The Bonk Squad (35 page)

“
Good thing we don’t have
our mouths taped shut. You can give the paint a lick if it’s too
dry,” she murmured. “God, what am I saying?”

“
You’re suggesting I give
it a lick, Meg.” He was more than willing. His brain buzzed. He
breathed her perfume in. He bent his head and ran his tongue over
her flesh, and felt her breast shuddering with every heartbeat. His
thumb magically centered itself over her nipple. He rubbed, and his
groin jolted as he felt the little mound stiffen into a hard
inviting nub.

“
I think that needs
licking, too,” Meg said in a strangled voice.

He moved his mouth lower and bit her
through the knit fabric, flicking his tongue back and forth, and
thrilling at her sudden soft grunt. His other hand settled into a
similarly pleasurable position. Meg moaned encouragement and buried
her fingers in his hair to urge him even closer.

“
Wait!” she gasped a few
seconds later, dropping her hands and pushing at the straps of her
top. Ian deserted her nipples to offer help, catching his breath as
he peeled the fabric down to reveal her lush curves.

“
Jesus, Meg, they’re
something,” he groaned, cupping her up, weighing her warm flesh
reverently. “You’re beautiful. You’re amazing.” He bent to rub his
cheek against her, rooting around like a baby until he once again
had his mouth full and busy.

She stroked his neck. Out over one
hard shoulder. Down his dusty warm back.

“
We’re filthy,” she
whispered. “God knows what I taste like—paint and perspiration?”
She gasped as a surge of warmth raced from her breast to deep in
her belly. “I can’t possibly come on the bathroom floor,” she
moaned.

Ian released her nipple with a gust of
laughter. “It’s a perfectly good floor. Personally guaranteed.
You’ll enjoy it.”

“
I’d enjoy a shower
first.”

His inventive mind easily conjured up
a soapy naked Meg. Being caressed by his hands. Invaded by his
fingers. Gulping in huge breaths as she drew close to
climax.

“
You’re on,” he said,
pushing himself to his feet and pulling her up beside him. “Feel
what you’ve done to me,” he added, backing Meg up to the new basin
so he could press Very Big Willy against her.

“
Yes please,” she murmured,
pushing her hand down the waist of his shorts and closing her
fingers around him possessively. “But we have to watch out for the
wet paint, Ian. And the new soft grout. We should go
upstairs.”

Step for step, like a pair of
geriatric formation dancers, they shuffled out through the doorway
and along the hall. Mouth on mouth, his hands massaging her
breasts, hers circling his cock, they bumped and wove and groaned
along. Meg backed up onto the lowest step. Ian pressed against
her—his hard length now aligned exactly with paradise. “Great
height, Meg,” he gasped. “We should do it right here.”

Her fingers squeezed and teased, up
and down. Then she tore her mouth away from his long enough to say,
“I’d rather be nice and clean for you.”

He buried his face in her neck.
“You’ll be nice for me, regardless. After the shower I’ll give you
extra treats.” He imagined settling between her warm thighs, his
questing tongue sliding around the folds and ridges of her sex
until she moaned and tensed and shattered.

Her breath hitched, obviously thinking
the same thoughts. “What sort of treats…”

He urged her up another stair.
“Anything you’ve ever dreamed about,” he murmured. “Any sexy thing
you’ve thought of and not dared to write down.”

“
I can come up with a few
of those...”

Ian nudged against her again, and she
turned to climb the stairs—one hand still down his shorts as though
he was equipped with a useful handle.

He glanced around Meg’s pretty room as
she led him through the door. “I’ve been imagining this
lately...your bed...you and me together in it.” He kissed her
again, more tenderly now the hot urgency had given way to dreamy
reality.

“
Me too, Ian.” She stroked
his face, gazing up into his eyes.

