“You know you want to,” she goaded.
“Two can play that game.” Simon shrugged out of his shirt then discarded the garment with a casual flick before he seated himself on the laundry basket so he could unlace his boots. The tattoos rippled in the low light of the bathroom, and Emily wanted nothing more than to touch them, but she held back. No matter how often she saw him naked, it was always a shock the moment he took off his clothing, the ink standing in stark contrast to pale skin.
Emily checked on the bathwater, adding some jasmine oil and lavender then made sure the temperature wasn’t scalding. Her hands trembled with the anticipation of what she knew must follow, and she glanced in Simon’s direction. He looked as if he concentrated far too hard with his laces. The small smile was a dead giveaway.
She made a big show of taking off her strappy top and slung it at him so it struck his face. Damn, his reflexes were fast. He grabbed it just as it reached his head, bunching the fabric to his face and inhaling deeply.
“That would have been more effective if it had been a pair of my panties, like that video clip of you at that show in Dresden.”
Simon froze, glowered at her and dropped the top. “That’s not fair. I was drunk at the time. Are you turning into a virtual stalker?”
“Panty-sniffer.” Emily lifted her hand, so she could hide her smile.
He grimaced but wiggled his fingers at her. “Well, you gonna give yours to me?”
“Ew, that’s just gross.”
“You started it.” The last boot came off with a solid thunk.
The skirt slid down the moment Emily unfastened the tie, Simon following the fabric’s progress before his gaze traveled to midway.
“I’ve missed you so much.”
“Then come get me.” Emily tested the water’s temperature with a toe before she stepped in. Neither too hot nor too cold. The water felt good lapping against her thighs and a corresponding heat flared in her core. Soon she’d have Simon take his fill of her.
He hesitated for a moment then dropped the jeans, his cock already hardening as it was freed from the fabric.
“You want me already, baby?” Emily asked.
“Silly woman, asking obvious questions.” He climbed into the bath. “I wanted you the moment I kissed you goodbye at the airport.” Simon kneeled before her and reached out, framing her face with his hands. “Such a beautiful face, all loveliness, with lips I wished to drink like wine so many, many nights.”
“Sounds like song lyrics.”
“Maybe it is.”
Their lips met and his tongue flitted against hers. Emily allowed her hands to trail to his cock, enfolding the shaft with her fingers then moving her hand in a steady rhythm that had Simon groaning and closing his eyes. Likewise his fingers found her clit, carefully trailing between the petals of her labia to send urgent messages of warmth to the rest of her. The waves of pleasure were so intense she had to cease her ministrations and clutch at the bath’s rim while she verged on the edge of an orgasm.
Emily closed her legs against his intrusion. “Let me wash you,” she murmured and drew a deep breath.
“But I’ve only just started.” Genuine disappointment tinged his voice.
“You’ve just been in and out of airplanes and airports for goodness knows how many hours. Let me treat you. You can show your appreciation later when we get to the bedroom.”
“If we get to the bedroom.” His hands pinioned her hips and pulled her so she rested on his thighs. His shaft bobbed against her and it would be all too easy to shift slightly and guide him into her opening.
But that wouldn’t be the wisest thing to do, she knew, not without some form of protection. And she could kick herself for the one time in her shop when she hadn’t been so circumspect. Damn, they always made shagging look so effortless in the movies. Although she wanted to cut loose with Simon and be totally wild, she couldn’t bring herself to do that, not yet. She didn’t want to remind herself that he’d been a lot wilder than her.
“You look all pensive of a sudden,” he said.
“Nothing.” Emily tried to smile. “Turn around so I can wash your back. You’re going to cut the circulation off to your feet if you carry on kneeling in the bath like that.”
Much to her relief, he complied, and Emily continued with her next brand of torture, pressing herself to his back. Her skin was so pale, almost creamy against the lurid ink of grinning maws, claws and cat-slit eyes of the demonic horde writhing across the surface. Her nipples hardened at the contact and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight, each leg curled over his.
“I’ve been dreaming of us being together like this the whole time you were gone.” Emily nuzzled Simon’s neck.
He leaned back against her, but not so hard to jam her into the taps. Fingers trailed up and down her calves. “You’re not the only one. It’s good to be back, but I don’t want to think about the next tour, or even the one after.”
A small spike of alarm made Emily tense, but she shoved those thoughts far away. Some of the tours could last for more than three or four months, if not longer. Now was not the time to worry about it. She reached behind her and took a small bottle of aromatherapy oil already mixed with sweet almond. It contained chiefly rosemary and lavender, and would help relieve some of the tension–not only that which remained in Simon’s shoulders, but also the gnawing anxiety that refused to leave her.
She concentrated on working a few drops of the scented oil into Simon’s shoulders. The muscles were hard beneath her fingers and his evident pleasure at her ministrations was obvious.
“Oh, god, woman, where did you learn to do that?”
“Used to hang out at some of the outdoor trance parties. Friends of mine used to massage the blissed-out hippies when they were coming down from their trips. Earned some spare cash that way, at any rate.”
“I certainly can’t complain. Wish you could be there after some of the shows.”
