Diamonds Forever (34 page)

‘I have no idea,' said James truthfully. ‘My uncle makes all the arrangements, by correspondence. It could be anybody.'

‘You don't know their names?'

‘I know nothing about them. I picture a lonely, wealthy old gentleman alone at a bureau, for some reason, but it could be anybody. I write what I myself would care to read and, by some stroke of fortune, it appeals to people I shall never know nor meet.'

‘But it ain't made you rich, or you wouldn't be living here.'

‘No,' he said, with a tight smile. ‘It will never make me rich. But it pays my bills while I am writing my other material.'

‘Oh yes. Your novel. You'll remember me when you're as famous as Mr Dickens, won't you?'

‘Is that sarcasm I detect?'

‘No, indeed! I believe you will be famous one day. But I hope you won't put me in none of your books.'

‘I might put you in this one. Then perhaps I will have the means to whip you into silence.'

Her mouth formed an ‘O' and she sucked in a breath, her cheeks flaring red.

‘Carry on, I'm sure,' she said.

‘“Oh, Sir, I wonder what you can mean,” the fearful dairy girl said. For never before had her offer to bathe a manhood in the luxurious warmth of her mouth and tongue been rejected. Many dozens of pricks had she sucked in her dissolute life, and many gallons of their creamy issue had she swallowed, licking her lips with satisfaction of a task well completed.'

‘Stop there.' Annie's voice was a whisper.

‘Is it not to your taste?'

‘It's dreadful hot in here. Help me loosen these stays.'

‘Annie …'

James knew what his neighbour was about when she knelt before him, thrusting out that plump white bosom of hers, but he tugged at the thinning lace all the same with a world-weary air.

‘I reckon that Emma doesn't have the lips for it,' said Annie, holding James' gaze with bold intent. ‘Those blackguards would've been queuing up to get in my mouth. Don't you reckon?'

She puckered her generous lips and James, having pulled the sides of her bodice apart to free some of that tight-bound flesh, patted her cheek.

‘Really, Annie, I don't expect payment for teaching you. There is no need.'

‘It wouldn't be payment, Jem. It'd be for friendship. For comfort.'

‘Comfort,' echoed James, looking down at the delicious slopes of her cleavage.

‘You know I've always liked you.'

‘And I you, Annie, very much, but don't you tire of it?'

‘Tire of … well, in the ordinary way. But this ain't the ordinary way, not when it's you and me.'

She dared a little dart up and a peck on the lips.

He grabbed her by the elbow and held her face close to his.

‘You're too good to me, Annie,' he said. Their mouths brushed, tasting closeness, a salt-sweet flavour.

‘I want to be good to you, lovey,' she whispered. ‘I want you.'

Surely, thought James, it would take a man of stone to resist a pretty girl's offer to slide her pink, wet lips down the length of his shaft and suck it to completion. And he was no man of stone.

He made no move to stop her when her fi ngers began tugging his chemise from his waistband, nor when she unbuttoned his braces.

‘That Emma should come to me,' she said under her breath. ‘I could show her how to keep her lips always soft with beeswax.'

‘Beeswax?' said James, tickling her behind her ear with his forefinger.

Annie had his trousers and undergarments around his knees now.

All he had to do was lie back and …

‘Feel the softness,' she breathed.

He did. He felt the softness, as she kissed him from tip to root and then with her saucy tongue bathed his heavy sacs.

‘Oh, you're too good,' he muttered when the wet ring of her lips sealed itself around his girth.

He shut his eyes, slowly feeding every inch of his erection into her, imagining it as something medicinal that would benefit her health. It was what she needed, a good mouthful, a swallow of cream to keep her warm for the rest of the day.

He opened one eye and watched her head of brassy ringlets bob up and down. The curls were falling loose after the exertions of the night before and needed re-twisting into papers before she put on her working clothes again. James liked the effect, though; the metaphor of it. He was like one of those ringlets, once so coiled and taut, now snaking down into perfect laxity. Where would it end? Where would his life go, now that it was all in a day's work to write obscene literature and get himself sucked off by his best friend, the whore next door?

He put his hands to her head, positioning her so that he could watch her hard at work, see that scandalously painted mouth staining his cock red with whatever bizarre compound of beetroot juice and berry she had put on her lips before coming to his room.

Lord, but she was a good little cocksucker, getting his blood up to just the exquisite degree he liked before he plunged into that final rush. And here was his crisis, high up above him, way down beneath him, meeting in the middle and roaring out of him.

He took a fistful of ringlets and emptied himself into her, feeling his strength drain out of him in short bursts until he was fatally sapped, wasted by pleasure again.

Spent, he watched her take his cock from her mouth and swallow ostentatiously. Then she lay down on her back, stretching like a cat, and looked up at him, licking her lips.

‘Yum yum,' she said.

She reached up and grazed his whiskers with her knuckles.

‘Was that good?'

He bent to kiss the mouth that tasted of him.

‘You know it, minx,' he said.

He felt for the hem of her skirts, all mud-spattered and stained from the street, and began to raise them, knowing in advance that she would not be wearing drawers underneath.

