Lessons and Lovers (11 page)

“How long will it take?” Darryl said suddenly as the car began its glide through the London streets, guided by Starr’s experienced hand.

Will what take?

Hettie felt blood warm her face and throat. The question had caught her unaware, but she realized now it was an innocent enquiry. It was only in her mind that it had acquired significant overtones.

“A couple of hours,” she said, schooling her voice to casualness, “More if there are roadworks anywhere. Less if Starr’s feeling lucky. He likes to make the car earn its keep, so to speak. But don’t worry, he’s an expert driver. We’re quite safe.”

Safe on the road
, she added silently, knowing that there was a different kind of danger in sitting next to a hot-blooded man in tight jeans and a chest-hugging T-shirt.

Especially when I can’t stop thinking about sex!

To distract herself, she launched into a sudden nervous description of the house they were heading for. She knew that she sounded like a robotic stately home tour guide, but the flow of words was a soothing distraction from her turbulent thoughts and feelings.

Whether Darryl understood her tactics or not she had no way of knowing, but he listened attentively nevertheless.

Dragonwood was a modest Queen Anne house, set in its own park and halfway between the South Downs coast and the village of Melton Parva. Talking about it was a therapy to Hettie, and as the car snaked its way steadily out of the metropolis, the images in her mind of the elegant pale-stoned building calmed her. Her pulse steadied as she cataloged its many joys and treasures—the warm-toned wood-paneled rooms, the paintings and furniture, the library full of rare and precious books, the gardens full of flowers and shrubs and trees.

“Can you swim, Darryl?” she asked him presently. “There’s a lovely pool.”

“I-I think so.” He hesitated, frowning, and Hettie realized he honestly didn’t remember. She felt a surge of pity and without thinking, reached out to touch his bare arm. What a nightmare, not to know what you’d done and what you’d learned. Even who you were, really.

Surprisingly her touch didn’t seem to startle him. His hand and arm remained still and warm beneath her fingers, but he raised the other and started rubbing at a small area of his forehead. He frowned again, his smooth face crumpling in a way that Hettie found worrying.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her own fingers tightening on his forearm.

“Yes, thanks, I’m fine.” He smiled at her, slightly wan beneath his tan, “It’s just when I try too hard to remember things, I get a bit of a headache sometimes.” His fingers still circled at his forehead. “But I’m almost certain that I
can
swim!” He looked tired but quite pleased with himself, as if remembering a simple, everyday skill was a major achievement.

Hettie had a sudden acute awareness of the glass that divided them from Starr. Here she was sharing such closeness with one man while another man—her lover—was just inches away. The conflict tore at her and she felt a wild urge to smash the glass between them in an attempt to make an impact on him. To show him just what she thought of his emotional and physical barriers. She almost hated him for throwing her into the path of temptation with Darryl and for a second she wanted to punish him. To really give him something to be jealous about!

But before she could succumb to her irrational urges, Darryl suddenly began to rub his eyes more vigorously and grimace.

“Is the headache worse?” she inquired, flooded with guilt and shame at what she’d nearly done, “Is there anything I can do?”

“It’s all right.” Darryl smiled but it was clearly a manufactured one. “But I think I ought to take one of my tablets—” Reaching into the pocket of his tight jeans, he drew out a blister pack of pills. “I’ll need some water though.”

Hettie reached into the luxurious car’s small cocktail cabinet and brought out a bottle of mineral water. When Darryl popped a tablet into his mouth, she handed it to him and he drank down the cool water, his throat rippling as he swallowed.

“Would you think I’m an awfully bad guest if I tried to go to sleep again for a while? This medicine generally works better if I have a nap.”

“Of course, you’re not a bad guest,” she said with a soft laugh, “You have a sleep. I’m sure you’ll feel better for it.”

As she watched, Darryl lay back against the upholstery and almost immediately, his long dark lashes fluttered down. Within a moment or two, it was obvious he was fast asleep.

Now that’s both of them who are keeping their distances.
Hettie sighed as her companion’s breathing grew deep and steady.

