Chapter Eleven

 

 

 

Dibian’s house is a hymn to theater set meets Willy Wonka’s world. While I’ve picked her up from outside her home a few times, I’ve never been inside, and now that I am, I’m somewhat taken aback.

There are neon paintings, vibrant silk hangings and Venetian masks. An enormous piece of wall art features an otherworldly peacock feather design with a fake peacock’s head sticking out—every inch living art. A chaise longue in purple with golden stars and a small tent in the corner sports orange and reds and indigos. There’s even a grand piano that’s been painted in a Mexican Dios de la Muerte candy skulls design. Elton John, if he saw the flat, would want to move in immediately. Her living room’s a paint factory explosion and an optical challenge in one. Her batik silk kaftan in rainbow hues I haven’t even covered…

“Did this guy take a lot from you, Dibs?”

“All told, fifteen grand.”

My pause hangs heavy as a bowling ball in a clutch bag. I would normally swear and exclaim but I don’t want her to feel any worse. It’s much more money than I expected. Bastard!

“Plus a bit more,” she admits and I long to whistle between my teeth but diplomacy overrides the instinct.

“Dibs. Are the police following it up?”

“I don’t know if I can face pressing charges. Could be the worst part.”

“And let him get away with it? He’s a shit and he should be brought to account.”

“My nephew’s a sergeant. If my sister finds out, she’ll make me feel worse than I already do. And, believe me, I feel bad enough. I guess I’ll have to mark this one down to naivety, stupidity and desperation. And I’m glad he didn’t persuade me to sign over half the house to him. He was hinting.”

“Dibs. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Who else is to blame?” She fiddles with the corners of her gauzy, glittery pashmina and her gypsy earrings dangle like crazy. Even when pissed off, she has a flair for garish fantasy fashion gone wild. And wrong.

“But lots of women fall prey to these mercenary guys out for a green card or money or whatever drives them most. It happens to lots of women, probably thousands. Why wouldn’t you believe him?”

“I should’ve considered. Why would a young, handsome, suave man fancy an old duffer like me?”

I reach forward and hug her hard. She has a keen sense of humor. She laughs in such an endearing, self-deprecating way when she does. She has shimmering, clear blue eyes and fine, amazing skin.

“Because you’re you. Kind. Intelligent. Funny, warm, compassionate. I’m not writing the list but you’re you and you’ve the kind of warm heart that arse wipes like Mr. Gold Digger hone in on. You’re a victim, Dibian, not a fool. And you need to realize that. You’re wonderful and you deserve the man who will one day treasure you as you deserve!”

Her blue eyes fill. “Thank you, Izzy.”

“Don’t cry. It’s time to forgive yourself and move on.”

“I knew I employed you for a reason all those years ago,” she smiles as she hanky dabs her eyes. “Underneath all your attitude and bluster and the swearing, you’re a wonderful woman. If only you didn’t like football so much.”

I grin. At least a glimpse of real Dibian is back. Albeit three tubs of luxury clotted cream ice cream have died a fast, messy death to get to this point. And I suspect there’ll be a lot of luridly colored retail therapy to help get her better.

“Football is to me what color is to you. Chaque a son gout!” I tell her that the key to moving on after a bad situation is to pull on big girl pants and party. “So you’re coming to Will Darby’s party on Friday night.”

She grimaces. “So not in the mood.”

“You’re coming. Will wants you there.”

Dibian shakes her head. “I don’t have party mood in me.”

“You will. Even if it means me coming here and us getting dolled up together. In fact, why don’t I bring my girlies over? Or even you come and get ready at mine?”

“Okay. But get your pals to come here. Let’s give this place some nice memories beyond Mr. Bastard the Gigolo, who I still see everywhere I look. At the moment, every time I sit here, I think of him feeding me grapes and I want to cry!”

It’s a tad too much info. But I get her point. “It’s a date.”

“Okay, and one more thing. Since when did you start calling our new Mr. Darby by his first name? Or start getting a smile and a twinkle when you talk about him?”

Fuck. Shit and bugger with its tits out.

“You’re imagining things. I’m being mentored by him. I have to call him Will.”

Dibian nods. But her eyes have gone all Cleopatra on me.

“Dibian. Stop!”

“I know what I know. I will be listening and watching carefully. At least one of us has action on the horizon.”

“He’s a guy. And when I’m finished with you, the guys will be queuing around that grand piano!”

Dibian has her color back. And fuck, but I think it’s unearthing some of my truths that has helped her most. But Dibian is the last person I want to know about my private affair. She won’t mean to but, if she gets wind, she’ll blab about me and Will without realizing.

“I heard Will stepped in when you were sick. Somebody told me he took you home.” Dibian pushes.

