The Red Collection (12 page)

Surprisingly, I have no trouble orientating myself towards his penis in the darkness. I swear I could find it via heat-seeking alone. He’s so hot, and so delicious, and fine and salty and a little bit sweaty and foxy too in a very good way. I flick him with my tongue and lick around beneath his glans, and then suck his knob into my mouth. He makes very raunchy, animal-like sounds in his throat as I work on him. Delightfully uninhibited, he doesn’t hold back, and he growls out some purple profanities of appreciation.

After a while though, he says, ‘Time out, babe! I need to fuck you now, or I’ll unload into your mouth.’

It sounds incredibly crude, but somehow, in a strange way, almost poetic.

We start to wriggle around again, and in the darkness I feel him fishing in his pocket. Ever the opportunist, eh, Man-shape? Condom to hand? But then again,
I’ve
got some in my handbag. It is a wedding after all, and a traditional occasion to get lucky.

He rips off the foil then, taking hold of my hands in his, puts the rubber between my fingers and guides me to him. Working as a team, we roll and roll the latex down his length.

‘Ready?’ he murmurs when he’s covered.

‘Absolutely. But how are we doing to manage this?’

‘Don’t worry, you feel like a very flexible girl to me.’ He laughs wickedly and starts to manhandle me – in the nicest possible way – into position.

We bump and grapple and tumble and wiggle, but eventually I’m on my back, knickers off, with my knees in the air, and he’s between my thighs. His yummy rubber-clad cock butts at my entrance, and he reaches down and precision locates the target area. Then he pushes in, with a lurch of his hips, deep and home.

Oh great God Almighty, he feels amazing. I’ve never been so stretched, so filled. And the awkwardness of our position and the tension in our limbs only make the way he thrusts feel more dynamic and sweet than ever.

He pushes. He shoves. I push and shove right back at him, every action and reaction tugging and battering at my clit. My legs flail about as much as they can in the confined space and coats collapse onto us, wrapping us in a blanket of heat that only makes things feel even more crazy-sexy and frantically hot.

A tumble as mad and wild as this can’t hope to last long, but who cares? Within a few moments, I’m coming again, and moaning and groaning. I sense he would have liked to have lasted longer, but he just laughs and curses madly as he comes too. His powerful hips pound me like a pneumatic drill, and as he shoots his semen inside me, he grabs my bottom and holds me nice and firmly in place.

Afterwards, we lie panting like a pair of beached hippopotami in a mangrove swamp. We’re a messy tangle of bunched clothes, sticky, sweaty limbs and coats, lots of coats. I’m almost suffocating, but gently and considerately, he digs me out of the hot stuffy bundle.

It’s several minutes before we come back to earth and realise that outside the fireworks have stopped and all is quiet. I’ve no idea
when
they stopped, but they could probably have dropped a cruise missile on me in the last ten minutes and I wouldn’t have noticed.

Suddenly, I start to feel awkward. Should I introduce myself or what? I do think I want to get out of here, because for the first time since I entered this closet, I feel claustrophobic. I start to wiggle my way back into my clothes, hauling up my bra and top, and then setting my skirt to rights. It’s tricky, but
by
silent agreement, Man-shape helps me. The only thing neither of us can find though is my knickers.

‘Look, I don’t think it’s a good idea for both of us to emerge together, do you? It’ll look … um … suspicious.’

I sense him frowning. Have I offended him? Oh, I hope not.

‘Good idea. Shall I leave first? Then rap on the door for you if the coast’s clear?’

‘OK …’

When the door opens, the light from the corridor dazzles me and I clap my hands over my eyes. But when I peek out from between my fingers again, blackness has descended once more.

For a minute, there’s silence, and then comes a solid rap on the door.

I start to open it, then snatch it shut again, hearing laughing female voices approaching. I wait and wait in the darkness, until I can’t wait any more, but then when I inch the door open a crack and peer out the corridor is empty.

No Man-shape. I think I want to cry.

Throughout the disco afterwards, I don’t see any of the groomsmen. Too busy adorning the going-away car, I suppose. Blowing up the obligatory inflatable sheep and getting busy with the shaving foam. If Man-shape
is
one of them, he might be staying out of the way on purpose, not wanting an embarrassing confrontation with his hasty cupboard shag. I thought he was nicer than that, but maybe he isn’t.

