Scoring With Sir

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Scoring With Sir Page 12

by Judy Jarvie


  “Well, Paul, it’s not too shabby,” I tell Paul Bates, wherever he now may be. After all, beauty should always be appreciated.

  Then, through the trees, I spot the main house and I have to stand and take it in. There’s twenty bedrooms—that’s upstairs. It’s the McMansion. So why exactly am I meeting Will in the pagoda when there’s plenty of conference facility indoors?

  I’m about to send him a snarky text but I hear the snap of twigs underfoot and I want to jump a mile in the air. Instead I freeze and a cold evening breeze blows past me and makes me shiver.

  “You!” A hand goes over my mouth to silence the scream that’s in my throat. “Now I’ve got you.”

  It’s Will. I’d know his smell anywhere. But why’s he looking like a bloody black-hooded ninja? Is he ready to give me a Bruce Lee lesson? He loosens his hand on my mouth.

  “You bastard,” I tell him and, on instinct, I slap him.

  “I told you to be discreet.” His eyes narrow and he barks his disapproval. “Why the fuck are you standing sightseeing the house like an OCD estate agent?”

  “Shut up. Aren’t I allowed any perks of my position as your sex slave?”

  “Suppose. When you put it that way.” He grins. “Anyway I wanted to gauge your self-defense reactions. No time to lose, let’s get into hiding.”

  “Hiding?” Now I’m confused.

  “Shh. Keep it quiet. You’re here and shouldn’t be. There are guests in the house I couldn’t evade. Let me take you to my hidden haven. And get ready for some fast sex action, babe—we haven’t got long tonight.”

  Charm and seduction, thy name is William Darby.

  * * * *

  I’d expected a draughty garden structure slash spider playground. The pagoda is as far from my image as could be.

  Inside it has white walls and shining ebony wood like a serene Japanese tea house from films. I recall a Sean Connery Bond movie with a room like this. Only this one has a screen wall ahead of me and, through it, I can see a black sheet-bedecked double bed with tall orchids in white pots on each simple wooden bedside table. Simple. Perfect for purpose.

  “Paul’s into martial arts. He uses this as a practice pad.”

  “And the bed?”

  “Who knows? He’s faithful to his wife—I know that much. Maybe he comes here to escape her? She’s quite a woman! He’ll need the rest. But that’s another story.” He smiles.

  “It’s a proverbial dojo of delights. But why am I here?”

  “My mother’s over there. She’s using the sauna and having a pampering massage for a few hours. And Ben and Janey came over to use the gym earlier. I figured we’d stay under the radar!”

  “Shit.” I’m shocked at the revelation. But now I approve of the tactics.

  I’ve barely put down my bag and taken off my jacket before Will has me in his strong, addiction-forming embrace.

  “Izzy, I need to explain why I’m taking things slow. I lived at a retreat in France after I was ill.”

  “You’re okay?” I blurt.

  “Yes. But it was serious. And I’ve had to adjust. I’ve never tested out the equipment, if you’ll pardon the pun. I’m not sure I can… Not sure I’m as able as I once was.”

  “Is that all that’s up?” I ask.

  “Well, it’s more often about being not up that’s the problem. And it’s big to me.”

  I itch to know more, but he’s told me enough. He’s trusted me enough for this window and maybe in time there’ll be more. For now I’m on the page. And we can do this. He can do this.

  I pull Will to me and kiss him as I’ve never kissed him before. Putting my heart on the line and my emotions behind the gesture, kissing him slowly and gently and with the kindness and love I’d love to be kissed with. Like he’s my window on treasure and I’m grasping my chance of taking a cut.

  “Love me, Will. And let me love you like I want to. Don’t worry about if it works, if it doesn’t or about the next second. Just go with the flow and love me. Did none of your past managers ever correct you for overthinking things way too hard?”

  I slip off my blouse and underneath is something more suitable and sexy. I’d guessed that tonight was about getting out the big guns—and I don’t mean chicken fillet bra enhancers. Because things are at stake here—this fabulous male has had an ego machete slice to his manhood. He needs to know he’s a man again and having that responsibility is a rare privilege.

  I also want to apologize for our prior encounter in my bedroom gone bad.

