After Hours: Black Lace Classics (12 page)

‘What was that you said?’ Micky had pierced the cork with the opener and was turning it while watching her face.

‘I wondered how long you’d had this place,’ said Venny, after she’d cleared her throat.

Micky yanked out the cork and poured the wine into two glasses. ‘Let’s go sit down,’ he suggested, and ushered her over to the couch. When she was settled, he bent over the stove, opened the little door in its front and set a match to the kindling that was already laid there. Flames started to flare. He closed the door and joined her on the couch, taking up his glass and drinking deeply.

‘It’s cool enough in the evenings for a fire,’ he commented, and Venny stared at the flames. She loved real fires. In fact, this was the perfect romantic setting for her. The flickering flames, the cosy couch, the wine, the subdued lighting. Perfect.

‘I’ve had it just about forever,’ said Micky in answer to her question. He clinked his glass to hers. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers,’ said Venny faintly. She drank slowly. ‘Nice,’ she said as the fruity bouquet exploded on her palate.

‘It’s better than nice, it’s a really decent Vouvray,’ said Micky mildly.

‘Well, I’m no wine buff,’ said Venny defensively.
‘How could you have had this place forever? You’re not old enough.’

Micky smiled at her. His blue eyes twinkled. ‘I’ve had it forever because it was passed down through my family to me. My grandparents used to come down from London to Kent for the hop-picking; they liked the area so much they bought this place – struggled to get it, too, as they were pretty poor. Then it passed to my father, and when he died it passed to me.’

‘Not Caspar?’

Micky shook his head. ‘It’s sort of a tradition. The oldest child gets the hut. That’s what we’ve always called it, the hut. And God knows, there was sod-all else to inherit. A few sticks of utility furniture maybe. And Caspar doesn’t much care, because he can use it if he wants. We just arrange it between ourselves. He likes city life better, and he’s in the IT industry, going after the loot like any sensible person would do. Flora’s got a stall in Camden market selling clothes she designs herself – she does pretty well out of that, and her family have always had money. No, only a crazy like me trains to be a chef.’

Venny looked at him with interest. ‘But you are ambitious,’ she observed.

‘Sure.’ He drained his glass and picked up the bottle for a refill. He held the bottle up. Venny nodded, and he refilled hers too. ‘Ultimately, I’d like my own place. I make no secret of that fact.’

‘Difficult to raise money for a restaurant business in London at the moment,’ said Venny sympathetically.

‘Is that what you were doing at the bank?’ asked Micky. ‘Raising cash? But you’ve got your place.’

‘I’ve got a business,’ said Venny frostily, ‘and it has to pay its way. As for what I was doing at the bank,’ she added, and a sudden vision of David Thelwell’s full-to-bursting cock straining between her blue velvet gloves made her falter for a moment, ‘I don’t actually think that’s any of your business.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Micky, unoffended.

‘I can’t understand Caspar not coveting this,’ said Venny, hastily changing the subject as she looked around the cosy little room. It was getting warm now as the stove heated up. ‘These little places are terribly chic now, you know. Weekenders from London adore them. And that’s driven the prices sky-high, apparently.’ She looked at him sharply. ‘If you wanted to raise finance for your own restaurant, couldn’t you put this place up as security? It’s worth quite a lot, surely?’

‘For God’s sake!’ burst out Micky suddenly. He slapped his glass down onto the low table beside the couch. The fruit in the cut-glass bowl there jumped at the impact. ‘Don’t you ever let up with that business brain of yours? Some things are worth more than money, Venny. I wouldn’t risk losing this place for anything.’

‘But you’re confident in your abilities as a chef,’ she pointed out.

‘Of course I am.’

‘So?’ she prompted.

‘It’s too big a risk,’ said Micky, shaking his head firmly. ‘Far too big a risk.’

‘Ha!’ said Venny.

‘Ha? What does that mean – ha?’ asked Micky hotly.

‘It means you have to risk to gain. Within reason.’

‘Yeah, but what if you risk and then lose?’

‘Micky Quinn!’ Venny looked at him, smiling in triumph. ‘You said I was the cautious one.’

‘Yeah, well.’ Micky sat back on the couch, looking very subdued for him. He gazed at her acutely. ‘Some things are just too important to risk, Venny. Don’t you know that?’

‘Sorry,’ she said faintly, aware that she had hit a nerve.

