The Gift (15 page)

‘So what shall we talk about?’ He didn’t look at her this time, but he was smiling as he watched the road ahead. They were skimming along with farmers’ fields on both sides now, skirted by hedgerows and small copses. The lane they followed branched into smaller ones, unsurfaced, some that looked well used, and others obviously leading to nowhere. ‘How about sex then? Shall we discuss that?’ Jay appended with a chuckle.

‘Oh, that again.’

She wanted to, though. And she wanted to do more than talk. She could barely believe her own horniness, her own body. And she couldn’t even blame it on the wine she’d drunk, because she’d been stone-cold sober when he’d come to the café.

‘We don’t have to,’ responded Jay, almost airily. ‘I can quote poetry to you and we can waft hand in hand through that meadow over there.’ He nodded his head to a big, ploughed field at the left, with a long slightly winding lane bordering it on one side.

Although they’d got off lightly so far this year, the sky was heavy, and Sandy could swear a flake or two of snow was beginning to fall. Even so, without consulting her, Jay eased the Aston to a stop at the entrance to the lane, which was little more than a wide track dividing a field from a little wood with overgrown scraggly hedges at either side. Despite its unpaved status, and being out in the middle of nowhere and leading to God alone knew where, the lane was surprisingly well marked.

Sandy blinked, suddenly realising where they were. With a little snort of laughter, she said, ‘Well, if we wander
through
that
field, we’re likely to get an audience, even at this time of year, and day. And they’ll probably expect a bit more than wafting and a poetry recital!’

‘How do you mean?’ He turned towards her, looking interested.

‘Well, that’s “Adultery Alley”.’ She nodded towards the lane winding away from them. In the distance, where it widened beside a gate, she could see a car parked. ‘It’s a notorious local haunt of doggers, bit-on-the-side merchants and general all-round shaggers. There’s almost always someone there having a bit of fun in their car.’

Jay’s grin widened. ‘And how would you know this?’ Good question.

She’d come here once with her ex, in the first fine flush of their relationship, when even he’d been a bit frisky. But he hadn’t liked it, and the moment an interested party had driven up behind them, presumably with the intention of watching, or inviting them to watch, he’d started the car and protested a television programme he’d forgotten about.

Sandy could still remember her disappointment, both in him, and at being denied something she hadn’t even realised she wanted.

‘Oh, it’s common knowledge, and Kat and Greg come here all the time, even though they’ve got plenty of other places to get it on.’

The way Jay’s fine dark brows rose told her he knew she wasn’t telling the whole story. He didn’t have to speak.

‘OK! Yes! I came here once, ages ago. But nothing ever happened. The guy I was with bottled out. Turned out he wasn’t as kinky as he thought he was. Or I wasn’t quite exciting enough.’

‘He sounds like a moron.’

‘He was my ex-husband.’

‘Uh-oh.’

‘Another aggravating and boring thing I don’t want to talk about.’ She tossed her head, her hair flying, shaking away her past. ‘So, are we staying here or driving on?’

‘Oh, let’s stay.’ It was tantamount to a purr. This was not a man to bottle out. She could barely imagine the things he might have done in his past. ‘I’ve never “dogged” as such, but I’ve watched and been watched in my time.’ He reached towards the ignition. ‘Shall I pull a bit further into the lane? Then maybe we could get out for a walk, stretch our legs, see what we encounter?’

‘OK.’

Once out of the car, she looked around, scanning for other cars, or adventurous sex-fiends on foot. She was well known in Kissley, what with the café and her long red hair, and she wasn’t sure it was a good idea being seen in this notorious place, with a man. Conclusions would be drawn that might not be good for business.

‘Isn’t it a bit risky leaving a car like this in a lane?’ The Aston looked completely out of place, halfway into a hedgerow. As completely unexpected as encountering James Bond himself here.

‘It’ll be fine. The security system is second to none. Come along, I’m feeling curious.’

He took her hand, leading her along the lane as if he might indeed start spouting poetry. Sandy was curious too, about when Jay might have been watched before.

‘So, when did it happen, this watching? Voyeurism, and – um – exhibitionism?’

His expression was opaque, and tricky, despite his slight smile.

