The Accidental Mistress (7 page)

As if he’d heard the thought, John attacked the zip of her jeans, working it down, then pushing his hand inside, beneath the cotton of the pretty knickers he’d bought her.

‘John! What are you doing? We can’t!’

Hypocrite
, she lashed herself, wiggling about to make his hand’s ingress all the easier, ravenous for the perfect touch of his fingertips.

‘Yes, we can … and I will … I’m going to give you an orgasm to remember me by, a parting gift for you to dwell on while I’m away. I’m not leaving this stupid alley until you’ve come. At least once.’

‘Oh John … no … you mustn’t,’ she gasped, every nerve screaming,
Yes, yes, go on, do it! It won’t take a moment!

His finger found her and she moaned, working herself on it. She was silky and slippery, but John still stayed on target, rubbing her roughly, fiercely … just the way she wanted.

‘I must. Because you want it. Don’t lie.’ His finger circled, fast and sure, and he slid his other hand down to grasp her
bottom, rubbing the crease through her jeans, tantalising her anus. The pressure stirred the faint echo of where he’d spanked her, and the heat whirled though her pelvis, twining with the jerking pressure on her clit.

A great cry of pleasure surged up, but before Lizzie could utter it, John kissed her, suppressing all sound with his wicked, marauding tongue. Jerking her hips furiously, she clung on to him, one hand digging deep into his soft golden curls, gripping and tugging; hurting him, probably, but unable to stop herself doing it.

The climax seemed to go on and on, but in reality lasted barely a moment or two. It was big … huge … all-encompassing and, as she descended to earth, Lizzie slumped in John’s hold, knees like tissue paper. His hand shaped into a cradling cup, no longer working her sex, but just gentling and holding it. With his free arm, he held her tight around the waist, supporting her and pressing her carefully back against the wall, so she wouldn’t tumble.

Her chest heaved as if she’d run a marathon. She held on to him for dear life. Who cared if Shelley came out? Lizzie couldn’t move, and didn’t want to. John would be gone in a few moments and away across the Atlantic tomorrow. Time was precious.

Against her, John was still erect, and it was that fact which awakened her. She stirred in his embrace, and tried to reach for his crotch, but he said, ‘No, don’t worry about me. I’ll walk it off. It doesn’t matter.’ Then, rubbing his face against her hair, he muttered, ‘Come to New York with me! We can be together. Fuck every night. Don’t worry about clothes and packing, just grab your passport and we can buy everything you need when you get there. You’ve still got the black card, haven’t you?’

The request was sharp, urgent, the words staccato as if they’d somehow escaped his higher consciousness and shot out from the depths of his psyche.

What a trip it would be. Together in an iconic foreign city, living the high life that was normal to John, but an unbelievable dream for her. It would be like stepping into a fantasy from a book or movie. She opened her mouth to say yes, even though it was impossible.

‘I can’t, John. I wish I could. It’s wonderful of you to ask me … but I’ve got things I have to do, and people I can’t let down.’ It was all true, but even as the words left her lips, she felt – knew – that she was letting down the most important person of all, by refusing.

I’m too small for his life. I can’t take off into the blue, just like that. Pretending to be a call girl at the Waverley is the wildest thing I’ve ever done.

There was a long, charged silence. She expected John to pull away from her, cooling. But still he gently held her pussy, his cradling arm still around her back.

‘I know, love … I’m just being crazy, trying to race ahead when I said I’d take things slow. I’m a fool sometimes, but it’s just
so
hard to leave you.’ His lips moved softly against the side of her face, the contact infinitely tender. Her heart lifted. He wasn’t disappointed in her.

Yet still she said, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, Lizzie, no. There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s me. It’s been a long time since I’ve been “with” someone like this, and I’ve forgotten how to do it. You’re so delicious, and I just grab like a greedy kid, when I should be acting like a grown-up.’

They held each other for a few moments more. Thoughts, regrets, wishes, crazy longings all turned over in Lizzie’s
head, and she sensed much the same happening to John. It was all too mad, too sudden. A few days to let it sink in would do them both good. Wouldn’t it?

Eventually, John slipped his hand out of her knickers, and fastened the zip and the button of her jeans, neatly ‘putting her away’ before straightening her bra and shirt too. Then he put both arms around her again, and hugged her against him.

