Honeytrapped

by Justine Elyot

  He crouched forward a little, frowning in concentration. She fluttered her hands for a moment or so, biting her lip, trying to get used to the knowledge that this tango-dancing sex god was staring right up the valley of her thighs and getting a good eyeful of her shiny, wet pussy.

  “It looks soaked,” he said. “You won’t take long, missy. Come on then. We’re supposed to be so bad at locating the clitoris. So show me where it is.”

  Tilly snaked a coy hand around the soft curve of her belly and then covered her mons with her palm, using her fingers to delve downwards between the parted lips. Her fingertips fell swiftly on the fat wet swelling at their centre, not daring to put too much pressure on at first. How was she going to do this? She couldn’t look!

  “Open your eyes,” he said sharply, and a pinch on her inner thigh forced her eyelids wide open once more. “You need to look at me while you’re fingering yourself. It all adds to the experience, trust me.”

  You keep asking me to trust you. You sound like a salesman. What am I buying here? A short-term special offer? Or something worth keeping?

  Tilly decided to ignore any thought that wasn’t focused on the here and now. She was here, on her back, in front of the most beautiful man she had ever seen, with her bad-girl fingers on her bad-girl clit. That was what she needed to think about. Only that.

  She squinted at Calum, intimidated by the stern set of his face as he watched her stroke herself, but finding that the sense of intimidation broadened and intensified the flame of her desire. He was right. It added to the experience.

  The exquisite shame, the delicious embarrassment of being watched in the throes of self-pleasuring caused her clit to fatten even more, and trickles of juice to run down the curve of her bum cheeks, pooling in her crack and making the leather beneath steamy, damp. Her rhythmic pace picked up.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking about. What do you think about when you’re making yourself come?”

  “I’m thinking I’m a bad girl,” she whispered, working hard to keep her face from crumpling and her eyes from screwing shut. “I’m thinking of you watching me…what you must think of me…”

  “What do I think of you?”

  “You think I’m a slut…shameless…that you should have spanked me harder…for longer…”

  “I should. Maybe next time. Keep talking.”

  “You think I need to be fucked. I do need to be fucked. Please fuck me, please, please, please, oh…” She broke off, her furious thrumming calling up a rearing demon of an orgasm.

  “That’s it, nice and hard, keep your eyes open,” he crowed, triumphant in the wake of her climax.

  Her eyes were open, but they had rolled up under fluttering lashes long ago, Calum a blur, everything else drowned beneath orgasmic wave-spray.

  Once she was no more than a spent force, twitching on the brown leather, he unbuttoned his shirt and took out a condom. “Let’s find out why they call this the horizontal tango.”

  He took her firmly but gently, seating his thick length inside her with consideration of her tight confines, then keeping the speed slow and sensual. She trembled beneath the intensity of the contact, feeling that a missing puzzle piece had slotted into place within her.

  “Follow my lead,” he murmured, just as he had when dancing.

  She wondered at his self-control. After everything they had done that night, he must have been bursting for this fuck. Yet he played her like a delicate instrument, giving her time to enjoy the feel of him on top of her, inside her, stretching her outwards, filling her up. However much he gave her, she still wanted more, she wanted him to inhabit her entire body. She flung her arms wide above her head, giving him carte blanche to do whatever he wanted to her.

  “I want you to fuck me forever.” She circled her hips while he performed his slow in-out motion, angling herself so that he rubbed past every one of her favourite inner spots on the journey.

  The slow build was almost too intense to bear. She was shaking soon, grabbing his head and locking her fingers in his tumble of dark hair, trying to keep herself from falling into erotic madness. All her senses combined to catch her up and whirl her around inside their inescapable helix. The sight of his chest rising and falling on hers, the sound of his breathing, hot and harsh, the smell of her juices mixed with the rubbery tang of the condom, the taste of his salt-sweet skin, the feel of him everywhere…this was her world, her prison, her heaven.

