In Too Deep (10 page)

Skating on thin ice? Playing with fire? Well, at least I’ve got him seesawing between metaphors.

‘How so? He’s probably completely harmless. All talk, no action. If I were ever to confront him, I bet he’s the sort who’d run crying home to mummy.’ There, put that in your Oxbridge pipe and smoke it!

‘You don’t know that. He mentioned “one day”, didn’t he? I’d say that meeting you and, um, fucking you is definitely on his agenda.’

Ooh, he said ‘fuck’. It sounds so exotic on his lips, and so incongruous. I imagine him growling it as he does what he’s just said, cursing as he ploughs the furrow between my legs.

Oh, I want him so much. Him
and
Nemesis. Even if they’re
not
the same person. My feelings are so perverse that they scare me.

‘And that’s a bad thing?’ Despite my qualms, I seem pathologically incapable of not trying to provoke him.

He’s avoiding looking at me, playing with his hair, twirling
a
curl around his fingers in a way that makes me think of those fingers twirling around other things.

‘I still think he could be dangerous.’

‘So can I.’

He looks up. ‘I don’t doubt it, Gwendolynne. I don’t doubt it. I find you very dangerous indeed. You’re a serious threat to my concentration.’

I’m on my feet in an eye-blink. ‘Right, I’ll go then. I’m keeping you from your work.’ What is it with him? Most men would be all over this like a cheap suit.

‘No!’ Now he’s on his feet too, and the erection I suspected of him is huge!

‘It’s just, well, this situation we’re in is so unusual.’ He makes a graceful gesture, indicating that I should sit back down. It’s courteous, yet there’s a command in it too, one that’s hard to defy. I resume my seat, wondering why I’m giving in so easily. ‘We barely know each other, yet we’re talking about sex. And somehow we seem to be involved in what amounts to a
ménage à trois
. It’s most … most perplexing.’

‘You started it,’ I point out, wondering if he’ll confess and the mystery will be over.

Instead, he frowns in a way that seems to make him even more handsome than ever and places his laced hands on the table in front of him. Is he doing that to stop them doing something that he doesn’t want them to? Like touching himself? ‘I don’t know what you mean, Gwendolynne. How can I have started it?’

Such a display of innocence. It’s very convincing.

‘Well, you looked down my top, and then made a big deal about following me to apologise for it.’ I reach for my juice box but it’s empty now, so I fiddle with the straw. ‘If you’d just perved me like a normal man who doesn’t feel he has to say sorry for it, I would never have shown you the letter … and
we’d
still be confined to polite “hellos” and “how’s it goings” when we ran into each other in the library.’

He shrugs. Seems to concede. Graces me with the most exquisite, quirky little smile that makes my nerves tingle and my uncovered pussy flutter with longing.

‘True … very true.’

I’m tapping the juice box, full of excess energy. This is the weirdest situation. I’m losing the ability to work out what to say next.

But into the silence comes Daniel’s voice again, raw and husky.

‘So … did you do what he asked? Or were you just playing a game with the poor slob?’ He straightens his fingers, flexes them, straightens them again, in a sort of flapping action. ‘Were you
really
wearing red silk pyjamas?’

‘No, they were blue-striped brushed cotton.’

His jaw drops and his mobile pink tongue sweeps round his lips. ‘But all the rest is true then?’

‘Pretty much so …’

He shakes his head and his curls fly wildly. Suddenly I feel as exposed as I did last night. The letters from Nemesis were one thing, but now I’ve laid my sexuality and even my orgasms out on a plate for this man I barely know. I’m in free fall to terra incognita, and the fear only arouses me even more.

‘Are you disgusted with me?’

‘No! Oh, believe me, no!’ His eyes, which looked so tired and imperfect when I arrived, are brilliant now. ‘I’m in awe of you, Gwendolynne. Afraid for you in some ways, but in others I’m thrilled to the core. That you’d display your … your sexuality, laid bare like that, for me. It’s a privilege.’

Suddenly he laughs, free and happy, like a naughty boy. ‘
Is
it laid bare? Like the forfeit?’ He flashes a glance to my crotch area again, his long lashes flirty.

‘Of course.’

My heart’s going thumpata-thumpata-thump.

‘You know … if you showed
me
, you wouldn’t have to show anyone else. You could pay your forfeit in perfect safety. Without any risk.’ Those lashes are wicked. This is the friskiest I’ve ever seen him. It’s as if we’ve taken a step somewhere, passed into that other reality without even realising it. ‘In fact, I’d hardly even look, so you wouldn’t really be exposed.’

