Spirit (9 page)

“Yes please!”

“Good girl, so polite. Just for that…” He shifts his angle of entry just a little, but enough to ensure the head of his cock slides along my inner front wall with each stroke, caressing my most sensitive spot. It’s a trick I had no notion of until Christmas Day, when he gave me the first of what I hope could be many more lessons in the siting of my erogenous zones. Certainly, he is well-versed in the exact location, hitting that special spot every time, his accuracy unerring.

My orgasm starts, coiling and unfurling deep inside, then surging to flood my senses. I let out a soft gasp as my pussy spasms.

Matt is attuned to every sound and quiver, and slides his fingers between us to circle and stroke my clit. His touch is light, but enough. Just enough, he knows what I need better than I do myself. While I’m squirming under him, vocalising half-formed pleas and desperate urgings his deft caress ends my torment beautifully. This is the final impetus to send me spinning, my world filled momentarily with white light as my climax seizes me, then hurls me into free fall.

With a low growl, Matt drives his cock into me, fucking me hard as I convulse and tighten, his erection a solid, demanding, giving presence within me. He pauses as my orgasm wanes, then his cock twitches hard. He drops his face down into the hollow between my shoulder and neck, and groans. I squeeze him harder, my actions deliberate this time as I seek to increase his pleasure. He grinds his hips and loops his arm under my knee to lift my leg and gain deeper penetration.

I bite back a yelp as he drives deeper, impossibly stretched now but loving it still. His entire body stiffens, then that familiar hot wash as his semen pumps into the condom.

“Fuck, Beth, so good, so fucking tight. Love it…”

“Mmm, me too. Do we have to stop?”

He nibbles my neck, sending delicious tingles through my already overworked nervous system. “For couple of minutes at least. I’m only human.”

“Yes, I know. And elderly too. Do you dribble when you eat?”

“You know well enough how to make me dribble I suspect.” He withdraws his cock and rolls onto his back. “You know, for a girl who doesn’t even pay rent you’re very lippy all of a sudden.”

I snuggle up against his side, one leg draped across his hip. “I will pay rent. When I get a job.”

“Fair enough. For now could you earn your keep by passing me my coffee?”

* * *

An hour or so later we’re in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher when Matt’s phone rings again. He takes the call, the phone still attached to the charger.

“Hello, Matt Logan.” He pauses, listening.

“I see. Can it not wait until the day after tomorrow, when we’re all back at work?” His expression is not amused. It switches to one of grim resignation.

“Okay, I’ll come in. Can you let security know to expect me?”

He ends the call and leans back, his hips propped against the worktop. “I need to go into the office for a few hours. We’ve hit a snag over the planning consent for one of our projects.”

“Oh. I see.” I’m disappointed that our idyllic time together is to be interrupted, but pragmatic enough to know that Matt’s work is important to him. “When you say a few hours…?”

“I honestly don’t know. We need to line up our evidence to address the objections that have been raised, enough to head off the appeal. If we fail on this, the next step is a public inquiry, which would cost us hundreds of thousands and delay the scheme by as much as a couple of years. So you see, there are no short cuts.”

“You’ll be back by midnight though? To see in the New Year together?”

“Oh yes, definitely.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yes, actually. Would you mind giving my apologies to Mick when he brings that money round? Offer him a drink, and tell him I was called away. Get the cash from him and stick it somewhere safe until I can get it to the bank.”

“Sure. How much should there be?”

“Two grand. I don’t expect you to count it in front of him or anything like that though. Mick’s not gonna short-change me. He knows I’ll repossess his pride and joy if he does.”

My eyes must be like saucers. “Two grand? As in, two thousand pounds?”

Matt nods as he pushes himself off the counter. “Yeah. I need to go get dressed, so…”

“How come this guy owes you two thousand pounds?”

“I sold him a car. A 1980 pillar box red MG Midget to be exact. Beautiful thing. I restored her myself.”

Ah, well at least something makes sense. This must be the baby he mentioned when he spoke to Mick, and I suppose an engine could be described as purring. Not that I’d ever get so poetic about a bloody car, but then I don’t even drive. I follow Matt back into his bedroom and perch on the bed as he flicks along the row of hangers in his wardrobe. He has a seemingly unending collection of business suits in shades of grey, blue and black. All sharp, all expensive. Today though he settles for a smart pair of clay-coloured Chinos and a maroon sweatshirt. It is the middle of the Christmas and New Year holiday, after all.

