Scoring With Sir

by Judy Jarvie

  I sense I may have given away a bit too much too soon.

  * * * *

  The girls are oohing and ahhing over our outfits as we make ready prior to the party. There’s a gasp of astonishment when I unveil mine.

  “Shit, Iz! What the hell’s got into you?” Fiona gasps.

  “Miss Whiplash strikes again,” says Mo.

  Dibian merely comes over and rubs her hand over my leather-clad form while Janey has a fit of giggles and doubles up on the sofa.

  “I figured that since I’m now the erotica author gone public, I should go a bit all out tonight.” I shrug my leather-clad shoulders and stick out my bum in my shiny leather butt-clinger pants.

  The lace-up leather boots and biker jacket are ones I owned already. The spray-on leather jeans and black corset beneath are new. As is the leather choker. And my new add-on long ponytail that reaches past my waist.

  “I fancy you myself,” Fiona says, and squeezes my arse.

  “Hands off! Pretty hot for a teacher, huh?”

  My friends break out in a fit of applause. I laugh. I know it’s ridiculous and so far removed from my usual style but this is about fun. Fancy dress is allowed—so why not fantasy dress? I can’t wait to see Will’s face—he’s the inspiration.

  And anyway Mo’s dressed up as a sexy army cadet with khaki fatigues and war paint while Dibian sports a vibrant Carmen Miranda outfit so I’m hardly the most OTT of the pack.

  We’re going to an A-list mansion house party for food, drink and frolics. And I’ve got a secret man with surprising benefits while only Dibian has a clue.

  I grin at them all and wink my jewel-bedecked faux lashes. “Tonight, my friends, we’re wild women with all the moves that count.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gaggles of handsome young men in football strips guide guests to parking spaces in the grounds of Hangley Grange tonight. Our taxi driver takes us up to the main door and my friends are flattered and impressed to have these sporty helpers assist them like suave, gallant hotel parking attendants.

  “Isn’t this wonderful?” gushes Dibian, holding on to her pineapple and bananas for dear life. Her cleavage in that outfit is something to behold. Clearly it has not escaped the attention of her footballer attendant who’s staring at her as if hypnotized.

  I suspect this kind of male attention will do her the world of good after her Ronald dating disaster, so I can’t find it in me to be irked by her. She’s had a bad time and she deserves to have a ball tonight.

  “You can say what you like about our new sports head but he knows how to crowd-please,” I tell her, then bite my tongue. Why am I dropping myself in it? Why am I openly talking about Will when I should keep him ultra-hush-hush to avoid suspicion? Especially with Dibian.

  Fortunately, she’s too engrossed in the moment to interrogate me or notice my Will fluff. And anyway, he has gone to town for his party. The driveway is bedecked with glowing Chinese lanterns and burning color-changing lights twinkle from the rose beds while sculptures and features are floodlit for impact.

  “Wow. What a place!” says Fiona, looking around her like Alice perusing Wonderland’s wild delights. Her blue gingham dress showcases curves a lab coat conceals. She’s carrying a basket with a cuddly stuffed Toto inside. Her ruby slippers nearly didn’t arrive from Omazod and it was touch and go whether she’d end up with a green face, hooked nose and witch’s hat instead.

  “Not often we get to hang out at the McMansion, is it? Enjoy it while we can,” I tell her.

  “You picked a great place to recuperate, Iz. This house is stellar! Would Will let you show me around later?”

  I have to stay mindful that my friends don’t know the truth about Will yet. I find deception super hard.

  “Hopefully. Wait till you see inside.” I hug my many fab, sexy memories to myself. My friends have no idea how attached I am to this place. It’s the location for my dirty secret sensual trysts with the man I’m crazy about and only we know the sordid details. Too bad Dibian suspects, but having my special secret is delicious.

  Moments later Alan Collier approaches us, to present a corsage to Fiona with a flourish. From the way he’s walking, the chiropractor must have worked magic. Fi gasps in surprised pleasure and it warms my heart to see them kiss. She bends her leg at the knee like in the movies as he snogs her full on. The woman’s clearly got it bad and while Alan may be a tool, he’s cock-a-hoop for her and the cocker spaniels have taken a back seat. Thanks be for small mercies. Tonight he’s dressed in a tux, and fortunately he’s left his sandals at home. I think he possibly consulted with Daniel Craig beforehand to check the dress code.

