The Business of Pleasure (8 page)

‘You didn’t wait for my answer,’ I accused, without rancour.

‘Didn’t I? I thought I had your answer,’ he said. ‘Besides, it offends my morals to let a woman sit alone in a bar.’

‘Your
morals
?’

‘I have my own code, built up over the quarter century I’ve been alive. One of the most important precepts is to offer a lady company if she looks lonely.’

‘That’s very … good of you. What a big heart you must have.’

‘Yes, it’s very big. My heart, that is.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘What’s that eye shadow you’re wearing? It has a metallic look.’

Before I could move, he had put a finger and thumb beneath my chin, tilting it up for his inspection. I nearly screamed, nearly fainted, nearly … I remembered to breathe. This was what skin felt like on skin. There were people – lots of them – who would do anything for this, who were addicted to it. I thought his finger and thumb-pads must be burned into me, an indelible smudge mark on my face. His eyes were such discs of liquid chocolate that I could barely make out his pupils, but eventually I saw that they were wide and large, drawing me into them as if they had been enchanted to suck me into their blackness.

‘Beautiful,’ he whispered. ‘I want you.’

‘Bit sudden,’ I managed to choke out, ‘isn’t it?’

‘Life is short,’ he said, and a shiver ran straight up my spine and into the nape of my neck. ‘I don’t want to miss a second I could spend with you. Come with me.’

‘I don’t know …’

‘How can I convince you? Maybe like this.’

His breath, menthol and lemon, and then his lips, full and sweet, on mine, testing me for resistance at first and then … I did not want to resist, I could not resist, resistance was futile. He did exactly what I wanted him to, which was to take the option of resistance away from me so that my shrivelled, desiccated obsessions flaked away and what was left was the sensual woman I used to be.

He was gentle but assertive, easing me in, never rushing me, but never giving me the chance to withdraw. When his tongue began to flicker around my lips, I whimpered a little, into his mouth, but allowed him access. The thought flew through my mind that I needed a fanfare – this was a momentous thing. Instead, light R&B music continued to play in the background, accompanying my fizzing, floating sensations, until Justus released me and said, ‘Does that help?’

‘It was very convincing,’ I replied dreamily. ‘Very. Convincing.’ Nowhere in my mind – well, OK, somewhere, but at the very
back
of it – was the fear that a million bacteria were making their murderous way down my gullet. Instead, my main fear was that he would not do that again.

He dispelled the fear. Then he dispelled it a second time, just to be sure, this time forging into me with his tongue in the first few seconds. His hands were capable, strong at the back of my head and his aftershave was so wondrously subtle he could almost not be wearing any. Nothing to mask, everything pure and without veneer. Perfection.

Once he was finished with the fear-dispelling, he kept in close to me and, with a nuzzle, said, ‘Shall we take this to my room?’

‘Your room?’ My mouth felt full of cotton wool, thick and muzzy.

‘Uh huh. Or we could carry on just here, but I think the barman might have a word or two to say about that.’

‘I’m … not that kind of woman.’ It was a token effort which I knew he would ride over roughshod.

‘Baby, I’m not that kind of man either. But you have this effect on me – I can’t help myself!’

I loved the cheesiness, the predictability of it – these oft-rehearsed lines were never spoken to me before. I was normal! I was a normal woman, getting propositioned by a normal man in a normal hotel bar! It was so thrilling I wanted to scream.

Maybe some normal women would have batted him away with a string of scornful words, maybe some would have suggested another drink first. But not this normal woman. This normal woman had a normal itch that needed scratching fast.

‘Oh, well, if you can’t help yourself … poor man,’ I teased, running a hand over his cheek, which felt like velvet pile, almost too soft to be male.

‘I need you in my bed,’ he murmured, a subterranean rumble that made my senses vibrate. ‘I’m ready for you. I’ll turn your body inside out. You’ll beg me to stop and beg me for more at the same time.’

‘Ohhh,’ I half-tittered, nervous now. ‘Gosh. All right then.’

He stood and pulled me roughly after him, causing me to almost turn my ankle in my high-heeled shoe. I looked up at the fascinated barman and gave him a weakly apologetic grimace, though of course he must have known exactly what was going on. The amused faces of the customers struck enthralled guilt to my very core. It was so wrong, so swift, so immoral and so amazing I thought I might be flying.

