‘Where’s the cake?’ she asked, still determinedly casual.
‘In the bar,’ said Dani, staring at her friend in bewilderment.
‘And Micky’s inside?’
‘Ready to jump out in precisely’ – she glanced at her watch – ‘three minutes.’ Dani gave a rakish grin. ‘Come to check him out, Venny?’
Venny felt herself colouring uncomfortably. Well, wasn’t that what she was really here for? She supposed so. But now that she was here, she was aware of other things happening. And it occurred to her now, quite forcibly, that there must be fifty or so women in the bar, and only one naked man. Maybe she was being laughably cautious, but she was beginning to feel that the situation could develop into something downright hazardous.
‘Are there bouncers?’ she asked.
‘No. Why would they need bouncers?’ Dani said, getting back to her work. ‘Listen, go ahead, be my guest. They’re all so slewed they won’t even notice you’re there.’
Venny considered. She felt suddenly nervous and wary. Then she had a thought. ‘Dani, have you got your cuffs? Those little play ones?’
Dani indicated her bag, which was on the floor under the table. ‘Sure. I take them everywhere with me. Never know when there might be an opportunity for a little impromptu fun.’
‘Can I borrow them?’
Dani looked up at her in surprise. ‘Well, sure. If you want. Why not? They’re in my bag, right there; help yourself.’
Venny fished out the cuffs and, using the velcro fastening, closed one about her wrist. She tucked the loose cuff into her jacket pocket. Then she pushed through the swing door into the bar. Her first impression was one of heat, then of noise. The music was nearly drowned out by the increasingly raucous promptings of the women as they looked at the big pink cake set up near the bar and urged whoever was inside to come out right now. And he was about to. Venny looked at her watch. Thirty seconds to go. She stationed herself not six feet from the cake, elbowing herself into position against the jostling crowds. They set up a cacophonous and constant cry for satisfaction as nine o’clock drew nearer and nearer.
‘OUT! OUT! OUT!’
Ten seconds.
‘OUT! OUT!’
Five.
‘OUT!’
The lid of the cake flew back to a tumultuous roar from the crowd of women. Micky sprang out of it and was greeted by a wall of cheers and catcalls that must have half-deafened him. Venny stared, enraptured. Her concern, her reluctance to be discovered, all her reticence, vanished as she looked and looked at Micky Quinn, standing there with arms wide-spread and that unbearably cocky grin on his handsome face, naked as the day he was born and flaunting an erection that could easily win a prize.
Something seemed to melt in Venny’s stomach as she gazed at him. Oh, he was so gorgeous! He was lightly but strongly muscled; there wasn’t a spare ounce of flesh on him anywhere. She stared in something approaching wonder, and puzzlement. She had seen her share of naked men. But she had never felt this way about any of them. The women were clearly impressed too; they surged towards Micky, and Venny saw a flicker of concern flash across his face as he realised he was about to be mobbed and possibly gang-raped.
Venny got a grip and pushed forwards furiously, shaking out the loose cuff. Doing a very good impression of a possessive and enraged lover as she reached the stage, she slapped him a resounding whack across the face – which wiped the smile right off it, she noticed with some satisfaction – and then clamped the other cuff onto his wrist, joining them together.
‘You bastard!’ she shrieked at full volume as the women floundered and looked on at this new aspect of the show. ‘Come on, you’re coming home!’
Venny, heart thudding in her chest, turned and dragged Micky after her towards the kitchen door. Fortunately he had the presence of mind to simply follow. She glanced back and saw him giving the watching, clapping women a sheepish wave. Jesus, he was such a ham! They got through the kitchen door in one piece, and Venny led him straight past a speechless Dani and her two grinning cohorts.
As they reached the outer door, Micky started to protest.
‘Venny!’ He was laughing, trying to reason with this madwoman who appeared to be forcibly abducting him. ‘I’m stark naked! I can’t go outside like this!’
‘The car’s right outside,’ countered Venny determinedly. ‘See you, Dani,’ she called, and hauled him out the door and into the alley. It was a painful twenty yards to the car for Micky.
‘Ow!’ he complained, hobbling slightly. ‘Cobbles damned well hurt, Venny.’
