Seduction (27 page)

In the bathroom, she half-expected a mocking, laddish reaction, but he remained silent, his dark eyes flickering around, taking it all in, weighing it all up. Then his expression grew thoughtful when he paused to glance at her magazine, on the stool and wide open at the ‘seduce yourself' article. But his reaction wasn't at all what she'd anticipated. He looked more wry and sympathetic than anything.

Still not speaking, he strode to the sink and opened the little cupboard underneath it. With swift efficiency, he reached in and turned off the stop-cock.

‘Won't be a mo,' he said again, his eyes gentle. The kindness was so tangible that to her horror she felt tears well in her eyes, and she could only thank God that he turned away and left for the kitchen again almost immediately.

He felt sorry for her.

He thought she was a sad, frustrated, bloody spinster who couldn't get a real man and had to resort to fabricating faux dates on the advice of silly magazines, and indulging in solitary masturbation pretending a man off the telly fancied her.

Lucy sat down on the side of the bath and wept. Wept so hard
that a few minutes later, she couldn't stop when Steve came back.

‘Hey, love, what's the matter?'

In an instant, he was perched on the edge of the bath beside her, his big brawny arms around her shoulder. Pulling her to him, he pressed her face against his crook of his neck, and she smelt a whiff of some cologne he must have applied earlier in the day, all blended with healthy male sweat and something volatile like paint or thinners.

It wasn't Gucci or Dior, but it was still sexy, and it was real, not imagined.

‘Come on, pet . . . Don't cry. It may never happen.' It was nonsense talk, comfort talk, but his arms around her made every kind of sense. The blue meanies of despair started to retreat.

‘You'll think I'm a totally sad bitch . . . all this, it's just for pretend.' While she dragged in a calming breath, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. It was old and well laundered but it looked reasonably clean and she let him blot her eyes with it. ‘Girlie fantasy night in, and all that . . .' She sniffed again. ‘I've just been dumped and I felt like some self-indulgence . . . know what I mean?'

The words had whooshed out of her like air, and she felt empty, at a loss. But the warm arm around her imparted a glow. Healing comfort. And more.

‘Tell me about it, love,' he said in a strangely weary voice. ‘It's a bloody cattle market out there. Sometimes, it's just easier to stay in, isn't it?' His other arm came around her, rubbing her arm, squeezing her as if she'd been out in the cold and needed warming up. Which she did. ‘I've been working hard on renovations and stuff . . . building up my business. Sometimes I'm too tired for anything more than a night in with Kylie or Madonna or Beyoncé on the box . . .' He paused. ‘A few cans of Stella, a takeout . . . and . . . well . . . a bit of the old hand
shandy, know what I mean? And some KY with it if I'm feeling sophisticated.'

What?

A feeling bubbled up. Like she'd drunk several more glasses of champagne, straight down, one after the other. Laughter gurgled up and she just couldn't keep it in. She simply guffawed.

‘What? You as well?' she gasped eventually, in between hiccups of laughter. ‘I mean, not Stella Artois or Beyoncé . . . but the other thing?'

‘I'm afraid so.' She drew back, looked at him, and saw the ruefulness in his expression. His big shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘Now who's a saddo?'

‘You're not sad. And neither am I,' Lucy announced. More warmth rushed in, and light, and a feeling of conspiracy and companionship. And more of that other thing. The thing she'd never expected in a million years to feel for Steve. ‘We're just busy people . . . who . . . um . . . make a logical choice. Sort of . . .'

She looked at him, suddenly really, really liking his shaggy hair and his solid body. He was disreputable and piratey-looking, but he had beautiful blue eyes, a strong, kind face, and the promise of a truly exceptional physique beneath his tatty, paint-stained work clothes.

It took less than a heartbeat to come to a decision.

‘Look, I haven't got any Stella . . . but I do have another bottle of champagne. Would you like some?'

The blue eyes, which were
really
beautiful, flared, hot and interested.

‘Yeah, why not? I can go upmarket.'

Lucy stood up. She glanced quickly at her lingerie, and her sexy wrap, but Steve caught the look.

