” He glugged a slosh of whiskey into my cup. “Cheers.” He clinked the rims of our mugs together. “Here’s to more spoonbill sightings than Nick and Jeremy.

  I clicked my tongue on the roof of my mouth. “Absolutely. Otherwise we’ll never hear the end of it.”

  He grinned and creases shot from the corner of his eyes to his temples and the thin, thready scar that kissed the outline of his lip disappeared.

  I took a sip and the rich, earthy flavor washed over my tastebuds. It was not the first time Ray had brought whiskey and I liked how it made my knees feel light and my belly heat. It undid the knot that too often twisted my tongue and allowed me to tell him my thoughts and feelings, my hopes and dreams for the future. I wasn’t a drinker normally, but it helped when my emotions were so powerful and threatened to overwhelm me.

  Instead of picking up his binoculars again, Ray reclined on the bench and rubbed his palm around his jawline. “You don’t always realize what you’re capable of, Lisa.”

  “What do you mean?” I fiddled with the focus on my binoculars then took another sip of my toddy. He was making me center of attention, again, and that made my heart race.

  There was a sudden pressure on my back, over the wool of my sweater. He stroked his fingertips up toward my neck and touched my skin, just the tiniest fraction, like a butterfly brushing it’s wings over me.

  I froze, my mug held aloft as every nerve in my body went on high alert. That one patch of skin seemingly the only part of my body.

  “You’re never the first one to start a conversation,” he said, “and I’ve seen you hide away at the back of the group, trying to be invisible, more times than I care to remember. But that doesn’t mean you can’t do stuff.”

  I opened my mouth to speak. No words came out.

  He brushed my amber-blonde hair aside and the roots tingled. He leaned forward and hovered his lips near my ear, his breaths washing over my neck and sending a flutter shimmying over my scalp.

  “Ray, I…” I was sure he would be able to hear my heart pounding, echoing around the small hide. He’d never touched me like that before, never shown any physical affection toward me other than a peck on the cheek at the Wetland Conservation Christmas party when I’d accidently found myself under a piece of mistletoe

  “Don’t speak, please, let me.” He swallowed, making a small gulping sound. I could hear his breathing, short, shallow breaths. “I just really want to tell you. I mean, what I want to say is… fuck, I knew I’d mess this up.”

  “Ray?” I turned, my nose practically bumping into his. “What is it? What’s the matter?” Why was he so nervous? Didn’t he want to be my twitcher partner anymore? I would just die if he’d found someone else he wanted to go spotting with. Bird watching with Ray was my everything.

  Raising his hand, he cupped my cheek. “It’s just that I’ve been meaning to ask you, for ages now…”

  I couldn’t help but want to fall into him. Into the raw strength he exuded, the heat that radiated from him and the wondrous way he always made me feel when we were together. And now, with him so close, touching me…

  “Ask me what?” My cheek was tingling against his big, warm palm.

  “Do you think?” He paused, tensed his jaw. “Do you think you could ever be with a guy like me?”

  My heart swelled, adrenaline pumped into my system. “What do you mean be with?”

  “I know I’m no oil painting, what with all of this mess.” He gestured to the left side of his face. “And probably not the sort of guy you would normally go for, but if I don’t at least ask, then I’m not the brave man I thought I was.”

  I looked at his nose with a slight bump at the bridge, his soft, ever-ready-to-smile mouth, and his beautiful chestnut eyes. His pupils were dilated and his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he blinked. “Ray, I don’t know what to say.”

  He shook his head and looked at our knees, just brushing against each other. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry. Like I said, I just had to ask. We get on so well, when I’m with you I feel like none of the crazy shit happened and I can just be me again, so I…” He dropped his hand from my cheek and rested it on his lap. “I just needed to find out if you felt the same way, or think you could, possibly, one day.”

  Thoughts and emotions tumbled through my brain, a combination of anticipation, joy and disbelief. “How do you feel?” I asked, trying to keep the shake from my voice. “So I can tell you if I feel the same way.”

  He looked back up, frown lines were creasing his brow. “Lisa, I lost so much, after the accident, but also I’ve gained so much. I would never have considered bird-watching before, I would have been out tearing up the tarmac with my mates every weekend. But now, here, I’m happy, happier than ever before and it’s all down to one thing.” He paused. “It’s because I’ve found you and we share this time together.”

