by Sara Forbes
“You take a scone and jam around 10:30, with two black coffees,” I say, while I can still talk.
“Okay, now you’re scaring me.” And between her smiling lips she takes the tip of my painfully erect cock.
I nearly die with happiness.
“Just low-tech surveillance,” I say, after a few ragged breaths, stroking the hair at her nape. “I talk to the staaaaah.” I want to say “staff” but her tongue and lips are already working hard on me, licking, sucking, kissing. I grip her hair tighter. It had been my plan to wake her by eating her, but this—this is heaven.
Every time she takes me in further, the pleasure deepens. It’s not that I’ve never had a blowjob before—but never from someone I actually wanted. It’s different. My abdomen spasms, desperate for release. But my hands stay light on her head. I don’t want to force her. I want her to show me how deep she wants to go, how much she wants to take, at her pace. It’s beautifully freeing having her direct my pleasure.
I’m sweating like a pig, snorting like a horse, as she fondles my balls. By the time she’s finished I’ll be growling like an goddamn orc. She owns me. I think I have given up my life to her in this moment.
Just as I think it can’t get any better, she takes me even deeper in her throat. She’s close to gagging but not stopping. The wet heat of her throat is adding a new dimension to my pleasure. I would never skull-fuck her but I’m so near that it’s hard not to grip her hair and start steering.
“Mara, I’m going to—”
But she shakes her hand, indicating for me not to talk. That means I can …
My juice fires out, hot, fast, angry, as the orgasm thunders through me. After squeezing everything out, I groan in sweetest relief and watch as she swallows.
I reach out my arms for her to come to me. I need her in my arms now. She’s wiping her mouth with tissues, but then turns toward me, wriggles over and snuggles into my chest, I lift her chin to kiss her, tasting my salty juices on her lips, finishing the job of cleaning for her, kissing her deep again, rewarding those lips and tongue that worked so hard to drive me wild.
This feeling, I savor it deep, knowing that this burst of serotonin won’t hang around as long as I want it to. And neither will she.
MARA
I’ve discovered something about amazing sex. It makes time accelerate. I want this languorous morning in bed with Seb to stretch out to infinity, but the clock ticks on relentlessly and I swear those hands are zipping around those Roman numerals faster than normal, as if reminding me it’s my last day at Belgrave Castle.
Seb has to go to work, of course. Not that I’m sitting around doing embroidery. I have to check on Dave, check in for flights for tomorrow, gather medical bills for the insurance, book a taxi, download my work onto Seb’s computer, take photos of the Millhouse to work on back home.
By evening time, I’m aching to see him, yet dreading it, too. Does he still feel bitter that I can’t stay? Surely, he understands I can’t just give up my entire life just because of one night of amazing sex? At some level my body is saying, suuure, why not? When will you ever be this happy again?
But I’m not the Cinderella type. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am. The whole fairytale scenario wouldn’t work too well with my temperament. Seb is better off not knowing me too deeply.
Besides, it’s not even original. Hayley’s already done it all to perfection. She’s living the dream. But she’s got that trusting, happy-go-lucky personality that makes it work. So does Alex. I like to take it carefully with people, step by step, and to stay, above all, independent. Because who knows when it’ll all come crashing down? And Seb likes control too much to allow his life to be shaped by a sappy narrative involving dashing princes and virginal, blushing damsels.
I don’t explain any of this to Seb as we steal an hour in my room before dinner. We have better things to do. As there is an official “family evening” tonight in honor of Dave and me leaving, we won’t get a chance to get together again until near midnight, according to Seb. I can see the temptation on Seb’s face to just tell them to piss off with their “family evening” but I know he won’t act on it.
So we lock and bolt the door and get our clothes off. This time we end up on the floor, me on top of him, riding his cock like a goddamn jockey at Goodwood.
“Ken should bet on you,” Seb jokes, as he writhes beneath me, nearing his climax.
“That’s not funny.” But it doesn’t stop me from coming all over that cock and then working him frantically to release.
We collapse together, sweating, laughing, totally sated.
An hour later, we’re both showered, dressed, and sitting demurely at opposite ends of a sofa, allowing people to talk all around us. The gang’s all here: Seb, me, Dave, Ken, Liv, Letty, and Lady Belgrave.
I’ll admit I’ve avoided the dowager duchess for the most part, because she’s never been around when I took my late suppers, and I’ve mostly kept to my room or been outside. Unlike in a normal family home, if you want to avoid a family member in a castle it’s perfectly doable. I guess Hayley gave me the impression she was wound quite tightly and if there’s one thing I don’t need right now, it’s extra drama.
But, to my utter surprise, she’s actually nice. She may look like Meryl Streep on a bad day but she shares Ken’s gambling habit and she’s got a taste for dark humor and has that untouchable, assured air of a woman who was once extremely beautiful. Not a lot escapes her either. I’m pretty sure she’s got me and Seb pegged the minute we walk into the room—separately.
I’m even more aghast when I go into the kitchen for a glass of water and she follows me.
“So, you’re leaving us,” she says in her haughty accent.
“Yes.”
“We’ll be sorry to see you go.”
