‘Fucking, bloody fireworks,’ growls a gruff voice, and suddenly there’s a nice smell of spicy high-end cologne to take the edge off the aroma of fusty coats.
The new firework-phobe is right up against me, but I’m not sure he actually knows I’m in here. Should I announce myself, or keep quiet? It’s only a very small cupboard and he’s bound to knock into me any second.
‘Don’t you like them either?’
The man-shape leaps. ‘Fucking hell! You frightened the life out of me. I didn’t know there was anyone in here.’
Nice.
‘I was here first.’ Almost before the words are out, there’s another huge detonation, and I screech in terror … and throw myself wildly in the general direction of Man-shape.
Luckily, he opens his arms and wraps them around me tight. I don’t know whether he’s comforting me, or himself, but there’s a part of me that’s suddenly miraculously immune to the conflagration outside. And much more interested in the idea of fireworks of another kind.
‘Sorry I shouted.’ It’s momentarily quiet again, but I notice he doesn’t let go of me. ‘It’s just that I really hate fireworks. It’s embarrassing, but I had a bad experience as a kid, and they do my head in.’
‘Me too. Incident with a jumbo firecracker … Now I can’t bear the bloody things.’ I sigh. ‘I didn’t know Cecilia was having a display.’ Mm, his arms feel nice, and quite big and strong for someone who’s hiding in a cupboard. ‘I’d still have come to the wedding, but I might have got a good deal more booze down my neck if I’d known … and maybe a few tranquillisers as a chaser.’
‘Ditto.’
There’s another boom or two, but – and I might be imagining things – they don’t seem quite as loud and threatening now. And I’m starting to feel very interested in my companion. He’s smelling, and feeling, better and better to me all the time. When I hitch around a bit and manage to stretch my legs out in the darkness, he adjusts his position beside me with his arm still around my shoulder.
During the course of a bit more rearrangement, our faces accidentally brush against each other and, without stopping to think, I go for it and navigate my mouth towards his.
Another firework goes off, but this time I couldn’t care less.
Man-shape’s mouth is delicious. He tastes of wine and something as sweet and spicy as he smells. I think it might be wedding cake. And then I’m sure of it when he presses his tongue into my mouth.
My nipples start to tingle and, between my legs, my clitoris throbs. I don’t know whether this is fight or flight instinct, or a lingering fear of being blown to bits, but suddenly I really want Man-shape. I really, really, really want to fuck.
And he wants me too, it seems. Half dragging me against him, he acquaints me with his cock, which is as hard as steel inside the fine suiting of his trousers. As I curve my fingers around it, I wonder what he looks like. Is he one of the groomsmen? There was quite a troupe of them, and I must admit they were all pretty fanciable.
‘Um, sorry about that.’ As he hefts his hips to push his hard-on against my hand, he doesn’t seem sorry in the slightest. ‘I suppose it’s my subconscious trying to take my mind off the fireworks.’
There’s nothing subconscious about an erection like that, but I’m not arguing. I need something to take my mind off the fireworks too, don’t I?
In an attempt to further distract himself, he starts kissing me again, really hard, but in a good way. He’s got a cheeky, mobile tongue and it seems to get everywhere. Well, not everywhere, but if I play my cards right, it might get there too.
His hands are as naughty as his tongue and his lips and, while I’m still clinging on to his goodies, he goes after mine. I’m wearing a strapless top, and Man-shape exploits its advantages. All of a sudden, the top’s around my waist, along with the saucy strapless bra that used to be beneath it.
Ooh, I’m half naked in a cupboard with an unknown man! The darkness is like a tangible force in itself and the close air stimulates my skin. My nipples are like stones when he starts drifting his fingers across them, delicately teasing.
‘You feel nice, love … I bet you’ve got absolutely gorgeous breasts. Your nipples are so hard.’
It’s a bizarre sort of conversation from a complete stranger, but I like it. I’ll take any compliment I can get and it’s a wonderful distraction.
He cups me with one big, warm hand, rolling my nipple between his fingers and his thumb. And as he rolls, I roll too. I can’t help myself. I just have to wiggle about as my pussy tingles and clenches. His cock pulses too, warm against my palm.