“Yes. His maid was there more than he was.”

“Do you know that over the years I’ve become pretty good at working out when I’m being served fiction?”

“I’m concentrating on climbing the career ladder and taking your job, so you’d better treat me right.” I pick up empty ice cream cartons and take them to the bin. “I don’t need a man. And most of them have no interest in me. Unless they need football scores. I always have that info.”

“Oh, Izzy. You protest way too much.”

“I don’t do relationships, Dibs. Too much shit.” I’ve fudged and tried my best. But I know my lines stink like Stilton left in the midday sun. And Dibian wouldn’t believe me, even if I’d brought them out on a wooden board complete with grapes and crackers.

My secret’s out and I know it. And so, most sadly of all, does she.

 

* * * *

 

Hangley Grange is four miles away from Netherfield in Totteridge, one of North London’s ultra-wealthy, mock countryside super suburbs. Given how brief my first stay here was, I decide to take more notice on this visit.

I park on Waggon Way and walk up an overgrown pathway with a bin store. There, a twenty-foot-high security wall and an army of anti-intruder camera sentinels are dotted like buzz-off bling.

It’s a lot less scenic than the front way in. I feel like a lowly tradesman, pushing back overhanging bushes to find the single door entrance. I use an entry code Will gave me and the door clicks open.

A meadow-style pathway leads me to an open expanse of rolling lawn. Fuck, this place is huge. No wonder Mo was impressed.

There are lights for dramatic floodlighting and modern sculpture strategically placed. A fountain graces the expansive lake, and when I round a cave-style stone garden worthy of Capability Brown at Chatsworth, there’s an ornate secret Japanese pagoda.

“Nice one, Will. Rockin’ it.”

I have to remind myself that Will isn’t the owner. These magical details are the brainchild of Paul Bates, one-time England squad captain and most coveted striker at AC Milan. Who could’ve guessed a soccer star could be so garden landscapes and horticulture attuned?

“Well, Paul, it’s not too shabby,” I tell Paul Bates, wherever he now may be. After all, beauty should always be appreciated.

Then, through the trees, I spot the main house and I have to stand and take it in. There’s twenty bedrooms—that’s upstairs. It’s the McMansion. So why exactly am I meeting Will in the pagoda when there’s plenty of conference facility indoors?

I’m about to send him a snarky text but I hear the snap of twigs underfoot and I want to jump a mile in the air. Instead I freeze and a cold evening breeze blows past me and makes me shiver.

“You!” A hand goes over my mouth to silence the scream that’s in my throat. “Now I’ve got you.”

It’s Will. I’d know his smell anywhere. But why’s he looking like a bloody black-hooded ninja? Is he ready to give me a Bruce Lee lesson? He loosens his hand on my mouth.

“You bastard,” I tell him and, on instinct, I slap him.

“I told you to be discreet.” His eyes narrow and he barks his disapproval. “Why the fuck are you standing sightseeing the house like an OCD estate agent?”

“Shut up. Aren’t I allowed any perks of my position as your sex slave?”

“Suppose. When you put it that way.” He grins. “Anyway I wanted to gauge your self-defense reactions. No time to lose, let’s get into hiding.”

“Hiding?” Now I’m confused.

“Shh. Keep it quiet. You’re here and shouldn’t be. There are guests in the house I couldn’t evade. Let me take you to my hidden haven. And get ready for some fast sex action, babe—we haven’t got long tonight.”

Charm and seduction, thy name is William Darby.

 

* * * *

 

I’d expected a draughty garden structure slash spider playground. The pagoda is as far from my image as could be.

Inside it has white walls and shining ebony wood like a serene Japanese tea house from films. I recall a Sean Connery Bond movie with a room like this. Only this one has a screen wall ahead of me and, through it, I can see a black sheet-bedecked double bed with tall orchids in white pots on each simple wooden bedside table. Simple. Perfect for purpose.

“Paul’s into martial arts. He uses this as a practice pad.”

“And the bed?”

“Who knows? He’s faithful to his wife—I know that much. Maybe he comes here to escape her? She’s quite a woman! He’ll need the rest. But that’s another story.” He smiles.

“It’s a proverbial dojo of delights. But why am I here?”

“My mother’s over there. She’s using the sauna and having a pampering massage for a few hours. And Ben and Janey came over to use the gym earlier. I figured we’d stay under the radar!”

“Shit.” I’m shocked at the revelation. But now I approve of the tactics.

I’ve barely put down my bag and taken off my jacket before Will has me in his strong, addiction-forming embrace.

“Izzy, I need to explain why I’m taking things slow. I lived at a retreat in France after I was ill.”

“You’re okay?” I blurt.

