Spirit

by Ashe Barker

  “Not at all. I just discovered a talent I didn’t know I had and I want to practice it.”

  “So, I’m to be your guinea pig then?”

  “Yes, if you like.”

  “I suppose I could live with that. For the sake of furthering your education. Practice makes perfect, and all that.”

  “I’m guessing you’ve had a lot of practice?” Oh Christ, where did that come from? I never meant to say that.

  “Beth?”

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” I bury my face against his chest, conscious that he hasn’t even slid his cock from my pussy yet and already I’m allowing my jealousy to surface. What’s wrong with me? When will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut?

  Matt lifts me from him, but doesn’t seem rattled by my comment. Instead he settles me beside him while he disposes of the condom. I huddle there, unable to raise my head and look at him, my confident, happy mood of just moments earlier in tatters.

  “Beth, are you crying?”

  I nod, but make no attempt to stem the tears coursing down my cheeks.

  “Why?”

  “Because I said something stupid. I always do that. Mess things up by being an idiot.”

  “We’re not messed up. And you’re right, I have had a lot of practice. Which is good, surely, since you haven’t. Yet.”

  “I didn’t mean to have a go at you.”

  “I know. Forget it.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  “No. And Beth, if ever I am angry with you, you won’t need to ask. I don’t play games, I’ll tell you it like it is.”

  I ponder that for a few moments as I struggle to regain control of my features. When my gulping sobs have subsided a little I venture a peep up at him.

  “Are you really not mad at me?”

  “Do I look to be?”

  I shake my head.

  Matt smiles, his expression warm, gentle, and above all affectionate. He beckons me forward. “Come here, Beth. You look like you need a cuddle, and I’m fucking sure I do.”

  I require no further encouragement, and scramble into his lap. His arms wrap around me, securing me tight against him, and I am content in a way I can hardly recall ever feeling before. It’s not just on the surface, but bone-deep. Solid, reliable, safe.

  Chapter Six

  The sharp trill of Matt’s phone interrupts our late breakfast the morning of New Year’s Eve. He mutters something unintelligible as he leans out of bed and gropes around on the carpet to find it. Mission accomplished he leans back against the headboard as he takes the call.

  “Hi Mick, how’s things?” Matt winks at me as I stuff another mouthful of soft, fluffy croissant between my lips, then furrows his brow as another fall of crumbs flutters onto the duvet. No doubt he’ll make me change the bedding later but I don’t mind that. It’s worth it. The messy business is so much fun. And I do not mean just croissants.

  “Yeah, I’m here all day. Bring it round when you like.”

  I glance up, a little surprised. Are we to have a visitor then? This Mick?

  Matt smiles as he continues his conversation. “Not a problem, I knew you were good for it. I just hope you’re taking good care of my baby.”

  I finish my breakfast, somewhat puzzled.

  Matt chuckles into the phone. “Yeah, she was always temperamental. You need to cultivate the touch, and she’ll purr for you.” A pause, then, “Yeah, right. Okay, see you later. Bye.”

  He ends the call, and the phone beeps again, the sound shrill and insistent.

  “Shit, battery’s almost flat. My charger’s in the kitchen. Won’t be a sec.” He hops out of bed and pads over to the door, intent on plugging in his failing phone. I admire the view of his taut backside as he saunters naked across the room. Matt is unconcerned about nudity, and my own inhibitions have become a lot less apparent over the last few days. I brush the remaining flakes of pastry from my breasts and wriggle back down under the duvet to wait for him.

  Matt returns a couple of minutes later with coffee. He hands me a mug then gets back into bed beside me.

  “Is someone coming round? Should we be getting dressed?”

  “Mick. Mick Rosen. Yes, he owes me some money and he rang to say he’d drop it off later. There’s no hurry, he’ll be a while yet.” He dumps his mug on the bedside table and props himself over me, leaning on one elbow. “So, how shall we amuse ourselves for the next hour or so? Any ideas?”

