‘Yes, please,’ she whispered.
Tom opened the clasp and the bra. He gasped and then whistled between his teeth. ‘Oh, my God, Ellie. You’re amazing!’
She sat up and removed the bra straps from her shoulders and made to lie down again, but Tom placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Stay still a moment,’ he said. ‘I just want to look at them.’
They were big and pert and hung gloriously against her skinny ribs. She was too young to have any sagging or drooping yet and he shook his head, marvelling at their sheer perfection. Her nipples were hard and engorged and he squatted in front of her then took her breasts into his hands. They fitted like a glove. He smiled at her as he began to squeeze and fondle them. Her skin was so soft that he groaned in ecstasy as he laid her back and buried his face between them. I’m in heaven, he thought; I’ve just bloody died and gone to heaven.
Ellie was lost in a sea of seduction. She’d never had a man pay her so many compliments and, as Tom snuggled his face between her breasts, squeezing and pummelling them, she felt desire and passion surge through her.
Tom groaned loudly. The sight and feel of her breasts was fantastic – he licked his dry lips, imagining the taste. Slowly, he lifted his head slightly, took one of her nipples into his mouth and began to suck.
‘Ooohh, Tom,’ Ellie moaned, revelling in the feel of his warm tongue and mouth. Every so often, he stopped for breath and caught her nipple between his teeth, which sent waves of longing coursing throughout her body. She ran her hands through his thick hair, almost crying his name and lifting her pelvis up from the bed in response. How much longer, she thought, am I supposed to wait?
She whispered, ‘I’m desperate to have you inside me, Tom.’
‘There’s no rush, darling,’ he muttered, ‘I’m simply enjoying every minute of you.’
Ellie pouted, not quite knowing, in her limited experience, that Tom’s idea of foreplay could take a while longer. Her last boyfriend used to strip her clothes off in seconds and enter her quickly, pounding at her body whether she reached her climax or not.
Tom stripped his clothes off down to his boxer shorts as she wriggled out of her jeans. Surely this was it, she thought, surely now he’ll make love to me. But he moved his lips over her flat belly and used his fingers to make her cry out in desperation. She could feel the build-up of a climax begin and begged. ‘Please, Tom!’
Tom lifted himself with his elbow and looked into her eyes. ‘Are you sure,’ he asked and then began to devour her mouth.
Ellie clung to his shoulders as he manoeuvred over her and she felt his hardness prodding against her belly. ‘Now, oh, please…,’
Tom drove into her and she cried his name as she rocked and writhed underneath him, loving the weight of his body upon her and the feel of him inside. She wrapped her long legs around his back as slowly but powerfully he thrust deeper into her and brought them to a shattering climax.
Ellie lay in his arms, sated. Tom could feel her damp red curls on his bare chest and, unable to stop himself, he rolled her right nipple between his fingers.
Ellie giggled. ‘So, you’re definitely a boob man. When my dad carves the turkey at Christmas he cracks the same joke every year with the men at the table − breast or leg?’
Tom smiled. ‘Well, every woman has something special about them. And you, Ellie,’ he said, cupping one of her breasts in his hand, ‘have the most superb breasts I’ve ever had the pleasure to hold. They’re big and full, and your nipples are huge. Quite simply, they are perfection.’
Ellie wriggled next to him. She could feel the longing begin again in the pit of her stomach. How could that be, she thought, I’ve never felt aroused again so quickly. It was the simple touch of his hands on her skin, she decided, which seemed to make her lose control. She told him about her previous young boyfriend’s attempts at sex.
Tom listened carefully and tutted in annoyance as he gently began to caress and squeeze her again. ‘He sounds like a young idiot. It’s obvious to me, Ellie, that you’re ready for a real man to make love to you. I think when a woman’s body is as beautiful as yours is, it deserves to be cosseted and treasured.’
