In Too Deep (12 page)

‘Relax,’ he urges me again, his circling finger working harder, ‘Let me give you something to tell your friend Nemesis about tonight.’

The words ‘
you’re
my friend Nemesis … I know it’s you’ flitter through my mind but it’s as if another person is thinking them, not me.

I can only give myself to pleasure. I part my legs a bit more, then bear down. Daniel laughs almost inaudibly, and I come.

My mind’s gone. Well, most of it. There’s a tiny bit, somewhere, that’s still thinking and thinking. As Daniel swoops in for a kiss again and I almost swoop out of consciousness, my body throbbing hard, the thought ‘this is a game … this is a game …’ seems to throb too.

His tongue is in my mouth again as he does a swivelling and flicking thing with his middle finger and I almost have to bite him. Except that he pulls back just before it happens and presses his lips against my throat instead. My head fills with a cool blue scent, the odour of his shampoo that still lingers on his curls.

He takes me up again, and again, then slowly lets me down, cupping my whole sex with his hand as if to calm it. We stand in silence, wound together, our breathing matched.

It
is
a game. It has to be. I don’t really know why he’s playing it but I’m with him, step by step, ploy by ploy. Even if it’s basically just a lot of sexual fiddling about.

The movie buffs in the hall have gone now. The coast is clear, but still we stand here. I feel a change in our embrace. What was fierce, frenzied, almost animal a moment ago has suddenly become infinitely more tender. Daniel’s hand continues to curve lightly around my pussy, but there’s a feeling of nurturing and protection in his touch now. It’s as if he’s cherishing the feminine centre he’s just pleasured. His lips are very soft against my neck. There are no words between us, but his warm breath and the way he nuzzles his nose against my hair speak more than eloquently.

‘You are astonishing,’ he murmurs at last, stepping back a little, then dipping down to smooth my skirt carefully back into place. Before I can stop him, he presses a kiss upon the front of my skirt, right over my sex. Which stuns me more than any of the orgasms.

When he straightens up again, he drops a light kiss on my lips, then pulls back, looking down into my eyes. His own are still dark, strange, hazy, complex. His face works for a moment as if he’s searching for words. ‘Are you all right?’ he asks, stroking my cheek and my jaw-line with his thumb. It’s as if he’s searching for something, the answer to a question he doesn’t even understand. And neither do I. Then he purses his lips and the weird little moment is gone again before I’ve even time to try to frame a response.

‘I have to go, Gwendolynne. I’ve got a video conference with some American historians on a Tudors project, then a paper to prepare.’ His voice is raw, genuinely regretful, but I can already sense him creating distance between us. Seconds ago we were closer and more in tune than I’ve ever been with anyone in my life, but he’s in leaving mode now. Even though,
when
I lurch forwards and kiss him again, his erection still rubs against my belly.

‘Can’t you come up for a minute?’

Fool! Fool! Fool!

Don’t beg, Gwen, you moron! This is a fling, remember that, nothing more. Don’t go all soppy over the man. If he’s Nemesis, he’s still a cynical manipulator, no matter how tender he might seem.

To my absolute horror, I feel tears brim in my eyes. It’s the orgasm, the release. I’m not crying like a baby for what I can’t have. At least I hope I’m not.

Daniel catches a tear on his thumb and looks at me, perplexed. Then he strokes my face again, with utter gentleness, and pulls me to him, cradling me in his arms.

‘Screw it,’ he mutters, holding me tight. ‘I’ll do the video thing some other time.’ His fingertips flutter across my skin. ‘Bloody academics.’

He holds me against his body, soothing me, calming me. He’s still got a hard-on, but it’s as if he doesn’t notice it. His embrace is exquisite, but I know I can’t keep him. As he reaches for his mobile, I wriggle away from his hold and say, ‘It’s OK. Go to your conference thing. I’m all right. And I’m sorry for being a wimp.’

‘Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure? I don’t like leaving you, you know that, don’t you?’

‘I’m fine,’ I reiterate, and, with a shrug, he seems to believe me.

God, I’m such a fibber.

‘OK then. If you’re sure.’ His voice sounds convinced but his eyes are wary. He takes me by the hand and leads me out of the alcove and back around the corner into the open foyer, breaking the crystal circle of our intimacy.

