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‘Look at me,’ I heard him whisper, his voice a guttural rasp.
But I wasn’t going to let him start leading this now. I didn’t want him telling me what to do. Not any more. That wasn’t how this was going to work.
So I kept my gaze on what I was doing and continued to move my mouth on him, sliding his cock deep into my throat then pulling him all the way out again so I could play with my tongue around the head—just as I used to, to drive him crazy. I could tell he was getting close to coming by his short pants of breath and the way his hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides.
And I revelled in the idea of being in control of that.
I was so caught up in the powerful satisfaction of what I was doing to him I didn’t anticipate what he was going to do next—which was to let out a loud groan of frustration, suddenly withdraw from me then stoop down to grab me under the arms and lift me up, pressing me back against the wall and trapping me there with his hands on my shoulders.
He stared into my eyes for a moment, as if trying to centre himself, before flashing me a wicked sort of smile. Then before I could react he reached down and bunched the skirt of my dress in his hand so he could slide it up my body and roughly push his other hand between my legs. I let out an involuntary gasp of surprise as his fingers pressed into the desire-soaked material of my knickers.
‘It seems like you’re pretty interested in getting something out of this too,’ he muttered, leaning towards me so his words whispered over my lips, making them rush with intoxicating sensation. He slid his hand into my knickers and rubbed the backs of his long fingers over my mound, then pressed his thumb firmly down the line of my pussy, making my clitoris throb with the need to be touched more intimately.
‘I don’t need anything from you,’ I tried to protest, my heart thumping like a jackhammer as I tried not to let myself be pulled under by the erotic desire he was triggering in me.
But I could see from the amusement in his eyes and the sceptical raise of an eyebrow that he didn’t believe a word I was saying.
Frustration at losing my authority over this game built inside me, but I was suddenly at a loss to do anything about it as he dipped one long finger inside me, sliding it deep then drawing it out slowly, catching every erogenous spot I had.
I bit my lip hard to stop myself from letting out a moan of pleasure, but I could tell from the smile in his eyes that he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
And he wasn’t about to stop.
This time he used two fingers, curling them towards him to press on a magic area inside me, shooting tendrils of pure pleasure through my body. Then slowly he slid them out of me again, using the slickness of my desire to smooth his way back up to my needy clit.
‘Admit it, you want my cock inside you,’ he insisted, gently flicking his fingertip over the hard little nub of nerves there. ‘More than you’ve ever wanted anything.’
‘Fuck you,’ I moaned, barely able to think straight now.
‘What’s that? You want to fuck me? Yeah, I thought so,’ he ground out, twisting his fingers into my knickers and tugging on them so hard the fragile lace around the band ripped and they slithered down my legs to the floor.
That was the moment I should have walked away. I should have said that I didn’t want this, that I wanted him to leave me alone.
But right at that moment I couldn’t. Even though, intellectually, I knew I should.
Because my body wanted the exact opposite. Desperately. Like it had been starved for years and he was the most delicious meal in the world just ready and waiting to be eaten.
Which I suppose is why, instead of backing off, I closed the small gap between us and kissed him hard.
The moment our lips met it was clear to me he wanted the exact same thing because he opened his mouth and slid his tongue deep inside me, his groan of approval vibrating around the cavern of my mouth.
And it felt so incredible. Hot, dirty and urgent. His tongue firmly stroked against mine, over and over again, as if this was a duel he was trying to win, but I gave back as good as I got, pulling back to bite at his lips then suck the lower one into my mouth.
He gave a moan of what sounded like frustration, then pulled away from me to stare into my eyes, his expression fierce.
‘You want this?’ he demanded, his voice a growl of desire.
‘Just as much as you do,’ I murmured back. There was a hot, raging need inside me, something I’d been subduing for years, but it was out now, free and determined to get what it wanted.
I felt him slide his hands under my buttocks and lift me up. Instinctively I wrapped my legs around his waist, exhaling with satisfaction as his hard cock pressed between the folds of my pussy. He began to rock his hips, rubbing himself against the sensitive nub of my clit, and my whole world narrowed to that one sweet, lascivious sensation.
We were both panting hard now, our breath rushing in and out of our lungs from both the physical exertion and the intense need to fuck.
As much as I wanted to get back on top of this situation, I was aware I was losing the battle. My mind was hazy and overrun with an overwhelming desire to finish what we’d started, so it felt completely right when I felt the head of his cock pressing against the entrance to my vagina, then firmly and insistently pushing inside me.
I sucked in a breath as he slid deeper, my body stretching to take the impressive girth of him. He didn’t pause there but immediately began pounding into me, his powerful hips thrusting against my body as he took himself deeper.
