‘What’s up?’ shouted Richard from downstairs. The cottage was too small for secrets, apparently.
‘Rob’s having to take the train,’ she called down. ‘We’ll have to get him from the station. But he’s going to be at least another three hours.’
She texted him back, ‘OK c u l8r xxx’ and headed back down with the towel.
‘Three hours?’ Richard had shed his waterproofs and sat on the sofa in a chunky jumper and jeans. It seemed so wrong to see him out of his suits. Well, obviously she had seen him naked, too, but this casual, informal Richard was alien to her. ‘What are we going to do until then?’
‘Eat, I guess. The owners left us some ingredients – all locally sourced, I think. Some lamb shanks, potatoes, onions, garlic, veg. Kind of an emergency ration. Just as well. I’m not sure takeaways would deliver all the way down here. There’s an Aga in the kitchen, so it’ll probably take three hours to cook it. And a wood-burner. You and Rob will have to chop logs. Mmm. Preferably without shirts.’
Richard chuckled. ‘Rustic porn, eh?’ he said, getting up. ‘I’ll give you a hand in the kitchen.’
‘Can you cook?’
‘Yes. You didn’t know that, did you?’
‘You’ve never cooked for me.’
‘We usually have other things on our minds, don’t we?’
Lucy wanted to sigh. But she didn’t.
‘Yes,’ she said, wondering if all this was a good idea, after all.
Perhaps she shouldn’t be indulging herself in this illusion of an ordinary, loving domestic life with an unattainable man. She had to accept the relationship the way it was – sporadic, ad hoc, futureless. Hot sex for a season. To do otherwise was to doom herself to dashed hopes and heartache.
Richard stepped up to the work surface and began slicing onions in a highly competent manner while Lucy struggled to light the range. Soon enough, a glowing warmth spread through the room, and her bones too, lending a magical air to proceedings. The blatter of rain on the window added to this, much as she sympathised with poor Rob, making his haphazard way through it.
Richard didn’t seem to have much to say, so she switched on Radio Four and let a drama about a 1950s public school take up the conversational slack.
‘Are you nervous?’ she asked, chopping the lamb while Richard sauteed onions and garlic in a frying pan.
‘About what? Meeting Rob? No.’
‘I am. I’m very nervous. I so want you to get on.’
He let go of the frying pan handle briefly, to put a hand on her shoulder.
‘We have one very important thing in common,’ he said. ‘I think we’ll both bear that in mind.’
‘Do you cook often?’ Lucy watched him put together a redcurrant sauce.
‘No. Not often enough.’
She wanted to ask so many questions, but something about his manner held her back. Instead, as they ate, they talked about previous trips to Wales, their days at work, their backwoods survival skills.
This is what lovers do, thought Lucy, watching Richard intently as he shovelled lamb casserole into his mouth. The mouth that commanded her, kissed her, did unimaginably ravishing things to her … She so rarely saw it doing these usual things. And then, when the meal is over …
She knew that look on Richard’s face.
‘It seems rude,’ she blurted. ‘To start without him.’
‘I’ve left some in the Aga on a low heat,’ said Richard, deliberately misunderstanding.
‘No, you know what I mean.’
He watched her intently for a moment then sat back.
‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to leave soon anyway. Game of cards, then?’
Lucy shook her head, jittery with nerves again.
‘Tell you what,’ said Richard, clearing away the plates. ‘You might not want to start anything without Rob, but how about you get changed? Put on a dress and nothing else.’
Lucy laughed, her eyes wide with disbelief.
‘Shoes?’
‘Wellington boots. And a little dress and nothing else. You have brought one?’
Lucy blushed. ‘Yes, yes, I have.’ It seemed shameful to be admitting that she was expecting sex this weekend - though why it should be, she couldn’t quite understand.
‘Go on, then.’
He finished the dishes while Lucy bolted upstairs and stripped off her jeans and top and workaday underwear.
