by Opal Carew
I begin to reach for him, to put it on for him, but he’s way ahead of me. He has the rubber on in flash, seemingly well practiced in their application. And why wouldn’t he be? He’s a handsome, accomplished man. He must have had dozens of lovers since me. What woman wouldn’t want him and succumb at the drop of a G-string?
Jealousy rears up, ugly and fluorescent green. I’m tormented by the idea of Jamie with other women. He’s mine, he’s mine, the silent, secret, deluded idiot wails.
But then he’s touching me again, driving out the idiocy with the touch of his perfect, narrow fingers, stroking and swirling at my clit in a skilled caress that’s sublime but not necessary to arouse me, because I’m already more aroused than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Even with him, before…
‘Yes,’ he says vaguely, almost to himself, as if pleased by my superreadiness.
Then he moves between my thighs and swiftly, deftly, guiding his cock with his fingers, he positions himself at my entrance. I’m so wet I fear he might slither out of alignment, but without hesitation he shoves in confidently, right to the hilt, as if he fucks me every day and every night and was in there only an hour before.
The pain in my bottom flares like fire as he jams me against the mattress, but I don’t care, I don’t care! He’s in me. Jamie Lennox is in me, and it is as if he never went away.
The fit of us is so right, the rhythm perfect. There’s no moment of acclimatisation. We’re in sync, smooth yet wild, and I’m right on the precipice immediately because I’ve been wanting this since I saw him again across the room, and the game and the pain have only doubled, trebled, the need.
He angles his body so he can rest on one elbow and looks down at me as he swoops his free hand down to seek out my clitoris. In his eyes, I see what I’m feeling myself. Well, most of it, the physical excitement at least.
He strokes me sweetly and I cry out, ‘Oh fuck! Oh hell!’ and climax.
He rubs as he thrusts, not missing a beat despite the furore of us rocking and slamming together. He spears me with his amazing, unblinking scrutiny, green fire as my bottom burns and my sex ripples and pulses and clenches in surging, ratcheting pleasure, swift and sure and silvery.
Unable to take the intensity, I snap my own eyes shut. I’ll give myself away. Give away my stupid, insane secret.
I still love you. I never stopped.
Thoughts fly away from me as I’m lost in sensation and gasping and shouting as Jamie comes himself, his hips working like a jackhammer.
Chapter Nine
Susannah
I’m probably just imagining it. It’s probably just the surprise of seeing him again that makes me think I still love him. Coupled with the sexy, matrimonial ambience of Sarah and Ben’s wedding. And the champagne…
It all adds up to an alchemical recipe that’ll fade as soon as I’m away from here and back in my normal life.
It still feels quite real though as I look down at Jamie.
He might seem like a pagan prince to me tonight, magical in his black raiment and the glamour of years of refining maturity… but he’s still just a man.
And men often fall asleep after sex. Especially good sex, something neither of us will deny we’ve just had.
As soon as I realise he’s sleeping and have enough time to get my breath back, I slither out of bed. I expect to wince from the spanking, but the soreness has ebbed quite spectacularly. Suppressed by orgasm hormones or something. It still twinges a bit, now I’m tidied up, having quickly washed and dressed, but it’s nowhere near what it was.
I hover beside the bed, looking down at him. Oh, he’s so gorgeous!
He looks younger in sleep, closer to what he was all those years ago, apart from the hair. The thick, black-silk mass of it is spread over the pillow now, tousled and magical. His sharp, angular features seem a little softer and more angelic in repose.
I start to reach out. Yearning to touch the silk, to stroke the beautiful face.
But I know I mustn’t. I’m going to leave now, taking my secret inner revelation with me. Hoping that it might prove to be just an illusion the further I get away from this strange, charged place and the event that brought us together.
Go now, idiot. Don’t make things harder on yourself. All he wanted was a one-night stand, and tomorrow, you’ll realize that you wanted exactly the same thing.
It’s tough, but after blowing a silent kiss, I steel myself and walk away, clutching my bag. At the door, I bless the efficient, well-oiled hinges and the almost noiseless lock mechanism.
