Rich Promise (12 page)

I can taste myself on him still, my own musky flavor a beguiling presence across my tongue.
Is this how I taste to him?

Dan slides his cock slowly out, then back in again. He hooks his elbows under my knees to lift and open me, to penetrate deeper, but he doesn’t speed up his thrusting. This is not even gentle fucking. This is sweet, tender lovemaking, just as I requested. My body responds, as much to the evocative poignancy of the moment as to the physical impact. Dan is doing this for me, my way, entirely focused on my needs and wishes. Maybe he always is, but never more overtly than now.

I tighten my pussy around him, rolling my hips for greater friction. I don’t want fast or hard, but I’m reaching for deep and intense. I find both as Dan alters his angle slightly, my G-spot once more receiving the benefit of his long, slow strokes.

“Sir, I’m going to come. May I…?” My breathless tones are almost inaudible now, my throat closing in passion. I could weep, maybe I will. Soon.

“Come for me, love. Take your time. I’ll see you on the other side.”

I hardly have a moment to register his odd remark before my release captures me and sweeps me up again, my pussy now clenching hard and tight around the solid girth of his erection. Dan delivers one last gliding thrust, plunging deep and holding still as his cock leaps and twitches inside me. His semen washes across my cervix, hot and wet, blending with my own juices as we come, together.

I’m still shuddering, wordless, only aware that I’m deliriously happy as I drift back to something resembling consciousness a few moments later. Dan, too, is utterly spent, draped on top of me. For once he makes no attempt to roll away or take his own weight, just collapses onto me. I have no objection. I could lie beneath him forever.

“Fuck, girl, that was sweet.” Dan is first to speak, and as ever is a master of understatement

“Sweet?” I manage, I think, to inject a suitable snort of derision into the word.

“Okay, the world shifted on its axis. I think. Maybe.”

“Better.”

“Stop whining, girl, and kiss me before I feel a need to take a strap to you again.”

As always, I obey. Though he can take that strap to me any time he likes.

Chapter Six

“What time do you need to be back at Black Combe tomorrow?”

“What? Oh, I’m not sure.”

We’re snuggled together in Dan’s bed, enjoying a supper of buttered crumpets and hot tea. It’s still quite early, not yet ten o’clock, but we decided to come to bed even so. It’s not about sex, well not just now anyway. We’re both absolutely sated. Now it’s just about being together, snuggled up, naked, warm. I feel safe, secure. Or I did until Dan’s question reminded me that I have no real idea what time I’ll be back at Black Combe in the morning.

Nathan was laid back about it when I spoke to him last week, said to return when I was ready, avoid the rush hour traffic. He’s probably not expecting me before about eleven, but I’ll need to contact him and make some excuse for being later than that. It’s a pity he usually works at home on Mondays—if he hadn’t been around Black Combe, it’s possible no one would have known I wasn’t there. My job is not exactly desk based, I come and go all the time.

So, here it starts in earnest. The secrecy, the deceit. Why not come clean, just tell Dan what happened yesterday and where I’m going tomorrow? He might even offer to come with me. God knows I’d welcome the support. But that would mean telling him about my mother’s crimes, and it’s such a very short hop from her current charge sheet to the rest. All her past convictions would come out, and eventually my own part in them.

My career as a prostitute was short-lived, but it’s as vivid now as it was all those years ago when I sat on the edge of her bed and waited for whatever customer my mother chose to send up. I still see it, feel it, taste it. I still hear those footsteps outside the bedroom door, see the handle turn before I close my eyes and refuse to open them again until he’s gone. It all rushes back in a crushing, punishing, mind-numbing rush. If I let it. But I don’t. I won’t. Not now. Not ever.

This
is my reality now,
this
man,
this
bed. My job, the friends I’m making. The family home I so desperately want to build. It’s imperative that I protect all that, shield my present by shaking off my past. So I turn to Dan, smile at him, press my cheek against his hard chest.

“I’ll leave here about eight. That should be fine.”

“You’ll hit all the traffic on the motorway. Set off an hour later.”

