by Mandy Lee
The bristles travels inwards, tickling their way across my clitoris, down towards my backside and back up along my perineum. He repeats the movement, again and again, until I’m nothing more than a wreck of desire.
‘What do you want, Maya?’
‘I want you to fuck me.’
‘Magic word, woman.’
‘Please,’ I groan.
I sense a movement on the bed and I know that he’s positioned himself above me now. His legs are between my thighs, nudging them further apart. His mouth covers mine, devouring me while his tongue gently probes my mouth. At last, he pulls away. I can still feel his breath against my face as his cock presses at my opening, pushing its way into me, slowly, filling me right up.
‘It feels so good to be inside you,’ he breathes. The blindfold is taken off and I find his glorious face right next to mine. ‘I want to see you. Look at me while I fuck you.’
He withdraws slowly, right to the tip and then slides his way back up to the limit.
‘I can’t get enough of you, Maya. I’ve never felt like this before.’
‘Like what?’
‘I’m the one who asks the questions now.’
He withdraws again and thrusts straight back in. As he pounds the back of my vagina, I cry out in surprise.
‘Get your legs over my shoulders.’
What? How am I supposed to do that? I’m not a bloody gymnast! He notices my confusion. Pulling himself out of me, he kneels up on his haunches, takes an ankle in each hand and hooks my legs over his shoulders, raising my backside away from the bed.
‘Keep them there.’
I nod mutely. I can’t talk right now. Bracing my arms against the bed, I’m having to concentrate for all I’m worth on keeping myself in position. He grabs hold of my calves, holding me in place and enters me again. Jesus, this new angle takes him deeper, fills me more. Immediately, I’m about to explode. I groan deliriously while he stares down at me, his eyes hooded, shot through with lust. He withdraws himself to the very tip of his penis and slowly penetrates me again, repeating the process over and over again, sending shimmers right through me.
‘Are you nearly there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then let’s take you over the edge.’ He ratchets up the speed again, pounding into me relentlessly. ‘Come for me.’
Pulling back for a moment, he slams into me one last time. I let go on his order. My entire being seems to splinter in an instant.
‘Fuck.’ His body judders as he spends himself inside me. ‘Fucking hell, Maya.’ With shaking hands, he lowers my legs and withdraws before collapsing on top of me, wrapping me in his embrace and digging his head into my neck. ‘You are one fucking addictive drug.’
I run my fingers through his hair, gazing contentedly at the side of his face. Eyes closed, he smiles against my skin and my heart skips several beats. This man is a million miles away from the arrogant bastard I met a few days ago, an ocean away from the cold dominant who surfaced briefly at the club.
‘Dan?’ I ask at last.
‘Uh huh?’
‘The way you were with Claudine Thomas. Why are you never like that with me?’
His eyes flick open.
‘How do you mean?’
‘With her, you were cold … scary.’
He props himself on his elbows and gazes into my eyes.
‘Sometimes people just put on a front, remember?’ He brushes my hair out of my face. ‘The first time I ever met you, you saw the real me.’ He touches his lips against mine. ‘So what’s the point of hiding?’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When I wake up the next morning, he’s gone.
Bowling out of bed, I pull on a T-shirt and a pair of knickers, and race into the kitchen to find Lucy sitting at the table, downing a mug of tea on her own. All at once, the contents of my stomach decide to hurl themselves about like electrons inside an atom.
‘God I’m thirsty,’ Lucy complains. ‘I got wazzocked last night.’
I wave a hand in the air. I really don’t care how hung over Lucy Godfrey is. I’ve got more pressing matters to deal with.
‘Where’s Dan?’ I demand.
‘Gone home. You’ve just missed him.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’ I look for something to kick. ‘I’m sick of this. He’s backing out again.’
‘Chill your beans, woman,’ Lucy sighs. ‘Clive gave him a lift home. Dan said he didn’t want to wake you up and he’d be back in an hour. He had to pick something up. Oh, and he said you’re spending the weekend with him.’ Her eyeballs seem to expand and contract, a sure sign that her brain is trying to remember something important. ‘Oh, yes. He said wear jeans and a T-shirt. That’s an order.’
