by Monica Belle
There was something else. The moment we were inside, the atmosphere grew stronger – a lot stronger. Our surroundings were more or less as I’d expected; oak-panelled walls hung with portraits, including one of the unfortunate Lady Howard, a wooden staircase dark with age but highly polished, a carpet in tones of red, rich browns, old gold and black. That gave a sense of age, of decorum, but had nothing to do with the sensation of dread rapidly building within me. Only Julian’s presence kept me from running back out, and that he was trying to hide a grin. I caught the word “creepy” from one of my companions and Julian began again.
‘And well it might be. Not only are we where Lady Howard collapsed when they came to take her, but she appears as the Grey Lady on the stairs. It is said that sensitive people can feel the emanations of her fear and despair.’
I could, although I’ve never been superstitious and certainly never thought of myself as susceptible to weird feelings. So could the others, to judge by their reactions, of nervous silence or thrilled, frightened comments conveyed in whispers. As if we were in a cathedral, it didn’t seem proper to speak loudly, if at all, but that didn’t seem to bother Julian, who remained calm and easy as he began to answer our questions. I listened, taking it all in and trying to work out if he was playing some kind of trick on us. If so I couldn’t figure it out, and as we began to ascend the stair the sensation grew stronger, until I could barely make myself go on. One of the other women in the group couldn’t, but gave a sudden, stifled sob and dashed for the open door, where the sun was streaming in from the garden. Julian followed, and I realised that if he shut the door I was going to panic.
Nobody wanted to stay on the stairs, and we clattered down in a group. I wanted to go outside, but I couldn’t help but try and impress Julian, so stayed in the hall. Everybody else left, and it took all my will power just to stand there, pretending to admire the pictures. I knew I could cope, just as long as that door stayed open, and I was hoping that Julian wouldn’t notice I wasn’t among the group gathered on the lawn and come back inside to make sure I was all right. He came, but he didn’t look concerned in the slightest, more amused. A quick glance to make sure none of the others could see us and his mouth broke into a loose, boyish grin.
‘That was perfect! It’s not often somebody breaks like that.’
I didn’t answer, my feelings too strong and too mixed to find words at all easily, but he carried on anyway.
‘You know how it works, don’t you?’
‘No. Have you set something up?’
‘Not I. It’s a natural effect, well, man-made but not intentional. What can you hear?’
‘Um ... the others talking ... birdsong?’
‘No, something else, something you hear all the time, something so familiar you don’t notice it.’
‘I’m not sure. It seems very quiet.’
‘It is, but listen carefully and it’s always there.’
‘I don’t know, some traffic I suppose ...’
‘Exactly. Lady Howard died in 1712, but nobody noticed a strange atmosphere in the Hall until the 60s, which was when there was enough traffic on the A47 to set up a low-frequency vibration through the ground. That’s why I run the tours late in the afternoon, during the Norwich rush hour. You can’t hear it, but you can sense it, can’t you?’
I nodded and he spread his hands, like a conjuror after a successful trick, smiling broadly as he went on. ‘But never mind that. It’s wonderful to see you. What are you doing here?’
‘I ... I had no idea you’d be here. I just thought it would be interesting.’
I’d lied, clumsily, and I was blushing. He knew, the corner of his mouth once more twitching up into that familiar smile; amused, almost laughing. My face grew hotter still but he pretended not to notice.
‘And is it interesting?’
‘Yes. I thought it was real.’
‘Everybody does, almost everybody, but look, I hardly get to see anybody, living out here, other than endless tourists. You’ll stay for a drink with me and talk over old times, won’t you?’
At that moment two people from the tour group came back inside and Julian once more switched on his act, but I’d already nodded my acceptance. The tour continued, but I was walking on air, no longer affected by the weird atmosphere now that I knew there was a mundane explanation, but with my head full of surmise and also the most wonderful sense of self-worth. He was treating me as if I were an old friend, and an equal, not as the shy, mousy girl he’d barely so much as spoken to.
