The Gift (6 page)

‘So … bondage, spanking, power games? Have you tried any of those?’

‘No.’ Her voice shook on the word. Her throat felt dry.

‘Would you like to?’

‘I … I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘Oh, I think you do. I think you’ve already started.’ The car rounded a sweeping bend, hitting the perfect apex of the curve.

‘Allowing a man you don’t know to give you head in a hotel garden seems plenty kinky to me. Daring, at least.’

Sensation trickled like quicksilver down her spine, and the place where his tongue had roved shimmered with excitement.

‘I didn’t intend to let that happen. It just did.’

The tips of her fingers tingled. She wanted to do something. Touch something.

‘Indeed. But what about doing something intentionally? Something for me.’

Blood began to surge faster through her body. She could feel it, and almost see it in her mind’s eye, pelting along her veins and vessels. Her head nodded, completely of its own volition and, even though Jay’s eyes were on the road ahead, she knew he’d seen it.

‘Touch your breast.’

A sensation like vertigo gripped her. It was if she were on a merry-go-round, floating and rising in a wild unreal whirl. Her hand seemed disconnected from her arm but, as if by magic, it lifted, moved, and pushed her wrap aside. Returning to her breast, she cupped the slight weight of it. Her fingertips were hyper-sensitised and she could feel the texture of her flesh and skin, the pattern of the lace that covered it, and the slipperiness of the delicate silk of her dress. She daren’t press hard because just the faintest contact sent a tingle of excitement to her pussy.

‘That’s good,’ observed Jay blandly, still apparently totally focused on his driving. ‘But give me more. Caress yourself. Squeeze. Be a little rough. Play with your nipple.’

I can’t! I can’t! It’s too much!

But it wasn’t nearly enough, and she could do it. Because he’d told her to.

She gasped out loud as she squeezed herself, caught unawares by the heavy lurch of arousal in the pit of her belly. Her nipple was so sensitive it was almost painful when she thumbed it, and the simple action brought a drench of silky fluid into her panties. Wetness. Nature’s welcome for the rampant potent male of the species. Jay Bentley.

‘More. Pinch yourself. Twist your nipple … Try a little pain with your pleasure, see if you like it.’

Obeying him, she yelped out loud. But he was right. She did like it. At least her body did. Her pussy rippled deliciously, and the crotch of her knickers grew even more sopping.

‘Good?’

‘I don’t know! I don’t know!’ It came out as a wail, even as she shuffled in the deluxe seat of his Aston Martin, suddenly and completely his object, his slave.

How had she come to this? She’d always tried not to be a sexual doormat, to do her own thing. But tonight she’d met a man who was a thousand times her match, and seemed to be able to use just a few words to render her his puppet.

‘Are you aroused? Do you want to come?’

Sandy bit down on her lip, trying to resist him. Between her legs she was hot, and wet like a river. Of course she fucking well wanted to come! But somehow she also wanted to defy the soft raw words that could well lead to all kinds of downfall.

‘Don’t fight it, Sandy. I can tell you’re turned on. Your face is pink and your eyes are like stars. You look exquisite. Tell me how you feel.’

‘A bit turned on.’ She squeezed out the words, even as she squeezed down hard on her teat again to punish herself for being so easy, so lascivious and so weak in the face of his barely exerted strength.

‘No, no, no. Tell me how you really feel. The sensations.… Give them to me in words.’

I can’t, I can’t
, she cried inside again, even as she licked her lips, preparing to speak. Trying to stop herself, she twisted her nipple, harder this time, and let out a broken groan as her sex-flesh lurched in some kind of minor convulsion, a mini orgasm, sharp yet not quite satisfying.

‘Did you come then?’

Sandy blinked, tried to focus. Had she blacked out or something? Time seemed to be passing strangely here in Jay’s dream machine.

She wanted to shake her head, say ‘no’, but instead she admitted, ‘Yes, a bit … I think so.’

‘Surely you know, Sandy. I usually know when I’ve come.’

Anger cut through the haze, bringing clarity, and her will again. ‘Well, of course a man knows when he’s come! There’s – there’s stuff, isn’t there? It’s either out or it’s in, and, if it’s out, you’ve come!’

‘Stuff?’ Jay chuckled, a strangely young, light sound, almost boyish. ‘Now there’s a poetic turn of phrase if I ever heard one.’

