Trust Me to Know You Page 7

  “Just how I like it,” he had added.

  His hands had moved around and clenched my buttock cheeks and a moan had departed my lips. The need to be put in a particular position had been overwhelming me. To be laid out and used by him in manner to which I was accustomed had haunted me. I had felt ashamed at the need. Why couldn’t I enjoy sex without the trimmings of my past life? Naturally, he had not carried out my wishes - why would he, as he did not know of their existence. The lack of communication had continued week after week.

  Another Saturday morning and I lay expectantly on his bed. The wake up routine was always the same. Jason had called this sex his wake up fuck, a quickie between the sheets. He woke first and watched me come out of my slumber. Reaching across he pulled me towards him and played with me using his fingertips, tracing up and down my skin, arousing me gradually. At first I had not been that keen, I was not a morning person. He on the other hand was full on the moment he woke up. I had joked once that dawn sex was a substitute for walking a dog, brisk exercise to wake the muscles up.

  After lunch, I amused myself by playing pool on his billiard table, or picking over a book. I decided to ask him if it would be all right to have a few of my personal things in his house, an iPod and sketchbook would be a good start. I enjoyed art and nearly thought about studying it. After several rather heated debates with my parents, they had persuaded me that art does not pay rent. They were right, as I had no idea how to make a living out of being an artist.

  Like previous Saturdays, he worked the afternoon in his study. We usually parted company after Sunday breakfast, so he could play golf at his country club. There was always a driver to take me home, though not Martinson, but an anonymous younger man.

  However, before I left something different happened that third Sunday morning. Jason’s hand was caressing my buttocks with small gentle movements, his morning wake up tease was in full swing. Then his finger took a journey across both cheeks in a straight line. I flinched and shut my eyes cursing. He had noticed them and he must have done before now. To distract him I parted my legs further exposing my puckered anus.

  “Oh, really,” he smirked at me.

  I could see him lying on his side next to me. He took his finger, tracing down my between my cheeks and then circled around my anus. I groaned uncontrollably, it had been so long since I had a visit in there. I knew how much I wanted him to have me completely. My yearnings for him took me back to the time when I gave my body willingly and whenever I was told to do so.

  “My, my.” Jason had sat up and looked down at me intently. “Gemma, do I take it you’re not an anal virgin?” He was clearly teasing me.

  “No, Jason, I have been very wanton in the area before.” I could only confess. At least the distraction had worked.

  “You’re previous sexual exploits continue to amaze me. Wait,” he commanded.

  He had gone from the room and then a few minutes later he was back with a tube of lube in his hand.

  I sighed audibly. Oh my, this was going to be great.

  He squirted the cold gel into my crack and rubbed it in with his fingers.

  “Sure about this, Gem?” he sounded concerned that I was not up to the task.

  “I’m good for it, Jason. Please I’m getting really wet for you.” I looked him straight in the eyes entreating him to do oblige me.

  He grabbed two pillows and placed them under my hips, spreading my buttock cheeks wide. He pressed a well-lubricated finger inside me, thrust it in and out slowly, then faster. I whimpered in unconcealed delight. I was already close to coming. I gripped a pillow tightly, deciding not to let go for anything. Then he used two fingers together. I tilted my bum back to accommodate them and my insides were doing somersaults, tightening around his digits.

  “Whoa, take it easy babe, I’m getting there,” he chuckled.

  He removed his fingers and placed the tip of his firm penis against me. The length of it rocked between my oiled cheeks, back and forth, teasing and building my anticipation and fear. Lowering himself on to my body, he penetrated me with substantial erection. Gasping I had forgotten his size and I had to endure, for a moment, discomfort as I stretched around him, then acquiescing I allowed him to occupy me fully. He eased in with extraordinarily slowness, almost too slow. All the time he was whispering reassuring sounds in my ears. I nodded back, unable to articulate any sensible sound at him. Once impaled he moved in and out with increasing ease and I was enthralled by his tenderness.

  “Gem, I need to go quicker and harder if you want me to come in you. Or I can stop,” he spoke into my ear with a groan.

  “Please. Jason, fill me. I can take it.”

  He responded immediately, increasing speed and depth. A few thrusts later, he reached under and began to help me achieve my climax. I came first and he quickly followed. We were both loud and vocal. Jason cried out sexual obscenities, but I knew they were not directed at me - he was in the moment.

  He drew out of me gently and headed into the bathroom. One minute there, and the next gone, I felt lost without him in me. I heard the sound of the bath taps running. Soon the strong smell of fragrant bath oil wafted through into the bedroom. I gingerly rose up and joined him in the warm water. We would bathe each other and that was as thrilling as sex.

  ***

  Between our weekends of sexual gratification, Jason and I continued to maintain distance between ourselves. Not only the physical distance of separate floors of the same building but also a state of incommunicado. Whether he held me in his thoughts for one instant during those weekdays remained unknown. I certainly thought of him a great deal and not just his splendid body but also the whole package that accompanied it.