The rest of the tour passed me by completely, although he certainly impressed the others. By the end, when he finally ushered us back out onto the lawn they were chattering in low, excited voices, even those who’d been sceptical at first now convinced that Candle Street Hall was well and truly haunted. Most openly, even proudly, admitted their belief in the ghosts, and one woman even claimed she’d seen something from the corner of her eye as we left the library. Julian played his part perfectly, never contradicting anyone, but never actually lying either, although he only talked for a couple of minutes before excusing himself and giving them the freedom of the grounds.
He went indoors and I followed. In the kitchen he poured out large glasses of chilled white wine. Now I knew what to do, to let him lead and hope it was towards bed, or if he didn’t, to take over the role of seducer myself. Knowing Julian, and from the way he kept looking at me, I was sure that wouldn’t be necessary. I was ready too, ready to be taken from behind over the kitchen table, and if the entire tour group came in and caught us, well, I’d always wanted to be watched. He was cooler, a little, because I was sure the bulge in his trousers was larger than before.
‘So what have you been doing?’
‘Oh, this and that. I’ve just finished uni.’
‘Where?’
‘Ipswich. And you?’
‘Here and there, this and that.’
I’d been hoping he’d tell me about his expulsion, but for all his calm, friendly tone I could tell that he didn’t want to talk. Nor did I, unless it was something to set my imagination stirring, and as he moved a little closer I made no attempt to back away. He read me perfectly, his fingers settling on the curve of my hip, an intimate caress, but not too intimate. I looked down, my cheeks hot and my fingers shaking as I put my glass on the table. He reached out, tilted up my chin and I was looking into his dark, dark eyes, melting as his lips met mine, my mouth opening to his, our tongues meeting as he took me in his arms.
That kiss sent my need high, so high that any last flicker of resistance just vanished. His arms were around me, holding me close into him, his big hands at the nape of my neck and in the small of my back, stroking at my skin through the light summer dress I’d chosen so carefully that morning. His teasing fingers moved lower, to the swell of my bottom, but I only cuddled tighter, too turned on to think of the need to preserve my dignity by not making myself too easy.
Again he got the message, cupping my cheeks in his hand and fumbling at my dress as his other hand went to my chest and his mouth left mine to move to my neck. I closed my eyes, lost to what he was doing to me, delighting in the way he was taking advantage, so rude, so urgent. After all, I’d imagined the moment a thousand times, and this was no time to play the lady.
I let him pull the straps of my dress off my shoulders and tug the front down even as I was exposed behind. My knickers were on show to the window as he eased down my bra, spilling my breast into his face. His lips found my nipple as his hand pushed into the back of my knickers, taking them halfway down. My mouth came wide in a long sigh and I was lost, not just to the beautiful sensation of his touch, but also to the picture of how I would look should anybody chance to glance into the window; my clothes dishevelled, my face set in bliss as my half-naked body was explored. Most of all I was lost to him, because it wasn’t merely an attractive man who was taking advantage of me so rudely, it was Julian d’Alveda.
He could have had me then and there. I’d have le
t him, and to hell with the consequences if we got caught. He had more control, teasing me until I could hold back no longer and my hand had found the swell of his cock beneath his trousers, but then pulling away. Nothing more needed to be said. He took my hand and led me to the corner, where a narrow staircase led up to the first floor. I was giggling, my chest still half bare, eager to be taken wherever he pleased and for whatever he wanted to do. He chose a bedroom, not the first we passed, which were all small and bare, but another, beyond a door and overlooking the hall. It was huge, with double windows and a high, high ceiling, but there didn’t seem to be much space, because most of it was occupied by the most enormous bed I’ve ever seen.
Not that I was given time to admire the furnishings. He pushed me down and climbed onto me, my legs already wide and high by instinct. I could feel the bulge of his cock against my sex and took hold of him, my arms locked across the muscular width of his back, expecting him to simply unzip and push himself up me with my knickers pulled to one side. He didn’t, but pushed himself up on his arms, leaving me hanging from his body for an instant before I let go. I was still helpless, trapped beneath his weight with my legs cocked wide, and more helpless still as he took hold of my wrists, holding both easily in one huge hand.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Something I’ve wanted to for years.’
