The Accidental Mistress (11 page)

With him here again, all was right in the world. All her doubts, all the niggles about who he might have met in New York, they were the anxieties of an imaginary person. Her only reality was John, his mouth, his hands roving over her
back and buttocks, his hands pressing her close to him; and, of course, his cock, solidly erect against her belly. Her hips rocked, massaging his hardness; she couldn’t help herself.

‘Yes … Yes …’ he gasped, then peppered her face with gentler kisses, greeting her jawline, her cheekbone, the corner of her eye, then travelling down to explore the uniquely tender spot beneath her ear, before drifting to the line of her throat.

For a few moments, time ticked by in slo-mo, as they kissed on. Lizzie explored too, sliding her open hands over his strong back through the cloth of his jacket, then gripping his fabulous arse to press their loins close together. In a dream world detached from reality, they’d hurry pell-mell to the nearest bed, rug, or even just an available flat surface, and fuck like wildcats. But eventually, a tiny voice at the back of her brain reminded her that they were in the real world, not a dream, and she had work to do.

‘Sorry,’ said John as they broke apart, catching their breath. ‘Fell on you like a slavering dog again, didn’t I?’ His face was aglow, and his beautiful eyes were merry. There were dashes of pink on his cheekbones.

Lizzie grinned back at him. ‘Don’t worry. I like it. And when I’ve got this little job out of the way, I’m looking forward to a whole lot more of it.’

‘Attagirl,’ he replied, then pulled out a chair from against the wall and subsided gracefully into it. ‘Do your thing … Then later we’ll do
our
thing, eh?’

Shaking, Lizzie gave him a nod, and then returned her attention to the dress, slipping it into the machine and taking up where she’d left off. The act of sewing calmed her, even under John’s scrutiny, and soon she was slipping the garment back on to the tailor’s dummy. Drawing in a deep breath to
centre herself, she sank to a crouch, scrutinising the hem one last time, and checking it was level all the way round. Luckily, it was spot-on, so she whipped the frock off the form for the final touches.

John had remained silent while she worked, but his presence still filled the room. She could feel his sharp eyes observing every action, and surveillance like that should have rattled her, but somehow it didn’t. She was totally excited by him being there, yet at the same time, inexplicably, she could still function and wield her craft. It was almost as if her fingers had moved even more confidently than usual as she’d handled the luxury fabric, double-checking that the stitching was even and perfect.

‘There,’ she said, to herself as much as to him, donning her thimble and taking up a needle to fine-finish the hem.

‘That’s a pretty dress,’ said John at last, as if he’d been waiting for the task to be near complete before disturbing her. ‘It reminds me a little of your golden dress, the one you wore at the Eyes Wide Shut party. I bet you look just as sensational in blue, though.’ His smile widened. ‘But then, you look sensational in everything … and also out of it.’

‘Mr Smith! I’m trying to work here.’ She smiled, though, because she’d thought the same thing about Mrs Cox’s blue dress. It’d reminded her of that night, and the party. An event she could look back on and relish now that Brent was doing well again.

John was lounging in the chair, one long leg crossed over the other, but she could still somehow see him kneeling before her, his face pressed to her crotch. Then a little later, bent over that fine old desk, his fabulous rear presented for her somewhat inept but surprisingly effective attempts at discipline.

She knew that wouldn’t happen all that often – John’s nature was too powerfully dominant – but she hoped that some day not too far away, she’d get another chance to play the dominatrix. To rule him with the strength that he inspired in her.

‘What are you thinking about? It’s not the dress, is it?’ His blue eyes had sharpened. He could see right through her. He knew, he knew …

‘If you must know, I was thinking about how it felt to wear that dress. And the state of mind I experienced that night. I just hope that Mrs Cox can feel something like that wearing this one.’ She touched the blue fabric. ‘Not the spanking and demanding to be called “mistress” part, of course … although you never know. Just a bit of that confidence. She seems to need it.’

‘Really? What’s her situation?’ He leaned forward a little.

‘Poor woman. She’s got this mega cocktail party thing for her husband’s boss, landed on her at the last minute. Reading between the lines, I’d say it’s causing awful friction, the whole situation. Her hubby’s desperately worried about losing his job, and she’s worried too, and because things are so fraught, they’re falling out.’ Lizzie frowned. ‘I wish I could do more to help, but at least I can make sure she has the right dress for the night, and it fits properly.’