‘What?’
‘Them’s his words.’
I slump down at the table.
‘But what’s he gone to get?’
‘Beats me.’
‘And hang on a minute …’
‘What?’
‘How come Clive’s taken him home? What was Clive doing here?’
An uncomfortable silence lurks in the air between us while my dishevelled flatmate opens her mouth and closes it again, at least five times.
‘You didn’t?’
‘I might have,’ she mumbles into her tea. ‘You’re not the only one who deserves a bit of how’s your father.’ She rolls her shoulders, doing her level best to seem affronted. Before I get the chance to ask for further information, she’s already decided to oblige. ‘We had a few more drinks last night and I invited him back for coffee. We sat on the sofa and talked for a bit and then it was, you know, ooh, he’s looking at my lips and ooh, I’m looking at his lips and ooh, I say, he’s leaning in for a kiss, and bloody hell he’s fit.’
‘He’s an accountant with a ridiculous name.’
‘He’s a fucking fit accountant and I can put up with the name.’
‘But Clive?’
‘Clive.’ She stares at me, utterly determined to see this one through. ‘Clive,’ she says again, without cracking a smile.
‘I’m going to get dressed,’ I mutter, getting to my feet.
‘Jeans and a T-shirt,’ Lucy calls out as I skitter off back to the bedroom. ‘That’s an order!’
***
Staring at my wardrobe, I decide it’s got nothing to offer me today. Yes, I’ve got plenty of jeans and T-shirts but if Daniel Foster thinks he’s going to control me outside of the bedroom, then he can go and get stuffed. I need to make a point, and I need to make it good and proper. In fact, I need a dress. With no other option, I take myself off to Lucy’s bedroom. As soon as I open the door, I let out a gasp: it looks like several bombs have gone off in here. For a start, Lucy’s clothes from last night are strewn all over the floor, and if I’m not very much mistaken that’s a pair of her knickers dangling from the bedside lamp. Doing my best to ignore the carnage, I open the wardrobe and pull out the most flowery, girly, short dress I can find, a cream and pink number, all pretty and feminine and dainty. Taking it back to my room, I slip it on and locate my mobile, fully intending to fire off a quick text to the big kahuna, reminding him in no uncertain terms that when it comes to clothing, he’s not the boss of me. As soon as the screen lights up, I let out a groan. I’m faced with a message from Sara:
I really need to see you. Can I come down to stay?
Come down to stay? Jesus! Not likely! That’s the last thing I need. And I don’t care how badly the gruesome husband is pissing her off, I just haven’t got the time or the inclination to help her out at the minute. And anyway, it’s not as if I owe her even a speck of sisterly love. What goes around, comes around. She’ll just have to cope by herself. Ignoring my sister’s plea, I get on with the far more important task of putting Mr Foster firmly in his place. I tap out a text:
Thank you for your orders. I’ll wear what I like, if you don’t mind.
The answer is quick in coming.
Of course I don’t mind, as long as it’s jeans
and a T-shirt. X
I stare at the kiss, stunned by its sudden appearance. Now where did that come from? And what the hell does it mean? Before I really know what I’m doing, I’m firing off a reply.
What’s with the X?
I spend a good couple of minutes waiting for a response. When nothing comes, I perch on the edge of my bed and begin to wonder if I’ve pissed him off. Have I just pressed him for a declaration he’s simply not ready to give? Shit. I think I have. So now, when he finally turns up on my doorstep, bringing with him whatever he’s gone to fetch, he’ll be in a grump and I’ll be feeling distinctly embarrassed. Oh yes, I’m an idiot. I’ve definitely gone and done the wrong thing there …
***
I’m standing in the hallway, rearranging my hair for the umpteenth time and still worrying myself stupid over that stupid bloody text when I hear a roar from the street outside. Opening the door, I find a black motorbike parked at the kerb and sitting astride it, kitted out in a set of black leathers, is Dan. While he removes his helmet, ruffling his hair in the process, I shuffle out onto the step and gawp at him. His shoulders slump and he stares at me in despair.