As he spoke he’d taken hold of the front of my dress, to tug down the side that still covered me. I began to wriggle a bit, pleased by his attention and the rapt expression on his face as tugged my bra up to leave me with both breasts bare. A faint hiss escaped between his lips and he shook his head, his eyes locked to my chest, making me giggle.
‘I’m not that big!’
‘You’re perfect.’
He ducked low, still holding my wrists, to keep me helpless as he began to nuzzle and kiss at my breasts. It tickled, in the nicest possible way, and the sense of being in his power was overwhelming, setting me wriggling and squirming beneath his body. He took no notice, enjoying my breasts as if it were the first and the last time he’d ever take pleasure in a woman’s body, and all the while with the bulge pressing to my sex growing firmer and larger. When he finally stopped it was sudden, his voice coming with a sharp intake of breath as he released one now achingly stiff nipple from between his teeth.
‘Perfect, so perfect! Just to have you bare ...’
His voice trailed off as he raised his body. One quick motion and my legs had been thrown up, another and my knickers were off, my bare sex now spread to his body. His hands went to his crotch and I realised I’d poked my tongue out to moisten my lips, a quite involuntary reaction as he drew down his zip. Out came his cock, thick and pale and already rock hard, just as big and beautiful and horny as I’d imagined it, only now rearing up over my open, ready pussy. I wanted to hold it, to suck it, to lick his balls and kiss his long white shaft in an ecstasy of worship, but all that was pushed aside by the sheer strength of my need.
‘Put it in.’
He didn’t need telling. Taking hold of himself he guided his cock to the mouth of my sex, watching as he did it, so rude, so open in his enjoyment of my body. I felt the pressure, and that glorious feeling of being opened by a man’s cock, and filled as he slid himself in with one easy motion until his balls were pressed to the cheeks of my bottom. As he began to fuck me he stayed as he was, dark eyes half lidded and feasting on my bare chest as he eased himself in and out. For a moment the pleasure was simply too great to let me do anything but lie there and take it, but he was being rude with me and my dirty mind took over in seconds.
I began to play with my breasts, kneading them and tugging at my nipples, deliberately showing off what he obviously liked the most. He responded with a pleased purr and a smile, encouraging me to get ruder still, squeezing them together in my hands as I remembered how I’d come over the thought of him fucking my cleavage. At that he got faster, once more pushing my pleasure up too high to allow any control. I’d began to gasp and shake my head, still holding my breasts and desperate to please him. He pushed harder still, and faster, until I was wriggling on his cock and panting out my desire, utterly lost to what was being done to me.
That alone would have been glorious, even if it meant finishing myself off under sticky fingers once he was done. With most men that would have been it, but not with Julian d’Alveda. He knew he had me, and he took every advantage, but in ways I had no objection to whatsoever. Instead of simply coming inside me he pulled out his cock and began to rub himself on my sex, the firm flesh of the head bumping over my clitoris. He was watching too, a perfect, filthy detail as I lay back, my thighs rolled as high and wide as they would go, my breasts in my hands, showing him everything as he coolly, casually masturbated me to orgasm with the head of his cock.
When I came I screamed out loud, indifferent to who might hear and totally abandoned to him, just as dirty as I could possibly be with my belly thrust out and my bottom squirming on the bed as I struggled to get even more friction to my sex. He let me come, holding himself there until I’d finished, my ecstasy dying slowly until I’d finally let go of my breasts and spread my arms for a badly needed cuddle. He wasn’t standing for any nonsense, his cock still rock hard as he adjusted my legs to climb over my body, his thighs now open above my waist to pin me helpless on the bed with his erection rearing above my breasts.
‘Oh, you dirty ...’
He came, over my breasts and in my face, the perfect climax to our encounter because it was a moment I’d be masturbating over for ever. Only as he slowly settled a little of his weight onto my belly did he speak.
‘I’ve wanted you so long, Chloe, and to do that ...’
