Wild Rendezvous
Page 3
‘She arrived this morning.’ He sighs. ‘She arrived on our doorstep this morning.’
‘Oh, she must be eager to see her son.’
‘No, she’s had a tiff with the latest lover-boy and he’s cut off her credit card. The hotel wouldn’t let her stay.’
‘Oh no, that’s awful. Can she find another hotel?’
‘No. She has no money. So she’s decided she’s staying with us.’
‘Oh, OK.’ I nod. ‘We’ve got the sofa bed, it’ll be a bit crowded but it’s only for a few days, right?’
‘I suppose so.’ He was not sounding particularly enthusiastic.
‘It’ll be OK, darling. Don’t worry. I’m going to be home soon, I’ve just left work.’
‘Good, because Leanna, I need you. I’ve not spent this much time with my mom for years, bordering on decades, and I’m remembering why I cut down communication with her.’
‘All right, love. I’ll be home soon. It’ll be OK, don’t worry. It’ll be fine.’ I’ve not heard Joe so agitated in a very long time. It worries me.
‘Thanks, Leanna, see you soon. I have to go, Lucy’s calling for me.’
‘See you soon, love you.’
‘You too.’ The phone clicks down and I sigh. Just what the bride to be needs three days before the wedding – a home visit from the soon-to-be mother-in-law. I’m kind of curious as I’ve not even heard much about Beverly before; Joe is very reluctant to talk about her. I know she’s quite flighty, she’s had more divorces than I’ve had summer holidays, and she’s not worked a day in her life. I can tell why that would piss off Joe so much; he’s got such a strong work ethic.
Despite the tiredness banging at my bones I pick up the pace. Joe sounded stressed out for the first time since quitting work. Yes, he was a little exasperated the time Lucy was ill and clung to him all day and there was the red paint on the cream carpet incident that well, you know which colour he was seeing, but all those things he took in his stride. I’ve not heard such a pressured tone from him in an age.
It’s a little strange to walk into the hall and not to have anyone greet me.
‘Hello, I’m home.’
I can hear muffled sounds from the living room and, after flinging my bag in a corner, I go to investigate.
‘She’s fine, mother. She’s just over a year old. Not being able to spell “cat” is not unusual for a one-year-old child.’
‘Well, I am sure you could do it at her age, pumpkin, I was only a little worried that the child you’re taking on might be a little, how shall I put it? Developmentally challenged.’
‘Hello, Joe, hello, Mrs Moore and Lucy. I’m home.’
‘It’s Ms Simpson,’ she snaps. ‘You can call me Beverly because that’s my name.’
I realise I’ve made a boo-boo with her name so maybe I should be a little more circumspect but the tension in the room is palpable and Beverly is obviously the centre of it. I try really hard to smile sweetly and not to go and throttle the old lady perched on the edge of my sofa. She may have bright red lipstick on and a short, floaty summer dress but she is certainly not young. She reminds me of a lovely old lady I knew when I was a child. She was 70 and wore a bright red wig and make-up to match till the day she passed on. She was bonkers but harmless. Joe’s mum is clearly the former but I’m not convinced of the latter.
‘Ahh, so you’re Deanna.’ She stands up primly, brushes the skirt down her legs, and offers me her hand.
‘Yes, I am Leanna.’ I emphasise the “L” sound at the beginning of my name. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Yes,’ she says and feebly takes my fingers and wiggles them up and down. ‘Of course.’
‘Mama!’ Lucy greets me by enthusiastically throwing herself around my legs.
‘Hello sunbeam.’ I giggle. ‘Did you miss me?’
I pull her away from my legs and lift her into my arms. Her sticky fingers come up to my cheeks and stroke them. She giggles and I kiss her on her nose. She slobbers on mine in return.
‘You were a much cleaner baby,’ Joe’s mum mumbles a little louder than I believe she realises. ‘I was very careful of that.’
‘Mother,’ he exclaims in a low, measured tone, ‘would you stop it?’
‘What, pumpkin? I was just saying.’
‘And stop calling me that.’ He’s at the end of his tether, I can tell.
‘Joe, love, tea smells lovely. Cinnamony, in fact,’ I spout, trying to alleviate some of the tension.