Tom moved her gently aside and shuffled down the bed. He began to kiss and lick the length of her calves, and thighs while muttering under his breath about the line of her long legs and strong supple body. Moving further up to her groin he groaned in pleasure and buried his face in her. ‘Warm and sweet,’ he crooned, ‘You taste fantastic.’
Tom reached up and caressed her flat stomach with steady, capable hands then heard her moan and tense against his lips as he sucked. She was nearly ready again, ‘Do you want me again, Ellie?’
‘Oooh, yes,’ she quivered.
Tom lifted himself up and slid behind her with both his hands cupping and squeezing her breasts. She nodded her head and moaned as he traced his lips along the back of her shoulders and then sucked the nape of her neck.
‘Your skin is so very soft,’ he moaned. She writhed under his touch and lips, but Tom needed to hear her words. ‘Tell me how much you want me, Ellie,’ he muttered.
‘I want you so much,’ she croaked.
She arched her slim back and cried out aloud in ecstasy as he thrust into her. ‘I’m going to love your body over and over again until you beg me to stop,’ he said.
Chapter Seven
Within the week Tom had thrown himself into what he now thought of as his new career. Standing inside their spare bedroom he looked at the small computer server in the corner and the bags of junk and empty suitcases that had been thrown in the room on the day they moved into the house.
Tom set his shoulders in determination and dragged the step ladder up on to the landing, opened the loft hatch and threw the bags and suitcases up into the empty space. In the garage he found a tin of cream emulsion paint and began in earnest to paint the four walls of the spare bedroom. He’d ordered a second-hand office chair, a bookcase and a big desk with drawers on either side, which would sit under the only window, where Tom figured he could make use of the daylight. He whistled as he painted, enjoying the fresh smell of paint and excitement at the thought of his new office space. From the window he could see into the neighbours’ back garden and watched their black Labrador bark and chase the postman down the path. Tom smiled fondly as he remembered Anne’s dog Sammy, who had tragically been killed by a car a few weeks after they’d met.
He’d been in Newcastle for a couple of years living in a crummy bed sit and had just finished an affair with an older woman whose husband had returned home from Iraq. Hating his job in the electrical factory, he’d been on the verge of moving further north when he met Anne walking Sammy in the park one day. Fashionable and trendy she certainly wasn't, but her lively dark brown eyes had danced with adoration when she looked at him and he’d felt enveloped in her kind-hearted personality. Her chubby and cuddly body delighted him and within a couple of weeks he was staying overnight at her old family home. Tom remembered the fireplace in the lounge and in particular the old, soft three-seated sofa. He’d often pull her down into it, loving the feeling of sinking into the softness − sometimes he wasn't sure where the sofa ended and she began; she was one big warm lump of loveliness. Rolls of flesh spilled out from whatever she wore, the buttons on her blouses strained across her middle and a roll of flab constantly hung over the waistbands of her skirts and trousers, but it didn’t matter − she was simply Anne.
Tom smiled now and knew how pleased Anne would be when she saw the room newly decorated. And, even though she wasn’t convinced he was going to make it as a writer, Tom knew, she wouldn’t make a fuss. There was nothing he could do that ever upset Anne, he thought, dipping the brush into the paint pot. She thought the best of everyone and was kindness itself. And, thankfully, she trusted him blindly.
He remembered a couple of nights before he’d asked her to marry him and how she’d cried softly while explaining how lonely she’d been. ‘No matter how hard I tried to find Mr Right,’ she�
��d said, ‘he just hasn’t been out there.’
Tom soothed her, ‘Well, I can’t understand that. The men around here must need their eyes testing.’
She’d snuggled further into his chest. ‘Oh, Tom, I’m heading towards the big 40 now. Do you think we’re too old to try for a baby?’ she’d sighed wistfully, ‘I’d love us to have our own little family.’
This had struck a chord with Tom. Maybe this was what I’ve been missing from my life, he thought, a sense of belonging, and he loved the words, their own little family. ‘Then, you've come to the right door, my lovely,’ he’d said, ‘because that happens to be exactly what I'm looking for, too.’