  “Alan, you’re a charmer.” She takes his arm. It’s very sweet even for a dyed-in-the-wool cynic like me.

  “Maybe I should call you Dorothy. You’re certainly my rainbow’s end tonight,” Alan tells her, before kissing her thoroughly again. I’m not the only one smitten, it seems.

  I feel a need to sing Ding Dong, You’re Loud in Bed but I suspect Fiona would take massive offense so I keep it zipped.

  Ben Lindhurst arrives smiling at our party. We all laugh when we see his nod to fancy dress is a Greek god’s toga and laurel wreath. If anybody had the body for it Ben does. And it fits perfectly with Janey’s Grecian goddess costume. It’s like watching Brangelina on the set of Troy.

  “Don’t they fit like a hand in a kid glove!” Dibian simpers. “Delicious duo.”

  Janey’s eyes flick to mine and they’re sparkling with delight. “Ben. What are you like? How did you know my costume?”

  “Got one of your friends to snitch,” he tells her. “Told you we are perfect for each other. Had to buy a lot of chocolate to get the info, though.” Ben winks at Mo.

  “You promised not to tell,” Mo says, scowling behind her army camouflage makeup, flexing her knuckles and tossing her ponytail, while using her miffed voice.

  “’S’okay. Glad you told, Morag! I get the best view of his legs this way.” Janey winks. “Win, win!”

  They walk toward the house and I grab Dibian’s arm in mine. She’s here to have a good time—not be reminded of coupledom. I beckon Mo to take my other arm and force my jolly smile. Kinda innocuous accompanying my leather-clad Lady Whiplash Vixen Hellraiser costume.

  “Come on, Carmen. Let’s whip them into shape on the dance floor! How about you, Army Mo—gonna be a ball-buster drill sergeant and find yourself a man for Mission Mo?”

  “Sod men. Let’s dance and get hammered!” she answers. “Where there’s wine, there’s a way.”

  We follow the pulsing Moves Like Jagger riffs. It’s going to be a long night of funky frolics. Yee-ha!

  * * * *

  When I see Will, my womb takes a high dive into a hot tub from a hundred-foot drop and the descent is more than good when our eyes make explosive contact.

  “Holy jalapeños!”

  He’s Batman. I know this because he’s wearing a badge that says BatWill.

  And fuck me, but this Batman gives Christian Bale a good seeing to in the sexy stakes. He’s dark. Dressed like that, and with muscles molded, he’s brick-wall-hard-as-nails meets sexy danger. Maybe even the sexiest man ever to walk the planet?

  His eye mask has me mewling in my throat for personal time in the bat cave. It’s yummy! The spray-on black fabric suits him way too well and does everything to anesthetize my tongue to the point where I can’t talk straight. In fact, my tongue is probably lolling lifeless out of the side of my mouth. It’ll be clashing badly with my sexy black Goth girl lipstick.

  Fortunately I’m flanked by Dibian and Mo, who do the talking for me.

  “Look at the abs on that!” says Mo.

  “Don’t forget the arse!” says Dibian.

  “That man is fit as a butcher’s dog on a treadmill!”

  “You picked a goodun there, Iz.”

  Mo asks. “You fancy him? You told Dibian and you didn’t tell me?”

  I would tell her to ‘shh’ and be quiet but as I s
aid, my tongue’s flat-lined and incompetent. I wonder if anyone has spark plugs for a recharge.

  Mo lets out a whistle that makes the whole room look up and Batman smiles right at me. My heart does a pitty-pat in response. He walks in, a symphony of muscles on parade. Wow. Pinch me, I’m drunk on a testosterone-filled barrel of sexual high.

  “Whiplash.” I nod. I nearly curtseyed. “Carmen. And Sexy Army Girl Mo. The party’s started now the hottest girls in town are here!”

  He knows how to be smooth. I could kiss him for being so kind to my single pals. And that’s why he slays me—he says the best things. Dibian’s flapping her eyelashes at Will and acting like a big gooey girl. Mo’s grinning at me from behind her warpaint, bush-clustered army helmet and camouflage outfit.

  “Miss Whiplash. You leave me shaken. And stirred.”

  “Different movie. Wrong hero. Does Batguy have a line?”

