Trust Me to Know You (8 page)

A few minutes later his face was buried in my breasts as my chest heaved with the exertion. We came together,
which I think pleased him, it certainly did me. Another guttural, earthy
orgasm with no romantic frills - pure sexual pleasure and base in nature.

“Let’s shower.”

He pushed me off with little effort and took me by the hand, helping me off the bed.

On our second night of sex together,
we went in his spacious shower together. He handed me the shower gel and I washed him under the warm water. I was good at
the tactile bathing, using my hands sensually as possible and he groaned under my gentle touch. I lathered up the soap and worked my way down from his neck letting him turn to rinse the suds off as I went. I reached his groin and he took my hand and guided me around his penis. I bathed the hairs around his testicles with tender strokes, his cock jerked in response.

“Stop,” he grabbed the bottle from my hand. “Your turn.”

H
e pushed me against the tiles and liberally rubbed me with the sweet fragrance. His hands were smooth, without calluses, not like a working man’s. Fingers massaged my shoulders, then my back, buttocks and he knelt behind me and stroked my thighs and calves. He turned me around to face him and worked the lather around my breasts. Flames were burning within me as the water splashed off my skin. There was a gentle smile on face as he cupped his hand on my sex, slipping a finger inside my pussy as if by accident. I groaned, eyes shut and arched my back,
while thrusting my hips forward. I jumped as he pushed his cock inside me.

“Again, Mr Lucas?” I curled my lips at him.

“Oh indeed, Miss Marshall.” Jason buried his mouth on mine, water cascading around us.

***

We spent Saturday morning in bed eating toast and drinking coffee.
We chatted about neutral things such as music we liked, holidays – his were much more f
antastic than mine. Jason was
absurdly rich: a yacht, apartment in New York and a cha
let in Switzerland. He had a company
jet and a fleet of cars. The mansion, named Blythewood House (he pronounced it as Bly-the-wood and told me it was to do with a corruption of by-the-wood), was derelict when he bought it and he spent two years doing it up while living in his townhouse, called Piedmont. No sign of much
feminine influence, though everything was tastefully, if minimally, decorated.

The afternoon was not as exciting. He went to his study and worked for a few hours while I relaxed on a lounger in his conservatory reading. He told me to explore his property if I wanted to and I was happy to follow his suggestion.

The wide sun-drenched kitchen window faced a cobbled stone courtyard and on the other side was a large stable block. Windowless, the masonry had been repaired and the roof was new. What lurked inside the building remained a mystery. Jason had not referred to the building nor had he given me a tour of the grounds.

The estate was immense. During one brief leg stretch outside, I had explored the squarely arranged ornamental garden with the deadheaded rosebushes, dwarf walls and centrepiece stone fountain that was dry and inactive. The garden was an old design and probably remained from the original Victorian landscaping. Only visible from the conservatory, it was partitioned from the rest of the vast lawn by a south facing wall. The lawn, which was bordered by shrubs down one side and trees on the other, was flat like a cricket ground. A small copse of various deciduous and evergreen trees formed the border of the estate. The leaves on the outer branches were beginning to show tinges of yellow. Autumn was descending in the canopies of the ancient woodland.

There was another garden away from the house on the other side of the courtyard. The size of two tennis courts, it was unadorned with meagre flowerbeds
and lay bare with parched grass. Beyond was a crumbling wall and a wild
meadow, which seemed to be a haven for wildlife. The summer was fast ending, the flowers had lost their petals and the grass was dried out with the diminishing heat of the long days. Perhaps once a field for exercising horses, it had lost its purpose and as, with the rest of the estate, was hidden from the outside world by trees and perimeter fences.

Part of me was saddened by the neglect. It was not as if the garden was not tended or kept neat. There was evidence of the work of a gardener as the beds were clear of weeds and the shrubs well pruned. An anonymous attender and certainly not Jason. Like the housekeeper, who kept the house in order while Jason worked in the city during the week, people maintained his property in his absence. Through my eyes, so much more could be done with the expanse of land.