When the evening winds to a close, fleets of taxis have been hired to take everybody home that’s going home and, feeling deflated, I line up with friends from work, and members of the families of the bride and the groom. I know
I
shouldn’t feel like this. It was just a bit of wedding fun, a tradition as much as the white veil and the confetti.

But just as it’s my turn for a taxi and I’m about to step forwards, a hand on my arm stops me in my tracks.

‘Can I give you a lift?’ says a wickedly familiar voice, and I turn and there’s a tall and exceptionally male figure beside me.

Oh goody, it’s
the
most handsome of all the groomsmen, the one I really, really hoped it would be. But still I hesitate.

‘Don’t worry. I had two glasses of champagne earlier, but that’s the lot. I’m safe to ride with.’ But the way his eyes twinkle suggests a different kind of danger.

‘Ooh, yes, in that case, I’d love one. That’d be great.’

Is it him? His voice sounds the same, but then the acoustics in the cupboard were very different.

I follow Mr Tall, Dark, Handsome and Safe to a parking area around the corner, still not sure whether he’s my sex-friend from the cupboard. Even if he isn’t, I’m not going to argue. He’s really mighty fine.

But then, just as he opens the door of a large, dark and rather swish-looking car, I catch a glimpse of something in his top pocket, tucked in there like a handkerchief … and it reminds me keenly of the draught that’s teasing my pussy.

He notices me noticing my knickers in his pocket and grins. He’s got a rather hawkish face, but it’s also dreamy in a kind of secret agent way. I really cannot believe my luck tonight.

‘My name’s Drew, by the way. Drew Richardson. Pleased to meet you.’ As he settles into the seat beside me, he offers his hand and I have to laugh out loud.

‘Pleased to meet you too. My name’s Susan –’

‘Susan Grey, yes, I know … I asked.’

His fingers are warm and, at their touch, my clit actually tingles, remembering them.

‘So, Susan Grey,’ he says, looking at my mouth. I can’t help but lick my lips. ‘Did you enjoy the fireworks?’

I’m puzzled for a moment, then I laugh again. He’s a devil.

‘Absolutely, Drew Richardson, absolutely. They were awesome.’

Drew Richardson gives me a wink, then releases my hand and starts the engine.

I wink back at him … and plan the next display.

Sometimes They Come Back

WHAT’S WITH THE
shutters? When the hell did she have those fitted?

It’d been three weeks since Richard Lacey had visited the house that he’d formerly shared with his wife Melinda, but even in that short time he could see there’d been changes. For some reason best known to herself his wife had installed heavy metal shutters on every window. Horrible black things they were, grim and bleak and ugly, making the place look like a fortified bunker in the heart of suburbia.

We’ll soon see about this!

Richard frowned as he pulled into the drive. What on earth was going on? Mel had ruined the house’s aspect completely – when he still owned half of it. She’d no business making drastic alterations and knocking down the value his property like that.

Staring at the dour, uninviting façade, he took a deep breath.

He wasn’t here to argue. In fact quite the reverse. Trying to think positive, loving thoughts, he turned off the engine. He planned his little speech and how the scenario that accompanied it might play out. But still he felt uneasy, and it wasn’t just the fucking shutters that were to blame.

Stepping out of the car, he stared around him. More shocks.

The garden, always Mel’s pride and joy, was looking terrible.

Her roses were in a pathetic state, with dead blooms hanging forlornly on their stems, and ranks of sly, greasy-looking little weeds had popped up in between them. It was a pleasant evening and the twilight was golden, but a dark, unsettling miasma hung over the entire garden. Clutching his peace offering of an expensive bottle of wine and some Belgian chocolate truffles, he strode to the front door and tried to shake off the sudden heebie-jeebies.

Out of courtesy, he rang the bell. Mel was mostly in. She didn’t go out much. In fact her lack of interest in social activities was one of the main reasons they’d split. Well, correction,
he’d
walked out. A grinding pang of guilt tightened his gut as he remembered her pleas for him to stay and her floods of tears. But the prospect of life with a party girl like Susan had seemed so much more exciting. As had the copious and uncomplicated sex, a relief after Mel’s intense emotion and her frequent, unexplained melancholy.