I get away clear. No wonderful low voice calling out to me sleepily and undermining my good sense and resolve.
It’s better this way, but tears still stream down my cheeks as I find a set of back stairs to take me down to the ground floor. Fortunately, I get myself under control, and I think I look pretty much normal when I find myself out on the forecourt, and as luck would have it, a taxi is there with passengers just alighting. A look at my watch tells me it’s the small hours of the morning, but The Retreat seems to operate twenty-four seven.
As we pull away, I tense, hoping the taxi driver isn’t chatty. I’m in turmoil. I just can’t make small talk. Luckily he either picks up on my vibe or he’s not a chatterer, and I’m left to my thoughts and my muddle of joy and regret.
I don’t look back towards The Retreat where Jamie sleeps.
Jamie
I should have ‘woken up’. I should have confronted her. How could I allow it to end just like this? Again. Haven’t I learnt anything after all these years? Aren’t I grown-up enough to take what I want?
In the low light from the lamp, I lie pondering my inaction. Why? Why? Why?
And yet I know why. This is her choice. She just wanted the one night, an interlude of experimentation, to fill in the gaps in her erotic repertoire. It was never more than that. Why had I started to think otherwise?
Restless, I sit up and snap on the light. I can’t impose my wishes and desires on Suzie. We’re both very changed people. Grown-up ships, passing in the night.
I’m not going to sleep now. How about some hot chocolate? There’s a sachet or two with the tea-making paraphernalia, or I could ring down for some, freshly prepared. I settle for the sachet. I don’t want to talk to anyone just now, except Suzie.
Looking around the room, I seem to see us, in a movie of what we just shared. I see her beautiful body. I thrill to her fortitude and her eagerness to play. And see me, filled with wildness and a more intense, erotic energy than I’ve experienced in a long time.
A goddess from the past, she made me feel like a god. My cock stirs again at the very thought. Shall I masturbate? Pay tribute to her?
But somehow the physical response seems detached from me. I’m more concerned with my heart, and my thoughts. The sachet chocolate is surprisingly good when I make it, and the theobromine or whatever it is that makes it so irresistible brings a strange clarity to my thinking process.
I’m not going to let her go this time. I think if I can talk to her again and state my case, we can at least spend more time together. Share more pleasure. Even if it’s never more than that…
This secret night just isn’t enough for either of us. I feel that. I suspect she’s just being cautious out of habit, because that’s always been her way. But I just want to see her again, not share her life.
Keep telling yourself that, buddy.
A smile forms on my lips as I savour the creamy chocolate. Who knows what’s ahead, but there won’t be anything if we don’t give it a try, will there?
Dammit though, I have commitments, work stuff I need to travel for. I’ll be on a jet tomorrow, heading to America for a big negotiation that’s going to make me a lot of money. The idea of just cancelling flits through my head, but it’s not my habit to inconvenience people or mess up plans and arrangements.
Suzie isn’t going anywhere, and a few days to crystallize my thoughts will do me good. Make me surer of what I want and how to secure it in a
way that’s best for both of us.
My chocolate finished, I lie down again, thinking, thinking, thinking. And because it’s thoughts of Suzie and what we did together, inevitably my cock rises, hard again.
Why not?
I take myself in hand and imagine the glide of my fingers is the glide of hers, or perhaps the caress of her perfect lips.
It’s a way to be together when we’re not together.
Yet.
Chapter Ten
Susannah
‘So? What happened to you with the sexy biker, you naughty girl?’
Maggie leans forwards across the table. We’re in the canteen and it’s the first time we’ve been able to chat since Ben and Sarah’s wedding reception.
We’re just three today, as our fourth is somewhere gorgeous with her gorgeous new husband, having lots of gorgeous and probably very kinky sex.
Beside Maggie is Rachel, who, to my mind, has a dreamy, vaguely secretive expression on her face. As if she too had an adventure the other night.
‘Nothing,’ I lie. ‘It… um… turns out we know each other from way back, so we just spent some time together, reminiscing over a drink.’