‘I’ll be back as soon as I can, sweetheart, and then we’ll talk properly, eh?’ He kissed her, the contact sweet and chaste, despite the fact that he still had a massive hard-on. ‘Today’s been about our bodies getting back together again. When I get home from New York, we need to let our brains catch up too. We’ll have more time then, and you’ll have had a chance to catch up with stuff you need to do.’

She didn’t like to tell him that there was pretty much a constant demand for her sewing and alteration services nowadays, especially at New Again. And she’d have a double workload tomorrow, after playing hooky with John all day today. She’d have to work something out.

‘Yes, that sounds like a plan,’ she said, straining to absorb and record the feeling of him in her arms. The solid reality of a man who was straight out of her dreams. ‘I think I can just about struggle through a day or two without being serviced by you.’

‘Minx,’ he replied fondly. ‘I hope you’ve got a good vibrator, so you can use it and think about me. Maybe we can build in some time for phone sex while I’m away. As I recall, you’re very, very good at that, Miss Aitchison. I had a very pleasant time of it, on my own, listening to your voice and your exotic dungeon fantasies.’

Eek, yes, that.

‘Um … yes, I think I’ve got a vibe somewhere. I haven’t
used it lately. Until I saw you in the Waverley that night, I’d been leading a pretty nun-like life for a while.’ A flash of memory popped into her mind. A rather nondescript boyfriend accusing her of being a frigid nun … She felt grateful to him now,
really
grateful. That offhand, nasty remark had been in her thoughts when she’d first met John in the Lawns Bar, and faced the greatest adventure of her life. It’d made her go for it … and go for him. How strange life was.

‘Well, your nun-like days are over now, sweetheart. Even if we do spend time talking and getting to know each other properly and all that, there’ll still be constant sex as well, you know.’ His brilliant blue eyes twinkled in the shadows, and pressed against her body, his still-hard cock stirred. ‘If you can manage that?’

‘Oh, I’ll struggle through somehow.’ She let her hand slide around him, until it settled on his erection. ‘Look, are you sure you don’t want me to do something about this?’

‘No, it’s all right, sweetheart. Like I said … I’ll walk it off. And it’ll do me good to exercise a bit of self-control. I’m going to have to contain myself for the next few days. It doesn’t do to go waltzing into critical meetings sporting an erection.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. It might distract the opposition so much that they lose their concentration. And then you can haggle them down and get a better deal.’

John laughed, his chuckle as dark as the shadows surrounding them. ‘You may have a point there, love. I might try it if negotiations get tough.’

He kissed her again then, and for a few moments, they continued to kiss. It was going to be a long two or three days.

Eventually, they broke apart, though, and promising to
text, and call her whenever he could, John escorted her to the back door and saw her inside.

‘Bye, love,’ he whispered, as she stood on doorstep. ‘Think of me. I’ll soon be back.’

And with one last kiss, blown from the tips of his fingers, he was gone.

The sound of feet thudding through the house woke Shelley from a doze. She’d been reading, futzing about on the internet, and watching some rubbish or other on the telly, all of it done to distract herself from thinking about Lizzie. And what her friend might be doing with that unbelievably gorgeous, unbelievably rich man of hers.

I must not be jealous. I must not be jealous. I love Lizzie and she deserves him. I must not turn into a green-eyed devil because she’s getting a ton of sex again … and I’m not.

It was hard, though. Shelley set aside her laptop and her Kindle, and shoved her feet into her slippers. The noise downstairs should have made her scared – there’d been break-ins in the area recently – but she was pretty sure that it
was
Lizzie, returned from her tryst.

Which was weird in itself.

If it was me, I’d have stayed. What on earth have you come home for, you silly mare!

‘What on earth was all that racket? I thought we’d got burglars. Shouldn’t you be at the Waverley having your brains fucked out by that glorious billionaire of yours?’

Lizzie was in the hall, and she looked up sheepishly as Shelley came downstairs. She was surrounded by suspiciously high-end-looking carrier bags, presents, no doubt. But she was blinking a bit too, as if she’d been crying. Shelley decided there and then that if it was tears, John Smith was going to get a piece of her mind, expensive gifts notwithstanding.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,’ the dark-haired girl said, swooping up her bags as they made their way to the kitchen, the heart of the house and the chapel of tea. ‘I was … um … just rushing to the front window, to get a last glimpse of John. But he’d gone by the time I got there.’

