by Lee, Mandy
‘Fuck,’ I half shout, my brain fuddled.
His face appears in front of mine. He checks my makeshift necklace, giving me a little time to recover.
‘How are we feeling?’
‘A little ropey.’
With a laugh, he lies back by my side.
‘How much more can you take?’
‘Plenty,’ I lie.
‘Well, in that case, I might keep you here all day.’
Propping his head on one hand, he traces a finger across my breasts, over the rope, back onto my flesh, watching its slow progress in a lazy dream-like state. Vibrations permeate every part of me, muscles, nerves, sinews – and I wriggle under his touch. He stops at my right nipple, circling it for an age before leaning over again to suck. I buck, raise my hands, whimper at the flood of warmth between my legs. He sucks harder. I tug again. Whirlpools of pleasure spring into life, congregating into one, and I come, crying out, rolling onto my side and curling into a ball. Gently, very gently, he urges me back into position.
‘Think how much more intense this can get,’ he smooths my hair, ‘if I bind your legs to the bed.’
Again, I can’t answer. I’m focussing too hard on bringing myself back under control. Before I know it, he’s straddling me, kissing my stomach, this time moving further out to the sides, tracing his lips up my flanks, one at a time. And I’m back to struggling with my hands.
‘How do you feel?’
Seriously? He expects me to speak? While I’m flapping about in a delirious lather, floundering under a tide of coital ecstasy, losing myself in a full-on surge of sexual oblivion? I open my mouth, but nothing comes out of it, apart from yet another groan. I’ve broken into a sweat, and completely forgotten where I am … let alone how I got here. I’m stranded in the moment, in my own little universe, with Dan. He’s back at my legs now, sucking, kissing, nibbling, moving further down. Finally, arching himself above me, he takes the rope and pulls at it, over and over again, propelling me into another spin, a second orgasm.
‘Jesus,’ I scream. ‘No.’ I need to stop this. Because if I don’t, I’ll end up a husk of a woman. ‘Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee …’
The words spin into darkness, and everything stops. I curl back into a ball, shivering, shaking, riding through the spasms inside. And somehow, I’m aware of him, stroking my brow, raining soft kisses onto my forehead. When I finally manage to open my eyes, he’s smiling at me.
‘So, I take it we’re a fan of rope?’
‘God, yes.’
‘Jolly good.’
He sets about untying the knots, carefully loosening the rope and pulling it away. It doesn’t take long and as soon as I’m freed, I stretch out, completely satisfied.
‘I’m a wreck.’
‘Pull yourself together, woman.’ He moves between my legs. ‘Don’t get too comfortable. I’m only just warming up.’
Some tiny, half-forgotten voice of reason calls out from the back of my head. ‘Excuse me, but shouldn’t you tell him about the period thing, and the totally fucking up with the pill thing, and the possibly being with child thing?’ Lost in the mother of all sex fugs, I flick it to one side, deciding I just don’t need my conscience interfering right now. And I really don’t need reminding I’m a top-notch prat. If this all ends in prams and bottles and baby wipes, I’ve only got myself to blame.
He enters me slowly, his cock smoothing against the inside of my vagina. I can barely believe it when a wave of energy unfurls inside. I writhe in his arms, raise my backside off the bed and cry out in surprise when he thrusts suddenly, lunging all the way in, immediately triggering a third orgasm.
He doesn’t admonish me for my lack of control. Instead, he carries on, withdrawing and thrusting repeatedly, at full force. I reach up, grab hold of his biceps and dig my fingernails into his flesh, firing him up further. With his eyes fixed on mine, his lips clamped together, he keeps up the tempo, pounding through every single one of my convulsions.
‘God, no,’ I cry out.
‘God, yes.’
I thrust a hand into his hair, tugging at it with all my might, but not for long. He grabs my hand and pins it down with a vice-like grip, reminding me who’s in charge while he continues to drive into me at full force. The convulsions keep coming, along with a whole selection of strange noises from my mouth. A stifled moan, a squeak and a gurgle, and finally another of those long, ridiculous howls.
Fighting back a smile, he rams harder until at last, his lips part and I know he’s on the edge.
