The Birthday Present

by Lizzy Grey

  “Why do you want to fuck me?” she slurred. “I thought you hated me?”

  “No. I hate your father. I tried to hate you, too, but I couldn’t. I found it impossible to hate you, actually, and I’m sorry for what I did.”

  “Good. You wouldn’t let me come and I had to go home with no panties and it was horrible.”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Good. Fuck me, then.”

  “I’ll fuck you, don’t worry,” he said, going to the mini-bar and opening it. “But let’s treat ourselves first,” he added, taking out a vodka miniature and an orange juice. “It’s thirsty work watching you dance.”

  Expecting him to mix them, she watched as he opened them and poured the contents into two separate glasses. “I don’t like vodka on its own,” she told him. “Put some mixer in it.”

  He did as he was told, passed her the glass, and she knocked it back in two gulps.

  “Impressive.” He nodded slowly before draining his own glass of orange juice. “Now, take your panties off.”

  “You’ve said that before.”

  “I know, but you’ll be getting to keep them this time. That dress is a bit too short to go without.”

  She laughed and slid her panties down and off, almost fell over, and he had to lunge for and grab her arm. “Whoops.” She laughed again. “Shall I lie on the bed?”

  “Anywhere you like,” he said, undoing his trousers, and pushing them and his boxer shorts down.”

  “Nice cock,” she murmured, getting onto the bed as it sprang out. “Get it over here.”

  “Condom first,” he told her, sliding one on. “Now, open your legs for me.”

  She smiled, opening them, and he climbed over her. He sank into her and they both groaned. He began rocking his hips, each forward rock allowing him to slide deeper into her pussy until he was completely inside her.

  “I like that,” she said. “Now fuck my pussy.”

  He gave her a grin and pulled out a little before thrusting into her, making her moan. “Like that?” he asked and she nodded. “He won’t satisfy you, you know, Freya. Poor Marcus, I doubt if he has a cock like this,” he finished on a thrust and she groaned.

  “Don’t talk about him, just keep fucking me,” she ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He laughed and he began to slam into her.

  “Oh, God,” she whimpered. “I’m going to come.” Throwing her head back, she jerked against him. When she opened her eyes, she could feel his hands on her back. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking that dress off. Sit up.” She sat up and he eased the dress over her head before throwing it onto a chair. “Let me see those tits,” he added, pulling her bra down and freeing her breasts. He pulled hard at her nipples with his lips and she moaned loudly, reaching for his cock. She closed her fingers around him and slid her hand up and down. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered. “Oh, fuck, yes. Like that, yes.” Closing his hands around hers, she slid them up and down his cock until he jerked hard against her. “Oh, fuck, Freya,” he gasped.

  “Want me to suck you?” she offered.

  “No.”

  “But I want your cock in my mouth,” she whined.

  “No, you don’t. Open your legs again,” he instructed. “I want to lick your pussy.” She quickly opened them and at once, his tongue was licking and then sucking on her clit.

  Licking and sucking. Licking and sucking. Oh, God, she never wanted him to stop. When he abandoned the licking and just sucked, hard, she began bucking her hips against his face and he was forced to hold her down as she came.

  Pulling her back into his arms, he held her as she gasped for air.

  “You’re really going to marry this Marcus the Marquess?” he asked.

  “I have it all worked out,” she slurred, curving her body into his. “I give Marcus a son and then Marcus stays in Scotland and I live down here and fuck suitable men.”

  “Suitable?” he echoed, and she felt him laugh. “Not me, then?”

  “Are you suitable for a Markionez?” she slurred, rolling her eyes, annoyed at not being able to pronounce marchioness properly. “Liz and ‘Manda think you’re going to blackmail me and go to the newspapers.”

  “Do they now?”

  “Are you?” she asked. “You hate Daddy. Are you fucking me to get to him, or something?”

  “I’m fucking you because I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone so badly as you, that’s all.”

  “Are you going to go to the papers and tell them you fucked a Markionez?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to blackmail me, then?” she added.

  “I don’t think there’d be much point. I got you into a hotel room and my cock into your pussy without having to resort to blackmail.”

  “I’m not going to let you fuck me after I’m married, you know,” she said and felt him tense.

  “Because I’m not suitable, I know.”

  “Because I need Marcus to get me pregnant as soon as he can,” she told him.

  “You really want that? To have him all over you? To have his babies?”

  “I want children,” she declared firmly.

  “You just want to please your parents.” He challenged her. “You just want to thank them for all they did for you while you were ill.”

  “Maybe,” she admitted.

  “There’s no maybe about it,” he muttered. “Freya, promise me something. If you ever need me, call me.”

  “Your number is on my old sim card.”

  “And where is it?” he asked.

  She smiled. “In my underwear drawer.”

  “Very apt. Don’t lose it when you move into Marcus’ house, will you?”

  “No,” she murmured.

  “Don’t go to sleep on me, Freya. We can’t stay the night here.” He shook her a little. “Come on Freya, wake up.” She felt him slide a hand between her legs and begin to massage her clit with his thumb. “Freya, wake up.”