‘What you got in mind, my bad boy?' she asked, eyes like mischievous saucers.

‘Less of the boy, if you please. I'm five years your senior.'

‘Old enough to know better then.'

‘Old enough to know.'

He placed his fingers on her exposed thigh. How soft the flesh, giving the illusion of spotlessness, a virginal air that would deceive the worst of roués. He bent his head and kissed the marble-like skin, his lips drifting up and further up.

‘Oh, Jem,' she whispered, leaning back, throwing her arms above her head.

Last night's men.

A loud rapping on the door broke and swept away the vague disgust that had made its unwelcome presence felt via his nostrils.

‘Christ,' he hissed, kneeling up and shaking his head at a crestfallen Annie. ‘Who is there?' he called.

‘It's me, James.'

His uncle – his employer, landlord and instigator of his Faustian pact.

‘What do you want?'

‘I have a visitor for you.'

‘Oh?'

James tugged down Annie's skirts and hauled her off the bed, sending her back to the desk with a pat on her rump.

Standing by the door, fastening his clothes back into a state of decency, he said, ‘I don't expect anybody.'

‘I dare say, but please let us in.'

James opened the door halfway and peered out on to the gloomy landing. He almost didn't see his uncle's companion, so perfectly did her black attire blend with the lightless surroundings.

‘A lady,' he said, nonplussed. ‘Please come in.'

‘I see you already have company,' sniffed his uncle.

‘Annie, you may leave now. Put the book away until next time.' He smiled weakly at his guests. ‘I am teaching her,' he said.

‘No doubt,' said his uncle.

James' eyes fell, rather injudiciously, to his crotch, just at the very moment his uncle's did. The younger man coloured and looked away, watching Annie skip from the room with a wink.

‘Does she have much to learn?'

The question, phrased in a low, ironic voice, diverted James' attention immediately to his female guest.

‘Please, take a seat,' he invited, pulling the spindle-backed chairs away from the desk and offering them to the woman and his uncle. He sat himself on the edge of his bed, the only other available place.

‘Thank you.' She was perfectly economical in her movements, he noticed, as she tucked her black skirts neatly behind her and lowered herself into the chair. Her spine was straight, her shoulders set a little back, her chin raised to display a slender neck.

The face, with its heart shape and quiet grey eyes, possessed an ageless quality – a stillness. James felt he could look into it endlessly and not tire, like looking out to the silver expanse of a calm sea. He supposed himself to be ten years her junior, or more, but she could be anything from twenty-five to forty-five.

‘Excuse me,' he said, standing again and holding out his hand. ‘I don't believe we have met. James Stratton.'

‘Yes,' she said, failing to reciprocate his gesture. ‘Your uncle told me your name.'

‘And might I ask …'

‘You might ask, but I'm afraid I cannot tell you my name. If you wish, you may address me as “Madame”.'

He looked at his uncle for any clue as to what the purpose of this meeting might be.

‘Let me explain,' said Madame. ‘Please, sit back down, Mr Stratton.'

He subsided back on to the bed, watching her keenly.

‘I am here on behalf of my mistress. She is a wealthy single lady, a client of yours.'

‘A client?' For a moment, James could not imagine what she might mean. ‘You cannot intend to tell me that … a lady … commissions my work?'

‘I intend to tell you precisely that, Mr Stratton. Furthermore, this lady has formed a desire to make your acquaintance.'

‘To make … my … acquaintance?'

James looked between his uncle and Madame,increasingly bewildered.

‘Before I extend any invitation, I must impress upon you the requirement for absolute discretion. Nobody should ever be told of this visit. You must sign a document swearing secrecy. Do you agree to these terms?'

‘I, er, well, yes. Yes, I think I do.'

‘You must do more than think,' she said severely.

James, by now thoroughly itching with curiosity, simply held out a hand again.

‘Give me the document. I will sign it.'

She took from her reticule a small folded paper and gave it over to James, who read it at the desk.

It was clear and simple enough. He, James Stratton, would never speak of what occurred tonight, the 27th inst., to a living soul, the details to include the location of the meeting, the persons met and everything that should transpire.

With a pleasant sense of embarkation on adventure, he signed with a flourish and presented the paper to Madame for her approval.

‘Thank you,' she said. ‘You will present yourself on the corner of this street and the Strand at eight o'clock this evening, where My Lady's carriage will be waiting to convey you to her place of residence. Do not be late. And dress properly.' She frowned at his shirtsleeves and loosened neckcloth.

‘Oh … of course,' he said, tightening his collar straight away.

The lady wasted no more time in pleasantry but excused herself, Uncle Thomas Stratton bowing and scraping all the way like a human comic aside.

Also by Justine Elyot:

A lady of pleasure …

In the backstreets of London in 1865, James Stratton makes his living writing saucy stories for anonymous clients. But then he receives an enquiry of a far more personal nature.

Lady Augusta Heathcote is blind and has lived a very sheltered life, overseen by her watchful companion Mrs Shaw. But Augusta has a yearning to experience the intimate pleasures of dominance and submission and she makes James an offer he finds impossible to refuse …

 

 

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