Pleasure gathers, glowing between my legs like an expanding sphere of heat, like a science-fiction star globe of energy and intensity. I start to wiggle and wriggle again, but he doesn’t miss a beat. He just goes on touching me, and basting me with delightful kisses. And it’s that which tips me over. The kissing as much as the touching. Despite the raunchy, naughty nature of what we’re doing together, it’s the fugitive quality of tenderness that turns just sex into the unforgettable.
I almost scream when I come, but at the last millisecond I remember that, if we can hear the couple in the car, they’ll be able to hear me if I howl and shout. So, as I nearly faint, I stifle my cries with my fist.
My pussy clenches, my sex ripples, my knees turn to water and I slump against the wall. Perry persists and drives me through the barrier again and again, still kissing, and also whispering much sweeter nothings into my ear this time. I’m not sure what he says, but I’ve a feeling that, when I regain the use of my brain, I’ll be surprised.
The next thing I do perceive clearly, and completely compos mentis, is him and me sitting in the grass by the wall, cuddling. My pants and jeans are still around my ankles but it doesn’t seem to matter.
At least it doesn’t at first and then, suddenly, real life kicks in, as opposed to some sort of sexual fantasy state, and I’m thinking, Oh, God, Oh, God, what have I done? And experiencing an overpowering compulsion to cover myself up.
I start dragging at my knickers and jeans and manage to get myself in total twisted muddle with them. To my horror, tears of embarrassment and frustration – the bad kind – spring to my eyes. I can’t look at Perry but, before I know what’s happening, he’s helping me in a gentle, careful manner. Working as a team, we manage to get me decent again.
I still can’t look at him. ‘God, you must think I’m a night-marish slut. We barely know each other and not only do I lead you to the most notorious place in Kissley, but I let you get my knickers off me without as much as a murmur of protest.’ I fish in my pocket for a tissue, but Perry beats me to it, handing me a white handkerchief perfectly laundered by my mother. That makes me feel even worse. I’m just the worthless, no-good trollop I often fear Mother thinks I am. I know she loves me, but I’ve also ‘let her down’.
‘Of course you’re not a slut. Far from it.’
I wish I could believe he meant it. ‘But you said I was one … when you were touching me. You said I was all sorts of dirty things.’
He slides his arm around me in an almost fraternal way and gives my shoulders a squeeze. ‘But that was just sex talk, Katie. Just fun. A game. Part of the pleasure. For both of us.’
Speaking of his pleasure, I note that the bulge in his jeans is very much at odds with his current mode of brotherly solicitousness. Which makes me feel even more guilty.
‘Never mind that,’ he says almost casually, as if his own body and its reactions are of no consequence. He takes me by the shoulders, his grip firm yet compassionate and he makes me look into his eyes not at his groin.
‘You shouldn’t be ashamed of being sexy, Katie. Why would anyone think any less of you because you’re a beautiful desirable woman? I don’t. I like you and I respect you.’ He leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. I nearly swoon it’s so sweet, and as longed for as the caresses and the orgasms. ‘I’d like us to be friends. Spend time together. Go out, you know?’
I can’t speak.
‘What’s wrong, Katie? What have I said?’
I give myself a little shake, but still he holds me. I like his strength and, amazingly, I feel desire begin to stir all over again. ‘Nothing. Nothing wrong at all. It’s just me, I’m a bit screwed up at the moment.’
He takes a deep breath, then reaches to brush my hair out of my eyes. ‘Tell me about it. What can I do? How can I help?’
I shimmer on the edge of tears again, and it’s all mixed up with that new rush of lust.
‘It’s all mixed up, and crap. I did something, well, a bit questionable and now my mum’s disappointed in me. She’s old school, she had me late in life, and she believes in traditional values and stuff.’
Perry’s expression is almost serene. He seems like a therapist more than a mathematician. He’s waiting, apparently without judgement to listen to my woes. Why the hell does that make me want him more?
‘I split from my husband.’
‘Is that so bad?’
