Mastered 2: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender (16 page)

Chapter One

Susannah

‘Who is that man over there? The one with the hair, talking to Ben’s dad?’

I don’t know why I’m asking Maggie that question. I already know the answer.

The man with the hair is the first man I ever had sex with and his name’s Jamie Lennox. I wonder if he still goes by ‘Jamie’ though? Might he have gone all grown-up and call himself ‘James’ now that well over a decade has passed?

No, somehow I’ve got a gut feeling he’s still ‘Jamie’. Even if almost everything else about him seems to have changed.

‘I think he’s an old university friend of Ben’s. Rather dishy, isn’t he? I’m not usually one for guys with long hair, but it looks great on him.’ Maggie gives my long-lost lover a scrupulous once-over, as if she’s scoring him on his various ‘assets’ even though I know she’s completely devoted to her boyfriend, Alastair.

‘Naughty, naughty.’ I grin and try to sound nonchalant, even though I’m far from it. ‘You’re spoken for, woman. Or as good as.’

Maggie blushes and looks flustered. Have things gone further than we all realise?

‘I can still look, can’t I? Nothing wrong in that. And anyway, he only seems to have eyes for you, Suze. He keeps looking over here at you. Are you sure you don’t know him?’

‘Positive.’ You’d never know I didn’t make a practice of lying, considering how the fib rolled off my tongue.

‘Well, you should get to know him then. This is a wedding, after all. People are supposed to get off with each other.’

I can’t. Can I? It’d be too weird. A bizarre coincidence that the guy I once had a serious thing with at high school just happens to be an old buddy of the new husband of one of my best friends. And we didn’t really part on the very best of terms either.

As I think that, he looks across again and lasers me with those stunning green eyes of his. I’ve never forgotten them. Never forgotten the fire in them looking down on me while he was inside me. The shoulder-length hair and the weathering of the intervening years, those things make him different; but his eyes haven’t lost any of their power. Or their unblinking, riveting gaze.

He says something to the person he’s with, clearly excusing himself. Oh God, he’s coming over, isn’t he? Somehow it suddenly seems important to take control and get my act together, even though memories of being with Jamie are making my knees go weak.

‘You’re absolutely right. I’m going in!’ I tell Maggie, ‘Wish me luck!’

‘I don’t think you need it. You look fabulous today, and he obviously fancies you. It’s a done deal, kiddo.’ She gives me a quick hug and then speeds away in search of her beloved Alastair.

The room is crowded and hectic with jolly wedding guests, and Jamie has to weave his way between them. As do I, approaching him. But like in a movie, it’s as if there’s nobody else here and everyone else blurs away.

He looks stunning. He
is
stunning. The epithet ‘tall, dark and handsome’ might have been coined especially for him, and his black clothing—a leather jacket, black shirt, and black jeans—only amplify the effect. He clearly does his own thing at all times rather than conform to the traditions of wedding-guest attire. He wasn’t quite such an individualist all those years ago.

‘Suzie,’ he says softly when we’re face-to-face.

The way he says it whisks me back across the years and hurls me into the depths of my first hard crush on him, the desire I felt. Nobody calls me that now. It’s either ‘Suze’, or ‘Susannah’. But ‘Suzie’ sounds perfect on his lips, his name for me when I was his.

He smiles down at me. ‘To use a cliché, fancy meeting you here. You look wonderful. More beautiful than ever.’

The outrageous compliments out of the blue throw me into a tailspin, stealing any smart, snappy words I might have uttered. It’s as if I remember every second of our time together, especially the intimate bits.

Oh, how I loved him. I couldn’t get enough of him. But then we parted, and that bit of my memory is fuzzier. It was hard, I know, and it hurt, even though it was my choice. But it seemed like the best thing for us both at the time.

Afterwards, though, I wasn’t so sure.

‘Ditto,’ I finally blurt out and then laugh. I sound so dumb, so gauche. So bemused by the intersection of the past and the present. ‘Love the hair!’ I nod at the beautiful black silk fall that brushes his shoulders. ‘It’s a small world though, isn’t it? You’re Ben’s uni friend, I understand?’

He nods now. He’s scrutinising me intensely, but his expression is guarded too. He’s giving far less away than I am, that’s for sure.

‘And I’m a friend and workmate of Sarah, the bride.’

We’re standing here, face-to-face, locked in this strange moment and very much in the way of everything, at a bottleneck in the room. Other guests jostle past us, some excusing themselves, others not so much, tut-tutting a bit.

‘Look, I saw a smaller bar across the foyer. Shall we go and get a drink there?’ His hand settles on my elbow to guide me, and it’s like electricity. His green eyes flare as if he felt the same jolt of reaction.