  They don’t call me Bulldog Izzy at school for nothing. I like to seize a challenge and get results. Will deserves the best I can give.

  I’ve taken my armor from my knicker drawer—a negligée teddy thing made out of lace. It’s sheer, ultra-high cut and a French knicker style with peekaboo texture where it counts most. It’s everything I’m not, it’s positively wanton, but tonight feels like the night it should come out to play.

  I stand before Will and remove the black ribbon from my pocket. I sweep my hair up into an untidy updo and I’m ready. I undo my trousers, let them fall and step out of them. I’ve even remembered to spritz with NachtGarten parfum and I’m done. Or should that be undone?

  “Will I do?”

  I hear Will’s breathing hard against me and I guess the new guise works. “Fuck, you know how to tempt a man to distraction, you crazy woman.”

  “You like?”

  “More than like.”

  “You want?”

  “How could any man not?” He’s already tracing my nipples through the sheer fabric. I tip my head back and moan.

  “Wanna test the goods? See if you fancy more?” We kiss deeply. “No pressure from me. You set the pace,” I tell him. “Ready when you are.”

  Will strips before me and my tongue is redundant in my mouth again. He’s naked and erect and so damn gorgeous that my insides are on hot, deep, internal massage mode. I walk to the bed with Will’s hand in mine and I lie back on it, my legs placed for maximum allure.

  “Your rules,” I say, and pull the ribbon undone at the front of my sheerest of sheer lingerie so my breasts fall free. He’s on me and I feel his lips roam all over me. One minute he’s at my mouth, the next he’s covering my neck, my décolletage, my nipples. He particularly likes those and he laves them with a tongue so skilled he prompts extreme sounds of arousal. I’m glad we’re deep in the darkest corner of the grounds. He nips the peaks of my nipples and I writhe on the bed as he caresses my breasts in a manner they’ve never hitherto witnessed. Wowzer.

  Will’s eyes burn into mine. “You have been sent to slay my willpower.”

  “What next?” I ask. “You’re the boss. Secret Sir. You control the pace.”

  “Touch me.” He’s kneeling on the bed, inviting me to go there. So I do, I dip my hand to hold his long, swollen shaft and a raw gasp escapes him. His face is flexed as if pained.

  “I won’t hurt you, you’re sure?”

  He doesn’t answer but shakes his head. So I take his engorged penis in my hand. It’s long and throbbing and ready with a moist tip. I’ve no idea what’s happened to him but it all looks orderly down below with no obvious impediments. Maybe he’ll tell me soon?

  A sharp hiss bolts from between his lips when I dip my fingers over and around the head. I sit back, afraid to do more.

  “Would you suck me? I might not last?” His face is drawn and dark. He looks so pained admitting this to me that I sigh and want to cuddle him like a child.

  “Will. I don’t give a damn about longevity. But I do want to give you pleasure. May I at least try?”

  He nods. “I think so. I want you to try.”

  “Lie back and relax. You’re coiled and this should be pleasure,” I instruct and I get up to kneel at the side of the bed for easiest access. “Relax. This is nothing to do with scoring points or achieving anything. Trust me on this. I’m right.” I taste him and relish it. He is sweeter and more seductive than I anticipated. His fingers grip the bed sh
eets like his life depends on it and I wish I could drain the stress from this fabulous man.

  “Put your hands on me,” I encourage him. “C’mon. Loosen the hold.”

  Will’s hands rest at the back of my head. He threads his fingers into my mussed hair and gently kneads.

  I decide now is the time. I lick from the bottom of his shaft up and over to the head. Then I take him in tentatively again. Just the head. And his gasp tells me he likes it.

  A noise comes from so low in his throat I can feel Will brace himself. I lick the tip again. Slowly, evenly. With gentle but steady pressure. Completely attuned to avoiding sensation overload, I blow him fully, smoothly and with steady speed.

  Will moans at my mouth’s touch. I curl my fingers around him and thrill speeds a circuit through me as his voice meets my ears.

  “That’s it, baby. You’ve got it.”

  I’m smiling with new confidence, swirling with my mouth and tongue. I draw deeper and farther—not too much. I’ve had ‘blow-job confessions’ with friends and gained from their tips. I may not have a ton of experience but I do know the drill. Now is my time to try it out.

