The Bonk Squad (9 page)

Ben broke into her dreamy
speculations. “Mom, can I have the car tonight please?”

“
Yes love. Drive carefully.
Where are you going?”

“
Movie.”

“
On your own?”

“
Noooo....”

“
With Tigger, by any
chance?”

“
Maybe.”

Meg smiled. “She’s a bit older than
you. Be careful.”

“
As in ‘if you can’t be
good, be careful’?”

“
Really, Ben! I meant don’t
go falling for her. She’s only home to escape some horrible English
winter weather for a while. Have a nice time. Al’s just rung and
asked me out to dinner.”

“
Well, you know what they
say, Mom—’if you can’t be good, be careful’!”

He ducked to avoid the affectionate
swat that was sure to follow. Meg grinned and went upstairs to
review her underwear selection and take a very long
bath.

As she soaked she thought with regret
of her lost writing opportunity. It would have been ideal tonight
with Ben out of the house and the computer all hers for once. She
needed three completed chapters. Then she could send them to the
publisher to show off the standard of her writing.

She began to compose her ‘query
letter’—the pleading letter they’d all practiced that afternoon.
The polite and hopeful phrases rolled around her brain as she
performed the ultimate leg-shave.

Tigger took her laptop out onto the
warm timber deck and thought for a few moments. How was she going
to make the rest of this work? So far she’d put the ad in the
paper, arranged a couple of phone calls, and got the girl nicely
relaxed with her glass of Sauvignon. Time to get to the action.
Closely followed by some action with Ben.

Tank would never know. Not that she
expected swaggering, disdainful Tank to be faithful while she
visited her parents. More than once she’d had her suspicions about
his fidelity in London. But it would be nice if he seemed pleased
to see her when she returned once the awful winter weather had
given way to tentative English spring.

She sprawled back on the planks for a
while, ignoring her story as her thoughts drifted elsewhere. At the
open French doors to her bedroom, the creamy voile curtains
billowed in the warm breeze. Late sunshine soaked into the denim of
her jeans, and she stretched with pleasure. She couldn’t imagine
being an Eskimo, snowed in and half dark for months on
end.

So.

Ben.

How was she going to tackle
this? Or tackle
him
, more to the point. She didn’t think he’d need much
encouragement. But he’d managed to restrain himself from grabbing
at her earlier that afternoon. She’d been truly surprised when he’d
just touched a finger to her nipple. Admittedly a nipple issuing a
perky invitation through the stretchy fabric of her
T-shirt.

Hell, she must have wanted him every
bit as much as he’d wanted her. When she’d gathered up his hand and
brought it back to her breast, he’d been gentle and respectful,
exploring with reverence and restraint—nearly driving her mad with
need.

Still seventeen.

He had to be a virgin, surely? But she
couldn’t ask him—that would be just too crass.

She wondered which movie he had in
mind. Some bang-crash-male-action-thing, not at all conducive to
seduction? Or might he be smarter than that? Maybe he’d elect to
suffer through something girly and mushy for her, in the hope she’d
catch the mood and want to continue. Was he that transparent? Was
he that clever?

Tigger bit her bottom lip,
still thinking of how to make her story evolve—another one to load
onto Amazon under her Deepli D’Amore name. Tank had suggested she
called herself Hardy Blue. “They won’t know if you’re male or
female, babe. And blue kinda sums up your style.” He hadn’t added
it would be extra publicity for his rock band. He was Tank Hardy
(or Thomas Hardy really. How could his parents
do
that to him?) And Blue was Blue
Smith from Seednee, Orstralia. Together with a couple of other
hangers-on, they were The Hardy Blue Band, with regular enough work
in a couple of London clubs. Regular enough access to salivating
women, too. Tigger had few illusions about that, but while Tank
thumped his drums, she had uninterrupted time to write. A fair
enough trade.

No, she liked Deepli D’Amore. Deepli
sounded exotic, like something out of the Kama Sutra. Not to
mention sort of penetrating. Deeply.

She sighed and sat up, wrinkling her
nose at the faint aroma of fish and chips drifting from the corner
takeaway. Not so appetizing now she was full to bursting with Meg’s
afternoon tea and Eloise’s ham-and-salad dinner.

So what would she do with Sophie next?
Could she really send her upstairs to check out Ryan’s genitals?
She drew a breath of anticipation. Hell, it was only fiction. Only
an anonymous cheapie thrill for anyone with an e-reader. Yes,
Sophie could climb the stairs and see what she found. She opened
her slender Mac.

“
Amy
...?”

The deep masculine voice
made Sophie scrunch her eyes closed with mortification.

“
Is that your nom de
plume?” he teased. “Amy la Belle? Amy du Provence? Something sexy
and provocative?”

She stopped thumbing
through the photos on her phone and bravely tilted her head
skyward. On this delicious evening, French doors were open and
curtains stirred lazily in the soft breeze. Ryan from the upstairs
apartment leaned against his balcony railing, bare-chested, jeans
low on his hips.

“
Erotica?” he queried.
“Getting yourself in a sexy mood? Needing more information? Sorry—I
couldn’t help overhearing.”

His brown eyes danced. He
sounded far from sorry. He sounded as though he found her a total
joke.

“
Research,” she said,
hoping for a nonchalant air, and ripping her gaze away
again.

“
Research for your
writing? Mmmm...” He let the little hum of suggestiveness hang in
the air.

“
I just want to get
things...anatomically correct...okay? I don’t have brothers. And no
really serious boyfriends.”

Surely her blushing face
now clashed furiously with her scarlet slip-dress?

