The Accidental Mistress (24 page)

Then he waited, and Lizzie smiled at him, sensing the baton of proactivity passed to her. She could have stripped completely, but instead, she unbuttoned her blouse and let it hang open. From amongst the wealth of pretty lingerie he’d bought her, she’d chosen a front-fastening white lace bra this morning, just for a moment exactly like this. Popping the clip, she drew apart the cups, another gift to him.

Exposed and presented, she still felt strong, in control. She was Mistress. Goddess. Queen. His blazing eyes told her he thought that too. He was happy with his gifts, smiling and her equal now yet still mindful of her status.

‘Lizzie,’ he whispered, stepping forward to kiss her again, his naked loins pressed to hers, as he caressed her thighs and buttocks. Her trim little blouse was short, and his hands roamed unhindered over her curves, exploring and honouring.

‘Shall we?’ she suggested, her voice trembling a little as he broke the luscious, deep kiss just as she was on the point of swooning.

‘Oh yes …’ Taking her by the hand, he helped her on to the bed. Guided by him, she took her position, head resting on the arm supporting her weight, bottom up, thighs parted. Offered, yet not shamed. Another bountiful gift to him, of her own choosing.

‘Lizzie … Lizzie …’ His voice sounded as awed as hers as he got behind her, and laid his hands on her bottom, stroking and savouring the touch of her skin. He could have spanked
her so easily like that, but they weren’t playing that particular game today. His fingers were as gentle as they could be ferocious, when she wished them to be. ‘Touch yourself, love,’ he said, leaning over her back, his cock against her thigh as he drew the edge of his thumb along the inner slope of her bottom cheek, making her sway and work her hips a bit.

Gladly … oh gladly.

Her pussy was slick again, ready for him, her clitoris swollen and edgy. She rolled it slowly, gasping, almost ready to come again.

‘I hope you’ve got a condom handy.’ It was a nonsense statement. He always had them because he always wanted her.

‘Don’t worry, even if I didn’t, the Waverley always provisions their bedside drawers with a more than adequate supply. Thoughtful of them, eh?’

‘It’s a very naughty hotel,’ she said, almost ready to assume her mistress role again and order him to fuck her, and be quick about it.

Ever attuned to her, he said nothing, but quickly clad himself, his small movements efficient and purposeful.

‘Baby,’ he murmured vaguely, his voice spaced as he presented his cock to her, nestling the warm, latex-clad head right where she wanted it to nestle … and more.

He stayed poised for a moment, as if teasing her, then pushed in, long and deep. Lizzie gasped at the solid feel of him, the sure, imposing size. He always felt new to her, always a wonder.

‘Yes …’

‘Yes!’

They both laughed, even though the shaking of John’s body did extraordinary things to Lizzie. With his cock inside
her, she was so much in sync with him that he barely had to breathe and she could feel it as a caress. She could swear that his heartbeat and the very pulse of his blood around his body was a tattoo that passed from his flesh into hers.

‘Stroke yourself, sweetheart,’ he said, voice low and thrilling. He was in charge again, and she didn’t mind a bit. ‘Make yourself come while I fuck you. Go on, Lizzie, do it.’

Holding her by the hip, he swung his body, pumping and thrusting in a sweet, hard rhythm, knocking at nerve-endings and zones of sensitivity with each stroke. She barely had to touch her own flesh; friction, possession and push-pull, push-pull were driving her and lifting her to her goal.

But because he’d bade her touch her clit, she did so, slicking and circling, matching his beat. It took barely a moment, and she was shouting. Crying out his name, the pit of her belly and her sex awash with bliss.

‘Yes, oh god, John … you bastard! Yes!’

The flexing muscles of her pussy gripped him, rippling and clenching again and again. Her hand dropped away from her flesh … not necessary now … but his hand replaced it, slipping around, yet also accurate, relentless.

Lights went off in her head, and she thrashed about, squirming, half collapsing, engulfed by John as he surged into her, climbing over her back, his hips hammering and hammering, his own vocabulary, as he ploughed her, more salty by a thousand-fold than hers.

Moaning, she came again, and again, feeling the pulse of his climax inside her as he pinned her to the mattress, still fondling her clit. The wild waves crested, tossing her high and dizzying her, but eventually, like any storm, they ebbed and calmed.

