The Mad British (18 page)

I brace my hands down on his hips and my head lolls back, my hair tumbling down my back. He hisses a short, sharp breath when my hips change directions and start rolling figure eights on him. He reaches out and slips a hand into my hair, round the back of my head, pulling it forward until my eyes, hazy with lust, focus on him.

"Look at me," he demands. I bite my lip as a lock of my hair falls over one eye, meeting his intense gaze. His hands slip to my hips and he grips them firmly, guiding me into an up-and-down rhythm on him. He lifts his hips slightly with every downwards thrust I make. I lean forward and start thrusting on him harder.

As he is sitting up slightly, my breasts press against his chest and he wraps his arms round me, pulling me close, palming my butt as I move hard against him. My tongue slips out between my lips and he darts his head forward to catch it.

I feel his breath on my cheek suddenly pick up speed and I start to tremble again. He pulls his lips from mine and says in a ragged breath, "Come hard for me."

A low, whiny moan pulls at the edges of my breath, building on itself, until I cry out, shuddering violently for the third time. I lean my forehead against his shoulder, panting, sweaty, as I ride through my aftershocks.

He gently lifts me upward, pulling out of me again, and guides me to lie on my stomach. He moves my legs apart with a knee and covers my back with his chest, moving to lie on top of me. He nuzzles the back of my neck before pulling my earlobe into his mouth.

"I want more, Adelaide," he groans dominantly, while he holds his length in his hand. He presses his fingertips to my chin gently, guiding my face back toward his, and enters my mouth, tongue first, as he slowly works himself into me with slow, short thrusts. I moan into his mouth when I feel his pelvis flat against me, feel him buried deep inside me. I reach up, grabbing the back of his head to hold him there and kiss him with everything I have.

He thrusts slowly and deeply at first, and I love how his firm lower stomach feels against my bum, love how he groans into my mouth. His own need seems to overtake him, and his thrusts gradually start to pick up speed and force.

"Oh God," I whimper. "Harder."

He presses his forehead to my temple, thrusting fast and hard. "Do you like it rough?" he rasps, teething at my jaw.

"Fuck. . ." I murmur. "Yes. . ."

He pushes himself up on his hands, and with seemingly new purpose, pumps into me harder and faster. I twist my fists into the blanket hard, and teethe the pillow.

"Come again," he says through gritted teeth. "I want to hear you scream my name." He sweeps my hair over my shoulder and kisses the skin of my back, running his tongue over the nape of my neck until I jerk, crying out, squeezing tight round him, screaming his goddamn name.

As my body rocks through my orgasm I feel his start to build. He bites into the back of my neck and comes, long and hard, growling through it. I squeeze my eyes shut as he throbs into me, easing his bite on my skin as I whimper softly underneath him. He leans his forehead between my shoulder blades as we both try to catch our breaths, and he kisses my back, my shoulders, my neck, my jaw, turning my face gently to catch my lips.

"James," I murmur, my voice sleepy and thick with satisfaction. "Don't even think about moving."

"Christ no," he breathes back. "Couldn't even if I wanted to."

I feel completely spent and satiated, but know that if I had this every day for the rest of my life, it still wouldn't be enough.

I want more of him.

We lie entwined, the air cold now against my skin. My eyes are closing as he presses a soft kiss against my lips. I smile in the dark.

"Negative seven," I whisper, my voice hoarse. I feel a gentle shake as he laughs softly.

"Negative five," he corrects.

I don’t have enough energy to respond, drifting off into deep sleep with James' arm wrapped protectively round me.

My mind wakes before my eyes open slowly. I’m first aware of the sunlight warming my face, then of the pocket of warmth my body heat has created under the duvet. Then I remember there’s supposed to be another body there, one that rocked me to the core last night—so goddamn much, I can’t believe I’ve enough testosterone left to wake up with alarm cock.

My hand reaches out to find her, and when I feel nothing but an empty mattress, my eyes fly open.

Déjà vu.

She did
not
do it again?

But the sound of wood creaking and soft brushing burns all my worries away.

“Thought I did it again, didn’t you?”

“Never,” I say, my voice groggy. I clear my throat. “Last night got you hooked on my sugar. There’s no way you’re leaving me now. Besides, you’ll get withdrawal symptoms.”

“Let me guess. . . only your sugar can cure me?”

“Damn straight, love, so don’t even think about it.”

Adelaide is sitting in a wooden chair next to her bed, stark naked, grinning at me as she draws on a sketchpad with a charcoal pencil.

I grin wide.

Her legs are splayed up on the bed as she balances the pad on her knees, giving me a clear view all the way up. I can’t help but look there first.

"Go back to sleep," she mutters playfully. "I prefer it when you’re quiet."

