The Accidental Mistress (9 page)

‘I never said that.’

‘I should think not, but even so, I’ll probably have to spank you when I get home, just to make sure you don’t cast any more aspersions.’

‘You’d do that anyway. Spank me …’

‘True. Because I know how much you like it. Now, was there a certain little gadget amongst the things that were delivered? Something purple and white? I’ve a fancy to see how that item might work.’

Uh oh! Could she? Dare she? Over a video link? Somehow it seemed even ruder than the idea of using it while he was actually in the room with her.

‘Oh, come on …’ His tone was sultry, coaxing. ‘You don’t have to show me it
doing
anything. You can stay out of camera range if you’re bashful. I just want to know if it works. Think of it as a way to relieve
my
tiredness and stress, as well as yours.’

Lizzie shuffled across the bed, and opened the box in question. She’d investigated it earlier and found the contents to be fully charged, and ready for action. ‘Is this what you mean?’ She held up the thoughtfully shaped little ovoid, the luxury high-end vibrator.

‘That’s the one. Turn it on.’

She pressed the ON button, on the basic setting, and it hummed in her hand, a soft, provocative buzz. Her palm tingled … and so did somewhere else. ‘It … um … feels quite powerful.’

‘Excellent. Nothing but the best for my Lizzie. Why don’t you give it a whirl?’

My
Lizzie. How good that sounded. Even under the circumstances.

‘I don’t think I can do it with you watching.’

‘Then slide out of view. Your voice will be enough to get
me
going.’

Lizzie complied, turning the laptop to face out into the room.

‘I see your bedroom is well up to its usual pristine standards,’ came John’s voice from the speakers, and Lizzie felt as embarrassed about the mess of clothes and books and sewing stuff as she was about the prospect of masturbating for him.

‘Well, you know me … and I have been busy.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Just proceed.’ He was a parody of stern now, his voice that of her strict but caring master.

Still nervous, she slid off her pyjama bottoms, and worked her thighs apart. Heart thudding, she pressed the Lelo against herself, parting her sex lips so the business end of it lay against her clit.

‘I’m not hearing any buzzing.’

‘Give a girl a chance!’

She turned it up. It purred. Her clitoris leapt in an instant surge of pleasure, the delicious rhythm making her gasp. Wiggling against the pillows, she opened her thighs wider, settling the little device close in.

‘Good?’

‘Yes … very.’

It
was
good. Divinely so. Not organic like the touch of John’s fingers, but differently exciting. Clever as he was, he couldn’t move his fingers as fast as the vibrations. She squirmed, holding it tight, not able to keep her hips still.

‘Good as me?’

Ah, so like a man …

‘Different.’

‘Ah … tact … even at a time like this.’ His voice sounded a little breathy, and over the hum of the Lelo, she could hear shuffling sounds emanating from the laptop’s speakers. Was he masturbating? Even as she jerked her hips about, driven by the thrumming vibrator, she hoped so. Pleasure really might help to relax him, and let him sleep and catch up after his flight.

‘Are you wanking, Mr Smith?’ she asked, gasping. ‘Could be …’ He was gasping too.

I should hold back, make this last. Prolong the experience.

But, fuck it, she couldn’t. She turned up the vibrations a notch, and cried out at the sudden jolt.

‘Oh … oh God …’ Her body got the better of her, and orgasm bloomed, intense and violent. Unable to contain her moans and cries, she crested the wave, keeping the vibrator pressed close, battling it, subduing it, conquering it. Her hips thrust of their own accord, one, two, three, lifting up off the bed. She shouted ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ in time to her undulations, only dimly hearing John’s voice in the background, crying out, ‘Oh Lizzie, Lizzie … my beautiful girl.’

On two sides of the Atlantic, they lay in silence for a few moments. Well, not quite silence. Their breathing, their heavy breathing, was in sync. Then, as she settled back into
herself, Lizzie tossed the vibrator aside, and wiggled back into her pyjama bottoms. She knew it was irrational, but she needed to be covered again before she turned the laptop back around.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked softly, and was rewarded by John’s low, provocative laugh.

‘I am now, thanks to you, gorgeous.’

