by Harlem Dae
I left him and made my way to the toilet. Inside, I yanked up my skirt, pulled my knickers to my thighs and turned so my bum faced the slim mirror secured to the back of the door. I stared over my shoulder, pleased to see angry red lines on my backside. Now I knew what they looked like, I could think of them during the rest of the day.
Pulling my knickers back up then sorting my skirt out, I turned to look at myself. Yes, I had smudged mascara, but more than that, I had a round pink mark on my face.
The imprint of that drawing pin.
For some reason, that pleased me as much as the red marks on my arse. Perhaps because it was visible for anyone to see. Other passengers, my work colleagues… My boss.
I left the toilet without fixing my mascara, without rubbing at the mark to make it go away. I’d wear them as proof of what had happened and wouldn’t give a damn if people stared at me. I’d had a fantasy and I’d taken the bull by the horns and had gone out to get it, to make it real. I wasn’t about to hide the proof of the pudding, be made to feel ashamed.
I felt more alive than I had in months.
Back in our carriage, I slid carefully into my seat and stared across at Gabriel. Leaning toward him, I whispered, “How are you, Sir?”
He clamped his lips together again then said, “You look the perfect little slut like that.” He nodded. “Your mascara. Don’t wash it off all day. Keep it like that until you meet me in the supermarket. I want you to look just like you do now—raw and primal.”
His orders thrilled me.
“If that’s what you want, Sir.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve tapped into me pretty well already, sub,” he said quietly.
I narrowed my eyes in return. “And you’ve tapped into me. Hopefully, if we’re so in tune, you’ll know exactly which toy to bring tonight, won’t you?”
It was a challenge, one I hoped would fill his lunchtime as he scoured the sex shops in order to find the perfect thing. Unless he carried something else on him—or had a selection of toys at home.
“Here,” he said. “For you.”
He passed me a handful of paper, or at least what I thought was a handful, but when I took it, I saw it was a carefully constructed rose, origami style, slightly dog-eared but beautiful all the same.
“What’s this?” I asked, glancing at him then studying the intricate design. The paper was folded neatly and precisely to form petals that started off small and grew larger. He’d formed a small stalk too, minus thorns luckily.
“Did you just make this?” I asked. “When I went to the loo?”
He glanced away. “No, I…”
“What?” My God, did he look a bit bashful?
“I made it last week,” he said, “when you were sitting in the seat in front of me. I had an idea to pass it to you, or leave it on your seat or something.”
“That would have been…sweet.”
He huffed. “Sweet, yeah, I suppose. Open up that big petal.”
I did as he’d asked and saw the word Hello written in blue biro.
“Hello.” I turned to him with a smile.
He grinned. “And the next.” He nodded at the paper flower again.
I peeled that fold back too. There was a pen-drawn picture of a bottle of wine, two glasses and a table with a candle on it.
“That was my idea of asking you out for dinner. Silly, huh?”
A lovely warm, gooey feeling went through me. He’d been planning on asking me out for dinner. Had been plucking up the courage and making me little paper presents.
He leaned across the aisle. “If you open the last outer petal, you’ll see the final part of my message.”
That fold proved a little trickier, it was well slotted in. But once it was free, I saw the name Gabriel along with a mobile phone number.
I turned to him and held the rose to my chest. I knew in that moment I would keep it for always, and the fact that it was paper and not real made it all the more special. The delicate beauty of a handmade flower would always remind me of my sensually painful first time with Gabriel—at least I hoped that was the first and not the one and only. That thought didn’t deserve entertaining.
“What would you have said to the dinner question?” he asked. “If I’d dropped it on your lap or something?”
“Yes, I would have said yes. Still would, actually.” The thought of time with him in any situation was growing more appealing by the minute.
“Ah, but now we have something so much more fun set up, haven’t we?”
“Yes, and—”
That voice from the speaker came once more, swirling into our conversation and informing us our stop was imminent. Everyone stood as did we, except we stared at one another the whole time. I didn’t want to turn away when we had to leave the train, but it was single file only down the aisle, and one of us would have to break the connection first.
He did, taking my elbow and twisting me so that I walked ahead of him. While we waited in line as people gathered in front of the doors, he gave my arse a severe pinch. I cried out in surprise—he’d gotten me right on one of the red lines—and didn’t bother looking around to see who was giving me their attention. They could stare all they liked.
The doors opened and people surged out, ants pouring from a broken hill, and I inched up the line, eager to get out into the relatively fresher air of the station, yet wanting to stay inside the train at the same time. In less than two minutes it would be our moment to say goodbye.
He pinched my arse again—and twisted.
I managed to remain quiet, biting my bottom lip.
“You had better be ready for another rude awakening on your arse tonight,” he whispered beside my ear. “That or… Yes.” He paused. “I have something else in mind. I’m going to make you come so hard…”
I held my breath, hardly believing he’d said what he had. This was the stuff of my fantasies, and he was the man I’d been looking for.
“Move along, sub. There’s space in front of you and people waiting behind me.”
I walked forward, arse still burning, the heat of it beginning to itch. Jostled out of the train by a man leaving from the opposite direction, I whirled round to speak to Gabriel.