Holding me by the arms, he looks into my eyes, all businesslike
and
sensible and rational. ‘Look, tomorrow, maybe we can make plans to do something a little more normal. Like I suggested before. How does that sound?’

I shrug. I’m beginning to find it difficult to know what to make of dear Professor Hottie. His identity is shifting and morphing, sometimes merging with Nemesis, sometimes not. He’s an unfathomable hybrid and I’m not sure how to handle him.

‘Too boring?’ He cocks an eyebrow, his mouth teasing.

‘No, not at all. Boring is fine. Less scary.’

He opens his mouth to either agree or disagree with this, but suddenly the cab driver honks his horn and we both jump. I’m amazed he hasn’t honked before, but maybe he has and I was just too out of it or soaring too high in the stratosphere to hear it.

‘Look, I’ll see you in the library tomorrow.’ The horn blares again. ‘Or maybe I can pick you up?’

‘No, it’s OK, I’ll see you there. I like my bus trip in the mornings to get into “work” mode.’

‘OK, very well. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He bends, gives me a peck on the cheek then turns and walks smartly to the door. When he gets there, he turns and winks and calls, ‘Have fun with Nemesis tonight!’ Then, for just a second, he looks more serious. As if almost on the point of saying more, he bites his lip and gives me a tiny little wave.

Then, before I can shout back that I might not even bother to turn on my computer, he’s unlatched the door, he’s out, and he’s gone.

‘This is such crap!’

In disgust I get up from my easy chair, march into the kitchen and throw my reheated frozen ‘dinner on a tray’ into the waste-bin. These lazy meals are a guilty pleasure of mine
as
a rule, but tonight the one I’ve been picking at tastes of nothing.

I’m restless, edgy, wound up. If I hadn’t had all those orgasms earlier, downstairs in the mop alcove, I could swear that frustration was my problem. Maybe I still need to come – again, more, whatever. My mind is a whirl of thoughts and variables and things that perplex me, a lot of them to do with Daniel and Nemesis and a few about my ex and the house money.

I eye my laptop, sitting on the desk, challenging me. If Daniel is busy tonight, there’ll be no Nemesis around to play with. And if there is, it isn’t him … and I
want
it to be him. I think … Do I? Round and round and round we go!

Well, fuck you, mystery man, you’re as screwed up with issues as I am.

I need some air. I stuff my feet into my sneakers, grab a cotton jacket and my shoulder bag and in a few minutes I’m out the front door, heading into the soft, mellow evening for a stroll. I need to expend some energy, some tension, some calories, and a brisk walk seems like the perfect head-clearing therapy. Especially if I pick up some fish and chips on the way back home.

An hour or two later I’m back. And my head’s still not clear. In fact I’m more confused than I was when I started.

At first, everything went to plan. Instead of a casual amble, I decided to take a brisk thirty-minute yomp into the centre of town and then have a mooch around the Piazza. This is the Borough’s effort at urban regeneration and the development of what they laughably call ‘café culture’, an open square that borders on the canal, surrounded by bars and coffee bars and a variety of trendy boutique outlets that are open in the evening. It’s not Paris or Milan but it’s not turned out so badly, and I felt quite cosmopolitan, sitting on a bench
eating
my pommes frites and drinking a citron pressé while I watched the fountains and the mating rituals of the Piazza’s inhabitants.

After a while, though, the novelty wore off, and I started to feel a bit conspicuous on my own. It’s the sort of place you really need to visit with friends, or have a chap with you to enjoy properly. I started to fantasise about sitting there with Daniel, being admired and envied for my famous, handsome companion. I started to think how nice it would have been to be kissing him the way a lot of couples around the square were kissing.

Just kissing. Nothing more than that. No groping and fondling and showing one another our naughty bits.

What’s the matter with me? He’s told me what’s on offer, and I thought I’d accepted that. Instead I’m hankering for more … For romance? For …?

The thoughts were scary and suddenly the Piazza wasn’t the distraction that I’d hoped it might be. I decided to get the bus home instead of walking, for quickness. Taking a rash shortcut down an alley to get to the bus station, I happened on a scene that might easily have come from my own life right now.

In a bricked-up doorway, dimly lit by the glow from a street-light further along, a couple were fucking. Right there. Up against the wall. Going at each other like a pair of rutting dogs, humping and moaning and rocking against the brickwork.