When Lizzie turned the screen to face her again, she saw John had a light flush of pink across his fabulous cheekbones, and he was unconcernedly wiping his fingers with a tissue.

‘You dirty devil,’ she said fondly, wishing she could reach across the miles and give him a hug.

‘Very true … but I feel much better for that. Thanks to you, my sweet.’ He flung aside the tissue, and Lizzie wondered if his trousers were still open. The angle of the screen made it impossible to see, and it seemed that, despite his claims, he too was rendered as bashful as she by their mode of communication. If he’d been beside her, he’d have been flaunting his cock, even if it was temporarily soft. ‘God, I needed that.’ As she watched, he subsided against the pillows, his head tipped back. The way his bare throat tautened, framed by his open collar, looked strangely vulnerable. She longed to press her lips soothingly against his skin there. He was more relaxed now, but she could still see that troubled quality in him. To a degree that she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen in him before.

‘What is it, John? What’s bothering you?’ She hesitated. Was she crossing an unspoken boundary? He’d said there were things he might never tell her, but she wished he would, so she could help him resolve whatever bothered him. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not my business … but I just thought I might be able to help … you know?’

His eyes remained closed, those lashes of his so shockingly and irrationally dark against his cheekbones. Was he practising his bio-feedback? Trying to get control of himself? Perhaps reining in his vexation at her nosiness?

I shouldn’t have spoken. But I only want to help.

‘I know that, sweetheart. And I know you mean well … but not now, eh?’ His eyes snapped open and, to her relief, she saw no rancour, just a hint of sadness. He wanted to tell her – something – but just wasn’t ready. Yet.

And he’d also read her mind, apparently.

‘You did it again, John. Answered me as if I’d spoken when I haven’t.’ She laughed, though it spooked her slightly.

‘Did I? Sorry … I just feel as if I know you so well. Crazy, isn’t it? You don’t think you should ask me questions, do you?’ He leaned forward, closer to the screen, and she could see the faint lines around his eyes, the laughter lines and the beautiful weathering of his forty-six years. ‘I can understand how you feel … I’d be the same. I’m an awkward cuss, I know.’ He reached forward, pressing his fingers to the inert surface of that laptop in a New York bedroom. Instinctively, Lizzie did the same to hers, willing herself to feel his beloved touch. ‘I … I’ll try to tell you more when I get home, I promise, but now I think we both need some sleep.’ His lips quirked. ‘It’s not bedtime here yet, but I’m useless for anything else. Especially now I’ve had my wicked way with you … after a fashion. And you need to rest too.’

‘I am a bit tired,’ she admitted. Orgasm did that: the release of tension. Oh, if only she could lie in his arms to nod off.
He
probably wouldn’t be able to sleep, but she would. Even knowing his phobia was far from banished yet.

‘Of course you are, love,’ he said, his voice soft, kind, almost hypnotic. ‘And now we’re going to say
au revoir
, and
you’re going to turn your laptop off and go to sleep. And I’ll try and do the same. I’ll email you, or text or phone you tomorrow, as soon as I get the chance and I know you’re up and about.’

How lovely was the way he spoke. So smooth, so musical, so soothing. She felt her eyelids drooping, even though it denied her the sight of his heavenly face.

‘Goodnight, beautiful Lizzie, sleep well. I’ll be back home with you soon.’

‘Goodnight, John … goodnight.’

Abruptly, the connection cut. It was like a knife … and yet a relief too.

If they’d stayed online longer, he might have seen tears trickling down her face, and that would never do.

It had helped. Talking to Lizzie, flirting, playing a little sex game. Coming with Lizzie, yes, it had all helped. Leaning back against the pillows, John searched for his inner calm and happy place, where she dwelt.

How delectable she’d looked, all cosy and cute, and yet the ultimate temptation. A goddess in her skimpy vest and old pyjama bottoms, her black hair a bit tangled and mussed up, fringe all awry instead of styled with its usual trademark precision. No make-up, no lipstain … a perfect, unaffected beauty.

He imagined what he’d heard. Lizzie wriggling about, teased and tormented by the toy he’d chosen for her. Legs akimbo … pyjama bottoms off? Yes, he thought so. There’d been rustling and tussling in the speakers. Her body would arch; her face would be a divine mask of orgasm, taut yet lovely, eyes tightly closed.

