West-End Boys (Naïve Mistakes)

by Rachel Dunning

  "Yes what?" I wasn't eating, just sitting there, admiring his nudity, wondering if he was hardening up below the counter. I felt my own nipples tense. I was already wanting him again, thinking about him doing me on the island, throwing all the dishes on the ground with a crash, leaving the mess for the chalet staff the next day. Like the wine glass of earlier...

  I was thinking of doing it on the plush rug in the sitting room, in the shower, on the floor of the bedroom, the bed again...

  Conall was staring at me. I felt my cheeks go red.

  "Sorry," I said, abashed.

  "You were thinking about sex, weren't you?" He pointed at me with his fork, chewing like a hungry bull.

  "Was not." I looked down at my plate, played with my food, felt my cheeks sear from his gaze.

  Conall said nothing.

  "It's just that..." I hesitated, "...you...made a promise." I played more with my food.

  When he still said nothing, I finally looked up at him, saw his naughty-boy smirk. Each of his mischievous eyes was a clear mountain lake, deep and refreshing. He chewed, feigning ignorance for a second. Then, "Oh, I remember that promise. I remember it well." He took a sip of Merlot. "Great choice of wine, by the way."

  "The lady at the wine store said it was good. 'Is French,' she said." I curled my hand up by my ear and fluttered my eyes.

  "Well," said Conall, sitting up and holding the wine-glass in a prissy manner, "if is French"—he did the accent beautifully—"is muss bee perrrfict!"

  I laughed, looked down again, not worrying too much about Conall's promise to spend three days with me making love on my first time, but not forgetting it either. Conall and I had moved forward. I knew that sometimes promises would be broken, but I also knew that he loved me, unconditionally, and I loved him. So I didn't mind if it wouldn't run the way he'd once said, didn't mind at all.

  That's not to say, however, that I didn't want it. Because, boy, I wanted it. I really wanted it.

  "You think I didn't plan for our undisturbed time of raw, passionate sex?"

  Damn, I was so warm suddenly. Conall had always been easy, slow, precise. In control, deliberate. Now there was another side to him—a raw, earthy side. All man, wanting me and thinking of nothing else. One track minded.

  Hot damn it turned me on.

  My nether lips sighed, wetly. "Hmmmmm," I said, not even thinking the sound before it had escaped me. I tightened my legs. "Conall Williams..." I shook my head. "You have no idea how much you just turned me on."

  He smiled. "Then I'd better eat fast."

  -3-

  "You were going to tell me about your trip..." I said, trying to make conversation as the room suffocated me with its heat. His chest was distracting me. I had to get this out of the way quickly.

  He chewed silently for a second or two, looking down. Then, with a full mouth, he said, "Wasn't only business."

  "Huh?"

  He stopped chewing, sipped, looked me dead in the eyes.

  It felt like someone was punching me in the chest. "Am I going to be ready for what you're about to say to me?"

  He smiled, tension easing off his exquisite shoulders. "Of course, relax. It's just..." Pause. "...I had to go on down to the cop station there. NYPD."

  The room started swaying.

  "They wanted to question me about this Raphael guy, the day he and I had a scuffle."

  My stomach sank. I was glad I was sitting or else I would've fallen. I was expecting the worst. "You're...a suspect?"

  He laughed. "Course not! They just had some questions."

  "So you flew all the way to the states to answer them? Couldn't you Skype or something?"

  "Yes, we could've done that—"

  "And how did they know about that 'scuffle'? Everybody at that frickin party was high on coke with years of reputation to lose if they called the cops!"

  "Obviously not everybody—"

  "Damn it—"

  "Leora, calm down! There's another reason they wanted me there."

  Time stopped. My hand shot to a half-full wine glass and it burned as I washed it down my throat.

  "They wanted to know if I'd be willing to release some of the dirt I had on him, and on a few other cartels, both in the states and elsewhere."

  "'Willing'?"

  "I'm not a suspect in anything. So they can't order me to turn over any information. Besides, none of that stuff would be valid in a court of law because of how it was obtained. But they figured it might help in finding out some information about...your friend."

