by Judy Jarvie
So I am forced to endure Gangnam Styling with a second-rate cowboy who has the misplaced hots. And it would be a car crash enough—if I hadn’t seen Will glare at me. Eyes cool and dark and hard, and accusingly direct.
I shake my head.
He stares at me with firm, tense body language and turns away.
And Andy Regis chooses that moment to sweep his arm around my waist and push his groin against mine in a flagrant lambada-type dance. Now it’s hell squared.
Will looks back and his dark glare is cold. I sense his aggravation as much as I feel my own cheeks flame.
“C’mon, Izzy,” Andy encourages. “You know you want me.”
Nympho Annie doesn’t need to be asked twice to get into the spotlight and she chooses that moment to pounce on Will. She’s doing the moves with a good dash of porn queen.
“Good old Annie. She’s probably been watching for this very chance.”
I vow to damn and dump Andy and finally take my chance to extricate myself from his amorous dance grasp.
“I don’t like this song and my heels are killing me. Excuse me, Andy. I need to get a drink. Don’t follow me—we’re not on the same page.”
I stride off. The sight of Annie pawing my man, and watching him reluctantly walk onto the dance floor with her are too much to bear, so I strop off, wishing I’d had a few cups of punch to make me bolder. Or less fragile. I walk up to the bar and grab a pint glass and start ladling punch into it, including big chunks of fruit even though I’ve no idea what the hell’s in this mystery lethal brew. I drink it down in long gulps and feel it fire my bloodstream. Which means that, most probably, by tomorrow I’ll have a head like the Tibetan singing bowl choir gone loco with pneumatic drill accompaniment. Right now I’m too pissed off to care.
When I get to the bar, Ben joins me. I’m all too aware, from his awkward manner, that he can read my mind and has watched my reactions.
“She’s no competition, Iz,” he tells me. “Don’t get your fur in a bunch.”
“You reckon?”
“I know. He rates you highly.”
“And blokes talk of these things?”
“We do. And take this from a man who knows—Will doesn’t fall easily.”
My inner vixen has scaled the hencoop’s perimeter and pounced on the chick nest at that last revelation but I don’t let it show. C’mon. Give me some credit for guile.
“I have something to ask you, Ben.” I continue to swig down the lurid, orangey-red mixture and feel it steadily burn a path down my throat. With everything I’ve got, I hope Andy Regis will have taken the message and won’t start chasing me around this party all night long. “I need a favor.”
Ben raises dark debonair brows worthy of Bond. And I don’t mean Basildon.
“What would you say if I asked for some very confidential help in training me up for this football mentoring stint at school? I’d pay you hourly. I can’t give you much but all I want is not to make a total arse of myself when I’m being watched by the nation.”
Ben swigs his drink and mulls over my proposition. I’m prepared for him to decline. He is, after all, a much sought after Premier League player with obligations and a busy schedule.
“I won’t charge. But I will expect commitment. How about every other night straight from school. Come to my gym in St. Albans.”
“Really? You’d help me?”
Ben closes in and whispers softly, “Will’s my best friend. You’re my girlfriend’s bestie. Yes. I will. See you tomorrow. Quarter to five sharp.”
Then there’s another voice behind me. “What are you doing? Don’t you dare think about escaping me. And stop chatting up my best mate if you know what’s good for him.” The voice nearby is shortly followed by a large hand that grabs my arm and tugs hard. Shit. Not again! I throw a last weak smile of apology at Ben as I’m dragged away.
“Move it. Don’t stall. Just walk. If that walking cock touches you one more time, he’s a bat snack that won’t see the light of day tomorrow.”
I look up to see Will’s eyes staring into mine. He’s taken off his mask. Or perhaps Nympho Annie has sucked it off mid-snog. “How masterful you sound. Tired of dancing with your sex-crazed nutter? Is that the kind of woman that fires your bat bits?”
“Whiplash! You know how I roll.” Will pulls me by the hand and strides out of the party with his cape fanning out behind him. It’s a wondrous sight to behold. “Bat Cave. Now. Ever had sex in a dark space that echoes before? We might even try it upside down!”