  As the girls head off to look at the nearby bar, Will slides right in beside me and I feel his warm hand caress my leather-clad hip. Wow.

  “How’s ‘let’s shag now’ for a line?”

  “Not doable in all this leather.”

  “I’m not so easily dissuaded. How about ‘let’s go fuck in the Batmobile’?”

  “I’ve seen the back of your Bat wagon before. Roomy. But some of us prefer vertical to legs akimbo landscape.” I stifle my chuckles and opt for seriously sexy siren. I’ve never been one before but tonight I figure I can step up to the mark. “Batmobile does sound uncomfortable. Wouldn’t you rather ditch the costumes and get naked anywhere closer?”

  “To the Bat Cave. With that whip. Now!” he commands, and inside I swoon and go a little giddy-crazy with the giggles.

  “Sorry. I’ve butts to whip,” I tell him. “Most specifically Rogerson and Tarquin. They here yet?” I flick out my whip and make a meal of showing him the crop that’s tucked into a neat pocket in my boots.

  “One’s come as Daddy Warbucks. It’s seriously worrying,” Will tells me. “Look for the shiny bald head. The other’s come… No, I won’t spoil the surprise. Let’s see if you can spot Tarquin for yourself.”

  “Spoilsport. I suppose you think that’s a challenge I can’t meet.”

  Will fixes me with his dark, serious stare. “I have no doubt you could achieve anything you put your mind to, my dominatrix English teacher. I want you all to myself—later. It’s the only thing that’s keeping me going. Lots of slow, hard sex with you.”

  “Shh. Somebody will out us.”

  “I’d like to say I give a shit, but I don’t. Seeing you in that outfit’s fired me to the point of kick it to hell.”

  I raise a brow. “Good. Because that was the point of wearing it, Batboy.”

  I feel his sly bat hand travel round and rest on my butt cheek proper. I narrow my eyes at him but it has little impact. These superheroes are pretty hard to keep within the party decency boundaries. Another sharp look sees the hand squeeze then slip away. From behind Will’s eye mask, I watch those green sparklers dancing an Irish groove.

  “Have you spotted those two idiots yet? You aren’t trying to find them?” Clearly Rogerson and Endermann have surpassed themselves and Will’s enjoying it.

  My eyes scan the assembled crowd and pretty quickly I do pick out Rogerson’s famous philanthropist father. Tarquin is still nowhere I can find, though currently there’s a busy dance floor packed with people gyrating to Gangnam Style.

  Mo and Dibian return beside us and I’m grateful that Batman’s hand is no longer resting possessively on my arse. “You want some punch, Iz?” asks Mo. “The buffet here is fab. Can’t wait to try some.”

  “Grrr,” I find myself saying and sounding like a she-wolf.

  “What’s up?” Will asks.

  “That!”

  It’s Nympho Annie. She’s dressed up as Kylie Minogue in gold hotpants with expansive cleavage on full parade. How predictable. She’s also ogling Will and pushing out those boobs in time to the music. It’s a flesh market in a thong.

  Will and I don’t say a word for some seconds but he senses my disdain. “Shall I lock her in the pagoda? You can flay her alive later,” he asks.

  “Too good for her. We need a dungeon where we can chain her to the wall.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Will answers darkly and I’m unsure what he means. If he wants me to be contrite about my Annie phobia, he’ll have a long wait.

  I thought it was a good line but Will hasn’t laughed. He merely sighs deeply then asks about my evening.

  I burst out laughing because I’ve seen Jack at the bar. He’s wearing his full Arsenal football gear, complete with a giant Arsenal top hat. I wave at him and he waves back and mimics heading a ball to me. I kick the imaginary goal winner back with my pointy, high-heeled boots. Dibian throws herself at Jack for a cuddle—maybe she should show restraint with the punchbowl—and one of her bananas knocks him in the nose. She makes a great fuss of nursing him better.

  I’m laughing aloud when I feel Will’s hand slide over my rear again. It’s definitely squeezing hard and insistently now.

  “Careful, Mr. Darby. We have company.”

  “More’s the pity. How about we escape for a short while?”

  I’m about to answer but that’s when I see Tarquin and the penny drops. “Bloody hell. He hasn’t!”

  Will replies softly under his breath. “Oh yes, he has.”