  My 'friend.' Bianca had never been that. And yet, when someone dies, they instantly become so to others, don't they? "Bianca Henshaw was never my friend. And as horrible as it is what happened to her, she was still the one who damn-near broke my back, remember?" My spine twanged as I thought again about it. "And we warned her, repeatedly, about Raphael. She knew what she was doing. It's sad what happened to her. But she made a choice."

  "I know," he said calmly, "it's just a figure of speech."

  "So how much did you give them? The cops, I mean."

  Conall filled his glass. "Want some more?" He gestured to my glass. I handed it to him. "As little as possible," he said.

  The glass went cold in my hand. "As little as possible?"

  "That's right."

  "I don't get it."

  "I never liked cops."

  I was totally befuddled. My face showed it.

  "They can do their own investigations. I'm very sorry about what happened to that girl. But nothing can change that now. My interest is you, keeping you safe. Us. Kayla as well." He gestured in the general direction of her chalet. "Until such a time as I see that it would be better to hand over my years of expensive investment into having leverage over every drug cartel in Europe and the states—better for us, not them—I'll hold onto it a little longer." Conall had the hint of a smile on his face.

  "There's more you're not saying, isn't there?"

  "Maybe."

  I frowned, poked my food which was getting cold.

  "I have to be sure they're clean, Leo. The cops."

  "NYPD?"

  "Sure. And DEA, the feds, all of them."

  "You're kidding me, right?"

  He shook his head. "So many cops in the world and the drug problem only gets worse. What does that say to you? As I said, the drug-war is no longer my war. Keeping us safe is. That's why Brad is here— How's he doing by the way?"

  "He's fine. You were saying?"

  "Leo, Trey is the only law-enforcement officer in the world that I trust." Ahh, so Trey is the law! "Beyond that, they can all get in line. Plenty of people want things from me. Coming from a rich family, I've had to learn to deal with them. I did tell the cops what I knew about Raphael. I'd looked at some of the dirt I had on him as well after you told me what happened. I had Trey go over it, too. There's nothing there for them. I had very little stuff on him. He was small fish, so my guys wasted little time on him.

  "But these cops wanted everything I had. US, Europe, UK. It sounded fishy... I decided against it.

  "But there was yet another reason they called me there."

  Oh, God. My hand shot to my forehead. "What else?"

  He said nothing. "These vegetables are really good."

  I glared at him.

  "They want me to consult on some of their cyber-crime cases. It's pretty cool. I get to help hack things."

  It took a moment for it to sink in before I cracked up laughing. "'Pretty cool'? You sound like a teenage kid stuck in a basement somewhere."

  "Yip." He smiled widely now, wiped his lips and put his plate aside. "I love that shit. But if I were indeed stuck in a basement, you'd better believe it would be state-of-the-art."

  "You're gonna hack...for the cops."

  "No, consult. And maybe help some of their own hackers."

  "I thought you didn't trust cops."

  "No, I said I don't like cops. I like hacking. Besides, it's not that I don't trust them. I just hate the
whole philosophy of a Police State. Because that's what the USA is. Guilty until proven innocent. The UK is not far behind. I believe most cops have a good heart, they're just part of an unthinking institution that leaves little room for reason. It's all black and white. And that's bullshit. Life is not black and white. It's, well, E.L. James."

  I cracked up laughing. "So you're gonna help this institution you don't like, learn how to hack."

  "Sure."

  "You're such a geek."

  "A sexy geek."

  Hell yeah, baby. I flushed with sudden heat. "All this talk is making me warm."

  "You sure it's not the wine?"

  "That too."

  "Anyway, if you must know, your Raphael guy was never the sharpest coke in the crack-pipe. They'll have him soon. I knew they wouldn't need my information anyway."

  "And you know this how?"

  He shrugged, smirked. "Like I said, I'll be consulting on how to hack."

  "You hacked the NYPD?"

  "I admit to nothing. Although, the correct abbreviation is the NCIC?"

  "Huh?"

  "National Crime Information Centre. Central US database used to consolidate all data everywhere about every citizen so as to limit that citizen's rights for all his life no matter what steps he or she takes to reform himself from here on out and forever. As they say: Once a criminal, always a criminal. Lovely philosophy."