We’ve reached action stations from a standing start in the space of about a minute. I can’t believe this is happening, but I’m not arguing with fate. Or a huge delicious erection like the one Man-shape has.
We kiss again, devouring each other as we touch and explore. He’s quite rough with my breasts, but the more he mauls me, the more I want him to maul me. It’s raw animal fun, with no inhibitions, no outside context.
After a few moments, he leans me back against some tumbled coats and then kisses his way down my jaw, my throat and my chest until he’s mouthing where his fingers once were. His lips and his tongue are simmering hot, and I can imagine him painting the sweet cake taste over the crinkled skin of my teat. When he sucks hard, I moan out loud, grabbing at his hair. His teeth close ever so slightly, a delicate threat that makes my pussy ripple and my honey surge and flow. My posh panties are swimming and saturated.
‘Mm …’ he purrs against my breast, then sucks again, tweaking at my other teat with his warm, clever fingers.
I’m half off my head now, desire grinding low in my belly. My hips surge, blindly trying to get my crotch in his general direction so I can push it against him and get some sort of ease. He helps by surging back at me, and even though we’re an ungainly heap of limbs and torsos, I manage to rock myself against some part of him, rubbing my aching pussy against a bit of his suited body.
After an indeterminate period of this tussling about, he lifts his head. I can’t see his face in the blackness, but I know he’s smiling. And I know that if I could see his eyes, they’d be as black as our little sanctuary, black with lust. His hand goes up my long skirt, and starts hiking it towards my waist, where the bundle of my top and bra sits. Pretty soon, everything’s in a bunch around my midsection, and he’s fingering my panties.
First he strokes me through the drenched silk of my gusset. He probes and presses and works at the cloth and my pubic hair until there’s just the one thin delicate layer between his big square fingertip and my swollen trembling clit. I grab wildly at him as he starts to masturbate me through it.
‘Oh God, oh God,’ I chant as sensations gather. My pelvis is lifting, wafting about, but that doesn’t put him off. He still manages to keep contact with my clit through the silk. He even gets creative. I could swear he’s trying to bring me off in a figure-of-eight pattern.
I grab at him, clutching his shoulder and his hand between my legs. I don’t have to direct him, because he’s doing fabulously on his own, but I can’t seem to control the actions of my own hands.
Of course, it doesn’t take long and, before I really know it, I’m coming like a train.
My pussy clenches and lurches and boiling waves of pleasure crest in my belly. If I had a functioning brain cell, I’d take note that this is probably the best orgasm I’ve ever had, but as I’ve temporarily lost my mind, I just come and come and come.
And I’ve still got my pants on.
A few moments later, he says, ‘All right, love?’
Sex still glowing and fluttering, I gasp, ‘Hell, yes!’ And with the words still barely out of my mouth, he starts kissing me again, tantalising my tongue with muscular swirls and stabs and lunges.
What a man, eh? He makes me come, takes nothing for himself yet, and still he’s happy to serve up more kisses.
Eventually though, he does start to get a bit proactive. He takes my hand and dra
ws it back to his bulging groin. Which is bulging more than ever now. In fact it feels like he’s got an anaconda in there!
Time to have a proper feel, even if I can’t actually see the goods. He seems to think that’s a good idea and helps.
Between us we unfasten his leather belt and his trousers, and then push them and his boxer briefs down his thighs. His monster of a cock bounds when it’s released, and I gasp, ‘Crikey!’ when I take it in my hand.
He’s big and hot and hard and just how I like them. If I wasn’t so desperate to get him inside me, I swear I’d get turned on by just the prospect of licking and sucking him.
Before I can stop to think, I offer, ‘Would you like a blow job? After all, you brought me off without getting anything yourself.’
‘What an incredibly sweet offer,’ he says, a laugh in his voice. ‘And I can’t say I’m not tempted.’ His gorgeous organ pulses in my fingers as he speaks. ‘But I’d really, really like to fuck you, if that’s all right?’
‘Are you sure? I really don’t mind.’
