Ask No Questions (7 page)

She wriggled on her bottom, pushing herself into her self-pleasuring fingers.

"Hmm, that was good," he said
, shifting uncomfortably, concerned that his cock might punch a hole in his jeans. "And thanks. How's it going? Are you close?"

"Quite…close," she panted.

"I want you to get really close," he said. "Really, really close. And then I want you to stop."

Her eyes fl
ew open, as he'd hoped they would.

"Oh, you…" she moaned.

"I know. I'm a very bad man. I can't help it. You make me this way."

"Ohhh." Her fingers were a blur now, her thighs flexing in a fast rhythm.

"Don't you go coming without telling me, my girl," he whispered, leaning over the chess board to get a closer look. "I'll know."

"Oh
God
," she exclaimed, snatching her fingers away. "You
total
bastard."

She clutched her face in her hands and wrenched at her hair, snapping her knees tight shut again.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said with a low chuckle, reaching out to take her hands away. He bent and nuzzled her face with his, nipping at her lips while she tried, unsuccessfully, to draw back. "That was mean of me, wasn't it?"

"I hate you," she breathed, but she gave in to his kiss without further demur.

"No you don't. Now, I think it's your move."

Rhys suspected she simply gave up even trying to play the game to win after that. Her pieces fell like ninepins, and she performed each corresponding forfeit with mock-grudgingness.

He was moving into his endgame by the time they lay, top to tail, on the hearthrug, with him pushing his tongue down inside her pussy while she sucked on his cock. Her thigh pressed down on his ear and he ate her like a starving man presented with his last meal, trying not to be too distracted by her attentions to his shaft. Buried here in her scented darkness, he wondered if he was going a little mad. She had him under a spell, always ravenous for more of her, always thinking of her, always wanting more of her than he could have.

Should he just draw back a little and appreciate it for what it was – incredible no-strings sex? He had a niggling feeling that this was no longer possible for him. He had crossed a line and now
, every time they got close, he was going to fear the moment she had to say goodbye.

He lapped up her juices, grabbing her arse cheeks as she squirmed against his face, moaning out her orgasm. Having a little way to go until he reached his own climax, he decided not to let up on her but to continue the pressure. He knew she would feel sensitive there and if he carried on licking it would be exquisite torment for her. This gave him a sense of satisfaction, as if he were gaining some kind of obs
cure equality with her. She would never have another man like him.

Her voice vibrated around his cock, a little whimper of protest at his failure to have mercy upon her.
Her poor pussy had been so thoroughly used these past few days that penetrative sex was off the agenda for the evening, but she hadn't put any limits on her clit. That was going to get the full treatment.

He held her by the tops of her thighs a
nd growled into her spread lips. Again, that vibration, tickling his shaft from root to tip. She tried to kick, but he had her fast. Her sucking of him gathered pace and she used her tongue with skill, flicking at the underside of his cock. When she took hold of his tight sac and squeezed, he felt his control fly out of reach. Keeping his mouth firmly on her clit, he thrust himself down her throat, giving her every drop, giving her everything he was.

In that orgasmic moment, he knew for sure that he couldn't let her go.

When eventually they sat back up, groggy and shining with sweat, there was a strange barrier of shyness between them. Kim, not looking at him, took a sip of wine.

"Did I taste that bad?" he said, but it didn't sound like a lighthearted remark somehow.

She shook her head.

"You taste good," he told her. "I could eat you for hours."

She swallowed, a slightly bitter look on her face.

"You're too bloody perfect," she said, and he had the strong feeling it wasn’t a compliment.
He could hear the tears on the edge of her voice.

"Hey," he said, reaching out, but she took up the wine again.

He looked down at the chess board.

"I can check mate you in two moves," he said.

"Go on, then. I've lost this game anyway."

He moved his pieces around the board, idly, a formality.

"That's that, then," said Kim.

"Not quite. One more forfeit."

"Rhys, I'm done in."

"Tell me something.
How long are you staying?"

She looked up at him.

"As long as I can," she said.

Chapter Seven

"You're sure you don't want to come with me?"

Rhys, aided by Skip, was herding sheep up on to the trailer while Kim watched, barefoot and virtually bare-arsed, holding on to a mug of tea as if her life depended on it.

She shook her head, smiling wistfully.

"Another time," she said.

"I was thinking we could get lunch out. And you need clothes. Are you really prepared to trust to my taste?"

"As long as you don't get them from the sex shop."

"I'm pretty sure there's no
sex shop in Brecon. They've got some good pubs though. Come on. You'd like it."

She shook her head.

"I'm going to give the farmhouse a good clean. Top to bottom," she said.

He made a disappointed face.

"I'll miss you," he said, trying to keep his tone light.

"Hurry back then," she said, with the same strange, tight intonation.