  "Damn, you have it hard against these guys, don't you? I'll be sure to avoid that topic in the future."

  "Not the guys, the institution. And, well, maybe one or two of the guys... But I warn you, if you keep me talking about it, the warmness you feel now will be as cold as the snow outside any second." Pause. "If you must know, I hacked no such thing. I'm only taking the piss out of you. I have friends."

  I rolled my eyes, answered instantly. "Oh, that I know! And good friends they are! How's Trey?"

  "He's good. Has access to lots of useful databases." He smirked.

  "You know he and I will be spending lots of time together soon, don't you?"

  "I do, which is why I intend on keeping my promise with you and dazzling you with my skills over the next two weeks so that that dark and sexy man's hands on your skin won't ignite your fires..."

  Conall had me at 'dazzling.' And my skin was already ignited...

  "Where did you take a shower before you arrived here?"

  "A man never reveals his secrets."

  "I thought that was said of a woman?"

  He shrugged. "I just wanted to be ready for you. And I have friends in this town. I stopped by and jumped in their shower."

  "You have friends everywhere."

  He thought about that. "Yeah, I guess I do. Now, eat quick, baby. I can't explain how much I've missed you. And how much I want you. And you sitting there naked is not helping."

  -4-

  I did eat quick. And drank quick. Drank three glasses of wine and I was swaying and mellow.

  Conall stood, locked his eyes on me while he eased off his boxers behind the counter. He prowled around the kitchen island, sauntered over to me, standing at attention, his cock so hard and shiny that I felt it like a punch to the gut. Thank goodness I was sitting.

  He turned me around in my stool. My vag was as slick as a melting ski slope. He eased me off it. It felt like I'd had a whole bottle to drink. But it wasn't the wine. It had been Conall's scent, his look, his pheromones and the sparkling ceiling lights reflecting off his curved body.

  My feet landed on the ground but I stood only because Conall's hands held me up by the waist. He eased them up my skin, fingers fanned, then around over my stomach, up to my breasts. He squeezed them, moved down and kissed one. Licked the areola, bit my nipple.

  I bit my lip. Gave a squeaky gasp.

  He pushed me against the counter. My head fell onto his shoulder. My left leg opened, automatically, my toes grazing the ground as I prepared for him to enter me again. I placed my foot on the stool. He could do me all night, all morning, all of the next day, I thought. I wanted him, wanted all of him inside me. Again and again.

  When his fingers grazed my crotch I almost heard the liquid drip onto the ground.

  He moved closer to me, grazed my pubis with the tip of his cock, kissed my neck, my shoulder. Bent his knees slightly. The tip of his manhood scraped me.

  And then he speared me.

  Right there, while I was standing.

  My legs gave way. I held onto the counter behind me and he held me up by the waist. He pushed up into me. I didn't know how I was still standing. He was so huge inside me, so warm and powerful. He thrust into me, each stroke weakening me, making me forget, bringing me closer and closer to him.

  He slipped himself out. I looked down at him, saw my wetness on his head and the glistening moisture. I eased him back, went onto my knees. He started to hold me up with his hands but I didn't care about tasting myself on him, tasting us. I wanted him, wanted all of him in me. I put him in my mouth, eased down, slid my tongue up and around the length of him. Sucked him. Sucked him until he groaned. I caressed his balls, each one, side to side. Massaging.

  I moved my head lower, to his sac, saw him throb and tense. I licked his left ball, caressed it, saw his knee quiver. I pressed his taint, licked his other ball, then flattened my tongue against his cock and laved up, licking all of him, letting my saliva drip down his shaft like honeydew.

  And I put him in my mouth again. He was red, pulsing, veins popping and shiny. His salty pre-come lit the juice-valves in me. My breasts clamped up, tightened and hardened so that it felt like they were exploding out from underneath my skin. My stomach rose to my lungs, knocked at it and I felt myself tighten down below so much that it became an actual ache, needing that snap of release right now.

  I bobbed up and down, each time wanting it more and more for myself. I pumped him, started touching and rubbing myself below with my fingers, desperate for release and freedom.

