by Suzy K Quinn
*****
After Keith drops me off at the college gates, I call Dad to let him know I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Then I walk through the beautiful college grounds, eyes glued to my phone, waiting for Marc’s call.
At exactly midnight, Marc’s number flashes up.
I smile. Trust Marc to be exactly on time.
‘Sophia.’ Marc’s voice is rich and dark, and I instantly think of his strong arms and broad chest.
God, my body aches to be near him. I’ve been carrying a hole in my heart since Christmas, but that hole has just turned into a chasm. To know he’s nearby, in London, but that I can’t be with him … touch him … it’s agony.
‘Hi,’ I say, my voice strangely light and unfamiliar.
‘Where are you?’ Marc asks.
‘At Ivy College. There’s better reception here. I didn’t want to miss your call.’
A pause.
‘Good.’ His voice is so deep. ‘It makes sense to break up your location. It means people can’t guess where you might be.’
‘Uh huh.’ I grip the phone tighter.
‘I miss you,’ says Marc softly, his words making my stomach flip over.
‘I miss you too.’ A whole tsunami of feelings rush forwards. ‘I miss you so much Marc. Sometimes I’m not sure if I can stand it. How am I ever going to do three months? It’s only been a few weeks so far, and I’m in agony.’ I try to think happy thoughts, and manage to get my voice to level out. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Without you, I’m never okay,’ says Marc. ‘I’m very, very far from okay. But I’m coping.’
‘Same here,’ I say, heading away from the central buildings and towards the accommodation block. ‘Coping. But far from okay.’
‘There aren’t many moments when I’m not thinking of you,’ says Marc.
‘Me too.’ I let myself into the accommodation building and head towards the stairs.
‘I hate knowing that you’re with Leo every day.’ Marc’s voice grows tight. ‘Knowing he can talk to you. Touch you. And I can’t.’
‘I know I keep telling you not to be jealous,’ I say, climbing the stairs to my old room, ‘but I’d probably feel the same if I were you.’ I reach my old bedroom door and unlock it. ‘If you were with some other woman while I couldn’t be with you ... I’d find it hard.’
‘A part of me thinks he could be the better man for you,’ says Marc. ‘When your father spoke of separation, Leo came to mind. He can give you things I can’t. A normal relationship. No dark undercurrents.’
‘I don’t want normal.’ I take a step into my old room, smelling dust and soap. It’s a little cold, so I throw coal and paper into the grate and light a fire one-handed. ‘And I like dark undercurrents.’
‘Your father would certainly be much happier if you were with a man like Leo.’
‘But I wouldn’t be.’
‘You know that for certain?’
‘Yes.’
A pause. ‘Are you in your bedroom?’
‘Yes. How did you know that?’
‘I heard you climbing the stairs. Close the bedroom door.’
I snap the bedroom door closed and sit on the edge of the bed.
‘Take your jeans off.’
‘How do you know I’m wearing jeans?’
‘Aside from the fact you almost always wear them? I know because my security team take hourly video footage of you. And I study it closely.’
‘You’ve seen video footage of me since I left the theatre?’
‘Of course I have.’
I feel myself smiling. ‘Doesn’t that go against the rules? We’re not supposed to see each other.’
‘Correction. We agreed that you wouldn’t see me. And that I could see for security purposes. But since you’re in an obedient frame of mind, I have a few more rules for you to follow. Go to your wardrobe and take out a scarf – the softest, thinnest one you have.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t ask questions.’
I do as Marc asks, and find a long black scarf with white skulls on it – a birthday present from Jen last year.
‘Now tie it around your mouth.’
‘What?’
‘I told you. Tie it around your mouth. No arguing.’
‘You want me to tie this scarf around my mouth? Like a gag?’
‘Correct.’
‘But then I won’t be able to talk to you.’
‘Also correct. At least, not until I say so.’
‘But I’ve waited all week to speak to you—’
‘Sometimes listening can be better than talking.’
I look at the scarf, then back at the phone. ‘Marc, I’ll feel stupid sitting here with a scarf tied around my mouth.’
