by Alam, Donna
‘For the record, hearing that never gets old.’
Is it the darkness of the hallway that makes the moment feel intimate? His lips tremble slightly as though attempting to suppress a smile, his lashes casting dark shadows under his eyes as I contemplate so many things.
His fingers now running the gauntlet of the waist of my lacy panties.
The pound of the beat from the club.
The squeak of the ladies’ bathroom door as it opens and the sound of the women spilling out.
But mostly, I contemplate how long it might take for him to start touching me. Really touching me.
The things I want but can’t say.
‘We could get caught.’ My thought becomes words immediately. But with my back flat against the wall, his body shields me.
‘I don’t think we’d be thrown out for kissing,’ he says between small kisses. ‘Or else half the club would be out on their ear.’
‘Oh, right.’ But I don’t mention the index finger he’s currently skimming low across my stomach.
‘Not that I was planning to stop there.’
‘What?’
‘Put your hands above your head, honey bee.’
The backs of my hands move automatically and slide flat against the dark wall, almost mirroring my earlier dance. His lips touch my forehead as he presses one hand against mine while his other slips deftly under the waistband.
‘Fuck, you’re so wet; I think you could take me.’ I whimper a response so needful, Kit sort of chuckles into the kiss he presses to my lips. ‘You like the sound of that? Spreading your sweetness all over me.’
‘Please,’ I whisper, not sure quite exactly what I’m asking for. Just more. More fingers, more lips, more everything. His nose presses into my hair, and he pushes his fabric covered cock into my hip.
‘Fuck, look at you.’ The lilt of his accent is much stronger now. ‘Just look at you. You’re a thinkin’ man’s wet dream.’
Holy. Rolling. R’s. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any hotter.
‘Y-you can’t say things like that.’ Though I think I might sound more convincing if his thumb wasn’t tapping my clit.
‘I just did.’
‘I . . . I don’t think it’s much of a compliment.’
‘Oh, contraire, Dr Honey.’ From one nickname to another, though the meaning of this one wasn’t lost on me. I close my eyes as his lips find my neck again. ‘Smart and sexy and so hot for it. What’s wrong with that?’ I can’t articulate an answer. I can barely think. ‘How long does it usually take to make you come like this?’ In a change of direction, his whisper is hot and heavy against my skin.
‘No one usually touches me like this.’
Kit pulls back, his dark gaze staring down at me. ‘He didn’t finger you?’
‘H-he doesn’t—I mean didn’t,’ I add, correcting myself.
‘His loss,’ he growled. ‘Because this is just the start.’
Two fingers press deep inside me, causing me to cry out. Kit kisses me again, pressing a whispered hush into my mouth. As his thumb begins petting and moving in small circles against my clit, I push my body against his hand, wanting more pressure. Wanting it all. My eyes are intent on his turned shirt sleeve and his masculine watch. The branch of a strong, tanned arm as it disappears into the darkness of my sweater. The sight is so erotic; it takes my breath away.
This is what I’d longed for while dancing. To be touched like this. To come apart in his arms.
‘Someone could see you like this, riding my hand.’ The images his words create have me arching my back from the wall and pushing into his hand. What would it feel like to be caught? To be watched? ‘Fuck, you like the sound of that. That’s it. You ride my hand. Then later, you can ride my cock.’
‘Yes!’ I cry out as more images fill my head. ‘Yes!’
A door slams somewhere between us and, startled, I jump. But I don’t register much else as he begins to move, his fingers alternately spearing me deeply and curling inside. My legs become liquid as his fingers switch between the two, coaxing and beckoning me on.
‘Fuck, I want to taste you.’ Oh, God. I think my heart just gave out imagining him rolling tongue-fuls of r’s between my legs. Maybe this is what Fin meant about the lure of a Scotsman’s accent? Maybe it’s more than just the way they talk or the things they say. ‘Leave with me. Let me inside you. Let me fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.’
I gasp at his fervent words; his promises blooming and bursting just as I begin to do so myself. My orgasm crawls through me, increasing in its intensity until I’m whimpering and thrashing, desperate to bring my hands down, to pull him to me—to participate. But I can’t. It’s not only my hands pinned as I stare into his eyes, lost in their cool, grey intensity.
