The Naughty Collection

by Ruby City Books

  “That’s me,” I almost put up my hand. “Can I help you?”

  “This arrived for you.” He put the letter onto my desk and left his hand there a fraction of a second longer than necessary. I stared at it; his fingers were surprisingly long and well-shaped, and I could see a soft, faint vee of dark hair on his wrist. I had a sudden urge to stroke it.

  “Thank you,” I said, trying not to blush. What was happening to me?

  “You are most welcome,” he said, and smiled. His eyes were a clear hazel, oddly light and greenish.

  After that, I’d found myself looking at him out of the corner of my eye whenever he moved through our open-plan office. He was a head taller than most of the other men, and there was something unconcerned and self-contained about him. I asked around, casually, trying to find out about him, but no one seemed to know very much about him. There was no office gossip or reports of his work, either good or bad, and I came to the conclusion that he was as dull and hardworking as his immaculate exterior would suggest. I had no idea, however, that he must have been watching me as well — not until he’d asked me out.

  “Kay.” The man himself had materialised at my elbow. I jumped. I must have been sunk so deeply in my thoughts that I had missed his approach. “I am so sorry to be late.”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” I wondered whether to get to my feet, feeling flustered. Should we kiss on the cheek, shake hands? Alex solved this problem by bending down and lightly kissing first my right cheek and then my left. It was an oddly practised, formal movement, as if this was how he was used to greeting everyone. He sat on the far end of the bench, allowing as much space between us as he could.

  “How was your meeting?” I asked politely.

  He gave a mock-groan, and his face broke into a smile. I saw his teeth, perfectly white and square, gleaming in the candlelight.

  “Please don’t make me talk about it. It was bad enough to sit through.”

  “Don’t you enjoy your job?”

  “No,” he seemed genuinely surprised. “Of course not. Do you?”

  “Well, it’s — alright, I guess. Bits of it.”

  “But not what you dreamed of doing when you were a little girl?”

  I laughed. “When I was a little girl, I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a customer care supervisor. I wanted to be a vet.”

  “You like animals, then? Did you pursue it?”

  “I did some work experience when I was fifteen. It turns out that being a vet is mostly putting animals to sleep and squeezing out dog’s anal glands.”

  I was suddenly nervous that he would think me coarse or unrefined. This was not something I usually worried about —I took pleasure in saying the dirtiest joke, the most shocking thing round the table. But that was when I was with Richard, I realised. I don’t feel like I want to show off to Alex.

  Luckily, he smiled. “Childhood dreams. How seldom they can stand up to reality.”

  “What did you want to be?”

  “Not a middle manager, that’s for certain. It’s rather warm in here. Would you mind if I removed my jacket?”

  “Of course not.” I felt as though I was giving a Victorian gentleman permission to sit in my presence. He must have caught the waiter’s eye, as in a moment he was standing by our table, ready to receive it. Alex also removed his tie and rolled it carefully into one of the pockets.

  “Thank you. Could we also have some menus, and a bottle of house white?”

  When the waiter had gone, he turned back to me.

  “My apologies for the house wine. But believe me, it is by far the best bottle on the menu.”

  “That’s fine,” I was trying not to stare at the base of his throat. Where the button had been undone, I could see the hollow of his collarbone, and was suddenly conscious that his body was beneath those clothes. It was an odd revelation; of course everyone was naked under their clothes. But there was something about Alex that made me acutely aware that his skin was only separated from mine by a thin layer of cotton.

  “And thank you also for agreeing to meet me so early. I know that eight is the more usual dinner hour. But they serve a very nice board of meats, cheese and olives, if you would prefer something lighter.”

  “That sounds lovely.” My stomach, I realised, was too tense to eat much. This is a very bad sign, I thought to myself. This was meant to be a no-stakes date. You weren’t supposed to actually get a crush on him.

  When the waiter returned with the bottle, he offered it to Alex to taste. He gestured towards me.