‘Well, I was unhappy, I went with another bloke. I didn’t even like him all that much, but it gave my husband grounds for divorce.’ I drag in breath, and let it out gustily, trying not to start crying again. ‘And now my mum is so disappointed with me. But, while I’m saving for a place of my own, she still offered me a home back with her.’
I lose the fight against tears and collapse even deeper into Perry’s comforting arms. I’ve been holding this in for so long, holding it from myself in a way, and even to let some of it out now is so sweet a relief.
He makes a lot of quiet, soothing sounds and mutterings, along with pattings and strokings of my back. The voice is the same one that called me a ‘naughty slut’ and all that and, in its way, just as exciting. I feel a great rush of something more than desire, but also tangled up with it. A sort of momentum towards Perry from my heart. I barely know the man but I feel a glimmering of something special, or maybe just the potential of it. Which is enough for now.
Patting and stroking gently morphs into hugging and rocking against each other, and kisses. Actual kisses this time, our mouths pressing, savouring, opening, so our tongues can explore. It’s sexy and still naughty, I suppose, to be snogging and making out with my mother’s lodger in the undergrowth down the side of Adultery Alley but, somehow, it also feels clean and healthy and right, even though we’re rolling about in the grass and dust in a hedgerow.
When Perry slides his hand beneath my T-shirt again, it feels as if he’s sweeping away the bad and replacing it with the good. I respond by rocking against him, smiling in the kiss. When I reach down and cup his groin, he laughs in his throat, the sound raw and happy.
‘I haven’t got a condom with me, you know,’ he mutters against my lips, but he doesn’t sound too worried about it.
I am worried, though, and I pull back to look at him. I so dearly want to fuck this sweet imp of a man and this is a serious obstacle.
He touches my cheek. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart.’ He gives me the quirkiest little smile that sets my pussy fluttering without it even being touched. ‘There are plenty of nice things to do without penetration. And I know you like being fondled, don’t you?’
Fondle? What a word. Sort of old-fashioned, but I like it.
‘But what about you?’
He shrugs. ‘Oh, a little spurt into the bushes will do me, as long as you have a hand in it.’
‘Or on it.’
‘Exactly.’
Perry slides his hand right under my top this time, and flips my bra off my breasts with a suspicious deftness. He’s certainly done this plenty of times before, but who cares? Who cares when his fingertip is so light and clever in the way it circles first one nipple then the other, ‘fondling’ them both to stiffness, to a new sensitivity. He pays them extended attention, stroking and playing, the pressure there a perfect conduit to the even-more-responsive zone between my legs.
After ten minutes of this I’m beside myself, pushing my crotch against his thigh. It feels solid and warm and perfect to rock against. I set up a rhythm and Perry helps, cupping my bottom, adding momentum, increasing the pressure.
I want him to touch my pussy, but he keeps rocking me, sliding against me in a syncopated dance, arousing me through my clothes and his. Heat and wetness and excitement gather and gather and gather until critical mass is reached.
I climax furiously, burying my face in his shoulder, my head full of his cologne and his foxy male sweat as he holds my bottom and my back, clasping him close. I want to cry out, but I just sob against his T-shirt. The car we were watching drove away some time ag
o, but who knows who else might be around and listening.
Shuddering, I come down again, a bit weepy, but happy with it. I have good feelings about this. Better than I’ve ever had, even in the first days of my marriage.
With a sigh, Perry kisses me, as if setting a seal on my thoughts and my hopes. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispers, still holding me. ‘So beautiful … I love to see you come.’
I look up into his warm brown eyes, and I know he means it. And I also know, when my hands rove to his crotch, that he needs to come too.
His eyebrows shoot up when I unfasten his jeans and get him out, but then his smile widens and goes sort of smug, and very, very male.
He’s a nice size. A very nice size. It’s a great shame we can’t put Tab A into Slot B on this occasion, but I resolve to rectify that situation sooner rather than later. Next time we come out for a walk, I’ll have condoms. Lots of them.