‘Listen, be grateful,’ advised Venny, not looking back at him as he trailed behind her. ‘They were about to rip you to shreds and eat the pieces, or didn’t you realise? How come they didn’t have bouncers in there? How could Dani, or the publican, or someone not think of that?’
‘So you thought of all this, and came to rescue me from a fate worse than death?’ Micky panted as they hit the pavement. ‘Now, why don’t I believe that?’
‘Why shouldn’t you?’
‘Because I’m getting to know what a hot little fox you are, Venny. You came to see me stripped. Be honest. Admit it. And you only realised I was going to be mobbed at the last minute.’
‘Your ego,’ said Venny frostily as they reached the car, ‘is the biggest thing about you, Micky Quinn.’
She opened the passenger door first, unfastened the cuffs and shuffled him hurriedly inside.
‘I thought my cock was the biggest thing about me.’ Micky grinned sweetly up at her. Venny slammed his door closed and trotted round to the driver’s side. She got in, closed her door, and reached into the back seat to pick up the old travelling rug she kept there. She flung it into his lap, where it sat suspended over his still rigidly upright penis like a makeshift tartan tent.
‘For God’s sake,’ Venny complained, glancing at it as she started the engine, ‘what are you taking for that thing, Spanish Fly?’
‘Sorry, my little dominatrix, but I love bossy women. They turn me on something cruel. As you can see.’
Venny tutted impatiently and pulled out into the flow of traffic. At least it wasn’t too heavy at this time of night. ‘I’d better take you home,’ she said, glancing at him in annoyance. ‘Get you some clothes.’
‘I had clothes right there in the pub kitchen,’ Micky pointed out. ‘You dragged me straight past them. And incidentally my car’s parked back there, too.’
‘Tough,’ said Venny shortly. ‘You’ll just have to collect it later. Which way?’
‘Um. Well, keep going,’ said Micky.
After a long while and several concise directions from Micky, Venny started to get suspicious. ‘Look, where is it exactly you live? Because I don’t want to land up in Calais, thanks all the same. I could have dropped you off at Caspar’s; you could have crashed there for the night.’
‘Or your place, which is, after all, right next door to Caspar’s,’ suggested Micky, tongue-in-cheek. ‘Only trouble is, all your flash neighbours would see me trot in there wearing nothing but a travel rug, and I think your reputation’s already had more flak than it can take, don’t you, after that interesting little interlude in the lift?’
‘I was drunk.’
‘Ha! You loved it.’
‘I could stop this damned car, you know. I could dump you on the hard shoulder and leave you there.’
‘Truth hurts, huh?’
‘Look, just shut up, will you?’
Micky shut up. He shut up as they sped along the M2, he shut up right until they eventually hit Whitstable, and then he directed her again until they were near the seafront.
‘I don’t believe this,’ complained Venny. ‘When I said I’d drop you home, I assumed you had a place in London.’
‘I know you assumed that,’ said Micky calmly. ‘However, I don’t. If I stay in London, I crash at Caspar’s.’
‘Now he tells me,’ she muttered, and turned where he directed. Suddenly there was shingle crun
ching under the tyres and Venny heard the heavy roar of the sea. Her window was half open, and through the gap she smelt a powerful whiff of ozone. There was a line of little wooden buildings here, each one not much bigger than a double-sized garden shed. They pulled up outside one of them, and Venny killed the engine. It was very dark down here, and apart from the pounding waves washing up close by, very quiet.
‘Here we are, then,’ said Micky, jumping out. ‘Home sweet home. Coming in for coffee?’
Chapter Seven
Having told him that the place was insecure – no alarm system, and a spare key hidden under a pot near the door, for God’s sake – Venny followed Micky inside.
‘But they were expecting you back at the restaurant at eleven,’ she fretted.
‘Chill, Venny, will you? They’ll manage.’
‘Oh,’ she said in surprise as he turned on the lights. It was a lovely little place. There were bare bleached boards on the walls and floor, and a cream-coloured couch and fluffy rug set out in front of a thin, circular wood-burning stove. Nautical ephemera dotted the place – model sailing ships and starfish and old gnarled pieces of driftwood.
