Fifty Days of Sin (9 page)

My appetite wanes, my sleep
suffers, and when I look in the mirror in the mornings I see dark
circles under my eyes. Okay, I always have them, but now they’re
doubly bad. Thank heavens for Laura Mercier concealer.

A weekend passes, and another
weekend is coming up. It’s nearly a fortnight now and I’ve heard
nothing from Adam. My Facebook posts have become decidedly morose,
although I don’t disclose the reason why I’m feeling so down. I
haven’t told anyone about him, and don’t want to splash my
disappointment all over the internet. I’ve stopped grabbing my
phone and checking straight away every time I hear a message
arrive; I’ve given up on it being Adam.

I’ve seen Michael twice in this
time, and we seem to be getting into a routine of taking turns to
dominate. Last week I gave him a thorough caning; this week he tied
me up face down on the floor and whipped my bottom with a plastic
ruler, and then we had some very enthusiastic sex. It was fun, and
again, the pain was bearable and strangely arousing; but still, I
have to be honest with myself. And when I’m honest, I know that I
would rather be doing it with Adam.

It’s Friday night, and I realise
that I have to start getting out again. Okay, so this romance with
Adam that I was so keen on is just not going to happen. That’s no
reason for me to fall apart. I’m in my kitchen, making an effort by
cooking a tasty, healthy chicken casserole full of fresh
vegetables, which is a start. I reason that if I cook something
appetising perhaps I’ll manage to eat a bit more of it. The next
thing I need to do is sort out my social life.

I’m just draining some new
potatoes to accompany my hearty meal when my phone rings. It’s Adam
– at last. My heart feels like it skips a beat.

“Hi,” I answer.

“Hi, Justine,” comes his deep
voice. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” I reply warily. Is he
phoning because he still wants to see me? Does he still want to see
me at all? Is he going to explain why he’s not been in touch for
nearly a fortnight?

“What are you up to?”

“Cooking. Chicken
casserole.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Hopefully. How are you?” I try
to sound nonchalant.

“I’m fine. I’ve been thinking
about you a lot.”

“Really?” So why haven’t you
been in touch?

“Yes, really, is that such a
surprise?”

“Well, it is a bit, Adam – I
thought you’d forgotten all about me.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Er,
yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“Oh.”

“But it would be lovely to see
you, if you’d like to?”

My heart leaps. I know it
shouldn’t; it feels a bit like he’s picking me up and putting me
down whenever he feels like it. But all the same, I really do want
to see him.

“That would be nice.” I manage
to keep my tone of voice light. I don’t want to sound
desperate.

“Look, you could come to my
place if you like - tonight?”

“This is a bit sudden, after
nearly two weeks of silence.” I bite my lip. I shouldn’t have said
that – it sounds bitter.

“Sorry, Justine. I shouldn’t
have asked without giving you any notice. How about tomorrow, or
early next week, if you’re free?”

Suddenly I realise I can’t wait
to see him. Tonight sounds perfect. Anyway, I’ve never played hard
to get and I’m not about to start now. “No, actually, tonight’s
fine, Adam. It would be nice to see you, really. But I’ve just made
this massive casserole. Do you want to come over and have some of
it with me?”

I can hear his smile over the
phone. “Yes, that would be great. I can be over in half an hour -
is that okay?”

“Half an hour’s fine.”

“Okay, see you soon then.
Bye.”

“Bye,” I grin, and end the call.
Then I look around at my bombsite of a kitchen, and look down at my
leggings and comfy t-shirt. My hair’s a mess and my makeup, applied
at 7am this morning, has no doubt worn off almost completely.

So I make a quick decision and
open the oven to check the casserole is okay, then quickly throw my
cooked potatoes in the bin, run a new saucepan of water and put in
a couple of handfuls of raw potatoes. Then I set the hob on a low
heat to start cooking them slowly, and dash upstairs.

There’s no time for washing my
long hair – or, more accurately, no time to dry it – so I pin it up
away from my face, take off my makeup, clean my teeth, and then
strip for the shower. Soon I am clean and buffed, with shaven legs
and a trimmed bikini line. I squirt on a hint of perfume, and put
on my makeup, keeping it natural: I don’t want Adam to think I’ve
made a huge effort; and when I’m happy with that I take my hair
down and do what I can to rescue it from looking limp and
lifeless.

