Soaring

by Jassy Mackenzie

  “So wet.” His face was intent as he stroked between my swollen lips, massaging my clitoris before pushing two fingers deeper into me. He thrust them into my throbbing flesh to push on the hot erogenous zone of my G-spot, causing luscious warmth to pool inside me. Oh, God, this stimulation was so erotic, so intimate…all the more so because, while he fingered me, his gaze didn’t leave mine, and I could not look away from him. My breath was coming fast, in shallow gasps, and so was his.

  He gently withdrew his fingers, and I heard the click of his belt buckle and the whisper of fabric as he undid his pants. If there had ever been a time to say no, this was it, this was now. But I could not have uttered the word, not even if a posse of invaders had been battering at the door. My body was clamoring for him with an intensity that felt like a shout; I was consumed by a need more primal than anything I had experienced before.

  I heard a rustling sound and realized he must be doing as he’d promised…he was putting a condom on. Then his arm underneath me flexed, lifting my hips higher so that I felt his cock touching my slit.

  Transfixed by his gaze, I could only gasp, “Yes, oh, yes, please,” as I felt the wide head of his cock push into me, stretching me open. He let out a groan as he entered me. This penetration felt so incredibly erotic, so perfectly right. My eyes were locked with his and I could see my sensations, my emotions, reflected in his face.

  I could not believe he was finally taking me the way I’d dreamed and fantasized about for so long. His thick shaft filled me up as he pushed deeper, inch by delicious inch, causing me to gasp as he thrust over nerve endings that were suddenly pulsing with delight. The stimulation felt so intense, it was almost painful. Sensations ripped through me, tendrils of fire flickering in my lower belly. His thighs were hard against my own, my legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

  “God, you feel so good,” he choked, but this felt more than good. It was as if, for the first time, I was truly experiencing being one with another person.

  He slid his other hand under my buttocks, angling me to allow his shaft to push against the pulsing spot his fingers had stimulated earlier, so that I moaned in delight. This deeper pressure made me feel as if I was melting inside. As the tempo of his thrusts increased, my body began shuddering, the pleasure spiraling inward to create a tightening coil of sensation. Each powerful movement of his hips was pushing me closer to the brink… toward an edge that felt higher and steeper than any I’d encountered before.

  “Oh, yes, Claire,” he got out, his voice hoarse, as I abandoned control with a cry. My orgasm was so intense, it shook me, sweat springing out on my skin, and I closed my eyes as tight spasms of ecstasy tore through me. He rode the waves with me, deep inside me, and from the catches in his breathing, I knew he could feel every pulse from my climax.

  He leaned forward, his arm reaching around my back to hold me against him tightly. His body radiated heat and his breathing was rapid as he slammed himself into my wetness, going hard and fast, knowing that I could take it now, that I was softened and ready for this deep, merciless ravishment.

  His features were etched into the brutal honesty of lust. I could feel his skin, slippery with sweat, and the flex of the muscles underneath; then the moment when they tensed into steel. He groaned, crushing me to him, his hips pistoning into mine as he reached his own pinnacle.

  His arms were tight around me as he held me, gasping, and I clung to him until our sweat had cooled. He kissed me once more, his lips lingering on mine, before withdrawing himself from me and helping me off the table. My legs felt weak and unsteady. I wanted nothing more than to stay where I was, in Patrick’s arms, to keep kissing him. This desire was so intense, it frightened me.

  Hurriedly, I stepped away, smoothing my skirt, now creased and crumpled, down over my thighs and locating my sandals on the floor. I couldn’t even remember how or when they’d fallen off my feet.

  “I’ll be a minute,” I said, not meeting Patrick’s eyes before turning away.

  Even though my hands were still trembling, the bolt moved smoothly back under my grasp and I pulled open the heavy door and hurried to the bathroom.

  My reflection said it all. Swollen lips, smudged eyeliner, tangled hair, and the missing blouse button, which meant that my cleavage was now teasingly visible through the too-low neckline. This wasn’t the carefully-groomed, innocent-looking reflection I was used to seeing. I looked sexy, as if I’d just been ravished. Just the expression in my eyes would be enough to get College Sport on the phone to their lawyers with instructions to cancel the contracts immediately.