‘Fuck,’ he grates. ‘Fuck.’ His muscles tense and he thrusts a few last times, filling me with heat as he judders through an orgasm of his own. ‘Shit, Maya. That’s so fucking good.’
He collapses on top of me.
‘But I howled again.’ I gulp for air. ‘That’s not good. You’re turning me into a dog.’
He laughs into my neck.
‘Make any noises you like. I love them all.’
We lie together, sweaty and spent, totally entwined. Gradually, our heartbeats return to normal. Breathing takes on its usual rhythm. Minutes pass in contented silence before he raises himself on his elbows and kisses me, long and hard.
‘Do you know how much I love you?’ I ask.
‘If it’s as much as I love you, you’re in deep trouble.’
He’s right, you know, my conscience pipes up. You probably are, you mad bint. The sort of trouble that takes nine months to make an appearance and then soils itself, repeatedly.
‘I’m not in trouble,’ I murmur, shoving the issue back in its box. ‘I’m in paradise.’
The hours pass by in bliss, making love, sometimes with the rope, sometimes without. At some point, we pause for lunch. And then we’re straight back down to the nitty-gritty. By the time we curl up in each other’s arms, too exhausted to carry on any more, I’ve no idea what time it is. I’m drifting off to sleep when there’s a knock at the door. I jolt awake.
‘Yes?’ Dan calls out.
Gordon pokes his head into the room.
‘Wakey-wakey, sleepy heads. It’s time.’
As quickly as he appears, he’s gone again, leaving me to wince with embarrassment at the sudden realisation that he’s been with us in the suite all along. I can only hope he hasn’t heard any of my frenzied howls, or squeaks of delight.
‘Time for what?’ I ask.
‘You’ll find out.’
Dan’s already up, tugging on his jeans. He pulls back the curtain and draws it again, giving me just enough time to realise it’s already dark outside. I watch as he takes a couple of pills and slips on his T-shirt.
‘A word of advice.’ He gives me a peck on the lips. ‘You’ll need clothes for this.’
Leaving me no clearer on the matter, he disappears from the room. I haul myself out of bed, locate yesterday’s dress and tidy my hair. As soon as I’ve transformed myself into something vaguely presentable, I venture out of the bedroom and wander through to the drawing room … straight into a gathering of the Maya Scotton Protection Society.
They’ve both got their backs to me, but Bill and Clive are unmistakable. Seated together on one of the plush gold sofas, they’re busy talking to each other while Gordon’s over at the far side of the room, methodically working his way through the drawers of a writing bureau. And then there’s Dan, standing in a corner, deep in conversation with a stranger, the only man in a suit. Everyone else is dressed casually. I home in on my fiancé, sidling up and earwigging the conversation, picking up an occasional word or phrase: ‘increased presence’, ‘round the clock’, ‘no expense spared’.
I’d ask them what’s going on, but Clive’s in front of me now. Somehow, in spite of my silent entrance, he’s noticed. And somehow, in spite of his fight with Boyd, there’s not a mark on him.
‘Are you okay?’ He touches my elbow.
‘Of course.’
‘And Lucy?’
‘A bit of a wreck, to be honest. She’s missing you.’
&n
bsp; He looks at Dan.
‘Soon,’ Dan warns him, breaking off the conversation and holding out a hand to me. ‘A few more days, Clive. Be patient.’
I’m guided over to the vacant sofa and take my place next to Dan. And while Gordon continues to open and close drawers, sometimes pausing to examine the contents, Clive sits back down next to Bill.
‘Good to see you,’ Bill smiles.
‘Good to see you too,’ I smile back. ‘I didn’t think you’d be here.’
‘I came back over with Danny Boy. Getting used to that flight now. I came over before, to see him in hospital. My God, he was the worst patient you could imagine.’
He winks at me.
‘Isn’t this dangerous?’ I ask. ‘Everyone meeting here?’
‘A little.’ Dan nods at the stranger. ‘Foultons fixed it up. They’ve gone out of their way for this.’
‘But how did you get in?’