Luckily, my favourite skinny
jeans are clean, so I pull them out of the wardrobe, along with a
white strappy camisole and a light green cardigan in a kind of
crocheted knit, which I know suits me. I look at myself in the
full-length mirror. I grimace at my hair, which is still not at its
best, but the rest looks okay. Glancing at my watch, I see that I
should have five minutes before Adam arrives, so I run back down
the stairs again. I poke the potatoes with a vegetable knife –
they’re boiling nicely but still slightly firm – and I’m about to
start tidying the kitchen when I hear the doorbell.

Heart thumping, I open it, and
let Adam into the house.

“You look lovely,” he says with
a heart-melting smile. That cute dimple appears in his cheek again.
The sheer force of his attractiveness hits me again. I’ve been
picturing him in my mind, but seeing the real Adam in the flesh is
a shock. Oh, that man is so sexy.

“Thank you. Come on in.”

“Here, I brought this.” He hands
me a bottle of chilled white wine. I take it and look at the label.
Chablis.

“Very nice. Thank you.” I allow
myself a little smile.

I lead him into the kitchen and
apologise for the mess, explaining that I wasn’t expecting company.
“I need an assistant in the kitchen,” I tell him. “I love to cook,
but I hate to wash up.”

“Well, the food smells
wonderful.”

“It’s all very simple and
homely, I’m afraid,” I tell him. “But I’d just cooked it, so it
made sense for you to come over here.” I put some plates in the
oven to warm, and then I test the potatoes again. They’re just
right now, so I drain them and put a knob of butter on them to
melt.

“Here,” I pull a corkscrew out
of the drawer. “Could you open your wine for me?” He obliges and
pours a little into two large wine glasses that I’ve taken out of
the cupboard.

I set the casserole in the
middle of the table with a ladle, set out cutlery and dish up some
potatoes onto the plates. “Help yourself.”

“Shall I give you some first?”
He ladles a couple of spoonfuls onto my plate as I sit down
opposite him at the kitchen table, and then serves himself.
“Cheers,” he says, raising his glass.

“Cheers.”

He starts on his meal. “Oh, this
is gorgeous,” he enthuses. “Better even than my mum’s.”

“High praise indeed.”

“It’s a good job my mother isn’t
here to hear me say it.”

I give him a little smile. I’m
still confused about the long silence.

“You have a lovely house here,”
he continues. “This is a great kitchen.”

“Thank you.” I do love my little
rustic kitchen, so I’m glad he likes it too. It’s all terracotta
tiles and dark oak doors, although the oven is a nice modern one,
great for roast potatoes.

“And how are you feeling? Have
all your aches and pains gone from the accident?”

“Yes,” I tell him, feeling
slightly exasperated. “I’d already healed completely the last time
I saw you, like I said. Absolutely fine. The doctors gave me the
all-clear two weeks ago.”

He puts down his knife and fork
and looks at me. “I’m sorry, I’ve upset you.”

I look down at my plate. “I was
just surprised not to hear from you for so long.”

He reaches over and gently takes
hold of my chin, pulling it upwards so he can look into my face.
“I’m sorry.”

“Is that it? No
explanation?”

“Do you really want me to tell
you why I didn’t contact you?” he asks.

“Yes. I do.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you.” He moves
his hand and puts it on mine. He’s doing that mesmeric thing again,
gazing deep into my eyes so that I can’t look away. My God, he’s so
bloody gorgeous. Am I falling in love with this man? “I want you,”
he states baldly. “I want you really badly, Justine. And I was
worried about hurting you.”

“Well, you have done,” I reply
bitterly.

“I meant physically,” he
explains. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I didn’t realise it
would mean that much to you. It was just that I was worried that
you might not be well enough yet... I knew that if I saw you I
wouldn’t be able to help myself.”

“But I told you I was okay.”

“It was difficult for me to
accept – after seeing the accident first-hand. It was so awful
seeing that car hit you, Justine. I’d only just laid eyes on you,
across the street, and you were so beautiful... and then straight
away you just stepped into the road and I thought it had killed
you.”

As he tells me he thought I was
beautiful, I feel like my heart will burst. I just look into his
eyes; I can’t do anything else. And I feel my eyes brim. A single
tear starts to trickle down my cheek. This isn’t like me at all.
The usual Justine, confident, in control - where has she gone?

