Quiver (a Suspenseful Romance Novel)

C
opyright
© 2014 by Emilia Beaumont

P
ublished
by Elwynn Cottage

A
ll rights reserved
.

N
o part
of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Y
our support
of author’s rights is appreciated.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

P
lease be
aware that this work was previously published as four separate volumes:

M
istake
#1
: I didn’t ask for his name, and he didn’t volunteer it. Part of me didn’t want to know.

I got caught up in the excitement, the rush and the thrill, and knowing his name just wasn’t a high priority for me at the time. I had more important things on my mind. But now? I do wonder…

His hands explored everywhere, and the timing wasn’t appropriate. I didn’t dare spoil the moment by getting out a notebook and pen to interrogate him about his life and debate if we were compatible. Was he a roaring lion or a narcissistic Virgo? Who cares? This wasn’t a blind date. Our meeting wasn’t a safe, run-of-the-mill encounter down at the local pub surrounded by mutual mates and pulled pints. Far from it. This night was one of the most exhilarating of my life, regardless of the mistakes I made.

M
istake
#2
: I admit I got carried away. Now I’m walking home asking myself why I had intentionally discarded such a precious item, leaving my chest bare, unsupported and bloody freezing?

A good bra is priceless. Every woman knows this. The perfect bra can be your best friend, hoisting and displaying your assets in a way that can make the opposite sex drool. Now, though, I’m left exposed, and with every step forward my unrestricted breasts bounce, and my satin blouse ripples with the movement.

So why did I abandon it? The short answer: the experience changed me. It opened my eyes to what could be. I didn’t have to settle for a normal sex-life — sex relegated to the double futon in the back bedroom, fumbling to turn off the bedside table lamp. Tonight was new, and all I cared about was where he stroked, licked and fucked me.

He showed me that I could take risks, could be unashamed of my desires and needs. But now I’m hesitant. He wants something from me, and it’s not sex. It’s risky, dangerous, and could get me in a whole load of trouble.

E
xhausted
from a day stuck in a dank office complemented with peeling paint, I managed to catch the last bus home. I stared out the window and tried to relax. Sitting in the shadows at the back of the bus, I let my mind wander; I wasn’t really thinking about anything, just enjoying the occasional mechanical vibration coming from the juddering engine, which was amplified beneath my seat.

Directly above the rear wheel well of the bus were my favourite seats. Whenever the bus was stationary or in a low gear for too long, at a red light or at a drop off point, the idling tremors would gently shake my body with delight. With my eyes closed and the steady roll of my hips, I could easily melt into a rhythmic wave. And that was exactly what I planned on doing. Tied to my desk for the best portion of eight hours and then an large extra helping of forced overtime (my boss was a bloody tyrant but one you dared not say no to), I was long overdue for a bit of me time. I was going to enjoy myself on the way home. The bus was practically empty anyway, and no one could see me. At least that’s what I thought.

I’d failed to correct the wayward material of my short black office skirt when I sat down. The tops of my thighs were clearly visible to anyone looking, and the silky sheen of nude tights clung to my skin. I shuffled into a more comfortable slouch as the harsh fabric of the seat, rough and sisal-like, prickled and bristled against the backs of my legs. The skirt climbed wickedly higher, and the majority of the black material bunched up and gathered just before the round of my bottom. I felt deliciously exposed.

I flicked my eyes open and was vaguely aware of a few people shuffling towards the front of the bus as it eased to a stop. I could hear muffled thanks being parroted to the driver as a new ripple of tremors coursed their way up through my seat, accumulating and circling beneath my knickers.

With the bus on its way again, I allowed my legs to part and began to rock ever so slightly in my seat, pausing when the chair let out a small squeak.

I clenched my butt. My breathing became shallow and irregular. I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself. I needed to be careful, even though I knew the bus was practically empty. Sounds around me were amplified. I heard it all — the rustle of my clothes, the tiny whistle of air as it travelled through my wind-pipe, a deep rasping cough from an elderly gentleman sitting up front in the disabled area.

I desperately wanted to touch myself. To reach down between parted legs and rub my gloved fingers over my longing clit would be heaven.

