by Ashe Barker
“Ms Saunders, haven’t you forgotten something?”
Rachel glanced up as he held the foil packet between his fingers, glad he’d had the presence of mind to grab it from his jeans pocket before they were discarded onto the floor. With a noise more akin to a growl than anything else Callum could quite put his finger on, Rachel grabbed the condom and split the foil covering. She unrolled it quickly down the length of his shaft, pausing just for a moment to admire her handiwork perhaps, before she sank gratefully onto him.
His cock slid deep, filling her to the hilt, and Rachel cried out again. He’d never been one to go in for comparison games in the school changing rooms, initial impressions could be so deceptive in any case, but Callum knew he was not small. Her body must have stretched to accommodate him. He was wide, and long, and balls-deep inside her. For a few moments she didn’t move, just held herself perfectly still. Callum knew better than to rush her now. He waited patiently for the earth to tilt back onto its axis. It did, and mercifully she must have thought so too because she started to move. Slowly, much too slowly in Callum’s view, but he let her set the pace. At first. Soon though, he was picking it up. She’d had her fun, and a fuck of a lot of it. Now, he got his.
Holding her in place, he rolled and took her with him. She landed underneath, and he took control. His thrusts were long, hard, deep. He pumped his cock in and out of her like a piston, pounding her. And she urged him on, her frantic pleas begging him for more, for harder, for faster. And he gave her what she wanted, what he wanted, what they both needed. This was fucking, raw, earthy, animalistic. He was done with finesse, with teasing and arousing. This was fucking, crude, simple, and totally, totally effective.
His cock pounding against her cervix, Callum came hard, his semen hot and wet, filling the latex enclosing it. Moments later Rachel’s orgasm clenched and convulsed around him. They clung to each other, sharing every shattering, mind-numbing wave of utter delight until, exhausted, he collapsed alongside her.
There was no gardening done that day. And no accounts.
Chapter Ten
It was probably a month or so since she’d first embarked on this voyage of erotic self-discovery when as normal Rachel dropped Jacob off at the minder’s early one morning. She had more shopping to do. La Senza, probably, and maybe make a hair appointment too. She smiled as she bundled her little boy through the door into the cluttered space the minder laughingly called a living room. A lone parent and career child minder, every inch of Caroline’s space was given over to children and child-centered things. Mirrors at toddler’s eye level, tiny coat hooks three feet from the floor, mini-furniture in bright primary colors arranged in a circle in the middle of the room, brightly patterned plastic cereal bowls already laid out. Caroline liked the children to all have breakfast together, so Jacob didn’t usually have anything to eat before leaving home.
Wrestling him out of his little jacket, Rachel exchanged small talk with Caroline. Theirs was a business relationship, but they were friends too, and Caroline liked to chat. So did Rachel usually, but today she was in a hurry. She could do with getting home, maybe even get a bit of work done before Callum arrived. She wouldn’t get much done afterwards.
She was halfway out of the door, her head already brimming with delicious images of sexy, tattooed male beauty, maybe even awaiting her by the time she got home—bugger the work—when Caroline’s friendly chatter stopped her.
“By that way, you didn’t get in touch with that gardener did you? The one who I told you about, who chopped up some logs for my Uncle Bill?”
“I… Why do you ask?” Rachel turned, her senses attuned. Caroline wasn’t looking at her. She was busily occupied pouring healthy crunchy stuff into little bowls, seemed unaware of the reaction behind her as all Rachel’s instincts went onto red alert.
“Oh, it’s nothing really. It’s just that he can’t be trusted. Found out he’s done time. Drugs or something. Not been out of Armley long. Seems someone at school had a lad who was on the same wing or something. Pity, he looked so nice. Very nice, if you get my drift.” Her answer was casual, flung loosely over her shoulder, unaware of the Exocet she was unleashing on Rachel’s world.