The crisp chintz cotton of the duvet cover was deliciously
cool against her cheek as she lay there, beneath him. The source of their never used ‘safe word’, it smelt clean and freshly laundered. Immaculate. Just as pristine as it’d been on their first night, when the patterned duvet had caught her eye, right at the moment John had instructed her to choose a word.

Yes, pristine … Not like me, though. Despite my orders and instructions.

She grinned against the cloth, laughing inside at her own intentions to stay in control with him and not to let him take her over.

But at least it had all been light and fun and crazy and not in the least muddled by issues of ‘relationships’ and her impetuous announcement that she loved him.

‘Well, I’m glad I took my skirt off,’ she said, stirring and wriggling beneath him, ‘because my blouse probably looks as if it’s fit to mop the floor with now.’

John snaked his arms around her and, holding her tight, rolled on to his back. His softened cock slid out of her as they settled against each other again, but she could still feel him against the back of her thigh, intimate and companionable. With a happy sigh, she relaxed against him. They’d both have to go soon, no doubt, but not just yet. There was time just to chill and lie together.

‘You always look gorgeous,’ he murmured, his breath making strands of her hair flutter, ‘whether you’re done up like a supermodel, or naked with your hair all over the place, or any state in between. It’s impossible for you to look anything less than both elegant and fuckable.’

‘You’re such a shameless flatterer … but I like it. Don’t stop.’

He shifted against her, his hand still cupping her sex while
he tweaked at her crumpled blouse. ‘We can get housekeeping to run a quick iron over this for you, if you like? They’re very good, and it’s still early. We could have breakfast together. I’ll bet you’ve come out without your cornflakes, haven’t you?’

She had come out without breakfast. Without coffee or tea, even. And now she was starving.

‘Mm … breakfast. Yes! Something’s made me very, very hungry!’

‘Me too.’

Was his cock stiffening again? Well, maybe there was just a hint of it.

‘I know … I’m a pig. But I’m satisfied, really.’ He kissed the side of her cheek. ‘Thank you for coming to me, Lizzie. It was beautiful. I don’t deserve you, really I don’t.’

But you do. You’re everything wonderful to me, and I love you.

But she didn’t say that. It was too much. ‘I’m glad I came too. We missed out last night. We needed it.’

John gave her a hug, then sat up, pushing her up with him. ‘We certainly did. And now we need breakfast! And lots of it! I usually eat fruit and yogurt, and high fibre cereal, trying to preserve the ageing constitution and all that, but this morning, I want eggs! And possibly bacon! To hell with it!’

‘Yum!’ She could almost smell the bacon already, and coffee too.

‘And lots of wicked strong coffee too,’ he said, as if he’d read her mind, ‘with toast and marmalade.’ He slid his hands on to her shoulders, and gave her a squeeze, almost a mini massage. ‘Now, wiggle into your clothes again, and I’ll hit the bathroom, then we can pig out on calories and cholesterol to our heart’s content. Or ruin …’

‘Can I take a turn in the bathroom first? A girl likes to be dainty, you know. Especially at breakfast.’ She slithered
from the bed, conscious of her naked belly, and her crotch, on show.

‘Of course, sweetheart. Do you want to get your blouse ironed? I’ll ask for housekeeping as well as breakfast.’ With easy grace, he slid to his feet beside her, and retrieved his robe, holding it open, offering it to her.

‘Oh, I think it’ll be fine. It doesn’t look in the least bit mop-like, surprisingly enough.’ Suddenly, unaccountably shy, she darted for the bathroom door. ‘Back in a trice … Order
lots
of breakfast!’

Oh, she was glorious!

John hugged his robe around him. He wanted to whirl about, like Maria on the hillside, like a callow youth infatuated by his first sweetheart.

A woman could not be more perfect than Lizzie. She was a supreme bed-mate and the most sophisticated empathic companion too. She did not probe. She did not wheedle. She simply gave her heart and her body, unstintingly and with generosity.

Do I love her? Do I know what love is … after Clara?

Whatever love was, what he had with Lizzie was the closest he’d come to it since. Maybe the closest ever. Who knew? His concept of love, the way to
be
with a woman, had become so distorted by what he’d felt for Clara, and then by his marriage to her mother. He hardly knew what the normal way to have a relationship was.

