Authors: H Ryder
Standing he grabs my wrist, kicking off the trousers onto the floor and both naked we cross the room, past the Steinway, “Stella.” He tells me. I didn't realise pianos had girls names. We enter the bedroom.
Its cooler in here, thank fully. He lifts me up and carries me to the bed, laying me gently on the covers. And prowling in a predatory crawl over me I am at his mercy. He kisses me and his fingers continue where his lips once were, gently and quickly flicking a rubbing, my orgasm not far from breaking over me, his fingers slide into me, one, then three, agonisingly wonderful sensation drenches me. I have his huge hard cock in my hand, and fist around its magnificent form I flick my thumb over the crown, rubbing and sliding in the pre-cum on its end. His fingers move faster in response.
“Come inside me.” I beg.
“Wait.” He closes his eyes tight as his fingers thrust into me harder and slower, keeping my finality on the brink, disallowing me an end to his sugary sweet torture of my body. His fingers slip out of me, slick with my wetness and he licks them muttering happily. That almost sends me over but Daniel knows exactly what he's doing, and I fall back unsatisfied and yearning yet again.
“Please Daniel.” I beg him again, beginning to pump my fist along the length of his cock making a point I am hoping he gets it. He smiles at me, kisses me hard, thrusting his tongue into my mouth in a frenzy, tweaking my nipples in his clever fingers, my body begins its journey to fulfilment again. He sways over me pulling his hard penis from my fist, kisses my neck, and I suddenly I feel his cock engage with my waiting sex. He pushes slowly into me, all the way in, jerks to the end so I feel it hard inside me. It's delicious, and he begins pumping into me, slowly at first, my hips involuntarily raising to meet him, grinding into him and enjoying every single inch of him. Faster now, steady and hard, building, now unstoppable, I feel my orgasm is near, the sensation of my nerves jumping together gets closer and closer, the distance between my spasms of pleasure increasing in strength and getting repetitively near to completion. Then with a final deep thrust, he lets out a great groan emptying himself into me, and together we climax, exhausted and sated.
Wonder if there's room-service?
“Baby, what are you doing to me, I was supposed to be the other side of town?” Daniel gently sweeps my tangled hair from my damp face, and kisses me on the lips.
“From where I was laid, it was
you
doing things to
me
.” I wink at him, and kiss his beautiful lips so he knows I'm OK.
“Tea?” Bloody hell, I'm going to fall for this man aren't I?
“Yes please Daniel.”
Daniel picks up the phone next to the bed and dials room-service, as I appraise his tattooed buttocks. Very nice.
After an invigorating
lunch
in the nearby 'Pearce Hotel', apparently it's owned by the family, I return a little sore, completely satisfied, happy and smiling and tired back to the office.
TC: “Thank you for
lunch
” true bloody story.
DP: ”Until next time” god I really hope so.
Note to self, (and Pete), boys don't really care about Spiderman pants in a sexual emergency. Thank goodness.
Deep breath again, and I spend the rest of the day with a smug smile on my face not really concentrating on my work. Like a teenager in love, get a grip Tharie. I stash my new
lingerie
in my drawer, but I can't leave it there, it's got to be tried on again, so that's exactly what I do. I have quite literally never felt so sexy, that this man wants
me
. It makes me appraise myself, and begin wondering about things I have never had to consider before, like underwear.
My phone vibrates and right now I welcome a distraction.
TC: “Hello honey” deep breaths, it's Pete, she'll tell me what to do won't she, it's her job after all.
PF: “How did you leave it with him Tharie, is a relationship possible, or did you do something stupid and are now unsalvageable?” I didn't have hay in my hair if that's what you're driving at. (It was in my bra). Bloody hell.
TC: “Pete..!” How could she possibly know?
PF: “Tharie, what are you
not
telling me? I have a sense for these things, and let’s face it, you’ve not had a boyfriend in far too long, now,
out with it
!” She demands, and I can't say now, because somewhere in my head I’m a little ashamed I haven’t told her already.
TC: “We're attracted to each other,” I tell her quietly, though not quietly enough and everyone stops what they're doing and looks over, I wave them off good humouredly and they all laugh. Putting my hand over the receiver and whispering I tell her the truth. “He says he wants to
fuck me
!”
PF: “Great!” She says, “
When? We need to plan your underwear.” what is she like?
TC: “Pete!” I scold her again, “what are you like?”
PF: “You can't sleep with that man with hay in your bra, or wearing your lucky Spiderman pants! Is what I’m saying.” I direct the reader to please see note above.
I would have been insulted and said so without a second glance back, but she is right, I need help. Sliding my finger across my screen I end the call with Pete, and begin daydreaming which is not like me. Not like me at all.
Tea?
Definitely.
Later in chapter four, Monday
:
21ndoctober2013, the end part.
I call and sort my evening out, it must have skipped my mind at lunch somehow, I feel deeply disappointed that I won’t be seeing Daniel until tomorrow at work, but Pete is
Pete
and she must come first as always. That's after the horses of course. Oh, and the cats. So, third
really
. Stop talking to yourself
Tharie
.
It's late by the time I get home, handing my notice in turned out to be something of a peculiar drama. Strange I think to myself, if they'd made it clear how much they valued me in the first place I might never have found this new opportunity working with Daniel but that's the way life is. And feeling very good about my life I change, feed the cats, pull on my wellies and head out to the yard.
George & Harry are galloping around their field
again
, its dark I can't see them, but I hear a thundering of hooves and snorting and puffing. They are enjoying themselves, I just hope they don't lose a shoe!