  I looked wanton, and at that moment, I loved it. I smiled back at my disheveled reflection, feeling a rush of pure happiness. I wished it could last forever, even though I knew that what we’d shared could be no more than a precious, fleeting moment in time.

  Chapter 13

  In the bathroom, I splashed water onto my face, smoothed my hair down, and spent a few minutes making myself presentable again. I was still tingling all over. Try as I might to feel regretful and ashamed about what I’d just done, my body had never felt better. It was as if every fiber of my being felt more intensely alive, and the glow in my cheeks was refusing to abate.

  I left the bathroom and headed back toward the armory, but before I could reach it, I heard footsteps from a narrow staircase set into the back wall, and Patrick came down the steep flight of stairs.

  “Claire. Come on up,” he said, stepping aside so that I could walk ahead of him to the castle’s upper level. As I climbed, I noticed that a “No Entry” sign on a chain was hanging down from the right hand wall. So this area must be out of bounds to the public.

  “We can’t allow visitors onto the gallery,” Patrick explained, as if reading my mind. “The stairs are too steep. They were designed for defense.”

  I could understand that. No point in having a wide, sweeping stairway in a castle when you might one day have to defend the upper levels against invaders.

  The stairway made one turn, and then light streamed in again from above. Arriving on the upper level, I stared around me in surprise. It was beautiful up here. The courtyard was a verdant, groomed square below, and through the huge archway behind me, I looked down onto a green ribbon of lawn with colorful bursts of flowers that stretched out to meet the bank of dark, forbidding-looking trees.

  I looked ahead, and saw that a table had been set up in the corridor, complete with a white cloth and two leather office chairs. A large picnic basket was beside it. After a second look, I recognized it as the one that had been placed beside the table outside the hotel earlier that day.

  “We never got to have lunch,” Patrick explained, “so I brought it with me in the car. I thought it would be nice to eat it up here. Sorry about the chairs—they’re the only ones available. I borrowed them from the admin office down the passage.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” I said. “Thank you.”

  I was a bowl of chicken soup ahead of Patrick, but even so, I suddenly realized I was ravenous. And the afternoon shadows were lengthening, meaning it was actually closer to supper time.

  We sat at our impromptu picnic table and I helped Patrick unpack the basket. Crystal wine glasses wrapped in cloths, glass bottles of water, silver cutlery, and a variety of warm and cold foods in insulated containers. Aromas mingled in the fresh, clean air as we removed the lids.

  Patrick poured us each a glass of fruity, refreshingly dry white wine.

  “You’ll enjoy this, I think,” he said, passing me a container. “Chicken liver pate. It’s the hotel’s specialty. The chickens are from a local free-range farm, and the pate is made with brandy and real butter.”

  He passed me a basket containing golden-brown wafers of Melba toast, and I took a piece and smeared it thickly with pate. The pate was topped with a thick, buttery layer. It looked rich, decadent, and delicious. I took a bite and flavor exploded in my mouth—layers of meaty goodness coated my tongue.

  “Mmmm,” I told Patrick, re
aching for more before I’d even finished my first piece, and he grinned, enjoying my delight.

  The chicken liver pate was followed by goblets of chilled tomato soup, a simple Caesar salad with shaved parmesan and creamy dressing, and warm skewers of fillet and roast onion with a peppercorn dipping sauce. We took our time over the feast, and I was surprised by how easily we conversed while we ate.

  I had thought there would have been some tension, some uneasiness between us, but Patrick left no room for that. I found myself laughing at some of the stories he told about his misadventures in the media world, and in return, telling him more than I probably should have done about my own life, although I didn’t mention my parents’ situation. That was a secret I wasn’t willing to share. But I spoke about my desire to travel and have time to sightsee, and of course, I couldn’t help but laugh with him as I compared my usual restrictive diet, which left me constantly hungry, with this bountiful feast of plenty.