“Oh, Justine,” he says, reaching
out and wiping it away softly with his thumb. “I didn’t mean to
make you feel like this. I’m so sorry.” Then he gets out of his
chair and all at once we’re both on our feet, and he’s taken me in
his arms. We hold each other close, and I look up at him; and then
his mouth is on mine, kissing me hard, and our tongues lock
together. My hands go to his hair, meshing into it as I pull him
harder towards me, and he’s touching my body, my breasts, moving
down towards my hips. He’s like a starving man consuming me with a
desperate hunger. We kiss and touch like this until he pulls back
and I look deep into his eyes again.

Wordlessly, I take his hand and
lead him up the stairs to my bedroom. Then straight away we’re on
the bed and he claims my mouth again, kissing me furiously and
caressing my breasts. He tears at my clothes, pushing the cardigan
off my shoulders and pulling the camisole up over my head and off,
throwing it to one side, and his hands are on my breasts again, my
nipples hardening through the lacy fabric of my white bra.

Desperate to touch him too, I
try to undo the buttons of his shirt, in so much haste that it
takes me longer to unfasten them than it should. But at last his
shirt hangs open, revealing a beautifully toned torso. I run my
hand over his chest and down over his defined abs, down towards his
belt, and start to undo the buckle.

He leans back, throws off his
shirt and helps my fumbling fingers with his belt. Then he pulls
off his jeans and socks and I look at him almost in awe, lying next
to me in his boxers which only just hide a very large erection. I
can’t help but reach out and touch it and the feel of his hardness
under my hand is heaven.

“Oh, Adam.”

He smiles at me and pulls open
the button and zip on my jeans. Pulling them down and off my legs,
I’m on my back on the bed now in a white lacy thong and bra. He
starts to kiss me again, his firm lean body nearly on top of me, as
I touch his erection through his underwear.

I cry out softly as I feel him
gently brush my clitoris through the lacy fabric of my thong. I
part my legs and his hand goes between my thighs, stroking and
teasing, until I feel him pull at my underwear and start to inch it
down over my hips. He’s pulled the thong down now enough to touch
my bare flesh underneath and the expert touch of his fingers start
to caress me down there, making me moan as he kisses and strokes
me. Then he moves and with both hands he pulls the knickers down
and off, and as I lean forwards to touch him again he reaches round
to unfasten my bra. Then he pulls off his underwear, freeing that
beautiful big erection, and we’re both naked together.

I reach for him again, but he
catches my wrist and pushes my hand away. “Slowly,” he says,
smiling. Then he deftly flips me onto my front.

His hand traces a line all the
way from the back of my thighs up over my bottom and up my back,
making me tingle all the time. And then I feel him start to kiss my
neck, gently licking and nibbling, sending oh-so-lovely shivers up
and down my spine and triggering an answering tingling in my
clitoris. His mouth moves down to my shoulder, still gently using
his teeth on me, as his hand strokes the cheeks of my bottom.
Slowly, tantalisingly, he inches down my back, with little shivery
licks and nips of his teeth as his fingers circle and tease my
flesh further down. I moan and move my legs further apart, wanting
him to touch me there, between them.

His hand travels further down,
caressing the tops of my thighs now and circling up over my behind,
and his mouth is getting lower and lower, down to the base of my
spine. As he starts to gently nip and kiss the cheeks of my bottom,
his fingers make smaller and smaller circles, inching inexorably
towards the place where I really want him to touch me. I open my
legs wider still, lifting my hips off the bed to offer myself up to
him, aching for his touch and at last his hand makes contact with
my sex. I gasp; he carries on touching me in little circles, and
then he moves his hand, his mouth going down further to lick where
his finger has just been.

“Oh,” I cry out, and I feel the
wetness of his tongue flick out to lick my clitoris. “Oh,
Adam.”

Then he’s turning me over again,
and I’m on my back looking up at him. I’m liquid with desire. He
touches my clitoris gently with his fingers and I shut my eyes,
moaning and surrendering to the sensation. Then the feeling changes
and I realise that he’s licking me again, probing with his tongue
in my most sensitive spot as he pushes his fingers inside me where
I’m wet for him, and expertly moving with just the right pressure
of his tongue. I’m halfway to heaven, pushing my hips forward as
far as I can, straining and panting and never wanting the feeling
to stop, until suddenly my climax overwhelms me, the sweet
sensation of orgasm filling me with ecstasy and then I shudder and
moan and open my eyes again to see Adam moving back up the bed next
to me.