Restored to Love (3 page)

Gillian never got the contract from Clive Rushington-Hydes. Money problems, the recession, tumbling property prices – nothing seemed to be going right for him. However, in recompense for the work she'd already carried out, he said she could have her pick of anything in Dashambly Hall that took her fancy.

He was more than a little surprised when she chose to take only an unprepossessing Van Dessen oil painting, and a water-damaged book recounting the exploits of the Seventh Viscount of Maracay.

Rite Place, Rite Time
by Elizabeth Coldwell

‘If you really want to have a baby,' Keeley said, imparting the information as if Melinda was a shy virgin who'd yet to learn about the birds and the bees, ‘you need to do it between the Lowdale Man's legs when there's a full moon. Everyone knows that.'

‘Oh, come on, that's just superstitious nonsense.' Melinda rose from her seat in the corner booth. She wanted to stay chatting for longer, not having seen her friend for ages, but according to her fertility thermometer she was at the peak of ovulation, and if she didn't get home and into bed with Ryan in the next 30 minutes, their chance would have passed for yet another month.

‘You think so?' Keeley asked, following her out to the pavement. ‘What about Jackie Mills, who works in the bookies' on the market square? Or Mandy Graydon? Everyone knew her husband fired blanks, but they went up there, fucked like rabbits and next thing you know – twins. You tell me the Lowdale Man didn't have something to do with that.'

‘Maybe. Or maybe they just got lucky with fertility treatment.' Giving Keeley a brisk hug of farewell, Melinda set off towards home at a trot. She didn't believe in stories of mystical intervention where babies were concerned. It was like the one she'd been reading in the paper a couple of mornings ago, about the supermarket where six checkout assistants claimed they'd all fallen pregnant after sitting on the same chair. It was just random coincidence, nothing more. Life just didn't work how people believed it did thousands of years ago.

Yet, as she walked, she couldn't help glancing up towards the vast bulk of Lowdale Hill, looming over the village. As she did, the moon came out from behind a cloud, briefly illuminating the chalk figure that gave the hill its reputation. The crude outline of a naked spear-carrier, his cock erect, dated back to pre-historic times. No one knew who had carved it there, or why, though it was believed to have been designed as the centrepiece of some ancient fertility rite. All Melinda knew was that it attracted visitors to the place and, indirectly, kept her in employment at the tourist information centre.

Though she'd be happy to give the job up tomorrow, if it meant she was pregnant. She and Ryan had been trying for the best part of a year now. Every month she was convinced it would happen, and every month she was disappointed. It was putting an increasing strain on their marriage. Worse than that, it had turned their sex life – once so hot and inventive they'd fucked in every room in the house, played spanking games and even checked into a hotel under false names to enjoy a dirty weekend together – into one governed purely by her fertile periods. All the spontaneity, all the excitement had gone. She'd never imagined there'd come a time when riding Ryan's cock would seem like a chore, but she knew the longer they went without conceiving, the more she would come to feel they were having sex because they had to, not because either of them particularly wanted to.

Even so, she would never know quite why, as she straddled Ryan's groin, guiding the round, lube-smeared crown of his cock between her pussy lips, she murmured, ‘How do you fancy taking this outside next time? You know, a blanket, a bottle of wine, just like we used to do when we were first dating.'

‘What's brought this on?' he asked, reaching behind her to unhook her bra and let her big, freckled breasts fall free.

‘Oh, nothing. I only thought it might be nice to try and bring some of the spice back, you know.' She was careful not to mention her conversation with Keeley, or any indication of where she intended to take him for their
al fresco
fuck. Ryan had his pride, and she didn't want him to feel she was resorting to desperate measures because he'd failed to impregnate her.

Maybe, she thought as he slid deeper into her, tonight will be the night, then none of that will be necessary. But the moon would be full in two nights' time, its pull impossible to ignore. Up on the hill, the Lowdale Man waited, seeming to beckon her through the gap in the curtains. She shut her eyes, put her fingers to her clit and brought herself to the orgasm that would, if she were lucky, drag Ryan's sperm close enough to her freshly released egg to make the baby she craved.

The walk up Lowdale Hill was longer and more arduous than Melinda had expected. Summer had returned with a vengeance and even now, well after sunset, the air was still thick with unseasonable heat. The harvest moon hung low and unnaturally bright in the sky, appearing close enough to reach out and touch. Hand in hand, Melinda and Ryan made the slow ascent to the spot where the ancient warrior was carved, white chalk stark against the lush grass.