‘Business is tough, Lizzie. But I understand the pressures,’ said John thoughtfully. ‘You’re a sweet girl to care so much about some woman you barely know. Are you like this with everyone you sew for?’

‘No, not really. It’s just the occasional nice person, like Mrs Cox. I could tell she was upset.’

‘You have a kind heart, love. Now, shall we deliver Cinderella’s frock and hope that the mean boss turns into
a frog? I’ve heard that these business martinets can be total bastards.’ He quirked his blond brows at her. Was he just as tough and mean to his many subordinates? She didn’t think so. But you never knew …

‘I have to press it first. You know, use an iron? You probably don’t even know what an iron is, with hundreds of drones to do everything for you.’

‘I’ve ironed,’ protested John with a smile, ‘although admittedly not for a long time. I’ll iron that for you, if you like? Just to prove I can.’

‘I’ll believe you, I’ll believe you. But it’s better I do it. I’ll be quicker!’

A short while later, they were all set to go, with Mrs Cox’s blue dress in a box, and Lizzie all spruced up after a swift few minutes in Marie’s tiny cloakroom while John summoned Jeffrey and the car. The chauffeur couldn’t have been all that far away, because the long dark limousine drew up to the kerb as they exited the shop.

‘Where are we going to?’ John asked from just behind her, as Jeffrey held open the back passenger door.

‘Number Two, The Limes, in Kissley Magna.’

‘Kissley Magna?’

Lizzie slid into the passenger seat and looked up at John, alerted by the note in his voice. ‘Yes, what about it?’

‘That’s interesting. The thing I have to show you is in Kissley Magna. A happy coincidence.’

‘What is it?’ she asked, curiosity rampant as he slid into the seat beside her. ‘What’s this mysterious thing you want to show me?’

‘Tsk tsk … patience … Wait until we get there.’

‘Can’t you even give me a smidgen of a hint?’

‘It’ll spoil the surprise.’

‘Oh, go on …’

John’s blue eyes shone with a slow glitter that was oh, so familiar, and as the smooth car accelerated away, he pressed the switch to raise the privacy screen between them and Jeffrey. Encircled in tinted glass and fine coachwork, they were alone, undisturbed.

‘A hint will cost you, Lizzie.’ His voice was low, and suggestive. Lizzie’s heart leapt, and low in her belly, lust that had been only sleeping, sprang awake.

She weighed the odds. They were barely ten minutes away from Kissley Magna. What could he do in that time?

Just about anything he wants, you dolt. And anything
you
want too.

‘OK, then … I’ll take my chances. Give me a hint?’

With that familiar teasing glitter in his eyes, he studied her a moment, playing his tongue over his lower lip. The devil, he
knew
how much that little tongue quirk turned her on. And he seemed to love watching her watching him as he did it.

‘Well, it’s a place, as much as a thing. That’s all I’m saying. Now … show me those delicious thighs of yours. I’ve been obsessing about them since I first walked into your shop.’

‘It’s not my shop.’ Her heart was thudding, and it was the first thing that rose to her lips.

John narrowed his eyes, and there was something else in there, mixed with the glow of desire, something calculating. ‘Ah, but it
could
be.’

‘What do you mean?’ She knew, of course, but it seemed important to challenge him.

‘I could make your boss an offer she couldn’t refuse. If you wanted it, the business could be yours.’

‘But I don’t want it! I love working with Marie, and she loves the shop and the business. Don’t you go making things
complicated by throwing money at her. You can’t just buy everything, John, even if you
can
afford it.’

Everything was quiet for a few heartbeats. Lizzie could almost hear the cogs of John’s brain turning over. She felt guilty, ungrateful, but she knew she was right.

Good God, are we arguing? Well, that didn’t take long …

But then he smiled. And it was bright, decisive, as if he’d weighed everything up, and already come to a satisfactory conclusion. ‘You’re right, of course.’ He laid his hand lightly on her thigh, just above her knee, where her slim skirt had ridden up. ‘Money isn’t everything … although “buying” you in the first place did bring us together.’ His fingers flexed, not quite caressing, but creating pressure.

‘I know that. But it wasn’t really buying. I was only playing. I always intended to give the money back … well, as much of it as I could.’