The eyes of a wolf.
‘That’s it, honey bee. Jesus Christ, I want to feel this pussy around my cock.’
Those images, the knowledge of the size of him, his fingers, and his dirty words have me delirious, my back arching away from the wall as I begin to engage in the only way I can as I fuck his fingers.
My skin feels electric—I’d forgotten how this feels—how all consuming, how irrelevant everything else is outside of this moment. I cry out, the sound echoing in the hallway, and then I bite the inside of my mouth to stop the sound. My breathing is rapid, my chest heaving, and I feel like my legs might give out as I press again and again into his hand.
‘Tell me yes,’ he growls, his thumb closing on my oversensitive clit. ‘Let me fuck you with more than my hands. Let me use my mouth.’
Would I let him? Could I do this without making things eternally awkward between me and Fin?
Then, as though the thought of her name could conjure her presence, I hear Fin’s voice from the end of the hall. Actually, it’s not so much her voice as her tinkling laughter before the screech of the bathroom door.
My body stiffens, cooling immediately. Kit must see as he pauses for a beat, his hand slowly slipping from my panties and falling to my hip.
‘We can leave separately,’ he says, tightening his hand a touch. ‘Meet later, or you can leave first. I’ll tell Fin you met someone.’
‘She’s not going to believe that. I haven’t told her about—’
The door screeches again. ‘She’s not in there,’ I hear Fin call. ‘Kit, is that you?’
I shake my head, not wanting to be caught. I won’t have any answers to her questions, and if I don’t smell like sex, I’ll look like I’ve been having sex even if his hand isn’t between my legs. Feeling all kinds of conflicted, I lower my arms and straighten my dress, unable to look at him again.
‘At least give me your number.’ I shake my head again, not able to find my words.
‘Kit?’ Fin sort of whisper-hisses again. ‘Is that you down there?’
Thankfully, she doesn’t appear to want to disturb what’s going on at the end of the hall—she obviously hasn’t realised I’m here with Kit. Thank goodness, I’m shielded by Kit’s massive frame even as he turns his head.
‘Give me a minute, would you, hen?’ His words are a little ragged around the edges, his accent a touch heavier.
She laughs nervously. ‘Yeah. No worries, ha-ha. I’ll, erm, see you inside. Oh, you haven’t seen Bea, have you?’
‘I saw her taking a call on her phone outside.’ As he lies smoothly, his amused gaze returns to me, but I’m too busy to appreciate the beauty of it as I freak out silently.
‘Oh. I’ll go see.’
I finally breathe again as Fin’s footsteps begin to fade then disappear at the end the hallway.
‘I-I’d better get back.’ My eyes are on the floor. I just can’t look at him. Not after I let him finger me in a dingy hallway. Plus, I’m all sorts of endorphin confused. All jelly legged.
‘You’re all right.’ His statement is more of a question, though his fingers tilt my chin and force me to look up at him.
‘I . . . it’s . . . thank you.’ The wor
ds make me feel sick. I’ve just thanked him for getting me off. Should I offer to reciprocate? Will he feel like I’ve used him? What’s the protocol here? All this nonsense runs through my head, though I can’t voice one word aloud. What about Fin and Rory? How would they feel about this?
‘God, it’s so complicated.’
‘It doesn’t have to be. Let me show you tonight.’ When I don’t answer—when I don’t look at him—he straightens, and his hand falls away.
I scurry around him and back into the club because fantasy and reality will always be two different things.
Chapter Seven
BEA
‘Morning, sleepyhead.’ I wave away Fin’s words as I enter the kitchen, heading for the coffee pot. ‘Or should that be hungover head?’
As I pour the dark liquid into the white cup, I contemplate an answer. ‘It’s not so bad. I’m just a little tired, I guess. Want some?’ I ask over my shoulder, though she lifts her cup in answer. Way ahead of you. ‘And where’s Randy today? Don’t tell me he works on Sunday, too.’
‘He’s gone home to check on the refurbishment.’ That’s right, Randy or Rory, rather, is having his place gutted and restyled, ready for Fin to move in. ‘Didn’t you want to go see? It’ll be your home, too.’
