The Gift

by Portia Da Costa

  It was a push-you-up-and-show-you-off style, and it seemed important that she wear it not only because it made her boobs look great, but also because it fastened in front.

  You’ve planned for easy access, you trollop!

  Her cheeks flamed all the peachier for articulating the God’s honest truth.

  ‘Get out there! Don’t keep him waiting!’ called Kat from upstairs, making Sandy jump. ‘You’re wasting valuable shagging time!’

  ‘We’re going to lunch, Kat!’ Sandy swept her hair off her face, then flicked it back. ‘No shagging!’

  Kat laughed. ‘You mean more shagging.’

  Sandy laughed too. ‘Have a nice afternoon, Kat. See you later!’

  Shrugging her warm jacket concealingly around her, she opened the door, stepped out, and there he was. Waiting just as he’d told her he would. Why did that surprise her?

  The thing was, there was still a bit of her that wondered if this whole ‘Jay’ interlude was some kind of figment of her imagination. Just as much the fantasy as her Prince had been, long ago, if she was honest. Her rescuer had just been a lad who’d been kind for a few minutes, not some perfect paragon of chivalry rescuing a fair damsel. But Jay on the other hand was there, sitting on a bench across the way, as large as life and twice as dangerous.

  She’d caught him in a split-second moment, unaware of her, looking strangely tense, his face twisted and tight-lipped. He was lounging with his legs stretched out and one arm draped along the back of the seat, with his camera set beside him, but there was nothing relaxed about the way he sat, the lines of his face and his limbs looked hard.

  He’s in pain.

  It was so obvious. High-speed crashes in Aston Martins weren’t without their lingering aftermaths. His face and body had been put back together again, but beneath the surface the consequences tormented him.

  Yet when he turned her way, every single trace of those consequences vanished. The smile he gave her was hot and focused. Whatever discomforts he’d been suffering were apparently forgotten, and in his expression and body language she saw only desire now. And when he rose to his feet, he moved quickly, sleekly and with purpose.

  ‘You look fabulous,’ he murmured when he reached her, inclining his lips to hers and kissing her as if he hadn’t just fucked her, less than an hour ago, over a sink. He’d obviously freshened up briefly in the Teapot cloakroom while she’d been upstairs, because he smelt as clean and cool as ever, with that hint of expensive cologne that drove her crazy. It was only in her mind that he smelt of semen and raw sex.

  ‘Thanks,’ she murmured when he released her again, feeling desirable, yes, but already flushed and unsettled in his presence. His dark eyes drifted down her body and she saw him note the fit of her top, when her jacket swung open and revealed it. Her nipples were still standing out through the brushed cotton fabric and the lace beneath. Rats, she really should have worn something a bit baggier and less obvious in public. Admittedly, she wanted to seduce Jay again as soon as possible, but he wasn’t the only man who’d be able to see the shape of her breasts, and the distinct way they revealed her desire. In fact the beast laughed as a guy who looked as if he worked in one of the banks, and was out for lunch, nearly did a double-take and ogled her openly. Frowning, she pulled her jacket tightly around her again.

  ‘Seems a shame to hide such a pretty top,’ announced Jay cheerfully, ogling her just as unashamedly. Sandy wondered how he’d react if he knew that she’d left off the tights and the panties that went with her push-up bra, trick December breezes be damned.

  He’s turning you into a slut, Sandy. Be careful. If you’re too available, he’ll probably lose interest.

  And that was something she couldn’t bear to think about. At least for the moment. When he left, he left, and that was the end of it. But while he was here, she wanted him with her and she wasn’t going to do anything to screw that up. Which included not bombarding him with questions either, because he was clearly a man who didn’t give much away.

  ‘Thanks, but I think it’s a bit too thin for this weather.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ he replied, ‘Where to?’

  Slinging the strap of his camera over one shoulder, Jay reached for her hand with his free one. It was such a small familiar possessive little gesture, but it made Sandy feel disorientated and panicky. She didn’t know him, and yet her fingers did somehow, recognising his touch on the deepest level, in a way that wasn’t just to do with sex. Her breath felt tight in her chest and she suddenly needed a drink even though she rarely touched alcohol during the day.