By the time their dinners are mixed and ready, they trot into the yard, in mild irritation, that the thing they were pretending to run away from had ceased causing them fake worry, and therefore shut down the mad moments. Heads in buckets, they settle to eat. I hear their shoes on the concrete floor of my yard, and happy that the correct number of clips and clops are present meaning all the shoes are still on. Steve my farrier will be pleased, he often tells me he doesn't know how they get their shoes off, in all his years as a farrier, no two have had so many re-visits. Told you they are special, didn't I?
It's already gone 7.30pm and I need to get ready for drinks with Pete. Stepping into the shower, I plan my outfit.
HC: “I may have had too much to drink” why am I not surprised?
TC: “It’s the creative prerogative, artists needs nurturing, and that’s exactly what Jack Daniels is for.” True story.
HC: “And I may have left my guitar in a cab” well that’s bad.
TC: “The one signed by Hendrix?” That's Dave 'Hendrix' McCarthy, from the pub, not the musician, his parents were fans. I can understand the
confusion
though.
HC: “Na, thankfully” good.
TC: “Don’t get into any trouble, or if you really want to, at least wait until after the single is released, or Mum's out of the country” see, I do listen.
HC: “Kidding, the fans will
love
it if there’s a photo of me resisting arrest!” Sadly, true story.
TC: “Be good” I sound like Mum.
HC: “Not you too!” There you go.
Back in London, the air is chilly and I’m suddenly thankful for my army parka as I stand waiting for Pete's cab to appear. I fumble in my pockets for my phone, forgetting which of the many deep receptacles it’s in.
TC: ”Sorry about tonight Daniel” throw a bone.
DP: “Enjoy your evening with Pete” that’s nice.
I like this man.
Pete is late picking me up as usual "
sorry babes
," as she asks the cab to drop us in Mayfair, she says in not too sincere a tone, clearly she has something on her mind. "Let's get to the pub, I need wine…right fucking now." She returns her Chanel lipstick to her beautiful Hermes clutch.
I’m wearing a McQueen mini dress and Chloe over the knee leather boots, all black of course, with my thigh length parka at least five sizes too big for me but I like it that way. Pete tells me I need to eat and I look pale. I
am
pale.
"I fell off George at the weekend Pete, it bloody hurts all down my side, getting dressed hurts, putting a bra on hurts, climbing up into the Landy hurts..." I want to tell her about the last twenty four hours, the tale can wait for some liquid courage and a bowl of hot chips, that vigorous sex with a stranger also hurts a little too.
"You haven’t asked
me
about my weekend." Pete chastises me as we sit in a dark corner in the pub. "I met a
man
." Bloody hell, where's that waiter?
My eyes can't hide the astonished look, I raise an eyebrow "but
Pete.
.."
...."yes, I know" she tells me, "I like girls, but this
man
..."
Its
how Pete and I met actually, she kissed me at a college party, I didn't protest, she
is
gorgeous. I’d had a few pints of snakebite, but we laughed about it later and have been friends ever since. "Well, tell me then." I ask, sipping from a huge glass bowl with an inch of wonderful deep red Spanish wine, it tastes like Christmas, and I feel warm inside. A trail of velvety smooth berry flavours reaches my brain, and it’s happy.
Pete, clearly enjoying her moment of revelation, tastes her white wine from South Africa, she dips a thick hand cut chip into mayonnaise looks at me and says "I think I’m in
love
Tharie." I nearly spit out my wine, but my reflexes save me in time, this wine is too good to waste.
"
What
!" I place my long stemmed glass securely on the table mat, gulp down my mouthful, and speak again slightly less disbelieving "Pete, tell me
everything
."
She begins the story "I am in the 'Square Bar' in Mayfair with work friends." Pete calls everyone friends, even though they are just work colleagues, just there for fleeting entertainment. "I’m standing by the bar, buying my round and there's this small group by the coats being very loud. Clearly artistic types wearing black, in jeans and band t's with cool floppy hair drinking whiskey, you know,
your
type of people." She looks at me over the edge of her glass for a reaction. Bloody cheek!
My
people indeed…what stylish, modern, creative, faintly Gothic? I get it, continue...
"I love that bar" I tell her, "the narrow cobbled walkway, with lights set in the ground leading the way to a covered alley, with seats each side, and lit torches around the bar entrance." I have danced many times in the small underground club, intimate seating under the arches beneath the old building, and a grand piano, though I’ve never seen anyone play it. The logo, a large eagle wings outstretched with a ship in its talons, dark blue ground black ink, like a tattoo drawing intricate and ancient looking. "They have great wine and a good selection of single malts" I laugh.
"Yes...and some very
interesting
people too." Pete cuts in eyebrows raised, clearly she's anxious to finish her story. "Then this guy leaves his mates and comes to the bar, orders a round of triple JD's straight up," looking at me, "
your
people." She says. I can't argue.
"Then what happens?" I ask in fake impatience, biting into a steaming hot wedge of fried potato, lots of sea salt sprinkled over it, love salt.
"This guy looks over at me, he is stunning Tharie, I have never seen a boy like it. Well, I’ve got an order of Cosmos’s a couple of sparkling wines and a rose, it's obvious I’m with the girls." She sips her wine with a smirk.
“Big
Chris
was with you too?” I enquire, sipping my wine.
“Of course, but he's one of the girls too!” She laughs.
Big Chris
is her friend from work, an extremely funny well-dressed man, who is very camp and bakes Victoria sponges to die for. But it's all a fake, he pretends he's gay, says it makes him more interesting and lets him be himself. Though, he's really not interested in girls either, his Pomeranian is called Butch and wins prizes apparently.