“Why did you sell the car? If you liked it so much?

“Practicalities. I needed something bigger. And more reliable. I had the Midget locked in a garage most of the time. It was a waste really, and Mick had been on at me for ages to sell her to him. Eventually he wore me down. But he couldn’t lay his hands on the cash right away, needed to wait for some deal or other to come though. I guess it has, so he’s able to pay up.”

“It’s a lot of money. You must trust him to just let him take the car like that. Is he a close friend?”

“I suppose so. We were at university together. I’ve known Mick for about ten years. And the fact that he’s head futures buyer for one of the top investment banks in the city doesn’t harm his credit-worthiness.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose not. So if he works in the city, how come he’s in Leeds?”

“His family lives here. I expect he’s up for the holidays. Tell him I’m sorry I missed him and I’ll give him a ring later about going for a drink or something.”

“Okay.” Matt is dressed now and heading back into the living room. I trail after him, watching as he checks the papers in his briefcase. He snaps it shut and turns to me.

“I’ll be as quick as I can. I was hoping to go out later, maybe take you to a club I know, if you fancy that.”

“That’d be nice…” or not. I’m not sure my wardrobe, expanded though it has been recently, is quite up to clubbing.

“I know what you’re thinking, so stop it. You’ll be fine. Right, got to go. Be good, and could I suggest you get dressed before Mick comes. The bare bottomed T-shirt look is delightful, but might give an impressionable banker quite the wrong signals.”

I reach up to kiss him as he picks up his car keys. I follow him out to the hallway and wait, peering round the door until the lift arrives and he steps in. The doors close on him, and I am alone again.

I head back inside, and go straight to my old room to shower and find something decent to wear. I’ve just emerged from the en suite when I hear a ringing. I’m puzzled, it sounds like Matt’s phone, but he has that with him. I don’t have a mobile, obviously. The sound stops, and I settle down to dry my hair.

A few seconds later the ringing starts up again. This time I wander out into the living area, and sure enough, it
is
Matt’s phone, still on the worktop where he left it to charge up. He must have forgotten to take it with him when he left in such a rush.

I pick it up and hit the ‘accept’ button to take the call.

“Hello?” My tone is tentative, it’s been a while since I used one of these things.

“Beth? It’s me. I just arrived at my office and realised I didn’t have my phone. I wanted to check I left it at home rather than lost it anywhere.” Matt’s voice is low and sexy, even nicer on the phone than in the flesh. I’m amazed that’s even possible.

“Yes, right. It’s here. You left it plugged in.”

“I thought so. Okay, no problem. I’ll manage without it for one day. See you later, love.”

“Yeah, right, Bye.” And again, he is gone.

* * *

The doorbell goes a couple of hours later. I answer, using the door security system, and press the entry button to let Mick into the building. I’m waiting for him on the landing outside the flat as he emerges from the lift.

“Hi Mr Rosen. I’m Beth. Matt was called away unexpectedly, but he asked me to say hello and let you know he’s sorry he missed you.”

The man in the hallway looks a little surprised to see me, but accepts my handshake readily enough. He’s about the same age as Matt, which I suppose makes sense if they went to university together. He’s good-looking too, though in a harder, more angular way somehow. He’s not nearly so gorgeous as Matt. He doesn’t fit my image of a banker either. This man is much too rugged and physical with his thick, tawny hair and wearing faded denims and a leather flying jacket.

“Okay. It’s nice to meet you, Beth. I take it Matt won’t be back for a while? I mean, I could wait…”

“You’d be welcome. He said to offer you a drink, but he’ll be gone for a few more hours yet.”

“I won’t stay, if that’s alright. I have some running around to do today so I need to be getting off. I have something I was intending to drop off, though.” I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed not to be blessed with Mick Rosen’s company. I settle for the former. Matt aside, I’m not good at dealing with strangers.

“Yes, Matt told me. About selling you the car, I mean. Two thousand pounds?”