Indoors I found seven bedrooms and his was the biggest by far. Each was furnished with a double bed and generous storage facilities. Two had en-suites and the remainder were served by a large family bathroom with modern clinical finishings. The rooms were impersonal and could easily be found in a high-class bed and breakfast facility or mediocre hotel. They served Jason no purpose and I suspected he rarely made use of his extra rooms. They looked brand new and lacked any signs of wear or tear.

On the ground floor, as well as the homely kitchen-diner, there was a sumptuous dining room, which seated twelve. I ran my finger along the ebony surface of the table and pretended I was laying the table out for guests. Positioning each item of cutlery precisely and arranging the napkins in some elaborate origami pose. I would be the perfect hostess and enchant our guests with my quick wit and charm. Jason would sit at the head of the table and me at his side, his hand resting on mine. The perfect couple who entertained the rich and famous. Shaking my head, I dismissed my little dream with a snap of my imaginary fingers. It puffed away up into the clouds and I continued my exploration.

A huge living room with leather suite and original brick lined fireplace. It looked large enough to climb inside. To one side of the fireplace was the tall floor to ceiling bay window, matching the one above in his bedroom. The suite was contemporary in styling and a deep chocolate colour: two armchairs, a three seater and a smaller two seater. The room swallowed up the furniture and still left plenty of floor space. The carpet was a pale cream and warm under my bare feet.

My artistic brain paid attention to the framed pictures hung across the back wall. They were black and white photographs of landscapes taken at different times of day. Mist rising up from rivers and streams, sunshine creeping through trees and moonlight glistening off frosty leaves. All well-constructed
compositions but devoid of personality. Jason’s choice of pictures were there to fill the wall space and not to give an insight into the owner of the property. There could be so much more I could do with all his wall space and I yearned to paint again.

The room was sparsely furnished with the television located
in a separate room with cinematic surround sound and cinema style seats to go with it. Jason had told me he only watched films, selected sports programmes or the news bulletins. Next to this was a
wood panelled
games room, complete with billiard table, Xbox and a darts board, very boy toys, not the image I had of Jason. In one corner a cupboard and inside were board games, the sort
which young children play.
I remembered his reference to his extended family, perhaps he had nieces and nephews to entertain. There were the functional rooms at the back of the house, utility, boiler room and a small office off the hallway with monitors showing CCTV of the grounds. I guessed he had
a security team but there was no evidence of them about.

I found the smaller sitting area tucked away at the back of the house.
This was where I felt at home. T
he room was snugger and had the conservatory adjoining via double doors. Down a back corridor,
I found the sauna and steam room, with plunge pool. Not my kind of entertainment being hot and sweaty then freezing cold. Then a locked door. I shrugged, perhaps a storage area.

I could not understand why Jason chose to live in such a large property on his own. Why he religiously returned to his country mansion every weekend when he had a decent sized townhouse to serve his needs. What drew him to escape the high rises and never ending stream of traffic? Not a love of outdoors, that was certain since he had not stepped foot outside once since my arrival. Perhaps the novelty of owning such an estate had worn off and he appreciated it from his windows. Yet still it was an extravagance to own the place and have little need for the retreat. Perhaps it was simply an investment, somewhere to sink his cash and hope it made more money with time. What the interior needed was obvious to me, a family or at least visitors. A party would fill the house nicely as would children. Maybe Jason harboured fantasies of his own making and he secretly coveted a different life.

That evening, when he emerged,
we revisited the fridge and found additional meals tucked away. Delicious again and a sweet tasting desert that melted in my mouth.
As I ate, I sensed his
intense gaze on me. My natural in
stinct was to keep my eyes down. I could not tell if this pleased or displeased him though.