We’ve come a long way from the prissy choirboy act when I touched his cock in the garden. He’s on for this. He’s ready. His eyes, his mouth, the total package is nothing short of devastatingly seductive.

But then, so am I. I’ve got my stockings and suspenders on again and, even though my thighs aren’t quite as svelte as I’d like them to be, the dark charcoal bands of my lace stocking-tops more than make up for a little extra flesh. And my suspender belt, as red and satiny as my pyjamas weren’t, is a perfect frame for the tawny floss of my pussy.

The sight’s going to have an impact on him. Daniel is an intelligent and glamorous man in his cool, bookish way but he’s still a man. Show a man your naked sex and you’re talking to his primitive brain, not the part with an encyclopaedic knowledge of history or science or whatever. On the level of sex and bodies, he isn’t out of my league, no matter how learned and famous he is. I can make him mine.

‘All right then.’

Not giving myself time to falter, I stand up, pushing back my chair and sending it bumping against the book-stack to the rear of me. As Daniel shoves his chair back for a better view, I place the flats of my hands against the surface of my skirt, and slowly, slowly begin to raise it. I’d planned to flash him faster than the eye can see but, now it’s come to it, I’m putting on a show.

Behind his spectacles his eyes widen at about the same speed as my skirt is creeping upwards. About as fast as his sweet red mouth is falling open. He sighs again as my pubis peeks into view beneath the hem of my skirt.

I feel supremely sexual. And I know I was right. In this moment, I’ve got him in the palm of my hand. He’s mesmerised by a triangle of soft reddish-gold hair, and I allow him to stare at it for a few moments longer, his mouth still open and his eyes wide and glittering. Then I drop my skirt again and he looks as if it’s Christmas and I’ve just stomped on his new PlayStation.

‘This doesn’t mean we’re engaged or anything.’ I smooth the fabric over my thighs, and he follows every minute movement. ‘It’s just a case of a friend helping out a friend … and a man getting a flash of what a man likes to look at as a reward. Fair enough?’

‘Um, yes, yes, I suppose so.’

Does he want more? The definite bulge in his jeans says he wants something.

‘Are you OK? Daniel?’

He hauls in a huge breath as if he’s just run a marathon.

‘Yes … yes, I am. It’s just that I thought I could remain dispassionate and detached about this. And just offer assistance.’ He shuffles in his chair and plucks at the denim of his jeans to ease his obvious discomfort. ‘But I seem to have got rather more
affected
than I anticipated.’ He offers a rueful grin, his soft lips curling, his expression befuddled.

Oh, who is he kidding? Even if he isn’t Nemesis the Arch Pervert, he’s a guy in his thirties who’s famous and charismatic. He’s probably had more women and played more sex games than I’ve had hot dinners.

‘Surely you’ve seen a woman’s crotch before? Don’t try to kid me that you’re some kind of born-again virgin or something.’

‘No, of course not,’ he answers
very
crisply. Is he cross? ‘It’s just that I don’t usually see them in circumstances like this.’ Then he smiles. ‘It’s usually a case of a few dates, dinners, theatre, maybe an exhibition. Then the “would you like to come up for coffee?” route. You know. Standard operating procedure.’ His shoulders lift in a lovely little shrug. ‘And only
then
do I get to see what you’ve just shown me.’

‘You were the one who suggested it,’ I point out.

‘Yes, I know. I can’t help but admit that I’ve been admiring you in the library since I got here, and I did sort of ask you out yesterday.’ He frowns again, but it’s not crossness. It’s more a strangely sad, wistful expression. ‘But now I’m wondering whether it’s best not to complicate a good working relationship. Especially as I’ll be gone before long, back to London. And …’ He pauses, sighing gustily again. ‘Well, I don’t know how to say this without sounding supremely arrogant and conceited and full of myself …’

‘Try me.’

‘The thing is … I’m not looking for a relationship right at the moment. I can only offer a, well, I suppose you might call it a “fling”.’ His handsome face works as if he’s grasping at a way to express himself – which is downright peculiar in someone who’s an acknowledged communicator. ‘But that’s not because of anything lacking in you. You’re lovely. You’re delightful. A dazzling woman. It’s just I’m simply not a good prospect for anything long term. It wouldn’t be fair to you.’