He wasn’t there.
I frowned, spinning full circle, scanning the crowd to catch sight of him. There were too many people, and frustration frothed up inside me, threatening to spill out in the form of a catty remark to anyone who might bump into me or step on my toes in the surge of the crowd. I remained where I was, telling myself to keep still until the rush had died down, and when it had, I took stock of the platform again.
There he was, standing a few feet away at the steps that would take him up to street level. With one foot at the bottom, left hand on the rail, his unread newspaper under his arm, he nodded once then raised his other hand. He kissed two of his fingertips then held them up before winking and disappearing upwards.
My heart skipped a few beats, and I stayed on that platform until everyone had gone and the train had pulled away, our sexy encounter breezing through my mind. I relived every second, every touch, every breath, every bite of pain.
Then strode toward the stairs myself, knowing I had that—and more—coming my way at three a.m.
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
That Filthy Book
Lily Harlem and Natalie Dae
Excerpt
Chapter One
I stared at him, this husband of mine, his naked form rendered a silhouette from the brightness of the sun streaming through the hotel room window. The light filtered through his black tousled hair, glinted off his shoulders, giving him a glowing aura. This was our first time alone together since what felt like forever, what with meeting and having children in the blink of an eye. Ten years had passed—where had the time gone?—and here we were, away for two nights just so we could get back to being who we used to be; why we’d become a couple in the first place.
The sun had hung heavy i
n a blue swathe of cloudless sky earlier, the fiery orb almost lazy in its placement, as though someone had painted a picture and tossed in the yellow ball, not caring where it landed. Funny how the sky could be deceptive, making a person think it was hot outside when it was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. Faint, puffy clouds had appeared since I’d first woken, too, and I marveled at the way my body had gone back to its old, pre-children habits. Waking, having sex, dozing off again.
Now—around noon—it was time to get up, go out and do something, I supposed, but what I didn’t know. I didn’t have any energy for anything much beyond another languid fuck. A tress of my long blonde hair tickled my bare breast, the ends teasing my nipple. It sparked desire inside me again, and I wondered if my body would ever get enough this weekend. God, I’d been insatiable since we’d arrived last night. Perhaps shirking off the shackles of motherhood, of the responsibilities that came with the job, had freed my mind and allowed me to abandon everything. I had become what I once was—a woman who enjoyed a hot night of sex with her man, not giving a hoot whether her screams of pleasure could be heard; whether the banging of the headboard would wake someone.
But I hadn’t shaken them off. Not really. They still lingered, a shadow of feelings, whispers of our children’s laughter, thinking I could hear them calling me… Tess and Lucy, our two wonderful little girls. And then there were whispers of my fantasies, ones I’d held in check since I’d read a sexy book many years ago. Ones that had made me think I was dirty for wanting them. When I’d first met Jacob, I’d shoved away the feelings of guilt and let the fantasies surface, briefly. Our rampant sex had been too enjoyable, too damn hot to allow myself to dwell on whether what we did was right, but as the years had rolled by and I’d become embroiled in motherhood, kinky sex had fallen by the wayside, and the old trappings had moved in permanently. We can’t do this because we’re parents. We can’t do that because of the girls. We can do that because it’s too rude…
I stared at my surroundings to force my thoughts in another direction. The room wasn’t much, just a double bed with white sheets and a beige quilt. Low cabinets either side, the perfunctory wardrobe and a sideboard, all in light wood that matched the color of the quilt and walls. A sea of beige. But it suited our needs. The decoration hadn’t exactly been on our minds when we’d stumbled through the door last night. Ripping one another’s clothes off had been the order of the evening.
“What are you thinking?” Jacob asked, remaining at the window.
And there he was, not even a flicker of movement indicating that he’d turned around. Just him, standing there, a god in front of a glass pane. I studied his reflection instead of responding, squinting to make out the faint, fine taper of hairs that ran from his belly button down to the curly thatch nestled above his cock. A long cock that was semi-hard, heavy-looking, and eminently touchable. I loved the feel of it in my hand, the way my fingers curled around its width, the softness of his skin on mine. A thrill ran through me at the thought of it, and I folded my arms across my breasts in an effort to stop me from fondling them. But why shouldn’t I? Too many nights we’d hurried, coming together in a rush before the inevitable interruptions came. Too many nights I’d denied myself the pleasure of having Jacob inside me.
‘Mum, I want a drink of water. Mum, I can’t sleep…’
Stop thinking of them. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do that.
And I had, but casting aside the parental mantle wasn’t as easy as I’d told Jacob it would be. Wasn’t as easy as flicking a switch. They crept in, the two girls we’d created—smiling faces filling my mind, eclipsed by their worried expressions that made me think they weren’t coping well without us.
They’re with Jacob’s mum and dad. They’ll be fine.
My determination that we could do this had persuaded Jacob to come away with me. It had been a big thing, this, leaving the children behind, but if we hadn’t done it now we never would.
“Is it the kids?” he asked.
“No.”