‘Ah, it’s OK. Come here,’ he said, holding his arms open.

Venny moved along the couch until she was snuggled up against him. She let out a deep sigh and stared, blinking wearily, at the flames. She could hear his heart beating beneath her head; she could smell woodsmoke from the fire, the fragrant tang of his skin and of the fruit in the bowl nearby. There were strawberries there, and peaches, and mangoes. Brown-spotted bananas exuded a scent of almost overwhelming sweet, potent richness.

Micky’s warm breath was soft on her brow as he bent and kissed the tip of her nose. Then he tucked a hand under her chin, raised it, and kissed her lips too, a kiss that deepened and intensified until at last they broke apart, gasping. Micky grinned and glanced down at his lap, where an impressive bulge was clearly delineated against his jeans.

‘Think I’ll just get rid of these,’ he said huskily. He
unbuttoned the jeans unselfconsciously, lifted his hips a little and pushed them down onto his thighs.

‘That’s better,’ he breathed as Venny stared intently at his thick, strong cock, rearing up naked from its black nest like a viper about to strike. She could smell its musky scent. She reached out a hand and touched its heat and silkiness with her fingertips. It twitched as if in answer. ‘Oh, that’s nice,’ said Micky, bending slightly to kick the jeans aside. He looked at her. ‘Come on, Venny. Time to get naked. Strip off; let me see you.’

Venny straightened and shrugged off her jacket. She turned her back to let him handle the fiddly buttons of her blouse, just as he had this afternoon. Micky happily obliged, pushing the frail garment down over her arms as soon as he had undone it, then slipping his hands under her arms to cup and caress her breasts. Venny’s head went back against his shoulder and she groaned delightedly. His fingers tweaked and rubbed lubriciously. But then he drew back. Her nipples, taut with arousal, instantly missed his hands upon them.

‘Come on, get your skirt off,’ he encouraged her, sitting back to admire the view as she unfastened the skirt and slipped it off. Suddenly shy, Venny clutched the lightweight garment between her thighs. ‘Wow,’ he said softly. ‘No knickers. What a naughty girl you are, Venny Halliday.’ Micky ran a warm hand down over her naked flank, making the flesh there quiver with pleasure, then moved above the material of the skirt to smooth over her belly. Venny felt her cunt trickle with awakening moisture as he did that, pressing low on her
belly in a warm but firm caress. She gasped. The feeling was exquisite, intense.

‘That’s your T-spot,’ whispered Micky, running a trail of light kisses over her shoulder. ‘Did you know that?’

Venny shook her head dumbly. She felt embarrassed by her lack of knowledge. She also felt that she might come immediately, just from the pressure of his hand there. It moved in a circle, exerting a steady but relentless pressure.

‘Come on, put the skirt down,’ ordered Micky, ‘I want to see everything.’

Venny complied helplessly. Her eyes opened and Micky was still stroking her stomach, his head bent over in an attitude of intense concentration as he stared at her naked pubes. His hand slid down, parting the lips of her sex. Venny leaned back instinctively, arching herself towards him. Her clitoris twitched eagerly as his fingers found it, trapped it between them, and squeezed.

‘Oh, God,’ moaned Venny, falling back onto the couch. Micky moved closer, the fingers of one hand working her smoothly while the other lifted her leg over his shoulder, stretching her wide apart for him. Venny lay back and watched, panting, while Micky slid a cushion under her hips, lifting her up until she felt as exposed and vulnerable as a gynae patient in the stirrups.

The backs of her knees were resting on his shoulders, and he was still moving those fingers on either side of her trapped and tingling clit, when suddenly he pulled
back, grabbed the wine bottle and leaned over her again. He manoeuvred up onto his knees between her legs, and tipped her hips back a little higher, then trickled the sparkling Vouvray into her cunt. The bubbles exploded against her flesh like tiny bombs of sensation. The chill was like ice against the fiery heat of her groin. She gasped and squirmed.

‘Don’t you dare come yet,’ warned Micky, bending his head.

What the hell was he going to do now? wondered Venny as Vouvray trickled down between her buttocks, tickling her almost unbearably. Then Micky’s head dipped down between her legs and he started lapping the wine from her slit with his tongue.