  “I think my companion should try it. I know it is to my taste, but it might not be to hers.”

  “I don’t know much about wine,” I hesitated.

  “What’s there to know? Only if you would be happy to drink it with me.”

  The waiter poured a small amount into my glass and I sipped it. Alex was right; it was cool and crisp and delicious.

  “That’s great,” I said, and the waiter filled both our glasses.

  Alex turned to him and said something in a language I didn’t understand. The waiter nodded and withdrew.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I placed our order. Cheers.” He raised his glass.

  “Cheers. What language was that?”

  “Russian.”

  “I didn’t know you spoke Russian.” Now that I listened, I could hear a slight accent in his voice. “Is that where you’re from?”

  “Nearabouts. And what about you? How did you end up in London?”

  I found myself telling him about my childhood in Sussex and University course.

  “After that, all of my friends moved to London to start their careers, and I thought “why not?” I didn’t want to move back home. And London is a fun place.”

  “It certainly is one of the world’s greatest cities. And did you also start your career?”

  “Not really. I had a few temp jobs and ended up here.”

  The food had arrived; a walnut-wood board with a selection of dark slices of cured meat, shiny olives and soft, unctuous cheeses. I picked at the food, too excited to eat much, and continued to pour out my life to Alex. It was only when he regretfully checked his watch that I realised he had told me almost nothing about himself.

  “I am afraid I have to go now, although I have had a wonderful evening. Can I drop you off anywhere?” He signalled for the bill.

  I felt absurdly deflated. I had drunk half a bottle of wine, and had anticipated a long evening, perhaps going on to a different bar and maybe even (my stomach flipped at the thought) a passionate kiss. Usually my dates ended with me taking my companion home — if I wanted to sleep with him, then why not? If I didn’t want to sleep with him, I would usually have called a halt to the date. Was that the decision that Alex had made?

  “No need to drop me off anywhere. I can get the Tube home.” I tried to sound cool, as if I didn’t care that the evening was over so soon.

  “I am getting the Tube as well,” Alex said calmly. “I will come with you.”

  I considered for a moment making a fuss and refusing to let him. How dare he be the one to decide that our date was over, and then, even worse, to think I needed chaperoning like a child?

  Alex folded a few notes inside the bill envelope and stood up.

  “Let’s pay half each,” I reached for the bill.

  “No,” he said simply. “I invited you, so please allow me to pay.”

  I must have looked furious, as he reached out a forefinger and touched it lightly to the back of my hand. “Please?”

  The spot where his finger touched me tingled. I said with a grudging smile, “Alright then.”

  “Thank you.”

  The waiter handed Alex both our coats, and he deftly helped me into mine before putting on his jacket. I felt his breath for a second on the side of my neck as he leant forward, and I hoped for a wild second he might kiss me. The thought raised goose pimples down my arms. As we stepped into the street, Alex glanced upwards. The sun
was low in the sky and the summer air was still warm.

  “It is later than I thought,” he said, almost to himself.

  I opened my mouth to ask waspishly what I was keeping him from, but was already slightly ashamed of my childish behaviour in the restaurant, so shut it again.

  On the platform, Alex walked me to the farthest end, so that when the train pulled up, we were the only ones in the last carriage. I sat down and he sat across from me, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. Under the bright lights of the train, his face looked gaunter than it had seemed in the restaurant, and there was a slight shading of stubble along his jaw. He rubbed at it pensively, seeming lost in his thoughts. His hands too seemed larger, the knuckles more clearly defined. Suddenly he looked at me, his intense green gaze seeming to pin me to the spot like a butterfly on a board.

  “You are very beautiful, Kay,” he said. His voice was low and silky. “A very beautiful woman.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say. I felt absurdly, ridiculously turned on. His eyes seemed to strip away, not just my clothes, but my flesh down to my soul.

  “I would like to see more of you. If you would like to show me.”

