Dirty Bad Strangers (19 page)

Gemma

Curiosity killed the cat, but cats don’t learn. Once the itch started, it wouldn’t let up. Questions upon questions upon questions, all of them waltzing around one central topic. Who is he? Who is my dirty bad stranger?

I was ready to go by the time Steve knocked at the door. Jason had long bolted for work, kissing me goodbye before the day truly broke. His shadowy image danced behind my eyes. It made me smile.

“Come in,” I said. “Morning.”

I heard Steve enter the room. “Jason said to drop you home.” An awkward silence. “I’m sorry about the other night, didn’t mean to weird you out.”

“It’s ok.”

“Guess you got things sorted.”

I could only imagine my crazy hair, the post-fuck glow on my cheeks. “We’re working on it.”

“I’d best get you home.” I heard him take a few steps forward. “Do you, um, are you gonna keep the blindfold on?”

“Do I have to?”

“I dunno.”

A mischievous flare danced up my spine, and I pulled the blindfold off with a smile. “Decision made.”

Steve was short and stocky, but not unattractive. He had a messy mop of dark blonde hair, and a strong, square jaw. His blue eyes were friendly, kind.

“Hope Jason doesn’t freak.”

I shrugged. “Don’t see why he would.”

“Guess not.” He smiled. “I’m Steve, I mean, hello.”

“Hi Steve.” I looked around the room I’d spent the night in. It was nice and airy, tastefully decorated in cream and beige. A woman’s touch, most certainly. “I could help you tidy up?”

He shook his head. “Nah, no bother.”

“I live in Blackfriars, do you know it?”

“You can direct me.”

“Guess I can.”

I followed him through the house, casting my eyes all about the place. It was a farmhouse, much larger than I’d expected. A bit rough around the edges but nice all the same. Steve led me through the hallway to the front door, but I stopped as I passed by the living room.

“Is this the room we were in, when I came over?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

I stepped inside. “Weird to actually see it, you know?”

I took in everything, smiling at the sight of the beige carpet, recalling how it felt against my ass. The far wall was covered in football memorabilia, signed pictures and scarves and postcards. I stepped forward so see a picture of Steve smiling amongst a celebrating team.

“Wow, quite a fan.”

“Singers,” he said.

“This is some collection.”

“Aye.”

The rest of the room was plain enough, just a couple of floral prints amongst the football craziness. A signed shirt hung above the fireplace, a signed football in an old armchair. I could only imagine the female touch was long gone.

“Do you go to the games?”

“Sometimes.”

“And Jason? Is he a Singers fan, too?”

He stared at me like it was a trick question. “...Yeah.”

“Does he go with you?”

“...He goes quite a bit.”

“Sorry,” I smiled. “I’m being nosy. Let’s make a move.”

I startled as I hauled myself up into Steve’s old Land Rover. The cut of the seat was familiar. I ran my fingers along the window frame, the same little dents and grooves. “Is this your car?”

“Aye,” he said. The same rumble of the engine as he turned the key.

“But this is...”

“Jase uses it sometimes.”

We chugged down the muddy track, well and truly in the middle of nowhere. “What car did Jason drive off in?”

“His own car.”

“Does he work far away?”

“Few miles,” he said, shooting me a nervous glance. “Over by Cobham.”

“Does he stay here often?”

He shook his head. “Only last night.”

“Does he live close by?”

“Close enough.”

“Have you met his wife?”

Poor Steve nearly veered off the road. He recovered quickly, but his face was flushed. I fought the urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“Yeah, I’ve met her, unfortunately.”

“You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you?”

“All my life, nearly.”

“Have you done this before? Threesomes, I mean?”

I could tell he really didn’t want to answer the question. “Not for a long time.”

I could almost hear his sigh of relief as we pulled onto my street. I directed him to pull up outside, knowing the yard would be rammed. He held a hand up in farewell and didn’t loiter.

It pained to find my curiosity hadn’t been eased in the slightest. Quite the opposite.

I only wanted to know more about my dirty bad Jason than ever.

***

Jason

I knuckled down hard at training, giving it everything I had and then some. I made a little pact with myself on the pitch that morning. One extra year’s contract and I’d walk away. Fifty-fifty or no. I could spend smart, sound investments this time, set myself up somewhere pretty good. Maybe not the sprawling twelve bedroom Surrey estate we’d ploughed our money into, but something decent. Something without April in it.

And Gemma? Her image flashed behind my eyes.

Fuck knows.

Powell came charging up the pitch towards me, head down and all out to score. I still felt the pang of jealousy, all too aware of his cock pressing into my dirty girl’s ass on the Kings’ dance floor.
Come at me, asshole
.

I took him out, a sweet fucking tackle that stole the ball before he had chance to break for goal. I’d taken another five from him already and his frustration was showing. I smirked as he cursed his footwork.

“Better fucking luck next time.”

He shrugged. “What’s your beef, man?”

“Playing the game, Powell, just playing the fucking game.”

Final whistle. My side was up 3-0. Win.

Trevor slapped my back as I headed to the changing rooms.

“Looking good, Redfern, on fucking fire.”

“Feeling good, Trev, right on my game.”

“Keep this up, lad, and I won’t be able to let you hang your boots up end of season. April will have to wave goodbye to all those foreign holidays.”

“I’m sure she’d survive.”