‘Here,' Melinda said, placing the basket containing the picnic blanket and everything else she needed on the ground between the figure's legs. ‘This is the perfect spot.'

‘Are you sure?' Ryan asked her. ‘We're right in the middle of the Lowdale Man. What if someone looks up and sees us?'

‘Well, we'll have to make sure to put a decent show on for them, won't we? Come on, Ryan, doesn't the thought excite you? Fucking out in the open, giving in to your animal instincts …'

Brushing a hand over the front of his shorts, Melinda discovered a thick, promising bulge. Despite his protests, it seemed her husband was just as turned on by this adventure as she was. She hadn't bothered with underwear tonight, and the knowledge that she was bare beneath her spotted sun dress was a horny little secret she'd hugged to herself on her climb, juice already slickening her pussy lips. When Ryan undressed her, she'd be more than ready for him; no need for her trusty bottle of lube tonight.

Fishing into the basket, Melinda laid the blanket out on the grass, then produced a bottle and two plastic glasses. Searching for something alcoholic to get them both thoroughly in the mood, she'd discovered a bottle of home-made dandelion wine she'd forgotten they possessed. Ryan had won it in the tombola at the church fête the previous summer, and both of them had taken one look at the syrupy yellow liquid before consigning it to the back of the drinks cabinet. Still, it seemed to fit the “back to nature” mood she was trying to create, and she uncorked it and poured them each a generous amount.

‘Bottoms up!' Melinda exclaimed, tapping her glass against Ryan's.

‘And here was me thinking you wanted to go on top tonight.' Ryan chuckled, the lines around his green eyes deepening. Melinda was struck, as she always was, by how handsome her husband was. How loving, how kind-hearted, how willing to follow her into a crazy scheme like making love on the most prominent landmark for miles. Perfect in every respect apart from his inability to provide her with a baby. Then she shook the thought away, aware the fault could just as easily lie with her.

To her surprise, the wine was palatable – not as sweet as she might have expected, but deceptively potent. Ryan had stripped off his T-shirt, revealing the muscular contours of his chest, skin tanned to the lightest of nut-brown shades by his long hours labouring on building sites. Melinda reached out, seeking to trace her fingers over his hairless pecs and flat belly, down into the waistband of his shorts, but suddenly it all seemed like too much of an effort. Yawning, Ryan settled back on the blanket, as though preparing for her to undress him, but his eyelids were fluttering shut, and as Melinda unzipped his fly, reaching in to grab his fat, semi-hard cock, he gave a gentle snore.

She'd have laughed at the way her brilliant plan had unravelled so spectacularly if she hadn't been just as tired. Next time, forget the wine, she chided herself, fighting against the urge to close her own eyes. But cuddling up against Ryan and falling asleep, cradled in the warmth of the September night, would be so tempting …

The sight of a figure striding up the hill towards them startled her back to wakefulness. Shaking Ryan's shoulder, she attempted to rouse him so he could cover himself. She had no idea of the interloper's identity, but the last thing she wanted was for anyone to discover her husband lying here, half-naked and vulnerable. Her efforts were in vain. Ryan was dead to the world, and the stranger was coming ever closer.

She wasn't sure who she'd been expecting out here at this time of night, maybe a poacher or a curious policeman, but the man who came to stand in front of her was neither of these. Melinda had never seen anyone quite like him. Well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, long-limbed, with the hard, defined muscles of a heavyweight boxer. Shaggy, shoulder-length dark hair fell untidily into brown eyes that had an almost feral glitter, and his chin bore a thick growth of beard. If that wasn't enough to make a lasting impression on her, his outlandish appearance was crowned by the fact he was stark naked and carried a flint-tipped spear. His feet were bare and his skin a deep, even mahogany, grimed with dust and sweat. The scent of him was sharp, utterly masculine, strangely intoxicating.

‘Who – who are you?' Melinda forced the words through dry lips.

He said nothing in reply, simply stared at her. Following her gaze, Melinda became aware that as she'd scrambled to a sitting position, her sun dress had rucked up round her hips. The stranger had a perfect view of her bare, wet sex.