  The constant pressure on her G-spot had its inevitable effect and she began to cry out, her fingers opening and closing manically in his hair. He thrust harder, faster, working her through the orgasm, having no mercy until he bore down on her with an animal roar, pouring into her, their slippery skins slapping together and then subsiding, spent on the sticky leather together.

  “You know what?” he muttered heavily into Tilly’s ear while her chest heaved under his. “I’m so glad I’m not Norman.”

  “Oh God, so am I.”

  They must have dozed off on the sofa, because about an hour later Tilly jerked awake, dislodging Calum’s face from her bare breast so that he spluttered and opened his eyes.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” he drawled, before looking about. “Time is it?”

  “I don’t know. About elevenish? Maybe later?”

  “You’re a terrible hostess. You haven’t even offered me a cup of tea.”

  “You genius. Tea is exactly what I need right now. Tea and getting this bloody dress and these evil shoes off.”

  She dragged herself off the sofa and visited the bathroom, bedroom and kitchen in turn. When she came back into the living room with a tea tray and a packet of biscuits, Calum was kneeling by her TV cabinet, scanning her DVD collection.

  “This is what detectives watch, is it?” he asked lightly, running a finger along the spines. “Period dramas and Frasier. I bet you get a lot of professional tips from these.”

  “Oh, stop it. I know you think my job’s a bit of a joke. But I have to pay the rent.”

  Tilly set the tray down on the coffee table and began to pour the tea.

  Calum came over to sit beside her, putting an arm around her and kissing her apologetically. “Sorry. Thanks for the tea.” He picked it up and took a swallow. “I used to smoke after sex. Tea isn’t quite the same.”

  “When did you give up?”

  “Smoking or sex?”

  She snuffled with amusement. “Either. Both.”

  “Smoking, two years ago. Sex, about the same. Though I seem to have fallen off the wagon rather spectacularly.”

  “Two years? Wow. No wonder you were starving, so to speak.”

  “Yes, you were manna in my desert.”

  “But why would a man who looks like you…who is like you…go without sex?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t click with anyone. There were women who were interested, but none of them were quite right. I’m fussy, you see.”

  “I’m flattered.” She was. Tilly glowed and took a victorious sip of her tea.

  “When I teach tango, I dance with lots of women. I’ve never found one that fitted me before. But as soon as I got you in my grip, I thought, Hello.”

  She laughed. “But I can’t dance to save my life!”

  “Perhaps that’s what it is. Perhaps I want somebody complementary. I dance, you fall over. You solve crimes, I…commit them.” He grinned. “I don’t really. I go in for sins more than crime. Of the flesh.” He closed a hand around her breast and nuzzled her neck.

  “Speaking of sins of the flesh,” said Tilly thoughtfully, “I wonder what actually did happen to Norman. I’m supposed to report back to his fiancée tomorrow. What the hell am I going to say?”

  “She thinks he’s still running my class?”

  “Well, yeah. You said he was seeing someone else?”

  “I don’t know that for sure. It’s what one of my pupils said. I’ve never met Norman.”

  “It’s hearsay then. I don’t think I can tell her that, if I don’t know for certai
n.”

  Calum shrugged. “Just tell her he isn’t teaching the class any more. That should give her enough information to know that she ought to be cancelling the wedding.”

  “I guess.” But she was uneasy. She needed the money, and technically, she hadn’t fulfilled her brief. “I’ll have to call her tomorrow. I think she’ll be quite shocked.”

  Calum yawned, draining the last of his tea.

  “Not as shocked as I am, to find myself in this flat with this sexy little minx at bedtime. Don’t you find tea quite invigorating?”

  Tilly didn’t. But Calum did, and he showed her the evidence, in bed.

  The next morning, after lazy sex and an energetic shower, he eyed her over a steaming coffee mug and said, “So?”

  She froze, bread knife in hand. It was time for The Question, the one she would avoid until dire necessity forced her conversational hand. The song When Will I See You Again? popped annoyingly into her head.