And possibly miss the social worker? No way. I don’t even know the name of whoever I have to see, but I’m assuming they all start the week in the office before they head off to wherever they’re needed. My best chance has to be first thing. I can’t be late.

“No, I’ll be fine. It’ll be clearing by the time I get there.”

“Nathan won’t give a shit what time you get back. We could have a lie in.”

The promise in his words is hard to resist. But I have no choice, not really. “I’ll set the alarm for six-thirty…”

“Mm, early morning fuck-fest? Could work, I suppose. Put the wake-up boner to good use.” He tightens his arm across my shoulders. “I suppose I’ll have to settle for that. Did you eat the last crumpet?”

“No, there’s one left, I think. I could always suck your cock. In the morning I mean, that boner…?”

“You, Miss Jones, are a dirty girl.”

“I suppose so. You’ll just have to spank me again.”

“I guess so. Nothing else for it. Set that alarm for quarter past six.”

* * * *

I do manage to get away soon after eight o’clock, my bottom tingling delightfully from Dan’s early morning attentions.

I reached up to switch off the alarm, just to be hauled across his thighs, my bottom tilted upwards by one strategically raised knee. The spanking he delivered was that exquisite blend of caress, laced with just enough bite to make it uncomfortable. Memorable. I’ll be put in mind of Dan all the way to Carlisle, and every time I move.

I trust he’ll have equally fond memories of my efforts. I knelt beside the bed, my buttocks bright red and throbbing, and took his cock into my mouth. I sucked, licked, teased with tongue and teeth, used my hands to pump the shaft and knead his balls as he groaned his appreciation. And I swallowed his semen as it spurted into the back of my throat. Delicious. I thoroughly recommend it as an alternative to Corn Flakes.

Our mood is light, seemingly carefree as I sling my holdall back in the Discovery and climb into the driver’s seat. Dan leans into the open window to kiss me goodbye.

“Text me when you get there.”

“I will. When can you come down again? Or have I to come back next weekend?”

“Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, even if only for one night. Depends if there’s anyone else in the team to provide cover. And as long as no emergencies crop up.”

I loop my arms around his neck, hug him tight. “I’ve had a wonderful weekend. Thank you, Sir.”

“You’re welcome. I enjoyed your company too.”

“I love you, Sir.” I mumble the words into his shoulder, but his sharp hearing misses nothing.

He straightens, tilting my chin up with his fingers. “And I love you, Summer.” He winks, taps the roof of the Land Rover twice, then steps back.

I reverse out of his driveway, my smile blooming ridiculously, and head off down the road. I glance back in the rear-view mirror just before I turn the corner into the main road. He’s still there, standing beside his bike, one hand upraised in a final salute.

* * * *

I present myself at the reception desk in the Cumbria County Council offices a couple of minutes before nine o’clock. The efficient looking middle-aged receptionist smiles at me as I lean over the chest high counter.

“I want to see someone in social services please.”

“Okay. Do you have an appointment?”

“No, do I need one?” I half expected this. I don’t mind waiting if I have to, as long as I can see someone today.

“No, not necessarily. What’s it in connection with?”

“I-I…” I really have no wish to discuss my family crisis in the public reception area, an audience of interested visitors listening behind me.

“It’s just so I can put you in touch with the right team. Is it children’s services or adults?” Her smile is reassuring, I relax. Slightly.

“Children. My sisters.”

“I’ll see if anyone in that team is available.” She picks up a phone and dials.

I wait, watching her face for any sign that there’s life at the other end. She makes eye contact, shakes her head doubtfully.

“No one picking up just yet. They may be in a team meeting. If you want to wait a few minutes, I’ll try them again.”

“Couldn’t you try now? Please.” I may be overreacting, probably am, but I just have this vision of all the social workers rushing off to meetings and client visits and whatever else, and being too busy to see me. Perhaps the note of desperation in my voice impresses her because the receptionist nods and redials.

I catch the flicker in her eyes, then, “Yes, this is the front desk. Do you have anyone free to talk to a client now?” A pause, then she glances at me. “What name is it?”

“Me? I’m Summer Jones. My sisters are Lucy and Maisie Jones. They’re in care.”