And I loved it. Needed it. Needed more of it.
I began to rock my body in unison with his, taking his hard thrusts and urging him on for more of them.
I was wild. Abandoned. Not the controlled, tactically driven woman I usually was when having sex. I was suddenly a person I only vaguely remembered being all those years ago. A woman who had let herself enjoy fucking for the sake of it. Who had been capable of feeling love and affection.
Then suddenly, shockingly, he stilled. His cock was still buried deep inside me, but he was holding the rest of his body rigid, not moving a single muscle. I nearly screamed in frustration, wriggling my hips and trying to get him to start moving again.
But he didn’t.
Instead he leant back and cupped my chin in his hand, turning my head so I was forced to look straight into his narrowed eyes.
‘This is why you really came in here tonight, isn’t it?’ he murmured. ‘You can’t keep away from me. Wherever I go these days, there you are, hanging around at the edge of my vision like a mournful ghost,’ he teased, the words loaded with triumph as he began gently to rock back and forth again, the pressure of his pelvis against my clit sending echoes of pleasure through me. ‘I knew it. I knew you still wanted me. You’ve wanted me back for all these years but you’ve been too much of a coward to admit it.’
And that was the moment that reality and sense rushed in.
His jubilation killed dead the eroticism of the moment and in my anger and intense frustration I put my hands against his chest and pushed him hard away from me. I felt his cock slide out of me as he was forced to take a step back and I dropped my feet to the floor.
My whole body gave a throb of regret at the loss of intimate contact with his and an agonisingly familiar grief began to build inside me. But I knew I had to quash it quickly before my emotions got the better of me. Before he saw the pain and sadness I’d been hiding from him for all these years.
‘Don’t kid yourself,’ I said with all the disdain I could muster, pushing down the skirt of my dress. ‘This wasn’t about wanting you. It’s just a hate fuck. Something we’ve been dancing around for years. Which frankly has become very boring. It just felt like a good opportunity to get it over with and get each other out of our systems for good.’
He stared at me with his eyebrows pinched together, seemingly amused by my statement. ‘You’re really going to give up the best orgasm of your life to maintain your overblown pride?’
My laugh was scornful. ‘I wasn’t even close to coming then. You could never make me orgasm.’
He snorted in disbelief. ‘I seem to remember doing just that, quite a few times, in fact, back when you used to behave like a human being instead of a business-driven robot.’
I wagged my finger at him. ‘Newsflash. You didn’t make me come then, either. I faked it every time because I felt sorry for you and didn’t want to damage your fragile ego.’
This wasn’t entirely true. While I’d had trouble at first relaxing enough to orgasm, and had pretended I had out of shame at not being able to do it, I’d definitely come regularly once we were past the awkward new-relationship stage and we’d got to know each other’s bodies a whole lot better.
‘You’re a fucking liar,’ he said, pulling his trousers closed and buckling his belt.
‘Am I?’ I gave him my haughtiest look, one that reputedly could freeze people to the spot. ‘Honestly, you meant nothing to me then and you mean nothing to me now. You’re just a minor nuisance with a big mouth and an obvious lack of self-esteem. Perhaps it’s time you took a long, hard look at yourself.’ I straightened my shoulders, fighting back a wave of shame when I was certain I saw hurt flash across his face this time.
My gut clenched. What was wrong with me? The man had just lost his father and I was laying into him in the most vicious and hurtful way.
But he didn’t give me an opportunity to backtrack. He just looked me up and down with his jaw set, taking in my dishevelled state with a cool gaze, then turned, grabbed his jacket off the chair and threw it towards me.
I was too slow to catch it, so it just slithered down my body and landed in a heap at my feet.
‘You’re going to need that more than me. We wouldn’t want you getting any colder,’ he said before turning and walking away, slamming the door shut behind him.
* * *
I kept his jacket for far longer than I should have done.
It just sat there, on the back of the armchair in my bedroom, taunting me for the next few days.
I’m ashamed to say I ignored my better judgement at one point and picked it up and held it to my nose to remind me of the scent of him. I’m not sure why. Something deep and dark inside me compelled me to do it. An instinct to punish myself, perhaps. A form of self-flagellation.
It was wrong to have had sex with him. So wrong. Foolish and weak. And the shame of it infected me like a virus, waking me up night after night in a hot, feverish state.
Eventually, five nights after it happened, when I was still having trouble sleeping, I got up and angrily shoved the jacket into a carrier bag to be sent to the dry cleaners the next day.
It was funny, but as soon as it was out of the house I immediately felt better. As if I’d exorcised a malevolent spirit.
But of course I knew deep down that wouldn’t be the end of it.
Life didn’t work like that.
And, of course, I was right.