‘You like, huh?’ He grinned. He pushed open a door. ‘That’s the bathroom right there,’ he said, then moved across the room to push a floor-to-ceiling curtain to one side. ‘Bedroom’s right here,’ he told her, pleased he’d changed the sheets and tidied the place up since the vampette’s visit. ‘And this is the kitchen,’ he said, pulling back another curtain to reveal a tiny galley-shaped place for cooking.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Venny.
Micky shrugged. ‘It’s basic, but it’s home,’ he said. ‘Look, put the kettle on, will you? I’ll get some strides on.’
Venny went into the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. ‘How long have you had this place?’ she called out as he went into the bedroom.
‘What?’
‘I said, how long—’ Venny started, coming out of the kitchen alcove. Either by accident or design, Micky hadn’t pulled the curtain across after him. He was facing away from her, standing naked by the double bed. He’d dumped the rug. Venny stared at the broad shoulders, the narrow waist and hips, the tight, muscular globes of his buttocks as he shook out a pair of jeans. There was a birthmark – no, it was a tattoo – on his left buttock. She was staring at it curiously when he turned his head and saw her standing there. Their eyes met.
‘Kettle’s boiling,’ said Venny suddenly, and bolted for the kitchen.
‘Actually, I think I’d rather have wine,’ said Micky, coming into the cramped kitchen behind her and opening the fridge to take out a bottle of white. Now he was wearing just the hip-skimming jeans and his torso was bare. Venny seemed to be able to focus on nothing but his torso, which was an embarrassment in this small space. His chest was well-but not overdeveloped, and there was a faint suggestion of a six-pack around his well-toned midriff. A tiny line of black hair ran down from his navel and disappeared beneath the waistline of his very faded and torn jeans. She wanted, insanely, to trace it with her tongue right down to the root of his penis.
‘What was that you said?’ Micky had pierced the cork with the opener and was turning it while watching her face.
‘I wondered how long you’d had this place,’ said Venny, after she’d cleared her throat.
Micky yanked out the cork and poured the wine into two glasses. ‘Let’s go sit down,’ he suggested, and ushered her over to the couch. When she was settled, he bent over the stove, opened the little door in its front and set a match to the kindling that was already laid there. Flames started to flare. He closed the door and joined her on the couch, taking up his glass and drinking deeply.
‘It’s cool enough in the evenings for a fire,’ he commented, and Venny stared at the flames. She loved real fires. In fact, this was the perfect romantic setting for her. The flickering flames, the cosy couch, the wine, the subdued lighting. Perfect.
‘I’ve had it just about forever,’ said Micky in answer to her question. He clinked his glass to hers. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ said Venny faintly. She drank slowly. ‘Nice,’ she said as the fruity bouquet exploded on her palate.
‘It’s better than nice, it’s a really decent Vouvray,’ said Micky mildly.
‘Well, I’m no wine buff,’ said Venny defensively. ‘How could you have had this place forever? You’re not old enough.’
Micky smiled at her. His blue eyes twinkled. ‘I’ve had it forever because it was passed down through my family to me. My grandparents used to come down from London to Kent for the hop-picking; they liked the area so much they bought this place – struggled to get it, too, as they were pretty poor. Then it passed to my father, and when he died it passed to me.’
‘Not Caspar?’
Micky shook his head. ‘It’s sort of a tradition. The oldest child gets the hut. That’s what we’ve always called it, the hut. And God knows, there was sod-all else to inherit. A few sticks of utility furniture maybe. And Caspar doesn’t much care, because he can use it if he wants. We just arrange it between ourselves. He likes city life better, and he’s in the IT industry, going after the loot like any sensible person would do. Flora’s got a stall in Camden market selling clothes she designs herself – she does pretty well out of that, and her family have always had money. No, only a crazy like me trains to be a chef.’
Venny looked at him with interest. ‘But you are ambitious,’ she observed.
‘Sure.’ He drained his glass and picked up the bottle for a refill. He held the bottle up. Venny nodded, and he refilled hers too. ‘Ultimately, I’d like my own place. I make no secret of that fact.’
‘Difficult to raise money for a restaurant business in London at the moment,’ said Venny sympathetically.
‘Is that what you were doing at the bank?’ asked Micky. ‘Raising cash? But you’ve got your place.’