  ‘Let’s try the Fox and Grapes in Bank Street. They do good lunches. This way.’ She began walking and he fell into step beside her, his hold on her light as air, yet as unyielding as superglue.

  ‘Isn’t it a bit of a busman’s holiday for you, eating somewhere like a pub? Fast food for workers and shoppers, I mean.’

  A good point. ‘Well, yes, but the difference is I get waited on for a change, and I rather like that.’

  Casting a glance sideways at her, Jay’s eyes danced and his mouth curved dangerously. ‘Oh, I’d like to wait on you too.’ He did that tongue-tip thing again, the familiar one that made the pit of her belly clench. ‘I’d like to tie you naked to a bed and feed you Champagne truffles while I’ve got my cock inside you.’

  ‘Jay!’

  Even though it was Wednesday, quiet and with no market, there were plenty of people around in the precinct. And a young woman, waiting in front of a shop as they passed, swivelled around sharply at the word ‘cock’. Jay smiled and waggled his eyebrows at her and Sandy could have punched him. Especially when the girl smiled back, evidently liking the sound of a tall striking man talking dirty, even when it wasn’t to her.

  ‘You’d like that though, wouldn’t you?’ he persisted as they moved on.

  It took a supreme effort not to stumble, even though she was wearing her own comfortable flat suede boots today and not Kat’s towering high heels. Her knees went weak at the picture Jay painted.

  Bound to a bed, bare and vulnerable, open before him. He’d be kneeling, her pelvis would be lifted. She be impaled on his erection, stretched by it, possessed by it. She could almost feel the sensations, and taste the chocolate on her tongue as he fed her truffles from a box beside them. As the rich unctuous confection melted in her mouth, he’d reach between her legs and delicately finger her aching clit.

  ‘Chocolate should be savoured without distractions,’ she shot back pertly, trying to banish the fantasy. Not wearing panties, she could already feel silky slippery moisture sliding down her thigh.

  Jay just laughed, then looked ahead. ‘Our destination, I believe.’ He nodded to their left, towards the pub and the tables that stood outside under an awning for smokers and the hardy.

  The Fox and Grapes was an old dark traditional pub, and when they stepped inside it took a moment or two for their eyes to adjust to the low lighting. It was popular though, and Sandy recognised a few folk who ate lunch at the Teapot when it wasn’t their early closing, and nodded to them. There were no seats at all available in the main bar.

  ‘Shall we just get a swift half and then drive to the Waverley? The food’s good there,’ suggested Jay, glancing around.

  ‘No, it’s OK, there are always spaces in the back.’ Tugging on his hand, Sandy led him into the labyrinthine interior of the pub where there was a small ‘snug’ as well as a few individual booths accommodating just one table. ‘Here!’ she said, sliding into the one furthest from the main bar, and shucking off her jacket as she settled down on the long padded seat.

  ‘I like it.’ Jay’s gaze flicked around, along the row of booths separated by oaken partitions and stained-glass windows above, with the pub’s legend picked out in vibrant colours. When he glanced back at her, his eyes were hooded and speculative, making Sandy’s innards dance again as his gaze zeroed in on her newly-revealed cleavage.

  What was he thinking? Not too hard to divine. He was probably ent
ertaining exactly the same thoughts as she’d been doing, at first subconsciously, and now in the forefront of her mind.

  Surely not?

  But … oh … yes …

  Lust roiled in the pit of her belly, and she felt the slide of her arousal in her cleft as she adjusted her bottom on the seat, unable to sit still.

  Jay caught the small movement, and his eyes narrowed as if the table and her skirt were both transparent and he could see the state of her sex.

  ‘What can I get you?’ he asked, his face and his voice superficially dead straight.

  A glass of wine and an orgasm.

  She nearly said it, too. But at the last minute, she bottled out.

