After Hours: Black Lace Classics (22 page)

‘Yes, ready,’ Anton noted, and it was as if she were a recipe he had whipped up and was now ready to taste for seasoning. She felt him fumbling with his trousers beneath his chef’s whites, and pushed back with even more desperation than she had just a second ago been pushing forwards.

‘Steady,
liebling
,’ breathed Anton, and now, at last, the blunt head of his penis was presented at the foaming gate of her cunt. Venny let out an involuntary cry and pushed herself down onto it. Anton slipped easily into her, pressing forwards until his delightfully full organ was lodged deep inside her.

‘Now we thrust, yes?’ he said.

Get on with it! thought Venny desperately. Yes, thrust!

But he paused.

He paused until the cuckoo emerged from its hiding-place and squawked. And then he slipped his penis back out of her, almost until he was dislodged from her but not quite; he paused again, waiting, waiting.

Waiting for the clock.

Venny leaned against the worktop in a groaning heap of hopeless arousal, listening to the unbearable tick-tock of the infernal thing until the cuckoo was catapulted from its nest once again. And at that instant Anton’s penis surged back up into her so suddenly, so violently, that her breath was expelled on a gasp.

‘Bastard,’ she said weakly. ‘Oh, you bastard.’

‘Ha! Such a very bad girl you are.’ Anton was clearly enjoying himself hugely. Huge was a good word for it. His cock was long and full and hot, and Venny wanted more of it, far more, right now.

But again he was watching the clock. Finally, the cuckoo sang its ghastly song. Anton withdrew, almost completely. Then the waiting, the terrible waiting, and the cuckoo singing again, and then the violent, delicious, longed-for thrust of his hips and the glorious feeling of his fullness deep inside her.

‘Ha, now we are cooking on gas, yes,
liebling
?’ chuckled Anton.

‘Yes,’ choked Venny weakly, barely able to utter over the tumult of her pulse. Every nerve in her body was rioting now, anticipating pleasure upon pleasure until she could stand no more. ‘Ah!’ she squealed as he withdrew. ‘Oh!’ she moaned as he plunged back in up to the hilt, ramming the base of his shaft right up
against her so that she felt his crinkly pubic hair and his engorged balls.

Anton was panting now as he laboured behind her, and she sensed that it was taking every ounce of his self-control to carry on with this. She felt him clutching at the stem of his cock to slow himself down. Even so, she knew he could not last much longer.
She
certainly couldn’t, either, and she was relieved and gratified when at last Anton seemed to lose his rigidly self-imposed rhythm and give in to the animalism of the moment.

Enthusiastically now and without restraint he ignored the clock and fucked her furiously. Fizzing and throbbing and filled with cock, her clit pressed hard up against the worktop, Venny felt her orgasm begin and let out a wild cry just as Anton cried out too. Their cries mingled and echoed in the empty kitchen, and the cuckoo joined in too, as if mocking them.

Anton pumped like a maniac as he emptied his cock of seed. With no hint of his former restraint, he clasped her hips roughly and drove into her with a vengeance while she throbbed and clutched and cried in the throes of her pleasure.

At last, they were still. After a few moments to compose himself, Anton slipped his penis out of her wet depths. It came free with a resounding slurp. Venny turned a little, still breathless and weak in the knees, and saw him drop his apron back over his still upright pink penis. It glistened with her juices. She was quite sorry to see it vanish beneath his apron.

‘You liked that, yes?’ panted Anton, smiling at her.

‘Um, yes.’ Venny put a hand to her hair, then realised her skirt was still up around her waist and that he was eyeing her exposed pubes as if considering another bout. She wasn’t sure her bottom could take the strain. Hurriedly, she pushed her skirt back into place. Her abused buttocks throbbed and burned, and she was still fizzing away like a drunk’s morning-after cure down there. She needed a shower, she thought. She was sweaty and wet and she smelled very strongly of sex.

‘I’m popping back home for an hour or so,’ said Venny, managing to straighten without wincing. Slowly, her heartbeat was getting back to normal. ‘I need a shower after that’

‘I will take care of everything here,’ Anton assured her.