  “Yes,” she whimpered, moving automatically with his thumb.

  “Sit up and lean back against me,” he instructed and she did as she was told. He opened her legs, continued to stroke her clit, and she moved with his thumb again. “Yes,” he whispered. “You like that, don’t you? Come for me, Freya,” he urged and she jerked against his thumb. “Keep coming, Freya, good girl.” She collapsed back against him, gasping for air. “You need to go home.”

  “’Not going home,” she murmured. “’Going to Liz and ‘Manda’s.”

  “Okay, I’ll bring you back down to the nightclub. But if they’re drunk, as well…”

  “We’ll be okay,” she said and he just grunted. He helped her to get dressed, then got dressed himself. “I don’t want to go,” she whispered. “Kiss me.”

  He kissed her lips and then her mouth and she pressed herself against him, rubbing her hand against his groin until he was hard. “Oh, Freya,” he groaned. “You’re fucking insatiable.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a condom. Undoing his trousers and pushing them and his boxer shorts down, he rolled the condom on. Lifting her onto the dressing table, he nudged her legs open with his hips and pulled her panties to one side. He slid into her and she exhaled a happy little sigh.

  “I love your cock,” she said, her hands on his buttocks, holding him inside her.

  “I know you do. You’re wasted on Marcus Wakefield. He looks such a dweeb.”

  “A dweeb?” she repeated and laughed drunkenly.

  “You need this cock inside you,” he whispered in her ear, grinding his hips against hers. “This huge, thick, hungry cock, who loves your dripping wet cunt.”

  “You said cunt in one of your texts,” she told him. “I thought it was disgusting.”

  “You like cock and pussy, though.”

  “That’s because they’re a bit naughty, those words. Cunt is yuck.”

  “Okay.” He smiled. “Cunt is yuck. I won’t text that again.”

  “You
mustn’t text me again at all. I’m going to be married.”

  “Yes, and you need to know what you’re going to be missing.”

  “Your cock in my pussy.”

  “Exactly.” She felt him reach for her hands on his buttocks and slide them up to his hips. He began to thrust and she began to moan, opening her legs wider. He thrust harder and the dressing table began to creak. “Fuck,” he whispered. “We’re going to wreck the place.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t stop, I’m coming.”

  “I can’t stop, I can’t.”

  She could feet him coming, too, and threw her head back as they jerked against each other.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He nodded, withdrew from her, went into the bathroom and she heard the toilet flush. “We have to go,” he said when he came out, and she slid down from the dressing table. They left the room, and with an arm around her waist, he guided her down the corridor and into the lift.

  “Remember,” he said, pressing the button for the lower ground floor. “If you need me, call me.”

  “Thanks for fucking me.”

  “We’re good together, Freya. Remember that, too.”

  “I can manage from here,” she said as the doors opened.

  “Okay.”

  She stepped out and, feeling his eyes on her, tottered her way back to the corner table.

  “You were ages in the toilet,” Amanda commented. “Here, I got you another cocktail.”

  She woke in the morning with a thumping hangover. The previous evening felt like a dream but having sex with Jamie had been no dream. It was probably a cliché but he fitted inside her like a hand in a glove.

  Three days before the wedding, as she was at home packing her clothes, she inserted her old sim card into her iPhone and turned it back on. To her astonishment, there were fifty messages from Jamie.

  Been thinking of you coming against my thumb all night

  My cock fits inside your pussy like a hand inside a glove

  She flushed. So he had been thinking that, as well.

  I hate to say it, but I hope you and Marcus will be happy. I’d hate for you to be with a man who doesn’t appreciate you

  The following day, she called to Marcus’ London townhouse, wanting to see some of the wedding presents he’d told her about on the phone and rang the bell. No-one answered so she rang it again. And again. And again. Eventually, the door opened slowly, and she smiled at Marcus’ housekeeper, wondering why she had been so reluctant to open the door.

  “Is Marcus at home?”

  Before the housekeeper could answer, she heard a man’s loud, long groan from upstairs. It wasn’t Marcus, and she pushed past the housekeeper and ran up the stairs. Marcus’ bedroom door was wide open and from the landing, she watched as her fiancé fucked another man, his eyes closed, and grunting softly.

  Chapter Six

  The strange thing was that she wasn’t at all surprised. Marcus had always been secretive, she’d only seen him with a girl once, and the poor girl had looked like the back end of a horse. She cleared her throat politely and Marcus’ eyes flew open.

  “Freya? Fuck, Freya.” He grabbed a sheet and covered his cock and the man’s buttocks. “What are you doing here?”

  “Wanting to see those wedding presents and wondering if you’re free for dinner this evening? Are you?” she asked. “Or will you still be fucking another man?” she added, nodding towards the stranger.

  “Freya. Shit.” Marcus grabbed the sheet as it began to slide off his companion’s buttocks.

  “I take it that you weren’t going to bother telling me you were gay?”

