The Key (7 page)

“So who is Jane?” he asked, frowning.

“A friend. She is here sometimes. She is the one he should be calling Jane.”

His frown melted away and he smiled. “Ah, I see. That explains it then. For a minute there I thought you’d been lying to me, that you weren’t called Chantal Rossi at all.”

“Lie? Moi?” I slapped my hand to my chest, hoping it didn’t come off as an exaggerated gesture. “Good heavens, no. I would do no such thing.”

Oh, God, this was getting messier by the minute. I’d heard once that one lie led to another, and before you knew it you’d got yourself into a bit of a tangle, but until this morning I’d never seen the proof of the pudding. Now I was eating a great big serving of it—chocolate cheesecake if I had a choice—but it was far too sickly for my liking. I wasn’t enjoying lying, of course I wasn’t, but Jane Smith wasn’t his brand of female. She couldn’t be, because who the hell would want her? What man in his right mind…?

“I need to take a shower and brush my teeth,” I said. “You understand, no? Last night was a little…dirty.”

“Ah, yes, I do understand, and if it’s all right with you, I’ll come in with you.”

“Pardon?” I said, thrown off guard. I’d planned to take my mobile into the bathroom and ring my boss from there. I could hardly phone in using a French accent, now, could I? Bugger.

He shrugged and smiled. “I thought it might be fun. And that’s what I said in my ad, wasn’t it? That I was out to have some fun. Are you up for it? I didn’t have time to shower at mine, as you know, and I also got caught up in the dirtiness last night…”

“Of course,” I said. “That would be acceptable.”

I slid my raincoat and little jacket off, tossing them over the back of the sofa. Kicked off my heels and left them where they’d landed. Leading the way, swaying once again like a bitch on heat—the exposure of the corset had done that—I took him through to the little hallway that led to my room and the bathroom. Wondered what he thought of such a confined space. It was big enough to suit me and proved my point from last night. No one needed such a humungous place to live in.

The bathroom proved a tight squeeze. We were sandwiched together—in a good way, although I did feel self-conscious about my front squashing against his as we tried to manoeuvre so we could both get undressed. At one point we banged heads, him bending over to remove his sweatpants, me leaning forward to toss my skirt into the laundry hamper. Nervous laughter ensued, and I called on Chantal to fully show her bloody self, otherwise I’d flounder once I got in that shower and he joined me. I unlaced the corset enough that I could step out of it instead of removing the laces completely. I threw it into the hamper as well, then, without looking at him as he began to lift his T-shirt off, I slipped my knickers down my legs and turned to switch the shower on.

My knickers tangled around my ankles, and I skewed sideways, banging my hip on the edge of the sink. My face burned—God, that was
so
something Jane would have done, the silly little mare—then righted myself, kicking away the offending garment and stubbing my toe on the toilet pedestal in the process. I gritted my teeth so I didn’t let out a moan of pain and looked at David, who was thankfully still in the throes of removing his top, the fabric completely covering his face.

Taking a deep breath then letting it out, I finally managed to press the shower button and vowed not to wear any knickers from now on, whenever I was with David. It would add to the sluttiness of Chantal, anyway, so there was always something good to come out of something bad. Every cloud had a silver lining. I was extremely thankful he hadn’t seen me stumble or the toe-stub that had followed, and went about climbing into the tub, praying I didn’t slip arse over tit and really give him a reason to get as far away from me as he sodding well could.

The water hitting me was wonderful, and I closed my eyes, tipping my head back to let the stream soak my hair, completely forgetting about David. Until he got in, too, and his cock brushed one of my thighs.

“Oh!” I said, snapping my head down to look at him through the indoor rain. “It’s you.”

“Yes, who else did you expect? Jane?”

I laughed, a little uncontrollably and for far too long, but he didn’t seem to find it the least bit off-putting. So I went for it and laughed some more, reaching for the gel and pouring out a good handful. I soaped him up, very Chantal-like, and watched his cock grow with every sweep of my hands. Goodness, either he was always up for it or he really did like me. I took the time to wash him, to explore him, get to know the planes of his body in an altogether different way to last night. He didn’t touch me, just kept his hands by his sides, and I didn’t dare to look him directly in the face.

