Just for Fun

by Rosalind James

  “Oh, yeh,” he said with satisfaction. “That’s brilliant. That’s gorgeous. That’s how I want you.” He reached around the back of her skirt for the zip, pulled it down. Then eased the silky material down over her hips, over her legs, until she was, finally, naked beneath him.

  He stood back, still fully dressed. She looked up at him, felt her arms being stretched taut. Saw the hunger on his face, and was nearly undone.

  “I thought about tying your legs down too,” he told her, reaching down to run a slow hand over her body, making her shiver, her body straining towards his caressing hand. Down her arm, over her breast, her belly, her thigh. And still, maddeningly, not where she needed him most. “Like my very best fantasy. Having you all the way tied up for me, helpless. That’d be too much, I know. So I’m just going to have you spread your legs, make you hold still for me.”

  “No. It’s not too much. You can do that. You can tie me down,” she got out through another surge of excitement. Her torso rose from the bed as she shuddered, her legs moving apart as if of their own volition.

  “You won’t be able to move, once I do that,” he warned. She couldn’t answer. Could only whimper and shift, her back arching, trying to get closer to him. She needed him so badly now, she was burning with it. Aching for it.

  He didn’t ask again, just grabbed at something beyond her vision. Then he was fastening the tie around her ankle with a quick jerk, pulling it toward the post at the foot of the bed. Stretching her out, tying her down. Moving around to do the same thing on the other side, then standing over her again, looking down at her where she lay, open to him.

  He’d lost every bit of his own composure, she saw. He was breathing hard, almost as hard as she was herself. She twisted against her bonds, heard him swear under his breath. Then he was unbuttoning his shirt, pulling off the rest of his clothes. Moving to the head of the bed, reaching for a condom amongst the supplies he’d brought, unwrapping it.

  “We’re going to play more later,” he promised as he came down over her, eased inside her. “I’m going to do everything to you tonight. But right now, I’m going to fuck you.”

  “Nic,” she moaned. “Nic.” He started slowly, pausing before each stroke as she strained towards him, teasing her until she was making urgent, incoherent sounds, trying and failing to pull him into her, to hurry him. At last, when she was panting with frustrated arousal, he gradually began to increase the tempo.

  Faster and harder, over and over. Being held like this, unable to move, was forcing every bit of her awareness onto the slide of him inside her, the friction of his body rubbing over her where she was most sensitive. Each stroke was pushing her higher, until it was past bearing. He was resting his weight on his hands, driving hard now, and she was beginning to keen. It was too much, too strong. She couldn’t take any more. “Nic. Please. Untie me. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

  “Not going to untie you,” he got out, his voice ragged with effort. “I want you to know I’ve got you. That you can’t move. That you’re mine, to do anything I want with. Because you are, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Yes,” she said on a sobbing breath.

  “Say it, then,” he ordered roughly.

  “I’m yours,” she got out, barely aware of what she was saying. “I’m yours.”

  “Too right. You belong to me. You’re mine, and I’ll do anything I want to you.”

  His words pushed her over the edge. She began to spasm around him, her wail sounding loud in her own ears, tears coming to her eyes as her pleasure grew, nearly painful in its intensity. He was grabbing a bound wrist in each hand now, holding her down even more tightly as wave after wave of delicious convulsions overpowered her. And then he was shouting, slamming into her, his excitement fueling her own, and she was crying out with him, utterly and completely lost.

  She was still jerking and shaking when he rolled off her, moved to untie her wrists and ankles, pulled her arms down. He grabbed tissues to clean both of them up, handed her a few for her face. She wiped her eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath.

  “You OK?” he asked, running a hand down her body.

  She felt herself trembling, her body quivering under his touch. She nodded, then pulled him to her. He wrapped his arms around her in response, held her close. “That scared me,” she said against his chest. “Feeling that much.”

  He kissed her gently. “Scared me too, a bit,” he admitted. “Never been that out of control. Are you hurt? Inside? Did I bruise you?”

  “No. No. I’m just . . . limp.”