  Conall groaned. "Oh, Leora. Oh, fuck."

  He snapped his arms under my armpits, virtually flung me onto the bed! I moved back, eased my head onto the pillow and widened completely for him.

  He'd hardly landed on the bed when he was immediately inside me.

  And there we were again. Fresh as if it were the first time. And he rode me. He wasn't soft. He wasn't gentle. He was mad and wild. Doing me like the man he was, slamming into me so hard and yet so perfectly that every thrust felt like sugared candy melting on my tongue.

  I started to moan in blissful ecstasy, felt my hands scratch his back, dig into his skin. He slammed and pumped and raised the rhythm so that the ceiling moved, the bed moved, the fire moved and the whole goddamned floor moved as his cock reached my furthest regions and I—

  There was a pause. An indistinct, ethereal, somewhere-else-but-here-at-the-same-time pause. I remember this: Silence, total and utter silence, as if our breaths had been sucked in together at the same infinitesimally small moment, as if our thrusts had moved in the same direction at that precise instant of time. There was no sound, no movement.

  Until there was.

  It detonated like the mountains themselves had been TNT'ed from the ground up and all the sound travelled around the earth twice and then back.

  It was all I heard, nothing else, no breathing, no sighing, no crying, no moaning—just thundering growls, animalistic roars as he devoured me and I devoured him and we became, again, one. Completely one. Totally and utterly united.

  He pulsed inside me, filled me with his seed. I squeezed him, bit him, slammed my fists against him and clutched his pelvis with my legs.

  When we finished, it felt like a new beginning.

  -5-

  We did it in the shower, rainwater drizzling down my brown hair as well as beading on his magnificent chest. We did it against the wall of the bathroom after that, on the couch in the lounge, on the kitchen counter. We slept on that couch, once I even slept on the counter. We ordered out, ate the leftover roast, drank the wine and got the chalet st
aff to bring us more. We did it on the rug, the one-seater, again on the rug, the bed, missionary, from behind, me on top, then underneath.

  All of it was different, and all of it the same. Beautifully the same. It was love, unadulterated love. Like you hear about in the movies, in all the books you've ever read.

  It was Conall and me. Leora and Conall. Conall and Leora.

  Us.

  He was my mine. We were each other's. He would forever be my first. No matter what happened, that would never change.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  -1-

  "Motherfuck, look who rose from the fiery depths of the dead!" Kayla sat at a wrought-iron table outside a coffee shop, Brad at her side and Alex on the other. They were clothed in painfully lurid parkas and snow-shades and furry hats, all sipping on espressos or cappuccinos.

  "Hello to you, too," I said.

  Kayla lowered her silver shades, looked up at me. "Three days? All I can say is...congratu-fuckin-lations!" Kayla stood up and hugged me like I was the prodigal son, embarrassing the shit out of me in the process.

  "Conall," she said, tipping her head to him. She shook his hand like a father congratulating the man who'd just married his daughter.

  Yeah, Kayla always had my back.

  "Could we make this any more embarrassing?" I asked.

  "Oh, yes we could. Waiter!" she shouted. "Champagne for the deflower—"

  "Kay!" I slapped her knee. She grinned mischievously.

  "Hey Leora, how ya doin?" Brad tipped his chin up at me, shook my hand. "Conall, we got a little business to talk about when you got da time." He and Conall shook hands. Conall sat back in a chair, closed his jacket to protect himself from the biting wind.

  "Is there a reason we're all sitting outside in the middle of winter?" said Conall.

  "It's not the middle of winter, it's Spring," Alex replied.

  "It's the Alps! Spring only starts here in late July!"

  "Well, it's a clear sky, so we decided to catch some of the sun. Besides, it gives us a good excuse to load up on the hard rum because we're cold." Alex winked at me, looked at Conall.

  We all caught Conall up on our escapades. It was the first time the five of us had sat together and chatted like the cast of Friends or Sex and the City. Brad and Conall had spoken privately in the UK before, of course. Brad had jumped at the opportunity to work for him. It had only taken one statement from Kayla saying she was gonna stay in the UK with me for a while for Brad to come following her. The man was in love. And he was good for her. That much was clear.