Saving Nathaniel (26 page)

H
e brushed over her lips with his fingertips, feeling the breath of her sigh. She took hold of his hand, closed her eyes and kissed the tip of each of his fingers in turn. He pulled her against him and kissed her hard again, conscious now of his growing erection pressing against her.

Gently, but firmly, he guided her to the waiting bed. He threw back the duvet and lifted her onto the soft cotton sheet, the muscles in his arms straining against her weight.

He lay down beside her and kissed her with an intensity that threatened to drown her. While he was doing so, she was aware of him removing his pants.

He ran his hands, tongue and lips over every inch of her skin, making a mental map of her – her shape, her taste, her smell. He moulded her breasts with his hands and sucked at her nipples making them stand hard and proud. When his exploring fingers touched a nerve in her back, electric-type shocks ran up and down her spine causing her to involuntarily arch and gasp out a small cry. Every move, every sound she made aroused him further.

With the lightness of a feather, his lips brushed the pale skin of her stomach, and beneath them, he felt her muscles tighten. She began to tremble. He ran first his finger, and then his tongue, along the silver scar reaching almost from one hip to the other, and where his scratchy, unshaven skin rubbed against them, her thighs and stomach tingled and burned.

Her soft breathing became fast shuddering gasps as his hand caressed its way over her belly, over her thighs and between her legs. When he found his way to her clitoris, it was ready and waiting for him, swollen in its own mini erection. She opened her legs wider and, accepting the invitation, he massaged her gently with his fingers. She tilted her hips and he slid his fingers inside her, massaging her clitoris with his thumb. She groaned and gyrated herself slowly. Her mounting arousal fuelled his even further.

'
Oh, Meg
…
I want you,
'
he murmured, sucking at her earlobe.

'
I
'
m here,
'
she whispered.
'
I
'
m here for you…I'm only for you.
'

They rolled over and she was on him. She kissed him, exploring his mouth with her tongue. Her lips touched their way down his neck to his throat, feeling his pulse. He too was breathing harder now, and each breath released a small groan of pleasure.

Her hands and lips played on him, up and down, stroking and caressing a body that, for a man of his age, was more than acceptable. He carried very little spare fat and she could feel his muscles under still taut skin. The hair on his chest tickled her face and she could hear his heart beating through his chest wall, its speed indicating his mounting excitement.

She kissed down his ribs and onto his stomach and found a sensitive spot that caused him to shiver. He gasped loudly and his skin immediately prickled with goose-flesh.

At his crotch, she found his cock stiff and hard, inviting her to play. She was happy to oblige. She ran her tongue up and down it, leaving behind a warm trail of saliva that stimulated as it cooled. She teased her lips and tongue around his penis
'
tip while gently caressing the shaft with her hand, pressing at the base with her thumb. His scrotum contracted when she pressed it lightly.

'
Meg
…
please
…
please
!' He was breathlessly clutching at the sheet beside him, wringing it in handfuls, his feet fidgeting in agitation.
He was ready.

'
Sshh
…'
she cooed
and covered his mouth with her own. She put herself
astride him, and with a little guidance from her hand, lowered herself onto him, her wet heat enveloping his length. With a loud whimper, he closed his eyes and grasped tightly at her thighs.

She adopted a gentle backwards and forwards rocking motion, keeping her movements slow and intense. She rested her hands on his chest, her fingers splayed through the hair. The rhythm was a slow dance. Its deliberate and deliciously moderated tempo heightened both their desires.

He
cupped her neat breasts in his hands and sat up to her, kissing her hard on the mouth. He held her around the waist, feeling her ribs shifting under her skin. Her arms were around his neck, one hand in his hair, letting it run through her fingers. Her legs clamped around him, locking them together. They moved as one; each anticipating the other.

He could feel a heat, like warm oil, forming deep in his groin and spreading through his balls and into his painfully hard organ. The sensation stirred him to fever pitch.

'
Oh God, Meg,' he breathed fiercely, rocking in unison with her, 'I need you
…I need you
now!
'

He flipped her over and lay her down on her back, going as deep into her as it was possible for him to go.
She clasped at his back. As he moved, she could feel every muscle contracting and relaxing under her hand.

He began to perspire and his skin slid over her as if oiled. He pushed hard into her over and over, each thrust accompanied by a small grunt of effort.

She
felt the quickening in her groin area and knew she would come soon. He sensed it in her and his rhythm increased. The sensation got stronger until she was unable to contain it.
'
Don
'
t stop
…
please
…
don
'
t stop,
'
she urged.

He
continued to push into her until, without any further warning, her muscles clenched onto him and a convulsive wave ripped through her. She arched her back and let out a reflexive cry as all her senses fired at once. Touch, taste and smell…intermingled …inseparable.

She could taste the salt on his skin. She could smell sex and sweat from his pores. Her skin tingled with his slightest touch and every hair stood upright. Flashes of pure light burst behind her eyes and her ears filled with the sound of the rushing and the pounding of her blood. Everything in that moment came alive for her, sensation and emotion mixed in a single explosion of ecstasy.

He
was pushing into her as far as he could physically go. Her contracting muscles gripped his cock from inside and made her tight. His thigh muscles tightened and strained with the extra effort; waves of thrill coursed through him, through his stomach and up his back. His whole body was perspiring and trembling uncontrollably and he could feel his penis contracting and pulsing from the balls right up to the tip.