‘Oh, certain élite parties. Exclusive resorts. Country weekends. Gatherings of like-minded people. I’ve experimented.’

‘Yeah, you said so.’

‘And you also said you wanted to experiment too, so come along.’ His hand tightened around hers and he upped his pace a little.

Sandy’s heart began to thud, and the fact that she was wearing no knickers suddenly seemed much more apparent. There was no wind to speak off beneath the glowering winter sky, but it felt as if a breeze was tickling her pussy.

In the back of the Ford parked about a hundred yards from where they’d left the Aston, a couple were going at it. As they approached, Sandy couldn’t see much except the head, shoulders and upper back of a man, jerking, and female legs sticking up braced against the door jamb and the upholstery of one of the front seats. It wasn’t a pretty sight but, judging by the shouts and moans and the choice obscenities faintly audible from the interior of the car, the enthusiastic couple weren’t too concerned about the niceties of aesthetics.

When Sandy and Jay were just feet away, the man glanced over his shoulder, as if he’d sensed them. And then immediately redoubled his efforts, thrusting harder. When he threw back his head and shouted, ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ it was obvious he was coming.

Even as the animated performance in the car shuddered to a halt, Sandy felt the tug of Jay’s hand and she followed him onwards down the lane by silent mutual consent. She didn’t particularly want to get involved, and if they kept moving it maintained at least some sort of pretence that they were simply a couple of friends out for a stroll. A flimsy one, but still.

Around a little bend in the lane though, where an old step stile gave access to the adjoining field, they did stop. A thicket of tough-looking bushes and trees now hid them completely from the distant road. Still clasping her fingers in his, Jay turned to her, his eyes were alight with mischief and desire now.

When Sandy glanced down at his crotch, his cock was bulging in his jeans.

‘Crikey, it doesn’t take much to get you going!’

Jay laughed suddenly, a harsh noise, almost a bark. He shook his head. ‘No, it doesn’t, does it?’ He smiled, looking down at himself. Sandy could have sworn there was surprise and a sense of wonder in his face. It wasn’t the usual smug pride of a man in his own equipment, but more a genuine astonishment at his own condition.

I wonder why he’s so surprised he’s got the horn? Is it because he’s not used to being with girls so ordinary?

Sandy frowned, annoyed with herself for thinking that, yet, even so, with a Bond car he must be used to women of the Bond calibre too.

But why be so negative? He was here, now, with her, not some polished It Girl. Seize the day, or whatever. She stared at his crotch.

‘What do you want to do about that?’ It was difficult not to just reach out and cup him. And the urge spiralled when he reached down to cradle himself, looking for all the world as if he still didn’t quite believe his own rampancy. The sight of him fondling himself made her breathless, her heart go light and pitter-pat. Her own sex stirred as if silently offering to receive him and she wished that he’d pull her hand towards him and press it against himself.

‘What do you suggest?’ He looked her straight in the
eye, still holding himself, his thumb gliding over the stretched denim.

‘I, um, I could …’ Ridiculously, she couldn’t say it, even if she desperately wanted to do it.

His eyes glittered, challenging her mettle as much as the promise of his cock did.

‘I could give you a blow job.’

‘What an incredibly sweet offer. How could I possibly resist?’

‘Don’t laugh at me!’ she cried, even though she was laughing herself. Dear God, didn’t the language of sex sometimes sound completely absurd?

‘I’m not laughing at you, we’re laughing together.’ His voice dropped low, roughened more than ever, and as if he’d read her secret thoughts he drew her hand to his erection and folded his own hand over it. ‘There’s a big difference.’

Already the shape of him was familiar to her. Dear. Yearned for. She circled her palm over the hard knot of flesh, experiencing a surge of triumph when he let out a gasp and bumped his hips to meet her touch. He closed his eyes and she took a step, bringing the two of them close up against each other while her fingers flexed. She smelt his cologne, sharp and clear above the faint smell of tilled earth and winter foliage. What a strange tableau they must present. Two people standing in a lane, bodies aligned, holding and touching. As if he were imagining it too, or anticipating the next step, he breathed in deep.

‘Yes,’ he sighed, kissing her brow, rubbing his chin against her almost like a cat again. His beard felt strangely soft as it brushed against her skin. ‘Yes … yes … touch me.’