I begin to rub him and he cups his hand around mine, guiding my strokes. I don’t mind this. I want to please him. I want to give him exactly the kind of wank that he prefers, because, God knows, he got his fondling of me spot on.
We slip and slide, using the silky fluid that flows from his tip as a lubricant. He mutters and whispers, praising my technique and also letting out some far less cogent utterances. It doesn’t take long because he doesn’t hold back and, pretty soon, he’s arching and snarling silently, his penis jerking and jetting out his cream.
I kiss him as he comes, just as he kissed me while I came. And, as promised, his come does end up in the bushes.
On the way home, I don’t quite know what to say to him, and I find myself worrying about what lies ahead for us. Or for me, because, despite my hopes, there might not be an ‘us’. He’ll be getting a flat or a house soon, and he’ll move away, and out of my circle. My job and his university are miles and poles apart. Perry’s hand slips into mine and gently but firmly jerks me to a stop. ‘Why the frown?’
It’s hard to explain. I still want him. But I want more. And it’s awkward. To him this was probably just a frolic, an illicit ‘liaison’, nothing more. I bite my lip and, just as I’m about to summon up some kind of explanation, not the real reason, but something acceptable and not too embarrassing for both of us, his impish, stubbly face settles into very firm and professorial lines. ‘Katie, what sort of man do you think I am?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I barely know you at all. That’s the problem. You must think I’m awfully cheap and easy and slutty.’
‘Please, don’t go there again. I don’t think that at all. Except only in the nicest, sexiest way.’ He pulls me to him, and gives me a very chaste kiss on the tip of the nose. ‘Now we’ve broken the ice, I’d like to go back to the beginning, and do things differently. Properly.’
My heart thuds. ‘What do you mean?’
‘How would you feel about dinner? A trip to the theatre? A stroll that doesn’t involve Adultery Alley?’
I’m speechless.
‘In fact, I think it would be nice if we took your mother out somewhere for dinner too some time. So she can get used to us as a couple, if you know what I mean?’
‘That’d be lovely.’
He smiles. ‘I want her to think that I’m above board, and worthy of her daughter.’ He gives me a wink. ‘So that when I get my own place and you stay overnight, she won’t be too cross with me.’
‘I can’t wait.’ I throw my arms around him and give him a hug, my heart lighter than it’s been in a long time. ‘But do you think we can still pop down to the Alley now and again as well? I’d still like to be naughty on occasion. And I still like to watch.’
He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Oh, don’t you worry. We’ll still be naughty too.’ He slides his arm around my waist, then lets his hand rest on my bottom. ‘We’ll be incredibly naughty. Naughtier than you can possibly imagine.’ My pussy ripples again in anticipation. ‘But I think we’d probably best not tell your mother about that.’
‘Yeah, probably not.’ I kiss him, and the future suddenly looks incredibly bright.
Red Haze
‘GOOD AFTERNOON,’ SAID the tall, blurred shape at the centre of a fringe of red haze. ‘It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?’
‘Er, yes … yes, it is,’ replied Megan, squinting and peering in its general direction. The surgeon had said her eyes would take their own time to recover from the operation, but she was already having some good days with sharper vision, as the spectre of losing her sight altogether receded.
Today, alas, wasn’t one of those sharp days. Today was a blob day, and the figure in front of her remained stubbornly rosy-edged and blurred, no matter how hard she tried to bring it into focus.
It was bloody annoying because the blob’s voice was gorgeous. Why couldn’t her vision clear up for just a second or two? All she needed was enough time to determine whether he looked as amazing as he sounded. Just a flash would do, really. With a voice that deep and resonant, which was playing havoc with all the bits of her that hadn’t had a good workout in ages, the law of averages said he had to be a hunk.
‘Would you like some help with that?’
That was the sun parasol she was currently grappling with. Yesterday she’d managed to put it up in a jiffy, purely by touch, but today it was stubbornly defying her.
‘Yes, please, that’d be great.’
Should she really be encouraging him? She had no idea who he was. It was too late though, because with a couple of deft clicks, he had the parasol securely up and in place, and she found herself standing in a patch of pleasant shade.
