‘Right,’ I manage, as Lucas brings his fingers into play. I lie back on the bed, because sitting upright and talking are beyond me now. Two fingers. No, three. Fuck.
‘Things were said.’ Scott’s voice is deep, rough. How come I never noticed that before? It rubs over me like a calloused hand, scraping at sensitive parts of me, and I close my eyes, the sensory overload too much.
‘Yes.’ That’s more to Scott than to Lucas, but Lucas seems to think it’s for him, as he starts to finger me a little deeper. I close my eyes, my back arching against the bed. I have Lucas between my thighs, his mouth hot and skilled, Scott’s voice in my ear, and my mind is doing all sorts of crazy things. ‘Oh, god,’ I mutter, imagining that Scott isn’t at the other end of the phone, that he’s here, that it’s his mouth on my pussy, that he’s saying filthy things to me in that voice. Things like spread your legs wider, Amber and I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week. I dig the fingers of my free hand into Lucas’s hair, keeping his mouth on me as my climax rolls ever closer. ‘Yes,’ I say, into the phone. ‘Oh, god, I want that.’
Lucas adds another finger, and I can’t help myself. I moan. It’s pornstar-esque, even by my standards. On the other end of the phone, Scott stops talking. He knows, I think to myself, biting down on my bottom lip. He knows. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t end the call. ‘He’s got his mouth on my pussy,’ I say into the phone, knowing that Scott can hear me. ‘Fuck, it’s so good.’ I squirm against the mattress. ‘I’m so horny and wet right now. I really need to come. Is that okay, Scott? Is it OK if I come?’
A silence stretches out, dark and heavy.
‘Please,’ I say. ‘Please, Scott, say it’sOK.’
I get more silence, tense and erotic, as the soft flick of Lucas’s tongue drives me ever closer to the edge. I can’t get over how naughty this is, how wrong, how delicious. Perfect Scott Smithson is listening to me come. I wonder if it’s making him hard, if he’s wanking himself off on the other end of the line, then imagine him doing exactly that. ‘Oh, god,’ I say, unable to hold back now. ‘I’m coming, Scott. I’m coming. I can’t stop myself.’
My climax rushes through me, hard and uncontrollable, and I arch my back and dig my heels into the mattress as Lucas works me at that same unrelenting pace. I’d almost forgotten he was there; I was so lost in my fantasy of Scott Smithson getting off whilst listening to me.
I come back to the world slowly, to a smiling Lucas and a sense that I have just done something more wicked than anything else I’ve done before.
‘You’re even more outrageous than I realised,’ Lucas says, as his hands slide their way over my thighs, lingering on the lace at the top of my hold-ups. ‘Is there anything you won’t do?’
I make my way to upright, shake back my hair. ‘Not much.’ I glance at my phone. Call ended, says the screen in neon pink text.
Not much at all.
I show Lucas around a few more flats. The last one is on the top floor of what was once an imposing Victorian family home. The bedroom has a wide bay window that overlooks the street. Lucas walks around it, as I sit on the windowsill and try to ignore my damp underwear. ‘I’ll take it,’ he says, a couple of minutes later.
Job done. Five minutes after that, he’s got a slack grin on his face and I’ve got a mouthful of spunk, so I guess you could say that job is done too. I refuse to let myself think about what Scott Smithson would say if I offered to give him a blowjob, so my brain fixates on Paul and Victoria instead. They’re on their honeymoon in the Seychelles now, doing what honeymooners do.
Paul had been my lover first. The relationship had been exciting, secretive. Estate Agents have keys for plenty of empty houses. For months, our entire relationship was conducted behind other people’s front doors, and I loved it. It made me feel special, wanted, wicked. Then Victoria joined the agency. And Paul started sleeping with her too, only I didn’t know about it. Then he fell in love with her. The sex he’d been having with me was nothing more than that. Sex. But it turned out that Victoria had a thing for blondes with big tits. And it turned out that I got a kick out of Paul watching me tangle with her.
So for six wicked months, the three of us played together. But it’s over now, it has to be, and what I need is a distraction, a new way to play. Lucas is definitely game, I know that, but as I look at him, I can’t shake the feeling that I need something else. Something not quite so…easy.
Scott Smithson isn’t easy. He doesn’t even like me. And I know it’s nothing more than my ego talking, but god, the thought that he might be attracted to me excites me beyond belief. And that’s what has me locking up the office twenty minutes early and making my way over to the gym. I swipe my card through the reader, push my way into the changing room and swap my office gear for Lycra and Nikes. Usually I do a class, something high intensity and women only. I don’t mind men watching me bounce and sweat, but I’d rather they were handpicked and weren’t doing it publicly. That’s the problem with being blonde and top-heavy. Men think it gives them the right to stare, even the bald, fat ones who are old enough to be my dad.
I shove my stuff into a locker, take the key and take a moment to check my hair in the mirror. It gets a pass. Then iPod in hand, I make my way out to the main room of the gym, the one that houses all the running and rowing machines. It’s five-thirty, and the place is already busy.
I feel the weight of several male stares, but I shake them off and focus on my target. Scott Smithson is already on a treadmill. The one next to his is empty and I dart towards it, but I’m not quick enough. A leggy brunette thrusts her water bottle in the holder, jumps her feet onto the sides. She thumbs the buttons and is quickly into a run that makes me wince.
She catches my gaze in the mirror, slides a sideways glance at Scott, then catches my eye again and gives an almost imperceptible smirk. Bitch. The bloke on the other side of Scott is sweating, liquid dripping from the end of his nose, his vest sticking to his hairy back. Eww. But as I always tell myself, go big or go home. So I saunter up to the sweaty bloke, fix on a smile and tuck my hair behind my ears. The dashboard on his treadmill says he’s been hogging it for the past forty-five minutes, and the sign on the wall clearly says users are allowed a maximum of thirty.
‘You must be so fit!’ I say. ‘I can’t imagine anyone running for forty-five minutes. I can barely manage ten.’
I can see him considering whether to ignore me or not. Then his gaze falls on my cleavage. ‘You have to learn to pace yourself,’ he says between gritted teeth.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Could you show me how to do that? How to pick the right pace?’
He hesitates, then slows the machine to a crawl. His hands drop to his hips as sweat drips all over the machine. Then he stops, steps down, gestures for me to get on. I hop up, wishing I’d had the foresight to grab a couple of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall.
‘We’ll start you off slowly,’ he says. He reaches across, but I wave him away.
‘I’ve got this,’ I say. I thumb the on switch, steadily increase the pace until I’m running at a comfortable jog. Just because I don’t use the stuff in here often doesn’t mean that I can’t use it. I might be blonde, but I’m not stupid.
The