CHAPTER TWO (#u06192336-e539-501f-8283-1c66d1d8da20)
Jamie
I’VE FELT SO much anger towards April Darlington-Hume over the years, it’s impossible to quantify it.
At least, I think it’s anger.
It certainly feels like it most of the time.
Except for the times it doesn’t.
I’ve never known what to do with those feelings, though, so mostly I’ve tried to ignore them.
Which hasn’t been easy.
I fucking adored her ten years ago, imagining that we’d stay together after we graduated from university and make a real go of it. It would have been challenging, sure, with me travelling the world one way to take part in tennis championships and she the other to build her career in the business world, but we could have done it. If she’d been brave enough.
It was her father that got in the middle of us. I’m pretty bloody sure of it. He never thought I was good enough for her and in the end she clearly gave in and decided he must be right—even after I tried so hard to be there for her after her mother died. I knew exactly how much pain she was in because I’d been through the same thing in my teens when I’d lost my own mother—who had chosen her love of alcohol over her desire to stay alive and in my life and had succumbed to liver disease. I did nothing but send April letters, gifts and offer support and generally put my life on hold for her in case she needed me.
But she didn’t.
Instead she dumped me, without even giving me a decent reason, then proceeded to act as if I didn’t exist any more. She wouldn’t take my calls or come down and meet me at the door when I turned up at her house. And, when I finally managed to confront her when she left the house one day on her own, rather than hiding away in her chauffeur-driven car, she refused to talk to me, telling me to leave her alone and that it was over between us.
That she didn’t love me and she was moving on. That I would be a hindrance to her family responsibilities and her career.
That was all the explanation I got. After a year and a half of growing so close to her I seriously thought we’d get married one day.
Because she’d been my best friend as well as my lover. My other half.
But it turned out I’d meant nothing to her. Less than nothing.
It’s no wonder I lost the plot for a while after being treated like that. I’m not especially proud of my actions at that time but I was hurting and so fucking angry with her, I could barely think straight.
And now we’ve gone and raked it all up again.
I’ve not been able to stop thinking about her since that night at the fundraiser. Her words have turned over and over in my mind, especially the part about her faking her orgasms with me. I don’t believe that’s true. It can’t be. I would have known. I’m sure of it.
Wouldn’t I?
I’ve never had any complaints from women before.
But, despite being ninety-nine per cent certain I’m not misremembering our time together, that one per cent has planted a seed of doubt in my mind. Which has been fucking with my head ever since—so much so I’ve had trouble thinking about anything else.
That is until the letter from my father was handed to me by the executor of his will.
I’d been summoned to the solicitor’s office in Kensington a few weeks after I’d buried my father in the De Montfort family plot on a clifftop graveyard just outside St Ives—where we’d laid my mother to rest fifteen years before. The solicitor, Phil Clary, was one of my father’s oldest school friends and it was he who handed me a thick cream envelope with a sad, supportive smile.
‘Your father wrote this after his first heart attack a year ago and wanted you to have it a little while after he’d been laid to rest.’ He nodded towards the envelope. ‘I think he wanted to give you a bit of time to grieve first.’
I have to admit, I was intrigued. He’d already willed everything he owned to me, including the entirety of his prosperous software business, so I was at a loss to think what could be in this letter. It had to be something seriously important for him to have had it delivered to me in this way.
After ripping it open and sliding out a single sheet of paper, I took a breath before starting to read my fathers achingly familiar handwriting, my heart in my mouth.
Son,
If you’re reading this it means my damaged heart has finally given up on me and I’m in the ground. In a lot of ways this will be a relief. There have been many times in my life when I’ve prayed for an easy way out of the despair I’ve often found myself sucked into, particularly since losing the woman I loved more than life itself.
Please don’t think for a second that this means I ever wanted to leave you, though. You are the one and only thing I did absolutely right in my life and I’m so proud to call you my son. You turned out to be a better man than I could ever have hoped for.
I’m sending you this letter now because I need you to do something—something I was never able to ask of you while I was alive. Go and ask April Darlington-Hume to tell you what really happened to her mother.
What they reported in the papers wasn’t the whole story. Not even half of it. I’ve wanted to tell you about it so many times, but it’s proved impossible for me.
You’ll understand what I mean by that when you finally hear the long-buried truth. Even though it may be distressing to hear, I’ve come to realise that you knowing everything is the most important thing in the world.
It will finally give me peace and hopefully you too, eventually.
Take care of yourself, Jamie.
Be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.
Your loving father,
Cliff
I stared at the piece of paper in my trembling hand, holding back an onslaught of emotion that brought back the memory of the excruciating mental agony I’d experienced as I’d watched his coffin being lowered into his grave.