  His voice was hypnotic. His shoulders were so broad, hunched forward over his knees like an animal about to spring. I felt again that consciousness of his body, so close to mine, a knowledge of his animal nearness. If you would like to show me. Had he spoken the words again, or had I simply heard them inside my head, like a command. I found myself on my feet, standing in front of him. The aisle between us was so narrow that, even when he sat up, we were only inches apart. I could feel the heat from his body and almost thought I could hear his heart beating over the noise of the engine. Or was it my own, hammering in my ears?

  “Show me your breasts.” This time he had definitely spoken, a firm, commanding tone. My hands moved to the buttons of my blouse and I slowly pulled it apart to reveal my breasts, presented like an offering in the lacy cups of my bra.

  I had done strip teases for boyfriends before; a jokey, flirty performance full of dramatic reveals and coy glances, but this felt entirely different. I felt that I was showing Alex my real self, rather than projecting an image of soft-core sexuality. I ran the heels of my hands firmly over my breasts, feeling my nipples through the thin fabric, then again, so hard it almost hurt. My breasts felt as if they were longing, begging to be touched, and the sensation as I gripped them, squashing them almost flat with my hands took my breath away. I moaned under my breath, under the noise of the train engine. They felt too large for my bra, as if the flesh was expanding, swelling, forcing itself upwards. I pulled down the cups of my underwear and felt the cool air as my breasts thrust themselves forward, the smooth, creamy skin ending in two hard nipples.

  “You want to touch yourself.” Again, his voice was low, hungry and utterly dominant. I ran my hands down the flat of my stomach to the waistband of my skirt. I knew that there was CCTV on the train, and also that the train would soon stop at another station. What if someone got on? I pictured the shock on the faces of the commuters as they stepped aboard and saw me, my cheeks flaming with desire, my breasts shamelessly exposed to their gaze, standing in front of this fully dressed man and moaning with desire. I imagined the shocked gasps, perhaps even the whispered what a slut. The idea aroused me even further. I undid my zip and allowed my skirt to fall to the carriage floor.

  It had been too hot a day for tights. I stroked my hand down over my black cotton knickers and felt my pubic hair under the fabric. I reached down further and touched the damp crotch, my fingers grazing my clitoris and sending a thrill through me that was so powerful my knees almost buckled. I could smell the musky, animal scent of my arousal, and knew that Alex must be able to smell it as well. He had not moved to touch me, but as I edged my knickers down my thighs, he leaned his head forward and I could feel his breath against my pussy as he inhaled deeply. I moved the flat of my first two fingers gently down my pussy, cupping my mound into the palm of my hand and moving it round in a slow circle, grinding my clit into my hand with almost involuntary movements of my hips. I could feel the moisture building in my palm, the slow, remorseless wetness that might any moment now begin to run down my thigh. When I slipped a finger in between my lips my flesh felt impossibly silky and inviting.

  My breath was coming faster and I opened my eyes to look down at Alex. He was staring up at me, looking, not at my wet pussy, but at my face. Then he leaned forward and pressed his face into the softness of my belly, scraping his stubble almost painfully across my skin. I took my hands away from my crotch and wrapped them round him, holding him fiercely, frantically against myself. I felt that I wanted to pull him into myself, merge with him so that I could no longer tell where he ended and I began. Then I felt him stand up. He must have picked up my skirt from the floor and pulled it back over my hips as he stood.

  “I have to go,” he said roughly. “This is my stop.”

  A moment later, he was gone. I was left standing in the empty carriage, my damp knickers around my knees, my breasts foolishly thrust out through my gaping top. After a moment, I hastily pulled up my underwear and fumbled at my buttons. What on earth just happened? There was a dull, frustrated ache in the base of my belly. I sat down, crossing my legs and squeezing my thighs together. I could feel the wetness between my legs, and worried that it might actually soak through to the back of my skirt. That would be all that was needed to compound my shame, I thought. To have nearly made myself come in the face of someone who was practically a stranger, have him leap off the train the first chance he got, and finally to have to walk home, dripping with thwarted arousal.