“Not what you said last night.”

I groan, blinking painfully. After sleeping in my contacts, it feels like they’re scraping the insides of my eyelids with hot rusty nails. "Come back to bed so I can remind you, woman."

"Nah." She suddenly pulls out the paintbrush that’s been holding her hair up. It falls in a curtain round her shoulders as she pops the brush handle between her teeth and starts tying it back again. "I want to finish this." She glances down, realises she’s flashing herself for all my cock needs, and for a moment, looks as if she’s going to put her legs down and die with embarrassment. The look passes, and instead she smiles wider and leans back, spreading open further. "Morning, handsome."

Seeing her completely naked body in full daylight, curving and soft and unblemished, forces me to pull her to the bed.

"What’re you drawing, love?" I reach over and run my fingers across her leg, feeling her shiver underneath my touch.

"You."

"Can I see?"

"No."

"Why?" My hand travels up her smooth, silky thigh.

"Because I'm not finished."

"Don't care." She hands me the pad and my jaw drops when I see what she’s been working on. "How long have you been working on this?"

"I don't know, maybe half an hour? That's why the shading isn't done on the right side."

I look at her again. "To hell with the shading, this is incredible."

“It’s not finished yet but I’m happy with the shading so far. It’s tight enough to capture the light glinting off your sexy bed hair and those to-die-for thick lashes of yours.” God, she’s incredible. I’ve really lucked out with her. "Why are you looking at me like that? I told you I’m not done. That's why your ear looks so two-dimensional."

I’m silent for a while, letting her finish drawing my ear, watching her furrow her cute little dark eyebrows as she blends. "Let me draw you."

"Can you even draw?" She laughs, picking another pad off the floor and hands it to me. "There's a number one pencil in there. It's soft enough to do some shading."

She could have handed me a crayon for all the good it does. My sketch is over in minutes.

"Let me see," she says, eagerly. I flip it over and she bursts into laughter. I’ve drawn a stick figure, with a bow stuck in the baldhead, and round cartoon breasts. A speech bubble hovers above the head, reading:
James sucks at drawing!

She drops her sketchpad down on the floor and crawls in next to me. "But he's good at other things," she purrs into my ear.

I pick up the pencil again and make an adjustment. Another character is speaking off the page in another speech bubble:
Like what?

She pushes the pad to the side and hovers over me, her hair falling round her shoulders. "He can show me. . . Like how to do the Sultry Saddle."

I roll on top of her, my hands braced on either side of her head. “Damn straight. And he can beat last night's score by at least one.” She giggles and I wiggle my brow. “Morning wood is on his side, love.”

I WAKE UP alone.

It’s nothing new.

I spend a few extra minutes burrowing under the covers, pointing my toes and stretching my sore calf muscles. I finally crawl out, naked, and stumble for the bathroom. I need a shower, stat.

I’ve been dating James for over three months now, since our first date in South Bank, and his luxury Kensington apartment still looks like an estate agent is going to burst through the door at any given moment and start showing buyers around with a tape measure. It’s bigger and nicer than any place I have set foot in, with huge wall-to-ceiling windows that light up at night with the city lights.

I am, however, a bit dismayed to learn he sees nothing wrong with bare walls, minimal furniture, and nothing more personal than a toothbrush. The bedroom is bare except for the bed—this I can’t be mad at, since I never knew the love one can have for memory foam—a mahogany bureau, and for some odd reason, a painting I had sold Preston a while back. It’s quite ghastly in retrospect.

The master bathroom is a bit better, mostly because I’ve slowly been filling it with my own toiletries, including a baby bamboo plant I made from a cutting of one of my own bigger ones, and a soap dish that Steffen had crafted for me as a birthday gift one year.

I clear away the empty beer bottles that tend to accumulate in the shower for some reason, then turn on the water and start washing away the smudges of charcoal, that for once, are not on my fingers, but smeared over most of my body. I think back to last night and stifle hot trembles at the memory.

Last night had gotten a little wild. I have the teeth marks on my left boob to prove it. Actually, it’s kind of sore. He had gotten a little over-excited once I’d started giving orders, but I’m pretty sure the words ‘bite me’ weren't to be taken literally in those kinds of situations. Maybe he’s getting back at me for leaving those marks on his neck last week.

He had left early, shortly after dawn, like he usually does, and probably won’t return until late evening. Twice he has gone on business trips, which are usually lonely for a time, but the reunions are quite pleasurable.

And naked.

I clean up and pull my clothes off the floor. I’m running late. Steffen will start calling and yelling at any minute.

James’ driver, Priyam, is waiting with the car downstairs on the street. "Good morning, Miss Queen," he greets. "Mr Hatter thought you might be running late and asked me to take you to your meeting. We'll go now?" He opens the door for me.