‘The same way Dan did.’ Clive’s eyebrows twitch. ‘Let’s just say I feel like I’m in a Bond film right now.’
Dan slides a hand onto my lap, addressing me, and only me. ‘Meeting in person is the quickest way, the safest way at the minute. Boyd’s got our numbers and I wouldn’t put it past him to have a lead on Bill.’ He pauses. ‘We’re getting to the end game, Maya. Things are going to happen, but I’ve planned for this. There’s increased security in Camden, down at the house in Surrey, in Limmingham too.’
‘This must be costing a bomb.’
‘It’s a temporary measure.’
‘Man, would you look at that!’ Gordon slams a drawer, distracting everyone for a second. ‘Letters. In these drawers … letters from Royal dudes. This place is crazy.’
‘You should bring Maya in,’ Bill suggests, ignoring Gordon’s outburst.
‘No.’ Dan slips a hand on my knee. ‘We need to carry on as we are. Business as usual. Boyd suspects, but that’s all. If we bring Maya in, he’ll know for sure and then God knows what he’ll do.’
‘But you have protection in place,’ Bill pushes. ‘What does it matter if he knows? He can’t harm anyone.’
Dan shakes his head. ‘I’m not taking any chances. Did your men get anything?’
‘Yes.’ Any sign of the kindly old man disappears, revealing the darkness beneath. ‘Our guest was perfectly willing to speak. He’s been working for a character named Richard Dean, a well-known villain.’ He studies Dan, picking up on something in his reaction. ‘You know him?’
‘An acquaintance,’ Dan confirms. ‘I met him a few times at Isaac’s club.’
He doesn’t explain any further. He doesn’t need to. From the way Bill nods, it’s perfectly obvious he already knows about the fat walrus and his sex den.
‘We’ve had Isaac followed for weeks,’ Dan explains to me. ‘He’s had no contact with Boyd, none that we could see. Isaac’s obviously hooked him up with Dean and stepped back.’
‘Well …’ Bill leans back, crossing his legs. ‘I’ve asked around, and I can tell you Dean’s a nasty piece of work. He makes his money out of drugs, prostitution, gambling, that sort of thing.’ He waves a hand, as if that sort of thing’s nothing to get particularly hung up about. ‘He’ll do anything for money. And he’s probably no friend of Boyd’s, just happy to have his pockets lined in return for a little manpower and a place to hide.’
Immediately, Dan makes a decision.
‘Then we’ll line his pockets even more.’
‘Be careful,’ Bill warns. ‘Dean knows you took one of his men. He also knows you won’t be giving him back.’
I’m about to ask what on Earth he means by that, but I’m cut off, sternly.
‘Relax. He’s alive and well, and he wants to stay that way; Dean’s not the type to forgive a Judas. We’re helping our guest to disappear.’ He looks back at Dan, his eyes hard. ‘But that means your Mr Dean’s a man down. I need to fix that before you do anything else.’
‘Then get it done.’ Dan sits forward, clasping his hands together. ‘Quickly. Whatever Boyd’s paying him, I’ll go further … just enough to encourage him to spit the bastard out.’
‘It needs to be a significant amount of money.’
‘I’ll do whatever’s necessary. I assume you can arrange a meeting?’
‘Of course, but I wouldn’t get involved, not personally. He’s bad news.’
‘I’ve met him before.’
‘On different terms. Remember where you met him.’
‘What of it?’ Dan scowls, impatience getting the better of him. He’s beginning to lose his temper.
‘He knows about the club.’ Bill glances at me, evidently uncomfortable now. ‘He knows about your past. Who’s to say he won’t use that knowledge? If you pay Dean to give up Boyd, I’m willing to bet he’ll come back for more. I’m talking blackmail, because that’s the kind of man he is. Once he’s got his claws into you, once he’s smelt your money, he won’t give up.’
‘Oh, come on.’
‘I’ll say it again,’ Bill growls, ‘you don’t want personal contact.’
‘Then how do you suggest we do this?’
‘Allow me.’ Slamming a final drawer, Gordon perches himself on the arm of a sofa. ‘Seriously, you need to look in those drawers. This place is full of secrets.’