“Right, that.” He opens his jacket to retrieve a package, a fat brown envelope. He hands it to me. “All present and correct. Tell Matt to call me, would you?”

“He’s going to. He wants to meet up with you before you go back to London. He mentioned going for a drink maybe?” I accept the package, noting it feels heavier than I expected, and more solid. Not that I have any real experience of handling great wads of cash.

“That’ll be nice, looking forward to it. And you’ll come as well, I hope. Great meeting you, Beth.” Already my visitor is halfway back to the lift. I raise my hand in a half wave.

“Yes, you too. And thanks…” My final couple of words are addressed to the lift door as it closes. I turn and go back inside.

Should I check the package? Count the money? Matt seemed inclined to trust Mick, so perhaps I don’t need to worry. I’d rather not open the envelope, on reflection. I shove it, still sealed up, into the drawer in the kitchen where Matt keeps his tea towels. Should be safe enough there.

I settle back into my comfortable spot on the sofa and pick up the magazine I’d been flicking through before Mick arrived. It doesn’t manage to recapture my interest though, so I use the remote control to surf through the channels on Matt’s huge flat screen television. The most riveting thing I can find is a re-run of an old film about Black Beauty. I loved that book when I was younger so I decide to give it a try. I put my feet up and check the time again. Matt will be gone for hours yet. Maybe I should have a nap—after all, clubbing is a late night activity, is it not? I don’t want to be too tired to enjoy myself.

Anna Sewell’s masterpiece fails to make the transition to screen in my view, and I’m just starting to nod off when the doorbell sounds again, shrill and piercing in the quiet of the flat. Startled, I wait for a few seconds, hoping whoever it is will get the message and go away. No such luck. The bell goes again, the ring long and insistent. It seems I need to at least find out who’s there. Tentative this time, I press the button on the intercom.

“Hello…?”

“Beth? Hi. It’s Mick again. Mick Rosen.”

“Oh, right. Did you forget something, Mr Rosen?”

“Mick, please. And no. But I decided to take you up on that offer of a drink, if that’s alright. Matt phoned and asked me to keep you company. He’s not back, is he?”

“No, he isn’t. I really think…” I’m not certain why I’m so reluctant to let him in, but this unscheduled call makes me uncomfortable.

“Then I’ll just pop in for a while. Come on, open the door, that’s a good girl.”

“Just for a few minutes then. I have something… something I need to be getting on with.” It seems awkward to refuse, especially if Matt sent him. He’s his friend, a trusted close friend at that. I have no reason to be so inhospitable, especially as this is Matt’s place, not mine. I hit the button to grant him entry to the building, and then I open the front door to the flat.

Only after I’ve done all that do I remember the bloody obvious. Matt left his phone here. He couldn’t have called Mick.

When Mick saunters out of the lift I am by the door, waiting for him.

“Did you say Matt phoned?”

“Yes, just now. I was still in the area, so…”

“He doesn’t have his phone.”

Mick stops, his eyes narrow and his jovial expression falters. Not for long, it’s just a flicker, but the brief show of annoyance does nothing to put me at my ease.

“He must have used someone else’s phone then. Or a landline. Look, are we hanging around out here all day or are you going to make me a coffee?”

“I’m not sure. I…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s just a coffee.” He marches past me and straight through the door into Matt’s flat.

Why didn’t I lock it? Idiot!

I trail after him, rattled now. I head for the kitchen and get busy with the kettle and a mug. I’m thinking, the sooner I provide him with the coffee he seems so set on, the sooner I can chivvy this oaf out of here. I turn to him, forcing a smile.

“Coffee you said? Or I think Matt has some beers in the fridge.”

“He usually does. I’ll help myself.” Mick joins me in the small kitchen, opening the fridge door to retrieve one of Matt’s bottles of Budweiser. He leans on the worktop beside where I am standing as he slots his finger in the ring pull. The compact space feels crowded, altogether to close.

“Excuse me.” I make to pass him, expecting him to move to one side. He doesn’t. It seems city bankers lack much in the way of manners. I squeeze myself as tiny as I am able and slide past, but can’t avoid making contact with his hip. I resist the urge to wipe my hand across my stomach as though to erase any trace of him.