Hidden Paradise

by Janet Mullany

  She sighed and slipped her own hand between her legs, turning slightly so that her uppermost leg twisted over his. “Fuck me,” she whispered.

  Bloody hell. Definitely awake.

  He turned the light on and reached for a condom.

  She blinked at him.

  “I want to see what you do,” he said.

  She grinned. “Okay.”

  He slid into her with a little help from her—it was an unaccustomed angle for him—and then watched as she rubbed her clit, hoping he’d last out, amazed at her ability to draw out her own pleasure and his, too. He had to slow down a couple of times and ask her not to move. He discovered that she whimpered in pleasure when he put both hands on her breasts and thumbed the nipples.

  “Clit and nipples,” she said drowsily, drunk with pleasure. “They work together. But I guess you knew that? That’s so nice, Rob.”

  She didn’t have to say a word when she came. Her whole body told him; the way she arched and tensed, her hand moving faster and then slowing to the barest touch, her lips parted, and moaning as he thrust hard. Inside there was an unmistakable clench and pulse on his cock and he gritted his teeth, staying with her, letting her ride out her orgasm before she relaxed and it was his turn to tense, approach the brink and go over.

  Bliss.

  She fell asleep almost immediately, her hand still between her legs. He disentangled himself from her and went to take care of the condom. When he came back, he slid beneath the sheets, debating whether he should get some sleep or start again. He smiled at the thought of her touching herself. His cock rose again.

  Shit. He could jerk off, he supposed. There was something very sexy about the idea of masturbating next to someone you’d fucked and who didn’t know—or maybe she did—what you were doing.

  He slid his hand up his shaft. He told himself he’d stroke enough to calm but not excite. Maybe. Then he’d stop. But not just yet. A little more.

  She stirred. “Rob?”

  He froze.

  “It’s okay. Keep going if you want.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Sorry.” She propped herself up on one elbow. “Did I take the fun out of it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve fucked you and I’ve got another hard-on and I didn’t want to disturb you…” He found himself babbling.

  She ran her fingertip around his nipple.

  He shuddered. He’d never had anyone touch him like that before, looking into his eyes in the near darkness, daring him to continue, while his hand slid helplessly on his cock.

  “Do you like that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Were you hoping I’d wake up? What would happen when you came? You’d have to be very quiet.”

  He understood now. She was playing with him, pretending to be shocked. “I wanted to come on your tits.”

  “That’s pretty perverted, Rob.” She smiled. “But if you insist…” She stretched out and touched her own nipples.

  “Christ, Lou.”

  “Do you like the idea of being discovered when you jerk off? Who do you think is going to walk in on you?”

  “You,” he said. “Viv. My maths teacher from primary school. She was really hot. My sister’s best friend, Shannon, she has a huge bum. Sarah, though I can’t stand her—”

  “Okay,” she said, and he could tell she was trying not to laugh. “So I discover you jerking off. You’re so excited. You can’t help yourself. You can’t stop even though I’m looking at you as though I can’t take my eyes off you. And you can’t tell whether I’m disgusted or turned on or whether I’m thinking of punishing you, but it doesn’t make any difference, because you’re going to come. You can’t help it.”

  “Lou,” he groaned, and came copiously—he felt like some sort of sperm machine. He’d lost count of how many times he’d come tonight.

  “Wow,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “You liked it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but it was…I didn’t know people did that.”

  “It’s a common enough fantasy.”

  “Do you… Have you…?”

  “Oh, sure. I used to let Julian, my husband, catch me all the time.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He’d pretend to be very stern and order me to come. Or he’d take over. Or…” She heard from her voice that she was smiling. “Sometimes he’d pretend he had a whole bunch of guys with him and that I was the floor show. I liked that. Or he’d tell me my mother was about to walk in and that always did the trick. Apparently a lot of women find that sexy, although the idea always made me uncomfortable after.”

  “Jesus,” he said.

  “But I think that’s part of it. Knowing you’re going to push yourself, reveal something potentially shameful to yourself and your partner. You make yourself vulnerable and get beyond it. It’s all about trust—love maybe—but absolutely trust.”

  “What else do you fantasize about?” he asked.

  She reached for a tissue and dabbed at the semen drying on her chest. “Oh, having two guys. That’s something I’ve always wanted to try. I thought this evening about you and Mac.”

  “I didn’t think you and he were still…”

  “We’re not. Don’t get all bent out of shape. We’re talking fantasy, remember? I’d like to see you two together.”

  He frowned. “Together? You mean, jerking each other off or something?”

  “If you felt like it. I’d like to watch you but if you just wanted to concentrate on me that would be fine, too.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s nice, but I don’t think it’s going to happen. And I don’t know if I’d want anyone up my bum.”

  “I’m quite shocked you take it so lightly.” She ruffled his hair. “Even though I robbed you of your technical virginity a few fucks ago.”

