by Amelia Hart
And it was a rare quality. She hadn’t encountered it before. Maybe it was all that travelling, meeting people in all different walks of life and learning lessons about getting on with everyone along the way.
Or perhaps he was just a wise old soul in a young man’s body.
“Hey, how old are you? I just realised I don’t know.”
“Twenty-eight. How old are you?”
“Twenty-four. It’s kinda funny we didn’t know that.”
“Isn’t it. I know exactly what to do to make you scream with delight,” his voice had dropped to a husky breath of noise as he moved his mouth to an inch from her ear, “what to say when I’m deep inside you so your inner muscles flutter and grip me just so,” she watched his pupils dilate with the memory, feeling her own nipples draw up tight with a flash of arousal, “but there are still some things I just don’t know at all about you. Liiiike,” he drew the word out as his fingers slid to clasp her wrist, measuring the speeded pulse there then sliding delicately up the skin of her inner arm, “what’s your favourite colour?”
She squeezed her thighs together and a shiver of pleasure shot down her spine.
“Oh. Ah, blue.”
“Mmmm. Mine too. Like the sky and sea. A woman of good taste.” He bent his head, nuzzled his way down her neck to her collarbone, trailing little kisses. She tilted her own head back, feeling dizzy, to give him better access. “Very good taste.” He bit her throat, a painless nip, and then his tongue flicked out lightly to soothe the spot. She moaned and then blushed furiously, thinking of the people in the seats in front and behind them. The third seat in their row of three was empty, but it was hardly private here.
“Justin!” she hissed, embarrassed and aroused.
He met her gaze and there was a gleam of pure mischief in his eyes that made her stomach lurch with terrified excitement. He pushed the armrests on either side of him up so they were flush with the seat, undid their safety belts, pulled her into his lap and extracted two blankets from under their seats. Then he shuffled over to lean against the wall of the plane, his legs lying along the seat, taking her with him, closed the window shade and covered them both with the blankets.
Suzanne’s heart was thumping furiously by the time he had her how he wanted her, one hidden hand on her breast inside the bra he had deftly unclasped, the other delving between her thighs, and her sitting squarely on an erection that was growing by the second in little pulses and jerks she could feel through the thin fabric of her shorts.
“Justin!” she whispered, in desperation. But she didn’t say ‘no’ so he didn’t stop, his skilful fingers plucking at her bead-hard nipple, the other hand rising as high as her waistband then sliding back down inside her shorts and panties, his fingers lodging with precision on just exactly the spot where her nerve endings quivered in anticipation. She gasped as he reached it, a sharply indrawn breath, and he stilled and settled apart from the subtle motions of those wicked fingers. Looking down at the folds of the blankets she realised they weren’t even stirring. There was no sign to anyone looking on of what was happening to the aroused and increasingly agitated woman beneath. Eventually she had to move, the urge to squirm was so intense, and as her clenched thighs relaxed, he took advantage of the increase in space to swoop two fingers deep inside her, the palm of his hand now taking up a steady, gentle grind on her clitoris as those fingers moved in and out of her. Oh, no more than an inch of movement each way, but what an inch.
Suzanne wanted to scream. But she couldn’t. Couldn’t make a sound. She had never needed to be silent as they made love, other than that one time on the lawn, conscious of the neighbours. Now she could do nothing but grip Justin’s thighs with her hands, dig her nails in and grit her teeth. He started to rock ever-so-slightly and suggestively underneath her.
She could feel herself winding upwards towards orgasm, that feeling that had grown so familiar these past days. She clamped her eyes shut, trying not to pant, knowing she wasn’t quite managing. The sensation started in the backs of her knees, gathered speed and momentum as it rushed up the backs of her thighs and exploded through her genitals into the rest of her body as a heady rush of sensation that made her gasp and moan softly.