“Thanks,” I say, awkwardly, thinking I should really have paid her more attention in my time here, but I really had her pigeonholed as some kind of monster, which she’s clearly not. “I’ll be sorry to go, but … work.”
“Of course, dear. It’s nice to see a strong work ethic in the young. And a sense of responsibility. You could teach Letty a thing or two, I’m sure.”
“No, no—I’m no role model, believe me,” I say, reddening as I remember what went on moments ago, two floors above her head.
“Well, a little distance never hurt anyone.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“There you go.” She glides out the kitchen as if to say case closed, leaving me clutching the granite table top, trying to decipher what she means.
◊◊◊
Next morning, Seb comes into my room at five thirty. We couldn’t be together last night because … circumstances. Hayley and I chatted on Skype until late in the night because she’d finally found an internet café in La Paz. We had a lot to catch up on, including her father’s illness and why I’m still in Belgrave Castle. Seb respected that and let me have my couple of hours’ sleep.
“I’ll say goodbye now before it gets too busy.” He slides under my covers, pulls me to him, and kisses me hard. Things move very quickly from that point on.
“How do we stay in contact?” he asks afterwards, sliding his palm over the curve of my waist.
“Modern technology. They’ve invented—”
“Smartass.” He gives my ass a slap. I yelp in surprise and glare at him but my pussy clenches in response.
He slips his fingers into my panties, feeling my wetness. “You liked that,” he says into my ear in a low, growly voice. “We’ll save that thought for next time.”
“Oh God … next time,” I say.
“Or you just stay here,” he says.
I groan. “We’ve been over this, Seb.” I run my fingers along his forearm. “My life’s at home. I can’t just—”
“But if we can just promise to be together, even at a distance, it would make this living hell a good deal easier.”
“You want exclusivity?” I ask in surprise. It’s no sacrifice
for me, but as we hadn’t made a point of it, I thought he’d just skirt around that issue, like every other man I’ve ever known. After all, if he did something, I’d never find out anyway.
But Seb isn’t like the others. I know his word is gold. ‘Half-hearted’ isn’t in his dictionary. If I enter this agreement, I’d better damn well mean it.
“Yes,” I say. “Let’s not see anyone else.”
“Good.” He lifts my fingers to his lips and kisses them. Then he drops my hand and starts slowly encircling my clit with his fingertips. “I just want to be sure you’re driven wild as you go off and leave me. When you’re alone, I want you to remember that I’m the only one who can satisfy you.”
“When you say things like that, it’s not really fair that your fingers are doing that.” My voice wobbles as I buck forward, wanting more, more, more. And he gives me more, making me come within moments, panting into his hard, solid chest. I’ve lost count of the orgasms he’s given me in the past days. It’s like he’s decided I need to store them up for the winter. Which is probably a good idea.
Soon we’re caught up in the sheets again, making passionate, poignant love, knowing it’s going to have to last us through the lonely days of separation ahead.
When it’s time to get up, he watches me dress, then looks at me with a deadly serious frown on his face. “I’m saying goodbye to you here and now, because I can’t bear to do it in public.” He grimaces. “I can’t bear to do it in private either, to be honest.
When Dave and I get into the taxi two hours later, after a family breakfast, Seb is absent from the cluster of people gathered to see us off. Nobody’s surprised, and yet I sense everybody knows. I’m in my own little dream world where Seb is everywhere.
I let out a long sigh as our taxi turns out of the castle gates and onto the tiny country road that marks the beginning of our long journey to Laxby.
“Ready for this?” Dave asks. “Bye-bye Britain, bye-bye Belgraves? Hello, reality?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I say.
15
SEB
FUCKING DARTMOOR. But with Mara gone, I had to get out and do something, go somewhere, anything to occupy my mind. I also needed to talk to Liv, so the five-hour drive to Dartmoor seemed like killing two birds with one stone. It seemed like a good idea. Except the drive took seven hours and I suddenly remember how much I hate this place and this pretentious crowd.
I traipse up the graveled entrance to the yachting clubhouse. I need to figure out if Liv’s under any pressure from her family to pay attention to me. I know her father likes agriculturally-minded people like myself and has less time for someone like Ken. I also need her advice on getting hold of that land I want. She’s got to know some way around the old goat that doesn’t involve me and her being together.
Inside the clubhouse, it looks like an upmarket pub except for the huge floor to ceiling windows overlooking the harbor—a vista of sails dotted against blue sea. A homogenous group of affluent, white, college-age people like me loiter by the bar, perched on stools or draped across cozy armchairs, sipping Pimms and champagne. The uniform for the men is preppy shirts and khaki trousers; for the women, preppy t-shirts and skinny jeans.
Letty’s voice rings out from the far corner. She, Ken, and Liv have nabbed a prime group of seats by the window. I don’t recognize any faces in the group other than theirs. I go over and do the rounds, kissing the women’s cheeks, shaking the men’s hands. Names and faces I’ll forget the minute I walk out of here. My mind’s so full of Mara I can barely keep a conversation going, but I’m finding it easy to keep a smile plastered on my face.