I quickly glanced around. I couldn’t see anything but shadows near the back. The tall uprights of the seats gave me the privacy I desired. I looked to the front; the bus driver was too far away and was concentrating on navigating the road ahead. Intermittent illuminated buildings whizzed by in the dark night. There was hardly a soul braving the typical English weather outside. No one would see me. Even if they scanned the passing bus they’d just see a young woman with her head resting against the glass and her eyes closed. Sleepy perhaps from a long commute, on her way home after a hard day’s toil managing growing stacks of paperwork.

I moved my right hand that had been resting on the seat beside me and placed it gently onto my lap. One step closer to my intended goal. The soft leather of my gloved hand eked out a tiny squeak when it came in contact with my skirt. Trying not to be too eager, I paced myself. I reached with long fingers, careful not to move the palm of my hand, and gathered up the rising hem of my skirt.

The ache between my legs craved to be touched. I extended my finger further and came upon that magical hard button and sighed as I worked it over the layers of cotton and nylon. The temptation to be free of these restrictions grew. I moved my finger back and forth, in a circular motion, moderately at first but gradually increasing the speed and pressure, faster and harder. My chest rose and fell violently, and I bit my lip. My whole body urged me to move, to grind and squirm against the pad of my finger. I wanted to rip through the crotch of my tights and slip a finger, or two, deep into my wet hole.

Without realising, I had slipped my left hand underneath my jacket and cupped my breast. Squeezing it firmly like a stress ball, I searched to find the tip of my nipple encased within my balconette bra. Once found, I clasped it hard between my thumb and forefinger.

Below, deep within me, I felt a steady rise and a sudden rush as the swelling between my two fingers, on either side of my clit, pulsed like vein ready to burst. The warm glow accelerated through me like a driver speeding to the finish line, but it all came crashing to a halt as I heard the crunch of a dry newspaper falling upon the dirty, sodden floor.

My eyes flashed in the direction of the interruption, diagonally opposite and one row behind, and I caught the gaze of two cold light blue eyes peering out of the shadows, staring at me. His left hand was outstretched, frozen, midway to the wayward newspaper.

“Hi,” he said.

From his vantage point, I didn’t think he could see where my hands were placed, but needless to say, I moved them with lightning speed and pinned them rigidly to my sides.

However, I’m sure my face told a different story. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I could feel them burn and shine like red stop lights beaming in the night.

With some effort I pulled my eyes from his; I looked away, concentrating on my breathing and not passing out.

Had he been watching me the whole journey?

I
silently cursed
. He saw me; I’m screwed. I wondered, should I make a run for it and get off at the next stop? Thoughts raced through my mind so fast I could hardly keep track. Fearing that he’d inform the bus driver, I considered my options. This was the last bus home, and if I got off, I would be stranded. If I stayed on board and waited for my stop, I’d run the risk of being confronted and even arrested!

I manoeuvred my skirt back into its proper place and gathered my belongings, ready to launch myself out of my seat as soon as the bus stopped.

A smile crept over my face, and I giggled. I wasn’t in my right mind; how could I be grinning at a time like this? Fear, anxiety and exhilaration coursed through my body from the top of my head to the tips of my toes as my heart thudded against my ribcage.

To my right, out of the corner of my eye — I was careful to keep my head forward and not make visual contact again — I saw the stranger get up. Relieved that he was departing, my panic levels abated. I closed my eyelids, breathed in deep and exhaled an audible sigh.

Upon opening my eyes, I saw the man looming over me. He hadn’t moved towards the front of the bus as I’d expected. The fear of being confronted propelled me into action. Forcing back the threat of tears, I tried to stand in the awkward row of seats, but he calmly placed a hand upon my shoulder and guided me back down.

I couldn’t find my voice. It lay scared and trapped within me. I wanted to shout and demand that he let me pass, but the words wouldn’t form. I tried to look at him, shifting my eyes up to his face, but they instantly fell back down and ultimately fixed upon his chest instead. Beneath his partially open jacket, he wore a white work shirt, creased but clean, with epaulettes resting upon the shoulders. The top button was popped open revealing the bump of his Adam’s apple, and his toned neck bore one day old stubble. No tie hung around his neck. I glanced down; he wore heavy black pants and comfortable shoes. The soles looked worn and thin.