‘You won’t for long. I’ve spent a good deal of this week thinking about how I’m going to make you come. And gagging you is one of the few ways I can dominate you from a distance.’
‘Dominate me?’ I smile. ‘Is that what you call it?’
‘One of the many things.’ I hear Marc’s smile down the phone. ‘Tie the scarf around your mouth.’
Reluctantly, I take the scarf and feed it behind my head, pulling it tight across my lips so it slides between my teeth. The cotton dries up my tongue and makes it difficult to swallow, let alone talk. It’s not uncomfortable exactly, but not my every day choice of how to wear a scarf.
‘Sophia?’
‘Mmmph,’ I mumble down the phone.
‘I’m going to fuck you now.’
Instinctively I look at the door, expecting Marc to walk into my bedroom. But I know he’d never go against the agreement we have with my father. He’d never break his word.
I try to say ‘How?’, but all that comes out is a cottony mumble.
‘You haven’t taken your jeans off yet. Take them off now.’
I do, sliding my boots off first, and then pulling my tight blue jeans from my legs. My skin is pale in the bright light of my bedroom, and there are a few bumps and bruises from being lifted around by Leo during our performances.
‘Now your panties.’
42
I climb out of my underwear – a plain white set of knickers from Marks and Spencer. I’m glad Marc can’t see them. They’re hopelessly plain and virginal. Not sexy at all. At least, they don’t look sexy to me.
Now I’m sitting in just my sweater, with my mouth gagged. Part of me is tempted to untie the scarf and tell Marc I’m not up for playing this game right now – not when I haven’t spoken to him all week. But the gentle warmth that’s building between my legs stops me.
‘Roll onto your stomach and put me on speakerphone.’
I jab the speakerphone button, place the phone on the duvet and roll onto my stomach, feeling soft cotton against my bare legs.
‘Spread your legs.’
I do, feeling cool air between them.
‘I want you to imagine that I’m standing behind you.’
I think of Marc, so tall and sexy and intense, and shiver at the thought of him between my legs. If I concentrate hard, I can pretend he’s here in the room with me, waiting to touch me.
‘I’m going to pull you down the bed by your ankles,’ Marc says. ‘I want you to slide down the bed.’
I wriggle down the bed, shimmying left and right until I feel nothing but air under my ankles and shins.
‘Now I’m going to bend you over the bed. I want you with your backside in the air, legs apart, waiting for me to fuck you.’
Oh god.
I slide further down the bed until my legs drop over the end. I wait there, naked from the waist down, rear end in the air, just like he instructed.
I wiggle my legs apart.
It’s so hard not to speak. I reach forwards and pull the phone towards me so it’s right by my ear.
God, I feel so turned on. Gagged and following Marc’s instructions ... wanting him to touch me so badly, but only having my imagination to play with.
What I wouldn’t give to
feel his fingers grabbing my backside, his body pressed between my legs.
‘Spread your legs wider.’
I do, and feel electric shocks running up and down my thighs. I moan into the gag, and hear Marc breathing faster down the phone.
‘I’m not going to fuck you yet,’ says Marc, his voice thick. ‘I’m going to leave you waiting. Wanting. And when I’m ready to have you, I will. But only when I’m ready.’
I moan harder into the gag, wiggling against the bed, rubbing myself against the hard frame.
‘Don’t move,’ Marc barks down the phone. ‘I can hear you moving. Don’t move until I tell you to.’
I stop moving.
Silence.
I wait. And wait. And the more I wait, the hotter I feel and the more desperate I am to hear Marc’s voice. I try to call his name through the gag, but all that comes out is a muffled moan.
I want more. More instructions. More of Marc’s voice. More of him.
Just when I don’t think I can bear it any more – when I’m about to rip the gag out of my mouth and call Marc’s name – I hear his deep voice down the phone.
‘Do you know how hard I am, thinking about you bent over the bed, gagged and ready for me?’
I moan into the gag again. ‘Mmmph.’
‘God.’ I sense Marc is losing control now, and I am too. This is almost unbearable.