He scooped her up for a goodbye kiss, making her spill tea on the mess of dried mud, straw and chicken feed she stood on, then jumped into the jeep and turned the key in the ignition.

He watched Skip bound after her, back to the kitchen, from the rear view mirror.
He felt a little flat. He couldn't deny he'd been looking forward to squiring her around Brecon, though he could understand that she didn't want to be hanging about the marketplace in an outsized shirt and nothing else. It was fair enough, he supposed.

Having sold his live
stock and shared the usual grim news round-up with farming colleagues, he made his excuses and drove to the supermarket on the outskirts of town.

Never having spent much time in the ladies' clothing section of a shop, he felt every eye upon him as he wandered through rails of sundresses and shorts.

Shorts. There was a thought. He'd just buy her a ton of very short shorts.

But then that meant he had to fiddle about with buttons and zips.

Maybe dresses then. These long flowing numbers would look good on her, though they weren't wildly practical for day-to-day farm life. Floating around in a floral maxi and flip-flops wouldn't be much help with the shearing.

He hurried past the underwear shelves without even bothering to look.

Finally he made it to the counter with: one pair of floral wellies (size 4), since they didn't seem to sell sensible green ones; one pair of lace-up tennis shoes; two pairs of denim cut-offs (irresistible); a three-pack of multi-coloured vest tops (would look good without a bra); one colour-block jersey maxi-dress; one lightweight raincoat; one straw sunhat.

He was reasonably pleased with his purchases, though the way the sales assistant eyed him as she bagged them up made him feel hot under the collar. Clearly, she wasn't used to men buying women's clothes in here.

Wandering back through the shop, he tried to imagine what the woman had made of him. Perhaps she thought he had kidnapped a girl and was holding her prisoner. He pictured Kim, tied naked to his bed, and couldn't prevent a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face.

Perhaps he'd do that when he got home. He had plenty of cables and ropes about the place. He could tie her up and get something to tickle her with…what could he use? Probably not a chicken feather, maybe an ear of wheat…

He had come to the front of the shop, where the newspapers and magazines were sold, and something at the corner of his eye made him stop and wheel around. What had he seen? Where was it?

There.

He snatched up the copy of
Closer
magazine and stared at the cover.

It couldn't be.

Could it be?

It was.

*

He parked the jeep, detached the trailer and swept it out, took the carrier bags from the passenger seat and headed for the farmhouse.

Underneath Skip's cheerful barks, a vacuum cleaner droned.

He put the bag
s on the kitchen table and let Skip jump up at him, crouching down for a hug, holding his dog in his arms while he stared blankly at the living room door.

"There's my girl," he soothed, tickling her neck before straightening up.

If only all women were as uncomplicated as Skip. A bit of affection and a nice meaty bone was all she ever asked. He'd thought Kim similar in her way. But now it seemed he'd read her all wrong.

She was bending down to vacuum underneath a coffee table when he entered the room. Her shirt had ridden right to the tops of her thighs, skimming her luscious round bottom. Any higher and she wouldn't be hiding a thing.

He watched her, his knees weakening, cursing the stirring of his groin. Why did she do this to him?

She must have heard the door click shut behind him, because she straightened up, grinned over her shoulder and switched off the vacuum cleaner.

"Good day at the market?" she asked brightly, then her smile faded. "What's up?"

"No wonder you didn't want to
come to town," he said.

"Oh fuck."

"Kizzee."

She collapsed into an armchair, her head between her knees.

"That is your name, isn't it?" he persisted, hating how hard and cold his voice sounded.

She looked up and her eyes were brilliant, on fire.

"No," she said vehemently. "My name is Kim."

"Kizzee's a stage name then?"

"Yes. It's the name
he
chose for me. It's not mine and I don't want it."

Rhys stood against the door, floored into silence for a moment.

"I think the time's come for an explanation, don't you?" he said.

"Don't make me go back," she said. "I've been so happy here. Please don't make me go back."

"Kim, they're looking for you. There's a frantic search on. You have to at least tell them you're safe."

"But don't make me go back."

He exhaled deeply. "I'll get us a drink. You've got a lot of talking to do."

Kim had
curled up in a foetal ball in the armchair by the time he returned with two mugs of strong, sweet tea.

"Here," he said, putting them
on the coffee table.

"Hold me," she said.

"What?"

"You sound so pissed off with me and I can't stand it. Please give me a hug. I really need a hug."

He puffed out his cheeks, sighed deeply and sat her on his lap in the armchair, her head resting against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.
"Do you hate me?"

"Of course I don't hate you, you lunatic," he said, tousling her hair with his fingertips. "I wish you could have been honest with me, that's all."

"The thing is, Rhys." She broke off and looked up at him, her eyes huge with appeal. "The last six months have driven me to the brink of madness. When it turned out that you didn't know who I was – hadn't ever heard of me – it was just too good to pass up. The chance to be Kim again."