‘I told you to wear jeans and a T-shirt,’ he sighs.
A sudden realisation dawns on me. I’m being taken out on a huge beast of a motorbike and a skimpy dress is no protection.
‘I’ll go and change.’
He shakes his head. In one swift movement, he swings his leg over the bike and marches up to the doorway. A gloved hand reaches out and grabs hold of my wrist.
‘No, you won’t. You’ve decided to play silly buggers again and you can pay for it.’
‘Dan, I can change.’
‘And I say you’ll stay in this dress.’ He tilts his head to one side, looking all rugged and shit hot in his leathers. I just want to yank him inside and strip him naked right now. ‘Besides, I like it,’ he adds, his eyes twinkling. ‘Oh, and in answer to your question about my text.’
A second gloved hand reaches out and grabs the back of my head. I’ve hardly had time to draw breath when his lips are on mine, kissing me fiercely, deeply.
‘Is that clear enough?’ he breathes, finally releasing me.
‘Yes,’ I squeak.
‘Good. Then let’s get going.’
I stare at the motorbike.
‘We’re going out on that thing?’
‘Yes, we are. It’s my preferred mode of transport.’
‘But it’s only got two wheels. It might fall over. It’s dangerous.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he laughs. ‘Besides, I’ve got a little something for you.’
He motions towards a car that’s parked a few feet away. The rear passenger door is open, and standing right next to it, holding a second set of leathers, a pair of boots and a helmet, is Clive. With a grin, he moves forwards and thrusts the whole lot at Dan.
‘Cheers, Clive.’ Laying the helmet on the seat of the motorbike and placing the boots at my feet, Dan sets about shaking out the leathers. ‘So, what are you up to today?’
‘Lucy’s got the day off,’ Clive smiles. ‘I said I’d take her out.’ He touches me on the arm. ‘Enjoy yourself, Maya. I’ve got to go.’
While Clive disappears inside the flat, Dan begins to go through the rigmarole of squeezing me into a full set of leathers. I’m ordered to take off my sandals, which are tossed into the hallway shortly before my feet are squeezed into the boots.
‘Dan, I’m scared.’
He looks up at me, genuinely excited, like a little boy. ‘Don’t be. You’re with me.’ He stands up straight. ‘You wanted me to open up. Well, I’m going to. I’m going to show you my world.’
‘Not more sex clubs?’
He tuts. ‘There’s more to me than that. Now, get this on.’
He pulls the helmet over my head. I stand there while he fixes the strap under my chin, concentrating on getting it just right before he opens the visor.
‘Is that too tight?’
‘No, it’s fine.’
He wiggles the helmet about.
‘Perfect. Let’s get going.’
I follow him to the motorbike and watch as he swings himself back onto it.
‘You sit here.’ He pats the seat behind him. ‘Feet on those pegs. Arms around my waist. Hold tight at all times. Whichever way I lean, you go with me. Understand?’
I nod.
‘I mean it, Maya. Don’t try to go in the opposite direction. You’ve just got to trust me. In everything.’
I nod again and hoist my right leg over the bike, manoeuvring myself into position.
‘Comfortable?’
‘Yes,’ I shout.
He puts his helmet back on and with a flick of a key, the motorbike erupts into life. Clamping my arms around his waist, I hold on for dear life while he kicks up the stand, revs the engine a few times and pulls out into the road. My heart begins to pound as we turn onto Camden High Street, and then it begins to thud as he picks up the speed. Before long, we’ve made it through the streets of North London and I’m pretty sure we’re on the M25. I have no idea where we’re going. All I know is we’re in the outside lane more often than I care to think about. But whichever way he leans, he takes me with him, and the further we go, the more I learn to trust him. By the time we finally leave the motorway and begin to hurtle our way along picture perfect country roads, I’m almost certain I’m enjoying the whole experience. At last, the motorbike slows. Taking a right turn through a gateway, we roll forwards beneath a canopy of trees until we emerge into the sunlight, out onto a gravelled driveway that curls to a halt in front of an impressive, Georgian country house. While Dan slows the bike to a crawl, picking his way carefully over the gravel, I take the opportunity to peek over his broad shoulders at what I already know is the family home. After all, I’ve seen it before … in the photograph on Norman’s shelf.