She was blonde and pretty. He was big. A big man in a dark jacket, his trousers and boxer shorts pushed down and just a bit of strong, hairy thigh on show at the back. He was holding her by her haunches, lifted on to him, his sturdy pelvis going like a jackhammer as she scrabbled at him, holding on for dear life, her head thrown back against the wall as he buried his face in her neck like a vampire.

Lost in their passion, they didn’t see me. To them I was on another planet, even though I exist in a universe they’d understand. The realm of mad sex and doing crazy things on the spur of the moment.

I couldn’t move away. I had to watch, my own loins suddenly aching and aching.

The girl was vocal, moaning and gasping and urging him on, while he punctuated his thrusts with a series of low, happy grunts. As they twisted sideways a little, striving for deeper penetration, I got a better look at him, at his profile. And I seemed to know him.

I still think I might have been hallucinating, but I could swear that the horny stud in the alley was Robert Stone, the Borough Director of Finance. I’ve seen him in the library quite often, striding in to attend meetings in our lecture theatre, and he always causes a flutter of female attention. He’s stocky and greying and middle-aged, but he’s just one of those men you know is an animal between the sheets. And in alleys too, apparently. Because pretty soon his girlfriend let out a cry, her eyes rolled up and she came.

I felt like a thief, committing grand theft sexual for clandestine thrills, but I still couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sight of their jerking bodies. I forced myself to back off, but just as I did the big, handsome, dark-clad man looked round and seemed to see me in the shadows … and winked. I just ran.

So now I’m home again, and no more sorted out than I was before. If anything, I’m more shaken up and mixed up than ever. Daniel? Nemesis? One? Or two? And which one of them would I have wanted to be in the alley with? Oh hell.

I look through my wardrobe and lay out my clothes for tomorrow. Ignoring the laptop. I get undressed and wash and clean my teeth and moisturise my face ready for bed. Ignoring
the
laptop. I turn my little bedroom television on and get comfortable to watch a bit of late-night telly. Ignoring the laptop.

‘Bugger!’

I turn on the bedside lamp, reach for the power supply unit, plug both ends in, and turn on the laptop.

At first I resist firing up the instant messenger, and kid myself I’m checking my usual round of news, movie sites, funnies, Wikipedia, Amazon. But after only a very few minutes I load IM, hoping it’ll spring into life with some desperately sexy communication from Nemesis. But no, his avatar is dimmed. No sign of life. No rude and breathless sex talk.

In some ways, though, that’s important. Daniel is busy tonight. He’s got his video conference and his paper to work on. So this should be a tick in the ‘Yes, Daniel is Nemesis’ box. But I’m still wondering if I want them to be the same person. I want to trust Daniel. I want to get close to him. I want … well, I want something
real
with him. But is that really a sane and desirable thing if he’s also a perverted, devious stalker who plays twisted sex games from behind the protection of a mask?

That scene in the alley just stirred everything up again. Yearnings that are simmering in my blood constantly. I feel as if I’ve got a mild fever and I can still hear the pretty blonde girl’s moans and gasps. And I can still see that knowing wink from the big, dark man who might just have been the Borough Director of Finance.

‘Bastard!’ I hurl the insult at a sort of vague amalgam of Daniel, Nemesis and Robert Stone, and shove my laptop aside on the bed. Some mindless late-night viewing might distract me. It’s a vain hope, but I roll on to my side and try to immerse myself in a programme. I’m into my second segment of
Police
,
Camera
,
Action!
and actually giggling at the antics of a drunk driver magnificently failing a sobriety test when the laptop beside me goes ‘Bing bong!’

Nemesis wants to chat.

7 The Tale of a Random Man

IT’S LIKE I’M
in a lift with the cable cut. Reality falls away in the darkness as I drag the laptop across my knees and open the chat window.

NEMESIS: So, do you have something to tell me about?

Ah, right to business, eh? No pleasantries. No pussyfooting around. My heart slams in my chest. My mind fills with an image of Daniel.

LIBRARYGIRL: Yes.

I see a triumphant smile, so typically male. Yeah, you’d just love me to fall into line and spill all the dirty little details, wouldn’t you? Even though you know it all already, I know you do.