The Gift (7 page)

Sandy writhed, feeling as if the top of her head might pop off from the pressure building and building inside her. But when she tried to twist towards Jay, pleading with her eyes for something, anything, everything, he merely
nodded towards the tableau playing out in the kitchen.

Almost in mirror image, the younger couple were rocking and writhing and jerking against each other, only Kat was free to moan and whimper and curse and encourage. She rode her lover’s hand like a wild pony, bearing down on him, demanding more and more and more.

‘Right, that’s it, you horny little bitch. I’ll teach you a lesson,’ Greg growled with the sort of sexual gravitas that Sandy might have expected from a rather older man, a veteran of erotic sophistication. Someone like Jay perhaps? Although he wasn’t exactly ancient himself. Thirties, perhaps, thought Sandy, finding it difficult to concentrate, although with the plastic surgery it was hard to know for certain. Shying away from thoughts of surgery, she wondered who exactly Kat’s frisky boyfriend might be emulating? Probably the patrons of the Waverley, the kinky ones everybody murmured about but nobody actually seemed to know.

Immolated on the hand of her own sexual sophisticate, she watched in astonishment as Greg manhandled Kat to the kitchen table and laid her face down on the chequered cloth, amongst the condiments and a few plates and cups that had been left out.

What the hell was he going to do? Punish her or fuck her? And as an aside, how desperately unhygienic was it to have a half-naked woman’s crotch pressed like that against a food-preparation surface?

‘So, what’s it to be? Your choice.’

The young man leaned over his willing victim and whispered something in her ear. Kat squeaked in protest, but her eyes popped with excitement and she began grinding herself against the tablecloth. She muttered an answer, but it was inaudible to Sandy.

But Greg, arched over Kat’s back and bare bottom, heard, and laughed. ‘You are so dirty, but I really think I love you, Miss Pussy Kat. You really know what I like, don’t you?’

What is it? What is it?

And though he was silent as a ninja behind her, Sandy almost imagined she heard Jay echoing her sentiments.

‘Mm, you have such a sumptuous arse, sweetheart,’ commented Greg, his hands settling on Kat’s rounded cheeks and pulling them this way and that. ‘And I can’t wait to get my dick inside it.’

Sandy’s pussy throbbed spontaneously, and without thought or conscious volition she bore down on Jay’s fingers, grinding against him. She could hardly believe what she’d just heard, but anticipating the show ahead made her sex ache and saturate the cloth pressed against it anew.

The young man moved quickly, making his preparations. Pausing only to fondle his lover’s bottom and crotch now and again, he unzipped his jeans, exposed his penis and then fished in his back pocket and brought out a packet of condoms.

Greg had a nice cock. A very nice one indeed, and for a moment Sandy wondered what it would be like to sleep with him. She couldn’t deny he had all the goodies a girl could want.

But then, behind her were other goodies. Better goodies. A man bigger, more dangerous and far more mysterious than the basically fun-loving – and apparently bottom-loving – Greg. As if to restate her allegiances, she rubbed her own bottom against the rock-hard erection behind her, and was rewarded by a slow hard rub at her clit, and a quick kiss on her neck.

‘Right, we need something to oil you up, baby,’ announced Greg cheerfully, fondling his rubber-clad penis with one hand and Kat’s nether regions with the other. ‘Any suggestions?’

‘There’s some olive oil in the cupboard,’ suggested Kat, squirming.

Oh no, not the Extra Virgin! Please use the cheaper stuff!

But Gregg was glancing around the room, and a second later he lit upon the contents of the table and his wicked grin widened. ‘Ah ha! Just the thing! If it’s good enough for Marlon Brando, it’s good enough for me.’

As if her own pleasure, and her own experience, were compartmentalised somehow, Sandy watching in horrified hilarious astonishment as Greg, the outrageous devil, reached for the butter dish. She wanted to get herself off on Jay’s hand, drag him somewhere and beg him to fuck her. She wanted to grab hold of him and shake him and make him tell her his secrets. But she simply couldn’t stop watching the show unfolding before her.

To a chorus of giggles and groans from Kat, and his own laughter, Greg lavished the Lurpak Spreadable in his lover’s anal groove, packing the stuff in and making her jerk and grind against him.

‘OK, baby, brace yourself!’ he cried cheerfully, positioning himself.