“Yes. But it was serious. And I’ve had to adjust. I’ve never tested out the equipment, if you’ll pardon the pun. I’m not sure I can… Not sure I’m as able as I once was.”

“Is that all that’s up?” I ask.

“Well, it’s more often about being not up that’s the problem. And it’s big to me.”

I itch to know more, but he’s told me enough. He’s trusted me enough for this window and maybe in time there’ll be more. For now I’m on the page. And we can do this. He can do this.

I pull Will to me and kiss him as I’ve never kissed him before. Putting my heart on the line and my emotions behind the gesture, kissing him slowly and gently and with the kindness and love I’d love to be kissed with. Like he’s my window on treasure and I’m grasping my chance of taking a cut.

“Love me, Will. And let me love you like I want to. Don’t worry about if it works, if it doesn’t or about the next second. Just go with the flow and love me. Did none of your past managers ever correct you for overthinking things way too hard?”

I slip off my blouse and underneath is something more suitable and sexy. I’d guessed that tonight was about getting out the big guns—and I don’t mean chicken fillet bra enhancers. Because things are at stake here—this fabulous male has had an ego machete slice to his manhood. He needs to know he’s a man again and having that responsibility is a rare privilege.

I also want to apologize for our prior encounter in my bedroom gone bad.

They don’t call me Bulldog Izzy at school for nothing. I like to seize a challenge and get results. Will deserves the best I can give.

I’ve taken my armor from my knicker drawer—a negligée teddy thing made out of lace. It’s sheer, ultra-high cut and a French knicker style with peekaboo texture where it counts most. It’s everything I’m not, it’s positively wanton, but tonight feels like the night it should come out to play.

I stand before Will and remove the black ribbon from my pocket. I sweep my hair up into an untidy updo and I’m ready. I undo my trousers, let them fall and step out of them. I’ve even remembered to spritz with NachtGarten parfum and I’m done. Or should that be undone?

“Will I do?”

I hear Will’s breathing hard against me and I guess the new guise works. “Fuck, you know how to tempt a man to distraction, you crazy woman.”

“You like?”

“More than like.”

“You want?”

“How could any man not?” He’s already tracing my nipples through the sheer fabric. I tip my head back and moan.

“Wanna test the goods? See if you fancy more?” We kiss deeply. “No pressure from me. You set the pace,” I tell him. “Ready when you are.”

Will strips before me and my tongue is redundant in my mouth again. He’s naked and erect and so damn gorgeous that my insides are on hot, deep, internal massage mode. I walk to the bed with Will’s hand in mine and I lie back on it, my legs placed for maximum allure.

“Your rules,” I say, and pull the ribbon undone at the front of my sheerest of sheer lingerie so my breasts fall free. He’s on me and I feel his lips roam all over me. One minute he’s at my mouth, the next he’s covering my neck, my décolletage, my nipples. He particularly likes those and he laves them with a tongue so skilled he prompts extreme sounds of arousal. I’m glad we’re deep in the darkest corner of the grounds. He nips the peaks of my nipples and I writhe on the bed as he caresses my breasts in a manner they’ve never hitherto witnessed. Wowzer.

Will’s eyes burn into mine. “You have been sent to slay my willpower.”

“What next?” I ask. “You’re the boss. Secret Sir. You control the pace.”

“Touch me.” He’s kneeling on the bed, inviting me to go there. So I do, I dip my hand to hold his long, swollen shaft and a raw gasp escapes him. His face is flexed as if pained.

“I won’t hurt you, you’re sure?”

He doesn’t answer but shakes his head. So I take his engorged penis in my hand. It’s long and throbbing and ready with a moist tip. I’ve no idea what’s happened to him but it all looks orderly down below with no obvious impediments. Maybe he’ll tell me soon?

A sharp hiss bolts from between his lips when I dip my fingers over and around the head. I sit back, afraid to do more.

“Would you suck me? I might not last?” His face is drawn and dark. He looks so pained admitting this to me that I sigh and want to cuddle him like a child.

“Will. I don’t give a damn about longevity. But I do want to give you pleasure. May I at least try?”

He nods. “I think so. I want you to try.”

“Lie back and relax. You’re coiled and this should be pleasure,” I instruct and I get up to kneel at the side of the bed for easiest access. “Relax. This is nothing to do with scoring points or achieving anything. Trust me on this. I’m right.” I taste him and relish it. He is sweeter and more seductive than I anticipated. His fingers grip the bed sheets like his life depends on it and I wish I could drain the stress from this fabulous man.

“Put your hands on me,” I encourage him. “C’mon. Loosen the hold.”

Will’s hands rest at the back of my head. He threads his fingers into my mussed hair and gently kneads.