  ‘A glass of White Zinfandel and scampi and chips, please.’ Jay pursed his lips. She could see he wanted to smirk, and she suspected it was as much about the girly wine choice as an awareness of what she’d almost asked for.

  ‘OK, so I like sweet pink wine. It’s not a crime.’

  ‘I never said it was, Princess. And you can have whatever you want as far as I’m concerned.’ The way he let the grin out now said that he was fully aware of her unspoken request too, and might well satisfy it sooner rather than later. ‘Right, I’ll be back in a jiffy.’

  Sandy looked this way and that, pretending to herself that she wasn’t checking out whether or not people could see them in their little hideaway. She tried to quash the dangerous thoughts, but it was impossible. Every cell in her body seemed to be vibrating with excitement and anticipation.

  Jay returned in a few minutes with drinks and a little white printed ticket for their food. As he slid in beside her, pushing a large glass of wine across the stained surface of the table towards her, she frowned at his own choice of beverage. It was a tall glass of totally clear fluid, crammed with ice and adorned with a slice of lemon.

  Gin and tonic? No, it didn’t have the oily swirly look of gin. It was water, she realised, still water, plain and pure. Don’t drink and drive, she thought. Very sensible. But last night he’d had Champagne and not thought twice about getting into the Aston.

  ‘Cheers,’ she said, clinking her glass to his as he lifted it.

  ‘Here’s to, um, distractions.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Jay with emphasis, watching her mouth over the rim of his glass as he drank himself.

  The Zinfandel was sweet and light, easy to drink. She felt like throwing the lot down her neck and asking for another immediately. The sensation of recklessness was like being on a merry-go-round, and she wanted the ride to go faster and faster and faster.

  But when Jay set his glass down, he reached into the pocket of his jacket that he’d set beside him on the bench and drew out a foil blister pack of tablets. Offering no explanation, he popped two and swallowed them quickly with more water.

  Painkillers, she thought. She’d been right about the tension in him, something that even with what she suspected were consummate acting skills he’d been unable to hide.

  ‘Is it from the accident? Is it bad?’

  Damn, hadn’t she just decided she wouldn’t pry! She hadn’t meant to speak, but it seemed curiosity and concern had more power over her vocal cords than her sense of discretion had.

  Jay gave her a long look, and she watched a battle in him too. Macho pride and being the ‘big man who didn’t give into pain’ at odds with an innate honesty and the simple response to sympathy.

  ‘It’s not good. Well, not just now.’ He drank more water, set the glass down again. ‘But don’t worry. It’s getting better all the time, with every week that passes.’

  Sandy didn’t quite know what to say, but she sensed that, even though Jay had admitted his ‘weakness’, he didn’t want to dwell on it too long.

  ‘But you could say that’s why I’m so fond of “distractions”, Sandy,’ he went on, leaning back in his seat, looking more relaxed now. Whatever he’d taken, they must be wonder pills, because his grey eyes were brightening in a way that was rapidly becoming familiar to her.

  ‘Like sex?’

  He grinned, shaking his head as if despairing of an incorrigible child.

  ‘Yeah, like sex.’

  ‘So I suppose you could really do with something like sex right this minute … to help the pills work?’

  Jay’s face lit with admiration. ‘You’re an amazing girl, Sandy, you really are. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you. In fact I haven’t done anything worthy of reward at all. But right now, you’re like a gift from heaven. You know that, don’t you?’

  She wasn’t sure what he meant. It was hard to think straight at all. In close proximity to him, in their concealed little nook, she was turning into a mass of hormones and silky fluids, pumping and wanting. She wanted to touch him. And not just his strong thighs, or his big cock inside his jeans. She wanted to touch all of him, see all of him. Stroke her fingers over his face and feel the brush of his dark beard, the tracery of his scars. She wanted to study his body and see its magnificence, and also the ravages wrought upon it by mangled metal.

