HOOKED: An Erotic Romance (3 page)

‘You look shaken,’ he said, giving my shoulder a squeeze. ‘Let me drive you home.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Cotton panties

Raoul followed me up the small concrete steps leading up to my apartment building. I sensed he wanted to check I got into the flat okay. I felt like I’d been rambling in the car, was shaking slightly and still in shock. I must’ve been a sorry sight.

I found my key and, trembling, managed to get it in the lock. ‘I’ve never been mugged before,’ I said quietly, ‘and certainly not attacked like that.’

Raoul said nothing, but followed me into the building and waited beside me as I pressed the button for the lift.

‘It really makes you realise how vulnerable you are,’ I continued. Then I stopped, and looked at his strong brow, his broad shoulders, his hard stomach. ‘I guess that’s not something you feel very often: vulnerability,’ I said, and the lift pinged and the doors opened.

I got into the lift and pressed number two, and, silently, Raoul followed behind me. It was strange. His gaze had been so sure of itself earlier, when he had stared intently into my eyes back at the gym, when they had trailed down my neck, onto my breasts, and down… But now, it was like he didn’t know where to look. Or like he desperately wanted to look somewhere in particular, but felt it inappropriate. Wouldn’t let himself.

I caught sight of myself in the lift mirror, and recoiled. My face had mud on it where I’d been pressed into the dirt, my hair was coming loose, and I had sweat patches under my arms, even though I was shivering. What a mess.

For a moment, I caught Raoul’s reflection looking at my own, and I felt it, the intensity of that look between us, in the silence of that small space. ‘I-,’ I began to say, unsure what words were about to topple out next. ‘I-,’

Fortunately, the lift doors opened.

Thank God. I’ve no doubt I would’ve embarrassed myself had I continued to speak.

We walked towards my front door in silence, and then I opened the door to my flat. ‘Let me get you a cup of or something,’ I said, in that terribly British way of mine, aware that Raoul probably wasn’t the sort of guy that drank cups of tea. ‘Or I could get you a beer, or…’

I led Raoul into my living room, embarrassed at what a mess I’d left it in. There were work files spread all over the coffee table, a coat flung over the sofa - and - horror of horrors - there were knickers drying on top of the radiator. Not my best knickers either. Just my plain old white cotton undies, with a small, white trim. No lace or bows. Why couldn’t I at least have left my French knickers out to dry?

I guess the answer was this: because I never went on any dates any more, and I never had any reason to wear fancy knickers. White cotton panties were all I ever needed.

Thinking about my underwear made me aware of how little I was wearing now. That I was standing in my living room with a guy I’d only met for the first time that evening, a guy who’d been ordering around forty well-built people in a rough old garage, shouting at us to throw punches this way and that, telling us we weren’t punching hard enough, that we didn’t have enough
intention
behind our shots.

Here he was now, in my living room, and I was half-naked. At least I had his jacket over my shoulders, wearing it like some kind of cape.

And he - why was he so quiet?

‘Michaela,’ he said suddenly. Hearing my name said out loud like that, with that foreign accent of his, made me weak at the knees.

‘Yes, Raoul?’ Two could play that game. I’d say his name back to him. Pronouncing those vowels just how he liked it. See if that had any effect on him. Imagine if I could make a guy like
him
weak at the knees!

He looked down at me, then lay his hands on my shoulders. He opened his mouth, ran his tongue slowly across his lips, as if he was about to say something, then paused. He whipped the shirt off my back, and said: ‘I’ve got to go.’

Without another word, he turned around and walked out of my apartment. The door slammed moodily behind him.

That man really wasn’t one for goodbyes.

CHAPTER SIX

Rah-ool

After exercising in a sweaty gym, and then being pushed into the mud by thugs, it’s hardly an understatement to say that it was a relief to get in the shower. There was something oddly reassuring about seeing all my shower cremes, nearly lined up. The expensive, rosewater one, for my face. The sandalwood shower gel, and zingy grapefruit and salt scrub for my body. The ylang-ylang shampoo and conditioner. All the smells I associated with being clean, refreshed, ready to face the world again.

I washed the mud off my face first, relieved to rid myself of the marks of the assault, wondering whether I should’ve been to the police about it tonight. I’d been so wrapped up in the fact Raoul had rescued me, I hadn’t thought about it. I’d call them in the morning. Guys like that never deserved to get away with it, although I knew they wouldn’t be doing anything like that again for a while - not if those thwacks I’d heard were anything to go by. They’d be limping for days.

The shower gel next, a delicate sandalwood creme, which I took time to rub all over my body, making sure I paid attention to my armpits, where I’d been sweating the most, but also the back of my neck, my shoulders, my breasts.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the sound of Raoul’s fist thwacking those guys. So forceful, like he didn’t even think about what he was doing, he just acted entirely upon instinct, on impulse. There was something so strangely passionate in that, the confidence of a man who knew when to punch and when to hold back.

I massaged the cream into my breasts for a little longer, enjoying the feeling of my nipples hardening under the stream of hot water.

Rah-ool.

It was such an exotic name. Where did he come from?

I watched the foam drip in rivulets down my stomach, feeling a new tightness in my muscles that I’d never felt after thirty minutes on the running machine at the gym. My whole body felt like it had been tuned up a notch, sensitive and strong, ready for action.

I moved my hands down to my flat stomach, rubbed the cream over my taut skin, then moved my hands down, further still. I opened my mouth under the jet of water and let a hot stream of it run into my mouth.

‘Rah-ool,’ I said, my mouth full of hot liquid. ‘Rah-ool.’