  By the time we’d each enjoyed one of the thickly iced petit fours that had been packed for our dessert, the shadows were deepening to dusk and the lights placed around the castle had automatically switched on.

  I felt completely sated, and I’d finished my second glass of wine by the time we packed up. I wrapped the glasses in their cloths again and stacked the used cutlery into a container provided, while Patrick wheeled the office chairs to their original home down the passage and, finally, carried the table back.

  We made our way carefully down the stairs and it seemed natural for Patrick and me to hold hands as we crossed the drawbridge and walked to the car.

  “I know you’re trying to stay away from the Park Hotel,” he told me. “It’s the only reason I haven’t already asked you if you’d like to come back there with me tonight.”

  To spend the night with him…my stomach did a slow, lazy curl at that tantalizing thought.

  “I was going to ask you,” I said, my mouth feeling dry with anticipation, “if you might want to spend the night with me. Top floor, the farmhouse, somewhere in the deepest Irish countryside.”

  Patrick glanced at me. I expected him to be smiling, but his face was serious.

  “I would love to take you up on that offer. More than I can tell you. But you’re a paying guest in somebody’s home. I don’t want to get you in any trouble with your landlady, or to offend her,” he said.

  I nodded reluctantly, seeing his point. Noreen’s anger was something to be reckoned with, and although I was torn apart at the thought of having to say goodbye to Patrick tonight, I was touched by his consideration and gentlemanly good manners.

  “I’m sure Noreen wouldn’t object to you coming in for a coffee,” I ventured.

  “Good idea,” he said, sounding relieved, and I wondered if he, like me, did not want this magical day to end.

  While Patrick was driving, I quickly checked the messages on my phone. I had three messages from numbers I did not recognize, two voicemails from Dave, and a text from Hassan. I didn’t want to listen to any of the voice messages. But I did open Hassan’s message.

  “How are you doing?” the text read. “I wanted to say, again, how sorry I am this happened, Claire. I am so distressed. I wish there was something I could do to help—if there is, please, tell me. I owe you, more than I can ever say. Things are looking positive for Ahmed and me; the paperwork for our green cards has been submitted. My lawyer says it should take another year at most. When we are safely in the States, we’re going to tell the truth; we are going to come out as a couple. Till then, thank you, and thank you again. H. xx”

  I sighed, but discreetly, because I didn’t want to attract Patrick’s attention, or have him ask what had provoked it.

  And, as we wound our way down the narrow lanes, I found myself thinking back to that private function, and the events that had taken place there.

  I had agreed to go with Hassan. Why not? Dave was out of town, I was on my own, and this party promised to be a fun event. It was being held by a wealthy friend of Monika’s to celebrate the opening of his gorgeous, new Long Island guesthouse—a converted mansion. No members of the press were allowed; this was a private party, with the media opening taking place the following week. And Ahmed would also be there, which I knew meant a lot to Hassan. Perhaps, if we were discreet and careful, they would be able to spend the night together.

  We all had room keys allocated, but Hassan didn’t take his key. Ahmed and I had neighboring rooms, which were large and beautifully decorated in rich, bright colors. Sliding glass doors opened onto secluded balconies, with a shared garden beyond. In the end, we decided I should use Ahmed’s room because the balcony in the other room, right at the end of the corridor, was more private. This would be better for the two men, so we swapped keys.

  The party was held in sumptuous style. A buffet groaning with food, an open bar, a live band. I’d expected to party into the small hours, but ended up exhausted long before midnight. My two neighbors retired at about the same time. I’d climbed into bed feeling happy at the thought of them spending the night together in this opulent setting, hoping that before too long, they could live in love, without fear of repercussions.

  I woke suddenly, early in the morning, with gray light filtering through the curtains. I sat bolt upright, my heart pounding, sweat chilling my body. I realized I’d just wrenched myself from out of a terrible nightmare. The residue of fear still lingered, prickling my skin. What had my bad dream been about? At first, I couldn’t remember. Breathing hard, I turned the bedside light on to banish my fears, knowing I wasn’t going to get back to sleep.

  And then it hit me…a vivid picture, spine-chilling in its detail.