  “Freya…” He tailed off and cringed.

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “Freya, please go down to the drawing room, we need to discuss this.”

  “Do we?” She laughed. “What can we possibly have to discuss? You are gay. My scar was never going to bother you because you were never going to come near me in a million years. Although, how we were going to explain the lack of children, I’m not sure.” Marcus stared at her and she gave him a bitter smile. “It was going to be my fault, I see.”

  “Well, people do see you as a bit fragile…”

  “Fragile?” she snapped. “I’m anything but fucking fragile.”

  “Please wait in the drawing room, Freya. Please?”

  Sighing, she turned and went back down the stairs.

  “Would you like some tea, Miss Thompson?” the housekeeper asked in the hall and her eyebrows shot up.

  “Tea?” she cried before relenting and shaking her head. The housekeeper was only doing her job. “No, thank you.”

  The housekeeper nodded, opened the door to the drawing room and she went inside.

  She had to wait less than five minutes for Marcus to appear, having quickly pulled on a shirt and a pair of trousers.

  “I’d better start ringing people to tell them the wedding’s off,” she began.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Please marry me, Freya,” he begged.

  “So you can keep face? Your mother doesn’t know you’re gay, does she?” she asked and he shook his head. “Marcus, why the hell haven’t you told anyone? I mean, in this day and age, who is going to care if you’re gay?”

  “It’s always been expected of me that I get married and have children,” he told her miserably. “If I die childless, the title and estate goes to my second cousin, who I can’t stand.”

  “Marcus, unless you get drunk enough to have sex with me, that is what will happen.”

  “I know,” he replied sadly. “But I have to keep my mother happy.”

  “Keep her completely in the dark, you mean?”

  “Please marry me, Freya?” he begged again. “We’ve always been good friends.”

  “Why the hell should I marry someone who has kept his sexuality a secret from me and was planning to blame me for us being childless?” she demanded. “Do you take me for a complete fool?”

  “No, but James and I did plan for all eventualities.”

  “James?” she repeated.

  “My, er…”

  “Boyfriend. Yes. Go on.”

  “We – I mean, you and I – we get married. After a year we file for divorce, citing irreconcilable differences.”

  “And what do I get out of this arrangement?”

  “A million pounds and a house or an apartment to the same value – whichever you’d prefer.” A million pounds and somewhere to live? The shock must have been clear on her face as he smiled. “Please, Freya.”

  She circled the large room, her head spinning. With a million pounds she’d either never have to work again or could be her own boss. God, it was tempting, and she’d only have to be his wife for a year.

  “We begin divorce proceedings one year after the wedding?”

  He nodded. “To the day.”

  “Have an agreement drawn up by a solicitor,” she told him.

  “No-one must know, Freya. No-one.”

  “All right,” she replied and saw him slump with relief. “Bloody hell, Marcus, if only you’d been straight with people.” The moment she said it, she rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean?”

  “I know. I thought I could go through with the wedding and stay married to you but, then, James turned up yesterday.”

  “What if I want to take a lover?” she asked, and he stared at her in astonishment. “Why should you have all the fun?”

  “Our marriage will be under considerable scrutiny, Freya. James and I have agreed not to see each other for the year. I’d expect you to do the same with any, er, lovers.”

  A year. She sighed. “All right, then.”

  “Thank you, Freya.”

  The following day she signed the agreement document before going for her final wedding dress fitting.

  The night before the wedding, she extracted her old sim card out of its new home in the middle zipped-closed section of her purse and in
serted it into her iPhone. There was one new message from Jamie.

  There’s still enough time for you to call it all off?

  She rang his number and he answered after two rings.

  “Freya, what is it?”

  “Do you want me?” she asked.

  “Freya, I want you more than I’ve wanted any woman in my entire life.”

  Don’t cry. She ordered herself. “Can you wait a year for me?”

  “A year? Why?”

  “I can’t say. Just please say that you can wait a year for me? A year from tomorrow?”

  “Freya, what’s going on?”

  “I can’t say. Please, Jamie?” she begged.

  “What will happen after a year?”

  “Whatever we like,” she told him.

  “A year?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can wait.”

  She exhaled a shaky breath. “Thank you,” she replied before she started to cry, and ended the call.

  In the morning, Freya and her father were driven to St Margaret’s Church, Westminster in a Bentley. A small crowd had gathered across the road, and she threw a glance towards them as she climbed out of the car, but all she could see was a blur of faces. Her father then took her arm and they walked into the church, Liz and Amanda following behind. Half an hour later, Freya was the Marchioness of Craigmore.

  The wedding reception was held in the large garden behind the London townhouse. A large marquee had been erected on the lawn and she and Marcus mingled with the guests, playing the parts of happy newlyweds to perfection.

  “Can I claim a dance later, my lady?” Anthony, Marcus’ best man, suddenly appeared beside her.

  “Of course you can,” she said, wondering if he knew his friend was gay and if Marcus had instructed him not to tell her. “I enjoyed your speech.”