Suddenly he looks almost distraught and, despite the fact that my heart flutters foolishly at words like ‘lovely’ and ‘delightful’ and ‘dazzling’, and that my body is still on red alert, wanting him so hard it hurts, I feel suddenly worried for him and curious to know what the deep trouble is that’s bugging him. Because there
is
something. Every nurturing instinct in me screams so.

‘Like I said, this doesn’t mean we’re engaged or anything.’ Feeling daring, I pat my crotch in the general direction of my pussy. ‘And I’m not sure I want to give up this thing with Nemesis just yet.’ I expect a reaction to that, but he doesn’t bat an eyelid. ‘But maybe we could get to know each other a little better while you’re here. Nothing heavy, just fun. Maybe see each other. Maybe a bit of sex? Pursue this, this dalliance with Nemesis together somehow?’ His face brightens. He clearly likes the idea. ‘No declarations of undying love or commitment, just a temporary arrangement. Like you say, a bit of a fling. No strings. No ties. But no inhibitions either.’

I don’t know what the hell’s got into me, but bloody hell, I think I like it!

‘You’re a remarkable woman, Gwendolynne,’ Daniel says softly, his face a complex tapestry of emotion. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you. Anyone so … so adaptable. So brave and also slightly crazy.’

‘Thanks … I think.’

‘No, believe me, it’s a compliment. I
love
adaptable and brave and crazy.’ He gets up and comes towards me. He’s still amazingly hard. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, too. Your body is sensational.’

‘Get away with you. I’m just a fat provincial librarian.’

I’m trembling though. And despite my bravado, I don’t know what to do. How fast does one usually progress in the case of temporary-arrangement-type flings? I suppose we could start by kissing again, but the way he’s standing in front of me, almost flaunting himself … well, I suddenly just want to see his cock. That would be something really naughty to tell Nemesis about next time we chat. Something that I can pretend is just a fantasy, but which I can laugh to myself about because I know it’s real.

But if Daniel
is
Nemesis, he’ll know that already, of course. This is so complicated, but I love it, I love it!

His mouth twists slightly, as if he knows my every thought.

So, you think I’m brave and slightly crazy then, do you, Professor McHotstuff who just might be Nemesis? Well, watch this!

Before he can stop me, I reach for the belt on his jeans, grab it by the buckle and pull him towards me. Trying not to fumble, I unfasten his belt as fast as I can, whizz down his zip and reach inside.

Daniel gasps, then goes with the flow, reaching out and first putting his hands on my shoulders, then sliding them up and cupping my face. For a moment he looks down into my eyes, sort of half wondering, half arrogant, and then he slides his fingers round to the nape of my neck, slips the soft band out of my hair and shakes it loose.

As he frees my hair, I free his penis. Ah, beautiful old friend, I’ve thought about you almost constantly since I first saw you.

He’s so hard. And getting harder. Weeping sumptuous silky fluid, the head plump and shiny with its stretched skin and its tiny pouting love-eye. And all in this fierce state from just a few moments’ glimpse of my pussy? I fold my fingers around him, cradling him gently. Like an eager puppy he presses forward into my grip, making a low, very masculine rumbling in his throat. His fingertips burrow into my hair, cupping my head, pressing on it, pressing downwards.

Of course I know what he wants. Don’t all men want it? The only thing that astonishes me is that we’ve reached this place so fast. One day it’s a polite ‘good morning, how are you?’ in the library. The next, I’m sliding to my knees and preparing to give head to this man I barely know in any real sense.

I flick a glance up at him, but his eyes are closed, his head tipped back, his expression an ecstatic replica of the way he looked in the washroom. Unbearably touched and moved by his beauty, I swoop forwards and engulf his glans with my mouth.

He’s fine and hot and salty, his flesh firm and latent with power. I lick him quickly, flicking and teasing with enthusiasm. Maybe I’m not a virtuoso, but I’ve got instincts, and a beautiful dick like this invites excellence and invention. I soon have him groaning and swaying and gouging at my head, fingers flexing like points of fire against my scalp.

I brace one hand on his denim-clad thigh, loving the hard, tense muscle beneath the coarse fabric. He feels toned and defined, and I remember his naked body as he stood before the sink. Beneath his comfortable T-shirts and his tweedy jackets and his fairly average jeans, there’s the body of a stud, an Adonis. I try to ease down his jeans to get at his balls and cup them and taunt them as I work him, but he’s suddenly frantic, pushing into my mouth, wild and rough.