“Could be tricky in these suits.”
“Nothing too hard for this Caped Crusader.”
“What Batman does at the party, stays at the party,” I answer. He is, after all, the guardian of Gotham City. And right now I’ve never wanted him more.
“My hand is itching to get inside that suit and give you twenty of the best spanks of your life for your cheek, woman. And for bloody well dancing with that dipshit. What the fuck is with Woody the dancing cowboy anyway?”
I smile at how I’ve riled Will. It feels good to be so fully wanted by this fulsome man. “I tried to attract your help but you were too busy with BFF Ben and the Nympho Stalker.”
“You could’ve said no.”
I pull out of his grasp and stand my ground. “Where are we going? Can’t we find a cupboard? It’s clear you only want me for sex and Fiona tells me it’s fun that way.”
Will stops. Right up close, nose to nose. And stares me down and doesn’t say a word. It makes me gulp back trepidation.
“My place. My way!” His voice is hard but smooth as rain-washed gravel chips. Our eyes meet and hold. “I don’t want you for sex, Izzy. You move me like no woman. I totally desire and crave and need you for sex—it’s my every waking thought. And right now you’ve given me a raging hard-on. I wish you hadn’t pissed me off so much in the process, woman!”
“I love surprises at parties,” I answer with a droll voice. “You should’ve said earlier, Sir. Houston, we have lift off, let’s go!”
Chapter Fourteen
Will leads me down a long dark corridor with gleaming mahogany flooring and the potent aroma of wood wax. A winding iron staircase descends to the basement where a dimmed corridor features three dark doors and low-level lighting.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Guaranteed privacy.”
I struggle on my overly high heels as I follow his brisk but long bat-strides. “Hate to spoil your plans but isn’t this your party?”
“As the host, I’m entitled to set the itinerary.”
“Being host kinda involves schmoozing—they’ll notice you’ve gone. They’ll come looking. I know Dibian will, for sure.”
Will shrugs his broad Batman-caped shoulders. “I’ve left Ben in charge—we won’t be disturbed. Did you wear the leather skin suit for me? I’m interested in finding out if there are underclothes or if it’s, as I suspect, the way I like it, bush commando.”
I raise my eyebrows in shock. “It could take five shoe horns and a winch to remove this gear.”
Will’s hair is a delightful mess from the mask but neither of us cares. His midnight velvet voice spellbinds my senses, and hairs respond on my arms. “Don’t bet on it. I assure you I’m game to give it a try.”
He turns me to face him in the dim basement and kisses me. But kiss is way too tame a descriptor. More like he devours my mouth and leaves me without breath and a boneless husk being supported in his arms. I’d blame these skyscraper heels, but I’d be lying. It’s Will’s assault of heady testosterone.
Wow, what a guy. I go back for more. We’re snogging in the hallway and it’s all very sixth-form disco. I have to remind myself—he’s Batman and I’m Whiplash. We’re both thirty-something teachers having a raunchy, real-life sex affair, gagging for naked thrills and pushing each other’s boundaries. How bizarre my life has become since Will Darby waltzed into my school…
Who cares, when the payoffs are this exciting?
; “As much as I love your kisses, I’m not risking getting caught down here,” I tell him between panted tongue tangles. My hands are wrapped around his head and threaded through his hair, which kinda belies my claims for caution.
“Like I care,” he growls. “I’m Batman. Nobody’s gonna cross me and win. I want my woman. My way.”
“And if Rogerson creeps up on us? Teacher fraternization isn’t encouraged, Mister Bat Ears. You won’t get a pay rise.”
“Only one rise I’m interested in…and Rog is too busy downing Christal bubbles to care about us having orgasms below stairs. It’s cool.”
When Will is kissing a delicious line from my décolletage to my earlobe and licking the bulge of my corset-clad breasts, it’s pretty hard to object. “Find somewhere with a door that locks. We’re in danger of getting a reputation.” I look down pointedly at the massive, straining bulge in his skin-tight suit.
“Iz. You’re so hot. Can you blame a guy for getting excited?”