Kat began to growl like a she-wolf as he slowly pressed inside her.

It was the hottest thing Sandy had ever seen, the rawest. More outrageous than anything she could even imagine, there was still a sudden beauty in the rude coupling.

Greg cared. He went steadily. Carefully. Stroking and coaxing Kat and listening to her every moan and breath. He
was only doing exactly what she wanted. But after a few circumspect minutes, things got crazy. It was clearly not the first time the couple had done this. They seemed to be old hands. Jammed against the table top, reaching back and grabbing at her paramour’s hips and thighs, Kat’s eyes suddenly popped, widening and starting as she cried, ‘Oh fuck!’ She was coming, and Greg wasn’t far behind her.

Beneath the hubbub of Kat’s groans and shouts and Greg’s whoop of triumph, Sandy heard the words, ‘Do you want to come?’ She shook her head, but it was more in confusion than negation, and in answer Jay flexed his fingers firmly against her, wickedly playing and taunting her, his grip warm against her clit as he bore down on it through her clothing.

Tension. Pressure. Heat in her belly. All were almost intolerable, impossible to manage, and still keep quiet. But Sandy contained herself. Just. She wanted to kick, scream, ride Jay’s hand just as Kat had ridden Greg’s not so long ago. She wanted to come, howling and wailing and flailing her legs.

Yet she didn’t. She simply watched. Her body boiling, her bottom pressed hard against Jay’s cock, she clutched at his sleeve and the folds of her dress, her fingers gouging and crimping, her knuckles white.

Greg and Kat were chuckling, having the time of their lives. Sandy knew Kat adored her frisky lover, and he adored her right back. There was trust between them, and more, so much more.

Suddenly, an icicle dropped into the cauldron of her own lust.

Could she trust Jay? Should she trust him?

But the shard of doubt only increased her excitement.
Jay was unknown, dangerous and complicated. Intrinsically dark with his wounds and a history she sensed was troubled even beyond the monolithic trauma of being smashed near to death in a high-speed car crash.

He could kill me. He could smash me up in much worse ways than an Aston Martin ever could. He could take control of me. Make me want him. And then just leave.

Still a squirming slave to pleasure, she felt her mind and memory still working feverishly in a small corner of her consciousness. And for the first time in a long time or perhaps ever, a tiny kernel of resentment against Prince Charming began to fester. He’d left her too. Sowed a dream in her mind that had made every relationship since him come up short. Those few moments they’d spent together had meant nothing to him, but to Sandy they’d been the bedrock of all her girlish and later womanish romantic dreams. And her erotic dreams, oh yes. A thousand fantasy moments in which her prince returned and took her lovingly to bed. A dream that would never happen. But now she had a darker prince, casting a long spell, touching her sex.

Releasing the past, she embraced a present full of grit and edge and sweat and danger.

‘Jay,’ she breathed against his hand, and suddenly, in a silent fury, she arched and came.

Jay’s cock lurched, stiffening and stiffening again. He’d never felt this hard, and been this sure of it, not even in his life before the crash. It was as if his fears and injuries were a dark dream rapidly dissipating, a poisonous miasma flushed out by the light and warmth of Sandy.

As the woman in his arms arched against him in a spasm of orgasm, he almost staggered, overwhelmed by the sensations pouring through him, and by the clash of past and present, of dream and reality.

The couple jerking and shouting in the kitchen were like a puppet show, a diversion. It was the woman in his arms who kept his cock hard, sure and unfailing. And it was time to act, to seize the moment, and celebrate the miracle of his sudden unstoppable potency.

Snatching her up in a haphazard lift, he hauled her away from the door, and together they stumbled along the landing and up to the next floor with no thought of concealing their presence. Who cared if the other couple heard them? They were too far gone in their own games to investigate anyway.

There was a door on the left, and Jay kicked it open. The
thump of his foot rang out and the door panel flew back on its hinges, banging against the wall beyond.

He didn’t give a damn.

Luckily he’d discovered a bedroom. His eyes momentarily registered gross untidiness, and almost subconsciously he felt a stab of distaste. In his dreams, Princess had always been dainty, fastidious and immaculate, and even though he knew Sandy was Sandy, not a figment of his imagination, the sight of clothes flung across chairs, draped over the end of the bed and on the floor, and a Jackson Pollock scatter of cosmetics, used tissues, empty coffee cups and sweet wrappers covering every surface was a shock.