James knows me too well already.

True enough, Steffen is parked at a table in The Coffee Hole, sipping the foam from his vanilla latte and scowling.

"God, I thought you'd never get here. Nice outfit. Didn't know wrinkled is the new look for July."

I yawn. "Sorry, I had a late night."

"Is that what they’re calling multi-hour sex marathons these days? Your shirt is inside out."

I glance down. "Crap. Why are you in such a bad mood?"

"Oh God, I'm sorry, I haven’t gotten laid in six weeks and three days and I'm just jealous of you and your perfect sexy boyfriend that still hasn't moved Victory, by the way. Although I can't say that it's hurting you any." He opens a binder and slides an envelope to me. "Two more sold this week, including Pleco."

"Really?" I open the envelope and check the amount on the checks inside. "That one was practically growing mould."

"Really," Steffen assures. "Victory has a SOLD tag hanging on it, people see that it's in demand, that you're in demand, and suddenly you're the new hot artist on the scene and everyone wants a piece of you. It's like, the basis for our entire society. Do you think people actually want iPhones and flashy white SUVs and velour tracksuits?
Hello.
We want to have what everyone else does—I don't. I just want your boyfriend, is he queer yet?"

I drop my hands to my lap and think for a moment. "This is really happening."

"What is?"

"Everything." I look at him. "Everything in my life is suddenly really not sucking. I can't remember a time when everything just seemed to work in my favour." I squirm in my seat. "I wonder how long it will last."

"Stop with the negative. Can you just enjoy your success and your sickeningly happy relationship without thinking that everything's going to fall to shit?"

"That's the thing. Everything in my life usually does fall to crap eventually."

"Please. Cut. The stupid bullshit." He grabs my hand. "Adelaide, I know you've had a lot of crap happen to you. I saw your relationship with that. . .
creature
, crash and burn and you trying to dig your way out of that. Please stop thinking all of these good things happening to you is the exception and not the rule."

I sigh. "I know you're right, but I don't want to listen because it puts me out of my comfort zone."

"At least you're honest."

I pull my latte cup over and take a sip when I notice the familiar petite woman pop in the front door, carrying a briefcase. I wave her over. “Camilla. Hey."

“Adelaide, it’s good to see you.” Camilla smiles at Steffen and pulls up a chair. "Hi. I'm Camilla."

Steffen is utterly enthralled. "Why, hello you little ball of sunshine. Love the Louboutins."

Camilla giggles. "Thank you. I have to wear heels all the time or else I'm really short. I got the short gene in our family."

"This is Steffen." I gesture to him, internally grumbling that Camilla is dressed to the nines on a Tuesday morning, and I’m wearing last night's clothes with an extra side of wrinkles. "Steffen, this is Camilla. James’ sister."

Steffen leaps like he has just been run through with an electric current. "You're his sister? Oh honey, style runs in your family." I groan. Steffen is really laying it on thick for his audience, but Camilla looks rather flattered as she smoothes her hair down. Steffen continues. "If you don't mind me asking, babe, I know this one here and your brother have a thing going, but growing up, did he leave any hint or suggestion that he might—how do I put this. . .? Prefer lollies to donuts, if you catch my meaning?"

I sink my head to the table, wishing a bottomless pit would suddenly open in the middle of the floor so I can chuck Steffen into it. Or not a bottomless pit; maybe a pit filled with church ladies and polyester clothing. Yes, that would be more like Steffen's version of Hell.

Camilla starts giggling uncontrollably. "Um, I don't mind you asking, and no, I don't think so. I found a porn folder on his computer once, and there was no, uh, lolly-loving in it. Well, actually there was, but it was donuts that loved the lollies. And some donuts that loved other donuts. But nothing that was lolly only. Sorry, I think."

Steffen frowns. "That was my last attempt. I give up. I'll find some other straight guy to convert. Ladies, enjoy your lunch. Adelaide, I'll see you later. We need something to fill the blank wall. And just between you and me and Little Miss Alexander McQueen here, some other gallery is going to call and ask for one of your works to hang."

"Which other gallery?"

"One that has fake foetuses in jars. I'll tell them you're out of London."

"Thanks, Steffen."

Camilla is smiling at me. "Fake foetuses?"

I nod. "I’m considering giving one to Preston for Christmas since he loved my painting so much that he gave it to James. Anyway,” I say, opening my bag and pull out a sketchpad. “Here's what I threw together from what you sent me. I haven’t started working on the story yet, I just want to see what you thought of the design before I go crazy." I spread some loose pages out, head sketches of a long-lashed girl wearing a crown.

Camilla studies them for a long time. "These are beautiful," she says. "But a little too happy. She’s smiling in most of them."