I flew past the gleaming metallic fittings of the bar and into the lift (Justus pressed the buttons) and along the corridor, where he lifted me up so I really was almost airborne and into the room where it would all happen.

‘Just you and me now, baby,’ he crooned, kicking the door shut behind him and bearing down on me for another soulfully intense kiss. When I opened my eyes, set back down on the carpet, I noticed that the bed was sealed in polythene wrap, as were the easy chairs. The furniture shone so much it sparkled and everything smelled of divine nothingness.

The bed crackled as I put a hand on the clear covering.

‘This is all so hygienic,’ I exclaimed, impressed.

Justus, to his gentlemanly credit, pretended not to hear me. ‘We are going to rumple this beautiful bed,’ he told me. ‘Together, we are going to make it look as if Tracy Emin and all her artist friends have had a party on it.’

I laughed, enchanted. That Tracy Emin unmade bed thing had always made me feel sick, but, right now, it seemed to have lost a lot of its emetic power.

Justus held me by my elbows, gazing with serious intent into my rapt face.

‘You don’t think I’m serious?’ he said, dangerous as a panther on the cusp of a pounce. ‘I am very serious. Let me show you how much.’

He released an elbow and let a hand trace the outline of my neck and shoulders, doubling back over my collarbone, then reaching around behind me to the top button of my dress. He scarcely fumbled at all; it was undone in a split second, and he eased the straps down over my upper arms then bent to kiss my neck and shoulder with a lightness I would not have thought him capable of. I bent back my head, eyelids fluttering, the golden light of the room blurring. His hand steadied me at the small of my back before I crumpled and I swooned into him, making the most of his skin against mine, his lips against my throat, his close-cut hair prickling my cheek and chin. Now his nose was edging down towards the valley of my cleavage, its slopes exposed by the sudden downward shrug of the fabric. His mouth lighted on the crests of my breasts … untouched for so long … I began to shiver.

‘Let’s lose this, shall we?’ he whispered, chasing the straps down my arms until they were free and the dress began to collapse, the fluid silk rippling slowly over my ribs, my hips and whispering against my legs until I was standing – leaning – in my underwear.

Justus’ hands went to my waist – to be honest, I was really needing the support now – and he took a step back, looking me over from head to toe. I wanted to shrink from his gaze, but I could not step away, could not look away. Eventually, he shook his head and my heart plummeted. I was too fat! Too short! Too old!

‘Tsk tsk, Naomi,’ he said. ‘You have been keeping this hidden for how long? Five years, did you say? That is an unforgivable crime against the men of this world. How do you plead?’

I bit my lip, grinning coyly. ‘You aren’t a criminal lawyer!’ I reproved. ‘Nor a judge.’

‘I certainly am a judge. I’m a judge of a fine woman, and you, my dear, fall into that category. So I’ll ask you again, how do you plead?’

I said the word. ‘Guilty.’ For a moment, the emotions, the realisations it led to overpowered me. I held up my wrists. ‘What is the sentence?’

‘A stiff penalty for you, Naomi.’ He grinned, but there was compassion in his eyes. ‘I sentence you to an evening you cannot regulate or control. An evening of not being able to dictate what happens next. I bet that’s difficult for you.’

‘I haven’t done anything like it … in years.’

‘Shall we do it? Shall we … take you down?’

‘Take me down.’

‘I’m going to undo you.’

‘Undo me.’

He unclipped my bra, freeing my breasts, which were too small, would not do …

‘Lovely.’ He bent to kiss each nipple, anointing them with the tip of his tongue, holding them in capable hands. His buzz cut hair cried out to me to touch it, to feel the smooth curve of his scalp and the velvety fuzz that protected it. All these new textures and feelings were rioting together, striking me off-balance until I was tossing in a sea of unfamiliarity. People love the sea, but it is dangerous; I was not sure whether to melt or vomit. I gritted my teeth, took myself in hand, went with the melt.

He tipped me off my feet and lifted me into his arms, twirling me round so that the ceiling chandelier spun and fragmented into blurs of colour, then he threw me gently on the bed, which felt cold and tacky.

‘Oh, let’s get this plastic off!’ I exclaimed. ‘It feels awful!’ Laughing giddily, I got to my feet and helped him rip the sheet off to expose the luxurious silkiness beneath. ‘This is so much better.’ I lay back against the covers, rippling my naked spine against them, wanting to print my outline on the silver-grey silk.