She glanced up at last, and was able to see that Rachel did indeed get her drift. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Hey, he’s not been bothering you has he? That sort never know when to…”
Rachel’s face flushed scarlet, and knew she needed to get out of there. Fast. “No, no, he’s not been bothering me. Nothing like that. I just remembered I have, I have…a doctor’s appointment. Need to be off. Sorry, sorry…”
“Oh, right, fine then. See you later…”
The last word was muffled as Rachel pulled the door closed behind her. She scurried down the path to her car. She got in, locked the doors. And just sat.
And sat. And sat some more. She was still sitting there nearly three quarters of an hour later when Caroline started to herd her little brood out for the school run. Rachel started her engine, and drove off. But only as far as the next street, where she parked up and sat some more. Thinking. Turning over in her head who the real Callum was. What he was. And what that made her.
It made her a fool, first and foremost. A gullible fool who’d fallen for a pretty face and a sexy body, and a few suggestive words. More than a few, in truth. And some shit hot sex. She’d thought her age, and his, might have been a problem. How wrong could she be? The age difference was neither here nor there. The problem was that he was a liar, a thief, a drug dealer—or worse—and an ex-con. He might… He might… Well, he might anything—and with a three-year-old son to think of she shouldn’t take risks. Absolutely shouldn’t. Couldn’t.
She drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes as she laid her head back on the headrest. Her mind was made up. She knew what she had to do.
Chapter Eleven
“How long have you been a gardener?”
Rachel sat at her pine table, her shaking hands wrapped determinedly around a mug of tea—tea that Callum had brewed for her when he’d seen her car pull in behind his van. He’d been waiting for her in her kitchen, ready to greet her with a sexy smile and some piping hot Earl Gray. What could be nicer?
What indeed? A man who’s honest, transparent and trustworthy for a start. Rachel waited for his response as he poured his own tea, helped himself to sugar.
“A while. Why? Are you doubting my credentials?” His eyes twinkled, promising fun and discovery later as he demonstrated his ‘credentials’ for her.
Rachel dropped her gaze, studied her tea as she repeated the question, “How long? And what did you do before?”
“Well, I’m only twenty-two, as you seem to keep finding it necessary to point out, so my career history isn’t exactly extensive. I’ve always liked gardening, planting, that sort of thing. Why the sudden interest?”
“What else have you done? You started this, this—business—of yours a few weeks ago. What did you do before?”
Sitting at the table, at right angles to Rachel, he set down his mug of tea. “What is it you actually want to know, Rachel? Where’s all this headed?” His tone had hardened, his expression now one of irritation.
Rachel refused to look up. Her gaze locked on her drink, her tone dead, she pressed on, “Where were you, this time last year?”
The silence stretched. He didn’t answer her. Rachel gripped her mug, determined not to back off now. She had to know, had to understand. Couldn’t—would never understand…
At last, “I think you know where I was. Otherwise you wouldn’t be asking.”
“But I am asking. Where, Callum?”
He sighed, then, “I was in prison. Armley jail.”
“Why? What did you do?”
“I stole cars. A lot of cars. I got eighteen months, but was out in just under a year. Satisfied now?”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why keep it a secret?”
He leaned back, his chin tilted up as he stared at the ceiling.
“Hell, Rachel, it was hardly my finest hour. And honestly, it never occurred to me. It just never came up. I was simply here doing some work for you, casual work, just a few days. Then you invited me in, we soon, well, things moved on fast. And I honestly never gave it a thought.”
Rachel glared at him bitterly. “I don’t believe that. How could you ‘not think about it’? You must have known how I’d feel, how I’d react!”
He stood, began to pace. For a brief moment she thought she saw a flare of temper, but he was clearly making an effort to control it. “No, actually, I didn’t know how you might react. How was I to know that?”
“You lied to me. On purpose. You asked me to trust you, and I did. I did as you asked, everything. I trusted you, and all the time you were lying.” Fury at him, and crushing disappointment at her own gullibility warring within her, Rachel’s tone was sharp. It matched her words.
Raking his fingers through his hair, Callum came back to sit at the table, clearly struggling for calm. “Christ, Rachel, you’re mixing a lot of stuff up here. You can trust me. And I wasn’t lying. If I’d realized you wanted, needed to know, I’d have explained about being in prison. But I never gave it a thought. And it’s over, past. It’s not who I am now. You have to believe that. Hell, I love you.”