‘Hey, you look great in what you've got on . . . It's kind of subtle . . . makes a man speculate . . . and fantasise.' He cast another quick glance at the mag, ‘That bloke, the one you split
up with . . . he's a bloody idiot letting go of a hot woman like you, I can tell you. Come on, let's go and get some of that fizz.'

Lucy's heart thudded as he followed her into the kitchen. She liked the way he'd said ‘you split up with' rather than ‘dumped you', and his large presence behind her seemed to vibrate, give her energy. And confidence.

In the kitchen, she pulled the second bottle of wine from the fridge and it seemed natural and companionable to hand it to Steve, so he could do the man thing and open it while she got the everyday glasses from the cupboard.

With an encouragingly deft hand, he uncorked the champagne and poured it out.

‘So what shall we drink to?' He handed her a glass, and waited.

Lucy's heart thumped. She looked him up and down. Bollocks to shitty exes, fantasy figures and elaborate idealised scenarios. This was here and now and real.

‘How about . . . seduction?' She caught his eye, then clinked her glass to his, still holding his gaze. ‘The real thing, not the imaginary kind.'

He laughed. He smirked. But she didn't mind. The rude twinkle in his eye made her laugh back at him, and she loved the way, when he sipped his wine, he went ‘Mmm . . .', and smacked his lips, suggesting he had far more in his mind to taste than just champagne.

They drank in silence for a few moments, then Steve took her glass from her. ‘We don't need this, do we, love?' He set both their glasses aside with a determined ‘clomp'.

Moving closer, he looked down at her, that naughty glow in his expression even brighter. Lucy swallowed, her heart bashing in her chest, and hot blood careening around her body at a pace a fantasy lover could never have induced.

She was burning up. She wanted Steve. And she was going to get him – and far more than she'd ever get from sad dreams of a man off the telly.

OK, so his jeans and mucky T-shirt weren't a match for Armani and Hugo Boss. But he had a hot body, gorgeous eyes, and an imagination that was more than a match for hers.

She grabbed him by the T-shirt, hauled him close to her, then slid her hand behind his head and drew his mouth down to hers.

His lips were soft and full of potential. He tasted like wine, and his shaggy hair was far lusher and silkier to the touch than it looked. For a moment she hesitated, confidence wavering, but then he pushed his warm tongue gently but firmly into her mouth, and began to tease hers with little pokes and darts and strokes.

He didn't grab her, he just kissed, standing there, letting her control the seduction. But everything about his presence and the stance of his body said he liked it. And wanted more.

Which she gave him, standing on tiptoe, pressing her body against his, feeling his hard cock jut against her belly through their clothing. His answer was a sort of eloquent grunt, his breath in her mouth.

But still he didn't touch her. Infuriating man! But in a good way . . .

Wrenching open her robe, she tried again, pushing her naked breasts against his chest and her soft bush against the denim of his jeans.

Again, the grunt. Still he teased, making
her
make the running.

Lucy laughed, enjoying the challenge.

‘You're really making me work for this, aren't you, you devil!' she gasped, breaking her mouth away from his.

‘Seduction, babe,' he purred, his expression warm, teasing but amiable. ‘Gimme some of it.'

‘All right . . . you asked for it!'

Lucy assessed the situation, quickly and excitedly, her bare nipples tingling, her pussy starting to drip. This was so real, so
wonderful, so raw. She didn't feel as if she could do anything wrong here. Hooking a finger into a little hole in his shabby T-shirt – from a burn or something – she ripped down and hard, and the ancient, over-washed cotton tore like tissue paper.

‘Baby!' he exclaimed, his eyes surprised but darkening with delight and lust.

Ooh, his body was even better than she'd expected. A match, easily, for any fantasy man's. He was muscular, not deeply cut but just believably firm and tanned and strong-looking, with rough hair on his chest. Unable to stop herself, she leaned over and kissed his nipple, licking and biting it playfully.

‘Oh, baby . . .' he gasped again, his control breaking as he buried his fingers in her hair.

Steve's skin was salty, a bit foxy, a bit sweaty. His odour was earthy too, but it made her mouth water around his tiny teat. He was all man, and his hips bucked against her.