Emily bit back her response. She’d sooner follow him halfway across the globe than be stuck behind in Cape Town the next time he went away. But she also didn’t want to sound like the pathetic groupie she feared she was becoming.
“You’d have to pay for that privilege, sir.” She mustered a bit of attitude she didn’t feel.
“Well, don’t stop.”
“We’ll have to stop at some point, unless we want to turn wrinkly.” Emily nipped him at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Simon gave a small yelp.
“Especially so we can move onto other things.”
Simon rubbed at the spot she’d just bitten then half turned toward her. “Evil woman.”
“You deserve it.” Emily didn’t give him time to further the conversation, because her hands found his cock again, and she massaged its length so it hardened in her grasp. It would be fun to see how long she could tease him but her own growing, aching need to feel him move within her overrode her sense of play.
With the man groaning and shifting his hips as she continued her torment, Emily decided the play had gone on long enough. A sudden impulse to bite him again overtook her and this time he leaned into the attack, his fingers gripping her thighs hard. It would be so tempting to sink her teeth in deep enough to leave marks, but Emily held back, not wanting to damage the inked skin. She’d been listening to too many songs about vampires, hadn’t she?
Simon turned around to face her and broke her hold on his flesh to bring his mouth down on hers with a savage hunger. The bathwater churned as they writhed over each other. Everywhere their skin made contact felt so good, as if small electrical charges passed between them through the contact.
Emily broke the kiss, her breath ragged. “We need to take this elsewhere.” Prior experience with the solidity of the hardness of taps had gifted her with a measure of wisdom.
She rose in one fluid motion, capturing one of Simon’s hands as she climbed out of the bath. For a moment he resisted her but then, with a rush of water, he followed her out of the
bathroom, towels forgotten. The air, although warmer earlier, was chill against her clammy skin. Their feet made wet slaps against the parquet and that persistent dull ache in her groin reminded her of what she really wanted.
The gauzy curtains in the bedroom billowed with the slight breeze wafting through the partially opened window. It faced onto the neighbor’s wall, which was high and made of red-brick. No one would look in on their lovemaking, the sounds of the city put on mute.
Simon pressed her down onto the softness of the quilt, his cock hard and insistent against her stomach as his kisses burned down her neck. All the while his fingers teased her nipples and one hand slid down to the warm wetness of her crotch to find her clit, which he stroked with increased frequency.
Shudders of fire burst through her veins and she parted her legs. “Please... I want...” were the only words she could force through her clenched teeth.
Emily sat up and wished they didn’t need to pause, and felt for the packet of condoms she’d left on the bedside table, which she handed to him without a word. “If you don’t put one of these on now, I may have to kill you.” She grinned.
He didn’t speak, merely nodded and accepted the small box. With a sigh Emily lay back and clenched handfuls of the bedding while she waited for him. When he pressed himself inside her she welcomed his fullness, the length and breadth of his shaft reaching the parts of her she couldn’t touch.
She lay perfectly still after the initial thrust, reveling in that sense of unity. Neither moved, an aching moment where Emily was certain only of the thunder of her pulse in her ears and the weight of the man on top of her. Then slowly, sensually, he withdrew to sink in again, deeper this time, the motion bringing a low moan from her throat.
Her legs wrapped around his lower back, Emily moved in time with his plunges, folding her arms around his shoulders. Warm lips found the soft skin beneath her chin, teeth testing, tongue questing but never leaving anything but the slightest hint of a bite.
Emily lost all sense of herself and fell into the slide and push of their growing rhythm, a clutching, gasping descent as the fire within her bloomed to consume her. Her climax crept up her spine and Emily couldn’t help but cry out, her voice a strangled gasp as Simon followed a few instants later.
They lay still then, spent, and it was difficult at first to distinguish whose limbs belonged to whom. Did it even matter? So long as they could return to moments such as these, encapsulated by the counterpoint of their breathing. The way the small muscles at the corners of his eyes twitched ever so slightly made her smile.
Simon withdrew and flopped over onto his back, body still pressed against her, their skin moist at points of contact. “I’m home,” he whispered.
Turned onto her side, Emily draped her leg over Simon’s and trailed an idle finger from the base of his cock to follow the fine path of hairs to his navel, where she fiddled with the silver ring that pierced the skin.
“Hey there, sexy,” she drawled.
Lids flickered, fine lashes dark against pale skin. Eyes the color of green arctic ice regarded her, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Crazy woman.”
“No more crazier than you who’s turned me into a lovelorn groupie.”
Simon sat up, pulled her with him and hugged her to his chest. “You’re not just some groupie, Em. Never think that.” Warm lips pressed against her forehead. “You’re way more than that.”
Emily traced his jaw line, a smile twisting her lips. “What on earth do you see in me?”
“A bold woman who’s kept herself locked in a box for far too long, just bursting to get out and be wild again. Jamie told me about some of your antics.”
“Oh dear god, no.” Emily groaned and hid her face in Simon’s shoulder.
A rumble of laughter sounded loud to her ear so close to his chest. “Nothin’ too juicy, I promise.”