Her head snapped up. She was losing her grip on her temper, tenuous as it had been from the moment she set eyes on him today. She was bitter, and she was hurt. “Love! Love me? You don’t even know me.”
“Of course I fucking know you. I know every inch of you. Intimately.” His tone was low, heavy. Menacing. And he was clearly having as much trouble as she was controlling his anger.
“You bastard!”
“Well, that too. Do you intend to hold that against me as well?”
“You lied to me. You tricked me into sleeping with you.”
He was angry in earnest now. “Sleeping? I think you mean fucking don’t you? You let me fuck you every which way, begged me to. And you bloody loved it. I didn’t trick you or con you. There was no bloody stopping you once you got going. Once you got a taste for it. You couldn’t get enough.”
Rachel’s hand shot out, connected to his cheek. She didn’t know where the slap had come from. She had never, never, in her entire life, struck anyone before.
His head snapped to one side, his mug flying across the room to shatter on the tiled floor. Rachel leaped to her feet and stood, shaking, waiting for him to retaliate. He didn’t. Instead he whirled away from her, strode to the worktop on the far side of the kitchen, leaned on it, and hung his head. There was no sound other than his breathing, deep, heavy, slow, as he reined in his temper. At last he straightened, turned to face her.
“I probably deserved that, but can we call it quits now? I shouldn’t have said those things, I didn’t mean any of it. And you know all about me now, and—I do love you Rachel.”
Shocked, as much by her own reactions as by the revelations about him, Rachel sank back into her chair, gazing at him through her tears.
“I can’t. I just can’t. This is— This is…carrot and coriander. For me, that’s all there is.” Her voice was a whisper, as she gave her answer
“What?” His face incredulous, he stared back at her. “You’re safe wording. Bloody safe wording? Over this? But, that’s ridiculous. It’s got nothing to do with…”
“It’s got everything to do with it. You’re a thief…”
“Used to be, yes. Not now.” His tone made it clear he was furious again—maybe always had been, maybe dangerously so.
Rachel was scared, felt she had good reason, and she needed this to be done.
“Still. You’re still stealing. If not cars, then what about tax. National insurance. Professional indemnity?”
His face was a mask of incredulity. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about cash in hand, no paperwork, no accounts. I’m an accountant, for God’s sake. A tax accountant.”
His glare was long and hard and chillingly angry now. “What you are, Rachel, is a fucking hypocrite. You knew all this yesterday, and the day before. And last week. It didn’t stop you putting on that slinky little pink number, or your sexy black thong, and letting me tie you up. You had a good time, even if I am a thief.”
“Maybe I was a hypocrite—but not now. No more. It’s all about honesty. And trust. You broke mine, and now I can’t trust you. So that’s it. Carrot and coriander.”
Again, the silence stretched between them. Rachel waited, she’d said her piece, said what she’d needed to say, and now she waited for him to leave. She hoped he’d just go, and dreaded having to ask him to. He waited for her to realize she was over-reacting, to come to her senses. Neither moved, neither spoke. The seconds ticked by, grew into minutes. Eventually, Rachel knew it was going to be down to her. She looked up, caught his gaze one last time, that beautiful, deep blue gaze, and she opened her mouth to ask him, to tell him.
He was there ahead of her. “I’m going. Gone. And I’ll finish your bloody rockery. Soon. And there’ll be no charge so your bean-counting conscience will be clear. Goodbye, Rachel.”
Wordlessly she watched him go, saw the door swing gently shut behind him, listened to the crunch of his boots on her gravel outside, the growl of his engine as he started his van, reversed out of her drive, and the soft rumble as he drove away.
Then, Rachel dropped her face onto her arms, rested on the flat, hard pine surface in front of her. And she wept.
Chapter Twelve
Rachel had wept most of that day. And the next. Jacob, baffled and scared, had cried too. His mummy’s mood was infectious. She hadn’t been able to face Caroline again, not yet, so she’d phoned to say that Jacob had been vomiting. And the pair of them had spent the day sniffling and eating jelly. Jacob had brightened first—jelly would usually do that for him.