‘Oh, all right then, I can’t resist … Just give me a bit of a once-over with your lips and tongue first, and then we’ll shag. How does that sound?’
‘Like a plan.’
Surprisingly, I have no trouble orientating myself towards his penis in the darkness. I swear I could find it via heat-seeking alone. He’s so hot, and so delicious, and fine and salty and a little bit sweaty and foxy too in a very good way. I flick him with my tongue and lick around beneath his glans, and then suck his knob into my mouth. He makes very raunchy, animal-like sounds in his throat as I work on him. Delightfully uninhibited, he doesn’t hold back, and he growls out some purple profanities of appreciation.
After a while though, he says, ‘Time out, babe! I need to fuck you now, or I’ll unload into your mouth.’
It sounds incredibly crude, but somehow, in a strange way, almost poetic.
We start to wriggle around again, and in the darkness I feel him fishing in his pocket. Ever the opportunist, eh, Man-shape? Condom to hand? But then again, I’ve got some in my handbag. It is a wedding after all, and a traditional occasion to get lucky.
He rips off the foil then, taking hold of my hands in his, puts the rubber between my fingers and guides me to him. Working as a team, we roll and roll the latex down his length.
‘Ready?’ he murmurs when he’s covered.
‘Absolutely. But how are we doing to manage this?’
‘Don’t worry, you feel like a very flexible girl to me.’ He laughs wickedly and starts to manhandle me – in the nicest possible way – into position.
We bump and grapple and tumble and wiggle, but eventually I’m on my back, knickers off, with my knees in the air, and he’s between my thighs. His yummy rubber-clad cock butts at my entrance, and he reaches down and precision locates the target area. Then he pushes in, with a lurch of his hips, deep and home.
Oh great God Almighty, he feels amazing. I’ve never been so stretched, so filled. And the awkwardness of our position and the tension in our limbs only make the way he thrusts feel more dynamic and sweet than ever.
He pushes. He shoves. I push and shove right back at him, every action and reaction tugging and battering at my clit. My legs flail about as much as they can in the confined space and coats collapse onto us, wrapping us in a blanket of heat that only makes things feel even more crazy-sexy and frantically hot.
A tumble as mad and wild as this can’t hope to last long, but who cares? Within a few moments, I’m coming again, and moaning and groaning. I sense he would have liked to have lasted longer, but he just laughs and curses madly as he comes too. His powerful hips pound me like a pneumatic drill, and as he shoots his semen inside me, he grabs my bottom and holds me nice and firmly in place.
Afterwards, we lie panting like a pair of beached hippopotami in a mangrove swamp. We’re a messy tangle of bunched clothes, sticky, sweaty limbs and coats, lots of coats. I’m almost suffocating, but gently and considerately, he digs me out of the hot stuffy bundle.
It’s several minutes before we come back to earth and realise that outside the fireworks have stopped and all is quiet. I’ve no idea when they stopped, but they could probably have dropped a cruise missile on me in the last ten minutes and I wouldn’t have noticed.
Suddenly, I start to feel awkward. Should I introduce myself or what? I do think I want to get out of here, because for the first time since I entered this closet, I feel claustrophobic. I start to wiggle my way back into my clothes, hauling up my bra and top, and then setting my skirt to rights. It’s tricky, but by silent agreement, Man-shape helps me. The only thing neither of us can find though is my knickers.
‘Look, I don’t think it’s a good idea for both of us to emerge together, do you? It’ll look … um … suspicious.’
I sense him frowning. Have I offended him? Oh, I hope not.
‘Good idea. Shall I leave first? Then rap on the door for you if the coast’s clear?’
‘OK …’
When the door opens, the light from the corridor dazzles me and I clap my hands over my eyes. But when I peek out from between my fingers again, blackness has descended once more.
For a minute, there’s silence, and then comes a solid rap on the door.
I start to open it, then snatch it shut again, hearing laughing female voices approaching. I wait and wait in the darkness, until I can’t wait any more, but then when I inch the door open a crack and peer out the corridor is empty.
No Man-shape. I think I want to cry.