She was clinging onto him, her nails digging into the skin on his back. The pain enhanced his pleasure; it was so frantically primal. There was no holding back; he couldn't if even he'd wanted to. Their synchronised orgasms went on and on, each feeding off the other.

With a loud, barely restrained groan of rapture, he came hard into her, ejaculating over and over. His neck strained and he gritted his teeth. He kept on pushing, panting heavily, gradually slowing his pace as he tired, and with a final heavy sigh, stopped and collapsed onto her.

The climax faded, but the after-effects continued for both of them. Her skin was flushed and hot and her groin pulsed with orgasmic after shocks; waves of contraction tracking their way up her insides. She could feel the hot stickiness of semen on the skin of her thighs.

Spent of his fluids and sapped of his energy, he lay still, his face resting at her breast. He gasped for air, breathing fast and hard like a runner. His stomach muscles ached. His penile sensitivity at its highest and, still inside her, he could feel her wet heat and the rippling pulses of the tiniest muscles.

When he couldn't feel them any more, he slipped from her, slick with a mixture of their combined juices. The cool air stabbed at his penis and he cupped it with his hand to protect it from the assault, stemming further stimulation. He pulled the duvet up to cover himself and rolled over onto his back, waiting for his erection to fade and give him some relief.

Side by side on the pillows, they recovered in mutual silence, until she rolled over and put her head on his chest, through which she listened to his heartbeat gradually slowing to a steady, regular rhythm.

She draped her leg over his and laid her hand on his stomach, her fingertips moving over him in tiny caresses. He wrapped his arms around her, stroking the velvet skin of her arm and shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and felt her warm breath as she sighed her contented satisfaction.

E
ntwined and exhausted, they gave in to the embrace of sleep.

Chapter 22

Megan woke early next morning to find Nat not in bed. She immediately scrambled out from under the duvet and rummaged in her bag; the key box was still in there. Nat's clothes were still heaped on the bedroom floor where they had fallen.

Wrapping herself in her robe, she went in search of him.

He was in neither the bathroom nor his own bedroom. She found him in the study, slumped in his chair. He already had a glass in his hand and she was relieved to see it contained only orange juice.

Squatting down beside his chair, she placed her hand on his arm, stroking gently through the hair.
'Are you alright, sweetheart?'
she asked.

He put his hand to her cheek and stroked it with his thumb. He studied her silently; her face, her hair, her skin, her mouth and in particular her eyes, taking in every nuance.

She followed his roving eyes with her own, and put her hand over his, pressing it to her 'What's the matter?' she asked.

He
had woken with a vague sense of disorientation. He was in the wrong room, the wrong bed and he was not alone. He registered the presence of a warm, female form wrapped around him like a duvet, her head heavy on his chest and her arm around his torso. He could feel her breath on his skin and from her, as always, the faintest scent of roses.

The memory of the previous night flooded into him. As he stroked his hand over her bare back, she stirred and sighed in her sleep.

The movement of her body against his stimulated a desire to wake her, to touch her and kiss her and make love to her. He wanted to experience the previous night over again, but crushing feelings of uncertainty and anxiety quickly overtook his urge.

Carefully disentangling himself from her hold, he slipped out of bed. Blood rushed back into the arm on which she had lain and pins and needles stung the numbness back to life. He covered her nakedness with the duvet and padded across the landing to his own bathroom, needing to pee.

Vigilant of hygiene, he took time to rinse his hands under the warm tap. As he did so, he glanced up at the bathroom mirror and caught sight of a face he did not immediately recognise
. Admittedly, the bright fluorescent was unsympathetic at the best of times; it created harsh, unnatural shadows and accentuated each and every line, but a long hard look at the reflection confirmed it was in fact, his own.

He looked a mess, with his rough, unshaven face and his deeply furrowed brow. His hair, now more grey than brown, stood awry on one side, and there were dark shadows and wrinkles around his bloodshot eyes. What he, in truth, saw staring back at him from the mirror, was the image of his own elderly father. He looked at the reflection with despair, and suddenly felt
the weight of years descend on him
.

'
What in God
'
s name does she see in
you
?
'
he questioned the image.
'Look at you. You look like a fucking tramp.'

He turned away from the
mirror in disgust, dried his hands and arranged the damp towel neatly on the dryer.

Megan liked the towels to be tidy, she was fussy that way. It had been a bone of contention between them from almost the very first day she'd arrived. He had developed a bad habit of abandoning damp towels on the bathroom floor and she always admonished him for it. Once, just for spite, he had left one there on purpose, knowing it would annoy her.

Throwing on his robe, he went downstairs to his bolthole. He needed to think; he wanted a drink, and then remembered there was none to be had.

Shit! Of all the times to run out.

He settled himself in the easy chair, glass of orange juice
in one hand, aspirins in the other. His hangover was nowhere near as bad as it could have been and he was grateful for small mercies. Swallowing the pills down with a gulp of juice, he rested his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes.

Immediately thoughts and images assailed him from all directions. Inside his head, they were jumbled, upside down, inside out, spinning around and jostling for recognition, and nothing made any sense. It was a jigsaw with all the pieces cut the wrong shape and no picture to guide him. The puzzle was Megan and why she was there.

Is there a word for
women who have sex with old men,
he thought. Is it some kind of
-
phili
a
, some kind of perversion? Is it even legal? Why
is
she here? What does she want from me?