That Filthy Book Page 3

  “Oh, God, that was something else,” he said, shuddering within my embrace.

  As I slid my palms over his hot back, I was aware that every one of his muscles was taut and tight.

  “You made me completely lose it then,” he murmured. “I felt like a horny teenager again, doing it for the first time. All control left me.”

  I giggled breathlessly.

  He pulled back and grinned, but kept his cock pumping slowly within me. He looked down. “Ah, fuck, that looks so hot.”

  I followed his gaze. His veiny, mauve shaft, rising from his black pubic hair, slid backwards and forwards through my paler pubes. It was slick and shiny and still hard and solid. I could just make out the glossy nub of my clit jutting from its hood.

  The sight of Jacob entering me was sublime and I would never tire of it. But suddenly I was aware once more of my position against the window, and the memory of the binoculars comment. I went to move my legs from his hips. But he grabbed both my thighs, kept me wrapped tight around him.

  “No, don’t move. Jesus, I feel like I could come all over again.” He looked up and grinned, then ducked for a kiss.

  I accepted it happily and a delicious flush of accomplishment filled me. I’d done it. The old Karen was back. I could still talk dirty. I could still make Jacob lose it with words.

  But, my goodness, where had those words risen from?

  Where on earth had that depraved image of being taken against my will come from? I’d described it so vividly and it had sent me reeling into one damn fine orgasm.

  Was there something wrong with me?

  Then I realised.

  It’s the book. That damn filthy book.

  Chapter Three

  Eventually we separated and I moved away from the window, the glass marked with my sweat and slightly steamy in the corners. I didn’t even think to wipe it. Instead, I flopped on the bed, arms and legs spread wantonly as Jacob used the shower first—he knew I’d want time to recover. Besides, the time alone, even if only for five minutes, was needed. I had things to think about—too many things.

  Maybe five minutes wouldn’t be enough.

  Still, I closed my eyes, skin sex-sweat hot, as though I’d caught a fever from our fuck. And I had in a way. Caught a fever that not only burned my skin but seared through me, pushing for more. My throat was dry from sucking in air, and I listened as my pulse slowed and my body returned to normal. Face blazing warmer, I admitted—properly—that talking about that rape scene had given everything we did such an edge. Sharp and urgent. Raw and animalistic. It had taken us to a new level, surpassing even the giddy heights our new relationship had been years ago. I never thought we’d get there again, yet here we were.

  The wonder of it blew my mind. Clit still aching from such a blissful assault, I surprised myself when my hand glided downwards without my having thought to move it. Hadn’t I had enough? Wasn’t that orgasm one of the best I’d ever had? Yes, it was, but, my God, I wanted more. I fondled myself, Jacob’s sperm thick and warm on my fingers, the smell of it wafting up to swaddle me.

  Who would have thought that with age came this…this brand new sexual mountain I was standing on? I’d reached the apex of a new peak and was looking down at the climb. We’d fucked against a window, and despite my Peeping Tom worries, I could also admit it turned me on to think of someone seeing us. And me saying my fantasy out loud, Jacob being turned on by it too. Now there was a revelation. My man, who abhorred violence of any kind towards a woman, had been turned on by the thought of forced entry.

  And then the thought came, one I didn’t want to entertain, but it was there, bold and bright just the same.

  Was there something wrong with both of us?

  Rape was a vile crime. An act that was evil and depraved and should be punished with castration and life in prison at the very least. But, of course, I didn’t really want to be raped. I just wanted my loving husband to fuck me within an aggressive sexual fantasy.

  Jacob entering the room after his shower prevented me pondering any further on that question. He smiled at me, white towel secure around his middle, using another to dry his hair. Relaxed, that was how he looked, like this weekend had been the key to unlocking the door that had held tension inside him, giving it the freedom to leave his body. I had something to do with that. Me, with my lurid fantasy that had appealed to him so much too.

  Inordinately proud of myself, I got off the bed, sly smile of my own stretching wide, and breezed past him and into the bathroom without a word. I didn’t want to discuss it, wanted a little more time to let a new seed of an idea, which had always been there but hadn’t been watered, begin to grow.