In her suitcase she found Rob’s favourite skater dress. Thank goodness all the netball and hockey kept her breasts high and perky, she thought, slipping it over her head. Of course, the minute her nipples hardened, they would telegraph her bralessness to all who cared to look, but hopefully that would be nobody but Richard and Rob. It would only take a tiny gust of wind to raise her skirt and bare all. She was definitely staying in the car. Richard could get out and help Rob with his bags when they got to the station. She would sit on the big front seat of the Range Rover, with her thighs pressed together, and wait.
Her bare feet were light and quiet on the stairs, but Richard still anticipated her, waiting at the bottom with arms folded and an expression of quiet satisfaction.
‘Just right,’ he said, putting out an arm and reeling her into his chest.
Was it all right to kiss without Rob? Was that cheating?
Lucy dismissed the anxieties and let Richard’s firm mouth close over hers, kissing away everything but her senses and her pleasure receptors.
‘You know, Lucy,’ he whispered, breaking off for a moment, his hand rubbing the small of her back rhythmically and comfortingly, ‘it doesn’t matter if Rob and I don’t get on. It won’t be your fault. We both know what we’ve got in you. I don’t think either of us will forget that.’
‘It’ll be OK,’ she said, for courage, the words acting as talismans.
‘It’ll be OK,’ he repeated after her. ‘Come on. Get your wellies on and get into the car.’
They ran through the rain to the Rover, belted themselves in and headed into the lane. The journey was rough but exciting; the bumpy road jolted Lucy this way and that. Richard made her sit on her bare bottom on the soft leather of the front seat, and the thrill of the journey mixed together with a potent erotic sensation so that, by the time they arrived at the station, she was sticky of thigh and her heart was bumping fast. All the way home, she would be sitting between Rob and Richard, in this tiny dress and no knickers. All the way home.
Richard pulled into the station car park and put on the handbrake.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Go get him.’
Lucy stared.
‘Me?’
‘He doesn’t know me.’
‘I bet he’d recognise you.’
Richard shook his head.
‘He’s your friend. You go and wait for him.’
‘But—’
‘No buts.’
Lucy huffed and sighed and spent a long time trying to make her dress longer, to no avail.
Richard eventually leant over her to open the door and she slid, very carefully and very slowly, along the seat and swung her legs to the side.
How ridiculous she would look, in her flirty little party dress and big green rubber boots. Everyone would stare. Everyone would whisper. And that was without the underwear problem.
She didn’t have to go far, at least. Just a couple of yards up the pavement, under a shelter, and into the ticket office, which was, thankfully, empty. She might have been observed by a couple of taxi drivers waiting in the rank, but that was all.
It was cold on the platform and her thighs felt the worst of it. Her nipples ached and she knew they were visible through the slinky jersey material of the dress. She looked at the digital display board closest to her. Rob’s train was expected in ten minutes.
She didn’t dare look down the platform to see who else was waiting, for fear of catching somebody’s eye. It was fairly obvious, though, that a sprawling group of young people were standing not far away from her, on their way home from a b
ig night out at one of the town’s two pubs.
She listened to their dirty jokes and friendly insults, glad that they were too preoccupied with each other to notice her. She sank back against the wall and rested her bottom on a ledge in the brickwork, staring down at the rails.
When she looked up, there was a man on the opposite platform, watching her. She looked away immediately, but she heard his footsteps, heading for the footbridge.
She got up, intent on going back to the car until the train was actually in the station, but her way was barred by a pair of girls from the nearby group.
They looked her up and down with undisguised contempt.
‘Funny way of dressing for the weather, don’t you think, Bron?’
They could hardly talk, thought Lucy nervously, with their tiny miniskirts and thick white legs, cut off at the calf by fake Ugg boots.
‘Must be a new thing. Farm whores. I suppose the farmers get lonely. Do you cheer them up, love?’
Some of the boys were slouching up behind them now, amused sneers splitting their spotty faces. One of them wolf-whistled.
‘Leave ’er,’ said another. ‘You should be so lucky to have legs like that, Char.’
‘Fuck off. I’m good enough for you when you want to cop a feel.’