Frantically she looked around to see if they were being watched, but the darkened cabin was quiet, the people straight in front of her as she sat sideways on the seat were unrecognizable sleeping lumps under their own blankets. The heavy drone of the engine muffled the sounds that seemed so loud in her own head. No one was moving.
Except Justin, unbuttoning the waistband of her shorts and manoeuvring her upwards, holding her clear of his lap so he could slide shorts and underpants down around her thighs. Then he transferred the globes of her bottom from one broad palm to rest on his sinewy forearm as his hands were busy between them. She realised his plan too late, befuddled by her own pleasure and his jerky speed.
He freed himself from the confines of his board shorts, the sound of Velcro making her jump. She heard the tearing noise of a little foil packet opened in haste, and suddenly the head of his penis was stroking over her soft folds, questing and then sliding into her as he breathed a sigh of relief hot in her ear and pulled her down on top of him, sheathing himself deeply inside her.
She quivered and shook with the sudden fullness exactly where her body yearned for it, stretching her while his hand resumed its place with fingers stroking her clitoris.
Other than that he was still, though she could feel him pulsing and twitching against the giving walls of her inner passage. It felt so decadent to sit like this in his lap, their bodies joined, locked together in pleasure, while her thighs were pressed together as tightly as ever.
The secretive rush of it, the awkward, exquisite sensation were enough to push her over the edge into another orgasm, and she felt the flutter he had described only moments earlier as her body gripped and released his penis with contractions of pleasure that made her lay her head back on his shoulder, dazed and boneless. Replete.
He waited, fingers at rest though his body remained as taut, his erection as huge as ever within her. He gave her maybe as much as a minute before he moved again, his hands coming to grip her hips and hold them still while he tilted his own pelvis beneath hers to set up a rhythm of short, devastating thrusts. It was less than an inch of movement but it was enough. Within moments she felt his muscles tense, his hard body going rigid beneath her as he swore softly and fervently in her ear.
She was amazed. Who would have thought? As she squirmed upright he helped her, lifting her far enough that she could pull her underwear and shorts back up, then refastening his own clothes. She gave him a fulminating glare, pretending indignation. It made him laugh softly and pull her head close for a passionate kiss. She bit him, but not hard. He laughed again and she let him go, fished her backpack out from under the seat, and scuttled off to the toilet.
Once she had figured out how the door worked, she shut herself in. In the mirror she looked ill, her skin yellow and her eyes a bloodshot pink. After a moment of horror she realised that most of it was simply an effect of the pallid, greenish light. She washed as best she could, brushed teeth and rebraided her hair before returning to her seat.
She found herself blushing as Justin looked up at her, hesitating in the aisle. If she hadn’t known better, she would never have guessed by looking at him exactly what they’d been up to not twenty minutes ago.
He slid his tablet back into his cabin bag and held out his arms in invitation. She went to him for the cuddle he offered, curling up against his chest, his arms around her, her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t the most comfortable position for either of them. He was too big to be completely at ease in these little seats.
But she was very glad he was so physically affectionate. She was hungry for his touch, and it was good to be held. He pulled a blanket around her and eventually she fell asleep like that.
She drifted in and out of her shallow doze. The continuous dull roar of the plane’s engin
es kept waking her. When she finally awoke completely she felt befuddled and not really refreshed, slowly opening gritty eyes to find the lights were still down. In the semi-darkness she could just make out Justin’s face. He was asleep, head tilted awkwardly to one side. She eased herself carefully away from him, moving by inches so as not to wake him.
Checking her watch she discovered only three hours had passed, which explained the tiredness. Trying to sleep again was unappealing. She extracted her book from her bag, fumbled with the overhead controls until she finally worked out that the light switch was in the armrest, and settled down to read.
The hours passed slowly. Suzanne found it hard to concentrate for long stretches of time, with the sound of the engines continually boring away at her skull. Justin was almost completely motionless, only his chest moving slightly as he breathed. She wished that she could have managed to sleep for longer herself. This whole business of international travel turned out to be remarkably tedious, after the first bit. The only thing to relieve the monotony were the occasional glasses of orange juice and packets of crackers offered by the cabin crew. Eventually other people started one by one to wake and switch on their own lights. Then the cabin lights came on, and Suzanne began to smell hints of cooking from the galley.