  The shower water pattered over me, a soft caress that left me refreshed and raring to go. The glass walls of the cubicle clouded, giving me the sense that I was completely alone, and my sinful idea began to bloom. I realised, if what I had in mind was going to work, that we had things to do before nightfall—important things. Like visiting the shops so I could buy a new outfit and high heels, clothes I wouldn’t usually wear. Nothing slutty, just different from my usual jeans, T-shirts and sturdy boots.

  I wondered, as I soaped my hair and body, what those clothes would feel like. For too long I’d chosen safe items—jeans; long, baggy T-shirts; sweaters that covered my arse and hid the fact that beneath them I actually had some shape. I supposed that the extra weight had made me self-conscious and I’d hidden my body’s imperfections. Or what I saw as imperfections. Since I’d had the girls, Jacob had encouraged me to sod what anyone else thought and wear what I wanted, but I’d pointed out that a muffin top wasn’t something I wanted to advertise. I didn’t care that most other women I knew had them, I just… God, I just wished I didn’t have one.

  I glanced down at myself. Naked, I didn’t look too bad. Maybe if I bought clothes that fitted properly I wouldn’t have a problem. And there was that TV programme, wasn’t there? The one where those two women told the viewer which clothes suited which body. Yes, that was it. I’d buy some new clothes—as well as the ones needed for tonight—and see if they stopped me from feeling like such a blob.

  I diverted my thoughts back to the ones that demanded my immediate attention. We needed to check out the streets around the hotel, see if we could find somewhere suitable. Somewhere quiet and dark and seedy.

  Out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around my body and secured it beneath my armpits. I left the bathroom dressed the same way Jacob had, but with an extra towel twisted around my hair.

  He turned from the window to look at me, jeans moulded to his legs, a casual light blue shirt yet to be buttoned giving me an exciting glimpse of his bare chest and a tuft of armpit hair where the fabric flapped open. Had he been staring through the glass, remembering our encounter? Had it got him thinking of the same thing as me—acting it out tonight?

  “You all right, love?” he asked, voice back to its usual steady tone.

  “Yes. You?” Sudden shyness washed over me. A nugget of anger vibrated in my belly at that. I wasn’t going to allow myself to go back to how I was. Not now. Not when I had something so bad on the agenda. I straightened my shoulders and tugged the towel from my hair. Stared right at him, a woman with a sexy mission in mind. I’d take control, make things happen. Show him we still had it. “We need to go out. I have to buy a few things.”

  “Things?” He walked over to me and weaved his fingers in my damp, tangled hair.

  But I wanted him to jam them there, to fist my hair and yank my head back, pull until it hurt. The thought grew, took shape, showing images in my head that I perhaps should have been ashamed of.

  “Am I weird?” I asked. “Weird and wrong to want…what I said I wanted?”

  He smiled again, cocked his head, and stroked through my hair.

  Yank it, damn it!

  “If you’re weird, then I’m weird.”

  His shrug said it all. There was nothing to worry about. So long as we were both happy with it, then what was the har
m?

  “Good.” I reached up to take his wrist, bringing his hand down so he cupped my cheek. The startling vision of him slapping it shocked me. Did I want to go that far? Have the fantasy so real? “Then you won’t mind acting out what I told you earlier, will you.” Statement. Asking it as a question gave him the option to refuse.

  He widened his eyes, unable to hide his surprise quickly enough.

  So he hadn’t been thinking the same as me when he’d stared out of the window, then.

  After clearing his throat, he said, “For real?” He glanced around the room. “It’s hardly big enough in here to act it out, love, but we’ll give it a go.”

  I laughed, a throaty sound that hadn’t belonged to me in years. “Not in here, Jacob. Fuck, no. I want you to ‘rape’ me outside. Down an alley.”

  * * * *

  I wobbled a little in the black stiletto heels, and the cold air on my bare legs wasn’t something I’d bargained for. Stares from passers-by as I did my best to strut seductively down the darkened street weren’t something I’d banked on either. It had been too long since someone other than Jacob had looked at me in that way. Too long since I’d worn a short black skirt that left nothing to the imagination and a cute red top that did the same. I’d applied makeup, too, taken more care than just the usual blast of the dryer to style my hair, and a sense of being me, myself, of being ‘a woman’ had given me a more confident stride.