His performance in the bedroom was second to none again. He really knew how to make my body respond. I thought he appreciated I liked it rough but also I was partial to being teased and tormented by his softer, playful persona. No toys or other extras though, I realised I missed them. The knowledge depressed me as I drifted off into another orgasmic induced sleep.

Over three weeks had passed since the night out at the concert. I had
been, at the weekends, to Jason’s Blythewood House three times. Nothing in the week, not even a peep out of him but I accepted this without questioning his motives
because every Friday he had been there without fail and ready for me.

The sex had been magnificent. Gone was the initial urgency and we were taking our time to explore now. I had forgotten how sex could be so sensual. There were other needs though, I did not know if could abide them being unmet. Jason was quite attentive for the most part and let me come whenever I liked, and though he preferred his sex rough and energetic, his exertions had not been to the point of intolerance.

We had made love in several rooms in his house. Each time Jason had been able to slowly creep up and seduce me
. His lips
had kissed and his moist tongue had tickled my exposed flesh
. He
had distracted me from whatever I had been doing, be it reading, cooking or simply resting my eyes while
crashed out on a couch. In the
kitchen,
I had been washing up when he had approached me from behind, his hand slipping up my skirt to grope my sex with his palm. Another time I
had been looking out of the window in the sitting room, admiring his garden, when he had begun to nibble on my earlobe.

Such expertise he had in drawing me out and quickly making me yearn to be intimate and naked with him. It was apparent he loved me naked, as he would peel off my clothes each time he seduced me into having sex with him. His own desire to strip
varied depending on what he himself was wearing. The more formally he was dressed the less likely he was to undress himself. His a
ttire reflected his temperament, as if the smart cut of his clothes gave him an entitlement over me. I was his employee after all, a status that made me uncomfortable.

He had continued to try out various positions on me depending on the room. Doggy style with him
standing or kneeling was common in the sitting room, especially on a throw on the carpet before the fireplace. His mouth
had been amazing. He had put me on an armchair seat, knelt between my legs, rested my ankles over his shoulders and then had done despicable things to my clitoris.

Oh, cunnilingus, my favourite every time.
He had not been put off if I had been on my belly and bum in the air. Seeking out my forbidden fruit, he had licked my exposed sex.

There had been the 69 position and I had delighted in giving him oral sex. He definitely preferred standing or sitting if I went down on him. On one occasion, he had lowered himself into my mouth as I lay napping on the bed. It had made me jump having him there over my head, but the sight of his gorgeous cock had removed my anxieties.

We had
attempted to watch TV together one evening, but nothing could keep us from ignoring the screen and stripping off. That
had been my butterfly evening, as he had experimented with deep penetration while some muted film had flickered across the screen.

Occasional I had baulked at him. “I can’t bend like that,
Jason. I’m not a gymnast, I’ve never been able to arch or bridge my back like that.”

“OK. Pity,” was all he had said with a shrug.

He had offered another new position in its place as we had eyed each other in the snug. “Try this.”

“Lovely arse, Gemma,” he had said giving it a stroke before ramming into me.

“I can’t hold it!” I had cried a few minutes later as my thighs throbbed.

He had moved me into a classic doggy style to finish and I had been relieved he had not made me stay in the uncomfortable position. But why would he? He had not forced me to do anything against my will.

Each passing weekend we had continued our unspoken dialogues. His observant and penetrating eyes had held back from revealing his deeper thoughts. Whatever his intentions towards me, they were undeclared and romantic words of love and adoration were absent. The closest he had come to saying anything in veneration was on my second Friday in his bedroom. I had stripped off as he sat fully clothed on the edge of his bed. I already did not mind being naked in his presence and he had immediately noticed the change in my appearance.

His hand had reached forward and grasped me about the waist. I had been
reeled in towards him and I smiled as he fixed his eyes on my nudity. Bet
ween my legs, I was entirely bare,
as he had asked me to be. The shaving had been tricky to do as I
had been
out of practice with the delicate technique. His hands
had rested on my hips and he had admired my handiwork.