It had been easy, and it’d felt so right to stroke himself
as she’d taken her pleasure, an ocean and time zones away. She’d been close, just when he needed her. Absolute solace.

But now he was alone, confined with a source of disquiet and regret he’d not expected to encounter here in the Big Apple. He frowned with distaste at his mobile phone, and as he did so, the fucking thing rang again.

He didn’t have to read the name and number to know who it was. This was the fourth time. Why the fuck was
she
ringing? It wasn’t as if their first encounter after all these years had been a joyous reunion. He’d managed to be cordial to her, but it had taxed him. He, the tactician, who could always sweet talk the most pugnacious of business opponents, and rigorously contain his anger or distaste in the most combative situations.

But
she
was Clara, the woman he’d once loved. The woman he’d twice loved.

Oh God, the tricks pure chance could play! If only he’d decided to go straight back to the hotel after his last meeting. But no, on a whim, he’d decided to snatch the opportunity to visit his ex-wife, knowing Caroline was at her Manhattan townhouse. And it had been so good to see her. They were still fond of each other, and he valued her opinion and her wisdom. He’d been just on the point of telling her about Lizzie and himself, something he knew would have pleased her no end, when the thing he’d never expected – but which, if he’d had half a brain cell, he should have been prepared for – had happened.

Clara had arrived, and he’d been so angry with himself, for not being on his guard, that he’d felt like breaking something.

You’re a half-witted idiot, man. Why wouldn’t Clara be there? Caroline’s her
mother
, for God’s sake! Of course there’s always a
chance, albeit slim, that the woman who makes a habit of fucking you over might be visiting her own parent.

And now he was still angry, still confused. Angry at Clara because she’d made him think about
her
, and that’d blurred his focus on Lizzie. Lizzie was the woman he
wanted
to think about, and who was all give, give, give, and not take, as Clara had always been.

And yet Clara was part of what made him what he was. He’d given up long, hard years of his life for her sake. He’d adored her once. Hell, he’d adored her twice …

He could still remember his irrational elation when she’d sought him out after he and Caroline had parted. Forgiveness had been easy. He’d been full of hope …
This time
, he’d thought.
This time, we’ll get it right. She was scared before, thrown into turmoil by what had happened.

So, he’d given her a second chance, and for time a she’d moved in. He’d thought about marriage. And so had she … but not to him. Staying with him had been her bolt-hole while she’d formulated bigger plans. She’d targeted another prize, even greater than the vast wealth he’d amassed by then.

And when she’d snagged what she wanted, she’d been away, and laughing. ‘Surely you knew it was just fun, darling. It could never really be serious again between us.’

Now she was poison to him. She’d made him hate himself and feel like a lovesick fool. And she’d soured the whole experience that he’d called ‘love’.

Meeting at Caroline’s, he’d all but cringed when Clara had touched him, almost wanted to physically shove her away, brush off the taint. He could almost feel that soft hand on his arm now, so insidious. He could still sense the iron will beneath her understated flirtatiousness. Clara had a habit of fighting dirty for what she wanted, and getting it. And he’d
had an almost sickening feeling that it might be
him
she wanted again, despite their chequered history.

Oh Lizzie, if only you were here. You’re my Amazon princess, and one touch from you could wipe away the memories, and make me feel whole again. With you I’m a man, not a dupe. A strong, unsullied man who dares to
feel
… something.

But Lizzie wasn’t here. She was back home, thousands of miles away, and the elegantly smiling spectre of Clara was squeezing her out of his mind. He eyed his laptop, tempted to fire up Skype again, and pour his heart out to his beautiful accidental lover, even though it was only a few minutes since they’d broken the connection.

Don’t be a selfish git. She needs her rest.

Instead, he pulled up a screen-grab he’d taken. Her lovely smiling face. Not the clearest shot, but enough.

He set the laptop on the broad bed at his side, the image of Lizzie as his guardian angel, fending off memories and regrets, battling all unknowingly against a rival she didn’t know existed.

Perhaps he’d try to sleep in her presence after all? Either that or lie awake, gazing at her face, so he could blank out that other one.

‘So, no more naughty Skyping to tell me about, then?’