The room dips into silence, everyone staring at Gordon, waiting for the first scrap of sense to dribble from his mouth.
‘Fitting, really,’ he beams at Dan. ‘Seeing as we’re being all, you know … secretive.’
‘If you’ve got something to say,’ Dan admonishes him, ‘get on with it.’
‘Okay.’ Unaffected by his friend’s irritation, Gordon shrugs. ‘I’m not scared of the big bad wolf, believe me. Nobody gets to Gordon Finn. I’ll meet with Dean.’
‘I can’t let you do that,’ Dan protests.
‘And I can’t let you stop me. You don’t need any connections with this piece of crap. No more threats … from anywhere. If we’re still play-acting, Maya’s my girlfriend.’ He me blows an ironic kiss. ‘So, logically speaking, I should be the one to sort this out, money and all.’
I check on Dan, catching the first signs of another objection.
‘Do it,’ I tell him before he can open his mouth. ‘They’re right. You don’t need any more complications. You’ve got good friends here. Let them help you.’
‘But …’
‘If you’re really willing to do anything to make your future wife happy, then do this.’
He chews at his bottom lip.
‘Fine, but I’m paying him back.’
‘And that’s the extent of your involvement,’ I warn him.
‘And that’s you told,’ Clive adds. ‘I have to say, as your accountant, I concur with your future wife. Let Gordon deal with Richard Dean – I’m sure he has some twisted ways to account for cash transactions – and I’ll find a way to pay him back, non-traceable.’
‘Let’s do this thing.’ Like an over-enthusiastic inspirational speaker, Gordon springs up from the sofa, eager for action. ‘And you two lovebirds?’
We look up at him in unison.
‘If you want to thank me for this … just remember to invite me to the wedding.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘Yuk.’
I put down the mug.
My tea tastes strange … metallic.
And something stirs at the back of my mind. Another week’s passed in wilful oblivion. I still haven’t come on, or worked out when I’m due, or even got round to using that bloody test.
‘Later.’
I turn back to the current work in progress. It’s almost finished. The wall sets off the vibrant white of the dress, the richly textured cotton, embroidered with tiny, delicate floral patterns. A host of multi-coloured sweet peas frame the scene. All I need to do now is finish off the details of my face, arms and hands, adding the engagement ring. I lean back, thoroughly satisfied with the week’s work. This is my most personal painting yet, a message of my commitment to Dan. I s
wallow back a tiny wave of nausea, not for the first time today, and focus on the painted version of me, the flat stomach I’ve created.
‘You should work on that bit,’ a mischievous voice niggles in my head. ‘Maybe a bump’s in order. A massive bump, about the size of a bus. And huge bazookas too.’
‘Shit.’
I can’t put it off any longer. There are no more ‘laters’ to be had. It’s time to confirm what I already seem to know. In a trance, I clean up, change into jeans and a blouse, grab my handbag and take it downstairs to the basement toilet. A silent cubby-hole buried away in the bowels of Soho, it’s freezing cold in here, the air tinged with damp. Under the harsh light of a bare bulb, grey paint flakes away from the walls while up in the corner above the toilet, a desiccated fly, long since dead, lies suspended in an abandoned web. It’s not the most salubrious place to welcome a new little person into my life; but it’ll have to do.
On automatic pilot, I lift the cracked toilet lid, noting the tiny ceramic camper van resting on the cistern, and begin to follow the instructions. When I’m done, I lower the lid again and risk sitting on the crack. Clutching the plastic stick and gazing into space, I busy myself with thoughts of the other pressing issue in my life. Just as Dan promised, we seem to have moved into the end game. After spending the rest of Friday holed up at The Goring, I returned to Camden, digging in for the last few days of frustration – a quiet weekend at home followed by a working week at Slaters. I’ve been ferried everywhere by Carl, visited on a daily basis by Gordon, and quietly, in the background, Bill’s played his shady part. And today, if everything’s gone to plan, Mr Finn’s finally met with the hideous Mr Dean.
I look down, releasing an involuntary ‘Oh.’
There’s a blue line in the indicator window, strong and unmistakable.