No answer. Was she even in? With those hideous blinds it was impossible to tell.

Tucking his bottle and his box under his arm, he fished out his key, already feeling the bright edge wearing off his reconciliation plans. Trust Mel to be out, just when he wanted to spring the great news that he was coming back home for good.

The hall was pitch dark. Which made him realise that there were metal shutters even on the sidelights and the fanlight above the door. What the fuck was that all about? He’d get them removed as soon as he was settled back in
again
. They were an eyesore, not to mention depressing and unnecessary.

Pausing to switch on a lamp, Richard wrinkled his nose.

Christ, what’s that smell?

A heavy, pungent fragrance hit him in the face. It was so powerful he half imagined he could see motes of it drifting in the flat air. It reminded him of the crumbling roses outside, but laced with unfamiliar spices and herbs and with something earthy and disturbing at the back of it.

He’d never smelled it before, and it was nothing like Mel’s light floral cologne, or even the many polishes and cleaning products she used.

He quite liked it though. In fact he more than liked it. It had a dark and sexy kick that gave him the horn.

Which was a good thing, really. He was planning to fuck Mel anyway, to seal his return with a reunion shag. She’d be so grateful and, since Susan had turned sour on him, he was missing regular action.

He set down his gifts and walked into the lounge. It was in darkness, just like the hall. Switching on another lamp, he went to the window, but he couldn’t find the controls for the blinds anywhere. How the hell did one open the bloody things?

Weaving carefully amongst the furniture, he made his way back to the hall.

What the hell is going on? And why am I so incredibly randy?

It was getting pretty serious now. He was rock hard in his jeans. God, he hoped that Mel came home soon from wherever it was she’d gone.

Upstairs, it got worse. The fragrance was stronger and he was so stiff now it was uncomfortable to walk.

At the end of the landing, the door to the master bedroom
was
slightly open, and when he reached in and tried to switch on the light inside, nothing happened. Bulb out?

He padded into the room, negotiating by the glow from the hall. The unsettling floral scent was so thick here that it felt like he was struggling to walk through it, like he was wading through treacle. Flopping onto the bed, he was forced to clutch his aching, throbbing groin.

Oh Mel, oh Mel, he thought, stricken by a sudden gouge of desire for his wife. He’d treated her so badly. He hadn’t valued her when he should have done. He’d do better now. He’d do everything she wanted him to.

A heavy lassitude drifted over him, and he leaned back on the bed, kicking off his shoes. Wherever she was, he’d wait for her, and be good to her when she got back. Better than he’d ever been.

Stretching out, his hand connected with something soft and flimsy and, drawing it to him, he discovered it was an item of lingerie. A camisole-type thing, he realised, holding it up in the light from the doorway. It was black, and made of silk, and encrusted with lace. Nothing like the sensible white cotton bras and knickers that Mel usually wore. The soft fabric slid through his fingers like fluid, and his cock leaped as he imagined the silk between Mel’s legs. Not the delicate cloth, but the satin feel of her arousal.

Desire gripped him by the balls, sluicing through his body, choking him.

Why had he left her? He struggled to remember. He must have been insane. How could he have forgotten how sexy she was? Her perfume filled his brain. Or was it her perfume? What was happening to him? His head seemed to whirl while his cock pulsed and raged, dragging at his belly with an agonising need to fuck.

A raw pitiful sound echoed in the room and he realised it was him, groaning aloud, like a beast in pain.

He was lying on the bed, still in his coat, but, with fingers that shook as if he had a palsy, he ripped at his belt, his trousers, his zip. Opening his fly, he reached in and rummaged in his shorts. Finding his burning cock, he wrapped the cool silk around it, wishing it were Mel’s fingers, or her lips, or the soft, liquid paradise between her legs.

He pumped and pumped himself, almost in tears, crying out her name, ‘Mel! Mel!’

How could he have left her? She was a goddess … He was unworthy of her, he’d been lucky to have been allowed anywhere near her.

His hand was inept and clumsy, not like her gentle hand, the way she’d always held him. Caressed him. Pleasured him. The exotic perfume that reminded him so perfectly of her seemed to be drenching his brain and creating pictures, memories, longing, longing, longing …