The understanding hit me like a slap in the face. I couldn’t move. There was no doubt in my mind. This was it, I was going to be arrested. Resolute, I prepared myself. I’d be in handcuffs soon.

He continued to stand, one hand holding onto the back of the seat in front, the other clutching the seat to the left, barring my exit.

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked.

Still without my voice, I nodded. He sat; the chair creaked under his weight, and I waited for the lecture to come. Tears were on the brink of brimming over. I couldn’t afford to be arrested. I would lose my job, crappy though it was. Oh god, my parents — what would they think?

All at once the ability to use my vocal cords returned, and in a whining whisper I pleaded, throwing myself at his mercy, “Please, don’t arrest me.”

I gasped for air, determined not to cry. I was not going to make a further fool of myself. “I’m sorry, it’ll never happen again,” I blurted, ashamed.

He turned slightly towards me. I faced straight ahead, rigid in my pose and avoiding his piercing glare.

His long legs were cramped in the meagre space, and his knee shifted to compensate, almost touching my thigh.

“Why won’t it happen again?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. His voice was low and friendly, but his tone was clear and direct.

I didn’t understand what he was asking. The guilty voice in my head heard a scolding teacher, wheedling out a reason why there wouldn’t be a repeat occurrence.

I took a deep breath and faced him. I’d been caught, yes, but I wasn’t a child. “Look,” I said, pausing to gather courage. I was determined not to crumble under his focus. “Officer, I apologise. I didn’t realise anyone could see me… not that that’s an excuse,” I added quickly. “I can assure you, I’ve learnt my lesson.”

“Oh, you have, have you?” A wry smile creased his face. I was infuriated, and I glared at him. How could he be so smug? But as I looked into his bright eyes, like a clear blue glacier, I could feel the anger melting away. I took a hold of myself.

“Yes, I have,” I said defiantly.

“That’s a shame,” he said as he placed his hand on top of my knee. His index finger lightly traced the curve of the inside of my thigh. “I could be of some assistance. In the spirit of public service and all.”

Eyes wide, I was stunned. My mouth gaped open, and I could feel the pressure of his hand increase.

He considered my reaction; I had no doubt that he knew what he was doing. He had me in his trap.

He smelt good, like a vanilla shake. I caught a whiff as he leaned in closer, and I had to resist drifting towards him. He was like a magnet pulling me to him. I was puzzled; I’d never received this type of attention from a man of his calibre before.

“Or, I suppose, we’ll have to take a trip to the local station and file some paperwork,” he said. And there it was… I was caught in his net. But I didn’t mind much; he was good-looking, and I had everything to gain.

He continued to caress my soft inner thigh. Millimetre by millimetre, like a spider stalking towards its captured prey, his fingers advanced up my leg.

Could I make him stop? Did I want him to stop? I tried not to think about the consequences if I resisted. Yet deep down I knew I wanted him to continue. This was the stuff of late-night fantasies… alone in bed, while your hand moved beneath the sheets.

“
O
pen
the buttons of your blouse,” he said, his tone strict.

I didn’t think, I just obeyed. I reached for the first button, nervous and fumbling. My hands shook, and the gloves weren’t helping. I managed to pop open the first small mother of pearl button on my satin blouse and rushed to the second.

“Slowly, undo them slowly. That’s it. One by one. Stop.”

The fourth button lay undone, the one just above my navel. From my bird’s-eye perspective, the tops of my silky round breasts peeked out from between the sides of the blouse, which now hung like curtains.

He took his free hand and drew back one side of the blouse so that the new balcony bra, which I’d recently purchased, was exposed.

He caressed the silky material of the bra, and my chest expanded at the touch. I savoured his touch and braced myself for what was yet to come. A soft covering of goose-pimples peppered my cleavage.