“This is nice, no?” I asked. “Me touching you, and you letting me without interference. Sometimes it is good to just take.” I slid one hand down to his erection and took him in a firm grip.

“I’m discovering that,” he said, “although it’s a bit hard—”

“Oh, it is more than a bit hard—”

“It’s a bit hard to keep my hands off you. I’m finding myself unsure of whether I should just take you here and now, against the tiles, or wait for you to offer. I don’t like to presume, but God, I want to fuck you again.”

I looked up at him, feeling all mouth and no trousers. Could I do this? “Fuck me then.” Why yes, it seemed I could. “Now. Against the tiles like you have said. Ravish Chantal. Yes, ravish her!” It seemed once again my alter ego had come out to play. She was
such
a dirty darling.

“Will you allow me to give, and you to just take?” he asked.

“Yes, do with me what you will. I am open to suggestions.”

I stopped soaping him, regretfully let go of his cock and, in one of the boldest moves of my life, picked up the gel, squeezed out another blob, and started washing my tits. He widened his eyes then slipped his arms around me, holding me close, his hard-on pressed to my thigh. He looked down to watch me paying extra attention to the cleaning of my nipples, and his cock throbbed, the tip tapping at the apex of my legs as though asking for me to open the door to my more-than-eager cunt and let him barge right in. I opened my legs, twisted so my back faced the tiles, then raised one foot to brace it on the opposite side of the bath. He followed, settling between my legs, fondled my arse then, without warning, hoisted me up and impaled me on his cock.

I sank down, the stretch so sublime I cried out. Head back, eyes closed, I carried on playing with my nipples while he shunted in and out of me, a rhythm that was so fast my back squeaked against the tiles. The hot touch of his lips on my collarbone had me imagining him bending his head, his hair getting soaked, the water rushing across his chest then down to soak my already wet pussy, his already wet cock. I couldn’t resist and opened my eyes to glance at where our bodies joined. Seeing him going in and out of me did funny things to my insides, sent them to mush, and an orgasm started growing, one that came on so swiftly it threatened to knock me seven ways to Sunday.

“Oh, sacré bleu!” I said. “This is… This is… Oh!”

It gripped me, took over me, and I became a shuddering, spasming wreck. As the sensations washed over me, growing in strength, he groaned, his cock pulsing. He held me by the waist, jamming me up and down onto him, and I couldn’t take anymore. Shocks of pleasure zipped through me, and I panted, moaned, panted again. On the upstroke he lifted me off his cock and pressed me to the tiles so I didn’t fall down.

I took him in hand, worked his cock as fast as I could until he canted his hips and spurted over my lower belly. The sight of him coming on me had my clit tingling all over again, but I was still reeling from the first orgasm and didn’t have the energy for another. I looked up at him, at his eyes scrunched tightly closed, him juddering, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Why had fate finally decided she really ought to send me a man like him? What had I done to deserve this gift?

He kissed me then, all passion and the press of his belly against mine.

I could get used to this. To him.

I just had to hope he felt the same way about me.

* * * *

After I’d brushed my teeth, I left him to it in the bathroom, giving him privacy to get dressed. Besides, I needed to get away from him to ring my boss. Plus, I didn’t fancy dressing in front of him, what with not knowing him well enough for that yet. Funny that, because I’d shared my body with him twice, yet something as easy as putting my clothes on with him watching was a bit too much. Too intimate. That didn’t make any sense at all, so to stop myself going over it, I pushed those thoughts from my mind and ferreted through my wardrobe for a suitable outfit.

He’d said he liked jeans and T-shirts, and Jane had plenty of those. I pulled out a dark blue pair of skinny jeans and a bright pink T-shirt that had
Gosh I’m Posh
splashed over the front of it in white lettering. I wasn’t posh, but the top had been a gift from a work colleague in the last Christmas Secret Santa. I hadn’t worn it, so it was as crisp as it had been on the day I’d received it. Better than my other stuff anyway, which was looking tatty and somewhat worn.