Mindlessly Venny arched her back. Her arms went back above her head in complete surrender. Oh, that felt so incredibly good! Her fingers grabbed the plush cushions above her head and dug into them like crazy. She felt like every nerve in her body had been wired up to the National Grid, hypersensitised and jolting with the power of the charge that was going through it.

Then she felt him slipping inside her – but he was cool, not hot. She opened her eyes and looked down, trying to see past his dark, busily working head. His penis was not inside her. He had slipped one of the bananas from the bowl in instead. And now, as she groaned and lifted herself higher to accommodate this unusual offering, he had it lodged firmly, half inside her, half out; he peeled back the skin of the fruit and started to eat it from its position between her legs. As
he nipped pieces from the fruit, the part of it trapped inside her jerked, stimulating her until she streamed with wetness.

He took his time. No matter how much she pleaded with him to come inside her, to hurry, she wanted him now, Micky just carried on at a leisurely pace, replenishing the Vouvray that soaked her so that she no longer knew which was her own juices and which the wine, eating the banana – and only when he had finished eating and drinking his fill from her convenient portal did he move his body up over hers.

‘Goodness, aren’t you wet?’ he observed as he dipped the head of his cock down and nudged it against her opening. He pushed it into her, just a little, just teasing her with it when she was desperate and wanting it all. ‘What a naughty, wet, lustful girl you are,’ he cooed against her ear, making her shiver with sensation. He kissed her mouth, his tongue sparring lasciviously with hers.

‘You want some more?’ he asked, gazing intently into her eyes.

Venny groaned, nodding.

Micky pushed up, just a tiny bit, and Venny’s hips made a lunge for him, trying to drag him deeper. He pulled back, denying her, but stayed inside her just enough to drive her wild with anticipation.

‘You’re so naughty, I think I’m going to have to cuff you,’ said Micky, reaching down to her jacket pocket and bringing out the feather-covered cuffs she had earlier in the evening used on him. He fastened them
to her wrists, then held her wrists prisoner in one of his hands, above her head. ‘That’s better,’ he said with a roguish smile. ‘Now I can do anything I like with you, Venny. Anything at all.’

And, saying that, he pulled out of her. Venny nearly screamed in rage and frustration. She looked down between their bodies and saw his cock, reddened with passion, twitching with hunger and slick from her juices, still standing perkily upright between his thighs as he reached behind him. He turned back to her holding a ripe, fuzzy peach. Bending over her, he gently lodged the soft furry fruit over her opening, then moved further down the couch so that he could devour it, literally eat it from between her legs.

As he bit into the peach and Venny felt the cool juices flow down over her skin, Micky returned his fingers to her hungry little clit; and this time he was even more tortuous with his caresses. He squeezed her little bud between his fingers, pulling it out from her body, then letting it go. Then he squeezed again, and let it go – and so on, until she was groaning and writhing and begging him to hurry.

Finally the peach was eaten. Micky tossed the stone aside and moved up her body again, slipping his cock back into its hot, wet mooring between her thighs. This time there was no teasing half-measure. This time he pushed up into her until his penis was lodged inside her up to the hilt. He pushed in so firmly that the sensation of him filling her up was sudden and almost shocking. His balls, full and hard, slapped firmly against her.
Venny let out an involuntary scream and pushed down madly to meet him.

‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed. ‘Do me, Micky. Do me
now
.’

‘Is that what you want?’ he teased, leaning over her, the hot length of his body pressing her down into the couch.

‘You know it is,’ she whispered, and he kissed her, and she tasted the sweet fruitiness of the peach and the muskiness of her own sex on his mouth.

Slowly Micky began to thrust inside her. The man’s control seemed almost inhuman, thought Venny, inasmuch as she was capable of sane thought at all. She was no more than a female fucking machine now; all she wanted was for him to finish what they’d started. But Micky seemed in no hurry. His thrusts into her were deep but leisurely, and Venny cried out again, feeling the glimmering threat of her orgasm hover closer as he did so.

‘Good?’ Micky murmured against her ear, biting the lobe quite hard.

‘Yes. Good,’ she breathed.

Micky’s hand went down between their bodies to rest upon that ragingly sensitive spot on her belly he had touched to such effect before. He pressed gently, and the sensation seemed to explode through her veins – his hand pressing, his penis thrusting. His hand slid down further still to trap and squeeze her clitoris. With a scream she felt her orgasm begin, her hips writhing in a crazy rhythm all of their own.