She huffed out a gusty
sigh. Ryan would have been ideal—a gorgeous guy who was never short
of female company. No doubt sexually experienced to a vast degree.
What a pity
he
hadn’t phoned. She could have had a nice anonymous chat with
him instead of this excruciating embarrassment.

“
Anatomically correct?” he
asked, amusement still all too evident. “You mean tab A into slot B
and so on? You can check out
my
tackle if you want?”

Sophie’s heart stuttered.
He couldn’t possibly be serious? What if she called his bluff? “Are
you on your own tonight?” she asked, daring to look up again. The
wine had given her the courage to hold his intense dark
gaze.

“
Yup. Rob’s working. Joe’s
taken Hannah to a movie. Bring the bottle up with you.”

Yeah,
right
, Sophie thought. But some brave
little devil made her reach out and grab it.

The door to the upstairs
apartment swung open as she approached, and pulsing music flowed
out and wrapped around her.

Ryan stood just inside,
tall, bare-chested, damp haired, smelling of sin and English
Leather soap. Up close there was more of him than she’d expected.
More shoulders, more chest, more smooth olive skin and crisp
curling hair. Her fingers clenched tighter around the neck of the
bottle.

“
This makes a change,” he
said, reaching for it.

She knew he wasn’t
referring to the wine.

He produced a couple of
glasses and filled them before leading her through to his bedroom
and closing the door.

Her good-girl’s brain was
appalled, but her bad-girl’s body seemed intensely interested. She
felt...what? Excited for sure. Strange all over. Ready to jump out
of her skin.

Ryan sipped his wine and
set the glass down on a chest of drawers. His gaze met hers. “What
would you like to see first?”

She slapped a hand over
her mouth, shocked, wide eyed. He wouldn’t really, would
he?

He reached for the zipper
on his jeans. The top button was already undone.

“
No!” she gasped, eyes
riveted on the fine line of dark hair running down from his
belly-button. He took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed
the soft skin inside her wrist. The parts of her not already
trembling or throbbing decided to join in. An enormous hollow ache
intensified deep inside.

“
You’re perfectly safe,
Sophie. If you want to look, I’m happy to show you. No strings.” He
laid her hand on his belly. “Unzip me,” he suggested.

There was no way in the
world she’d do that! She bit her bottom lip quite hard, set her
glass down beside his, and watched in disbelief as one of her
wayward hands grasped the waistband of his jeans and the other
fumbled for the tab of the zipper. She pulled it until she glimpsed
his snug black underpants, then stopped.

Ryan grinned, and pushed
the jeans halfway down his thighs.

Hard muscled thighs,
softly hairy, long and strong.

She swallowed, unable to
look away.

I’ll just pretend he’s in
swim-shorts.

Her eyes slid up over his
black pants to his taut torso. What lurked beneath that inky
fabric?

She reached out and placed
a tentative hand on each hip-bone, unsure whether she wanted to
hold him at bay or draw him closer. “How narrow you are, compared
to me,” she stammered. “And so much broader across the shoulders.”
Her admiring fingers couldn’t help but smooth up his hard body as
far as his collarbones. His skin hummed with energy. “Lots
hairier.” She trailed through the curling haze on his
chest.

Ryan’s breath hitched and
he sent her another wicked grin. “Better get these down or you’ll
miss my demonstration,” he suggested, taking hold of her hands and
returning them to his briefs. He tucked her thumbs inside the
elastic. “Push,” he instructed.

Never
! Sophie’s brain screamed.

Dreamily, she
obeyed.

She licked her lips. A
tube of rosy flesh sprang out, bobbing and swaying like an
elephant’s trunk, blindly searching for...her? She dared to touch
it with her forefinger. So soft...

Ryan grunted and
flinched.

They watched together as
he rose up; longer and thicker than she’d imagined a man could
possibly be, and much more complicated than she’d expected. He had
sculpted ridges, and the most amazing dark bulbous end.

“
Wow!” she whispered when
he’d finally stopped swelling.

“
A miracle of engineering,
huh?”

Was there a hint of
embarrassment in his voice? He’d been so confident when he’d
invited her up for a look.

“
Amazing,” she agreed.
“Can I touch again?”

The magnificent penis
jerked in response.

“
Go for it,” he invited,
voice not quite steady.

Sophie wrapped her fingers
around him, astounded at the firmness of his flesh now. She rubbed
up and down, feeling the outer layer slide like velvet over
steel.

“
Thank you,” she
whispered, releasing him.

Ryan pushed his clothing
to his ankles and kicked it away.

“
The balls are the rest of
the story,” he said huskily, cupping them in one hand and pulling
them forward so she could see. “Also known as nuts or bollocks...or
they’ve got lots of nick-names.”

“
I know that,” Sophie
said, staring at the strange bulging bag. Ryan parted his legs
slightly and let his testicles hang down again. Low, because the
night was warm. Her hand snaked out to cradle them, and she weighed
him in one damp palm, moving her fingers to feel the dense shapes
inside.

“
Aren’t they spooky?” she
said, awed and fascinated. She sat down on the bed and inspected
him up close.

“
Total magic,” Ryan
agreed. “I had an older lover when I was sixteen. She’d make me
stand up and then she’d kneel and take them into her mouth and hum.
It was like a hot, wet, all-surrounding vibrator. I went off in
seconds the first time—jism all over the room.”

“
Can I see that too? Would
you mind?”

His eyebrows rose. “You
want to watch me jerking off?”

She nodded.

“
Only if it’s mutual. I
won’t do it alone.”

“
Mutual?”

“
You do you. I’ll do
me.”

Her lips parted on a gasp
of surprise. “I couldn’t. I mean—I don’t.”

“
Never?” Now it was his
turn to look amazed.

Sophie
shrugged.

“
Take your panties off.”
His voice had gone hoarse.