An Acute Attraction (7 page)

              With that he brings his head down to kiss me. The touch of his lips alone turns my head to mush, but when I feel his warm tongue, that’s it I am done for! Marc grins knowing the effect he’s had on me and spanks my arse; yes he actually spanks it causing me to “Whoop!”

              “Go on Miss Chambers, you go and do what all you women love to do. Enjoy yourself and I will text you in a bit.” He winks and kisses me on the cheek before heading over to the Porters’ Lodge. I am briefly stunned as I watch him leave.

             It’s just after 1pm and I still haven’t found the perfect outfit. Even with Cambridge prices I have enough money, but unfortunately not the right body type for the small independent boutiques that lie in the side streets. I have so many scenes from Pretty Woman running through my head. Different circumstances obviously, but the same sentimental reasons; I'm different and no model! I feel I could cry at this point, so needing to take some time out, I decide to find somewhere for lunch. Not wanting to break the diet I avoid the usual fast food outlets and head for an Italian restaurant called Don Pasquale, a true authentic sounding name I thought. With its large green parasols covering the majority of the outdoor seating area next to the market, I know it will offer welcomed shade and light relief from the sun. Spotting a small table right next to the barrier that lines the street, I go over to it. The tables are all quite close together, but the ambience is calm and it doesn't feel crowded. Sitting down I scan the menu, oh what the heck, I’ll eat something healthy and treat myself to a refreshing glass of Rose. As the waiter arrives I order the Salmone Affumicato;
 
that’s
Salmon and king prawn salad to you and me!
I sit back to soak up the atmosphere scanning the sights in front of me, when my phone whistles at me. Retrieving it from my bag I see it is a text from Marc as he promised. Setting my phone to silent first I proceed to read and exchange messages with him.

               “Hey you, how’s it going? Hope you’re having a successful day. Where are you now? x”

                 I realise it will be a mixed message I am giving him, but I want to be open and honest.

               “Hey you back. It could be better, not found anything as yet, so I’ve stopped to have some lunch. How are you? x”

               “That doesn't sound good. You’ll find something soon I'm sure of it. I'm fine, we've just stopped for lunch as well and then I’ll be doing the presentation. x”

                  I smile at his optimism. “I'm sure I will also. You go knock ‘em dead Mr Sanders. x”

                “Haha!! I will do Miss Chambers. x”

                   I am just typing my reply when another message comes through.
Don’t you just hate it when that happens?
Anyway, I delete what I have started and read what’s been sent.

                 “How daring do you feel?”

                   Frowning as to what is written on the screen I type, “That’s a bit cryptic. What do you mean?”

                  “Take a look around you, then you can judge how daring you are as I ask you to touch yourself.”

                   Yup! My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets too!
The thing is, I know what he is asking me to do and the adrenalin has rushed to all of the right places of my body. My nipples harden to peaks against my white lace bra, my stomach does a somersault and the hairs on my arms stand on end. My sex clenches and yes, I even bite my lip. What sways my decision is that he is asking me and not telling me to do it. He is giving me the option. Taking in my surroundings, I can tell by the layout of the place and where I am sitting that nobody would notice if I went for it.

                 “Okay then, where?”

                 I'm not sure if that was the answer he expected or thought he was going to get, as it takes a little time for him to reply.
                 My phone vibrates, “Your nipples; pinch them hard through your dress.”

                 Licking my now dry lips, I look up through my eye lashes checking the other diners out. No-one is looking at me, so I nonchalantly look towards the market. Leaning forward more onto the table I cross my arms and then with the fingers and thumb on my left hand I pinch my right nipple. I don’t stop there though, the electric surge I get from my breast encourages me to tweak, twist and turn it. Oh my, am I really doing this and enjoying it? Another text comes through.

                “Are you doing it?”

                “Yes”

                “How does it feel?”

                  I tell him honestly, “Amazing, electric…Hot!”

                  It takes a couple of minutes for the next message to come through.

               “Good, I thought you might like it. Now I’d like you to stroke your inner thigh and then touch yourself between your thighs. I want you to pretend that it’s my hand there. I want you to feel how wet your panties are for me, cos I know it will be because of me that you are wet.”

                 With shaking hands through excitement and not nerves, all I can type is, “Ok.”

                  It’s not that I don’t want to do this, but I pause wondering how on earth I am going to manage it. The dress I am wearing is long. Think Chambers, think! Cashing in on my clumsiness I push a knife that is on the right hand side of the table, to the floor. With a clatter of metal against stone, the noise attracts a little attention from a woman on the next table. I smile apologetically, and then she returns her attention to her companion to continue with their conversation. Oh gawd! Apprehensively I reach down to pick it back up all the time looking around me. Grabbing the knife I don’t bring my hand back up straight away, but instead I pull the hem of my dress up and hook it above my knee. I shift in position a little so that I am able to bring the dress up my thigh and, rest the knife in between my leg and the seat of the chair. Feeling the air skim against my skin is enough for me to swiftly inhale. Thinking back to yesterday, we were outside then, but this is totally off the scale. The number of locals and tourists around excites me all the more and I imagine that my hands are Marc’s. An envelope symbol appears on the screen of my phone, opening the message it reads,

                “Tell me what you are doing.”

                 It’s a good job
 I'm left handed, bloody hell!

                “I've pulled the skirt of my dress up and I can feel your hand against my thigh.”