I rub myself against the bed frame, up down, up down, pushing myself forward and back as I imagine Marc behind me, slamming between my legs.
‘I told you not to move,’ Marc warns.
I moan into the gag, and I hear Marc’s breathing get even heavier. I try to stop myself moving, but it’s tough to stay still. I’m getting so, so hot.
‘Because you moved when I told you not to,’ says Marc, ‘I’m going to spank you hard, three times.’
Oh god. I give a long moan into the gag. ‘Mmmmm.’
‘One.’ I hear a ‘smack!’ down the phone, and guess Marc must have hit something with his palm.
I imagine the sting on my buttocks.
‘Two.’ Another smack.
If the gag wasn’t in my mouth I’d be gasping right now as I imagine Marc’s palm.
‘Three.’ Another smack.
Oh god, oh god. I’m desperate to move. Desperate to rub myself forward and back, to pretend Marc is fucking me.
‘I’m running my knuckles over the nice red colour on your backside.’ Marc’s voice is much lower than usual now, and I sense him coming undone. ‘And now, because seeing you red like that has made me so hard, I’m pushing myself between your legs, sliding inside you, all the way inside.’
I moan into the gag again, and now I just can’t help myself. I push up and down against the bed, rubbing and rubbing as I imagine Marc inside of me. God, I wish he was. There’s an aching, stinging red-hot feeling where I want him to be.
I move my fingers between my legs and rub in circles, moaning and moaning into the gag, wanting Marc so, so badly, and hearing his deep breathing down the phone.
It’s too much, and I can’t hold on any longer.
‘Mmmm.’
I come, trying to shout Marc’s name into the gag, but the only sound I manage is a high-pitched noise that makes Marc’s breathing grow hard and heavy.
‘I love hearing you come,’ Marc groans.
Shudders ripple up and down my legs, over my breasts and up my neck. I fall limply against the bed as pleasure washes over me and cool air strokes my bare skin.
‘Get into bed now,’ says Marc. ‘You can take the gag off.’
I untie the scarf and climb up onto the bed, taking the phone with me. I fall exhausted against my pillow, lying the phone by my side.
‘I love you, Marc. I miss you so much.’
‘I love you too,’ says Marc softly. ‘Take your sweater off and pull the duvet over yourself.’
I do, feeling my eyes begin to close.
‘Goodnight Sophia. I’ll speak to you next week.’
43
The next morning, I wake up feeling happy and rested. And a little frustrated. Marc’s voice on the telephone was better than nothing, but it doesn’t compare to him in person. And of course, now I have the agony of another week’s wait to hear his voice again.
I dress quickly and head back to the cottage, where I find Dad giving Sammy a breakfast of honey straight from the jar.
‘Let me get him some porridge to go with that honey,’ I say, inwardly sighing at the state of the house. I don’t know how my dad does it, but since I left last night the house looks like someone has shaken it upside-down.
‘Thanks love,’ says Dad. ‘Do you want breakfast?’
I throw myself onto a chair at the table and pull a silly face for Sammy. ‘I’ll get it. Aren’t you supposed to be starting work again today?’ I eye my dad’s stained t-shirt and boxer shorts.
‘In an hour or so. At least, that’s the idea. But I’m happy to stay here and help out. I mean, you had your show last night. I don’t want you tiring yourself out.’
I laugh. ‘It’s easier to look after the house without you in it, Dad. You should know that by now.’
‘You do look a little tired, love.’
‘A little.’ I yawn.
‘I can always get that girl from the village to come. Charlene.’
Sammy begins to wail. ‘No, no, nooooo.’
I shake my head. ‘Sammy doesn’t like her. And you can’t ask Charlene to tidy up, which is what this place needs. You go to work. It’ll be good for you to start having a normal life again.’
‘I’ll be back by tea time. Call me if you need me to come home before then.’
‘I will,’ I say.
When Dad leaves, I take the honey away from Sammy, clean him up, make him breakfast and tidy the house. Somehow, Dad has managed to get honey on the cupboards as well as Sammy, so I wipe all that off and change Sammy’s clothes.