Ken’s arm drapes on the back of the sofa behind Liv, marking his territory, but other than that he seems to be well-behaved. When his face meets mine, I read the pent-up longing there. Poor guy.
“Liv, I have a message for you from my mother,” I say.
She takes the hint and rises.
“What is it, Seb?” Her green eyes sparkle as we take seats at the bar.
“Don’t worry. Not my mother.”
She grins. “I guessed.”
“I just wanted to make sure you’d be okay if we dropped the you-and-me act? Will your father mind?”
She giggles. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“Yeah, yeah, I am. Sorry.”
Her face contorts in mock horror. “I’m heartbroken.”
“Yeah, you look it too.”
She laughs. “I’m not very good at this, am I?”
“Maybe Hollywood wouldn’t be the best move for you.”
“Dear me, what shall I do? Alone, without protection in this big bad world, rejected by the earl?”
I smile politely. I point with a cocktail umbrella towards our group. “There’s a lonely viscount over there, with hair of burnished gold and eyes of blazing emerald, into whose arms you can fall. I daresay he will not reject you.”
Indeed, Ken looks like he’s ready to hop over the sofa and start a fist fight with me for talking to his woman.
Her sudden blush is telling. “My, aren’t you eloquent his afternoon, Earl Power. ”
“Encourage him.”
She turns, sees Ken and gives him a regal wave.
“He can get uptight,” she confides in a lower voice, her delicate brows drawing earnestly.
I smother a laugh. She knows him well. And somehow her quickness, her ease of manner and lightness of touch, seem the perfect antidote to fussy, prickly Ken whose volcanic emotions are never far from the surface. I’d like this one to work out for him.
“Has Mara left?” she asks.
“Yes.”
She clucks sympathetically. “But not forever, surely? You’ll hop over there, won’t you?”
“Planning to.”
I steer the topic of conversation to the yachts in the upcoming race. I get the highlights of the races I’ve “missed.” Liv’s not terribly interested in the topic either, but the conversation meanders along. As always, Liv and I seem to glide past each other amicably. I like her, but could never love her. There’s only one person who makes me feel that way.
16
MARA
The office, when I returned, was the same old, same old—with one important improvement: The sink was unblocked. Mike actually managed to get someone in to fix it in my absence. Or maybe he fixed it himself—I don’t care.
Mike’s torrent of verbal abuse has trickled down to a few caustic words every hour or so. Back to normal, in other words. My cranky old boss is right about the workload, though. It is brutal. Traditionally, September is not the busiest architectural month, but the backlog of projects from August will keep me doing overtime for a while yet. Fortunately my term doesn’t start for another month. And again, I just don’t care.
Seb and I have started communicating by phone. During our initial days of separation the texts were agonized, polite inquiries: Did you sleep all right? Which developed into sunnier messages, I miss you and Send me a picture of you smiling.
Now, the constant buzz of my phone is the thing that keeps me going through the daily grind. I grin as a new one comes in.
Drinking Pimms in Dartmoor, all at sea without you. X S.
Sigh. This is all I care about.
I now understand what Hayley meant when she used to talk about the “dream effect” of Fernborough and why she revered every text that Alex sent her. It’s all too easy to believe that Belgrave Castle and all its gorgeous occupants are just made up and that here, this little office in the western outskirts of Portland, is the only reality.
But at least I do have something concrete to hold on to—Seb’s millhouse project, or what Mike calls my “summer romance” project. At first my boss didn’t want to let me pursue the “goddamn waste of time,” arguing it would eat into my working hours, but when he saw my dedication to it, and the fact that I was billing hours on it, he relented.
Whenever I work on the project—advising construction companies on building materials, changing
the interior wall plans—my mind wanders to Seb, and it gives me a surge of energy. It’s so much more fulfilling than the boring projects I get to do otherwise and I’ve put hours of my best creative energy into it, usually late at night.
And though he won’t admit it, Mike has taken a shine to the Millhouse too.
“See that wall?” he says pointing to the east wall mockup on my screen. “I’d do that one up in half-timber.”
“Um, I’ll render it and we’ll see.”
Mike shuffles off to his own desk and just as I’m entering the last bit of data, my phone buzzes again.
Mara. Block off Skype for me tonight. 11pm. I’ll be waiting. Naked.
I drop the phone, which falls into my lap. I fumble to click the message off the screen. Did he really say naked? It’s so ... un-British. Does he mean he’ll be naked or I should be? Or both?
I glance furtively over at Mike who hasn’t noticed.
Sure, I’m cool about this. No biggie.
11p.m. Gonna be a long day, I text back with trembling fingers.
◊◊◊
“Are you serious?” I ask Seb at 11:01 p.m. The Skype window only shows him from his neck up, so I can’t tell.
He cocks his head quizzically. “Before I answer that—where are you?”
“Oh, yeah.” I point backward to my dingy, pink bedroom curtains with the faded red poppies, which he’s never seen before. “At the risk of shocking you with my deplorable décor, I thought I’d change scene for this one. This is my apartment. The office just didn’t seem appropriate somehow.”
“You don’t say,” he murmurs. ”Is your room private?”