  I make a show of considering hard, then offer him a bright smile. “Scrabble. We could play Scrabble. Or perhaps Cluedo.”

  He answers me with a wicked grin. “Cluedo I think. So where was the crime committed? In the bedroom, with a rope. Or perhaps in the hallway with a candlestick. Are you into bondage or wax play at all, Beth?”

  “I…what?”

  “Sorry, bad joke. Maybe a game of hide and seek then? I’d be particularly keen to find what it is you’re hiding under here.” He whips the duvet back and I squeal. He pounces, and in seconds I’m pinned under him, my thighs spread wide as he holds me still for the few moments it takes to grab a condom and sheath himself.

  He enters me without further preamble. I sigh and arch up towards him, loving the sensation of fullness as he drives his cock deep, then holds the position, the head of his dick rammed up hard against my cervix. I reach for him, linking my fingers at the back of his neck.

  “Matt, that feels so good, so… oh.”

  I chew on my lower lip as he withdraws and enters me again, but only a couple of inches this time, just the head and part of his shaft. He sets up a fast rhythm, teasing me as I instinctively seek greater penetration, more depth. He withholds his length, his leer one of a man who knows what he is about.

  “Please, Matt. More, I need all of it.”

  “Greedy girl. You need to be patient, to wait until it’s your turn. You’ve already come twice this morning.”

  “So have you. I… aagh”

  He drives his cock forward, hard and deep, stretching me. I squeeze around him, wriggling my hips to increase the friction.

  “So eager. I like that about you Beth. Would you like me to fuck you harder perhaps?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!”

  “Did I hear a ‘please’ there?”

  “Yes please!”

  “Good girl, so polite. Just for that…” He shifts his angle of entry just a little, but enough to ensure the head of his cock slides along my inner front wall with each stroke, caressing my most sensitive spot. It’s a trick I had no notion of until Christmas Day, when he gave me the first of what I hope could be many more lessons in the siting of my erogenous zones. Certainly, he is well-versed in the exact location, hitting that special spot every time, his accuracy unerring.

  My orgasm starts, coiling and unfurling deep inside, then surging to flood my senses. I let out a soft gasp as my pussy spasms.

  Matt is attuned to every sound and quiver, and slides his fingers between us to circle and stroke my clit. His touch is light, but enough. Just enough, he knows what I need better than I do myself. While I’m squirming under him, vocalising half-formed pleas and desperate urgings his deft caress ends my torment beautifully. This is the final impetus to send me spinning, my world filled momentarily with white light as my climax seizes me, then hurls me into free fall.

  With a low growl, Matt drives his cock into me, fucking me hard as I convulse and tighten, his erection a solid, demanding, giving presence within me. He pauses as my orgasm wanes, then his cock twitches hard. He drops his face down into the hollow between my shoulder and neck, and groans. I squeeze him harder, my actions deliberate this time as I seek to increase his pleasure. He grinds his hips and loops his arm under my knee to lift my leg and gain deeper penetration.

  I bite back a yelp as he drives deeper, impossibly stretched now but loving it still. His entire body stiffens, then that familiar hot wash as his semen pumps into the condom.

  “Fuck, Beth, so good, so fucking
tight. Love it…”

  “Mmm, me too. Do we have to stop?”

  He nibbles my neck, sending delicious tingles through my already overworked nervous system. “For couple of minutes at least. I’m only human.”

  “Yes, I know. And elderly too. Do you dribble when you eat?”

  “You know well enough how to make me dribble I suspect.” He withdraws his cock and rolls onto his back. “You know, for a girl who doesn’t even pay rent you’re very lippy all of a sudden.”

  I snuggle up against his side, one leg draped across his hip. “I will pay rent. When I get a job.”

  “Fair enough. For now could you earn your keep by passing me my coffee?”

  * * *

  An hour or so later we’re in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher when Matt’s phone rings again. He takes the call, the phone still attached to the charger.

  “Hello, Matt Logan.” He pauses, listening.

  “I see. Can it not wait until the day after tomorrow, when we’re all back at work?” His expression is not amused. It switches to one of grim resignation.