I moved my hands further down still, onto the mound of soft pubic hair, the hair that I hadn’t bothered to shave in months, hadn’t had any need to do so, it had been so long since anyone had
seen
me, and then I began to caress myself, slowly at first, gently, circling my most sensitive parts, and teasing my soft pink lips.

Then, thinking still about the sound of those punches, and the feeling of Raoul’s palms pressing down onto me, against my stomach, and down, down onto my arse, I pushed my fingers inside myself, and let the water in my mouth shoot out, a hot wet spurt.

I moaned with pleasure, the vowels in Raoul’s name escaping my open lips again and again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Blatant Lying

‘So,’ said Rebecca, on the phone, as I sat at my desk, looking at a pile of unanswered emails. ‘Are you up for kickboxing again tomorrow?’

Almost a week had passed, and I hadn’t said a word to Rebecca about the mugging, or about Raoul coming to my apartment. She’d tell me I was stupid, I know, to have let him into my apartment when I hardly knew him, and she’d have had a go at me for not contacting the police. I did contact them, of course, the next morning, as I’d agreed with myself, but still - I didn’t exactly come off well in that whole story, and I didn’t want my best friend knowing how foolish I’d been.

Besides - she had enough on her plate. Darren had collected his things, and she was experiencing single life for the first time in three years. She didn’t need any hassle.

’Tomorrow?’ I echoed, clicking away on my mouse, dragging things, unread, into my trash icon. So much spam email these days. I needed some sort of firewall protection, or whatever it was. I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t great at all that IT stuff. People, though - I was good at people. Normally I was, anyway.

‘Gosh, I hadn’t realized it was tomorrow,’ I said, aware of how blatantly it sounded like I was lying. ‘That’s come around quickly.’

I began dragging emails into the trash without even checking them first. I was getting flustered.

‘Uh, yeah… sure. I’ll be there tomorrow night.’

‘Wear something sensible this time,’ she said cheekily, and then hung up. Very nice.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Going Crazy

Sorry hun
, the text message read.
Won’t make it tonight. Darren wants to talk. xxx

Shit. I was only five minutes away from the gym. How was I going to cope on my own, without a partner? Should I even bother going, if Rebecca wasn’t going to be there? How would Raoul treat me, after what happened between us last week? Was he going to keep staring at me, in that quiet, blazing way of his?

The truth is, I desperately wanted to see him again. Even though I’d barely been able to walk for two days after the training last time, all those sit-ups and leg raises and planks and what-not. It had been the most intense class I’d ever taken.

But Raoul had ignited something within me. I’d said his name over and over to myself so many times that week, and I’d been feeling pretty horny as I’d been doing it. I’d found myself rubbing my groin against my desk chair at work, grinding my crotch down into the leather, massaging it and turning myself on. Almost got caught doing it when one of my colleagues walked into the office without knocking.

And at home - at home I’d been going crazy. I’d touched myself in the shower, in bed, on the sofa, at the kitchen table - all over my apartment - and all the while, saying that name, over and over again, wondering what it might feel like to have those biceps wrapped around me. And this wasn’t normal for me. I barely touched myself these days. Perhaps on a lazy Sunday morning, when I had nothing pressing to do, and an hour to spare, I’d stay in bed, and try, slowly and lazily to make myself come.

But this was completely different. I’d been in a constant state of arousal. The lightest touch brushing against my skin - a bit of fabric, a breeze - anything was enough to set me off again. I must have had over twenty orgasms in seven days - and yes, a couple of those were at my desk at work. This was getting out of control.

I was sure that it had nothing to do with the actual, real-life Raoul. Yes, okay, meeting him had set me off. His exotic name and his tight skin, his muscles, his piercing scowl. But obviously, in reality, I didn’t want a guy like that to
fuck
me. Of course not.

This was just, like, some kind of weird fantasy or something, brought on by the fact he rescued me.

It was make-believe. It was just my body’s way of saying:
Michaela, it’s been a while. Find yourself a nice chap and settle down. You’re not getting any younger. Come on. Get yourself a man and then get on and enjoy your life.

I was almost at the garage. This time I’d come prepared. I had a grey hooded sweatshirt on over my sports kit, and I’d got enough money for a taxi home afterwards.

One thing I hadn’t done, though, was - as Rebecca put it - ‘wear something sensible this time’.

I don’t know. Feeling horny all week, remembering how it felt having Raoul’s eyes all over me, I just couldn’t bring myself to put on a tracksuit, to cover up all that bare skin. I’d looked at myself in the mirror before I came out, pleased to see the muscle tone beginning to change ever so slightly after last week’s session. I just didn’t feel like hiding myself away.

I was wearing baby blue hot pants tonight, and a low-cut white sports top. My hair was still tied back, but in a looser ponytail this time, with blonde curls falling down onto my shoulders a little. I looked good, actually. I looked it and felt it.

I opened the door of the gym, right on time.

CHAPTER NINE

Focus Mitts

Raoul was at the edge of the room, punching a red punchbag, groaning with the effort of each powerful punch. The bag swung precariously back each time, and he slipped left and right to dodge it, then went straight back in for more.

I tried to attract his attention, desperate to make eye contact with him, feeling like we shared some sort of secret now he’d been into my apartment. I doubted whether he’d been into anyone else here’s home.

I looked at the rows of athletic, tough bodies. Snarling girls with short hair, with almost manly-tight bodies, and big butch men, with crooked noses, veins straining out of their arm muscles.

And then I caught myself in the mirror. I felt like a goddess among warriors.