  “So?” she echoed, gripping the loaf for dear life.

  “Well, I have to get to work soon. How about you? What are your plans for the day?”

  “You have to go to work? Is there a dance school nearby?”

  “Tango is my hobby. I’m a tax inspector.”

  She dropped the knife and swung around to face him, laughing. “No way! You don’t look like one.”

  “Well, I am one. And I hope you’re keeping proper records of your earnings and expenses, young lady, or I may have to take you in hand.”

  Tilly giggled, wet again despite the thorough and exhausting workout she had been put to over the course of the night. “That’s one way to motivate me…not to do it.”

  He made a low growling sound at the back of his throat and curled his lip at her.

  “But what are you doing today? What do private detectives do, nine to five?”

  She sighed. “I’ll have to call Melinda. And tell her that her beloved fiancé isn’t teaching a tango class any more. I suppose that’ll be that. Then it’s back to finding a new advertising angle. I need more clients pretty desperately.”

  “Haven’t you ever considered doing something a little more stable?”

  “What’s stable, in this economy?”

  “Good point. But this honey trap stuff. It’s potentially quite risky, don’t you think?”

  Calum was telling her off. He hadn’t earned the right. She tightened her lips and looked away. Despite her enjoyment of submissive sex, she didn’t appreciate criticism of her life choices.

  “No? What if next time the man goes too far? You could end up being assaulted, raped even. Are you willing to take that chance? I don’t think I am.”

  “It’s nothing to do with you.”

  “Oh. I see.” He finished his coffee, heaved a sigh and went to collect his coat from the hall.

  “I didn’t mean…” She followed him, dismayed at his reaction.

  “I know what you meant,” he said, and he was gone.

  Chapter Four

  “What, seriously? He doesn’t teach that class?”

  “Definitely not. A man called Calum teaches it now.” Tilly’s breath hitched as she said the name. An impulse to curl up into a foetal ball and bewail his loss overwhelmed her for a moment.

  “So where’s Norman on a Wednesday and Thursday night then?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry. But you know for sure that he isn’t being honest with you. The ball’s in your court.”

  “Right.” The line was silent as Melinda considered the bombshell.

  “I didn’t do the full honey trap thing, so I’ll consider reducing my fee.” Tilly hoped Melinda wasn’t going to blow up in her face and refuse to pay at all.

  “No, love, that’s okay,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ll pay full whack. But I want you to do something else for me, yeah?”

  “Oh, of course. Do you want him tailed?”

  “Yeah. I want you to follow him tonight. He leaves the house about seven-thirty. Be waiting on the corner and follow his car. I want proof. Photographs. Anything you can get me. Thing is, love, I don’t know if you’ve ever had to plan a wedding, but it’s an investment. The time, the money, the emotional stress. And I want to wear that dress. If you can prove to me Norman’s cheating, I’ll cancel. But perhaps he’s planning a surprise for me, know what I mean? Could be anything. He could be closing a deal on a little salon for me to branch out in. I’m a nail technician, did I tell you?”

  “I…think so. Right. So you want me to follow Norman and report back?”

  “Please.”

  * * * *

  Tilly made sure her camera was fully charged and her petrol tank was full. She had her mobile phone, her emergency alarm and her can of pepper spray. The wire would probably not be needed tonight, but she shoved it in the glove box anyway. She was about to turn the key in the ignition when a tall figure crossing the apartment block’s car park caught her eye and she sat up straight, squinting in recognition.

  Calum.

  Her heart leapt. He certainly picked his moment, though, she thought. She had left plenty of time to get to Norman and Melinda’s love nest, however, and she opened the car door and called over to him.

  “Hello!”

  He turned and waved at her, striding across. Tilly noticed that he was carrying a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine.

  “Tilly,” he panted. “Are you going out?”

  “Afraid so. Don’t you have a class tonight anyway?”