He’d never had a moment’s hesitation about asking Anne to marry him, because he really did love her and knew she was the woman that he wanted to grow old with – and that for him was a first. He felt safe, warm and loved, and had decided that this was the happiest he'd felt since leaving Brighton as a teenager.
Anne stood in the doorway now with her arms folded across a thick cable sweater. ‘Well, it all looks lovely,’ she said.
Tom grinned at her and danced a little jig. He took her hands and swung her round in a circle. ‘It’ll look even better when the new desk and chair arrive tomorrow morning.’
Anne caught her breath and laughed at him. ‘It will too,’ she said waving her hand around the room. ‘Although you still could have written your next assignment without doing all of this.’
‘But it’s the ambience, Anne,’ he cried. ‘I have to get into the mood and right frame of mind to write. I know at this stage you don’t have much faith in me, but I’m determined to make a go of this.’
Anne looked downcast and chewed the inside of her cheek. ‘No, Tom. Please don’t think that. I do believe in you and I know,’ she said, sliding her arms around his waist, ‘that you’re going to be great at it.’
Tom wrapped her in his arms and nuzzled his face in her hair. He looked down into her shining eyes and grinned. ‘Thanks, love. When I get settled in here tomorrow I’m going to read up about the next assignment and jot down my notes as to what I’ll write.’
*
By midday Tom sat on his high-back, brown office chair and swivelled around, smiling with pleasure at the spare room, which now looked like a bona fide office. The book shelves he’d erected on the wall contained the few books on loan from the city library and the Collins Thesaurus and Dictionary that had been a gift from Ellie’s bookstall. He’d been overjoyed with her present and already the thesaurus was proving invaluable. Tom had always liked doing crosswords and over the years he’d become quite adept – he could spend hours thinking of the correct words for puzzles and now this was magnified. Every time he read a sentence or thought of something poignant, he would try to replace the word with another to make it sound more fitting or dramatic. Even now as he opened the Word document that held his assignment, he wondered if fitting was the correct word to use. Could he use appropriate, or suitable? Or was it better to simply use the word right? He grinned with confidence, knowing this was something he was going to be good at.
For his assignment he’d been asked to write a short piece that he could submit to an imaginary newspaper, about a place. Remembering Ellie’s advice about writing from life experience, he wrote:
CHANGE OF VENUE.
Newcastle’s arts and crafts fayre which is held on the second Saturday in every month, has changed its venue to the newly renovated Grainger market.
The centre of the market has been spruced up with newly painted décor, a new tiled floor and the glass-domed ceiling has been cleaned to allow daylight to stream through. All in all it makes the area light and airy, with plenty of space between the stalls, and at one end there is a seating area to stop and rest those weary feet.
A lovely mixture of smells wafts over you between the stalls; lavender, incense, and handmade soap. At the time I was there, around 2pm, there were approximately 40 – 50 people browsing the stalls, many making purchases and enquiring upon delivery dates for special orders. A good range of items are for sale, from painted glass, local paintings, personalised jewellery, hand knitted hats and gloves, painted mirrors to dried flower arrangements.
Talking to one stall holder, he told me, ‘Aye, it’s much better than the old place, at least I haven’t got the rain trickling down the back of my neck and the wind lashing my ears. And it’s better for the shoppers because they stop to look longer if they are dry and warm’.
Orders were being taken for Christmas of the itemised goods, which is a good sign that people will be returning on a monthly basis. The organiser told me he was quite pleased with the number of people in the square as, although the change of venue had been advertised, he had worried that the regular browsers might miss it.
I certainly enjoyed the market stalls and would recommend a visit, especially if you are looking for that special, personal gift at Christmas.
Tom nodded in satisfaction, imagining the tutor reading his work and wondered if he or she would like his style and the content. Before he sent it to the tutor, Ellie read the assignment and told him it was well written and that he should be proud of himself. They’d lain in bed basking in the afterglow of making love twice in succession and as she balanced the A4 paper on his chest to read he idly played with her nipples.