Throughout the disco afterwards, I don’t see any of the groomsmen. Too busy adorning the going-away car, I suppose. Blowing up the obligatory inflatable sheep and getting busy with the shaving foam. If Man-shape is one of them, he might be staying out of the way on purpose, not wanting an embarrassing confrontation with his hasty cupboard shag. I thought he was nicer than that, but maybe he isn’t.
When the evening winds to a close, fleets of taxis have been hired to take everybody home that’s going home and, feeling deflated, I line up with friends from work, and members of the families of the bride and the groom. I know I shouldn’t feel like this. It was just a bit of wedding fun, a tradition as much as the white veil and the confetti.
But just as it’s my turn for a taxi and I’m about to step forwards, a hand on my arm stops me in my tracks.
‘Can I give you a lift?’ says a wickedly familiar voice, and I turn and there’s a tall and exceptionally male figure beside me.
Oh goody, it’s the most handsome of all the groomsmen, the one I really, really hoped it would be. But still I hesitate.
‘Don’t worry. I had two glasses of champagne earlier, but that’s the lot. I’m safe to ride with.’ But the way his eyes twinkle suggests a different kind of danger.
‘Ooh, yes, in that case, I’d love one. That’d be great.’
Is it him? His voice sounds the same, but then the acoustics in the cupboard were very different.
I follow Mr Tall, Dark, Handsome and Safe to a parking area around the corner, still not sure whether he’s my sex-friend from the cupboard. Even if he isn’t, I’m not going to argue. He’s really mighty fine.
But then, just as he opens the door of a large, dark and rather swish-looking car, I catch a glimpse of something in his top pocket, tucked in there like a handkerchief … and it reminds me keenly of the draught that’s teasing my pussy.
He notices me noticing my knickers in his pocket and grins. He’s got a rather hawkish face, but it’s also dreamy in a kind of secret agent way. I really cannot believe my luck tonight.
‘My name’s Drew, by the way. Drew Richardson. Pleased to meet you.’ As he settles into the seat beside me, he offers his hand and I have to laugh out loud.
‘Pleased to meet you too. My name’s Susan –’
‘Susan Grey, yes, I know … I asked.’
His fingers are warm and, at their touch, my clit actually tingles, remembering them.
‘So,
Susan Grey,’ he says, looking at my mouth. I can’t help but lick my lips. ‘Did you enjoy the fireworks?’
I’m puzzled for a moment, then I laugh again. He’s a devil.
‘Absolutely, Drew Richardson, absolutely. They were awesome.’
Drew Richardson gives me a wink, then releases my hand and starts the engine.
I wink back at him … and plan the next display.
Sometimes They Come Back
WHAT’S WITH THE shutters? When the hell did she have those fitted?
It’d been three weeks since Richard Lacey had visited the house that he’d formerly shared with his wife Melinda, but even in that short time he could see there’d been changes. For some reason best known to herself his wife had installed heavy metal shutters on every window. Horrible black things they were, grim and bleak and ugly, making the place look like a fortified bunker in the heart of suburbia.
We’ll soon see about this!
Richard frowned as he pulled into the drive. What on earth was going on? Mel had ruined the house’s aspect completely – when he still owned half of it. She’d no business making drastic alterations and knocking down the value his property like that.
Staring at the dour, uninviting façade, he took a deep breath.
He wasn’t here to argue. In fact quite the reverse. Trying to think positive, loving thoughts, he turned off the engine. He planned his little speech and how the scenario that accompanied it might play out. But still he felt uneasy, and it wasn’t just the fucking shutters that were to blame.
Stepping out of the car, he stared around him. More shocks.
The garden, always Mel’s pride and joy, was looking terrible.
Her roses were in a pathetic state, with dead blooms hanging forlornly on their stems, and ranks of sly, greasy-looking little weeds had popped up in between them. It was a pleasant evening and the twilight was golden, but a dark, unsettling miasma hung over the entire garden. Clutching his peace offering of an expensive bottle of wine and some Belgian chocolate truffles, he strode to the front door and tried to shake off the sudden heebie-jeebies.
The Red Collection Page 9