I decide now is the time. I lick from the bottom of his shaft up and over to the head. Then I take him in tentatively again. Just the head. And his gasp tells me he likes it.

A noise comes from so low in his throat I can feel Will brace himself. I lick the tip again. Slowly, evenly. With gentle but steady pressure. Completely attuned to avoiding sensation overload, I blow him fully, smoothly and with steady speed.

Will moans at my mouth’s touch. I curl my fingers around him and thrill speeds a circuit through me as his voice meets my ears.

“That’s it, baby. You’ve got it.”

I’m smiling with new confidence, swirling with my mouth and tongue. I draw deeper and farther—not too much. I’ve had ‘blow-job confessions’ with friends and gained from their tips. I may not have a ton of experience but I do know the drill. Now is my time to try it out.

I pay careful attention to slow and steady with my fingers at the base and I sense he’s near his summit. Will’s hips move in an erotic dance that has me wet and thrilled.

“Hell, Iz.” One arm shoots across his eyes as he braces his weight, trembles too. “Almost ready,” he tells me on a breathy whisper.

I smile as I finally slide my control knob to max. If Will is coming, I want to guarantee a mind bender. I suck, leaving no doubt that, when it comes to mouth love, I’m the woman for his needs.

I sense he’s coming soon, so I take him deep and Will pulls my hair—the sensation thrills me more. With bucking hips, Will loses his last vestige of control and I keep up the motion until he softens with spent energy as he closes his own pleasure. He’s done better than good and I’m heady with delight. Breathing hard, he tugs me close. “Not so bad.”

“Not so very bad at all.”

I grin and revel in the feeling of our embrace. “There’s more where that came from. I’m a great teacher—it’s practical I excel at. I don’t expect flawless performance, I just want application.”

Will smiles and I find all that coiled, manly potential. I sense my actions have eased his worry.

“And after that taster, this student doesn’t mind the ride. We’re going to rub along well together,” he answers.

He deserves recompense for whatever he’s been through, causing his celibacy’s scars. Full therapy—and I think I may have rocked his world.

 

* * * *

 

An hour later, Will sits up in bed and checks his watch. “Shit. Gotta go. Mother will wonder where I’m hiding and send a search party out.”

I grin at this image. But it’s an abrupt ending to our passion pagoda’s exquisite lovemaking. He’s made me come in three different ways, each more impressive than the last. I’m enjoying learning to be a tongue temptress too.

“Didn’t have you down as a mummy’s boy.” I giggle. “Sir has a big secret fear, then.”

“She scrutinizes my business. If she thought there was a woman, she’d rag me senseless.” After pulling on his trousers, he leans in for a languorous kiss. “I’m keeping you well out of harm and interrogation’s way.”

It’s different from any sex I’ve ever experienced before. Not because the orgasms have been plentiful and stellar. But because—it’s not wham, bam, boom. I’ve touched Will and made him come. But he hasn’t come inside me yet. I know why. I can give him time. I have faith that the right care can help him.

“Your mum staying for a while?”

“No. It’s an enforced visit I didn’t foresee. She’ll be gone by the party.”

I nearly swear. Shit, I’d forgotten about that. “Ah. Party. Yep.”

“You are coming Friday?” he says, narrowing his eyes.

“Of course.”

“You got the news that fancy dress costumes are the dress code of choice?”

I shake my head. “Nobody told me. But I have been busy.”

“I figured it might help people loosen up. But you can come as you want. Stay over after?” He tries to seal the deal by kissing around my décolletage to make me weak and wanton.

“We’ll see. If you’re good.”

“Drop by my office soon. I won’t stand waiting till Friday for an Izzy fix.”

I get out of bed and pull on my clothes, much slower than it took to remove them. We stand on the threshold in an embrace, both dressed and ready to return to life outside our clandestine sexy bubble.

“Pop by tomorrow.”

“Okay. But no kisses in the corridor at work or it’ll be sayonara discretion.”

He smiles and I do too. “Top secret. Strict terms.”

“Our dark secrets will stay that way. Count on it.”

“Stay at mine Thursday?” he asks finally. “Give me something to look forward to.”

“Is that wise, school night?”

He claims my mouth in a kiss that sweeps me into the atmosphere on a wave of blissed-out buoyant magic. “You like this?” he says and his hand stakes a claim on my ass.

“Thursday. I’ll bring my flannel pajamas. The ones you like.”

“Bring the black bits. I like them best.”

My Secret Sir. He’s real. And I’m loving it. Loving him—gulp, no, too much too soon, must step back.

And tonight—I must write it all down. Every touch, every blush. Every erect and pulsing inch. This is the research that I’ve yearned for and now I intend to make it work. Bestseller—Kindle cloud rocket—here I come.