The Three Rs (21 page)

I hold my breath, tensing for whatever his next question might be, but it doesn’t come. I’m off the hook again. For the moment at least. Instead, he stands and tilts his head in the direction of our van. “I’m ready to be getting off now, if you are?”

I nod, gathering my stuff together and putting it in my bag with my pad. “I’ll just say goodbye to Rachel though.”

“Ah, yes, your new best friend. Did she proposition you?”

My blush gives it away, and he chuckles. “Christ, she’s rampant. I should have given you the head’s up. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, really. She’s very nice.”

“Nice?” His eyebrows lower and he eyes me suspiciously

I punch his arm. “Yes. Nice. But not my type.”

His eyebrows relax again. “Ah. I’m so relieved. Right, you go do your farewells then. I’ll see you in the van.”

Chapter Twelve

The first half hour or so of the journey back is spent in silence. I’m contemplating how to smooth over the awkwardness created by my irrational response to his suggestion, and Cain is no doubt reflecting on what a moody cow I am. I’m the one to crack first. I never could bear an unpleasant atmosphere.

“Thanks for bringing me along today. I enjoyed it.”

He shoots me a quick glance before returning his attention to the traffic. “I’m glad. So, would you come with me again?”

“Yes! I’d love it. Where are we going tomorrow? Same place?”

He smiles, no doubt amused by my enthusiasm. “Sadly not. Tomorrow I’m doing real work—installing your new boiler. Phyllis emailed to say it’s been delivered so we can get it fitted and working.”

“Ah. Right.” I’m not sure what I think of that prospect.
My
new boiler.
My
new flat. No reason to stay at Cain’s any longer then, once the heating’s fixed.

A few minutes pass, more silence, only slightly less awkward now.

Cain is first to speak. “I’ve enjoyed having you around. At my house, I mean. And not just because of the mind-blowing sex.”

Now it’s my turn to slant him a glance. “I’ve enjoyed being there. You’ve made me feel very welcome. And not just because of the sex…”

He smiles. “No. But it definitely helps.”

“We could still, you know… Even if I’m living in the flat I mean.”

“Are you saying you’d still let me spank you? And fuck you? Even if you’re living in the flat?”

I’m not convinced he needs to be quite so blunt about it, but that is basically my point and I see no benefit in confusing the issue. “Yes. I would. If that’s what you want too, obviously.”

“Obviously. Not as convenient though. Maybe you should stay with me a bit longer, see how it goes for a while…?”

His eyes never leave the traffic as I stare at his profile and ponder what it is he’s actually saying to me. Convenient? I might have hoped for a little more enthusiasm, especially as he seems to be inviting me to stay with him indefinitely. Is he asking me to move in? I only met him a month ago, we’ve been sleeping together for just a matter of days. Surely it’s too soon…?

As if my doubts and confusion were spoken out loud, he interrupts my thoughts. “Don’t overthink it, Abbie. The flat’ll still be there whatever. And once I’ve put the new boiler in, it’ll be warm. I like you, you like me. Or you seem to. I’m just saying we could leave matters as they are, see what develops.”

He makes it sound so reasonable, not a big deal at all. Why not?

Because he’ll hurt me, that’s why not. And not just physically. If—when—he finds out what I’ve been hiding, he’ll dump me. He’s sure to—I’d be a liability as a business partner, and not terribly interesting as a companion. And the sex might be good, better than good, but that’ll soon fade. What man wants a stupid girlfriend, lover, submissive or whatever I might be? He’d be embarrassed by me, ashamed of me. Nearly as ashamed as I am of myself.

But even knowing all that, the prospect of moving into the flat, however warm it might be, alone, is completely unappealing. I want to stay with Cain, it’s that simple. For however long it lasts. I might well be on a collision course as my reality threatens to derail this erotic fantasy I’m living in, but that will come soon enough without me hurrying matters along.

“Okay, fine. I’ll stay. For a while, see what develops, like you say.”