I was smiling as he trailed off with a long, satisfied sigh, utterly relaxed, only to go rigid with shock as a figure stepped out from behind him – a woman; tall, dark haired, imperious, her handsome face set in an expression of amusement and disdain as she spoke.
‘If you must bring your sluts back to the house, Julian, at least have the common sense to wait until the punters have left.’
Chapter Three
BEING CAUGHT HAVING SEX has always been one of my favourite fantasies, but the reality was very different. Maybe, just maybe, if she’d come in a little earlier, and if Julian had told me it was OK, then I’d have enjoyed what happened. After all, I’d been in a very, very dirty mood and as long as I knew she was enjoying the view I might have been all right.
As it was I was left speechless and red faced, so utterly overcome with embarrassment it was all I could do to make a completely hopeless attempt to cover myself up and then dash for the bathroom the moment Julian had climbed off me. Unfortunately I had no idea where the bathroom was, but assumed that such a gorgeous room would have an en suite, which is why I ended up in a cupboard full of old waterproofs, dressing gowns and assorted gents evening wear before Julian managed to rescue me.
He was pretty cool about it, too cool in fact, trying to laugh it all off as if nothing had happened and not even taking the woman to task for calling me a slut. It was only later that I discovered who she was – Vanessa Aylsham – the owner of Candle Street Hall, along with her husband. That was after I’d cleaned up, when she introduced herself, and while she wasn’t actually nasty to me her voice was rich with both humour and utter contempt when she spoke. Even without that the memory of how she’d seen me would have been too much, and I left as soon as I possibly could, without even having a decent conversation with Julian.
I was in such a state on the bus that I couldn’t think straight at all, and I only gradually began to calm down. Julian had said he hoped to see me again, and if we hadn’t been caught I knew I’d have been singing, which did a lot to help me get the better of my embarrassment and shame. Once I was on the coach things didn’t seem quite so awful, and I even managed to raise a smile for the thought of how unutterably rude I must have looked with my legs cocked wide and Julian mounted over my tummy as he finished himself off over my chest.
Another good thing was that I was sure she was jealous. That went some way to account for her attitude, and after all, there was no possible question that he was gorgeous. There was also no possible question that he wanted me, and had done for a long time. I’d never met a man who took quite so much delight in my body, and to judge from what he’d said he had been as keen on me as I had on him. Maybe he’d been flattering me, but his passion had been real, and if he’d never really paid attention when we’d known each other before that might have had more to do with my age than anything else.
By the time the coach was moving through the pretty Norfolk countryside I was really feeling quite good about the whole thing, despite an instant rush of blood to my cheeks every time I thought of how we’d been caught. I’d even begun to wonder if I could find some way of taking him up on his invitation, while avoiding Vanessa Aylsham. Possibly we could meet somewhere near the Hall, out in the country. There would be plenty of lonely spots where he could take me and handle me the way he had, with me pinned firmly to the ground and he enjoying my body, thoroughly using me and yet making very sure that I came too, and first.
I’d never really had a chance to come down, and the thought sent a strong shiver through me. At that my spirits finally began to lift. It didn’t matter about Vanessa Aylsham, for all my embarrassment. She was just jealous – and a stuck-up bitch at that. Iwas the one who’d been with Julian. Iwas the one who’d had rough, rude sex on what I now realised was probably her marital bed. Iwas the one who’d been in ecstasy, just as I would be again as soon as I was safely back in my room, or maybe before.
The coach had picked up speed, with the driver concentrating on the road and there were only half-a-dozen other passengers, all sitting well in front of where I’d put myself in the second-to-back row. The windows were high too, so high that unless a lorry or another bigger coach drew up beside us I couldn’t possibly be seen. All I needed to do was lift my dress up at the front, slip a hand down my knickers and I’d be there in no time. It was tempting, very tempting indeed, but after what had happened before I couldn’t make myself do it, for all that it seemed completely safe. I told myself that the coach was due to stop in Diss, and that we’d soon be there, but I’d have finished well before we arrived.