  Chapter Two

  “Good morning.”

  The phone had woken me up, although the morning sun was already streaming through the blinds.

  “Alex?”

  “Were you asleep?”

  “No.”

  He laughed. “Liar. Look, I’m sorry about dashing off last night.”

  I felt a stab of annoyance. He sounded mildly regretful, as if he had politely refused the offer of a second coffee, rather than leaving me half naked in a train compartment.

  “Please don’t worry about it,” I said stiffly.

  “I would like to make it up to you. If you would let me.”

  Despite my hauteur, I was relieved. Maybe he hadn’t been so repulsed by my behaviour. “Make it up to me how?”

  “Would you do me the honour of meeting me for lunch?”

  “Today?”

  “If you have no plans?”

  Should I pretend to be busy? I didn’t want to seem like the sort of person who simply hung around at the weekend. Usually I would have spent my Saturday feeling groggy from the night before and half-heartedly catching up on housework from the week.

  I was about to suggest we postponed the meeting, when he said, ”Please, Kay?”

  There was such a caressing purr in his voice that I found myself saying, “Alright then.”

  “Thank you. I will text you the address so you don’t have to write it down. See you at one o’clock.”

  ***

  At ten to one, I found myself standing outside a row of houses. He had invited me to his home, I realised, not some chic eatery whose only name was its address. Should I be doing this? Who would greet me at the door; the perfect gentleman from the restaurant or the irresistible stranger growling orders from the train?

  “Kay.” He was wearing a pinny.

  “Hi Alex.” I tried not to giggle.

  “I was preparing lunch. You are early.”

  He kissed me on both cheeks, the same formal gesture I remembered.

  “I didn’t know you could cook.” He took my coat and followed me up the stairs, gesturing elegantly when we reached his door. The flat was breath-taking, with high ceilings and full-length windows. The floors were stripped boards and a delicious smell of garlic drifted from the kitchen.

  “Wow. Nice place you’ve got here.”

 
“I rent,” he said casually. “It is easier that way.”

  “Did you rent that as well?” He saw me staring at the striped apron and smiled.

  “Does it put you off?”

  “No, you look — “ There was something about it that emphasised his masculinity, his shoulders seemed even wider, his power more pronounced. “— fine.”

  “Good. I want today to be perfect for you. I have made a meal for you, but first, you seem tense.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Let me offer you a massage.”

  I found myself being ushered gently into a room which had a wide, white bed in it. This is weird. He’s barely got my coat off and now we’re in the bedroom. Alex sensed my apprehension, and said, “Please, don’t be nervous. I will stay fully clothed. This is just for you.”

  “What do you want me to do?” This came out more huskily than I had intended.

  “If you would remove all your clothes, then lie face down and cover yourself with a towel. I will be back in a moment.”

  I found myself complying with his request. This was not how I’d imagined getting undressed, I thought, as I removed my cotton sundress and carefully-chosen underwear. There was a stack of enormous white towels on the corner of the bed, and I unfolded one and tried to arrange it over myself.

  I had only been lying down a few moments on the crisp, clean-smelling sheets when I heard the whisk of the curtains being drawn and realised that Alex had returned. The soft sound of violin music filled the room, and I felt again the urge to giggle. This was like being in an upmarket spa. I half expected him to light an incense stick.

  “Please just relax.” I felt his warm hands on my shoulders. He folded the towel down a few inches, and began to run his hands over my shoulder blades. His touch was firm and assured and very quickly he found the knots in my right shoulder, tense from moving a mouse around all day. He ran his thumbs up the curve of the bone and kneaded small circles into the muscle. He paused for a moment, then I felt the soft drip of warm oil onto my skin. As I became accustomed to the sensation, he worked deeper, pressing and gliding insistently into my flesh. I found myself sighing, letting out a breath that felt as if it had been held for years.