  The immediate hiatus after sexual intercourse was one of our most productive times for near disclosures of familiarity. Those rare moments of pillow talk following sex had developed into little insightful chats. He was happy to cuddle me and we quite frequently fell asleep in each other’s arms. As we drifted off, we would tease each other with verbal interactions.

  “So you managed to shave yourself down there without too much difficulty?” he had asked once as I settled my head on the pillow.

  “Mirrors are useful,” I had said. “Plus, I find if I hang upside with one leg dangling I can reach those awkward crooks and crannies.”

  He had stared at me and I had grinned.

  “Almost had yah there, didn’t I?” I had laughed and he flicked a finger against my thigh.

  “Ouch!”

  “But you’ve done it before?” he had asked.

  Damn his curiosity.

  “Um, a few times, you know for somebody else,” I had muttered turning my head on the pillow. Suddenly something struck me as odd and I had turned back again so I could see his face in the semi-darkness. “Why do you like it that way?”

  “More sensual,” he had said with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “Other girls….”

  “If I asked, yes.”

  “What if they said no to your request?”

  He had smiled at me and it had made me squirm internally. “Do you think they say no to me?!” he had said with mock indignation.

  The comment had circumvented the real answer. Many of our little exchanges ended with diversionary tactics. It was becoming increasingly apparent we both did not want to expose our previous sexual exploits. I knew why I did not want to, but what was Jason hiding from me? Promiscuity? He certainly had a vast amount of sexual experience in the field of love-making. Not only was he proficient, he also demanded a roughness that I had come to associate with a mere handful of his predecessors.

  He was a powerful man, both physically and influentially. Perhaps it lent him to be demanding in the bedroom. He was the boss of many people with a reputation for getting to the point with no nonsense. His sexual preferences certainly emulated his working practices and it curtailed my curiosity. I made an assumption about him and stuck to it. He was not sleeping wi
th me for love or romance. Jason wanted a sexual partner and I delivered the goods.

  I should have been proud of my achievements between the sheets. He did not criticise my technique or approach to sex. He must have noticed my predisposition to let him lead and my silly tendency to wait for him to give me an orgasm rather than rush to it under my own steam. All of those acts he neither acknowledged nor discouraged. Whatever we were in bed, it was complimentary and mutually satisfying.

  Beyond the bedroom, we drifted apart. Even when I stayed at Blythewood House, he worked alone a great deal in his study or we sat mute while watching a film in his TV room. One attempt at playing snooker had resulted in me being ‘soundly beaten’. My own declaration of defeat had nearly caused me to go too far with my nuances.

  ~

  “Soundly beaten?” he repeated as I watched the black disappear down the corner pocket.

  I tried desperately hard not to let my ears go bright pink. “Yes. Lost.”

  “Funny, for a moment there I thought you were alluding to something else,” he said taking the cue out of my hands.

  “Not sure what you mean,” I said running my finger over the baize. “It’s just a game. You’re far more experienced at it than me.”

  “So it would appear, since you potted only six reds and no colours.”

  “I prefer pool.” Which was true, I could manage with a smaller table.

  “On this full size table, you need to rely on balls hitting their target, not pocketing by chance.”

  Hitting their target, his words made me unsettled inside. He was damn good with his aim and I could not fault his accuracy. There was a large gap between our capabilities. He rolled the cue ball across the table straight into a pocket as if to make a point.

  “I can do better than chance,” I declared. “I was put off by all those extra balls on the table, they get in the way.”

  “Snookered you were. It’s called snooker for a reason. Clouded your vision did they?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you need an incentive to help focus your sight?” he said watching me trace my finger along the baulk line.

  My finger paused. “Can’t think of anything…..” I could but I was not going down that particular path. I dodged and weaved mentally the various images in my mind. “Doesn’t alter the fact you’ve had way more practise than me.”

  “Well, perhaps while I’m in my study, you should practise. I don’t want you to feel at too much of a disadvantage.”

  “I think, Mr Lucas,” I said carefully, “I’m constantly at disadvantage with you.”

  He pursed his lips, smiled enigmatically and he left me to practise.

  By the time Monday morning came round, we had already spent nearly a day apart. My Sundays were lonely affairs once I had been dropped back home at lunchtime. The washing, ironing and an attempt at filtering through the morass of unanswered emails left me seriously deflated.

  The salvation of a busy working life continued to keep me mentally afloat even if I saw nothing of the elusive Mr Lucas, my secret lover. Apart from one day when everything nearly came crashing down about me.

  ~

  I had made a habit of seeking lunch out once or twice a week. I flitted between various eateries in the neighbourhood. A quick hot snack at one or a leisurely sandwich at another. About me was the jungle of life in the City. Workers were predominately office bound like myself, occasionally somebody with overalls or uniformed would join the queue. The casually dressed worker stood out amongst the smart suits, it was what caught my eye.

  I was on the way back post-lunch when I spied him across the street walking away from me. Crew cut hair, broad shoulders with hands stuffed in jacket pockets and khaki cargo pants. They were military issued trousers with a camouflage pattern and big black boots with thick laces. An image was recalled. He had not always worn his old military clothes, sometimes he had preferred jeans and shirts. The build was a match, as was the hair colour and posture. I was convinced it was him.