  I saw a man I recognized, using a flashlight to sort through the room keys. The beam shone onto the list, lighting up Hassan’s name, which was next to an unclaimed key. The man smiled at the sight of it, quickly photographing this evidence before checking for my name on the list of occupied rooms and searching for a spare key…

  I let out a moan of terror. The man I saw in the picture was Carlos, the paparazzi photographer.

  Was my vision for real? I jumped out of bed and then stood, indecisive, the tiles cold under my feet.

  Was it true, or just a nightmare? Had Carlos somehow infiltrated this event? I felt cold all over. I tiptoed to the door, listening, and dread filled me as I heard the faint sound of footsteps, quietly approaching down the long, tiled corridor.

  I sprinted to the glass doors at the back of the room, wrenched them open, and in a few seconds I was tapping urgently on the glass doors of the neighboring room.

  “Hassan!” I hissed. “Quickly!”

  It was Ahmed who appeared at the door a moment later, naked apart from a pair of boxer shorts, his hair tousled from sleep and confusion in his eyes.

  No time for a proper explanation.

  “Out!” I whispered, pushing the sliding door open and shoving him through it. “Someone’s coming!”

  Carlos was trying to be quiet in order to surprise us, and that fact bought me an extra few seconds; just long enough for Hassan to jump out of bed, grabbing the white duvet in his hands as an afterthought, and pulling it with him to conceal his nakedness.

  Then the door swung open and we turned to face it, standing side by side; victims of the merciless flash and click of the camera as Carlos triumphantly captured the shots of Hassan and me together. We both started shouting, screaming…I flung up my hand defensively, if too late; bunching the duvet in front of him, Hassan leaped forward, but not fast enough. The door slammed, and running footsteps vanished down the corridor.

  Carlos had done his job. He had gotten the pictures which would potentially end my career, and my marriage.

  All I could cling to, in the hellish days that followed, was the knowledge that Carlos hadn’t found Ahmed and Hassan together, had never suspected that they were lovers. He had not taken shots which would have destroyed not only my friend’s career, but also, potentially, his life.

  Chapter 14
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br />   The flicking of the car’s indicator pulled me out of my somber thoughts. We’d arrived back at the farmhouse, and Patrick had agreed to come in for coffee. How long could I stretch coffee out for, I wondered, as he parked next to my hired car. I didn’t want to say goodbye to him tonight.

  I could only hope that Noreen’s kettle would take forever to heat up.

  “Where is your landlady?” Patrick asked, as if reading my mind.

  “I don’t know,” I said. Her car wasn’t outside the barn where I was used to seeing it. Perhaps she was at a meeting or a knitting evening with the Women’s Guild. Or else, I hoped, she was out having fun.

  “Guinness isn’t here, either,” I observed. She must have taken the collie with her. I glanced up and saw that the cat was on his usual perch atop the fridge, washing his face with his left paw.

  I let us into the kitchen and filled the kettle with cold water before putting it on. To my relief, it took a minute or two before I even heard it start to simmer. With any luck, boiling would take much longer. Years, preferably. And, in the meantime, Patrick had seated himself at the kitchen table and pulled out the chair next to him, ready for me.

  I sat down, close enough that our legs brushed. I loved that I could see the creases in his shirt from the passion we’d shared earlier, and his hair was rumpled in a way that made me long to run my fingers through it to neaten its disarray—seeing as, after all, I’d been the one to cause it.

  Having our legs brushing wasn’t enough. He turned to face me and moved his left leg in between mine, his thigh warm against my own. He laced his fingers through my own, his thumbs caressing my palms. It felt so good to be physically close to him like this…the touch of his skin on mine felt so exactly right. Already, I could feel desire welling inside me again. He leaned toward me and our lips touched, the kiss quickly deepening.

  And then the noise of Noreen’s Isuzu truck rattling up to the farmhouse caused us to break apart like two guilty teenagers. We moved away, out of that intimate closeness, although his knees still touched mine. I heard the tread of Noreen’s shoes walking quickly up to the door, and then she was in, and Guinness was trotting over, tail wagging, to greet us.