Guilty Pleasures (39 page)

Hendricks gasped in indignation. “Who are you, sir, and what
are
you doing here? This is private property.”

The paparazzo swung around, still snapping away to confront a very cold-eyed Hendricks brandishing his sabre in a threatening manner.

“Hey, man, I’m doing my job, right?” He lifted the camera in one hand. “I’m a journalist.”

“You will please leave, without your camera. You can pick it up here tomorrow.”

“No way, man. The public has the right to know, like, everything. And if you try to stop me, I’ll have the law on you.”

Hendricks considered this statement gravely. He swung his sabre in a deadly accurate arc, smashing through the camera and narrowly missing the man’s hand. “Now! You leave.”

“You broke my fucking camera, you shit! I’ll fuck you up!” He foolishly swung a meaty fist at Hendricks who casually stepped aside, swinging the flat of the blade against the man’s shoulder.
 

Thwack!

“Do you attack me, sir?” Hendricks asked.

Thwack!
 

“I served my country in the Falklands.”

Thwack!

“My father served in World War II.”

Thwack!

“My grandfather served at the Somme.”

Thwack!

“And my great-grandfather won a VC in the Crimea.”

Thwack!
 

“This is his sabre!”

Thwack!
 

“And this is to teach you respect for a lady, and her privacy.”

Thwack!

The staggering paparazzo backed away from Hendricks, trying desperately to reach the door and duck the unerring blows of the sabre. He ran out, panting and screaming invectives at Hendricks. Lance started clapping wholeheartedly, joined by Millie, S., and Serge, watching from the kitchen door. Hendricks blushed furiously as S. stepped forward, embraced him, and kissed him juicily on both cheeks.

“Oh, Mr. Hendricks, thank you. You’re a real hero.”

“Mr. Hendricks, you’re a treasure!” Millie exclaimed. “Absolutely adorable. Although, I must tell you, I was a bit nervous about the sword.”

“Miss Deafly, the edge of a sabre is used only against fellow warriors, the flat of the blade on cowards or fools. This creature was both.”

S. ducked into the guests’ bathroom to emerge dazzling in a lovely gauzy white dress. Her guests started arriving and the joyful hum of feminine voices filled the salon. Serge sent out mouthwatering trays of dainty sandwiches to join the feast. Laughter and happy shrieks announced the opening of the gifts and the party games.
 

Millie peeked into the kitchen.” It’s almost over, boys! S. is going to sing a lullaby she wrote for the baby; she asked you two to join us.”

S. sat at the white piano, her famously husky, sexy voice muted to tenderness as she rippled through a gentle, sweetly simple song to the general appreciation of her audience. It was over.
 

Millie and Lance left discreetly, ducking Serge and Hendricks.
 

“Let’s go, Will. I want to be alone with you.”

At the carnival, an ecstatic Millie bought toffee apples and spun sugar cones, consumed two hot dogs and skipped along, fingers entwined in Lance’s, like a schoolgirl. Her joy was contagious.

Lance found himself shouting in exhilaration, flinging up his arms in abandon at the wild sweep of the rollercoaster, enjoying the rides, letting himself go. He shot at the tin ducks and won a ridiculously ugly thing of indeterminate species in a virulent shade of yellow.

Millie immediately christened it Gerbil, and Lance felt absurdly proud. He found himself strutting boastfully, his woman under one arm, the hideous Gerbil under the other, moving through the crowds, certain no other moment in his life could match this.

They bundled through the front door of her house at Regency Square laughing excitedly, humming with adrenaline.

Millie turned and eagerly kissed him.
 

Lance gently held her away. He took her hand and led her upstairs. “Millie, listen, I love you. I’m in love with you. I want you. I want to be with you now. I want us to make love.”

“Wait a minute there, Mister! Remember our rule for no sex? No nudity? Taking it slow?”

“God, Millie, I love you, I need you . . . that’s the only rule I can remember.”

“Kiss me, Will, please, kiss me . . .”

Lance did. He slid his mouth over hers, tasting the sugar on her tongue, the heat of her body burning him. He slipped his hands down her back, caressing her shoulder blades, her waist, cupping her buttocks, fitting her to him.
 