‘Tea? Oh no, dear, this is coffee, not that disgusting weak brew you Brits like.’
‘Mother, she means the evening meal.’ He sighs.
‘Yes, we call our evening meal “tea” here in the north.’
‘Oh, how very peculiar,’ she replies with something approaching a smile or it could have been a grimace. ‘I call it dinner.’
‘I made a pie.’ Joe decides to completely ignore his mother. ‘Lucy helped.’
‘Yes, the poor urchin was covered in flour when I arrived.’ Joe’s mum butts in again.
‘Did you have fun baking?’ I speak directly to Lucy, who giggles and nods.
‘So we have apple pie for dessert and we’ve got chicken salad for tea. In fact, it just needs serving up.’
‘Brilliant.’ I smile. ‘You’re a star, Joe.’ I put Lucy on the floor. ‘OK, bub, show me the way to the food.’ She giggles, grabs my hand and pulls me over to the dining table. I try hard not to pick up on what Joe’s mum is mumbling about but she doesn’t seem to like the idea of people not hearing what she has to say.
‘Fancy not changing before dinner, how uncouth, and expecting the man to cook? Oh my, it’s ridiculous. What a terrible wife she’s going to make.’
I take a deep, calming breath. She’s of the older generation; she may be suffering a little culture shock or jet lag, maybe both. I’m willing to cut her a little slack. I fasten Lucy into her high chair and sit beside her. Adult silence reigns. Lucy babbles quite happily to herself as she waits.
‘How was your flight?’ I ask when Joe brings out a big bowl of salad and a plate of cold chicken left over from last night’s meal.
‘Horrid,’ Beverly replies with a dismissive flap of her hand. ‘Long and stuffy and they ran out of champagne.’
I take the tongs, serve out a little salad and chicken on to a small plastic plate for Lucy and pass it to her.
‘Help yourself.’ I indicate the food on the table. ‘We don’t stand on ceremony here.’
‘No, I can tell.’ Again the strange face contortion that almost resembles a smile passes across her face.
‘So, I hear you’re staying with us until the wedding.’ I continue with my attempt to make small talk as I scoop up some salad on to my plate.
‘Yes, Rupert is in a huff. I have no idea why but he got the silly idea in his head that I was flirting with the pool boy and, well, he’s cancelled my credit card, the vindictive old goat. So I’m afraid I’ll have to stay here.’
‘Oh, it’s no problem.’ I smile; I am pretty sure it is a better fake smile than she manages to pull. ‘We have the sofa bed.’
‘Yes, it’s very good of you to put yourself out for me like that but my back means I need a proper divan mattress or I’m simply useless the next day. Joe has already changed the linen on your bed for me.’
I look over the table to Joe who smiles so much I worry he’ll strain his cheek muscles. Poor guy, he’s at the end of his tether.
‘Oh, that’s good. Well, it’s only for a few nights, I’m sure we’ll manage.’
‘I suppose.’ She sighs dramatically. ‘But I am not used to living in such conditions. I mean, you don’t even have air conditioning. It is stifling in here. ‘
‘For the few hot days a year we actually get in Britain it’s not worth the expense. You’ll find very few homes are air conditioned over here.’
Her look instantly tells me she believes that just isn’t a good enough excuse. It began to dawn on me that it’s not going to be an easy few days
ahead.
‘But I suppose I have to put up with it; it’s not every day one’s son gets married.’
‘No, it isn’t.’ I smile. ‘I’m really looking forward to Saturday.’
I look at Joe and he smiles back, a proper smile that lights up his dark eyes.
‘Weddin’,’ Lucy squeals, ‘weddin’, yay!’
Joe and I laugh heartily.
‘Yes, sweetie, we’re excited too.’ I smile at her and Joe ruffles her hair.
Joe’s mother tuts.
‘What a day when a young child sees her mother married for the first time.’
‘What? Different to the three times I saw you married as a child, Mother?’
‘Oh, Joe, stop being petulant. I thought you’d have grown out of that by now.’
I make exaggerated yummy noises and clatter my cutlery to the plate.
‘That was delicious, darling. Would you like me to go and get dessert?’