‘Sounds great. I’d love to.’

He pauses momentarily. ‘Unless you’re with someone, of course?’

‘Nope. I’m all on my own. A singleton. Fancy-free.’ Gah, that sounds a bit desperate, and ridiculous, as if despite everything, I’m trying to pull him.

Maybe I am trying to pull him? My body’s screaming at me that I want him. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe it’s best just to wing it. See how the reminiscences go, whether there are any lingering hard feelings. I lead the way out, heading towards the foyer and the small bar beyond.

‘What’ll you have?’ he asks when we’re settled on two stools.

I’m not sure which I’m more conscious of: the way my skirt’s risen up and is showing my thighs, or Jamie’s long, lean legs in black denim and the way the fabric clings lovingly to his crotch. My heart skips and desire surges like warm honey in the pit of my belly. We were both young when we were together, and the sex wasn’t great at first… but he was… and still is… big.

‘I… I’m not sure what I fancy.’ Oh, great. Be a babbling idiot. Just because this man took your virginity and wanted more when you didn’t. Surely you can do better and act like a grown-up now you are one, Susannah?

‘Let’s have champagne,’ he suggests, grinning as if the guard’s suddenly come down. ‘It is a wedding, after all.’ His smile has a wolf-like quality, as if he’s poised to pounce on the slightest vulnerability. Which is scary and not at all like the gentle, mild-mannered Jamie of years ago.

‘Yes, but not our wedding.’

It’s like someone’s dropped an Acme anvil into the room. Why, oh why, did I say that? Suddenly I’m remembering more and more about our parting, and my timorous, half-arsed reasons for it. We were going our separate ways education-wise, and long-distance relationships are hard work. I was too fearful, too lazy, to face that, but at the moment of truth Jamie revealed that he’d thought, hoped, believed, that it would be worth it. He backtracked immediately, and it was like a shutter had come down. The guard he still seems to wear. But, seeing more clearly now, I remember an instant of intense, haggard pain on his face before he hid his feelings, stark but quickly gone.

‘Very true, but let’s go mad all the same, eh?’ Those jewel eyes of his twinkle. No pain in them tonight. Grown-up Jamie is probably immune to it. He’s all danger and thrilling challenge now. Oh boy.

Before I can demur further, he’s summoned the barman and ordered the fizz. He doesn’t show off by ordering some big brand but just closely questions the guy about the origins of the house champagne and nods the okay when he’s satisfied. We used to drink cans of cheap supermarket lager back in the old days, but clearly Jamie’s grown sophisticated over the years, despite his biker, Gothish style.

When the tasting nonsense is over, I take a sip, trying not to cough because I’m rattled by the way he’s still looking at me.

‘It’s gorgeous.’ It is. House or no house, it’s lovely stuff.

‘Isn’t it?’ He grins at me.

Dear God, he’s ten times as handsome as he was at eighteen. He was thin-faced back then, cute as an imp, but scrawny. Now he’s still lean, and his features are still sharp. But the years have brought with them elegance, poise… and a charismatic beauty. Looking at him now, I can’t believe I ever let him get away.

‘So,’ he says after another long, thoughtful sip. ‘Shall we spend ages going through a whole ream of awkward catching up and “and then I did
x
or
y
”’—he pauses and the space says more about how he felt over our parting than a thousand words could—‘or shall we just start afresh with a clean slate as if we only just met? No baggage. No commitments. Just two people who obviously fancy each other getting together for a one-nighter. How does that sound?’

It’s not what I expected him to say, but it makes sense. It cuts out a whole mess of awkwardness. I ignore the fact that he’s obviously dead set on just the one night. It seems so cold. But he doesn’t owe me anything. He could have given me a bunch of platitudes and brushed me off. At least this way I get to have a hot night with a man I know is sexually compatible with me, and who is honest to God a hundred times more attractive after years in the maturing.

See the positives, Susannah, the thrilling positives!

‘Sounds good to me!’ I lift my glass towards his, and we clink them. ‘To starting afresh.’

‘What shall we talk about then? What are our chat-up lines?’

The wine is warming me up. I’ve already had a couple of drinks, although I’ve been taking it steady. I don’t want to get legless, but somehow now, with Jamie, I do need the edge of my nerves taken off. He’s intoxicating to me, yet he’s also intimidating.

‘This place.’ He glances around the bar where the patrons are almost entirely couples, talking low and intensely. There’s a definite vibe here. It’s in the whole hotel. It’s sort of sexy, but more so. Slightly dark. Exotic. ‘Interesting, isn’t it? It seems less like a venue for a wedding reception and more the backdrop for an
Eyes Wide Shut
orgy. It’s got something of a reputation for the risqué, did you know that?’ He runs his tongue over his lower lip slowly, as if savouring a stray drop of champagne.