‘I told him I’d prefer it to be a surprise. He knows I think it’s completely unnecessary. I’m not interested in it for the trappings. I’d be happy to start a home with him anywhere, so long as we have hot water and a roof.’
Fin’s seen the downside of the trappings of wealth and come out on the other side, though hardly unscathed. Her take on possessions is a lot like mine. It’s just stuff you can’t take with you when you go.
You know, go.
As I take a mouthful of my coffee, I reflect. I need to make more room for enjoyment in my life because you never know when your time’s up.
But still, it’s a shame. She has a good eye for decorating and even designed the interior of one of Rory and Kit’s boutique hotels. The restaurant, bar, and reception, I believe.
‘Any more news on Jon’s trip?’
Coffee turns to bitter tar in my mouth. I find myself shaking my head, and I find I can’t tell her right now. I don’t even want to think about it myself. ‘We haven’t discussed when, exactly. And I forgot I have a medical thing in Edinburgh next week. It’s only one night away, but the preparation and stuff . . . you know.’
Clearly, she doesn’t buy any of this. I mean, though, she’s kind enough to sort of shrug and nod. Shrug-nod?
‘I thought he was due to visit in a week or two? You said he was flying to you this time.’
Okay, so she’s not an empath. Dog, meet bone. Bone, prepare to be chewed.
‘Yeah, I did say that.’
‘Great! I’ll stay with Rory. You know, to give you some space.’ Her words are heavy with meaning. Meanwhile, I just feel heavy. ‘But we’ll have to meet him, right?’
In a change of topic, I ask, ‘Did you get a corner office with this new gig?’
‘Hardly. Just a few more pennies in the bank at the end of the month in exchange for a whole lot of additional responsibilities.’
‘Ah, the joys of the corporate ladder and smashing that glass ceiling.’
‘Glass ceiling? I can’t even see it from my dark little corner.’ As Fin inhales sharply, I turn my head. ‘Rory’s offered to loan me some money to go it alone—to start my own company.’ She looks down at her cup, her expression unreadable. ‘Only I’m not all that sure it’s a good idea.’
The past is a vicious bitch. And also a great yardstick.
‘Yeah, I get that.’
‘It’s just so tempting.’ Her eyes are shining with unshed tears as she raises her head. ‘He’s great, and I love him so much. Probably even a smidge more after what he’s offering me. He just wants the best for me. But I can’t. I just can’t.’
‘No, maybe not right now.’ I slide myself into the kitchen chair next to hers. ‘I get it, you know. But it doesn’t mean you have to write the idea off completely. Rory’s not Marcus,’ I add quietly.
‘God, don’t I know it,’ she says through a watery laugh. ‘But enough with the seriousness. Did you have fun last night?’
I find it hard to suppress my smile, letting it escape at both corners of my mouth. ‘I did. Sorry I was late. Again.’
‘What did you think of Kit?’ she asks, brushing off my apology.
‘He’s a little . . . intense.’ And he has such large . . . hands.
‘He has a heart of gold. Absolute gold. Even though they’re the same age, it always seems Kit has . . . This is going to sound silly, but I feel like he’s fathered Rory. Held a lot of weight on his shoulders, you know?’
I know from past conversations that Rory and Kit were raised by a single mother. No dad on the scene. Wasn’t there something about a grand family house being left to a dog’s charity, too?
‘It’s not so silly. Especially given their mother’s death. I suppose, being the older twin—’
‘But he’s not. Rory is.’
‘Oh, I thought with that dynamic . . . ’
‘Rory’s older by fifteen minutes, but Kit’s the bigger twin. Apparently.’ Her words are so heavy with meaning; even if I hadn’t already had it pressed into my hand, I’d still know she was talking about his dick
‘I-I wouldn’t know about that.’ Much. I wouldn’t know much about that. It’s a shame we weren’t acquainted properly, really.
‘Not for me. I don’t think I could cope if Rory was any bigger—’
‘Please, unless I come across Randy’s dick in a professional capacity, I do not want to hear about it.’