‘No, you’ve worked all day, you stay there. I’ll go and get dessert.’
‘Pie.’ Lucy waves her hands in the air. ‘Pie!’
‘Yay, pie!’ I wave my hands above my head too and Lucy squeals in delight. ‘I’m excited about it too.’
I hear muttering from the other end of the table but I ignore it. There’s only so much complaint and insult you can take in one day.
We enjoy the delicious pie almost in silence. I’m relieved to roll into the usual routine when the meal is finished. I take Lucy upstairs to read, bathe, and go to bed. I watch her sleeping, relishing the quiet. As much as I enjoy the haven I know I can’t stay there. I have to go and rescue my poor husband-to-be.
When I get downstairs the room is quiet and missing something. Joe’s mum. Joe has pulled out the sofa and is making up the bed.
‘She went to bed,’ he says, walking in from the kitchen, ‘jet lagged. She says she’s worn out.’ He flips the duvet straight and I sit down on the side of the pulled-out sofa closest to me.
Joe flops his long body onto the sofa bed beside me.
‘Well, it’s a break for you now, and Lucy is asleep. We can just get comfy and relax.’ I snuggle into him and run my hand down his hard chest.
‘Yeah.’ He sighs. ‘Sure.’
‘Oh, sweetheart, it’s not for long and we get married in just a few more days.’
‘Yes, I can’t wait, Leanna, I really can’t. She just my mother is I don’t know, she stresses me out, majorly stresses me out.’
‘I can tell,’ I reply,’ and I’ve not exactly taken a shine to her myself, but she’s your mother, we have to put up with her.’
Joe nods. ‘It’s going to be hard work, though,’
‘I’m here with you.’ I kiss his cheek. ‘We’ll survive this together.’
‘Oh yes. Thank God I’ve got you.’
‘Mmm, thank God indeed.’
Having his warm body so close to me is infinitely tempting. For what seems like for ever we’ve kept our distance from each other. I am not a stickler for tradition but I thought it would make our wedding night special if we abstained for the week before.
Mistake. My blood boils with pent-up lust and there isn’t a spare moment when my mind isn’t off gallivanting in sexy town.
The kiss comes from nothing and our lips dance and our bodies line up to follow suit. His hard lines press into my soft curves and we join together, anticipation buzzing across my flesh and arousal zipping through my veins.
‘I’ve missed this,’ he mumbles between kisses and I just nod in agreement. Because of the constraints of our little home we’ve continued to share a bed, but we have maintained a strict no-touch policy. There’s been a line like an invisible brick wall that’s separated us. Apparently it doesn’t stretch to items of living room furniture however bedlike that item appears to be.
‘I have to,’ I gasp when I can break away from his kiss for a little bit, ‘but remember what we promised.’
‘I know,’ he replies. His hands run up under my T-shirt and grip my breast. ‘But this isn’t making love, darlin’, this is just making out.’
‘And that’s OK, right?’ I reply as he frees my breast from its cup and tweaks my nipple.
‘Sure.’ I feel his head nodding against mine and our desperate kisses continue. ‘As long as we have our clothes on and there’s no penetration it’s fine. That’s the rules.’
‘Well, if it’s the rules ’ I grin and slip my hands down to the bulge in his jeans. ‘Then I will have to play by them.’
‘Please do.’ He gasps when I pop open his button and slide down his zip.
It isn’t difficult for me to persuade myself he’s right, especially when his lips are on mine and his hand is pushing down into my pants.
I’ve been with him so long that I am starting to slip into his Americanisms. ‘Is this still making out?’ I ask, as his probing finger slips inside me.
‘Sure,’ he whispers, ‘you can touch my cock too, if you’d like.’
I return his cheeky smile with a knowing one of my own.
‘Oh, I can, can I?’ My false affront kids no one as his finger-fucking sends a spasm through me and I moan involuntarily loudly.
‘Yes, you can, slut, or do you want me to get all masterful on your ass?’
As tempting as the invitation to a spanking is I have to decline. I am far too aware of the noise it would make.
‘No, sir.’ I slip my hand into his boxers. ‘I’ll wank your hard, thick cock. It will be my pleasure, sir.’