The bed was unmade too, frowsty and not quite clean.

The old Jay, used to luxury and the finest of everything, would have suggested a move to a cleaner, more sanitary room – if there was one – but the new unstoppable Jay didn’t care about anything but fucking, whether it be the woman of his dreams or otherwise.

He set her down hurriedly, almost throwing her onto the far from salubrious bed, and followed her down, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes as he went. Then, looming over her, almost afraid that the whole crazy incident wasn’t real, he kissed her on the mouth for the very first time since their brief encounter fifteen years ago.

Her lips were soft, and tasted faintly of wine as they parted, admitting him. Accepting her invitation, he rolled further across her, thrusting with his tongue as his hands devoured the feel of her just as hungrily, touching and travelling.

Her body felt perfect, a physical match for his fantasies at least. Beneath her thin clothing, Sandy was slender and pliant, yet full of shape. Her breasts were rounded, nipples
springing to attention as he fingered them through her dress and whatever soft underthings she wore beneath it. A gasp of pleasure puffed around his tongue as she responded to the roll of his fingertips around her nipples. First one, then the other. Her hips rolled too, as if she couldn’t contain the desire his touch evoked in her.

He moved further across her, throwing a thigh over hers and circling his hips and his aching crotch against hers. His cock leaped when her small hands roved over his back and his thighs, as bold and demanding as his own.

The touch of her fingers, so often fantasised about, was electric. Delicious jolts of sensation sped through his nerves, his blood, his senses, every sublime burst of it surging instantaneously to his groin.

Miraculous, increased hardness. Like stone. Safe. Unfailing. He sent up a prayer of thanks to whatever deity was looking out for him. Thanks for the twist of fate that had brought him here to this woman.

And he had to get into her. Immediately. Now. Not because he feared he might lose his erection, but because he simply couldn’t wait to fuck, to savour the sweet slide of her flesh against his, ‘Princess’ or otherwise.

His cock leaped again when her fingers found his belt, and started to fumble.

It seemed she wanted him just as desperately as he wanted her. It wasn’t the ‘first fuck’ scenario he’d anticipated, but who the hell cared about idealised dream-women in luxurious hotels with immaculate linen and bowers of roses when a real woman on an unmade bed felt so good?

Sandy couldn’t breathe. She wanted Jay so much she could barely think.

His weight, his size, the taste of his hard mouth and the heavy thrust of his cock, they all overwhelmed her. Between her legs she felt molten, a silent scream of lust that only he could calm.

Tugging at his belt, she marvelled at her own shamelessness. What he’d done to her in the garden at the Waverley had changed her. She was voracious now, demanding, absolutely sure of her actions and her right to satisfy her needs. She’d never felt sexual confidence like this before. If only this mighty epiphany didn’t have to happen on Kat’s pit of a bed though!

But desire was unstoppable, and needs must when the devil drove. Expelling all thoughts of what might have happened on these sheets, or worse still, been smeared on them, she wrenched at the elaborately crafted buckle of Jay’s belt, grinding herself against him like a randy she-devil as she struggled with it.

‘Here, let me,’ he growled, his mouth still mashed against hers. The feel of his neat elegant beard was strangely soft against her face, and his big hands dashed her small ones away as quickly and deftly he unfastened himself.

A beautiful big cock sprang into her grasp. Hot, hard flesh, coated in velvety skin, sticky at the tip with oozing pre-come. Her fingers coiled around it as if they’d been created solely for the purpose of caressing him. Restraining her urge to grab and to pump, she slid her grip lightly up and down, up and down.

‘Oh yeah …’ His husky damaged voice was rougher than ever, barely focused, almost not forming words at all. His hips seemed to move almost of their own volition, pushing the might of his rampant erection through her fingers.

But it wasn’t enough to touch. It wasn’t enough to hold. Even as she stroked him, she started pulling at her skirt, and then her knickers, with her other hand.

Dear God, please, please, please let Kat have condoms in her drawer!

Hands joined hers in the rush to get her panties off. Jay pulled as she pulled and, all in a jumble of tugging and touching and hot, hot flesh, they finally divested her of her underwear. Miraculously, she was still holding his cock as her flimsy knickers went sailing away across her friend’s bedroom.