She wanted more. All she could get. She started pulling at the belt on his jeans and more by main force than dexterity wrenched it open, still lapping and sucking on his nipple.

Belt negotiated, she as good as ripped open his jeans, cooing in her throat on discovering nakedness within. Hot nakedness. Hot, hard nakedness.

Hot, hard nakedness enrobed in silky, velvety skin and slippery with copious sticky fluid.

She had to see it. So with a last nip at his teat, she drew back, broke free of his grip, and looked down at the monster in her hand.

Now
that
is what I call a tool! And much more fun than anything you've got in your bag, landlord mine!

His cock was reddened with blood, fierce and hungry-looking. Ready to do the business, ready to fuck her.

Steve groaned as she stroked him lightly, loving the feel of him as much as she loved the sound.

Now this was where dream lovers would always fall short, and what vibrators, dildos and Magic Rabbits would never be
able to replicate. Because they didn't come powered by strong backs, muscular buttocks and powerful thighs.

‘Oh yeah . . . oh yeah . . .' he chanted, folding his big hand around hers and guiding the way she worked and rode him. ‘That's it . . . not too hard, I'll come too soon.'

There was pleasure in just touching him. Joy in handling him and feeling his response, his excitement. Power of her own in tugging him gently forwards and rubbing his tip against her bare belly.

He made sounds now that weren't words, just growls and deep throaty utterances of rough male appreciation. Slick fluid poured from the tip of his cock, wetting her fingers.

Lucy wondered how long he could last before coming. She wondered whether it might just be fun to make him come, to exert control over him in a real physical way that she'd never be able to do in her fantasies. But just as she was about to experiment, Steve stopped her, moving her hand away.

‘Hey, sweetheart . . . I'm getting all the good stuff here. We need to see to you too.'

With that he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. His wicked tongue shot out and licked up his own pre-come, and when she gasped in surprise, he just waggled his eyebrows and winked at her.

How incredibly horny . . .

And then his hand was upon her, settling on her belly, curving delicately and in exploration at first, then moving more purposefully. Long, thick, workmanlike fingers parted her pubic hair, then the middle one dived in between her sex lips like a missile homing in on just the spot that craved it.

‘That's better, isn't it?' He began to rock the pad of his fingertip across her clit.

Yes, it was. It was far, far better than solitary, imaginary fantasies with a man she'd never seduce. Oh, masturbation was
fine and good, a treat, an indulgence, but not when done in sadness and a yearning for something mutual.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, riding his finger, loving his touch.

It didn't take long. It didn't take long for hot, golden pleasure to ball in the pit of her belly and roll and tighten to an intolerable pitch. It didn't take long for the ball to burst, in ineffable pleasure, making her howl and latch on to Steve like a limpet while she shuddered and climaxed.

She slumped against him, still clinging, her labia still divided by his finger, her chest heaving like a sprinter's.

‘Was that nice?' His voice was an awestruck whisper.

‘Fabulous,' she panted. ‘I should get you to come up here and do odd jobs a lot more often.'

He laughed in a low rumble, delicately patting her clit, as if making sure it knew that there was plenty more of what it had just had available. As he touched her, he pressed his cock against the side of her hip. It was like an iron bar, streaming with pre-come all over again.

‘Have you got a condom, love?'

His voice was soft but rough, as if he were trying hard to control himself and only just succeeding.

Oh no!

But . . . yes. Befuddled by pleasure, she visualised a box with a few in it in the bathroom cabinet. Left over from less lean times, sexually, and tucked away out of sight and mind.

‘There're some in the bathroom cabinet . . . I'll get them.'

She made as if to move, but he held on to her.

‘No need, babe . . . we'll go to them!'

With that he slid his arms around her, beneath her robe, and, scooping his hands under her buttocks, lifted her up. Lucy's thighs parted around him and her arms hooked round his neck, their movements co-ordinated.

Steve laughed and dropped a kiss on her face, then hoisted
her more comfortably before striding off in the direction of the bathroom. Still poking out of his flies, his cock bobbed tantalisingly against her bottom as he walked.