She knew she should have made the effort to close her legs, but she wanted him to look, to see the parts of her normally reserved only for the enjoyment of the man she'd married. Instinctively, she knew this silent stranger meant her no harm. The exact opposite, in fact. Suddenly, it all became clear. It might only be a superstitious legend, but tonight at least, the Lowdale Man walked, answering the call of the woman who had come to him in her desperate need to be made pregnant.

He dropped the spear to the grass and crouched over her. Melinda glanced to her side, where Ryan slumbered in blissful ignorance of this bizarre turn of events, but her husband's outline seemed fuzzy, indistinct, as though she was looking at him from a long way away. The lights of Lowdale village, down below her, had disappeared entirely. She shook her head, but her vision didn't clear. It was almost as though she was floating somewhere outside of time, where the rules of the everyday world no longer applied.

The stranger grinned, wrapping his fist round his erect cock. It reared up from a wild mass of dark curls, longer and thicker than anything Melinda had ever seen, even on the porno DVDs Ryan sometimes borrowed from the lads he worked with. She wasn't at all sure she'd be able to take something of those almost supernatural dimensions, but she was more than willing to try. Every filthy fantasy she'd ever had about being fucked by a well-hung stranger while her husband watched flashed to the front of her mind. Except it seemed poor old Ryan was destined to sleep through the whole performance.

Dropping a finger between her still-splayed thighs, Melinda touched her clit. The merest contact sent pleasure fizzing throughout her body, sparking the need for more. Looking up at the stranger, she frigged herself with wanton abandon, letting him see how horny she was, how ready to be fucked.

Her show had the desired effect. He pushed her back onto the blanket, straddling her with his thickly muscled thighs. Grasping the neckline of her dress, he ripped the material as easily as if it were tissue, baring her to his gaze. Melinda had never felt so deliciously submissive. Her other-worldly lover could do whatever he wished to her, just as long as he filled her with that freakishly big dick of his.

A thick, gnarled finger slipped into her pussy, followed in quick succession by two more. They pushed her ribbed, velvet walls apart, thrusting in and out as they prepared her for what was to come. She wished Ryan was awake and alert, able to witness her ecstatic expression as the stranger finger-fucked her while she fondled her own nipples. The little buds were hard as flint chips, begging to be licked, and as the man's thumb nudged against the puckered entrance to her arse, Melinda raised her breast to her mouth and did just that. She'd never attempted anything quite so rude before, but tonight a wild excitement coursed through her veins, removing any inhibitions she might have had.

Judging her to be open enough to receive him, her lover flipped Melinda over onto all fours, pulling the tattered remnants of her dress from her body. This was the position the beasts used when they rutted, the most appropriate for their coupling. The Lowdale Man knew nothing of soft, sweet lovemaking, the kind where you gazed into each other's eyes and whispered endearments as you stroked and teased each other; this was something primal, lust at its most basic and immediate. The coming together of hard cock and hot, wet cunt; the only outcome fast, explosive orgasm.

He pressed up against her rump, cockhead nudging at her hole, demanding admittance. Melinda moaned, pushing back at him, needing to have that huge, virile thing inside her. For a moment, it didn't seem as though the bulbous crown could possibly fit in her tight channel, then he gave a forceful shove and she felt him enter her. ‘Fuck, it's too big,' she heard herself groan, but he kept pushing and somehow her cunt kept finding room for him. She was as crammed with cock as she had ever been in her life; if it had been Ryan's dick, she'd have been able to feel his body tight up against her, his balls slapping against her as they fucked, but this man hadn't even managed to get two-thirds of his length inside her.

The slightest thrust from him sent fierce erotic sensations rippling through every part of her. She swore she could feel it in her scalp, her fingertips, the end of her nose. Running an experimental finger over her clit, she almost screamed aloud. She was so widely stretched, the fleshy button stood out like a beacon. If only she could have had Ryan's face beneath her crotch, licking and lapping at her sex as the stranger thrust into her from behind. Instead, her own caress would have to do the trick.

As her lover began to shaft her, hands gripping her hips, pulling her hard onto his rigid length, Melinda swore she could hear a drum beat, low and constant. In other circumstances, she might have believed it to be coming from a distant car stereo, or the jukebox in the White Hart, but she knew different. The drums were beating out a rhythm older than the village, the soundtrack to an ancient rite, long ago forgotten. It urged the hips of any man who heard it to move, faster and faster, ploughing in and out of his woman, taking her, claiming her as his. No one could resist it, Melinda was convinced of that; to hear it was to be compelled to fuck.