  “Okay, I’ll come in. Can you let security know to expect me?”

  He ends the call and leans back, his hips propped against the worktop. “I need to go into the office for a few hours. We’ve hit a snag over the planning consent for one of our projects.”

  “Oh. I see.” I’m disappointed that our idyllic time together is to be interrupted, but pragmatic enough to know that Matt’s work is important to him. “When you say a few hours…?”

  “I honestly don’t know. We need to line up our evidence to address the objections that have been raised, enough to head off the appeal. If we fail on this, the next step is a public inquiry, which would cost us hundreds of thousands and delay the scheme by as much as a couple of years. So you see, there are no short cuts.”

  “You’ll be back by midnight though? To see in the New Year together?”

  “Oh yes, definitely.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Yes, actually. Would you mind giving my apologies to Mick when he brings that money round? Offer him a drink, and tell him I was called away. Get the cash from him and stick it somewhere safe until I can get it to the bank.”

  “Sure. How much should there be?”

  “Two grand. I don’t expect you to count it in front of him or anything like that though. Mick’s not gonna short-change me. He knows I’ll repossess his pride and joy if he does.”

  My eyes must be like saucers. “Two grand? As in, two thousand pounds?”

  Matt nods as he pushes himself off the counter. “Yeah. I need to go get dressed, so…”

  “How come this guy owes you two thousand pounds?”

  “I sold him a car. A 1980 pillar box red MG Midget to be exact. Beautiful thing. I restored her myself.”

  Ah, well at least something makes sense. This must be the baby he mentioned when he spoke to Mick, and I suppose an engine could be described as purring. Not that I’d ever get so poetic about a bloody car, but then I don’t even drive. I follow Matt back into his bedroom and perch on the bed as he flicks along the row of hangers in his wardrobe. He has a seemingly unending collection of business suits in shades of grey, blue and black. All sharp, all expensive. Today though he settles for a smart pair of clay-coloured Chinos and a maroon sweatshirt. It is the middle of the Christmas and New Year holiday, after all.

  “Why did you sell the car? If you liked it so much?

  “Practicalities. I needed something bigger. And more reliable. I had the Midget locked in a garage most of the time. It was a waste really, and Mick had been on at me for ages to sell her to him. Eventually he wore me down. But he couldn’t lay his hands on the cash right away, needed to wait for some deal or other to come though. I guess it has, so he’s able to pay up.”

  “It’s a lot of money. You must trust him to just let him take the car like that. Is he a close friend?”

  “I suppose so. We were at university together. I’ve known Mick for about ten years. And the fact that he’s head futures buyer for one of the top investment banks in the city doesn’t harm his credit-worthiness.”

  “Oh. Well, I suppose not. So if he works in the city, how come he’s in Leeds?”

  “His family lives here. I expect he’s up for the holidays. Tell him I’m sorry I missed him and I’ll give him a ring later about going for a drink or something.”

  “Okay.” Matt is dressed now and heading back into the living room. I trail after him, watching as he checks the papers in his briefcase. He snaps it shut and turns to me.

  “I’ll be as quick as I can. I was hoping to go out later, maybe take you to a club I know, if you fancy that.”

  “That’d be nice…” or not. I’m not sure my wardrobe, expanded though it has been recently, is quite up to clubbing.

  “I know what you’re thinking, so stop it. You’ll be fine. Right, got to go. Be good, and could I suggest you get dressed before Mick comes. The bare bottomed T-shirt look is delightful, but might give an impressionable banker quite the wrong signals.”

  I reach up to kiss him as he picks up his car keys. I follow him out to the hallway and wait, peering round the door until the lift arrives and he steps in. The doors close on him, and I am alone again.

  I head back inside, and go straight to my old room to shower and find something decent to wear. I’ve just emerged from the en suite when I hear a ringing. I’m puzzled, it sounds like Matt’s phone, but he has that with him. I don’t have a mobile, obviously. The sound stops, and I settle down to dry my hair.