He looked entranced, as if he were studying the raised flowery pattern of the bra. With one gentle flick, his fingers reached in, fondled a generous helping of my breast and eased my hardening nipple out of its enclosure. He tweaked it and watched it rise to a peak; the smooth delicate flesh surrounding my nipple crinkled and darkened to a burnt sienna.

“Oh!” I moaned in surprise. I felt a shock-wave run through my entire body as he pinched me again. The travelling wave circled and spun and sputtered a thudding pulse at my core. Looking at my nipple, I wet my lips, hoping he’d lick me with his tongue.

His hand lingered on my thigh. Hesitantly, I placed my hand on top of his to urge him to go higher, to rip through my tights and plunge his fingers deep within me.

But the bus lurched to a stop. To my disappointment he quickly withdrew his hand and stood, hovering over me.

“Get up. We have to get off now,” he urged, holding out his hand. He glanced towards the front of the bus. A thick-set man had rung the bell and got off the bus. New passengers streamed on, paid their fares and found their seats.

I didn’t know what to do — go with him or regret it forever? There was a tiny alarm bleeping as loud as it could, trying to warn me that I was walking into danger. But looking into his eyes, I saw no malice there. Only desire and urgency.

He gave up waiting, clutched my hand and pulled me to my feet. I obediently followed, and he dragged me to the front of the bus, asking the driver to reopen the doors.

The cool air was a welcome change from the steamy and stifling interior of the old bus. I would be able to think more clearly out here. I needed to get my bearings. In front of us a yellow metro sign illuminated the navy-blue sky; its bold black font read Kingston Station. I had to re-read the sign to make sure — I’d been so preoccupied on the bus that we’d passed my stop a few miles back.

Without a word, he towed me towards the entrance.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He didn’t respond and kept on walking. My wrist was raw and started to hurt from his clutch. My internal alarm bleeped louder. There were a few people wandering to and fro, but not many.

“Tell me right now where we are going before I start screaming bloody murder!” I said, halting abruptly. My shoulder wrenched as he continued forward, but I dug my heels in. My resistance caused us to crash into each other.

Our bodies were pressed together. I could feel my chest rising and falling rapidly against his. My breathing was out of control. He grabbed for my free hand and held it too at the wrist. I couldn’t move either arm. I wasn’t able to run even if I tried. I was stuck.

He moved his face closer to mine, as if he were leaning in to kiss me. Instinctively I tilted my head in response.

Instead, he whispered into my ear, “Trust me, Kate. You don’t need to know. We just have to hurry.”

Blinking, I paused. My name sounded good on his lips. But… how did he know it? I looked to the bare lapel of my jacket, puzzled. It’d been years since I’d worked at a fast food restaurant, and even then it was only part-time while I studied at Uni. I now worked in a small office where there was absolutely no need to wear a name badge.

He leaned in before I could respond. I shuddered from his gentle breath as he nibbled and licked my ear. I couldn’t help it, I was exhilarated, and my resistance was quickly forgotten. I had never felt my heart beat this fast before; I thought I might pass out. Was I actually swooning?

He nuzzled my neck, and his parted lips slowly brushed their way down to my collar bone as I rolled my head to the side. His hot tongue glided over my visible neckline.

“That feels so good,” I groaned.

I think I would’ve obeyed every command he barked at me like an eager puppy so that he’d continue petting and licking me.

“I have to go — follow me or don’t. You decide,” he said, glancing anxiously at the escalators.

Jerking my head up, I met his eyes. He released my wrists and smirked. He raised his right eyebrow. Without another word, he backed away from me, turned and trotted towards the escalators that burrowed into the earth. He didn’t look back.

I stood frozen, not knowing what to do. I considered slinking away towards the lighted bus-stop behind me and back to the relative safety of my home. But the moment the thought crossed my mind, I knew I’d regret not going after him. My curiosity peaked. Quickly replaying the limited conversation we’d had, I knew I didn’t tell him my name. I had to find out how he knew. It couldn’t have just been a random guess.

In a short space of time, he’d touched me in a way that I’d never really experienced before. Steam had risen, and I’d tingled in places that I didn’t know could be reached. I couldn’t fathom giving him up. I wouldn’t.

The decision was made. I needed to know more.