‘Well, what the hell do you call it?’

Astonishingly, Sandy realised she was still cupping her breast. It was as if she couldn’t stop until he gave her leave to. Surreptitiously, she moved her thumb across her nipple again, trying to breathe normally when desire welled again.

‘Do you know, I’ve never really thought about it,’ Jay observed almost conversationally. They glided to a halt at traffic lights on the way into the town and, when he glanced across at her, his eyes flickered from her hand at her breast to her blushing face and her reddened bitten lips. ‘Semen, I suppose. Or spunk.’ That wicked tongue of his swept around his lips again and, as he turned his attention back to the lights, he asked, ‘Why, do you like the taste of it?’

‘I …’

Did she? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure it had a great deal of taste. But the thought of its texture on her tongue was so vivid, suddenly, that it made her sex rouse and glow even more. She imagined the texture, and the fugitive taste of Jay’s semen on her tongue. She wanted to taste him, sample him, take him in and imbibe his essence. Which was weird, she’d never particularly been one for giving head. She didn’t object to it. She just didn’t do it of her own volition.

Except in her silly romantic fantasies where she happily
knelt down and sucked the cock of her long-lost Prince Charming in a show of gratitude.

‘So?’ her companion prompted, about as far from her fantasy rescuer as it was possible to be. The lights changed, they glided onwards, cocooned in their strange edgy world of sexual jousting.

‘Er, yes, I suppose I don’t mind it, really.’

I want to taste yours.

As if he’d heard her, Jay smiled wolfishly. ‘Excellent. You like sucking cock. That’s good to know.’

‘But that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to suck yours!’ It was a lie. She knew it. And she knew he knew it.

‘We’ll see … we’ll see …’ His voice was infuriatingly smug, but just when Sandy was about to fling back some retort at him, she knew not what, he continued, in a completely unsmug voice, ‘I think we’re nearly there, aren’t we?’

It was true. The traffic lights they’d stopped at were the last set before the centre of town, and now they were cruising into Kissley proper. Sandy snatched her hand away from the front of her dress. There were people around, and the urban lighting was well maintained. Any of the couples and groups of either sex traversing between the pubs, the video store and the pedestrian precinct might glance into the interior of a beautiful car to see who was lucky enough to be riding in it. The glass was tinted, but far from opaque.

Still, she was disappointed that they were suddenly all business as she directed him to the small parking area in the little yard behind the Teapot. There was a small Datsun parked there and, after a moment’s pondering as to whose it might be, it dawned on her that she’d seen Kat’s Greg driving one like it sometimes.

‘Problem?’

Sandy realised she’d been frowning, and of course eagle-eyes beside her had noticed.

‘No, it just seems that Kat and her paramour have returned to the Teapot ahead of us. No guesses as to what they’ll be getting up to.’

With the lights turned off, Jay’s eyes were almost silvery in the shadows.

‘Ah, the kinky couple. Do you think we’ll disturb them?’

‘I doubt if category eight on the Richter scale will disturb them when they get going. And even if we did disturb them they’d carry on shagging anyway. Exhibitionism is one of their kinks.’

‘Do you like to watch? Does it turn you on?’

She gave him an old-fashioned stare, knowing he could read her in the darkness.

‘Well then, shall we go in and watch the show?’ said Jay softly, reaching for the door handle.

Leading the way, Sandy started up the steps at the rear of the building that led to the kitchen, walking as lightly as she could. Jay followed behind and, when they reached the top of the flight, she felt his breath on the back of her neck.

When his hand fell on her shoulder, compelling her to look at him, he didn’t say anything, but his eyes were still gleaming, full of roguish anticipation, making him look younger, almost naughty, like a horny boy.

For a split second, Sandy imagined Prince Charming here on the stairs with her. Would he like to watch too? Had he grown up into a sexy sophisticated man of the world? A man much as she imagined Jay to be, based on the evidence so far.

Quashing the notion, Sandy bit her lip, then gave the real man behind her a nod to keep quiet. Then, making a surreptitious signal to move forward, she reached down, slipped off her clattering high heels and led the way. Light on his feet, Jay followed behind her, silent as the proverbial cat.

The back door to the café was open.