“We might well see, Jase. Keep it fucking sharp, lad.”

I could still smell my dirty girl on my fingers as I took a shower. The beautiful scent of her clinging to my skin. I wondered where she was, what she was doing. A text answered my questions.

Gemma:
At home with Chelsea. Can’t stop thinking about you. Please arrange our grand finale soon, Jason. I don’t know how much longer I can keep the blindfold on. xx

Shit.

It was time to text Vince.

***

Gemma

I practically knocked Cara off her pretty little feet.

“Saturday night!” I squealed. “The big night.”

“Whoa!” She grinned. “For real?”

I nodded. “I’m so nervous.”

“Nerves are good,” she said. “Enjoy it.”

I twirled around the pole over and over, jumping into position to begin our routine run-through. Our dance was taking shape, really good shape, and so was I. My calves were gaining tone, my arms too. I hoisted myself up, gripping the pole tight between my thighs.

“Looking good, Figi. Real good.”

“Couple of weeks to go,” I said. “I’m looking forward to being up on that stage. Another fantasy ticked off the list.”

“You’ll have to come up with some more,” she smiled.

I doubted I’d have any problems on that front.

***

Jason

I checked out the barn preparations to find Steve had done a great job. He’d installed spotlighting, heaters too. A huge fucking mattress on the floor, and chains hanging down from the beams overhead. My cock was hard just looking at the place.

“Will it do?” he asked.

“Perfect, mate. You’ve done me proud.”

“She really up for this? Four of us at once?”

I smiled. “Wait and see.”

“What happens after? You going to see her again?”

A horrible niggle at the back of my mind. “No idea.”

“It would be a fucking shame if you didn’t.”

Yes. Yes it would.

***

Gemma

I crammed in chatline all day Saturday, struggling to keep myself occupied through the nerves. Chelsea was still holed up at ours, resident in our living room with enough clothes and beauty products to last any normal human being twelve months straight. The media was still after her blood, and she was withering for it. How I’d hate to be so vulnerable to the whims of the masses. Hate to be on their radar at all, in fact.

I showered and shaved and scrubbed and douched, claiming I had an hour down between shifts, then retreated to my bedroom with a sneaky bottle of wine for the final preparations.

I’d chosen a white slip. Sheer white. White that showed the dark buds of my nipples through the fabric and offered almost no resistance to prying fingers. I covered up with a pair of leggings and a thick black jumper. A fool-proof disguise. Then I had a large glass of wine for my trouble.

I tamed my hair and did my make-up, hands jittery and awkward. A second glass did wonders for my nerves, but nothing much for my co-ordination. I stared at myself in the mirror for a long while before giving myself the thumbs-up. I’d do. Just about.

“I’m off out,” I announced.

Chelsea’s eyebrows shot up. “Where are you going?”

“Dirty Angels,” I lied. “Practice.”

“At ten p.m.?”

“Late session.”

“Can I come?” she asked. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Maybe next time, hey? It’s a bit of an impromptu session, this one. Just me and Cara.”

“Cara, Cara, Cara,” she scoffed. “Perfect bloody Cara. Is she dragging you to that sex club or something? She is, isn’t she?” She groaned into a cushion. “Fine. See you tomorrow.”

My knees were knocking by the time the car pulled up. Jason’s grip was steady, guiding me into my seat without comment on my jitters.

“Not long now, dirty girl,” he said. “Your big night.”

“Just like my fantasy, right? Rough and dirty?”

“Just like your fantasy, Gemma.”

I was bloody glad I’d opted for wine. The glow of the alcohol sat pleasantly in my stomach, taking the edge off the panic. It didn’t stop the shakes as we pulled into Steve’s drive, but it definitely helped make them bearable. This time Jason drove further along, turning up to the right and parking on what felt like soft ground. He helped me down, and the faintest breeze cooled my cheeks. I could feel grass under my heels. The grass continued until we stepped up onto concrete, and the smell of hay hit me.

“A barn?”

“Not your usual barn.”

He positioned me where he wanted me, backed up against what felt like a huge mattress. He pushed me to sit down and pulled my jumper off over my head.

“Nice,” he growled as he saw my flimsy slip. He pulled my leggings down, taking a moment to trace patterns up my thighs. “You sure you want this?”

I nodded. “I’ve always wanted this.”

He spread my knees wide, testing my pussy with his fingers. “So it seems. Up on the mattress and on your knees, Gemma. Give me your wrists.”

I kneed up onto the mattress. “Are they here?”

“What?”

“The others. Are they here?”

“They’re outside.”

Oh God.

“I told them to wait. I wanted to get you ready, get you comfortable, and make sure you still wanted it. Nervous?”

“A little.”

“Don’t be. You can call a halt at any time. Right?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“You still want it?”

I breathed out a long calming breath. “Yes. Definitely.”

“Good. Now give me your wrists.”

I did as he asked, gulping hard as he stretched my arms high above my head. Shackles. I pulled on them and they easily took my weight. I was trapped firm.

I yelped as Jason flicked at my nipples through my slip.

“My exposed little Gemma all ready to be used like the dirty little girl she is.” His mouth at my ear. “How does it feel, dirty girl?”

“Crazy,” I breathed, “fucking crazy.”

“Crazy? I want you to feel good, dirty girl, not crazy.”