  “I brought some other things,” he told her, pulling the sheet and duvet over them both. “But I’m too shattered just now, and you are too. So I think we’ll sleep for a while. Then we’ll have some wine, and we’ll try the next bit.”

  By the time he woke the next morning, his internal alarm going off as always at seven, Nic felt as if he’d been through a cyclone, and back again. He’d managed to get through a few more of the fantasies he’d had about her, and they’d all lived up to their advance billing. He’d explored every centimeter of her with his hands and mouth, and a few other things too. Had turned her over, tied her up again that way, and kept her there for a good long while. Had lost count of the number of times she’d come, and had gone through two more condoms himself. But it was her response that had devastated him. She’d called his name again and again, cried out in pained ecstasy, and begged him for more, just as he’d told her she would. Her openness, her vulnerability, her utter surrender to her own pleasure had pushed him to a place he’d never been. She’d given him everything, and he’d given her what she’d asked for. Something special. A night they would both remember for a long, long time. And she’d never once said “aubergine.”

  Emma winced as she sat up in bed, muscles and tissues protesting against the treatment they’d received. There wasn’t a clock in here, but the sun was coming through the open plantation shutters. She listened, but couldn’t hear Nic. She got up with a groan, went into the ensuite bathroom. A hot shower eased some of the aches, but she wished she had her toothbrush. Too much of the chilled white wine, in the night. And the ice in the bucket he’d brought, dripped onto her. Then his warm mouth, heating her again. She flushed at the memories. She’d asked for something special. He had delivered beyond anything she could have imagined. Under his inventive guidance, she’d been able to abandon herself completely to the joy of rediscovering her body, and all the pleasure it could feel.

  “Morning.” Nic came into the bedroom to find her wrapped in a towel, picking up her discarded clothes. “Cup of tea?”

  She turned to look at him, suddenly shy. Could feel the blush creeping up her neck as she remembered all the things they’d done. Then realized what he’d said. “Cup of tea?” she asked in disbelief.

  “Yeh,” he said in surprise. “Why not?”

  She started to laugh. “It just seems a little . . . incongruous. After what we just did.”

  He grinned in response. “I’m good, but even I need to take a break sometimes, have a cuppa. Labor laws, you know. Mandatory smoko.”

  “Then yes. I’d love a cup of tea. But my toothbrush is in my purse, in your car. At least I think I left it there. Could you look? That would make me feel a lot more human.”

  “I’ll look,” he promised. Came back in a few minutes with two mugs of tea. Set them down on the bedside table, then pulled her little travel toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste from the pocket of his jeans. “And voila.”

  “Great,” she said with gratitude, taking them from him and disappearing into the bathroom. When she came out, he was sitting propped against the pillows, the picture of casual innocence, sipping his tea. He patted the spot next to him.

  “I should get dressed,” she said.

  He reached for the dressing gown he’d brought, tossed it to her. “Put that on, get cozy here with me for a minute. Oh, and here.” He lifted himself to reach into his jeans pocket, pulled out the scrap of silvery lace. “You may want
these again now. Though if you decide to leave them off, I won’t complain. Because I’m going to take you out for brekkie before we collect Zack. You could probably do with a large coffee, this morning. I know I could.”

  “Don’t you feel a little . . . embarrassed?” she asked, snuggling next to him, wrapped in his oversized dressing gown, and picking up her mug.

  “Nah,” he said decisively. “I feel happy. And worked out. How about you?”

  She laughed. “Worked out. Yeah, I guess that would describe it. Worked out. Worked over. Shagged up, down, and sideways. The way someone once promised me he could do.”

  “I did, didn’t I? Took a while to make good on that. But I reckon I’ve done it now.”

  “You have. So I guess you’re entitled to look that smug. I don’t think I’m going to be forgetting this night in a hurry.”

  “No . . . cobwebs?” he asked, serious now. “You good?”

  “You blew them away. As long as I stick with you, looks like I’m golden.”

  “As long as you stick with me, reckon we both are.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek, sat up again with a grin. “And by the way. Anytime you want something special, just give me the word. Because I enjoyed that. And I’d be happy to do it again.”