Maggie’s eyes go narrow. ‘What, until the small hours? And where? I never saw you once after you swept off into the bar with him.’
I feel myself getting hot and blushing. ‘He had a room. We chatted there.’
Rachel’s grin broadens, confirming my suspicion that she too has recent experience of rooms, whether at The Retreat or elsewhere. Maybe I can distract attention from me by directing it elsewhere?
‘I’ll bet,’ says Maggie. ‘From the way he was looking at you, that must have been some chat.’
We’re lunching, but I’m not eating much. I try a bite of my salad to give myself breathing space. ‘Well, what about you two? I never saw either of you later.’ No need to mention I couldn’t have seen them anyway.
Maggie gives me an assessing look and seems to decide not to push. ‘Well, I hung out with Alastair and socialised in general. But I don’t have any idea what she got up to’—she nods at Rachel—‘because after her little incident, she was never seen again for the rest of the night.’
Now it’s Rachel’s turn to blush.
‘What “incident”?’ I’m intrigued. Did Rache meet someone too?
‘It was nothing really. No biggie,’ she says in a way that suggests it was a very big deal indeed.
‘Bollocks!’ proclaims Maggie. ‘She only slammed straight into Lawrence Brady by not looking where she was going, and their drinks went all over the place, and all over both of them.’ She nods significantly. ‘Two seconds later, they disappeared to clean up and never came back!’
Oh wow. Way to go, Rachel. Although I’m trying to figure out who this Lawrence Brady is. ‘Who’s Lawrence Brady when he’s all at home?’
Maggie rolls her eyes. ‘Brady. Think about it.’
The penny drops. ‘You mean “Brady” as in Freeman-Brady?’
‘The very same! She only chucked her drink all over the managing director of the entire Freeman-Brady group and then went on and pulled him, the floozy!’ Maggie leans in. ‘He’s a bit on the old side, of course, but still looks pretty tasty. If I weren’t spoken for, I might have given him a whirl. Apparently he’s a friend of Ben’s family, and that’s how he came to hire Ben for the troubleshooter gig.’
‘He’s not old!’ protests Rachel, vehement. ‘He’s only in his forties, and he’s incredibly fit. His hair turned silver prematurely, that’s all. He’s really a young man, relatively speaking.’
Whoa, she did click with him! We both got lucky. A pang of yearning slices me again, a longing for more than just a one-night ‘click’ with my man. I just hope it’s more for Rachel. If that’s what she wants.
‘You sly minx! Are you going to see him again?’ Metaphorically I cross my fingers for my friend.
‘I… I don’t know.’
Uh-oh, the look on her face reveals all. She’s fallen for him. Maybe as hard as I’ve fallen—again—for Jamie. I just hope she’s not heading for a world of pain. Even if I am.
‘Are you going to see yours?’ she shoots back, and I know she knows my score too. My friend is empathic, perhaps the most so of all of us.
‘I don’t know.’ I shrug, not caring now whether they know I’m in too deep or not.
Where is Jamie now? I hope he’s not angry with me. I hope he can think fondly of our kinky interlude.
I hope I didn’t hurt him the way I hurt him before.
Thoughtful silence falls for a while. We’re all mulling over men: Rachel and her silver fox, me and my biker from the past with his curtain of black hair and his penetrating green eyes.
Maggie and… oh, bloody hell, what is that on her finger? Now who’s the sly minx?
‘Mags, what the hell is that?’ I cry, causing heads to turn as I grab her hand.
The diamond on her engagement finger is exquisite. Not an Elizabeth Taylor rock, but still quite a dazzler.
‘Oh, Mags, when did that happen?’ demands Rachel, grinning for her friend, her own man questions temporarily forgotten.
Me, I’m thrilled. Alastair is a lovely man, and he adores Mags.
‘At the reception. He asked me out on the terrace.’ She’s pink in the face with happiness. No complications there. They’re a perfect couple. ‘We decided not to say anything because it was Sarah and Ben’s day and we didn’t want to distract anybody’s attention from that.’