The youngsters reverted to arguing amongst themselves. Lucy took advantage of their distraction to remove herself to the ladies’ toilets – unpleasant enough, but not threatening, at least – until she heard the slow thunder of the train pulling in.
She hurried back to the platform, pleased to see that her former adversaries were safely on the train, and looked about her, seeing nobody.
Then a pair of hands covered her eyes from behind and she jumped, her wellies weighing down her legs.
‘Rob!’ she squealed in strangulated excitement. ‘Is that you?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s the Brecon Beacons Ripper. I have you at my mercy.’
She elbowed his ribs and he coughed, letting go of her. His laughing face was never more welcome.
‘You made it, then?’ she said dryly.
‘By the skin of my teeth,’ he said, picking up his bags and shaking his head. ‘Fucking car. Thanks for coming to pick me up.’
On the station forecourt he looked blankly one way then the other.
‘Where’s your car? Nice shoes, by the way.’
‘Shut up. I hope you’ve brought some wellies too. And if you’re looking for my car, you won’t find it.’
He put the bags down again and stared at her.
She nodded.
‘Shit. I’m not ready for this.’ He had to regain his breath for a moment or two.
He picked up the bags.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Lead on, MacDuff.’
Lucy stomped over to the Range Rover. Rob threw his bags in the back, then climbed up beside Lucy, who sat in the middle of the three, already belted up.
‘You must be Rob,’ drawled Richard, putting out a hand to shake.
‘You must be Richard,’ mimicked Rob, taking it.
Lucy watched the clasp bob up and down in front of her stomach, Richard’s bigger hand, Rob’s longer fingers, an expensive signet ring, a pair of black rubber bracelets.
‘And our Lucy,’ said Richard. ‘A rose between two thorns.’
Her mind almost blew with the force of their two gazes. It was what she had wanted and dreaded, finally happening.
‘Thanks for the lift,’ said Rob, looking out at the rainy dark again. ‘Filthy night for it.’
‘I’ve seen worse,’ said Richard, starting the engine.
Rob made a face at Lucy, as if to say, I knew he would be like this.
‘You must be hungry,’ she said. ‘We’ve a casserole keeping warm in the oven for you. And the owner left us a couple of bottles of wine.’
‘Nice one.’
They rode on in silence for a while, through the single lit street of the tiny town and out into the darkness, rainswept shapes of hills and trees their only view.
‘She’s not wearing knickers,’ said Richard suddenly.
Lucy’s heart contracted.
Rob swallowed. ‘Oh?’
‘I made her take them off to meet you. Seems a waste if you don’t, you know …’
Rob looked at Lucy, who looked at Richard.
‘Do you mind if we do?’
‘Kiss her,’ said Richard. ‘Do what you want to do with her.’
Lucy turned back to Rob.
He took her by the chin. ‘Did you start without me, you two?’ he asked softly.
Lucy shook her head. ‘We waited for you.’
He smiled, and then tilted her mouth into a long, wet kiss. His cheeks and chin were still damp from the rain, and his skin was so cold. But she felt it warm against hers, quickly, and soon all of that was forgotten, locked outside of their embrace.
His long, chilly fingers tapped a path from her knee upwards, finding the heat and shelter of her skirt, delving underneath and massaging her thigh.
Lucy hoped Richard was keeping his eye on the road, and yet she also hoped he was watching, seeing how obedient she was to his will. She had wondered, over and over, how her lovers would feel about seeing her with another man. That Richard had initiated the first opportunity was wonderful to her, a huge weight off her mind. She was grateful and she was accordingly more permissive with Rob than she might otherwise have been, letting him do anything and everything he wanted to her.
She spread her thighs wide and laid her head back, accepting the rude probing of his tongue inside her mouth. Soon enough it was mirrored by the ruder probing of his fingers. He kneaded between her pussy lips with his knuckles, grinding them in her moist slit, bumping over her swollen clitoris.
She began to make deep, throaty sounds of encouragement.
‘She likes that,’ said Richard. An indicator clicked. ‘She likes a good fingering in the car. I should know.’