“
These last few days, I’ve
been thinking about this a lot,” he said, lowering the zipper of
her denim shorts. “It’s a wonder I lined the tiles up straight, I
was so desperate to touch you.” His fingers slid over the slippery
red panties he’d glimpsed...in under the elastic to where she was
so wet.

Her groan of frustration made him feel
like the most wanted man on earth. He stroked gently, sliding until
her breath hitched and he knew he’d found gold. She leaned against
him, clutching at him convulsively each time he drew forth twitches
of pleasure.

“
I can’t wait,” she moaned,
releasing him. “It’s faster if we undress ourselves.” Obviously
equally hungry for him, she wriggled away, tweaked the bedroom
blind to a more comforting level of dimness, pulled her black top
up past her face, and tossed it onto a chair.

Ian watched her breasts lift as she
raised her arms over her head. What a curvaceous and desirable
woman she was. Thin, bony Liz had nothing on Meg; funny how quickly
his preference had changed. He toed off his elastic-sided work
boots, and peeled shorts, underpants and socks away with one
desperate swipe down his legs. By the time he straightened, Meg
wore nothing but skin and a smile.

“
Come here, you gorgeous
thing,” she invited.

Their bodies pressed together. Flesh
slid against flesh. Lips and tongues gave and took. Ian’s brain
swirled with red lust.

“
Shower
now
,” he demanded, easing her
away.

“
Yes sir,” she agreed,
leading him into the en-suite bathroom and once again tweaking the
blind to lower the light level.

He reached across and touched her
face. “Let me see you, Meg.”

“
You’ll see plenty. But I’d
rather I wasn’t too well lit this first time.” She reached into the
shower cubicle and pushed the mixer lever around. Nothing happened.
Disbelief widened her eyes. “No water.”

“
Fuck
!” Ian howled, thwarted for the moment. “I turned it off at
the mains. I’ll tear down and put it back on again. Don’t
move...”

Frustration beyond anything he’d ever
known swept over him as he grabbed one of Meg’s pink towels from
the warmer rack, threw it around his waist, and thudded back down
the stairs.

Meg heard the door slam
against the stopper in the hallway as she waited, pleasure denied
for the moment. Random thoughts swirled in her sex-addled brain.
She was doing this with
Ian
?

The same Ian who had been her friend
for so long, and who now had her body alight and awash with
wanting?

She laughed with joy and disbelief—not
just at the recent image of her soon-to-be lover thwarted by
malfunctioning plumbing, but with the delight of possibly finding
the ‘pleasant-looking, nice-natured man’ who would understand her
obsession for writing. Maybe it was too much to hope for long term,
but for today he was perfect...just perfect.

Ian raced around the corner of the
house to where the connection was, wrenched the handle into the
‘on’ position, then belted back along the path.

And skidded to a sudden halt as Vi
appeared around the dumpster of garden and bathroom rubbish. She
carried two books and a bunch of white Iceberg roses.

“
Ian!”

“
Vi! Shit!”

Devoid of further speech, they stared
at each other. Vi’s sharp eyes widened as they fastened on his
erection, all too visibly outlined under the flapping pink
towel.

Ian clamped a hand over the evidence
and closed his eyes.

“
First you and Liz,” Vi
quavered. “Now you and Meg?”

When he opened his eyes a few seconds
later, he found her clutching a hand to her heart as though seeking
the strength to breathe.

“
Never
Liz,” he insisted. “But me and Meg any moment now, Vi. This is
not a good time for visiting, believe me.”

He bolted the few paces to the door
and slammed it in her astonished face.

“
Did I hear voices?” Meg
asked as he burst into the bedroom again, flushed and
panting.

“
Must have been the radio
next door,” he improvised, praying Vi had been shocked enough to
trundle off home instead of trying the doorbell. “How’s that water
now?”

Meg tweaked the mixer lever again. Air
bubbles hissed and fizzed for a few seconds, and then water spurted
out in a rush. “Some plumber seems to have done quite a good job,”
she grinned.