She nods, relays my name to the person on the other end of the line. She doesn’t mention Maisie and Lucy. Then, “Thanks, I’ll send her up.”

I heave a sigh of relief. I could lean over and hug the receptionist. She has her pleasant, helpful smile back on as she turns her attention back to me. She points to a spot somewhere behind me. “Through the double doors, then take the lift to the second floor. Someone will meet you there.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.” I tuck my bag under my arm and make a beeline for the door indicated. Moments later I’m exiting the lift on the second floor. The carpeted corridor is empty. There are double doors on both sides of me, both locked with those mechanisms you need a magnetic pass to get through. I’m wondering what to do next, when the door to my left opens. The woman who peers through is a little older than I am, and has that harassed air of someone who really does have better things to do.

“Miss Jones?”

I step forward. “Yes. That’s me.”

“I’m Annabel Mason, duty social worker. Shall we go through here?” She gestures me to follow her through the double doors, and into a small room immediately on the left. It’s clearly an interview room, simply furnished with four low, cushioned chairs surrounding a coffee table. There’s a box of children’s toys in the corner, and a small vending machine perched on top of a floor standing cupboard.

“Would you like a drink? Tea, coffee?” Despite her obvious impatience to get on, she does seem inclined to put me at my ease. Must be the social work training.

I accept a coffee and sit down on one of the chairs. Annabel helps herself to a tea, and sits opposite. She has a reporter’s style notebook and a pen, which she places on the table in front of her. Reading upside down, I see my name and today’s date scrawled along the top of an otherwise clean page. She takes a sip, grimaces, then looks directly at me.

“So, Miss Jones, how can I help you?”

“My sisters, Lucy and Maisie. They’ve been taken into care. I don’t even know where they are.”

“I see. When did this happen, please?”

“What? When did what happen?”

“When was the care order granted?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks ago. Can I see them, just to know they’re all right? And I want to take them home with me. There’s no need for them to be in care. I’ll look after them.”

“Did you tell that to the social worker dealing with your case?” She regards me calmly over the lip of her plastic cup.

“No. I couldn’t. I wasn’t here. I only just found out. It’s a mistake, like I say. They don’t need to be in care.”

“Miss Jones, I’ll have to check our files and possibly consult with the social worker dealing with this case. Could you give me the girls’ full names please?”

“Lucy Jones and Maisie Jones.” I watch as she writes the names down. “Lucy has Downs syndrome.” I add the last point, unsure if it makes any difference or not. Probably not, though Annabel Mason notes that as well before she gets to her feet.

“I’ll be a few minutes. Please help yourself to another drink if you want.” And she’s gone, leaving me to contemplate the unappetizing brew that passes for social services coffee.

I think one cup will be quite enough.

* * * *

I’m beginning to revise that view half an hour later when I’m still sitting alone in that small room, wondering if Ms Mason has forgotten me. I do eventually avail myself of the vending facilities, trying the tea this time. It’s no better, but I drink it any way.

Nearly forty minutes have passed before the door opens again, this time to admit a familiar figure. I don’t know her name. I don’t recall that she introduced herself back there at Freya’s apartment when she came to assess my suitability to take care of Lucy and Maisie while my mother was in Benidorm. If she did, I never registered it. But I recognize her instantly, and she appears to remember me.

“Miss Jones, Summer. How are you?” She enters the room, her hand outstretched.

I take it and shake. “I’m fine, very well.” Better for seeing her. She thought I was suitable back then, surely she’ll not have changed her mind. If anything, I’m even more suitable now, gainfully employed and a home of my own.

“We’ve met before. I’m not sure if you remember me, Sally MacDonald? I dealt with your case a few months back.”

My case? Am I a case too?
I shelve that, return to the immediate matter in hand. “Yes, I remember, of course. Nice to see you again. I didn’t realize you were still involved.”

“I’m looking after Maisie and Lucy. Annabel tells me you’ve been away. I knew you were no longer resident at Ms Stone’s address in Kendal, as I checked there. I gather Ms Stone no longer lives there either.”

“No, she lives in Cartmel now. I’ve moved to Yorkshire.”