With five huge sash windows on each of its two main storeys, the house is perfectly symmetrical. A third storey sits in the roof where three smaller, dormer windows gaze out over the perfectly tended lawn. On the ground floor, a panelled door is centre stage, perched at the top of a small flight of steps. The whole thing is painted a pale cream colour, a contrast to the vibrant flower beds that line the front lawn. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anywhere quite so beautiful, quite so peaceful and calm. We draw to a halt at the bottom of the steps and when the bike has hummed into silence, Dan takes off his helmet, turns and gives me a heart-stopping grin.
‘Home, sweet home,’ he smiles. ‘You get off first.’
I swing my leg over the back of the bike and lower myself to the ground, immediately fiddling with the strap under my chin. Pulling it loose, I tug the helmet off my head and shake out my hair, hoping against all hope that I don’t look a complete mess. God, I’m sticky and my dress has ridden up a few inches into places it really shouldn’t go. I watch in awe as Dan gets off the bike and sets about shrugging off his leather gear. Underneath it all, he’s wearing my favourite outfit, the one he wore when he tracked me down to Slaters: tight, black jeans and a plain black T-shirt. Slipping his boots back on, he arranges the leathers across the back of the bike and turns to face me. My heartbeat trips at the sight of him.
‘Now, let’s see how that dress is doing.’
He unzips the top of my leathers and peels them away from my shoulders, before crouching down in front of me, removing the boots and pulling the leathers off completely. As I step out of them, I realise that the dress is already a mess of crinkles.
‘Oh dear.’ He smiles up at me. ‘You know you really should just do as I say.’
‘Never,’ I grimace. ‘So, I’m guessing this is your parents’ house.’
He stands up.
‘It was. It’s mine now. I’ve had some very happy years here.’
‘In the lap of luxury. I bet you were a spoilt brat.’
Oh bugger, I’ve done it again. My rotten, stupid mouth has fired off before it’s been fully briefed by my brain.
‘I wasn’t spoilt when I was child, Maya, and I wasn’t overindulged. I didn’t get every last thing I wanted. In fact …’ He trails off into silence, turning to look up at the house and then back to me. Suddenly, there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes. It must have been hard, losing his mum and dad in one fell swoop. ‘Come on.’ He reaches out a hand. ‘I’ll show you round.’ He glances down at my bare feet. ‘We should have brought those sandals. You can’t put those boots back on. They don’t go with the dress. And I can’t have you hurting yourself on this gravel. Here.’
Before I can say a word, he grabs hold of me and swings me over his shoulder, knocking the air clean out of my lungs. Ignoring my complaints, he carries me round to the back of the house and sets me down on the grass. When I finally get my breath back, I take a look around, awestruck by the idyllic scene in front of me: beyond yet more lawn, I can see an orchard and behind that, an ancient-looking wall.
‘Good tree climbing.’ He points at the trees. ‘And there’s a kitchen garden on the other side of that wall. I’ll take you to see it later, but first we must meet the boss.’
‘I thought you were the boss.’
‘Not here,’ he winks.
He leads me inside, into the cool, through a flag-stoned corridor that makes me think of Jane Austen, and further into a huge kitchen that’s kitted out with a fireplace and an Aga, alongside all manner of more modern appliances. An oak table and chairs sit at the centre of it all, and over at the far end a woman, dressed in a plain, grey dress, is busying herself with washing pots at a Belfast sink. She can only be about five feet tall but what she lacks in height, she more than makes up for in width. She seems to sense our presence. Raising her head and swinging round on the spot, she holds out her arms.
‘Well, here he is,’ she beams. ‘Come and give us a hug.’
At her command, Dan sweeps forwards, throwing his arms around the woman and squeezing the life out of her. Finally, he straightens up and turns to me.
‘Maya, this is Betty. Betty, this is Maya.’
While Betty shuffles toward me, I take in her face, noting the wrinkles, the lack of make-up, the kindly grey eyes.