Shelley narrowed her eyes, worried.

‘Don’t worry, we haven’t had a row or anything. It’s just that he’s off to New York in the morning and I won’t see him for a day or two.’

‘Right …’ Shelley reached for the kettle. Better get brewing the cup that cheers. ‘Men, eh? Here today, gone tomorrow. But at least it looks as if he’s left you some pressies to soften the blow.’ She nodded to the bags. ‘And that’s new too …’ Lizzie was wearing a beautiful shirt that Shelley had never seen before, insanely expensive by the look of it, although suspiciously rumpled at the moment.

‘It’s lingerie, mostly … and there was this … and these …’ Lizzie swept aside her thick dark hair and Shelley nearly dropped the teapot.

Good God. Diamonds. But then, the man
was
a billionaire.

‘Lemme see, lemme see.’ Shelley hurried over, and it was her turn to blink, and be dazzled. The diamond studs were
huge
, and breathtakingly beautiful. Pure drama next to Lizzie’s inky black hair. ‘You jammy devil! They’re gorgeous … No wonder you let him do all kinds of kinky things to you.’

‘It’s not like that!’ Lizzie’s hazel eyes flared. She looked like a lioness, righteously defending her mate.

‘I’m sorry, love. I’m just jealous as hell. I only met him for a few minutes, but he seems like a nice guy, even if he is into spanking.’ Hypnotised by the gems, Shelley stared into their iridescence, but then noticed something else. ‘Good grief, maybe he is Mr Nice … but how old is he,
fifteen
? He’s given you a love bite, Lizzie, didn’t you realise?’ The mark on Lizzie’s neck was as red as a brand of ownership. Men, honestly!

‘Oh, sod! I didn’t realise.’ Lizzie flew across the room to the little kitchen mirror, almost tripping over Mulder the cat, who’d just mooched in to see what all the fuss was about, and to check for food. ‘Damn, I said I’d work in the shop tomorrow. Now I’ll have to wear a tastefully arranged scarf, and you can bet some of the golf club matrons will think I’m taking the piss out of them.’

‘But how could you not realise he was biting your neck? He doesn’t look like Dracula.’

Shelley knew the answer, though, without Lizzie articulating it. A man like that could just sweep you away, just make you
feel
, without giving consequences the slightest passing thought.

‘He just … I don’t know … you’d have to have been there,’ said Lizzie, touching her throat briefly before she opened the cupboard to get out one of Mulder’s Whiskas pouches.

I’d
love
to be there. Maybe not with John Smith, but some other man, a bit more my type.

That thought stayed with Shelley as the two women chatted over tea. It was a debriefing of sorts, a sketch of Lizzie’s day with John, although Shelley had no doubt it was judiciously edited. Envy griddled her, but she tried to
suppress it. Lizzie hadn’t really had the greatest luck with men – even she and Brent hadn’t truly worked out on that score – so she deserved to find a good one.

But don’t I deserve someone too?

Shelley lay in the darkness, long after they’d both turned in, unable to stop the swirl of wistful yearnings in her mind. Lately, her dating luck had been worse than Lizzie’s had been: either nothing at all, or arrogant gits who seemed only to care about themselves. It was time she got with a man who saw to
her
needs, and
her
pleasure, in the way John Smith obviously saw to Lizzie’s. He didn’t even have to be rich.

If that were the case, there was a perfect answer, though. A simple, elegant, if rather expensive answer.

I should really do it. Especially now. It’s better than going on a chocolate and chips binge and ending up looking like a whale.

It made perfect sense, although if Brent found out, he’d probably go nuts.

Lizzie had trouble sleeping. There was an empty space beside her, even though John had only ever lain there once, and not for very long. He
had
slept here, though, if only for a few minutes.

You’re a strange man, John Smith. Probably stranger than I’ll ever know …

Though she’d sworn off those kinds of thoughts, they resurfaced. It was stupid to question what she had now, but she wasn’t a woman for nothing, and women couldn’t help speculating. The earliest cavewomen had probably worried about what would happen if their strong, providing mates got stomped on by a woolly mammoth. Or decided to go off with another cavewoman who had wider hips and bigger boobs.