  “Yes, but I wanted to drop these off first. Just wanted to say sorry. It was childish of me to storm off like that this morning. I’d like to see you again, very much, and wondered if you were free after class…but you’re going somewhere?”

  “A job,” she muttered, bracing herself for the disapproving face.

  Yep, there it was.

  “A detective job?”

  “I’m supposed to tail Norman and see where he goes on tango nights.”

  He stood regarding her silently for a few seconds while she waited for a storm of stinging words to fall on her unprotected ears. Instead, he handed over the flowers and wine.

  “Get in the car,” he said. “I’m coming with you.”

  “What about your class?”

  “I’ll cancel.” He opened the passenger door and let himself in.

  Tilly, nonplussed, put the flowers and wine in the back seat and parked herself behind the steering wheel. She gave Calum a nervous sidelong glance. He didn’t look angry or anything. He was taking out his mobile phone and keying in a selection of speed dial numbers, texting with lightning fingers.

  “Er, are you sure about this?” She asked as he bleeped away.

  “Positive.” He looked up and smiled briefly. “Don’t want to read about your bloated corpse being found in the river tomorrow.”

  “Calum!”

  He put down his phone and fixed her with his eyes until she squirmed. “Don’t tell me it isn’t a possibility. We both know it is.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Well, forgive me for needing proof. Or at least, a trace of evidence. What I saw at the tango class last night was a girl who swam out of her depth very easily. If I’d turned out to be some psycho rapist, how could you have fought me off, eh? Alone in a building with a man a foot taller than you? Smart work, Tilly. No, I’m coming with you. Come on, then. Let’s go.”

  Caught between feelings of irritation at his presumption and rapture at his reappearance, she simply turned the key, put her foot down and pulled out of the parking space. A burst of joyous Latin music filled the car, incongruous in the gathering dusk of the early spring night, pre-empting any possibility he might have had to further outline Tilly’s failings as an investigator.

  She had to switch it off once they drew up in the street of smart detached houses in which Norman and Melinda kept their home.

  “Nice place,” he said. “Are they loaded?”

  “Melinda’s a nail technician, so I guess Norman must make some pretty se
rious money. What do your pupils say about him?”

  He shrugged. “Not much. I’m told I’m an improvement. Some of the men disagree, I think.”

  She snorted. “You’re eye candy.”

  “Oi, don’t objectify me.” He reached over to give her earlobe a tweak.

  The sensation was like an electric shock all the way down to her groin. Suddenly she wanted to throw the camera aside and leap on her Latin-dancing lover. “Awww, I like objectifying you,” she said unevenly, caught in that resolve-trapping, knicker-wettening eyelock she had been trying to resist.

  He bent his head closer until his breath fanned her cheek.

  “I like kissing you,” he said, demonstrating the proposition until Tilly was out of breath and sore of lip.

  The sound of a car rounding the bend of a driveway brought them out of their sensual haze.

  “Norman,” gasped Tilly, shaking hands returning to the dashboard. She felt for a minute as if her legs would be too weak to operate the pedals, but somehow she managed to get the car on the road on Norman’s tail without running into anything.

  “He seems to be heading for the other end of town,” Calum said as they negotiated the ring road at a steady sixty miles per hour. “Slow down, I think he’s coming off at this exit.”

  They found themselves in a nondescript residential area of terraces and small modern homes, rather less chi-chi than Norman and Melinda’s neighbourhood. He pulled into the forecourt of a DIY superstore off the main road, and Tilly followed, pulling into a space on the far side of the car park.

  “He’s moonlighting as a painter and decorator?” she hazarded, watching an unimpressive, pot-bellied man with a huge moustache climb out of his car.

  “That’s what you could have kissed.” Calum sounded mocking. “What a way to earn a living.”

  “I wouldn’t have actually kissed him.”

  “You kissed me. Thinking I was Norman.”

  “You’re different,” she said, twitching a little when he put a hand on her thigh. “He isn’t going into the shop. What’s he doing?”