  I swallowed down a ball of emotion that threatened to bubble into a sob. My chest was a little tight, my knees felt weak even though I was sitting down. “Really?”

  He cocked his head and pressed his teeth onto his bottom lip. “Yes, really. Every second weekend with you is the highlight of my month, the weekends I don’t see you I just find things to do that pass the time. Anything, it doesn’t matter what.”

  My eyes, damn them, were moistening. He’d just summed up my feelings in their entirety.

  We stared at each other.

  A gull screeched overhead.

  Little beads of sweat popped in my cleavage.

  Ray pulled his eyebrows low, as though concentrating intensely.

  “Well if that’s how you feel,” I said with a flush of heat spreading up my neck and onto my cheeks. “Then yes, I do feel the same way.”

  “You do?” He widened his eyes.

  “Yes, I love our time together, here, bird-watching, chatting.”

  “I love it too, and, and… I love you.” He captured my cheeks in his hands and brought our faces close, so close I could feel his breaths on my mouth.

  “Ray,” I gasped, clutching his forearm and hanging onto the thickly roped muscles and tendons beneath his t-shirt.

  “It’s the truth. And it’s not like we’ve just met, and I can’t contain it anymore, Lisa. I want to be with you in a way that is so much more than looking for rare species. I want to see you on the weekends we’re not hiding in here. I want to take you to the movies and dinner and spoil you when it’s your birthday and Christmas. I want you to meet my parents and friends and then when we’ve done that I want to hold you, all night, make love to you, wake up with you…”

  His lips were so close to mine, a whisper away. “I want that too.”

  “Thank goodness.” He smiled briefly then kissed me, softly, sweetly, his tongue just skirting into my mouth, the tip warm and wet and laced with the malty tea we’d just drunk.

  “Ah, you taste divine,” he said, pulling back.

  I smiled and licked my lips, drawing his flavor into my mouth. Reaching up, I traced the scars at the center of his cheek then followed one of the trails to his nose and over to the outer corner of his eye. They were smooth on the tip of my finger, flat, they were part of Ray and they’d brought him my way. For that reason I would always adore them.

  “I love you too,” I whispered, “I have done for so long.” I set down my mug, feeling bashful that I’d said what was in my heart but also feeling freer because of it.

  Suddenly he was kissing me again, harder this time, more urgent. I opened up a
nd let him in, slid my hands over his shoulders and hung on tight. My breasts were pressed into his wide chest, my nipples spiking against my bra. His heat, his scent, his taste consumed my senses.

  “Jesus,” he muttered pulling back. “I’ve waited so long to kiss you, hold you. I didn’t think you would want to, what with me like this, all messed up and—”

  “Ray.” I rested my index finger over his lips. “Please, don’t say that. I think you’re gorgeous, beautiful. And if it wasn’t for these marks on your face then you wouldn’t even be here, let alone be kissing me.”

  “And I would never have even know what I’d missed.” He trailed his finger down my neck, to the hollow of my throat and onto the first rise of my breast.

  I hitched in a breath. My nipples were engorged, the flesh around them heavy. Was this really happening?

  “I want to make love to you, Lisa,” he whispered, cupping my breast through my sweater. “I want to show you the depth of my feelings.”

  Darts of desire shot through me. Causing my pussy to clench and my clit to swell. Ray wanted to make love to me. But my goodness, it had been so long, years since I’d given my virginity away. There’d been no one since Patrick. Would I still know what to do? Or would I be a disappointment to Ray? A man of the world, a man who had no doubt bedded a hundred women in his previous, wild lifestyle.

  “Everything about you is perfect,” he murmured, kissing across my cheek and onto my neck. “Shall we lose this?” He tugged at my fleecy top.

  “You want to make love here?” I asked, tensing.

  He stopped kissing me and pulled back just far enough to look into my face. “It would be appropriate for our first time since we met here, July eighth, last year, in this very hide.”

  Despite my nerves I couldn’t help but smile. He’d remembered the date too. “It’s just…” I glanced down at the hard bench.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Too uncomfortable. Let’s try this.”

  He stood, reached into the box that held blankets and covers for use on cold nights and frosty dawns and began shaking them out. Spreading them on the dusty floor in thick layers.