And yet she felt no irritation with him, just an intense relief. A great burden of temptation had just been lifted from her.

Am I dreaming? I think I must be… Per Dio, please don’t let me wake up!

Darryl’s heart began to race as Hettie leaned gracefully towards him for a kiss, and in the split second before her lips met his, his cock leapt to full, throbbing hardness.

Her fingertips traveled over his body beneath his T-shirt, and he gasped as her thumbs flicked lightly at his nipples. This was the sort of thing that men did to women but it was wonderful that it pleasured his male body too. What would it feel like if she did it while his cock was inside her?

Carefully, tentatively, he began to repay the compliment, tugging at her silky black top. His fingers shook, but the silk came out easily and seemed to puff away from her skin it was so light.

Hettie’s breasts were exquisite when he lifted his hands to caress them, the curves firm and resilient, the nipples like small stones that bored into his palms. He squeezed and she matched his groan with one of her own, arching her back so she could push herself forward.

She wriggled wildly in his hold, and he felt her fingers scrabbling at his body, nails digging into his rib cage as a giant shudder went through her. For a second her thought he’d hurt her, but she was still gasping with obvious pleasure. Her beautiful face twisted as she arched and threw back her head. He didn’t have to be told she was climaxing.

His cock was burning now, stiff in his shorts like a bar of superheated iron. Any suffering he’d felt a moment ago was forgotten, swamped by a greater suffering that was also glorious and welcome. His whole body seemed to ache for her and he felt a powerful urge to double up around the engorged agony in his penis.

Emerging from her own pleasure, and clearly sensing his need, Hettie reached for the hem of her waterfall skirt and drew it up slowly and elegantly.

Beneath she wore tiny black panties, a high-cut wisp of lace that barely covered her pussy and seemed ruder somehow than if she’d been completely naked. The leg line swooped up to her waist and as she shifted her weight to flip her skirt from beneath her, he saw the whole of one sleek white buttock. Placing her hands on either side of her slender hips she slid her brief panties down her thighs.

Darryl felt like a frozen dummy, unable to move. He groaned when she edged forward on the seat, opened her thighs even wider and reached in to tease apart the lips of her cunt with her fingers.

And even when she took her fingertips away, her body still pouted at him. His hand felt limp in hers as she took it and drew it to her.

She was like damp silk to his touch, and feeling dazed he let his fingers rest where she’d laid them. He was touching the most sensitive and precious part of her and he had to force himself to breathe.

Controlling his trembling, Darryl let his fingertips skate over her, exploring the folds first then pushing one finger into her pussy. She whimpered softly when he pushed a little harder, and with a clever feline little swivel, seemed to screw herself down on his digit and get it even deeper inside her. The passage was easy, very easy, because she was very wet.

With a gasp of pleasure, Hettie tossed her head from side to side and Darryl knew that he’d got her. That he’d touched her how she wanted to be touched. Needed to be touched. He swirled his thumb and she crooned in response, undulating in that oh-so-telling way as her hot flesh grabbed at his finger in orgasm.

When her body finally stilled, she wriggled slightly and disengaged herself from his fingers, her eyes fluttering open as she did so. Her pupils looked hazy and dilated, but she seemed to sharpen up and take notice as her gaze panned slowly down his body. Following her eyes, Darryl saw to his amazement that his free hand was clamped at the apex of his thighs.

As his heart revved up to treble time, Darryl watched entranced as Hettie’s slender fingers went to work on his belt and the zipper on his jeans. Quickly and deftly, she began to work his jeans down over his hips and thighs, giving him an “up!” to make him lift bottom from the seat and let the tight denim slide on its way.

He felt faint and helpless as she bunched her voluminous skirts in her left hand and threw one long milky thigh across both of his. It was like watching an erotic ballet, and he saw Hettie’s thighs tense as she held herself above him for a moment while she reached down and took hold of the head of his cock.

Her touch felt like swansdown as she lowered her sex slowly onto him, feeding him delicately into her moist heat as she descended.