  “It’s a fantasy, you said.”

  “Well, we’re in Paradise Hall, where anything goes. This is a fantasy experience.”

  “I think that meant dressing up and stuff, not kink.”

  “It seems to me there’s not much difference between kink and dressing up. They’re very much related. Peter and Chris definitely had sexual adventures in mind when they went ahead with this, just one step beyond the sensual experiences of food and drink and clothes in this gorgeous historical setting.”

  “Mmm.” She could argue rings around him and he was too sated and sleepy to argue back.

  “So what if I wanted to be with you and someone else at the same time, Rob? Would you be okay with it?”

  “So long as it’s not Ben. He’s an arse. People talk about having threesomes all the time, so I guess it’s not that weird. If it’s what you want.”

  Her arms were around him, his face in the fragrance of her hair. It was almost as good as fucking, and his cock twitched in anticipation. But he was tired, far too tired, safe and comfortable. Falling asleep was like a homecoming.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Peter

  Mike Temple was unnervingly an older version of Rob, but not quite as handsome and with dull brown hair instead of Rob’s lovely coppery sheen. He had the appearance of someone who’d made an effort, a cut on his jaw from shaving, although his suit was a little too loose as though depression had made him lose weight. A man who had hit rock bottom, he had dragged himself into a semblance of self-respect and energy, attempting to show himself as a serious candidate for the job.

 
He sat in the office with a briefcase that Peter suspected was empty except for the résumé he had handed over, a duplicate of the one sent by email.

  “Rob thinks the world of this place. It’s nice to see it fixed up.”

  “We couldn’t have done it without the help of the village,” Peter responded. “And Rob is a tremendous asset. You must be very proud of him.”

  “He does okay.”

  Peter bit back a sarcastic rejoinder. “You’ll miss him when he goes to Cambridge.”

  Mike made no reply, and Peter gazed at the résumé. His current occupation was unclear—read unemployed—and his last job had been as owner of a line of tanning salons. “This position is quite a bit different from your previous employment.”

  “I need a change. I’m good with my hands. I like the outdoors.” This from someone whose pallor suggested he’d barely set foot outside for weeks.

  “Your first job would be to renovate the cottage that comes along with the job. It’s nothing fancy but it’s structurally sound, and big enough for one.”

  Mike nodded. “Sounds good,” he said with an effort.

  “Any questions?” Peter asked, fighting back an urge to grab Mike Temple by the shoulders and shake some life into him. It was like dealing with a zombie. Thank goodness, the door opened and Chris came in. “Ah, here’s my partner.”

  He introduced them and let Chris take over the questions. Then he wished he hadn’t.

  “It doesn’t say here you declared bankruptcy,” Chris said, pushing the résumé across the desk with a look of disgust.

  “It’s nothing to do with my abilities,” Mike said.

  “But it might be something to do with this job. It’s quite likely we’d be entrusting some financial dealings to you—ordering supplies, for instance—and we’d need to know whether you were capable of handling it correctly.”

  “I’m not a crook,” Mike said with a very slight flash of animation.

  “Why did your business fail?” Chris said.

  “Supply and demand. People are scared of sun damage now.”

  Chris said nothing.

  Peter gathered his wits—he’d known Chris to be bitchy but never outright rude—and prepared a polite, noncommittal statement to usher Mike from the office with the promise of a decision within a few days.

  But Mike came to life. He rose, his briefcase sliding to the floor. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” His fists clenched. “You come to this village with your money and think you can treat us like shit. I need this job, you bastards. I’ve lost everything. I’ve lost my house, my wife and my kids hardly give me the time of day. I’ve fallen about as low as I can but I won’t take this crap from you or anyone. You can take this job and your fucking cottage and shove it up your feudal arse.” He pounded on the desk, leaning forward, his face darkened with rage. “It could be you, you arseholes. People stop coming to this fancy knocking-shop, and then what? You might be begging me for a job.”

  He turned and blundered toward the door. Chris, without a word, handed him the briefcase as he passed.

  After he left, Peter turned to Chris, shocked. “What’s got into you?”

  “He’s trying to ruin the life of his own son,” Chris snapped. “Lou talked to me. He should bloody well feel bad. He’s a ringer for my old man.”

  Chris rarely talked of his family and Peter had learned not to ask.

  “I thought you didn’t like Rob,” he said feebly.

  “It’s nothing to do with whether I like him or not. Give Temple the job if you like.”

  “I don’t know whether I should,” Peter said. “He doesn’t make a great first impression. But hell, how many of us take the opportunity to stand up and shout abuse at a job interview? I know I’ve wanted to. Even if he felt he had nothing to lose, he has some guts.”

  He went outside to the yard and through the archway to the parking lot, not expecting Mike to still be around, but his car was still there. Mike sat at the wheel, engine running, and Peter was horribly afraid for a moment that he might have run a hose from the tailpipe. But Mike’s face was in his hands, his shoulders moving.