Millie moaned at the feel of him, and pressed back, trembling.
 

Lance ran his lips down her throat, down the slope of her breasts, to the vale between where her scent intensified. He slowly pulled up her dress, caressing her inner thighs and her hips. He pulled it off her arms, freeing her breasts. He ran his fingers gently over the satiny skin of her sides, the sensitive undersides of her breasts. He licked at her hardened nipples, nipping lightly at the ruched flesh, suckling, hearing her cry out.
 

Her hands pulled at his belt, opening his fly, sliding her feverish fingers around him. She gripped him firmly, arching her back to bring her sex into contact with his erection.
 

He felt her moisture rubbing against him, wetting him, even as she moved her hand in a maddening rhythm around him, pumping, squeezing, driving him wild. He slipped his hand between her legs, feeling for the swollen nub, and stroked it. It felt light as a feather.
 

Millie feverishly gripped his hand, guiding his fingers into her, moaning. Suddenly she gasped, pushed him back onto the bed, and straddled him, sliding her wet cleft back and forth along his cock. She leaned over, staring down at him, lips parted as she moved herself over and onto him. “Oh, pretty Will, I love the way you make me feel.” She lowered herself, easing him slowly into her tight, wet heat.

“Millie, wait, wait . . . protection . . . in my wallet, wait!”

She sighed and drew him in deeper. “Hush, Will . . . it’s all right . . . come into me . . .”

“Millie . . . God, Millie, I love you . . .”

She laughed, suddenly sitting up, arching back, rising high, then dropping to enclose him again. She was riding him, her wetness sucking at him maddeningly. “Will, this is so good, so good . . . I love this . . .” Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright, a wash of pink slowly dawning across her taut breasts and rising to tint her throat. With her eyes closed, and her head back, she was lost in the sensations of her moving body.
 

Lance felt her tighten around him, a tremor running through her flesh, and thrust up, pushing her over the edge. He felt her inner flesh spasm and convulse, and yielded himself to their rhythm. She gave out a shuddering cry, and felt his own pleasure explode and unravel liquidly from him.

She lay across him, spent and slack bodied. Their breathing slowed, and still they lay, unmoving, connected. Lance was astounded at the rightness of it. He felt complete. “I love you. I love you, Millie.”

She stirred and lifted her head to smile sleepily at him. “That’s nice, Will . . .” She snuggled into his shoulder and sighed, tightening her thighs around his, keeping him in her. Seconds later, she was asleep. Carefully, Lance managed to pull a bed cover over them both without dislodging her. He fell asleep enfolded, cradled, and content.
 

As flushed and exultant as a new bride on her wedding morning, Millie dashed off a brief entry into her diary before starting her day.

From the Diary of Millicent Deafly:

It happened! With me and Will. I never dreamed it could be so far beyond my previous sad little experiences. I loved it. It was sex, it was lovemaking, it was more than both.

I want more and more of him. I want him inside me in every way: my body, my mind, my heart. I feel greedy, just like a glutton.
 

I want to wallow like a little pig . . .
 

I want everything.

Chapter 31

Ladies complain that although men are eager to accept the pleasures of oral sex, they are slow, not to say reluctant, to reciprocate.

Bad boys!
You go on home and go down on that woman right now!

Cunnilingus requires a sly, agile tongue. As with any contact with the clitoris, be gentle: tease, tantalise!

Work hard to acquire
the tongue of angels
and your woman will be in Heaven!

Take my advice:
practise, practise, practise!

—Sensual Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate

The weeks sped by in a whirl of sexual frenzy. They made love, then made love again. They ventured out for dinner at the African restaurant, and halfway through, Lance found himself sliding his fingers inside Millie under the table, eating the delicious food scented with her musk. They rushed home, and he took her in the hallway, up against the door, unable to wait to make it up the stairs.
 

At Guilty Pleasures, they stole avid kisses behind Serge’s back, made love in the pantry, the small salon, and even in the store room, under the jealous eye of the statue of the rampant Adonis.