Finally Justin stirred, his hand moving to brush his thigh questingly. She realised that he was sleepily searching for her. Finding her gone, his eyes shot open with a start. When he saw her sitting in the aisle seat and looking at him, he relaxed and gave her a lazy smile.
“You look bored,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I’d really like to be out of this tin can,” she replied, tedium making her feel acid. “How much longer is it going to be?”
“It’s . . . quarter past nine in the evening back in New Zealand,” he said, checking his watch unhurriedly. “The flight takes twelve hours, and we left at eleven thirty, so we’ve been in the air for nearly ten hours. A little more than two hours left.”
“And all that when you’re just barely awake,” she said with admiration.
“I do my humble best.”
“So what time will it be there when we arrive?”
“Oh, about half past three in the morning, on the same day that we left. We flew back to the night, and on through it. LA is twenty hours behind Auckland. If you open this shutter, you should see darkness.”
“Really?”
He slid the window’s shutter open to demonstrate. He was right. It was pitch black out there. All she could see was the reflection of the cabin’s interior.
“New Zealand’s the first country in the world to see each new day,” she said, suddenly remembering that she’d been told that before. “I’d forgotten.”
Conversation lapsed for several minutes. Justin appeared to be sunk in thought. Finally he roused himself, and said with unusual hesitance:
“Suzanne, there’s something I should tell you.” But as he opened his mouth to speak, an air hostess appeared at her elbow, and asked her whether she’d prefer sausages or an omelette for breakfast. Distracted, it took her a moment to decide. When they had both been handed trays of food, she turned to him again. “Sorry, what were you-”
“Never mind. It’ll keep,” he said abruptly.
Shrugging, she switched her attention back to the rather unappetising meal in front of her. She poked at it half-heartedly while looking through the entertainment guide. Then she discovered a movie that had been highly recommended to her by several of her friends, but which she had yet to see. Gleefully she put on her headphones and enlisted Justin’s help to find the right channel using the unfamiliar control. He watched it with her on his own screen, her hand loosely clasped in his.
Both the baggage claim and customs took a long time to clear, so much so that it was nearly six a.m. before they walked through the arrivals gate. As they came through it, Suzanne saw a man approaching them, wearing what looked to her like a chauffeur’s uniform. Justin saw him too, and she felt him stiffen, and mutter a curse under his breath.
“Good morning Mr Walker. I have the car ready for you,” said the man.
“Wilson,” said Justin flatly. “What are you doing here?”
The chauffeur was surprised. “Mrs Walker sent me,” he said.
Before Suzanne could do more than make a shocked inhalation, Justin turned his head in her direction and said grimly: “My mother.” To the worried-looking Wilson he said: “Never mind. It’s not your fault. In fact I should thank you for coming out at this time in the morning.”
“You’re quite welcome, sir,” said the man cautiously. “If you’ll just let me take this.” He spoke the latter to Suzanne, indicating the luggage trolley that she had been pushing. She surrendered it with an absentminded “Thank you,” her attention on the horrid suspicions which were growing within her.
A chauffeur.
A chauffeur who respectfully addressed Justin as ‘sir’.
She wasn’t stupid. She remembered the conversation with Nina, indicating Justin was keeping something from her. Was this it? How rich did one – or one’s mother – need to be to keep a chauffeur? Not rich enough to pay for more than economy class on a plane, apparently. Or had that choice been about keeping her in the dark?
She pinched her lips together and stalked along behind Wilson, keeping her back straight, belying the sick tension which churned in her stomach. Was she making too much of this?