‘Come across it?’ Fin repeats with a giggle, though her intonation is so not the same. ‘I’d know lots about that.’
I send her an exasperated look. Amused, but exasperated. ‘In a professional capacity, sweets. As in, he pushes you too far one day, and in retaliation, you lopped the thing off.’
‘No way. I wouldn’t! It’s too darned beautiful to be in a pickle jar.’
‘I wouldn’t be pickling it. I’d be attempting to sew it back on.’ What kind of conversation are we having here? ‘In this hypothetical scenario, at least.’
‘All the same, it would be a crime to nature.’
‘Speaking of which.’ I exhale heavily. ‘Do you really think Kit’s gay?’
She seems to waver as she pulls one leg under her bottom. Something I couldn’t do because they’re too bloody long. ‘So Rory says. And why, pray tell, would you ask?’
‘Wipe that smile off your face. It’s called a general enquiry.’
‘It’s hardly polite. Oh, you’re going red!’
‘I am not. Why would I be if, as you say, he’s gay?’
‘Because it’s a waste to straight women everywhere? Other than Rory’s say-so, I can’t say I know. I mean, it’s not like I’ve seen him with another man myself.’
‘Wouldn’t that be something,’ I respond sort of wistfully, propping my elbow on the table and my head in my hand. ‘Live in action, Kit and—’
‘Hey, no man-on-man porno movies-for-one featuring my future brother in law, thanks.’
‘Like you haven’t thought about it.’
‘I haven’t, though I do have thoughts . . . ’ Her brow quirks like a question mark, her words hanging in the air.
‘Out with them, then.’
‘Well, there was this one time. We were out for dinner and the looks between the waitress and him. Well, I’m pretty sure my water glass started to steam.’ How odd. My insides feel twisty, but it can’t be jealousy, can it? It’s hardly like she saw him kissing someone at the end of a hallway. With his hand in someone’s underwear.
‘And then, last night at the club, I could’ve sworn he was getting . . . intimate with someone near the ladies. I mean, it was at the end of a badly lit passageway, and I couldn’t see or anything, but there was just something that makes me think he was with a girl.’
&nb
sp; ‘A girl? Really?’
‘Yeah. I can’t see him being into tiny tinks.’ She hides her smile behind her coffee cup.
‘Did you tell Rory?’
‘Absolutely not,’ she says, laughing. ‘He’s like a dog with a bone. Poor Kit would never get a moment of peace.’
‘So you’re saying you think he could be bi?’
‘Look,’ she says then sort of chews the inside of her lip, ‘it’s a possibility, but it’s not for me to say. He just has a way with women. The reaction he seems to get from them, you know? Beyond them being dazzled by his good looks, he just has this look of satisfaction when they’re all hot and bothered by his presence.’
‘Huh.’ I don’t think I like the sound of all this flirting. At all.
‘And then, and this is really weird, but I met Rory for lunch a while ago, and Kit happened to be dining with another couple—husband and wife.’ Her brow furrows with the recollection. ‘We said hello, chatted for a few minutes, and then grabbed our table. That was that. But I don’t know; something was almost proprietary about the woman’s attitude toward Kit even with her husband sitting there. It was just so odd.’
‘I’m not sure what you’re saying.’
That he’s having an affair with a married woman?
‘Yeah, that’s the thing. Neither am I.’
Chapter Eight
KIT
Every morning this week, I’ve woken with a throbbing cock and a hankering for honey. A busy week at work doesn’t cool the need—same for extra sessions at the gym. It’s starting to piss me off that I can’t get the woman out of my head.
I want to feel her come around something other than my fingers. I want the taste of her in my mouth and her sweat-darkened hair wrapped around my fist as I feed my dick down her throat inch by slow inch.
I’ve had obsessions before but not for a while. And none as dangerous as this. In fact, in the past, I’ve gone to great pains to make sure I keep my life compartmentalised. To keep my professional and personal lives from entwining in any way. Apart from the fact I don’t care to explain my sexual proclivities, it wouldn’t do for word to get out for me professionally. To Rory, I’m gay, and he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care to enquire, either. To the rest of the word, I’m just a hard nut to crack.