“Come on, Darby. Leash the beast for two minutes.”
“I can’t keep my hands off you! See what you do to me?”
He steps back, licks his snog-stung lips then produces a key from some hidden Lycra pocket. And this will prove to be a moment I will never forget.
He does have a Bat Cave. Only this one’s a massive, shocking game changer.
The key turns in the lock, but the door stays shut as Will’s eyes meet mine. He moves over a few steps and enters a code, using the buttons in the wall panel. With a rasping sound, the bolts slide to release.
Will grasps my hands. His eyes are solemn. “You must enter here without judgment. This place isn’t mine.”
I raise my eyebrows but say nothing. Mostly because I’ve no idea what he’s on about.
“No questions, no answers. Understood? We go in here and nothing more is discussed. I made a promise I won’t break and this is not my room. On that you must be assured.”
“Okay… I think.”
Frankly, he couldn’t bamboozle me more. But there’s something about a mystery that gets your interest and cuffs it to the radiator with panting nosiness. Consider mine duly chained up and gagging to get to the skinny.
“Come on, Will. No need to be so cloak and dagger.”
“I think there’s every need. You’ll understand soon.”
The room is in darkness even though I crane to see. “What’s in there—your jewel stash? The wine cellar? Bloody expensive wine if it needs Fort Knox locks. Don’t tell me, it’s the gold bullion you stole in a train robbery!” I think of another joke and can’t hold it in. “Damn. It’s your cross-dressing wardrobe. Why didn’t I guess?”
“Why is everything a joke with you? This is serious.” Will shakes his head, his jaw clenches and the look on his face makes my innards flip. It’s grimmer than Stephen King storytelling in a graveyard.
“What is it, Will?”
“It’s not wine. It’s for something stronger.”
Something in his tense stance makes me falter. I’ve never seen him so earnest—it could almost be his middle name, and that would be wrong. Why is this room so private?
“Less wine cellar, more dungeon.” Will’s face takes on a grim cast.
The door opens wider and he hits a switch, causing lights to come on in slow but steady succession. Their muted red glow throws a spooky hue. He pulls me to him and we’re inside the room, then he firmly closes the door behind us. It has the ominous deep click of bolts that mean business—I find myself hoping I won’t regret coming in here in the first place.
I look around me and my breath catches fast in my chest. “Holy shit, Will. What…the…fuck!”
The windows are shuttered—the room’s contents breathtaking, and not in any way that could ever be imagined. I’m still turning round to peruse it all as my eyes meet shock after shock. “Holy shit. Who built this? Torture Chambers Are Us?”
“No judgments remember.”
“No judgments but plenty of Oh My Bloody Gods, Will.”
“Strictly confidential. It’s not my secret. But it is somewhere I know we can escape to without being disturbed tonight. If I haven’t shot the moment to hell by shocking you.”
I let out a slow, low whistle. “It’s a bloody dungeon and if this is what you do in your spare time—I’m starting to think you’re way more whiplash than I’m ready for!” I gulp and swallow on the hard bulk of my dry, shocked throat.
“If you want, you can still leave.”
My emotions have taken a rocket trip to full-blown toxic shock as I stand immobile and absorb what faces me.
Will is explaining but I’m barely listening, “Paul Bates’ wife Shana built the room. He gave me the entry code but I told him I’d never need their ‘playroom’. If the truth comes out—can you imagine the headlines?”
I feel his heart drumming and my mouth dries as the need to retreat takes hold. But a weird part of me wants to know more. Here lies a spacious room where shuttered windows have created a dimmed lair. There’s dark wood flooring, dark walls and the heady notes of exotic, sensual flowers and spices scent the air. A vast, square bed is sheathed in black silk sheets. A ceiling mirror reflects the heady opulence. Tiny bottled oils grace the lacquered table nearby.
Panels of deep claret silk are festooned from the ceiling and along the walls. Long leather ropes with elaborate brass cuffs are fixed to the bed. A nearby ebony table also features chained cuffs and manacles. If it’s for massage, these treatments aren’t for chillax or muscle tension relief.