  Chapter 29

  “Now that we’ve had one adventure,” Nic said on the drive back to Devonport, “it’s time for the other one, don’t you think?”

  “Which one?” Emma asked. She was feeling relaxed and a bit sleepy again, despite the bowl-sized latte she’d consumed with breakfast. Must be all those good sex endorphins, she supposed. Or just too much sex, and too little sleep.

  “Telling Zack I’m his dad.”

  That got her attention. “Oh. Wow.”

  “It’s time, don’t you think?” Nic asked again. “Step back a sec and look at it. I’d like him to come stay with me, on the weekends I’m here. And that’s not many, you know. Just the next few weeks, and then I’m off to Aussie and on to Argentina, if the ankle’s fit again. Back for a few more weeks, bar some days in Wellington and Dunedin, and it’s off again to England for the World Cup. Assuming I’m fit, and in form, and selected, touch wood. That’ll be a lot of time away, and not much here, all the way till the end of October. So I’d say we should do it now, wouldn’t you? Give him some time with me to get used to the idea?”

  “Yeah,” she forced herself to say through a throat that had tightened. “It should be now.”

  He shot her a quick glance, reached a hand out to grip her own briefly. “I’m not going to take him away from you, you know,” he said gently. “I’m not trying to make his life harder. Or yours. I’ll be doing my best to make it better, for both of you. But I want him to know he’s my son. I want him to know he can ring me. That he can count on me, if he needs me.”

  She really couldn’t think of an argument against that. “All right. When do you want to do it?”

  “Today, I thought. The game will be on at five-thirty tonight,” he added practically. “Maybe we could all watch together, afterwards. May break the ice, so to speak. Settle a few of the collywobbles.”

  “It’s on that early?” she asked, distracted.

  “Sydney time,” he said patiently. “Where d’you want to do it?”

  She felt rushed, but knew it wasn’t his fault. He was right, he’d waited long enough, and it was time. “Our flat,” she said with decision. “Where he’s comfortable, and safe. And I think your idea about the game is a good one. Maybe before that?”

  “Not now?”

  “No. I need to shift gears. Not to mention getting out of these clothes. Let me go home first, finish getting things squared away after our holiday.”

  “OK. What about food?” he asked practically. “Want me to bring a takeaway? We could heat it up again, after, eat it during the game.”

  She had to laugh a little in spite of her tension. “Food. Sure. You’re in charge of food. But, Nic,” she said, sobering. “This is a big deal. Don’t underestimate it.”

  “I know it’s a big deal,” he said seriously. “It’s a big deal for me, too. I’m shaking, inside. Never been more nervous.”

  “Really?”

  A rueful smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, yeh.”

  He brought Chinese. The same restaurant, the same menu as the first time. “Potstickers,” he told Zack, holding up the bag. “Our favorite, eh. But first, your mum and I want to talk to you about something. I’ll just pop this in the fridge, and we’ll have a chat.”

  “Did I do something bad?” Zack asked anxiously as they took their seats in the lounge. Emma had chosen to sit on the couch where she could be with Zack, leaving Nic perched on the edge of the armchair next to them. “I spilt the juice at Auntie Lucy’s,” he said uncertainly. “But she said it was OK. She said.”

  “You didn’t do anything bad,” Emma said hastily. “This isn’t a bad thing. It’s a good thing.” She found herself wanting to run away. To avoid this. Escape into her bedroom, pull the quilt over her head.

  You’re the mum, she told herself, trying to quell the feeling of panic. Be the mum. She gathered her courage and plunged in. “Remember when I told you your dad had to go away?”

  “Yeh,” Zack said slowly, his eyes searching hers.

  She took his hand in hers. No way to say this except straight out. “Your dad was Nic, sweetie. He was your dad. He is your dad.”

  Zack’s eyes flew to Nic’s. “Nic is?” he said doubtfully. “Like a stepdad, you mean? Like Stephen has, in my class?”