"Being Kizzee doesn't suit you? You've got everything most girls dream of. Fame, fortune, and all that."

"But the dream doesn't always match the reality, does it?"

Rhys breathed through a stab of emotional pain. She was right there.

"No," he said quietly.

"I feel so stupid, so ungrateful too, but mainly really stupid. I spent years and years trying to get to this point. I worked three jobs so I could pay for a voice coach.
I lugged my PA system around every beer-stinking toilet in London. I stayed up till three and four in the morning perfecting my dance routines. When I got through the first audition for
Voice of Britain
I was hysterical. I didn't stop shaking and laughing for about a week."

"And you went on to win the competition?"

"Yeah. Winning the competition wasn't the same, though. It didn't feel real. I couldn't take it in. Before I could even stop to think, I was in the thick of things. Recording studios, interviews, TV, showbiz parties, non-stop."

"And you said some guy gave you the name Kizzee? Who was that?"

"It was Jonathan Webb."

"Even I've heard of him.
Seen him at a couple of events when I was back in town. Always struck me as a sinister bastard."

Kim laughed, a wild kind of laugh that turned into tears.

Rhys held her close, shushing, stroking her hair.

"You're not wrong," she said at last, the words jerking out like hiccups.

"What did he do to you?" A quickening of anger stirred in Rhys.

"After the first audition, he asked to see me afterwards. I was so flattered. He said I was something special and if I took his advice I'd go all the way to the finals, and I'd win. I knew deep down that it wasn't right for him to single me out when he was a contest judge, but I was just so…starstruck. And I didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, you know?"

"Sure."

"So I did everything he said. I called myself Kizzee. I changed my hair, lost a few pounds, bought some new clothes.
I got through to the final ten. I knew I stood a good chance, but there were a couple of kids there who were brilliant singers, so the competition was tough."

"And Jonathan Webb
was still seeing you in secret?"

"Yeah. Not in that way. Just as, like, mentor and pupil, if you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean."

"But then, when it got down to the last three weeks, he started to put pressure on me to sleep with him. It's weird, because I didn't fancy him that much, but he's just so powerful and, you know, a real Svengali. I didn't know how to turn him down."

"I don't think many people do," said Rhys dryly, holding her tighter, trying to keep his anger way down in his chest. "So…you didn't, then?"

The corners of Kim's mouth were turned right down as she shook her head.
A tear splashed from one eye.

"I hate myself for it," she said. "I hated myself even more when he voted against Lakota –
she was my main rival, a brilliant, brilliant voice – and turned the audience against her too. He was vicious. Said she was going nowhere and should stick to her church choir. She was in floods of tears backstage and I didn't know what to say to her. He'd done it for
me
."

"Did you know he was going to do it?"

"No, I swear, I had no idea. I felt sick. It was horrible. I felt like I didn't deserve the win, when it came."

"That's understandable. And you kept on sleeping with him?"

"I didn't know how to stop it. And, after the win, he was pretty much the only person I saw. He was everywhere I went. But we had to keep it secret, because he didn't want his private life in the papers. Or so he said. He said it was to protect
me
."

"There's only one i
mportant person in Jonathan Webb's life, and that's Jonathan Webb."

"I found out too late. He was nice at first, you know. Kept the press off me, treated me like a princess. For t
he first couple of months, when everything was a whirl, I thought it was going to be OK. But I started to get tired and want some time out and then he wasn’t so nice any more."

Fear joined the burgeoning anger down in the inner core of Rhys.
What had that fucker done to his Kim?

"In what way?"

"He said he owned me. And he did, if you look at all the contracts he's got me tied into. I can't take a step right or left without his permission. And there was no way he was letting me out of his bed. And the work got crazier and crazier until it felt like I was never in the same city for two nights running. I was trapped on this hellish hamster wheel and there was no way of stopping it."

"And you didn't want to be with him? But he made you?"

"Right."

"He raped you?"

"I…I don't think I can really say that. When it came down to it, I couldn't say no to him."

"Because you were scared of him. That's non-consent, Kim. That's rape."

"But I didn't fight him. I didn't reject him."

"You didn't dare. I want to fucking kill him. I want to get my gun and…"

"Rhys! That's not helping."

"It's helping me."

"It won't help me if you get done for murder."

"OK. Look. Let's drink our tea before it gets cold
and calm down and think about this."

They sat in emotionally-drained silence, sipping from the mugs until the last drops of sugary liquid were consumed.

"How did you get away from him?" asked Rhys, putting his cup down and readjusting Kim in his lap.

"We were in
Cardiff for a gig. He took too much coke at the after-party and passed out. I went out to the car park and climbed into the back of the lorry with all the equipment in. I got out when they parked up in a layby to get a sandwich off a roadside snack bar. I was in the middle of nowhere and I just walked and walked until I found myself in your barn."