  I pay careful attention to slow and steady with my fingers at the base and I sense he’s near his summit. Will’s hips move in an erotic dance that has me wet and thrilled.

  “Hell, Iz.” One arm shoots across his eyes as he braces his weight, trembles too. “Almost ready,” he tells me on a breathy whisper.

  I smile as I finally slide my control knob to max. If Will is coming, I want to guarantee a mind bender. I suck, leaving no doubt that, when it comes to mouth love, I’m the woman for his needs.

  I sense he’s coming soon, so I take him deep and Will pulls my hair—the sensation thrills me more. With bucking hips, Will loses his last vestige of control and I keep up the motion until he softens with spent energy as he closes his own pleasure. He’s done better than good and I’m heady with delight. Breathing hard, he tugs me close. “Not so bad.”

  “Not so very bad at all.”

  I grin and revel in the feeling of our embrace. “There’s more where that came from. I’m a great teacher—it’s practical I excel at. I don’t expect flawless performance, I just want application.”

  Will smiles and I find all that coiled, manly potential. I sense my actions have eased his worry.

  “And after that taster, this student doesn’t mind the ride. We’re going to rub along well together,” he answers.

  He deserves recompense for whatever he’s been through, causing his celibacy’s scars. Full therapy—and I think I may have rocked his world.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Will sits up in bed and checks his watch. “Shit. Gotta go. Mother will wonder where I’m hiding and send a search party out.”

  I grin at this image. But it’s an abrupt ending to our passion pagoda’s exquisite lovemaking. He’s made me come in three different ways, each more impressive than the last. I’m enjoying learning to be a tongue temptress too.

  “Didn’t have you down as a mummy’s boy.” I giggle. “Sir has a big secret fear, then.”

  “She scrutinizes my business. If she thought there was a woman, she’d rag me senseless.” After pulling on his trousers, he leans in for a languorous kiss. “I’m keeping you well out of harm and interrogation’s way.”

  It’s different from any sex I’ve ever experienced before. Not because the orgasms have been plentiful and stellar. But because—it’s not wham, bam, boom. I’ve touched Will and made him come. But he hasn’t come inside me yet. I know why. I can give him time. I have faith that the right care can help him.

  “Your mum staying for a while?”

  “No. It’s an enforced visit I didn’t foresee. She’ll be gone by the party.”

  I nearly swear. Shit, I’d forgotten about that. “Ah. Party. Yep.”

  “You are coming Friday?” he says, narrowing his eyes.

  “Of course.”

  “You got the news that fancy dress costumes are the dress code of choice?”

  I shake my head. “Nobody told me. But I have been busy.”

  “I figured it might help people loosen up. But you can come as you want. Stay over after?” He tries to seal the deal by kissing around my décolletage to make me weak and wanton.

  “We’ll see. If you’re good.”

  “Drop by my office soon. I won’t stand waiting till Friday for an Izzy fix.”

  I get out of bed and pull on my clothes, much slower than it took to remove them. We stand on the threshold in an embrace, both dressed and ready to return to life outside our clandestine sexy bubble.

  “Pop by tomorrow.”

  “Okay. But no kisses in the corridor at work or it’ll be sayonara discretion.”

  He smiles and I do too. “Top secret. Strict terms.”

  “Our dark secrets will stay that way. Count on it.”

  “Stay at mine Thursday?” he asks finally. “Give me something to look forward to.”

  “Is that wise, school night?”

  He claims my mouth in a kiss that sweeps me into the atmosphere on a wave of blissed-out buoyant magic. “You like this?” he says and his hand stakes a claim on my ass.

  “Thursday. I’ll bring my flannel pajamas. The ones you like.”

  “Bring the black bits. I like them best.”

  My Secret Sir. He’s real. And I’m loving it. Loving him—gulp, no, too much too soon, must step back.

  And tonight—I must write it all down. Every touch, every blush. Every erect and pulsing inch. This is the research that I’ve yearned for and now I intend to make it work. Bestseller—Kindle cloud rocket—here I come.