The rest of the lunch break whirls into a happy babble of questions about Mags and Alastair and their plans for a wedding and the future. Now and again, wistfulness winds through me as I wish I were doing the planning of a life ahead. I know that’s what I want now, with Jamie, but I’m able to squelch my own feelings so I can be happy and thrilled for my friend.
Oh Jamie, why the hell did I run? I’m such an idiot. Why the hell didn’t I at least get your number?
I look at Mags, and the dazzling glow of her happiness is like a call to action, making me determined.
By hook or by crook, I’ll reach out to Jamie, and I’ll explain myself, tell him how I feel. If he doesn’t feel the same so be it… all well and good. At least I tried, and maybe we can still be friends, because I’d rather have that than never to see him again.
The idea buoys me up.
I can put this right.
I can get my man. Or at least try…
Chapter Eleven
Susannah
It’s week later. I still haven’t been in touch with Jamie. But, I’ve decided the best way is to discreetly ask Sarah to ask Ben for his contact details, and the happy couple are still on honeymoon for a while yet.
I’m getting impatient though, and almost to the point of doing something drastic and contacting Jamie via some other means. Of course he has an online presence just as everyone does. But Lennox-Tech is all business, not personal, and everything else I find is impersonal too, no details for the actual man rather than the public figure.
I do find out he’s pretty distinguished in his field. He’s worked on security solutions for multinational companies and financial institutions that are household names. He’s a big wheel, a very big wheel. And according to a very skimpy Wikipedia stub, his expertise has made him a very wealthy man too. It’s a bit weird that there’s so very little information about him, but then again, it’s maybe not surprising. A digital-security specialist must know better than anybody how to keep his private life private.
When it comes down to it, the only other way to contact him is via his family—which could be embarrassing for him, something I know he’d hate. I’ll just have to wait. Another week or so won’t kill me. It might actually be better this way and give me more time to think about what I’m going to say to him.
Such as…
Even though I as good as dumped you all those years ago, I’ve still been secretly in love with you all this time. So secretly I didn’t realize it myself.
I�
�ve dug out some old photos, and like a lovesick ninny, I’m carrying one around with me. Sliding it out of my bag now, I grab a swift peek before I leave the Freeman-Brady building. I’m walking home tonight as part of my health and fitness routine—getting into shape in hopes of showing my body more often if things go well—so I’ve changed into jeans and walking shoes in the work’s cloakroom. One little Jamie ogle-fest will give me a boost for the five-mile hike.
He was so cute back then, sharp-featured and skinny, like a dark imp, mischievous, almost elfin. But now, seasoned by the years, he’s amazing. A mysterious prince of shadows, lean and strong and full of power, his sexual predilections a perfect match for what mine are becoming. He’s the perfect master to educate me and to take me to that next level that Sarah and Maggie inhabit, and beyond.
Between us just being friends too, of course, and having the sort of relationship we should have had if I hadn’t been so short-sighted and craven all those years ago.
Like a twit, I kiss the photo, which shows Jamie lounging on an old rug, on the grass in the park near to where we both used to live. His bare chest looks a bit scrawny in the pic, but now he has sleek and toned pectorals and a nicely developed six-pack.
Stop faffing about, Suze. It’s a long walk.
There’s a low wall across the forecourt from the front entrance to Freeman-Brady, and just beyond it, propped up on its stand presumably, is a midnight-blue motorcycle. A man clad in black leather is sitting on the wall, facing away from me, a black motorcycle helmet at his side.
His long, silky black hair gleams in the low afternoon sunshine.
Oh God. Oh Hell. It’s him.
My feet are rooted to the spot. This is what I wanted, more than anything in the world, but now I’m afraid. I’m not sure how I’d planned for us to meet again. I hadn’t got that far. Maybe we’d go out on a date? Have a nice dinner and a drink, a chance to talk, for me to explain my craziness. But now he’s here and all I want is to throw myself into his arms and drag him off somewhere where we can be alone, a place where we can fuck. Somewhere where we can do more of what we did back at The Retreat. Even his back looks godlike and dominant. It does things to my knees, like making them want to bend so I can kneel down before him and worship him. Maybe unfasten his leather trousers too.