Yes, you should, thought Lucy, thinking back to that afternoon in the passenger seat of his Mercedes, her skirt rucked up and tights around her knees while he steered single-handedly, reaching over to massage her clit every time they stopped at a set of lights. They had both been strung up with erotic anticipation of her birching.
And now what were they strung up with? The possibilities seemed endless to Lucy as Rob kept his mouth firmly on hers and began to thrust slowly inside her with three juiced fingers. She let her bare bottom squirm against the leather, although it was starting to stick to it.
‘How wet is she?’ asked Richard, negotiating a hairpin bend.
Rob broke the kiss just enough to gasp, ‘Fucking soaking,’ before resuming.
Lucy jolted her pelvis forwards, moaning with satisfaction when Rob’s thumb circled her clit. His hand was all over her, owning her pleasure, while Richard drove implacably onwards, a witness to her brazen lust.
The rain lashed on the windscreen and the engine purred along with her own voice.
‘Make her come,’ said Richard. ‘Make her come all over your fingers.’
The words precipitated the flood. Lucy bucked and mewled under Rob’s domineering mouth and hands, the vibrations from the engine adding to the intensity of it all.
‘She loved that,’ said Richard, his voice scratchy, as if caught on something sharp.
‘Mm,’ agreed Rob, holding Lucy close, stroking her hair. ‘She always does. Don’t you, kitten?’
Lucy rubbed the crown of her head into his chest, the way she had earned that nickname in the first place. She shut her eyes and let the feeling of satiety seep into her bones. The weekend had begun. And it was going to be incredible.
When a lurch and a jolt and a sudden ending of the lovely low-slung vibrations sent her into a tizz, Lucy realised that she had dozed off.
They were back at the cottage, parked in the paved yard, by the chicken coops. The rain still menaced the vehicle from all sides. Both Richard and Rob looked at her, indulgently amused.
‘Better now, Snor
ing Beauty?’ asked Richard. ‘That orgasm must have taken it out of you.’
Her hairline prickled with embarrassment. She had acted shamelessly, in front of him. She snuck a sidelong glance at Rob, who had taken off his seatbelt.
‘How long was I asleep?’
‘Not long. Not long enough for my hard-on to go down, anyway,’ said Rob.
Richard reached over and sprung the catch on her seatbelt, releasing her.
‘Take off that dress,’ he said. ‘Then get on your knees and suck him.’
She widened her eyes at Rob, who grinned and nodded.
‘Fair’s fair,’ he said laconically. Then he looked over at Richard and frowned a little. ‘I’ve never done this in front of another bloke.’
‘Don’t be shy,’ said Richard. ‘I have. She can do me first, if you prefer. Whatever you’re comfortable with.’
‘Oh.’ Rob sounded surprised and considered this for a moment. ‘Right. No, it’s fine. I’ll go first. If that’s all right with you?’
‘Of course. Be my guest.’
‘No, nobody’s the host here and nobody’s the guest,’ said Rob, slightly combative.
‘Sorry, you’re right, just a figure of speech,’ said Richard with effortless smoothness. ‘We’re all equal.’
‘Two of you are more equal than others,’ pointed out Lucy.
‘True.’ Rob smirked, the moment’s ruffling ironed out flat by the gathering storm of his arousal. ‘In which case, get on your knees and use your mouth.’
Lucy took a deep breath and pulled her dress over her head.
Richard snapped on the overhead light so that, in the streaming windscreen, she saw the reflection of her pale, naked body, her breasts high and jaunty with big, prominent nipples.
She didn’t want to look at herself, so she dropped quickly to her knees. The rubber mats on the footwell were clean and dry, at least. She pushed her breasts between Rob’s blue-jeaned legs and reached up for his fly. He stroked her cheek.
‘I’m hard for you,’ he whispered.
Richard said nothing, but his presence was more potent than any words could have been. He was there, the watcher, judging her on her performance.
She unbuttoned the jeans then let Rob ease them over his hips to make it easier for her to lower the elasticated waistband of his boxers. Yes, he was hard for her, yes. His cock stood upright, straining for her attention, glistening at the tip.
Seven Scarlet Tales Page 10