I fail to summon any response. While delving into Will’s landlord’s sex secrets isn’t my business, part of me can’t not have questions answered.
Ebony glossy cabinets stand against each wall and a large rack is lined with whips, canes and other threatening implements that don’t bear close scrutiny.
I circle to absorb this revelation. “Holy crap. This is some kinky side.”
“They’re props. Paul says it’s consensual. Now you’ll see why I was trying hard to keep eyes out. But, for tonight, it means we can be alone.”
Will runs his finger over a layer of dust that’s built up on the table beside him. “Paul told me Shana’s sex slave phase is over. Been a while since it’s been in use. We’ve got the privacy. Still up for this?”
I blow out a breath. Man, these are some surroundings. A girl would be forgiven for feeling overawed. For backing up with a mighty ‘ewww’.
Then again, I’m with the man I’m into like no other. The implements around me are strangely thrilling and remember, I’m a dyed-in-the-wool erotica fan who’s read and dreamed about fantasies like this. Shana Bates may well be a woman after my own heart.
I’m in a room straight out of my fave erotic book. Am I about to say no thanks and do a U-turn?
“Guess I’ll have to stay here solo,” he says coquettishly. I can tell he’s only seeking a reaction.
Will pulls at his Batsuit and it peels away from his taut body. My eyes widen as I watch and I’m minded of a strip show I went to once where the male dancers’ trousers flew off as if by magic.
“We don’t have to do kinky shit if you don’t want to,” says Will.
Fuck! As bloody if! “You saying I’m a wuss, Darby?” I pull my ponytail over my shoulder and slip out of my leather jacket. Then I place my curled whip down on the gleaming table, unconcerned by the manacles and shackles.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
His eyes darken as I stand before him in my tight leather jeans and black lace corset. I run my black gel nails up the side of my own neck to get him even more hot and bothered.
“I’m feeling hot.” I close my eyes and gulp. “What should I take off first?”
My words work, because he rushes at me like a blood-starved urban commando vampire and I’m grinning as he snogs me full and hard.
I hold my finger up between kisses and point it at his chest. I pause for effect. “I’m up for kinky shit. But we’ve not got much time tonight. Kinky takes time a
nd deliberation.”
“There’ll be other nights…now that we know it’s here waiting. How about hard and fast and crazy?”
“My favorite kind. Dim the lights if you prefer? Being a creature of the night…”
He growls low in his throat. “I want to see everything.” Will smiles wide before he grabs me. I think I’m rocking it like a sexed-up Beyoncé and Batman’s a very happy boy.
We’re naked. Delightfully, deliciously naked. I can see some of the hairs on his arms stand to attention—mimicking the actions of that most important part of him.
Will has peeled my leather layers away and his Bat skin Lycra lies like a giant black condom on the floor.
I giggle and that fires him more.
“Enough, Whiplash!”
And, wow, but Will is turned on. He’s erect and wet. Strong and sleek. His muscles are something that should be celebrated in art. His man parts are resplendent.
And so am I—wet, that is. My breasts are heavy with desire, and when Will pulls me to him, I melt into those sensual kisses that spin me into infinity. He cups my breasts, he teases and molds me. And, as he kneads my nipples, I mewl in the back of my throat, wanting more, always more. His mouth dips to trail kisses down to where his fingers have worked their magic. And man, but that is a sinful mouth—I know from personal experience.
He takes my nipples fully in his mouth and I gasp aloud. His teeth scrape me lightly. Then his tongue ravishes the spot he tortured. One minute my nipples are hard and peaked. The next I’m heavy and aching for everything he can give.
“You’re going straight for consensual straight vanilla, Will Darby.”
“Can’t wait, madam. You shouldn’t play such a high-octane fantasy dress foreplay game.”
“Oh. But my. It was worth it.” I giggle.
He sucks my nipples then plays them with his tongue. To think there’s a straddle bar in here, manacles, handcuffs, whips, crops, restraints aplenty. And all I want is Will. Kissing me, sucking me. Promising the delights of his cock.
All I want is him. Us. Like this.