  I stopped dead in my tracks. A man behind me cursed as he almost bumped into my back. How could he be here, so far from his usual haunts? Even my old office was not near to where I was currently located. I had made sure of that when I applied for the internship. Our paths must not cross and he was not one for changing his habits.

  Bile hit my throat as I panicked. He could not have found me! It had been weeks and weeks since I last saw him. Please, let him keep walking and not look back. I considered dashing into a nearby building and hiding but as I started to move, my legs had gone to jelly.

  No, No!

  Not now, not here, on a street!

  He halted and his torso rotated around. The man in khaki pants was turning and I was there, just across the street from him in plain sight

  Fear. An emotion that overpowered all others. It consumed, drowned and obliterated. It also paralysed the body and mind. The paper cup of hot coffee I held in my hand came smashing down on to the ground, splattering its contents on the paving stones.

  I wanted to faint. There in a state of unconsciousness I could hide and hope. Awake, I was vulnerable and terrified.

  “Are you alright?” said somebody nearby.

  “I…I….” I stuttered.

  His face was visible. Clearly defined and the daylight honed his features even from afar. I swallowed back the vomit of my BLT baguette.

  It wasn’t him. A stranger - who mimicked my nemesis perfectly - had fooled me.

  “Are you sure?” repeated my good Samaritan. A middle-aged woman in a pinstriped trouser suit had taken my elbow and was practically holding me up.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “I felt a little faint, that’s all.”

  “Do you need an ambulance or something?” she asked kindly.

  “No, no.”

  I was shaking, trembling and even though the air was warm, I was cold.

  She managed to extract the name of the company I worked for and she knew my building. We were close and she walked next to me until we reached the revolving entrance door.

  “I’m fine now,” I lied.

  She was not convinced but we parted company and I gave her a smile of thanks.

  Once in the expansive lobby, I made it to the small arrangement of plain red sofas where visitors waited to be met and I flopped down in one. No matter how hard I tried to collect my thoughts and unscramble my pulverised nerves, I failed. I must have looked a sight as I was attracting the attention of two men at the reception desk.

  “Miss Marshall, are you unwell?” said a familiar voice.

  I looked up into the concerned face of Jason’s regular driver. He must have been passing the desk and saw me on the sofa.

  “I….”

  Nothing sensible formed in my head. I was a blithering wreck of paranoia and flash frame images, as if a slideshow was being played at high speed. I blinked at him, trying to focus on the distant face. Why did he look so far away?

  He guided me through the turnstile to a room at the back of the ground floor. An open plan office with several desks and chairs, of which one desk was set to one side and larger in all dimensions. Somebody was seated in the room, a blur on the edge of my peripheral visual.

  “Leave us,” snapped Martinson briskly to the occupant as he deposited me in a chair.

  A plastic cup of cold water was thrust into my hands and the coolness permeated into my skin. The contents splashed on to my stockings as my hands continued to shake uncontrollably.

  “Miss?” he said gently taking it out of my hands and offering the liquid to my lips.

  I sipped and felt the water wash away the acrid taste in my mouth.

  I could hear him talking on the telephone.

  “I don’t know, sir. I found her in the lobby. She’s white as a sheet.”

  I had to get a grip of myself, shutting my eyes I took deep breaths. I reminded myself that I had been mistaken. A look-alike but not him. How easy it was for me to
fall to pieces though. My vulnerability alarmed me and I could not stop the tiny rivulets of tears streaking down my face.

  Deep breaths.

  The door opened behind me and I gasped with surprise. It was Jason. No jacket and his necktie loosely tied about his collar, I was stunned by his appearance. Martinson must have summoned him from his top floor sanctuary. I quickly wiped the tears away with my sleeve.

  He crouched next to my chair and took my hands in his. I expected him to be baffled and he did look concerned too, which relieved me.

  “Gem, what’s wrong?” he asked softly.

  “Nothing, just…”

  I did not want him to know. My disabling memories were back behind bolted doors and his presence helped dissipate my anxieties. I felt foolish at my stupid act of mistaken identity.

  “Are you ill?” he asked stroking my knuckles with his thumbs.

  “Oh no,” I said quickly. “I thought I saw…. Out on the street. It was a mistake. Silly of me. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine, quite the contrary.”

  “I rushed my lunch and it made me feel a little faint, that’s all.” I sought excuses that sounded viable.

  “Do you want Martinson to drive you home?” he asked.

  “No!” I said alarmed. To be on my own was not what I wanted. “I’ll be OK. Once I’m back at my desk and everything digested.” I patted my stomach with my trembling hand.

  Jason stood up and then look down at me, as if he was weighing up my state.

  “Alright,” he said without conviction. “What did you see?”

  “Sorry?” I made a pretence at confusion.

  “On the street?”

  “Nothing. Honestly. Sorry, I’ve got you down here for no good reason.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” he said firmly.

  Lying was not my forte and I could see he was not convinced by my denial. He could do little as with each passing moment my memories sank away, the sense of dread lifted and I became in control of my faculties again. I made a concerted effort to stop my hands trembling.