Then I set to work learning new lines Leo and I have rewritten for one of the scenes. Some of the reviews said that Leo’s character was too mean at times, so we’ve rethought some of the dialogue.
Sammy tugs at my leg while I’m trying to learn the lines, and I soon realise how hopeless it is trying to memorise stuff while he’s here, crawling around, chattering for attention. Also, Sammy hasn’t left the house yet. He needs fresh air.
‘You win, Sammy.’ I close my notepad. ‘Come on. Let’s take you to the park.’
44
By tea time, I’ve got the house back in shape and Sammy is all tired out, thanks to plenty of time in the sandpit and on the swings. I drink strong coffee and summon the last of my energy to make spaghetti with pesto – one of Sammy’s favourites.
I like to make spaghetti by hand, like my mum used to, but I don’t today. The thought of rolling the dough while Sammy is crawling around is way too tiring.
Sammy and I are just sitting down to eat, when I hear the front door click.
I stop grating cheddar over Sammy’s spaghetti and call out, ‘Did you have a good day back at work?’, as I hear Dad throw his money belt down by the boots and shoes.
But I realise I can hear two pairs of shoes clumping around in the hallway, and a voice that isn’t Dad’s.
‘Great place you’ve got here, Mr Rose.’
I’d recognise that voice anywhere.
Leo Falkirk.
I jump up out of my chair as Dad and Leo walk into the kitchen area.
Leo is all bundled up in his duffle coat, his tanned face and perfect white teeth looking out of place in our humble little cottage.
I’m so surprised to see him that I nearly drop the cheese grater. ‘Leo.’ I look from Leo to Dad, and back again. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Pleased to see you too, Sophia,’ says Leo, lighting up the room with his huge white grin.
Sammy picks up a spoon and bangs it hard on the table, excited to see a guest.
Leo ducks down to dodge a wooden beam, and takes a seat at the dining table as if
it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be here. ‘What’s for dinner?’ He raises a cheeky eyebrow. ‘Smells good.’
I look up at Dad, my face questioning.
‘Leo was outside the house as I was pulling up,’ says Dad. ‘So I invited him in to eat with us.’
‘Thought I’d call round and see how you were doing,’ says Leo, scooping one of Sammy’s toy cars from the floor and spinning the wheels. ‘I’ve never seen your family home before. And I thought, maybe I could come visit, then take you to the show tonight.’
My mouth opens and closes as Leo leans forwards and smells the huge pan of spaghetti and pesto I’ve placed in the middle of the table.
‘Can’t wait for dinner.’
I stare at him, unsure whether to be angry or pleased. It’s good to see him, but I’m pretty sure Marc wouldn’t be happy about him just dropping by like this.
In the end, I don’t get a chance to be angry. Leo picks up two forks and makes them do a little dance on the table for Sammy.
Seeing Leo Falkirk, with his action-man square jaw and huge muscles, being silly with cutlery just hits my funny bone.
I giggle, along with Sammy. ‘Good to see you Leo,’
‘I know I’m no Marc Blackwell,’ says Leo, dropping the cutlery and putting his large elbows on the table. ‘But since he can’t come visit you, I’ll just have to do.’
‘I guess you will.’
Dad takes a seat at the table. ‘It’s good for you to have friends, other than Marc,’ he tells me. ‘I’m glad Leo came by.’
‘Why thank you Mr Rose. I think it’s good for Sophia to have me as a friend too.’
‘Call me Mike.’
I’m shaking my head as I serve Dad and Leo spaghetti. ‘Well. Nice of you two to decide these things for me. I mean, it’s not as if I know my own mind or anything.’
The portions aren’t very big, since I didn’t know Leo was coming, but there’s still enough food. Just about. I grate cheese over the plates to make the meal larger.
‘Looks great,’ says Leo, picking up a fork and sticking it right into the middle of the spaghetti. He lifts a massive pile, spins it around to make a ball, then crams the whole lot in his mouth.
‘Delicious,’ he mumbles.
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I didn’t make the spaghetti myself or anything. But then again, I didn’t know you were coming.’