  Tarquin Endermann is wielding an imaginary lasso in the center of the room. Because he’s leading the Gangnam Style horse jockey-style dancing. He’s wearing a white tuxedo and shades and he’s doing every move as if he’s watched nothing else on YouTube for a month solid without stopping for sleep. He even has the jet-black, jeweled quiff hairdo and I’m trying to work out if it’s a wig or an entire plastic stick on head. Whatever he employed to get the look, he’s pretty impressive as Mr. Gangnam Style.

  “I’ve been itching to put the track on all night. Shall we speed it up and play it backwards next?” Will asks.

  “I love your wicked side. Do it. Then we’ll scarper.”

  Will goes over to the sound system and presses for Gangnam Style to be repeated. This time, the tempo is faster and I don’t know how he did it but it makes everyone go crazy and I can’t help but laugh. I almost put a hand over my eyes to avoid the horror.

  Endermann’s horse jockey grooving like a crazy X Factor reject to his favorite tune and nodding at me to join him.

  Will returns to my side then adds, “Apparently, his first choice was to come as Lady Gaga. All that man in too much PVC. Shudders guaranteed.”

  “Sexy lady, come join the fun!” Tarquin shouts at me. I itch to wrap my whip around his neck.

  “I’d rather watch.”

  “Shame,” says a voice near to my ear. “Can’t take my eyes off you. I had to come over and force you to dance.”

  I turn to find Andy Regis beside me. I hardly recognized him without his camera and usual grungy geek rock clothes—he’s dressed up as a cowboy tonight, chaps and all. It has to be said he looks pretty hot too. If you’re into that sort of thing. Or should I say, if you’re not into men with wild dark hair, green eyes and pointy bat ears.

  Will is back beside the sound system and I can’t get his attention. Ben has appeared beside Will and they are wetting themselves laughing at something, probably Tarquin and Annie competing for dance supremacy.

  “Let’s dance,” says Andy, taking my hand firmly in his. “You’re so hot in that costume. It’s a shame not to show it to better advantage. You know how to make a man drool, Izzy Tennant.”

  “It’s so not my kind of tune…”

  “C’mon. One little groove won’t hurt. Where’s your fun side got to? I know it’s in there…c’mon.”

  He tugs my hand harder and I’m forced to lurch after him. He pulls me toward the dance floor. In these heels it’s not so easy. I feel like a pole dancer made to do ballet moves on stilts.

  Dibian is nearby and, unclear about my motives
, she pushes me closer and Mo, unaware that my interest is otherwise engaged, forces me army style into his arms with shouts of ‘Woo, Izzy, go!’

  Andy’s doing grinding moves next to me, way too close for comfort. Shit. I can feel Andy’s hot breath against my cheek. And his eyes are glittering in a way that tells me he’s aroused and assuming his luck’s in.

  He’s a nice enough guy but when you put him and Will together and do a comparison, there’s no contest. Will’s raging vermillion to Andy’s mild beige.

  “I’ve been watching you carefully since I first saw you,” Andy confides. “You’re quite a woman, Izzy. And I’m into you. I think we could be good together. Don’t waste your time on that Bat bloke.”

  A slow, icy wash of self-questioning drenches me and my thoughts unravel in past recrimination. In being relaxed enough to enjoy Will’s company and attentions, have I put us at risk of detection?

  “What d’you mean?”

  “That I watch you. And every time he’s glued to your side. Gets boring when there’s a guy here who wants to keep your attention fixed.”

  “Will’s mentoring me. He’s giving me advance tips—I like to win.” I’m hoping my jocular brush-off will work but I’ll have to keep a close internal eye on our actions in future. I kinda itch to shove my whip in his mouth to shut his guff up. I don’t want to hear any of what he has to say. Note to self—you’re not interested. React to the memo.

  “You’re a hot woman,” Andy says, seizing his ghastly chance to tell me his feelings. “And tonight is the night I intend to impress you that I’m a guy who’s interested. Very interested. How about we go outside and spend some time one on one?”

  “I’m not sure we’d work.”

  “Don’t knock what you haven’t tried,” he tells me. And I feel another arse squeeze. This one doesn’t cause womb meltdown like Will’s did. This one makes me feel icky. I don’t want this.

  Gangnam Style Tarquin appears beside us. He’s smiling and dancing and making it impossible for me to give Andy the firm brush-off.