‘Er … thanks very much. That’s fabulous.’ What to say next? Should she invite him to join her? Gah, decisions, decisions.
‘Could I possibly trouble you for a glass of water?’ the velvet voice went on, pre-empting her, and in spite of her natural caution, Megan felt a distinct desire to swoon. Since her op, she’d been feeling horny for no sane reason she could understand, and even though she could see nothing more than vague shapes, all her hormones were silently screaming ‘Phwoar!’ at her.
‘Yes, of course. I’ll get you one.’
Cautiously, she edged her way out from under the big parasol. By rights she should be alarmed; she knew that. This guy had obviously just wandered into the garden uninvited, and she didn’t know him from Adam. He could be a serial murderer or a rapist or a crack addict intent on harming a woman who was clearly half blind, completely vulnerable, and easy pickings.
‘Oh, please don’t worry,’ said the delicious voice. ‘Let me help. I know this house and the owner. I can get a glass myself. I won’t be a moment.’
‘Er … It’s OK, I’ll get it,’ Megan insisted, thinking, Why ask me, if you know your way around, you perverse bugger!
Now this was a worry, actually. She couldn’t have him meandering around the house, unsupervised. There were all sorts of easily picked-up treasures, and this guy could be a thief, never mind a murderer or rapist, even if he said he knew Sylvia. She decided to go with him, even though there was probably nothing on earth she could do to stop him just taking what he wanted. Especially as it dawned on her now, peering in his general direction, just how big and lofty a shape he actually was. And he hadn’t mentioned Sylvia’s name at all.
For an instant, her focus sharpened, the red disappeared, and she got a flash of a tall, tall man with a massive frame. His face was broad, and his hair, what she could make of it, was short and dark. His big body was clad all in khaki, probably a shirt and combats, and just before the brief instant of clarity was gone again, she got the impression of a wide, white smile and a pair of dark, compelling eyes.
Then all the detail fuzzed up again, and he was back to being an assembly of ruddy-fringed vague shapes. And those shapes were moving in the general direction of the back door, which led to the kitchen. Silently cursing her temporary infirmity, Megan padded along behind him, feeling her way and trying to keep the army surplus-coloured mass just in front of her.
Once
indoors, he went straight to the sink, and a moment later, Megan heard the gush of water from the tap, then the clink of a glass being taken from the drainer. ‘May I pour you a glass, too?’ the man enquired. Even though she could barely make out the shape of his features, she sensed he was looking at her curiously, perhaps assessing how he should deal with her.
Despite her doubts, some gut instinct told her she wasn’t really in the way of any harm. She didn’t know why, but the feeling she got from him was more a kind of empathy and tact. She sensed that he could see she’d got problems, but at the same time understood the way her pride compelled her to fend for herself.
‘No … er, thanks … Actually, I think I might have a glass of white wine instead. There’s some cooling in the fridge.’ She paused and then took a deep breath. He was a total stranger who’d just wandered in from the lane. She shouldn’t be encouraging him to stay, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘You could have some too, if you prefer it to water?’
‘That’s very kind, but I think I’ll stick to water.’ She heard the water in question gurgle into the glass. ‘Would you like me to get your wine for you?’ He’d obviously decided that she did need a bit of assistance after all. ‘I’ll bring it out to the garden for you. I won’t be a moment.’
‘Thanks. That’d be great.’
This is insane! Megan berated herself as she shuffled back to the garden and her blanket under the parasol. I’ve never set eyes on this man before … and I haven’t properly set eyes on him now! I shouldn’t be giving him the run of a house that doesn’t even belong to me.
She could quite confidently predict that Sylvia would go nuts if she knew that there was a perfect stranger in her kitchen. Her generous friend had offered Megan the use of her country cottage for as long as she needed to recuperate, but had left express warnings about being careful, especially of a local tramp who was supposed to be in the area, petitioning for hand-outs, sleeping rough in people’s garden sheds and even stealing the odd item of washing off the line.
The Red Collection Page 20