Justus was appreciative of my disinhibition; he threw off his suit jacket, slipped out of his shoes and hurled himself over me, crouching with his knees outside my hips, his tie swinging over my face, his teeth flashing predatory intent from a great height. He was so big and so beautiful, I just wanted to strip him down and feast on him while I could. I clutched at his belt and he clamped a hand down over mine.

‘In a hurry?’ he enquired.

‘Yes, I’m in a hurry. I’ve been in the desert and you’re the biggest, coolest drink of water I could ever have dreamed.’

‘That’s nice, Naomi. But we’ve got all night.’

‘Don’t make me wait.’

‘The journey is the best part. Don’t you think? Reaching the destination can be overrated. Let’s have a good, long journey. First class. Great service. Great views.’

‘Take off your clothes!’ I yelped, tormented by the way his finger was travelling down my stomach to the elasticated border of the only garment I now sported. I wanted him to rip them off, to wrench my thighs apart and dive, clothes flying from him, into my canyon. Finally I understood the ridiculousness of my long abstinence; finally I knew what I had been missing. To make up for all those years, I would have to drain this poor man dry, to have him take up residence between my legs for the indefinite future, to have his cock lodged within me morning, noon and night. Oh, that would be fine. In the cab home, in the supermarket, cooking the dinner, with Justus joined to me at the groin. I could live like that. If only I could get him to take off his suit and fuck me in the first place.

‘Let’s take it nice and easy.’ He took a mouthful of tit again, tonguing it and making low, vibrating sounds of ecstasy like a gourmet masticating a rare truffle. I plucked at his shirt buttons, and, even though he tried to bat me away, I managed to get a couple undone. My hand slid inside the gap, meeting warm solidity, perfect definition, curves and lines where they should be. His knees pressed into my hips, warning me that I had taken more than he had permitted. One hand fished me out of his shirt and moved my exploring fingers to the rocky bulge beneath his belt.

‘Wow!’ I sighed. ‘Please …’

He finished his meal of my breasts and shook his head, tutting tormentingly.

‘All in good time, Naomi. I’m still hungry.’ He made a lunge for my knickers then dropped them on to the carpet. His lips were upon me, his tongue spreading me wider, feasting and salivating while I squealed my shocked approval.

Even in the Gerry days, this was not something I had done a lot of. Somehow, it seemed too intimate, too revealing. I could not fake my response, or tone it down – the tongue worked its magic and I was enchanted.

‘Oh, Justus, no, stop!’ I pleaded.

He lifted his head, eyes wide.

‘Really?’

‘No,’ I confessed. ‘Not really. Carry on.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

And his tongue tripped along every little crease, covered every bump and mound with its bounty, never letting up until I gave it up, bucking into his generous face with no idea how to stop myself, and no care about how I looked, or anything but the blissful climax he had brought me to.

‘You have to promise me, Naomi,’ said Justus mock-sternly, kneeling up from his oral workout, ‘that you will get that done to you a lot more often. I could feel that wave coming over you right from the moment I went down. You needed that.’

‘Oh. Oh,’ was all I could say. ‘Oh God.’

‘No, I’m a mere mortal,’ he said. ‘I know it’s hard to believe. I suppose I should let you get a breath back before I move on to the next part of my plan for you. Or … no, OK, we’ll do it this way. Turn over on to your front.’

I obeyed, having no will whatsoever to do otherwise, and lay with my cheek against my arm, listening to the sounds of him undressing at last. I was not sure I would have the energy to do anything other than lie like a rag doll while he took his pleasure – but as it happened, that was not what he had in mind. Instead, he lay on his side beside me and gave me the gentlest of massages – not even a massage at all, really, more a sort of firmer, less irritating stroke. My shoulders, neck and back burned with the sweetness of his touch; I imagined his circular motions drawn on to me, like a map of his attentions, and my eyelids began to droop, my head to weigh ever heavier.

‘OK,’ he said, and he smacked my bottom so unexpectedly that my whole body leapt as if electrocuted. ‘I know I said it was good to wait … but I think I’ve waited long enough. Judging by the state of this …’

He placed my hand around his cock. It was joyously fat and hard; my untensed body began to tauten again at the thought of its intentions.