I just bet you will, thought Venny, watching him as he went to readjust the mechanism on the cuckoo clock. His cock was still tenting the front of his apron; he hadn’t yet put it back inside his trousers. She felt her cunt throb briefly at that thought. Now, whoa there, girl, she thought. After all, she thought as she went to get her bag from upstairs, she was going home to shower – to wash the scent of Anton’s sex off her body. And it did occur to her, briefly and annoyingly, that if that had been
Micky’s
come now leaking out of her and wetting the tops of her stockings, she would have let it dry on her skin, and relished the smell of it throughout the long, hot day.

It seemed like the worst kind of coincidence – or maybe it was just fate – but when she got back to the apartment by the lock, there was a man stepping into the elevator just in front of her. Venny felt a rush of nervous perspiration spring up on her brow. Her nipples swelled and rose to hardness. Her clit twitched. Oh, God; oh, God. It was him. The spiky dark hair, the slouch suit cut loosely to hang from the broad shoulders and so accentuate them. Micky turned and his eyes swept over her at first without recognition; then his mouth curved up in a swift smile, and the blue eyes twinkled at her just as boldly, as intimately, as they had ever done.

‘Um – what are you doing here?’ she asked him as he pressed the button for her floor and hauled the clanking wrought-iron safety cage closed behind them. Venny leaned back against the wall just as far away from him as she could get. By so doing, she pressed her sore buttocks back against the hard interior surface of the
lift, and started forwards in a hurry, only just managing to stifle a yelp of pain.

Micky was watching her curiously. She felt at a distinct disadvantage here. He looked so cool and collected, and she was frankly ruffled, and wet from sex, and his well-trained chef’s nose was so sharp that she was sure he could smell it on her.

‘Just visiting Caspar,’ said Micky casually. ‘My brother, if you remember.’

‘Of course I remember,’ snapped Venny.

‘Actually, I’m glad I’ve run into you,’ said Micky thoughtfully, coming closer.

‘Actually,’ said Venny sarcastically, ‘you did run into me. With your car. If you remember. And you haven’t paid me yet.’

‘I’ll put a cheque through the door today,’ said Micky.

‘Good.’

‘But there was something else I wanted to say to you.’

Why was this damned lift so slow? wondered Venny irritably. Being true to the character and atmosphere of the building was all very well, but would a good modern high-speed lift really have been such a bad thing when they renovated the place?

And it wasn’t only the slowness of the thing. Venny couldn’t help remembering that the last time they had been in this lift alone together, she’d been as good as naked apart from a belt or two and he had been giving her a very enjoyable pussy-licking. And of course he was remembering that too. She could see it in his eyes.

‘Right, go on, then,’ she said, folding her arms and
instantly hating herself for the unconscious gesture. It made her look defensive, as if she were under attack. She unfolded them quickly.

‘What I wanted to say was this.’ Micky had walked forwards, hands in trouser pockets, until he stood right in front of her. A whiff of his cologne and the musk scent of his skin teased at her nostrils and she almost moaned aloud with suppressed longing. Micky’s blue eyes had lost their laughter and were deadly serious now. ‘Venny, I shouldn’t have done what I did. I shouldn’t have got Caspar to help me tap into your private files. I should have realised how offended you’d be by that. All I can say is that I did it because I was desperate to know you better. You are a very self-contained woman, and I found your reserve frustrating, so I cracked and hacked in. It wasn’t done out of any sort of malice. It was just to get closer to you. The irony is, by trying to get closer to you I drove you away, didn’t I? Well, I’m sorry. That’s all.’

‘Is that it?’ asked Venny faintly. He was apologising! Well, miracles would never cease.

‘No. It isn’t.’ Micky drew closer, placing a hand on either side of her head. His breath tickled her face now. And she had retreated to the lift wall again, and her buttocks were smarting horribly. ‘The Blue Ribbon awards, Venny. Beurre Blanc’s doing fine, and I hear you’ve got a good chef now, so Box of Delights is in with a good chance too?’

Venny nodded cautiously.

‘Well, I’m pleased for you. Really.’

He really did look as if he meant it. Venny suddenly felt like a complete heel, because he had sold the hut in Whitstable, his precious hut, to fund his restaurant, and if she hadn’t been so bloody awkward he would still have it, plus a partnership with her. This was a very generous gesture he was making, and she didn’t deserve it, because she hadn’t been generous with him, not at all.