‘I’ve got a business,’ said Venny frostily, ‘and it has to pay its way. As for what I was doing at the bank,’ she added, and a sudden vision of David Thelwell’s full-to-bursting cock straining between her blue velvet gloves made her falter for a moment, ‘I don’t actually think that’s any of your business.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Micky, unoffended.
‘I can’t understand Caspar not coveting this,’ said Venny, hastily changing the subject as she looked around the cosy little room. It was getting warm now as the stove heated up. ‘These little places are terribly chic now, you know. Weekenders from London adore them. And that’s driven the prices sky-high, apparently.’ She looked at him sharply. ‘If you wanted to raise finance for your own restaurant, couldn’t you put this place up as security? It’s worth quite a lot, surely?’
‘For God’s sake!’ burst out Micky suddenly. He slapped his glass down onto the low table beside the couch. The fruit in the cut-glass bowl there jumped at the impact. ‘Don’t you ever let up with that business brain of yours? Some things are worth more than money, Venny. I wouldn’t risk losing this place for anything.’
‘But you’re confident in your abilities as a chef,’ she pointed out.
‘Of course I am.’
‘So?’ she prompted.
‘It’s too big a risk,’ said Micky, shaking his head firmly. ‘Far too big a risk.’
‘Ha!’ said Venny.
‘Ha? What does that mean – ha?’ asked Micky hotly.
‘It means you have to risk to gain. Within reason.’
‘Yeah, but what if you risk and then lose?’
‘Micky Quinn!’ Venny looked at him, smiling in triumph. ‘You said I was the cautious one.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Micky sat back on the couch, looking very subdued for him. He gazed at her acutely. ‘Some things are just too important to risk, Venny. Don’t you know that?’
‘Sorry,’ she said faintly, aware that she had hit a nerve.
‘Ah, it’s OK. Come here,’ he said, holding his arms open.
Venny moved along the couch until she
was snuggled up against him. She let out a deep sigh and stared, blinking wearily, at the flames. She could hear his heart beating beneath her head; she could smell woodsmoke from the fire, the fragrant tang of his skin and of the fruit in the bowl nearby. There were strawberries there, and peaches, and mangoes. Brown-spotted bananas exuded a scent of almost overwhelming sweet, potent richness.
Micky’s warm breath was soft on her brow as he bent and kissed the tip of her nose. Then he tucked a hand under her chin, raised it, and kissed her lips too, a kiss that deepened and intensified until at last they broke apart, gasping. Micky grinned and glanced down at his lap, where an impressive bulge was clearly delineated against his jeans.
‘Think I’ll just get rid of these,’ he said huskily. He unbuttoned the jeans unselfconsciously, lifted his hips a little and pushed them down onto his thighs.
‘That’s better,’ he breathed as Venny stared intently at his thick, strong cock, rearing up naked from its black nest like a viper about to strike. She could smell its musky scent. She reached out a hand and touched its heat and silkiness with her fingertips. It twitched as if in answer. ‘Oh, that’s nice,’ said Micky, bending slightly to kick the jeans aside. He looked at her. ‘Come on, Venny. Time to get naked. Strip off; let me see you.’
Venny straightened and shrugged off her jacket. She turned her back to let him handle the fiddly buttons of her blouse, just as he had this afternoon. Micky happily obliged, pushing the frail garment down over her arms as soon as he had undone it, then slipping his hands under her arms to cup and caress her breasts. Venny’s head went back against his shoulder and she groaned delightedly. His fingers tweaked and rubbed lubriciously. But then he drew back. Her nipples, taut with arousal, instantly missed his hands upon them.
‘Come on, get your skirt off,’ he encouraged her, sitting back to admire the view as she unfastened the skirt and slipped it off. Suddenly shy, Venny clutched the lightweight garment between her thighs. ‘Wow,’ he said softly. ‘No knickers. What a naughty girl you are, Venny Halliday.’ Micky ran a warm hand down over her naked flank, making the flesh there quiver with pleasure, then moved above the material of the skirt to smooth over her belly. Venny felt her cunt trickle with awakening moisture as he did that, pressing low on her belly in a warm but firm caress. She gasped. The feeling was exquisite, intense.
After Hours: Black Lace Classics Page 9