He turns to me, flashes me a quick but still absolutely dazzling smile. He really can ramp up the sex appeal when he wants to. “I was hoping you’d say that. So, are you up for a little spank-fest later?”

Spank-fest!
My bottom quivers in response and my pussy moistens delightfully. No harm in playing it cool though. For a while. “That sounds quite…nice.”

He’s not buying that, sadly. “Nice? Miss Fischer, you’re squirming in your seat. And I do believe you might be blushing. Who’d have ever imagined that? There’s a lay-by just up ahead—maybe I should pull over and have you show me your clit. I wouldn’t mind betting it’s already swollen. Is your sweet little tush wet, Miss Fischer? Should I check?”

He flicks the indicator on the steering wheel to signal left, makes as though he is about to pull in.

“No! That won’t be necessary.”

“Miss Fischer?”

“Yes, I’m wet. Okay?”

“And your clit?”

“Yes. Probably.”

“Probably what?”

“Swollen. Pink.” We pass the lay-by, and I start to relax, but he soon puts a stop to that.

“What about your nipples?”

I glare at him, but can do nothing to stop the physical response his words are evoking. I’m acutely conscious of my nipples, now rubbing against the soft silkiness of my bra as they also swell and harden, and of the gathering wetness between my legs. Not to worry, I somehow doubt I’ll be keeping my existing knickers on for very much longer.

“Miss Fischer, I’m waiting. Are your nipples hard yet? If you’re in any doubt I’d be happy to check them for you.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be needed either. Yes, my nipples are hard. And sore now, thank you very much.”

“Don’t mention it, my pleasure. So, shall we have a little music then? There’s Coldplay in the glove box. Or you could try and find something on the radio.”

“I don’t care about bloody music…” I mutter grumpily, squeezing my thighs together in the hope of creating even a tiny bit of friction around my clit. It doesn’t make much difference, and Cain isn’t letting up.

“I’d like some music. The CD, please. And Miss Fischer, you’ll find all that wriggling around much more effective if you just unzip your jeans and shove your hand down the front. Would you like me to pull over and demonstrate? It’s no trouble.”

“No! Thank you.” I continue to squirm.

“Miss Fischer. Zip. Hand. Now.”

What?
“Are you serious?”

“I am. And I’m running out of patience. Did I not make myself entirely clear? I reckon we’ve about ten minutes before we get back to the yard. That should be enough time for you to make yourself come at least once, maybe more. So get on with it, if you would.”

I don’t move, just continue to stare at him.

“You’re wasting time, Miss Fischer. Maybe you need that demonstration after all.” He signals left again and the van starts to slow down.

I reach for the button on my jeans and unsnap it. “I’m doing it, I’m doing it.”

“At last. Hurry up then.”

I pull down my zip, and before I can think over what I’m doing, I slide my hand inside.

“I want to see. Lift up your bum and push your jeans right down. To your ankles. You’ll need to be able to get your knees apart.”

I gasp. “What if someone sees?”

“The windows are tinted, and no one will see what you’re up to anyway. So do as I say, please.”

And I do it. I really do it. In broad daylight, as we drive smoothly through the rush hour traffic on the A1, headed toward of Berwick-upon-Tweed, I actually shove my jeans and pants down around my ankles and spread my knees wide. Even before he asks me to, I lift up the hem of my T-shirt to give him an unimpeded view. Then I slip my hand back between my legs and get started.

I slide my fingers through my slick folds, testing the wetness there. Quite impressive. I trace the outline of my pussy, leaning back in the seat and lifting my hips slightly. I can feel his eyes on me as he divides his attention between me and the road. We pull up at a roundabout, and I sink lower in my seat, hoping that a curious passer-by won’t glance into the van, but I’m becoming a little less concerned at that anyway as my arousal starts to spike. The van is stationary and I know he’s watching me as I slip two fingers inside my pussy. I’m hot and tight. And very, very wet. I squeeze the muscles of my pussy around my fingers. This is what he feels when he finger-fucks me. My response is erotic, I love the feel of my pussy clenching around my hand, and I imagine it’s his cock in there.