Knicker and braless beneath my clothes, I set about blasting my hair with the dryer, the result, me looking like I’d had an electric shock. I usually let it dry naturally because of this phenomenon, but I wasn’t about to go out with wet hair in this bloody weather. I’d catch my death of cold, and now that I’d met David, I didn’t fancy not being able to see him owing to me being snottier than an old granny’s hanky. I stood debating whether to tie my hair back or let him see me like this when he knocked on my door.

“Are you ready yet?” he asked. His voice had been muffled, as though he’d pressed his lips to the part where door met jamb.

“Almost,” I called. “I just need to… Oh! It’s you again.”

He filled the doorframe, making me see just how big he really was. Oh, I’d known he was—in more ways than one—but somehow here, in my little flat, he was larger than life.

“Yes, me again,” he said. “Wow.” He nodded. “Hair.” He smiled. “Lots and lots of it.”

“Indeed,” I said. “Passed down to me from my great-grandmother, who I would curse for the gift, but she was such a beautiful lady I cannot bring myself to do so. Each day that I go around looking like a crazy Yeti, I’m reminded of her.”

“I quite like it.” He smiled wider.

“Only quite?”

“I imagine you hate it. I can see using those straightener things on it would take you a long time to get the frizz out.”

“I have tried but burnt myself on the forehead, which put me off doing it again as I had an unsightly red line for a week afterwards, which made me look terrible. Now, that is quite enough about my nasty hair. We must go. To the river.”

He stepped back as I barrelled towards him, moving right out of my way so I could flee to the living room and try to work out when I could use the bloody phone. It was coming on for ten to nine, and I had to clock in by nine.

“Did you ring your boss?” he asked.

“Not yet. I have not had time.”

“May as well get it over with now, eh?” He jerked his head towards the house phone sitting in its cradle on my coffee table.

Oh, God
. “Yes, I will do it immediately.”

I walked to the table on suddenly shaking legs, picked the phone up and dialled. The ring sounded overly loud—and, dare I say it, frightening. My heart gave an odd set of bumps that left me feeling hollow inside for a few seconds.

“Goodwin and Franklin,” Jo the receptionist said, all chirpy and someone I really didn’t feel like speaking to. “How may I assist you?”

I freaked, what with David a few feet away, so legged it into my bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind me. “I need to speak to someone,” I said, Frenchish, my voice low, “about somebody who works with you.”

“Oh, right. And who might that be?”

I could see Jo’s frown, her narrowing her eyes as curiosity got the better of her. She’d have a field day in the kitchen while she made coffee during the mid-morning break, telling all and sundry some odd woman had called in.

“Jane Smith,” I said. “She is unwell.”

“And what is wrong with her?”

“She has… She has a case of the squirts,” I said, kicking back at the door for my stupidity.

Yes, a definite field day.

“Oh, how unfortunate.”

“Indeed. She will have to stay off for two days to minimise the threat of spreading this tummy upset to everyone else. I am ringing on her behalf as she is unable to get off the toilet.”
Oh, Chantal. Shut the hell up!

I heard a snuffling noise and knew Jo was trying not to laugh. Bitch. I’d never liked her.

“Oh, dear, that really
is
unfortunate. Not a problem, I’ll log it in the book that she’s off and why. Good day!”

Before I could scream down the phone for her not to write my ailment down, the call was cut off, dead space buzzing in my ear. I’d never live this down, and everyone would also want to know why I’d never told them about my French friend. Well, I couldn’t do anything about it now, so I might as well go out and enjoy myself with David. It didn’t hurt to make the best out of a bad situation, did it?

Chapter Eight

The morning passed pleasantly with us walking by the river. We stopped sometimes to take in the view, watching various little boats drift past, and, at one point, a V-shaped gathering of ducks streaming towards us, hoping to be fed. I was annoyed with myself for not bringing any bread. Perhaps next time I could.

If there was a next time.

I wouldn’t allow myself to think otherwise, although the web of lies was getting bigger, like Chantal the Spider had decided on a mad dash around the edge to expand her home. David had asked me personal questions, about my childhood and my parents. They had been easy enough for me to answer honestly—I’d just told him my fond memories, where my parents lived now, and that I was an only child whom they thought was still a kid. All the truth. I was evasive as to the location of where I’d rolled down the hill into dog shit—it could have been anywhere, in any country—and to my relief he didn’t ask anything about France.