“
Some plumber’s aiming for
better than ‘quite good’ for the rest of the afternoon,” he said,
unwrapping his towel and joining her under the torrent.

Much, much later, relaxed and sleepy,
Ian said, “This deserves something special.”

Meg raised her face from where she’d
pillowed it on his chest. “Champagne? I might have a New Year
bottle left in the fridge?”

“
Nothing so predictable.”
He kissed the end of her nose. “I don’t know how you’d feel about
this, but I’ve got a fantastic new Iris hybrid I’d like to name
after you?”

Warmth spread right through her as she
gazed into his serious and hopeful eyes. His Irises were his
special project. His life’s work. And now he’d invited her to be
part of it. She smoothed her face against his shoulder. “That’s
certainly a huge honor, Ian. I’d love it. Amazing. Thank
you.”

“
Special flower for a
really special lady. I’ve been wondering what to register her
as.”

“
So she’ll be called ‘Meg’?
Or ‘Meg Josephs’?”

“
Just ‘Meg’, I
think.

“
That’s a bit plain, isn’t
it?” She lowered her head to his chest again and pulled a few
possible alternatives from her fertile imagination. “Memorable
Meg?”

“
That’s for
sure...”

“
Mistress Meg?”

“
Stiff and starchy. Too old
fashioned. Mistress Meg wouldn’t have been up for some of the
things we’ve just done.”

She tried to stifle a grin, and
failed. “Probably true. But wasn’t it nice?”

“
Nice doesn’t come close.”
He reached up and wound a length of her pale hair around and around
his finger before cradling her face. “But you’re right—something to
go with the Meg.” He stayed silent for a few moments. “How about
‘My Meg’?”

“
Am I yours?”

“
Hell, I hope so!” He
kissed her with sudden passion.

“
Mmmmmmmm, that did feel
quite possessive,” she teased.

Ian’s heart expanded. “My Meg. All
mine.” It seemed so right. The woman he’d been longing for had been
right under his nose if he’d only he’d had the sense to see it. He
patted her curvy butt and pulled her closer, releasing his breath
in a contented sigh.

Meg nestled against his chest again.
“So what’s my flower like?”

“
Your Iris? The falls are
just the color of these,” he said, tweaking one of her
nipples.

“
Falls?” She turned and
bit him gently, sucking his flesh until the blood rose and she’d
yet again marked him as hers.

“
You still giving me
love-bites?” Ian murmured.

“
Everywhere I can. If I’m
your Meg, you’re my Ian. No other woman’s getting hold of you now.
So what’s a ‘fall’?”

He smiled at her persistence. “The big
fluttery petals that bend downward. They have a little beard on
them. It’s a Bearded Iris.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t have a
beard though.”

“
Yes, you do. Right here.”
His fingers stroked low on her belly, and she stretched luxuriously
in the tangled sheets.

“
That’s not a
beard.”

“
Just a little fringe of
hair. Pretty golden hair.” His fingers plucked and played. Meg
laughed and tried to wriggle away but he held her captive with his
strong arms. “And the standards are the delicious creamy shade of
your breasts.”

“
So what’s a
‘standard’?”

“
They’re the petals that
stand erect.”

“
You’re the one who stands
erect,” she said, exploring in return, making his flesh stir and
lengthen. “See—you’re starting to do it again. What am I going to
do with you?”

“
Anything you like, Meg.
Anything you like at all,” he said, dropping a contented kiss on
her hair.

Neill Farrell quickly filed for
divorce from his awful wedded wife in Aberdeen. Romy didn’t dare
ask if he was living legally in New Zealand.

Bobbie Rutherford discovered on
holiday that Jamie MacArthur’s penis did not have a forked end.
Despite being confined in a very small tent, with friends camped
nearby, they gave it a test-drive or two. She is considering
writing erotica again.

Al Sabatini rented out his apartment,
and he and Michael moved in with Liz and her children. This has not
gone down well with either Michael or The Bastard.