  Oh, jeez. Peter gave him a moment, but Mike continued to sob, so he walked forward and tapped on the glass.

  Mike looked up, smearing his face with his hands, and glared at Peter with embarrassment and rage, but he lowered the window. “What the hell do you want?”

  “The job’s yours if you want it,” Peter said.

  “You’ve got to be joking.” Mike fished a rather grubby-looking tissue from the car and blew his nose.

  “I’m not. Take it or leave it, but please let me know.” Exasperated, Peter started to walk away, but heard the car door open and close.

  “Yes, of course I’ll take it.” He appeared at Peter’s side, holding out a hand. “Sorry about all the yelling back there.”

  “No problem,” Peter said, shaking his hand with some reluctance. “You’d better take a look at the cottage.”

  “I’m bringing my youngest to live there,” Mike said with a challenge in his eye.

  “I’m afraid we don’t provide child care,” Peter said, thinking he’d better check out the insurance policy.

  “That’s okay. Rob’ll help out.”

  “Until he goes to Cambridge,” Peter said. “And he does have other duties here.”

  “Right.”

  This had all the makings of a disaster.

  Mike peered over Peter’s shoulder. “Oh, hi there, Rob. God, you look a right fairy.”

  “It’s livery. Get over it,” Rob replied.

  “Bloody hell, I won’t have to dress up like that, will I?” Mike looked horrified.

  “The position doesn’t require livery,” Peter said, but couldn’t resist adding, “unless we call you into the house for additional duties. Mike, please call me to arrange when you’d like to move in, and I’d suggest without your child until you’ve got it fixed up. It’s a bit primitive. Rob, why don’t you show your father the cottage?”

  Rob scowled. “Okay.”

  Father and son moved off together through the woodland, Rob’s shoulders rigid, Mike strolling, hands in pockets and whistling, as though five minutes ago he hadn’t been sobbing his heart out in despair and rage.

  Hoping he hadn’t made a terrible mistake, Peter returned to the office.

  Chris, at his laptop, sent him a bright smile. “What happened? I sent Rob out to find you. I thought he should have advance warning that his old man was on the premises.”

  “Oh, dear God.” Peter sank into his chair. “I sometimes feel as if I’m in a soap opera.”

  “Just wait until the ball tonight. Fresh meat for Sarah, some sort of showdown between Mac and Lou and Rob—”

  “What? What have Rob and Lou been up to? Oh, shit. It’s three o’clock. Are the caterers and florists here?”

  “All here and all under control. Calm down, lover. The only thing we can’t control is the volatility of our guests. You’re supposed to meet Lou and the Paint Boys about two minutes ago for a discussion of the mystery room of the fancy knocking-shop.”

  “Oh, lord, so I am,” said Peter, checking his watch. “Give me a kiss.”

  Chris reached for him and the kiss turned into something far sexier and intense than a peck on the cheek.

  “Wow,” Peter said when he came up for air. “What was all that about?”

  “I behaved like an arse,” Chris said. “It’s an apology.
A promise. I love you, and later tonight, when we get the chance to catch our breath, I’ll show you how much.”

  “I love you, too,” Peter said.

  He passed through the foyer, which would combine with the drawing room and dining room, connected doors fully open, to form the ballroom. The caterers were at work, assisted by the footmen and others recruited from the staff of the agricultural college a dozen miles away, unloading glasses and tables and chairs to take to the terrace where supper would be served. Others arranged furniture and assembled a dais for the musicians. The florists hung swags of flowers on the staircase and twined them around the pillars, and a dozen or so huge vases of flowers stood in the center of the foyer to be arranged around the rooms.

  Di the lady’s maid wove her way toward the staircase, a pile of shimmering gowns in her arms. She gave him a clumsy sort of curtsy as she passed, and hoisted the hem of her own gown to ascend the stairs.

  Already some media had arrived, with video cameras and microphones and those fluffy sound things that looked like bottle brushes. One of the footmen, that boy Ivan who always seemed to have such a bulge in his breeches (well, Peter couldn’t help noticing these things) was keeping an eye on them. Later Peter would give interviews and Chris would direct their own videographer… He let his mind wander to the terrifying list of responsibilities connected with this evening. They really needed someone with solid media experience to run that side of things for them, someone who truly understood what Paradise Hall was about and could put the right sort of spin on stories.

  The noise subsided as he walked through to the wing where the Paint Boys were set up. The room they were concerned with opened from their workroom/lab, a smaller and indeterminate room built onto the back of the house. Until recently, paint and ladders and other supplies had been stored there, since it had a door that opened to the outside and a ponderous Victorian sink with hefty iron faucets. The walls were covered with unpleasant green paint and a single lightbulb hung from the ceiling.