                “Humm! That’s right baby. Now I want you to slowly stroke the inside of your thigh.”

                 Casually I observe the happenings in the market which covers up the fact, that inside I am aroused to high heaven. I spread my legs a little and stroke the whole of that area. Slowly up and down, my fingers sweep over the sensitive skin.

               “Are you turned on by it Isabel?” is the next message.

                “Yes” I type. I am positive he’ll know that my breathing will have increased a touch and it is getting more difficult to type out my replies.

                “Good, I am with you baby. Touch your panties Isabel, I want to be able to feel how wet they are. With your fingers rub your clit like I did.”

                  Without hesitation I do what he asks. I need this; I am too far gone to want it to stop now. As I hitch the skirt up further I touch the silk material and feel the dampness that has already soaked through. I hiss through my teeth as I touch myself there. The exertion of holding back the primal noises that are dying to escape from deep within my throat is causing beads of sweat to accumulate on my brow. I have to text him, I want him with me.

                  “I don’t know how long I can carry on, I'm getting close. Marc I want you.”

                   This is true! I am so close to bringing myself to orgasm in a goddam freaking restaurant. Marc’s reply is short.

                  “Do it! I’m right there with you baby.”

                    I curse repeatedly in my head and I have to bite my lip so hard I think may draw blood. Grasping at a glass of water with my left hand, I bring it to my mouth so that I can gruffly moan into it as I tip over the edge of orgasmic oblivion.

                   Giving myself a couple of minutes to pull back together the seams that have been ripped apart, I straighten my dress again and place the knife back on to the table. Before I can type out a text the screen illuminates.

                   “Did you come for me Isabel?”
Understatement of the year so far goes to…

                    “Yes I did Marc and it was freaking awesome.” I’m sorry but I can’t hold back on the truth.

                    “Good. If it was as awesome for you as it was for me, then you must have one heck of a smile on your face.”

                      My brow knits together in confusion. I re-read his text and then decide to call him.
 

                    “Hey!” he says.

                    “Marc, where are you?”

                    “I’m sitting in the car. I thought it was best to do what I was doing in private.”
 

                     Cupping my mouth to mute the piercing cry of shock, I then start to uncontrollably laugh. Oh, My, God!!

                     After that lunch flew by.
The food was delicious by the way; I would recommend it to anyone
. Walking with more of a bounce in my step, I feel more confident about myself. Was that his plan all along? Shaking my head I ponder on the idea. Right come on Chambers, I am going to pick out something to wear that will be for me and for Marc.

Chapter 6

              Having enjoyed my lunch rather more than I expected, I was feeling a whole lot more positive about the rest of the afternoon. I was still buzzing from what Marc and I had done in the restaurant and the sentiment behind it. He knew I hadn’t had a great morning, but thanks to him and what we did, I was feeling a heck of a lot better; so finding the ideal dress along with shoes and a few accessories which I loved and felt confident in, topped it off nicely. However, I didn’t want to come away from Cambridge without buying Marc a gift, so leisurely strolling towards Kings College; I knew exactly what to get for him. I am not your stereotypical woman who classes shopping as a hobby or a favourite pastime, but boy! I have to admit, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I also took advantage of the time I had to visit the spectacular King’s College Chapel. It has always been a dream of mine to come along to the Christmas Eve carol concert here. I have watched it every year without fail, so maybe one day. One Christmas is extra special though; it was 18 years ago this year and I was watching ‘Carols From Kings’ on the TV. I had a feeling that this Christmas was going to be different and my instincts were right, when 4 hours later I went in to labour with my eldest son. Thank goodness with it being Christmas Day morning, the roads were clear and at 4.49pm my beautiful James was born; the words “Get him out!” that I screamed worked a treat! Two slices of toast and a cup of tea for Christmas dinner wasn’t quite what I envisaged, but he was the best Christmas gift anyone could ask for. Bless him. I have tried so many different ways to make his birthday special for him, but Christmas always seems to win. I once did a party; I think it was his 3
rd
birthday, for him during the summer to break up the year. Now we go out for our Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve night; a local traditional pub with a roaring fire, decorations hung around the wooden beams and a party atmosphere and then Christmas Day I do a buffet throughout the day for James’ Birthday; a winning formula.

              Time must have been getting on as I notice the tired faces of fellow shoppers and sightseers, most were heading towards the bus station. It was 4.20pm according to the time on my phone; surely Marc must have finished his presentation by now and hopefully be done for the afternoon. Laden down with bags, my feet were really starting to ache as I rounded the corner to where Marc had parked the car at the College. What I see makes me freeze on the spot. Next to the Merc are two figures; one I could distinctly make out was Marc standing rigid, holding his briefcase and seemed to be wearing the most intense, cold looking face. In front of him was an immaculately dressed woman; in her heels she stood just short of him. Clothed in a grey trouser suit, she has her hair cut in to a bob, which must have had nearly a tin of hairspray on it as it never seemed to move in the breeze.  I could tell by the way; her perfect face lights up, the way she plays with her perfect blonde hair and settles a perfect hand upon his perfect shoulder, that they are more than colleagues. While she speaks showing her perfect white teeth, Marc's expression never changes. At that moment, I have to hold myself back from bitch-slapping her!
Whoa Chambers!
I shock myself with that; I have never ever thought such a thing before. I retract my claws and watch them talking for a couple more minutes.  He so obviously looks uncomfortable by what she is saying or doing.