"I can fix that. You're going to keep the ending to the story? The princess is still waiting in her palace on the moon for her prince to return? All the princesses of her court fade away and turn into jewels? It's kind of sad for a children's book, don't you think?"

Camilla never takes her eyes off the pad. "That's all I can see right now, for her and him, and the other princesses. Maybe they haven't told me their whole story yet, but maybe they will. And then I'll write it for them." She finally looks up. "I know that sounds a little mad, but these stories, it's like I don't really write them, you know? I see parts of the story and then I report them. Sorry, I know I sound like a lunatic."

I cross my arms and lean across the table. "Then I'm mad too, because I know exactly what you mean."

"Is that how you felt when you made that big painting? The one that my brother bought?"

"Yes."

"Then you do know what I mean." Camilla sighs and settles back in her chair. "So what were you up to last night? Your shirt is inside out."

I receive a text message right as I step through the doors of The Coffee Hole. He never uses any shortcuts, I think to myself, sipping my takeout coffee.

James:
Are you busy? xxx

Me:
Busy drinking. Wud u like sum lovin? x

James:
Hell yeah. I’ve had a beast of a day. xxx

Ah, that meant that deal or merger or whatever he was stressing about had gone flawlessly. He will be in a much better mood for at least a couple of days. Maybe he’ll even take a day off.

I accumulate some stares on the way to the financial district, but that really can’t be helped. Everyone else is wearing some variation of the same suit and tie, and walking really fast. They shoot me dirty looks when I stop to snap a picture of some interesting graffiti that someone had scrawled on a bus shelter.

His company's building is one of the newest and tallest in Canary Wharf. The lobby is crowded with suits, running back and forth, barking into mobile phones or tapping away on them. It actually has a lot of potential, I think, as I wait for the glass lift. There is at least forty feet to the ceiling of the lobby, and the bare black marble walls call for something more than the ugly brass and stone fountain sitting in the middle. Maybe one day I can come down and sketch it out, find something else to do with the huge expanses of bare wall.

James’ office door is shut and the blinds are closed. "Hi," I say to James’ secretary, Diana. Nice enough woman in her early forties with pretty auburn hair, but she never remembers my name.

"Hello Mi. . . Miss. Is Mr Hatter expecting you?"

"Yep." I never break stride. "Is he in with anyone?"

"No he's not, but—"

I ignore her and knock. "It's me," I call, letting myself in.

James is seated at his wide Italian office desk, his suit jacket and tie thrown across one of the black leather sofas.

"Hey you." The weight that has been burdening on his shoulders in the last two weeks seems to have evaporated. "Your shirt's inside out."

"Yes I know. Don't get up," I tell him, crossing the space and coming round to his side of the desk. I bend down and kiss him lightly. "Guess you had a pretty good day."

"You could say that." He isn’t exactly smiling, not yet, but I have a plan for that. "We should celebrate. Want a drink?"

I hoist myself onto his desk directly in front of him, undoing the first two buttons of my white cotton top. I part my knees a bit and start swinging my legs. "Not yet. I’m thinking of another way to celebrate." He reaches out and starts rubbing one of my knees. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

"Like, going to my parents' house in Berkshire this weekend? Great idea."

I kick at him. "No, you're forcing me to do that anyway. Take another guess."

He puts one hand behind his head and reaches underneath my skirt to stroke my thigh, his pupils darkening. A ribbon of longing unfurls deep inside of me and I place my feet on the arms of his chair.

"What do you have in mind, love?" I hitch up and pull my knickers down my legs in one smooth motion. His stare is so intense it’s practically burning my flesh. "What else?"

My body turns away from him as I sink down onto his lap with my back facing him. "First, you can kiss me," I whisper, reaching back to grab the back of his head while I rub my cheek against his. He bends his head and crushes his lips against mine, the heat starting to run through my body, settling in my chest and between my legs.

"Did you lock the door?" he breathes raggedly, yanking my skirt up and stroking at my centre. I gasp and nod, working at the difficult task of unbuckling his belt while facing away from him. He makes a noise like a husky growl and goes to work at my neck, moving my hair round to the front to suck on more of my skin. Finally, I’m able to free him from the buckles and buttons, and after a second of adjusting, slide down—

The door bursts open and Diana enters the room just as James enters me.

I sit up as James shoves the chair almost flushed with the desk, so that hopefully Diana will see nothing more than me innocently sitting on his lap behind the desk. Thankfully, we are both fully clothed, at least from the waist up.

"Sorry to bother you, sir, but you asked for these." She places a file folder on the desk in front of me.

"Thank. . . you . . .” James murmurs. I can tell he’s trying to keep his breathing regular. I smile at the other woman who seems a little suspicious, but still clueless.