‘And I never wanted it. I only want you.’

He still spoke quietly, but there was ferocity there too. It was as if he’d compartmentalised their little debate over the shop, and whether he might buy it for her, and had now returned to the realm of the senses.

Lizzie opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her, running a slow, caressing fingertip up and down the inner slope of her thigh, pushing up her hem and rucking up the fabric of her skirt. Each stroke went higher, until he was almost touching her panties.

‘No stockings today?’ he enquired, his thumb barely a millimetre from her crotch.

It was hard to breathe, hard to speak. She fought not to bear down. ‘No, it’s too warm. Sometimes I just put on fake tan instead.’

‘It looks exquisite, like honey over cream. I’ve thought
about touching you all the time I was in New York. And now, here I am, and you’re all mine to enjoy.’

So possessive, perhaps a bit obsessive, but she wasn’t in a fit state to argue.
She’d
thought about being touched all the time he was in New York, and no amount of powerful orgasms with high-end sex toys could outdo the simple caress of his fingers.

‘Surely not
all
the time? Surely not in meetings?’ They’d covered this ground before, with John claiming he could still think about her and be sharp as a business rapier.

‘A lot of the time.’ He leaned close, his breath against her throat as he pressed lightly, with the side of his hand, against her pussy. ‘Do you want me to make you come? I’ll have to be swift …’ She saw him glance beyond her, out of the tinted window. ‘Because I’ve a feeling we’ve almost reached our destination.’

Lizzie swivelled, and God, yes, there it was. Even as he slid his fingers to and fro against the gusset of her knickers, outside, the sign for ‘The Limes’ passed by the window. They were almost at the Cox residence, in a short cul de sac. ‘We haven’t time,’ she protested, even though her body screamed for it. If he played with her and made her climax, she’d be crimson in the face and all of a flurry when they delivered the dress.

‘Do you deny me?’ His voice was arch. He was playing the dominant, but more in fun than earnest.

‘You know I don’t easily come on demand.’

‘Wilful … that’s what you are.’

‘Then punish me,’ she shot back at him, driven crazy.

‘I will!’ Pushing up her skirt right up to her crotch, he laid his hand flat on her thigh again, as if measuring … then landed a hard slap on the land of cream and honey.

‘Ouch!’ she yelped, less at the shock and the pain than at the electric jolt of desire at the same time. Her pussy fluttered, surging with lust, and she was on the point of changing her mind and begging … yes, begging … that he get her off, when he gripped the hem of her skirt, and smoothly and efficiently slid it down over her thighs, one pale, one fiery pink.

‘I’ll inspect that later,’ he said, Mr Brisk and Efficient as the car slid to a halt, ‘after we’ve delivered the dress to your Mrs Cox.’ Almost before the engine was off, John was out and darting around to the kerb-side. As Jeffrey opened the door, it was John himself who helped Lizzie out, handing her from the car, a courtier to his queen. And when Jeffrey retrieved the dress box from the boot, it was John who carried it, following two steps behind her, as if pretending to be subservient.

Lizzie still felt shock from the stinging slap to her thigh, but when Angela Cox opened the door, the young wife was so frazzled and flurried that Lizzie felt like an iceberg of composure. Angela was red in the face and had flour on her cheeks and even in her hair. She looked on the point of tears, almost, and fell upon Lizzie as if they were best friends.

‘Oh God, I’m so glad you’re here … At least one thing will be right. You did manage to alter the dress, didn’t you? I was so worried … with my weight loss and all.’

‘Yes, all done. And very beautifully, I assure you,’ announced John, from the rear, tapping the box, then reaching over, offering his hand to Angela. ‘I’m John Smith, by the way. I’m Lizzie’s boyfriend.’ The way he winked told the woman on the doorstep he considered the term ‘boy’ a slight misnomer.

Angela’s worried face lit up, unsurprisingly. John’s dazzling smile could do that, lift the spirits, even when they
were sinking to the pit. She ran her hand through her floury hair. ‘Please … please come in. And pleased to meet you, Mr Smith.’

The kitchen was a scene of disorder, but there was a nice smell of cooking, something very savoury, cheesy nibbles of some kind. ‘It’s all a frightful mess, but I think I’ve got things more or less under control, though, just about …’ She shrugged her shoulders.