Darryl felt like screaming, weeping and throwing himself bodily up into the air to get deeper inside her.

He was enclosed in a liquid sweetness that seemed to ripple and grip and caress him. It was nothing like masturbation and nothing like he’d expected. He was in two kinds of paradise at once, floating on a cloud and sliding down, down, down into the deepest well of exquisite drowning sensation. He knew he could last only seconds. It was too good, too intense, too much—he could already feel his spine dissolving and a great white ball of pleasure going critical in the pit of his loins.

As Hettie began to bounce on him, he saw her grimace slightly and heard her make a long low indecipherable sound of satisfaction. Settling into a quick deep rhythm, she put her hands down to the juncture of their bodies and Darryl watched in wonder as she flicked her own clitoris in time to their bumps and grinds. He wanted to do it for her, or to hold her breasts again, but suddenly she was moving too furiously and he seemed to have no strength in any part of his body but his cock.

Then suddenly the world dwindled to a minute black point that exploded out again to every part of him at once. His balls jerked and his semen came scalding up out of them. Shooting out of his sex into hers.

“Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!” he murmured, the words growing faint as pleasure obliterated him and the magic world of his dream drifted away into slumberous darkness.

Should I have said something? Hettie asked herself, finding it hard to stop herself from grinning as she put clothing into the top drawer of her mahogany dresser.

Watching Darryl sleep had been a revelatory experience. His erotic writhing had left her in no doubt that he’d dreamed about sex. And in her sensitized state it had been an irresistible turn-on. She’d found herself gripping her own crotch as he’d gripped his, and it had been difficult to keep herself from crying out as she’d worked herself to a quick, light orgasm. But she’d remained silent. To wake him would have embarrassed him profoundly.

As it was, he hadn’t woken and after coming to the inevitable conclusion of his wet dream, he’d seemed to drift into an even deeper level of slumber. And when he did wake, he hadn’t shown the slightest hint that he was aware of what had happened.

Starr too had shown no signs of emotion when the extended car journey was over, and had simply regarded his passengers with his usual inscrutable politeness.

No change there, then.

Hettie had frowned and her eyes had followed his tall, dark-clad form as he’d set about disposing of their luggage and going about all the usual jobs involved in opening up the beautiful country house. She would have given anything to be able to read the thoughts contained in that strong, close-cropped head of his.

Dragonwood had been partially closed since Piers’ death and with the regular staff on extended paid leave, Starr had arranged for a couple from the nearby village to come in for a few hours each morning and do a few basic housekeeping jobs.

Hettie was grateful for this and was rather looking forward to them fending for themselves around the house. Doing things like sneaking down to the kitchen for a sandwich whenever she felt hungry, making her own bed, taking morning cups of tea to Darryl and Stevie. If Starr would let her do any of that, of course. She was the “Lady of the Manor” in his eyes, and must not be seen to be roughing it!

She’d also been hoping that Starr would assign himself a room near hers, but no such luck. He’d taken his usual room—in the staff wing—which would be a good two-hundred-yard tiptoe away in the dark! As it was, Hettie had Darryl on one side and Stevie, when she arrived, on the other.

Still naked after she’d washed the dust of travel and the stickiness of masturbation from her body, Hettie went on unpacking with only half her mind really on the task.

Darryl had looked so sensual! Watching him bring himself off could get to be a dangerously distracting habit. It would be far too easy to indulge in such delicious, self-indulgent voyeurism—and avoid facing the major issue that troubled her.

Starr.

She sighed. It would probably have been a better idea to take herself off to a chaste, monastic retreat somewhere and think things through rather than come down here and immerse herself in hedonism.

She took a black wet-look bikini out of her case and wriggled into it. The suit was minuscule and clinging, and she might as well have been nude, as Stevie had suggested. Hettie frowned in front of the mirror for a few minutes, but no amount of tugging and adjusting could make the suit look any less indecent. And unfortunately, she had no other swimwear that was any less revealing.

But does it matter?
She grimaced at her reflection.