She knew what he meant. Touch his skin, not just his
jeans. Shaking her other hand free from his, she applied herself to her task, unbuckling his leather belt, then unzipping his jeans. With a tug on his underwear, pushing it down, she freed his cock into the December air.

He grabbed her hand then, made her hold him straight away. She would have liked to slide her fingers under his T-shirt and caress his belly, his navel, explore him a little. But it seemed he didn’t want that. He wanted to be held.

Unaffected by the chill, Jay’s cock filled her fist, overflowed it. She was a woman of average size, with slender hands, and her fingers could barely encircle him in their grip. He moaned as she tried to, and she found herself echoing the sound, entranced by the sweet feel of his flesh. He was hot, velvety, hard and clean, yet silky with fluid oozing from the tiny love-eye in his glans. Her mouth watered, wanting to taste him.

Who are you?

That question again, as he stepped back, leaning against the stile, and she followed him, sinking to her knees, still holding him.

Stalks of rough grass poked her through her skirt, and she could hear something rustling in the undergrowth, but neither bothered her. There was just Jay, and his cock, in her universe, with no other being or thing to disturb her, not even the couple in the car round the corner, who might be compelled by curiosity to follow them any minute.

‘Unfasten your top,’ he commanded, just as she was about to lean forward, extend her tongue and taste him, ‘I want to see your breasts.’

The rawness in his voice thrilled her, as did the idea of exposing herself to him in a place if not public, still with the possibility of discovery. Since she’d first set eyes on him
she’d wanted to take risks with this man, even if at the beginning she’d not consciously realised it.

‘But it’s cold.’ Her protest was half-hearted. She didn’t feel cold. Her desire was like some kind of personal central heating, turned up far too high.

‘Just for a few moments … I’ll warm you up afterwards.’

Not needing to be coaxed, but with fingers fumbling from excitement more than cold, she drew open her jacket, then tackled the tiny buttons down the front of her brushed cotton top. Congratulating herself on choosing it, she snapped open the front fastening on her bra. A flake or two of snow fell on her as she bared herself, but Jay’s eyes were burning hot; their intensity would have melted an entire snowdrift.

As she knelt before him, uncovered as he was uncovered, he edged sideways, pulling her with him, and sat down on the high step.

‘Kiss me.’

For a moment she was confused, wondering whether he wanted her to reach up and press her mouth to his, but then in her heart and in her gut she knew exactly what he meant. Leaning forward, she dropped a tiny kiss on the tip of his cock, with lips closed, just a greeting or a tribute. His hips jerked, pushing him against her face, his sticky glans sliding across her cheek, wetting it. She parted her lips, trying to lick him, but he continued to rub himself against her cheek, digging his hands into her thick hair and controlling the action.

Circling and sliding, he massaged his cock all over her face, as if both exploring and anointing it. The salty smell of man was strong, yet still he seemed clean and good to her. Trying to participate, she pushed his jacket out of the way,
and reached again for the hem of his T-shirt, wanting to touch and caress him, but he said, ‘No!’ very firmly, and repeated it. ‘No!’

Her lips against his cock, she asked, ‘Why?

Curling over her, almost doubled, he whispered, ‘My scars are ugly, Princess. Not good to look at. I don’t want to repulse you.’ Could he really think that? His body was fine and strong and his cock was fabulous. How could a bit of scar tissue really spoil all that good stuff?

‘Let me be the judge of that,’ she whispered and, when he tensed, she delicately licked the side of his cock where it lay against her face.

Jay groaned, but whether it was from the pleasure of her tongue, or the prospect of her seeing his scars, she couldn’t tell. The taste of his hard silky flesh made her dizzy.

She kissed him. She licked him. She played him. Not taking him into her mouth, but gently teasing and tantalising and, yes, distracting him. When he slumped back against the upper step of the stile, she plucked at the edge of his T-shirt and this time he didn’t stop her.

The scars were bad. At least the ones on his belly and in the area of his groin were. Puckered and angry, they curled savagely over his abdomen, one plunging down, dangerously close to the juncture of his thigh and his crotch. A half an inch further and the twisted metal that had so damaged him might well have emasculated him too.