I lay my head back against the headrest and groan.

“Feeling good, Miss Fischer?”

The motion of the van tells me we’re moving again as I gasp my response. “Yes. You?”

“Oh, I’m feeling very good indeed, love. You’ll find your G-spot at the front, about a third of the way in.”

I follow his route map, and thrust my hips forward as I hit that sensitive place. And keep on hitting it. I rub harder, angling my hand to be able to slip a third finger in, and place the pad of my thumb over my clit.

“I see you’ve found your technique, Abbie. Now let’s see what you can produce.”

He has the grace to keep quiet, well, almost, for the next couple of minutes as I concentrate on producing not one but two beautiful climaxes. The first is there in moments, whipping sinuously through my tingling body as I thrust my fingers deep inside my pussy, rubbing hard against my G-spot with each stroke. I flick and caress my clit with my thumb, and the combined sensations are overwhelming. I shudder and groan my way through the orgasm, concentrating on not letting up the pressure even as my senses scatter. As I start to calm again, I withdraw my fingers from my pussy to turn my full attention to my throbbing, demanding clit. I slide my middle and index finger along each side, smoothing out the hood now shielding only a small portion as the little nub swells even more under my touch. Using my right hand to position and expose the sensitive bud, I lay the middle finger of my left hand on the tip and press lightly.

I start a circling motion. It feels good. I flick. That feels good too. I rub the pad of my finger up and down, and from side to side. I feel my arousal start to build again, hovering there, just below the brink. Nearly, nearly, not quite.

“When we get home, you’re going to do that again, but this time you’ll have my cock inside you.” His tone is low, even, indescribably sexy.

It’s enough, and I shatter again.

I’m still buzzing as we pull up outside the gates to the Parrish Construction yard. It’s all locked up as Phyllis will have left at lunchtime to get back to her Stan. Cain gets out to open the gates, as I reach down to pull up my pants.

“Take those right off. Have you ever tried nude drawing?” The van door swings on its hinge as he hops down, leaving his words hanging in the air.

“What?”
Did I hear that right?

But he’s already walking around the bonnet to unlock the gate so I have to wait until he returns to the cab before I can check. Meanwhile though, I know I’d better do as he says. I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach down to untie the laces of my still shiny new safety shoes and toe them off my feet. My socks follow, then I kick my crumpled jeans and underwear from around my ankles. I turn to face him as he climbs back into the van.

“Did you say nude? I don’t draw nudes. Well, I never have…”

“I wasn’t asking you to draw a nude. I mean
you’ll
be nude as you do the drawing.” He edges the van forward through the gate to park in front of the office door. He turns to me. “You promised you’d draw that sign for me. Onto the picture you did back at the site. I want you to do that please, if you would. And I want you to be naked when you do it.”

“But, why…?” I’m not entirely opposed to the idea, but it has rather arrived out of left field.

He shrugs. “I’d enjoy it. And I feel you owe me some sort of penance for your behavior back there at the site.”

Ah, right. That. I start to apologize, but his raised hand stops me.

“You can say you’re sorry later. After you’ve followed me inside, taken off the rest of your kit, drawn me that sign, and then bent over your desk for a spanking. Then you can apologize if you still want to.” His gaze is serious, level. He means it, and this feels like a subtle shift in our relationship.

He’s not threatening me with anything I won’t love doing, but somehow there is a hint of discipline in this too. A whisper of retribution for my rudeness, my unreasonable reaction to his request. I drop my eyes, studying my hands now folded together and resting on my still-bare thighs.

I’m confused, uncertain about this new and as yet unexplored element to our play. But at the same time I know instinctively that I’m going to do it, going to allow it. How could I not when the thought of submitting in this way is even more exciting than the first time he spanked my bottom?