‘And mine.’ He nibbles lightly on my bottom lip. I wrap my fingers around him and revel in the throbbing heat when I rub up and down his length.
‘‘Fuck,’ he curses. ‘Fuck, Leanna, I need this. I need you.’
‘I know,’ I mumble, barely able to comprehend as my body is so overtaken by lust. Pleasure pools heavily in the bottom of my tummy, leading into the core of my pelvis. With every flick of his fingers, every stroke of his thumb on my clit the pressure increases.
My hand moves without being powered by my mind. I just automatically fall into patterns that I know pleasure him.
I battle with the desire to cry out the closer I come to my release. I bury my face in his shoulder and he curls his body around me, to cradle me.
The intimacy of that pushes me over and I whimper, moan and bite down on the flesh of his neck, just above his collar bone. The pinching pain of my boiling-over lust causes him to growl and his cock to spurt out its fountain of warm seed. I massage the warm liquid over his sensitive flesh and then lift a finger to my mouth to savour his flavour. He links his arm through mine and licks his own fingers clean, the smell of our sated sex mingling and permeating the atmosphere.
‘Whoa.’ I gasp.
‘Uh-huh,’ he responds between pants.
‘I like making out.’
‘So do I,’ he says solemnly, ‘but I can’t wait to fuck you, fuck you as my wife.’
‘Yes, I want to be fucked in a wifely manner, I want to see how that works.’ I chuckle. ‘Gosh, Joe. I never really truly imagined I’d be your wife. I always thought you were well out of my league.’
‘I’ve always had a soft spot for you,’ he replies, squeezing my fingers with his own, ‘but I’ve never been good at expressing my emotions. I wish I’d told you sooner exactly how I felt.’
‘If wishes were fishes I’d …’ It was a famous saying but I couldn’t remember the ending. ‘Have mackerel for tea or something like that.’ I laugh. ‘We’re here now and that’s what counts.’
‘True.’ he sighs. ‘But I wish we were somewhere Mother-free right now.’
‘Agreed. You’re right, you know, she really is a bitch.’
‘You’re surprised by that?’ He gasps.
‘No, well, sort of. I mean I know that when you’re all wrapped up in your issues they can seem so much bigger than they actually are, you know? So I was quite willing to give Beverly the benefit of the doubt, but no, actually you were quite generous in describing her faults.’
‘I think you’ll have to give me the award for the worst in-law, Joe. I thought my mum was bad enough but yours? Yours makes mine look pretty much sane.’
Joe sighs deeply.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to pick on her or make you feel bad.’ I gasp and run my hand down his chest in comfort.
‘No, no, it’s nothing you’ve said,’ he quickly reassures me, ‘not you at all. It’s just having Mom around. She stresses me out and, well, seeing her stress you out makes me feel all the worse.’
‘It’s OK.’ I kiss his cheek. ‘I can cope with her for a couple more days. It’ll be fine, no worries.’
‘I guess I’ll cope too. I’m remembering why I ran so far to get away from her, though.’
‘You came to Britain to leave your mum behind?’
‘Pretty much.’ He rocks his head in a drawn-out nod. ‘I justified it in a few other ways, but yes, I escaped my mother by leaving the country.’
‘Wow, that’s … something.’
‘Isn’t it just? I felt that when I was over there she could still so easily judge me. She’s phone me, get my number of friends and the family of friends and the first thing she’d do was to berate me for leaving home, for throwing away my privileged upbringing. She’d tell me I’d be rich if I’d just stayed with her and whatever sugar daddy she was with at the time. I got so sick of telling her I wanted to make it on my own. She never understood why I would want to work for something. She’s never worked for anything in her life.
‘So in the end I left everything I knew behind. I moved. I didn’t tell friends or family members, I didn’t even tell my girlfriends of the time. I just applied for the job, did all the paperwork in secret, then jumped the plane and came here. I never looked back. Well, I did. I hit the internet, old friends found me through that, and Mom found out where I was.
‘Emails are so much easier to ignore than phone calls though.
‘I’ve enjoyed six blissful years without hearing a word from my mother. She’s been back in my life for just over six hours and I already feel like a pathetic waste of space. Again.’