Sandy ground her teeth. Kat was a brilliant cook and an even better friend, but she could be a bit casual about
security issues sometimes, especially when she had sex on her mind. Which she so obviously did now, judging by the giggles and moans and other earthy unmistakeable noises that were emanating from the kitchen at the end of the short landing.

Silently closing the back door behind herself and Jay, Sandy disposed of her bag, shoes and wrap on the coat-stand beside it, and tiptoed towards the source of the evocative sounds, acutely conscious of the dark male presence following her.

The door was open, a good-sized crack, but the landing was unlit. In deep shadow, there was perfect cover and an unrestricted view of anything happening in the kitchen.

And there was happening aplenty. Sandy’s jaw dropped. She would have let out a gasp but, before she could, a large warm hand settled lightly but firmly over her mouth. At the same time a strong arm snaked around her waist, supporting her. Without it, her knees might have wobbled and let her down.

Kat, her dear friend and cheerfully unashamed sex maniac, was standing in the middle of the room stark naked from the waist down. The skin-tight shiny black leggings she’d been wearing were flung across the ladder-back of one of the old kitchen chairs, and her lover, the innocent-faced but lecherously delightful Gregory, was standing behind her, kissing her neck and squeezing her crotch in rude and lazy rhythm.

‘Oh God … oh yes … mm … oh yeah.’ Kat gurgled in her throat as her head tipped back to rest on Greg’s shoulder, her black hair fanning out across his shirt.

Greg’s fingers tensed. He was working her slow and hard. And she was loving it.

Driven by a heady mix of hormones and instincts, Sandy pressed back against her own sexy man. Jay tightened his iron-muscled arm around her, drawing her close so she could feel his groin against her bottom. He was getting hard, the warm knot of his erection prodding at her tender anal groove, pressing the fabric of her dress against the little vent there.

The contact was slight and subtle – Jay wasn’t grinding the way Greg was against Kat – but its effects fizzed in her blood-stream like the Champagne she’d drunk earlier. She wanted to grind, but something in the way Jay held her kept her still. He was containing her in ways other than physical, and she couldn’t remember experiencing a greater excitement, not in the Aston, nor in the Waverley garden before it. The scent of his spicy cologne made her dizzy.

And all the while the enthusiastic couple in the kitchen seemed intent on putting on a command performance, almost as if they knew they had an audience.

Maybe they did?

The Aston Martin wasn’t exactly the quietest of cars and, even though they’d been careful, she and Jay might well have been audible on the stairs.

‘Yes, baby, yes,’ encouraged Greg as he squeezed and lifted Kat on the fulcrum of his hand, making her moan and whimper louder and wriggle like a she-cat on heat. Tossing her head, she grabbed at Greg’s hand, urging him on, while with her other hand she cupped her own breast and pinched her teat through her thin silky top.

‘You like it, don’t you, you naughty girl?’ Greg grinned, a slow, wicked, joyous little smirk as his fingers moved between Kat’s legs. There was something so happy about the young man’s expression. He seemed Machiavellian, but
benign, and this, coupled with his fresh good looks and his wiry body, meant it wasn’t hard to understand why Kat was so besotted with him.

Sandy craned forward, aching for a better view, and as she did so Jay slid his hand from her waist, across her belly, to cup her mound. When she drew breath, the other hand, across her mouth, tightened its hold.

Her eyes starting out of her head, she watched an echo of what she was feeling.

‘You’re very bad, luring me here and just leaving your friend at the party,’ Greg went on, his mouth next to Kat’s ear as he rummaged about between her legs. ‘That was a terrible thing to do, and you should be punished for such misbehaviour, really you should.’ As he spoke it became plain that Greg was pushing fingers – one, two or even more – into Kat’s sex. Straining to see, Sandy stiffened, rising on her toes, as Jay pressed against her entrance with his fingers, pushing the soft fabric of her skirt into her sticky cleft. He didn’t even bother to raise her skirt, he just squeezed at her, grasping, searching, probing.

This is the second time tonight. How am I letting this happen? I barely know the man, but he knows my pussy already.

Strong fingertips pressed her skirt and her dainty underwear into the groove of her sex, parting her pubic floss and quickly reaching the heart of the matter. With a deft twist of his wrist, he curved his fingers, rocking and rubbing at her clit, saturating the fabric and using the cloth itself for friction.