But Lizzie cut through all that. She
was
sophisticated, but she was also unsophisticated. It was easy to be with her, and he knew that was what he wanted. He mustn’t rush her, but within those parameters, he’d do everything he could to have her with him. And everything he could to make her happy,
and fulfilled, and yes
free
, while she was there.

Reaching for the house phone, he thought of the delicious breakfast they’d share. God, it’d been the truth when he’d said he was hungry. Suddenly, the prospect of eggs, bacon, and all the trimmings seemed all the more delectable and enticing for having his bright, beautiful angel there to share them with him.

He ordered everything, his stomach rumbling in anticipation.

The smell of coffee that hit Lizzie when she stepped out of the bathroom was so aromatic it was almost like downing an espresso without even having to taste it.

‘Oh my God, that smells divine!’

‘Doesn’t it just,’ said John, smiling across at her. Decent in his bathrobe now, he was sitting on the bed, working on his laptop, with a cup beside him. ‘The breakfast won’t be long, but I asked them to send up coffee straight away. They do a very nice Blue Mountain roast here, and it’s really hitting the spot.’

Setting his computer aside, he hopped off the bed, and came to her, cradling her face in his hands when they stood eye to eye.

‘You look exquisite. Very dainty indeed. Nobody would know you’d been mauled by a randy old goat-man this morning. You look like an unsullied virgin.’

Lizzie laughed, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. ‘What the hell else do they put in that coffee, Mr Smith, besides Blue Mountain? The nonsense you talk, anybody would think you were tripping.’

‘You’re my trip, Lizzie,’ he said. His smile was as dazzling as ever, but there was seriousness in his eyes, something a little dark and strangely moving. ‘My escape … my solace.’ His fingers drifted over her face, as though he were seeing her, but not seeing her, and the touch was telling him just as much as the sight. ‘I’ve had a good life, with many advantages … but there’s been some bad stuff, too, and you erase all that.’

Lizzie shivered. She frowned. The sense of something deeper going on intensified. It touched her, but scared her too. She wanted to know what it was about; she wanted to know everything about this beautiful man she adored … but at the same time, perhaps, she didn’t.

‘Hey, don’t worry,’ he whispered, giving her a short, sweet kiss. ‘We’re keeping it light. Don’t let me bring you down with my doomy old man’s talk.’

‘If you don’t stop calling yourself an old man, I’ll be the one bringing you down. With a clip round the ear, you blinking idiot!’

‘All right! I won’t do it again!’ He laughed, and he
did
sound young, like a happy boy, rejuvenated in the blink of an eye. ‘Now come on, enjoy some of this gorgeous coffee while I have my shower. And if the breakfast arrives, don’t wait for me, just dig in.’

Taking her by the hand, he drew her to the large, comfortable chintz-upholstered chair, and pushed her down into it. When she was settled, he poured a big breakfast mug of coffee from the pot, and added milk to it, just how she liked. ‘Enjoy! I’ll be back in a little while.’ Setting it beside her, he shot forward, gave her a kiss on the forehead, and then strode to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Ah, the bliss of caffeine! She couldn’t argue in respect of the coffee; it was some of the best she’d ever tasted. A pure
pleasure, just like John himself. There was no need to worry about being a ‘trip’, or a ‘solace’, or even a rich man’s fancy mistress, at moments like this. Sinking back into the armchair, she sipped slowly, savouring each mouthful and clearing her mind of as much else as she could while she listened to the running of the shower behind the bathroom door.

For a few minutes, that was enough. The drumming of the shower was soporific, and she’d had very little sleep. How easy would it be just to nod off, waiting for him? She almost did …

But after a moment or two, her eyes snapped open again, and her attention was drawn to the laptop John had left open on the bed.

She’d been in this position before. Alone with his laptop, and his secrets. Last time he’d actively encouraged her to Google him. This time, he hadn’t mentioned the machine. But might the fact that he’d left it there, live, be a tacit invitation?

She sidled over, sipping her coffee. Look? Not look?

Not your business, Lizzie. He cares for you, but that doesn’t give you an access all areas pass. Get real … And anyway, compulsively checking up on people is weasly.

Yet still, she set aside the cup and hunkered down on the bed beside the laptop. Her heart thudded when she realised a program was open, a personal organiser of some kind, week to a view. There were a number of entries in blue, clearly business orientated, and one in red.