Tom smiled and squirmed in the chair now, thinking of her body, and whistled slowly between his teeth – she certainly was a looker. Yep, he decided, it had been one of the luckiest days of his life when he’d met Ellie. With an hour to spare before leaving to go to the market he read his next task in which he was asked to write a travel piece for a newspaper’s weekend colour supplement. His short article needed to be critical of an advertised holiday, with some human interest comments. Tom thought of past holidays and a memory came to mind of a particularly poor resort he’d been to with friends when living in the Midlands in his early twenties.
*
Fuelled with ideas buzzing around his mind and humorous anecdotes he could add, Tom left the house and strode down to the city. He was filled with determination to succeed at this new venture in his life and felt ready to burst with happiness. Ellie was totally relaxed in bed now and gave herself to him with an abundance of free spirit and enthusiasm. He loved and craved her body to the point of distraction, and was now struggling at weekends when he couldn’t see her. As he turned into the market doors he saw her sitting waiting for him and waved happily as she jumped up, hurrying towards him.
‘Hey, there,’ he called. ‘How’s you?’
She slotted her arm through his and played with the zip on the sleeve of his leather jacket. ‘I’m all the better for seeing you. I’ve been counting down the hours this morning. I really missed you last night,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t write a word after you left; I just felt too distracted.’
They headed out against a bitingly cold wind towards the metro station and jumped on a train, huddling together on the seat to keep warm. Ellie pulled her sheepskin jacket around her and shivered. ‘I think it’s going to snow later because its sooo cold.’
Tom smiled. ‘Mmm, you could be right,’ he said, and then gave himself a nip of caution. For one split second, he’d been about to say that Anne had commented earlier how it was too cold to snow and had to check himself. Tom knew from some of the throw-a-way comments Ellie had made recently that she wanted to know about his marital status, and dreaded the moment when he would have to tell a few white lies.
Once inside her flat Ellie made them each a mug of hot chocolate and turned up the gas fire in the lounge to maximum. The flat was in a Victorian property with large bay windows in the lounge facing north. A battered-looking settee, which had been draped with a cream throw, stood in the middle of the room with a cheap wooden coffee table in front of it. The walls were covered with prints in poster format, which Ellie had hoped would give the room a bohemian feel. ‘It’ll soon warm up,’ she said, rubbing the arms of her Aran sweater.
Ellie had purpos
ely remained in the lounge because she wanted to talk to Tom before they went to bed, which now seemed to be their pattern for the day. As it was, she puzzled about the five o’clock deadline for him to leave. She handed Tom a mug and smiled. ‘Maybe you could stay a little later tonight?’
Tom picked both of the mugs up from the coffee table and carried them through the hallway towards the bedroom. ‘We’ll warm up quicker under the quilt,’ he grinned.
Ellie knew he was right and, glowing with memories of how he would lavish attention on her body, she meekly followed him along the passage to strip off quickly and jump under the quilt with him. They sat up in bed resting their backs against the headboard, sipping the hot chocolate with the quilt draped up over their shoulders.
It wasn’t that she doubted Tom in anyway, because she knew how much he wanted to be with her, and he told her often enough how attracted to her he felt. But during the last two weekends she hadn’t seen him at all and that was the time when she was free and wanted to do things with him. As she’d lain awake the night before Ellie had thought about the days since she’d met Tom, and although he’d told her he lived alone, something didn’t seem quite right. She frowned now, wondering how to broach the subject without appearing to be nosy about his whereabouts. Or, she thought, maybe I could ask him out on Saturday to the night club we both liked.
‘Aah,’ Tom sighed. ‘I don’t like that frown on your face. Are you still cold?’
She smiled at his forethought and scolded herself – he’s always so considerate and loving towards me, and here I am with such a gorgeous guy and doubting him. Be patient, she thought, and just be glad he’s here with you. ‘Nooo,’ she stressed, ‘I’m fine. In fact, I’m sweating now.’
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