Between my legs, my sex ripples, yearning for him.

‘Yes, there’s something about it. I’ve heard mutterings.’ My voice sounds quite normal, despite what’s happening to my body. I concentrate on what I know about The Retreat. And what I sense of it. ‘Mutterings of naughtiness and bad behaviour. As if there’s a secret about it that some people are privy to and others aren’t.’

‘Do you know the secret?’

Do you?

‘I’ve a feeling I do. It’s sex, obviously. Kinky sex. I know my friends are into it. Ben and Sarah. Maggie and Alastair. But they don’t really talk about it.’ It’s become more and more frustrating lately, being on the outside. Seeing looks exchanged discreetly and not being one of some kind of inner circle. ‘We all used to dish the dirt about boyfriends and the men we fancied in general, and have no-holds-barred convos about the latest sexy books we’d read. We’d giggle over all the juicy details, but somewhere along the line, Sarah and Maggie started not being quite as frank as they once were. As if they’d moved on to another level or something.’

Jamie eyes me very levelly over the rim of his glass. It’s as if he’s stretching out time. His eyes are so green. I get that ripple again.

‘And you haven’t experimented yourself?’

Have you?

‘Um… no… not really… No, definitely no.’ What am I babbling about? ‘To be honest, that side of things has been a bit thin on the ground lately. I’d be grateful to get a bit of the basic stuff, never mind the fancier variations.’

Fuck. Damn. This bloody ‘house’ champagne is strong. It’s like some kind of mad truth drug. I’m stone-cold sober, well almost, but something’s making me say the most ridiculous and revealing things.

I blush like a peony. Me and my big mouth. And yet inside I have a shrewd idea that the real me just said that on purpose.

To initiate something.

Chapter Two

Jamie

She did that on purpose. She definitely did. Is she really so uninitiated or is it a line?

Or am I just falling victim to wishful thinking?

I haven’t thought about Suzie in years. She’s a woman who belongs to another time, when I was young and hopped up on hormones and a bit of an emo. A different person.

But looking at her now, I wonder. Hell, I’m a liar. I
have
thought about her. I’ve thought about her again and again over the years, and relived the ridiculous pain I felt when we parted. I never expected it to hurt so hard, and since then I suppose I’ve shied away from sentimental bonds—even with the women I’ve briefly lived with—not wanting to expose the soft heart I offered to Suzie in our youth.

But I’m not soft now. Not in any sense. I’m more aroused than I’ve been in a long while. I’m like rock.

Has she really no clue about BDSM? In this day and age, when it’s in your face on television and in films and books and magazines? You can’t walk into a railway-station bookshop without being faced with displays of the latest kinky novels.

Nonetheless, even if she knows nothing about kink, Suzie looks so good tonight that even the ‘basic’ stuff would be a mighty fine prospect.

‘I find that hard to believe,’ I say quickly. I’ve been silent, in the la-la land of memory for several moments, and she’ll think I’m game-playing with her. Maybe I am? ‘A beautiful woman like you, I can’t imagine your being short of men who’d love to fuck you.’

Her eyes flare at the word, but a smile plays around her lips. She has a beautiful mouth, soft and plush, yet characterful in shape. Much like the rest of her. She wears her sleek, golden-brown hair longer these days with subtle highlights. It frames her face in a way that makes her big navy-blue eyes even bigger and shows off her strong, elegant cheekbones.

And her body… ooh, her body. She’s slimmer now than she was, but still luscious, her curves refined. And the way her stylish, short-skirted wedding suit clings to her thighs and rear is making me crazy. And harder than ever each time I glance their way. Something I’m doing pretty often even though I’m trying not to ogle like a horny clod.

‘Flattery will get you… well, it’ll get you,’ she says, toying with the stem of her glass, in another ploy I’m not quite sure is unconscious.

Oh God, will we fuck tonight? Or even play? I know people are supposed to score statistically more often at weddings than any other social event, but I certainly didn’t accept Ben’s invitation in order to get laid.

Action has been a bit thin on the ground for me lately too—mainly due to work pressures—but I came here with no plans.

But now I’m making them like a demon. Speculating about what Suzie might have learned over the years, lean sexual periods and BDSM cluelessness notwithstanding.

How far might we go tonight?

As she shifts her position on the stool, making her skirt tighten across her thighs, my cock surges in my shorts. I think of the room booking I made online and the discreet extras this hotel provides for adventurous adults.

It certainly looks like I’ll be having an adventure tonight.

With Suzie.