  “Nah, mate,” Nic said, his voice a bit gruff. “I’m your real dad. Your . . . your birth dad.” He stopped, looked at Emma in mute appeal.

  She took over again. “You know everyone has a mum and a dad, who make them. Well, before you were born, Nic and I knew each other. And we made you. And then Nic had to go away, like I said.”

  “I did,” Nic put in. “I went away. I went to play for Bath, remember? And I didn’t know we’d . . . made you. I didn’t know I had a son, till I saw you and your mum at Rob’s camp. It was a surprise. That’s why you didn’t know about me, before. Because I didn’t know either. But I did make you, and I’m your real dad.”

  “Are you going to live here now?” Zack asked. “Because mums and dads live with their kids.”

  “Not all of them do,” Emma reminded him. “Stephen’s dad lives in a different house, right?”

  “Right,” Zack remembered.

  “And he stays with him, some weekends, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeh. He has a big house. Stephen’s mum has a flat, like us. But he has heaps of toys at his dad’s. He told me.”

  “That’s how this is going to be too,” Emma said, choosing to pass over the comment about the toys. “You’re going to live with me most of the time, but you’ll stay with Nic sometimes too. You’ll have another bed at his house.”

  Zack looked at Nic. “Not my bed?” he asked in alarm. “Do I have to?”

  “We’ll make you a special room,” Nic promised him. “Your own room. Your mum can bring you to my house tomorrow so you can see it.”

  “Is it going to be always? I don’t get to be with you anymore?” Zack implored his mother.

  “No, it’s not going to be always,” she assured him. “It’s going to be sometimes. Some nights. Just like you see Nic now, and play rugby with him. You’ll just sleep there, that’s all.”

  “Like camping?”

  “Nah, mate,” Nic said with a little smile. “Not like camping, I promise. A real bed. You’ll see, tomorrow. We’ll get it sorted.”

  “Can I bring Raffo?”

  “Course you can. And anything else you need, to be comfortable.”

  “Mum.” Zack tugged at Emma’s sleeve until she bent her head to him. “What do I call him?” he asked in a clearly audible whisper. “If he’s my dad?”

  Emma shot a look at Nic, who was clearly taken aback at the question. “That’s for you to choose,” he finally answered. “You can ca
ll me Dad, if you like. Because that’s what I am. But if you’d rather not,” he went on quickly, seeing the look of alarm on Zack’s face, “you can go on calling me Nic.”

  “OK,” Zack said with relief. “Can we have potstickers now?”

  Emma laughed a little shakily, saw Nic smiling with what looked like the same relief. “Yeah. I’d say it’s time for potstickers. And a rugby game too.”

  “Do heaps of people live here?” Zack asked the next afternoon, head tipped back to take in all three stories of villa rising above them.

  “Nope. Just Nic.” Should she be saying “your dad,” she wondered? It felt too strange, though.

  “It’s like a castle,” Zack said, still dubious. “It has a tower.”

  “A turret,” Emma agreed. “That’s what you call those. Just like on the canisters I painted.”

  “He must get lonesome,” Zack decided. “When I’m big and have a house, I’m going to have you live in it with me.”

  “Mmm. We’ll see about that,” she said with a smile.

  Zack clung to her hand as he saw Nic coming down the brick-lined concrete footpath to join them. “Do I have to live here now, Mum?” he asked nervously.

  “No,” Emma promised. “Just visit, that’s all, like we talked about. Like a sleepover.”

  “Hi,” she said to Nic, lifting her face for his kiss, feeling more settled as always by the sheer solidity of him.

  “Hi.” Nic dropped a hand to Zack’s head, gave his hair a rumple. “How ya goin’, mate?”

  “Fine,” Zack said shyly, dropping his gaze.

  “Zack thinks your house is pretty big,” Emma told him. “He’s wondering if you ever get lonesome.”

  “I do,” Nic said seriously once Zack was looking at him again. “Heaps of times. That’s why I want you and your mum to come stay with me.”

  “Mum can come too?” Zack asked.

  “Course she can. If she wants to, that is.”