  Chapter Twelve

  Next day as I drive to work my phone goes into an email frenzy, bleeping the R2D2 email alert tone from my handbag.

  When I check it as I walk into Netherfield, I see that it’s the book club members reacting to my emailed book chapters. They’ve caused a storm. My erotica mystery about the mysterious Sir P—who invents exotic places for sex with his mistress Zizi and she has to work out location from clues—now has full-on steamy, erotic lovemaking scenes. I’m pretty darn pleased with the results.

  Already there’s been a pantry, a pagoda. And from the look of the emails, the girls highly approve—the titles include WTF, Give Me More Now! And Izzy, You’re Heading for the Bestsellers List!

  They all clamor for an emergency book club meeting at Fiona’s place. Given that I’d planned on writing tonight, Arsenal tomorrow with Jack and Will Thursday, then the party Friday, I’m struggling to fit life in. Thank God I don’t have lots of backed-up teaching prep. I send a group mail to invite them to Dibian’s place to get ready before Friday’s party and I tell them we’ll squeeze in a book discussion. Dibs will have to be included and sworn to secrecy. Given her problems of late, the book club will probably do her the world of good.

  I’m smiling unashamedly as I tuck my phone back in my bag and walk right into Annie James. She doesn’t nix my smile but she does dim its wattage some. “Izzy. Got a sec?”

  “Hi.” Annie the Nympho has a predatory gleam. I check my watch to hatch an escape strategy. “Ten minutes till bell. If you don’t mind talking and walking? I have to get resources set up before class.”

  “No problemo.” She falls in with my step, even though she’s on seven-inch platforms.

  It might be unfair to call Annie a nympho. Man eater would be more accurate. She plays the alto saxophone like she’s making love, and I’d guess it’s with herself—sometimes our school recitals verge on the porn periphery. She’s a fourth form pin-up for all the worst reasons.

  “Good to know you’re my soccer skills buddy. I’m hoping to slay you with my killer headers.” She says it as if she’s eyeing up the competition and can’t find anything to recommend me.

  “You can try, buddy. But I tackle like greased lightning on a slippery, stormy night.” My tone is ultra-cool and I’m lying through my arse. ‘Buddy’? More like arch enemy. I know da
rn well she downright hates me. I see revulsion waiting to pounce behind her slanted sapphire eyes.

  “Great to know we’re both skeptical but game for the challenge.”

  “This is a hundred percent career move for me—it’ll be viewed by millions and probably watched by my next boss.”

  “Planning on moving on?”

  She bites her lip. “Nothing lined up yet. But after this, we may be headhunted. Our virtues may go viral. And my eyes are on a prize of another nature.”

  I keep to myself that the only thing likely to go viral about Annie is her pneumatic chest and ample cleavage. I hang a death U-turn from the truth. “You like football?” I ask. It’s a low blow—all she knows is that it’s played on a pitch using a ball.

  “Love it. Nothing like watching players swapping shirts! Phwoar!” Her giggle could strip decade-old paint. She probably thinks the purpose of the entire game is to show off chest hair. I serenely evade the chance to chainsaw her spindly wisdom tree.

  “You play much?”

  “Beach volleyball’s my thing.” She flicks me a ‘take that, sucker’ look. “Went to California—did an exchange. Dated a movie director. Great times! My ex made Dutch movies of a physical nature. I was even in a few.” She flicks her hair in a move that’s pure Mattel’s most famous doll. I wish she was die-cast so I could stick big pins in painful places. She tongue-wets her much-glossed mouth.

  Ah, now I get it—she’s fame crazy. She barges the conversation up a cocky cul-de-sac. “Cutting to the chase—it’s about Will. I’m totally interested. I think he is too. So you won’t mind giving us a bit of space and leeway during the mentoring stint. Do it for the sisterhood and all that.” She says it with some tiny nods—does she have a tic? She also stands hands firmly on my desk, bracing her weight, boobs jutting out in a provocative threat gesture she probably used in her ex’s movie.

  There’s an estrogen war in the offing and I sense she’s firing FF canons on my D-cup boats. Fucker. If only I had a poison-loaded blow pipe in my hand instead of a pencil. Nothing annoys me more than somebody putting their mucky paws on my desk. Or my man.

 

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