I didn’t lie often, but if I admitted my thoughts then he would tag onto the worry bandwagon and we’d end up going home. I didn’t want that. I wanted the rest of the day, the night, and the majority of tomorrow morning to be just me and him. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Not after ten years of being devoted and never going out to the pub, never leaving them…
“I was thinking about us,” I said, throwing the sheet away from my body and sitting up. I stretched; a fingers-pointing-to-the-ceiling kind of stretch that chased away all the kinks and left me loose-limbed and pliant.
Pliant.
Now there was a word that brought a rush of desire to my cunt. Pliant made me think of suppleness, of legs and arms twisted in difficult positions, of torsos arched and backs curved. Jacob was pliant, always had been, and once upon a time I’d been able to bend with the best of them. But now, after the kids and getting out of my workout routine, a little weight had settled on my bones, preventing me doing all those delicious things I used to do. Like bending over to touch my toes and being taken from behind. Like widening my legs to such a degree it was as though I was being forced into that position. Not that I had been forced, but it was something I thought about every so often. Him taking me against my will, a scenario that thrilled me more than it perhaps should have. Just a little fantasy to keep me warm when Jacob worked away. And the book I’d read had planted it into my mind, yet I’d tried to forget what rested between the front and back covers, telling myself it just wasn’t proper to want such things.
“What about us?” he asked, lacing his hands behind his head and jutting his abdomen out until his cock almost touched the glass.
“Someone could see you like that, you know.” I’d avoided his question because…hell, I’d grown shy somehow, grown out of being able to tell him exactly what was on my mind. It made me feel embarrassed to say I’d been recalling the days when we’d fucked for hours, sweat-soaked and sore, falling asleep only to wake for more of the same. My mind had also wandered to the forced entry thing, hadn’t it? A flicker of fast images shooting across the air in front of me as though they were the real thing. Rough and ready sex. Pleasure-pain. Jacob speaking sharply, his hands also abrasive, palms scouring my skin instead of skimming. His cock a relentless shunt instead of a glide. Tongue an insistent probe instead of a gentle exploration.
How come being here had enabled my old self to at first poke me with a tentative finger, but now jabbed with urgent pressure?
“I don’t give a shit,” he said on a laugh.
It took me a moment to realize what he meant. I thought back to what we’d been talking about. His cock on the glass. Someone seeing. A surge of desire swarmed over me at that. Being watched—was it something I could handle one day? Oh, not having a third person in our life. No, I’m too jealous to share our time together, even if it involved another man. But being somewhere, knowing we could possibly have an observer?
I think I could. Maybe.
“We’re too high up, anyway,” he went on.
I smiled at the fact he was oblivious to my thoughts, that he had no idea I had suddenly become someone who wanted a whole lot more from her sex life than what we’d been doing. It wasn’t that Jacob was crap in bed, nothing like that, just that… God, I wanted more time to explore, more time full stop. And what the hell would he think about my fantasies anyway? Were they too ‘out there’ for him? They wouldn’t have been years ago, but now…
I wasn’t sure I even had the courage to share them.
“Come and stand with me,” he said.
“What, naked?”
I stood, hesitant to do as he asked. What if someone spotted us and called the police, telling them a couple in The Grand were indecently exposed in the window?
Admit it. Although scary, it is exciting.
“Yes, naked. Come on. All that’s out there is the street, and that’s way down below. Nothing opposite, unless you count the buildings half the size
of this one. We’re in a five-hundred-room hotel, love. A tall one.”
Sod it. This weekend I was supposed to be my real self, find the woman who’d been lost amidst school runs and after-school clubs. And if I dug beneath the guilt I could feel that the thrill of being naughty, a rebel, was still with me. But what about the girls and…
Stop it.
I walked to the window, stood behind him and peeked around his arm. He was right. Too far up for anyone to see us, yet still it felt too naughty. It was one thing to fantasize about it, but to actually do it… What if someone had binoculars?
“I’m telling you,” he said, as though he’d read my mind, “no one will see us. D’you really think anyone would give a toss if they did? They’d probably see us as two dirty, middle-aged people anyway. If they’re young, that is. Remember how we used to think that about people our age?”
I cupped my hands around his biceps and pressed my cheek to his back, his skin warm and soothing. He smelled of his recent shower, all flowery hotel soap and alien-smelling shampoo, and the faint aroma of clinically washed towels, totally absent of the scent of my usual fabric softener. Home was intruding again, so I switched the images off.
And yes, I remembered thinking that. Remembered thinking it was gross that older people ‘did it’. Yet here we were, older and still doing it. Funny how your perspective changes.
“Hmmm,” I said. “But with age comes a better understanding. Love helps, too. It goes deeper than it did years ago, pardon the pun.”
He laughed, a low rumble that reverberated through my cheek and sent ripples of lust to my pussy. I wanted him again, hard and fast, no foreplay or sentimental sweet nothings. Just pure, honest fucking. I stared at the way his ear curved, recalled how the lobe felt in my mouth, sweetly soft and fleshy. A wave of love consumed me. How was it possible I could care for him more than I did back then? I thought I loved him as much as I could, full to bursting with adoration and respect, yet every day, every month, each new year brought a stronger connection.