‘I don’t see why this should come between us,’ said Micky, gazing deep into her troubled green eyes. ‘The best man or woman will win, whether we fight or not. Agreed?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Venny guardedly, thinking of Robert Fielding the judge, and the rather special treatment he had received at her hands the other night. Micky, of course, didn’t know about that. And she certainly wasn’t going to tell him. The Blue Ribbon was as good as hers, but if Micky wanted to feel he was in with a chance too, who was she to tell him otherwise? She hoped he’d be runner-up, at least. He deserved that, if he couldn’t be the winner; and he would still get a huge amount of publicity from second place, enough to fill his restaurant for months on end, get him a column in one of the food magazines, perhaps even – who knew? – secure him a television deal. He had the sort of quirky ebullience and self-assurance that television producers seemed to like.

‘So can we let the whole thing go now? Put it down to a misunderstanding and be pals again?’ asked Micky hopefully.

Venny stared at his face. And oh, it was true, she’d missed him and she wanted him back in her life.

‘Why not?’ she said at last. Grinning happily, she surged forwards to kiss him. Micky’s hands went straight to her ass and pulled her in tight against his burgeoning erection, and Venny let out a squawk of pain.

‘Poor sore baby,’ said Micky ten minutes later as they tumbled onto her bed together. He was touchingly careful not to tumble on top of her and so exacerbate her discomfort, Venny noticed. Oh, he was sweet.

But how could she explain her sore arse away?

‘Are you going to tell me how you hurt it?’ Micky asked, nuzzling luxuriously at her neck, sending bolts of pleasure zipping around her body like wildfire.

Venny thought hard for a few minutes. ‘No,’ she said finally, smiling into his eyes.

‘Aha,’ said Micky, returning her smile and running a hand up under her skirt to where her lace-trimmed hold-up stockings curved around the soft flesh of her inner thighs. ‘Then I’m just going to have to play detective, Venny darling, and find out for myself. Let me see now.’

Micky’s hand burrowed warmly between her legs. Venny gasped aloud with delight as his fingers whispered over her pubic hair, then found the sticky moistness she had come home to wash away. To her embarrassment, Micky quickly snaked down her body, lifting her skirt to bare herself to his curious gaze. His fingers splayed open, parting the lips of her sex. He sniffed.

‘Oh, I see,’ he murmured, dropping a featherlight kiss onto her crinkly toffee-coloured hair. ‘Turn over, Venny.’

Lazily Venny rolled, and again he pushed her skirt up. This time he peered closely at her naked buttocks. If she glanced sideways – she did so now, surreptitiously – she could see him in the mirror, staring at the lush roundness of her arse, which was so pink from Anton’s beating that it almost seemed to glow in the subdued light of the bedroom.

‘Mm, I see,’ he said again, softly. ‘He’s good, then, this new chef of yours?’ he inquired.

‘Well up to standard,’ mumbled Venny against the pillows.

‘Well up, anyway,’ drawled Micky, kissing the alluring dip at the base of her spine. ‘He’s been up you, Venny, and today. You liked it?’

‘Mm,’ admitted Venny. She’d loved it, and she saw no need to deny the fact, either. After all, it was chiefly Micky’s arrival in her life which had opened her up to new experiences; she felt he would understand her need to satisfy her awakening appetites. Anton had been a revelation, whether he was a control freak or not. She was a control freak herself, most of the time. She saw nothing wrong with that.

‘I’m not going to apologise,’ Venny warned.

‘Did I ask you to?’ queried Micky.

‘Some men might expect it,’ she shrugged.

‘I don’t.’ Micky eased himself up off the bed. Venny scrambled up onto her elbows, wondering where he
was going. Had he changed his mind now? Was he jealous, possessive, boring as most men were about their women? She looked at him anxiously.

‘I’m just going to the kitchen. You need something to ease your poor little arse,’ he said with a smile. His eyes glittered. ‘Get naked, Venny. I’ll be back in a second.’

He went out, and presently she heard him rummaging about in the kitchen. What was he after out there? Shrugging, she took off her suit jacket; her breasts swung loose and naked. Straining back, she undid the zip on her skirt and wriggled out of it. She kicked both garments onto the floor. Then she slid down the lacy hold-up stockings and tossed those too to one side. She sat up, wincing, naked now, arms clasped around knees, and awaited Micky’s return.

She didn’t have long to wait. Micky came back in, closing the bedroom door behind him. He placed a towel and a bottle containing some greenish liquid on the table by the bed, and took off his jacket to reveal a cream silk Cossack-buttoned shirt underneath it. He rolled up the voluminous sleeves of the shirt above his elbows.