  And she wanted him to touch her. Where it mattered. Slowly, she slid closer to him along the bench, until their bodies were in contact through their clothes. Staring into his stormy-sea eyes all the time, she slid her hands under the table and plucked at her skirt, inching and inching it up at the side closest to him, until the hem was against her hip there, even though the fullness of fabric was still trailing at the other side and covering most of her legs. Reaching for his hand beneath the table, she placed it on the bare skin of her thigh. His fingertips felt cool, but only, she supposed, because her own skin was so hot.

  He stared back at her, his face composed, his smile slight and mild as if nothing were happening. But his clever hand followed her lead, taking over control. His fingers walked up and up and up, and the corners of his mouth twitched a little. When he reached the side of her hip, he bit his lip and rolled his eyes.

  ‘Now that’s what I call a distraction.’

  His hand flattened, sliding across her belly, little finger skirting the edge of her bush, then dipping in and tangling. It hugged the gentle curve, still for a moment, then started moving downwards, searching, exploring.

  He leaned in close and kissed the side of her neck, next to her ear. ‘Ease your skirt up at the back. Pull it out from under you. I want your bare bottom pressed against the seat while I touch you.’

  Sandy swayed, slumped against the seatback, suddenly overwhelmed by the rudeness of the idea, the sense of exposure. She’d wanted this game – why ever else would she have come out without knickers? – but the reality almost gave her palpitations.

  ‘You’re not afraid, are you?’ His mouth opened against her skin, his tongue stroking her in a way that suggested other stroking, other wetness. Then that contact was gone, and he pressed his head against the side of her face in a strange, fondling, almost feline gesture. It was as if he was the cat now, not her, and the rub of his tightly shaven scalp was like fur too, like soft fine suede.

  When he looked up again, his eyes were full of fire. Hard. Compelling. She couldn’t defy him. She didn’t want to. She began surreptitiously tugging her skirt from under her, as per his instructions. His expression softened, became more playful and amused.

  She wondered if his pain had gone, or whether he was just sufficiently distracted by her lack of knickers to be able to ignore it.

  There was a lot of fabric in her long swirly skirt, and it took some tweaking and shuffling and wiggling about to get all of it out from under her. Sandy kept looking towards the bar, afraid that at any minute the waitress would come with their food and immediately suss out what she was doing. After all, these nooks might have been designed expressly for the purpose of sexual shenanigans.

  But it was the pub’s busiest time, and as yet there was no sign of the scampi.

  Eventually, the skirt was up, and discreetly arranged so that not even if some passer-by climbed under the table for a look would they get an eyeful of something they shouldn�
��t see. The sensation of the rough upholstery against her bare bottom was weird, and disquieting. She wondered how many naked behinds had sat on this same seat before her, playing games. The idea made her wriggle again, involuntarily, and Jay’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Good girl,’ he whispered, reaching for his glass with his left hand. It seemed that the devil was ambidextrous, because his other was already going walkabout. ‘Now drink your wine. It’ll relax you. You’ve had a trying morning.’

  It was a good job she hadn’t actually picked up her Zinfandel yet, because she would have choked. And not just at Jay’s quaint idea of a trying morning. His fingers were already playing in the cleft of her sex.

  She reached for her glass. His forefinger slid up and down, alongside her clit.

  She put the wine to her lips. He circled the entrance to her vagina, delicately skirting around with the pad of his fingertip.

  She took a tiny sip of wine, and he entered her just a little, just half of the first joint of his forefinger.

  When she jerked, and made to put the glass down again, he went, ‘Uh oh!’ and shook his head, sliding the finger out again and brushing her perineum.

  The wine was delicious, such easy drinking, but it seemed bizarre and vaguely obscene to be sipping away at it while she was being played with. It was as if her brain was short-circuiting all the time, unable to compute the two different kinds of stimuli simultaneously. Sweat popped out all over her body, and she could feel heat rising in her face as it trickled and pooled between her breasts and in her armpits. She took a deeper drink, and Jay took her clitoris between his finger and thumb and tugged it.

  The glass shook and the wine nearly spilt.

  ‘Careful,’ he admonished, still tweaking, manipulating.

  ‘I … I can’t …’