  A few seconds later the ringing starts up again. This time I wander out into the living area, and sure enough, it is Matt’s phone, still on the worktop where he left it to charge up. He must have forgotten to take it with him when he left in such a rush.

  I pick it up and hit the ‘accept’ button to take the call.

  “Hello?” My tone is tentative, it’s been a while since I used one of these things.

  “Beth? It’s me. I just arrived at my office and realised I didn’t have my phone. I wanted to check I left it at home rather than lost it anywhere.” Matt’s voice is low and sexy, even nicer on the phone than in the flesh. I’m amazed that’s even possible.

  “Yes, right. It’s here. You left it plugged in.”

  “I thought so. Okay, no problem. I’ll manage without it for one day. See you later, love.”

  “Yeah, right, Bye.” And again, he is gone.

  * * *

  The doorbell goes a couple of hours later. I answer, using the door security system, and press the entry button to let Mick into the building. I’m waiting for him on the landing outside the flat as he emerges from the lift.

  “Hi Mr Rosen. I’m Beth. Matt was called away unexpectedly, but he asked me to say hello and let you know he’s sorry he missed you.”

  The man in the hallway looks a little surprised to see me, but accepts my handshake readily enough. He’s about the same age as Matt, which I suppose makes sense if they went to university together. He’s good-looking too, though in a harder, more angular way somehow. He’s not nearly so gorgeous as Matt. He doesn’t fit my image of a banker either. This man is much too rugged and physical with his thick, tawny hair and wearing faded denims and a leather flying jacket.

  “Okay. It’s nice to meet you, Beth. I take it Matt won’t be back for a while? I mean, I could wait…”

  “You’d be welcome. He said to offer you a drink, but he’ll be gone for a few more hours yet.”

  “I won’t stay, if that’s alright. I have some running around to do today so I need to be getting off. I have something I was intending to drop off, though.” I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed not to be blessed with Mick Rosen’s company. I settle for the former. Matt aside, I’m not good at dealing with strangers.

  “Yes, Matt told me. About selling you the car, I mean. Two thousand pounds?”

&n
bsp; “Right, that.” He opens his jacket to retrieve a package, a fat brown envelope. He hands it to me. “All present and correct. Tell Matt to call me, would you?”

  “He’s going to. He wants to meet up with you before you go back to London. He mentioned going for a drink maybe?” I accept the package, noting it feels heavier than I expected, and more solid. Not that I have any real experience of handling great wads of cash.

  “That’ll be nice, looking forward to it. And you’ll come as well, I hope. Great meeting you, Beth.” Already my visitor is halfway back to the lift. I raise my hand in a half wave.

  “Yes, you too. And thanks…” My final couple of words are addressed to the lift door as it closes. I turn and go back inside.

  Should I check the package? Count the money? Matt seemed inclined to trust Mick, so perhaps I don’t need to worry. I’d rather not open the envelope, on reflection. I shove it, still sealed up, into the drawer in the kitchen where Matt keeps his tea towels. Should be safe enough there.

  I settle back into my comfortable spot on the sofa and pick up the magazine I’d been flicking through before Mick arrived. It doesn’t manage to recapture my interest though, so I use the remote control to surf through the channels on Matt’s huge flat screen television. The most riveting thing I can find is a re-run of an old film about Black Beauty. I loved that book when I was younger so I decide to give it a try. I put my feet up and check the time again. Matt will be gone for hours yet. Maybe I should have a nap—after all, clubbing is a late night activity, is it not? I don’t want to be too tired to enjoy myself.

  Anna Sewell’s masterpiece fails to make the transition to screen in my view, and I’m just starting to nod off when the doorbell sounds again, shrill and piercing in the quiet of the flat. Startled, I wait for a few seconds, hoping whoever it is will get the message and go away. No such luck. The bell goes again, the ring long and insistent. It seems I need to at least find out who’s there. Tentative this time, I press the button on the intercom.

  “Hello…?”

  “Beth? Hi. It’s Mick again. Mick Rosen.”