By the end of the week Rachel was managing to push files and papers around in her office, and Jacob was once more joining his little playmates for breakfast. But no year end accounts got done, which was probably a good thing as Rachel’s professional reputation mattered a great deal to her, and her current level of competence was somewhere in the cellar. By the following week she was managing simple data entry and answering emails. A week later she could pass as nearly normal, though Caroline observed helpfully that she looked like shit and needed a holiday. Rachel kissed Jacob and scurried away to bury herself in double entry book keeping. And sternly refused to think about Callum. At all.
She didn’t expect to see him again. After all, word would get round, wouldn’t it, and in business a professional reputation was everything. If Caroline knew about the sexy local gardener’s dubious past, it was a knocking bet that he’d be the talk of the school gates—for a few days at least. No one would trust him, no one would hire him. He’d have to move somewhere else, con his way into some other neighborhood. Wouldn’t he?
Apparently not. She spotted the black van regularly, parked in a driveway here, against a curb there. And she saw him too, often bare chested, that sexy tattoo flashing as he bent, lifted, loaded, dug. His hair grew longer, became just a little bleached in the sun. His torso became more bronzed, more lean, more sculpted. Not that she was taking that much notice. Why would she?
And why would she be that bothered that he apparently had a new girlfriend these days as well? That’s if Rachel ever had been his girlfriend. They had never actually gone anywhere together. Never done anything except enjoy sweaty bouts of incredibly kinky sex. He had moved on, would be treating his lovely young girlfriend, the slender girl with long legs and even longer chestnut hair, to delightful sensual interludes. No doubt she was the one now enjoying his attentions with whips and spanking crops and bloody nipple clamps. Not that she of the long legs and long hair looked the type exactly, but what did Rachel know? She was just an accountant, and a bloody stupid one at that.
Occasionally she knew he spotted her, but he didn’t react. No wave, not even a curt nod. He ignored h
er totally. And that hurt the most. How could she be so painfully aware of him, while he seemed oblivious to her?
Weeks stretched into months. The weather cooled, that bronzed torso remained hidden under T-shirts, then sweatshirts, then a tough-looking waterproof jacket. The girlfriend came and went, more often than not he worked alone. But business must be good, she thought, when she spotted him driving a new van, well, newer. And she cried again the day Caroline mentioned that the sexy garden-god had rented the basement flat in her uncle’s house.
How come she was the only one who felt his criminal record and cavalier approach to business ethics was a problem? No one else seemed to care unduly, and now he’d managed to move into her neighborhood. Shit. Fucking shit.
* * * *
One morning, about eight months after she’d ordered him out of her kitchen and her life, Rachel ran into Callum. Quite literally. She crashed into him as she was trying to manhandle Jacob’s small tricycle, with him on it, through Caroline’s front door. Bending down she never saw the door open. Never saw the tall figure in work jeans and boots until she head-butted him in the groin.
“Sorry, I…” Rachel straightened, embarrassed, the required, habitual apology at the ready. Then she saw whose balls she’d nutted, and in a fleeting, uncharitable moment, wished she’d head-butted him harder. And just a little more accurately. He grunted, rubbed, and was okay. Shit!
“Good morning, Rachel. Jakey. How are you?” Unfailingly polite, his smile dazzling, he crouched to admire the trike.
The small boy beamed, delighted to see his old friend again. He still talked about the butterflies they’d visited together the day his mummy had stayed in bed.
“Hey, I didn’t realize you two knew each other.” Caroline’s happy chatter reached Rachel’s ears. She turned, her mind a blank as she searched for some sort of response.
“Yes, we… I…”
“Rachel gave me some accountancy advice a while back. Isn’t that right?” Callum spared her the need to make up a lie. Rachel reflected bitterly that he did seem to be particularly good at getting his story straight. Still, she supposed, there was some truth in what he’d said. Accountancy advice was one way of describing their bitter exchange of views. She nodded, mumbling that she had work to do, she was very busy, had to be off. And not for the first time, she made a run for it from Caroline’s house.