When they reached the car, she saw that it was some sleek modern thing. Solidly luxurious. Wilson held the door open for them to enter the car. She went first and slid quickly across the seat, fetching up in the far corner and staring fixedly out of the window. Justin followed her into the car. Once he was seated, he reached across to put a hand lightly on her hunched shoulder.
“Suzanne?” he said softly, but she shook him off with an unmistakable gesture of rejection, and he retreated, watching her grimly. Why didn’t he explain? If there was a straightforward explanation. Like he was exactly as he presented himself but his parents had wealth. That would explain it.
Or maybe he didn’t want to say anything with Wilson there.
But as she sat there longer and longer with her own imaginings, she could feel the storm clouds gather.
Chapter Fourteen
In silence they were driven through the streets of the city. She stared dry eyed through the glass, at the urban sprawl sliding past the window, the palm trees lit by streetlights. The houses became bigger, palatial, half-glimpsed behind tall walls and through wrought iron gates. They were set further back from the street.
Finally the car turned off into a driveway. Absently she looked around, then did a double take. The white house which loomed in front of them was massive. Surrounded on all sides with velvet-smooth lawns, a wide circular drive led up to the double doors at the front. She was dumbfounded, having never seen anything like it outside of television.
Wilson pulled up in front of those imposing doors and came around to let her out of the car. She stood shakily, feeling suddenly that this couldn’t possibly be real. She hadn’t just been driven from the airport by a chauffeur, hadn’t arrived at the kind of house, no, mansion, that movie stars lived in, hadn’t been deliberately, manipulatively, lied to by the man whom she had thought she could believe in.
It couldn’t be so.
Numbly she trailed Wilson and Justin as they carried the baggage to the front door. There the driver left them as Justin lifted a hand to the bell and pressed it firmly. She heard the faint, melodic sounding of chimes within the bowels of the house. Moments later the polished wood door swung silently open in the hand of a young woman wearing a maid’s uniform.
“Good morning Mr Walker.”
“Good morning, Cathy,” he replied, striding through the doorway and into the grandiose entrance hall, which was dominated by a sweeping staircase. He gave his surroundings as little notice as if he were in the most ordinary house. “Would you please show my. . .Miss Turlin to my room.”
“Yes,
Mr Walker,” said Cathy.
“Justin,” said Suzanne, making a valiant effort to keep her voice steady, “I need to speak to you.”
He glanced quickly at her, then looked into the middle distance. “I have to go and see my parents first. I’ll be with you shortly.” He strode away, mounting the stairs two at a time, and disappearing down a corridor at the top. She glared after him.
“If you’ll follow me, Miss Turlin,” said the maid, lifting one of the suitcases in a capable grip. Suzanne slung her backpack onto one shoulder and followed behind her as they too climbed the stairs, taking the opposite branch of the hallway from the one Justin had entered.
She was shown into an enormous bedroom, half the size of her own house. It was immaculately presented, looking like one of the showcase examples in an interiors magazine. Taking it all in with a single glance, she stopped just inside the threshold.
“Would you like me to help you unpack, Miss Turlin?” asked Cathy.
“No thank you,” said Suzanne woodenly.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No thanks.” She had no idea how to dismiss a servant, and was relieved when Cathy silently left the room and she was alone.
She was in shock. She felt as if someone had been pummelling her brain. Knowing that somewhere beneath her incredulous anger there was pain, she stood rooted to the floor, holding herself in. It was all she could do to stand still, and keep quietly telling herself she should wait and listen, hear him out.
She couldn’t help feeling as if she had been betrayed.
Justin came from a family with money.
Not just a little money, not a respectable, middle-class amount, but bucketloads.
A huge house, on a large piece of property, in a wealthy suburb of LA. Beautiful, expensive furnishings. Servants.
He was not the man she had thought he was. He wasn’t a casual surfer, a footloose wanderer with few ties. All this time he had known that she believed him to be something he was not, and he had let her remain steadfast in that belief. Never had he corrected her assumptions. Instead he’d encouraged them.