She silently prayed Jamie hadn’t divulged all her history, especially those drunken debauched instances... Emily shuddered.
“That bad?” Simon asked.
“You have no idea.” Emily glanced up the man, glad to see a slight grin in response.
A dry clatter of a terracotta plant pot outside the window sounded. Both paused then turned toward the disturbance. Although it didn’t register at first, Emily was sure she saw a figure outside vanish from the window. Its physique was too bulky to belong to that of her sister or Davy. It dawned on her then it could only be the mysterious visitor who brought his dismal gifts, the very one she suspected may also be behind her obscene phone calls.
“Oh, shit, it’s him!” Heedless of her nudity, Emily sprang up and rushed to the window, but couldn’t peer through the burglar bars to see down the side of the house.
Simon surged to his feet and charged into the bathroom. By the time she got there, he already had one foot down a leg of his jeans, cursing beneath his breath as he wrestled with the fabric. Dimly, outside, the click of the front gate shutting reached her hearing and another horrid shiver coursed down Emily’s spine.
“Don’t bother, Si. He’s gone by now.”
A car revved and the vehicle spun away in a squeal of rubber, its engine fading into the ever-present urban rumble that never left the cityscape.
Her lover seated himself on the laundry basket, the wicker work squeaking beneath his weight. His mouth pulled in a tight, bloodless line and he searched her face for some explanation. For some inexplicable reason Emily didn’t want to talk about what had just happened and she shook her head, turning away from Simon to go back to the bedroom.
The scene of such pleasure was tainted now. Pity that she’d packed her winter curtains away. She’d take that box out from the garage now, dust off the mothballs and hang the dark velvet drops she preferred for the colder weather. They were thicker, could block out more light.
Warm arms enfolded her and Emily leaned back against Simon’s chest, drawing comfort from the safety his embrace offered.
“Wanna talk about this? Maybe after you put some clothes on?” He kissed her left cheek and squeezed her to him.
“Sure.” With some reluctance, Emily left Simon’s embrace to find a pair of leggings and an old baggy tie-dyed t-shirt with a dragonfly motif. He watched her while she pulled the clothes on, his gaze speculative as he lay back on the bed stretched out like some large cat.
Strangely shy, Emily perched herself on the opposite end and watched him watch her. Still needing some sort of physical contact with him, she reached out and placed a hand atop his foot and absently tweaked at the small hairs there.
“Ouch!” Simon pulled his foot away. “Come lie here by me. Tell me what’s going on. Why’s there some weirdo hanging outside your window spying on you?”
It felt good to have him enfold her in his arms and Emily snuggled into the curve he created. She took a deep breath then spoke. “There was a newspaper article in the Adamastor Mirror. It had a picture of the two of us at the airport, obviously taken on the day you left. Whoever wrote the article already found out where I work, what my name is.”
Simon groaned quietly. “That would be Eugene Malan. He’s their chief reporter, when that nosy Cassandra queen bitch isn’t sticking her lens where it doesn’t belong.” He said their names with such venom it left Emily in no doubt how he felt about them.
“Was that Eugene who came into my shop that day we met?” she asked quietly.
“Mother fucker. Yes. He’d wanted an interview when...when I came back. Because of the whole schmangle about the incident with...” Simon’s voice trailed off.
“The drug charges.”
“Yes. That. I needed to come back to SA for a while and at least give a sincere performance that I was doing something about sorting my life out.”
Emily didn’t want to ask him whether he was. A small stab of concern worried at her belly, but the man was here now, with her, and he didn’t look as if he was wired on anything.
“Well?” Simon squeezed her.
&
nbsp; “Well... Not long after you were gone, and the press had run that article, I started getting a whole different brand of customers in my shop. Coffin kids, your darling little fans. Not that I mind. I just started stocking up more on the second-hand Twilights and books on Wicca. Not a bad idea, since they were actually buying. But the phone calls started. Some dumb fuck playing church hymns and doing the whole heavy-breathing trip. Phones at least once or twice day.”
Simon hissed and his arms tightened.
“What?”
“Mother fucker.”
“You know who it is?”
“I might. Please tell me that’s all that’s happened.”
Emily turned so she could make eye contact. “He’s done this before, hasn’t he? He’s someone who’s stalked you.”
He nodded and searched her face intently, a deep frown furrowing his forehead. “Could be. But he’s been here before, judging by your reaction.”
“I didn’t want to talk about it until we’d had some time to just...be together. But someone dropped a box...” A knot formed in Emily’s throat, the words difficult to form as she recalled the grisly image from not so long ago. “There was a severed crow’s head in the box, crawling with maggots. It was disgusting.”
“I’m going to kill the bastard.” Simon got up and cast about the room.
“Who are you talking about? You know him, don’t you?” Emily rose from the bed and headed him off at the door before he made for the bathroom.
His expression was thunderous, and she hoped never to see such anger directed at her.
“Theo Chapman. I’ve a restraining order against him. He used to stalk me whenever I dropped by Cape Town during my down-time. Took a bit of digging, but I found out he was a troll on some of my forums as well, sometimes bothering some of the local girls whose personal details he got posing as someone half his bloody age.”
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