  In our room, Jacob had whistled when I’d presented myself to him, said my blonde hair looked damn hot and sexy against the red top. I’d felt so pleased with myself, having bought clothes that fitted well and highlighted my curves in a seductive way.

  I glanced back. Jacob followed, maybe a hundred metres away, also in new clothing. Black jeans, black bomber jacket, beanie hat covering his hair. A beanie hat that, when he pulled down the folded cuff, became a ski mask. God, my stomach had clenched with excitement when I’d spotted it earlier. The thought of being taken by a rough-and-ready masked man had wet my slit right there in the shop. I’d looked at him, mask in my hand, thumb brushing the wool, and he’d nodded and walked away. If he hadn’t, would he have grabbed hold of me and done something he shouldn’t have?

  I liked that—it gave me power to know I affected him so much. Bizarre really, when it was having power taken away from me that ruled my thoughts.

  Smiling now, I turned away from him and faced ahead, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other without my heels catching in the gaps between the uneven slabs of the path. It was weird walking in these shoes after so many years of flats or trainers. I’d worn heels on occasion, to weddings and parties, but the last time had been so long ago it was like learning to totter in them all over again.

  Our first stop hogged the corner across the road, a squat, old-fashioned red-brick building, the dark green swinging sign proclaiming it as Brewer’s Droop. I’d laughed at that earlier, told Jacob if he thought of having more than one drink in there tonight he’d better not prove the pub name true.

  I needed him hard and more than able to carry out the plans I’d whispered in his ear. As I’d stood with him, wrapped in that towel, I’d given him every delicious detail, then pulled back and studied him, checked whether he really was up for it and not just agreeing to indulge me. From the flush of his cheeks and the gleam in his eye I could tell he was willing. He’d pulled me closer, kissed me hard, his cock growing by the second. If I hadn’t pulled away we would never have left that room.

  My steps were taking me closer to the pub, so I crossed the road, hips swaying, heels tapping the asphalt. Once I was on the other side, I glanced back again, so giddy with excitement I couldn’t have described it if I’d tried. Jacob had crossed over too; he was looking menacing in the doorway of the tool shop we’d visited that afternoon. Yes, I wanted this fantasy to be as realistic as possible and the purchase we’d made there would see to that.

  Shadows embraced his right side so he appeared to be half a person in the illumination of the orange-hued streetlamp. He looked sinister, like a man lying in wait, a predator ready to pounce on his prey. I wondered what he was thinking as he stared back at me, whether he saw me as his wife or was getting into his role, seeing me as an object and not a person, the one thing he wanted that would sate his desires and make him feel whole. I hoped he thought the latter. I wanted him to be so unlike his usual self that I would fail to recognise him.

  Getting well into my own role, I narrowed my eyes at him, as though I wondered why he’d tailed me, and waited for his reaction. It came as a scowl and a nasty sneer on his lips designed to frighten but instead it gave me a thrill to think of him being someone he wasn’t—violent and mean, ruthless and without conscience.

  Fuck, I was getting wet.

  I frowned, shaping my mouth into a suitable grimace, and turned away. At the pub door, dark green with brass handles and opaque windows, I took a deep breath and quickly entered, as if seeking the safety of other people. The scent of stale beer beneath that of the freshly poured pints assaulted me, and it took a few breaths before the aroma went away. Other smells took over—too many aftershaves and perfumes, hairsprays and deodorants from the hundred or so people standing or sitting around—and I breathed through my mouth to combat the overwhelming smell. Music blared from hidden speakers, some modern tune I’d heard on the radio last week, and I felt so alive, so with it, that I almost gave a beaming smile. Another frisson of excitement plundered through me, my belly clenching and a bubble of expectancy waiting to pop in my throat.

  It was happening. The fantasy that had been hidden within the pages of a shamefully dirty book was becoming my reality.

  I ignored lurid glances from a group of men who lounged at one corner of the bar, their stares giving me an unexpected boost of confidence. I was still desirable, still worth a look, and for a moment I felt foolish for being so pleased about that. A brief thought of them coming over and asking if I wanted a drink brought a shudder of revulsion, though. Since I’d met Jacob, other men just hadn’t entered my mind. Besides, they wouldn’t approach me, I knew that. I was just being fanciful.

  One of the barmen, an aged fellow with tufts of coarse grey hair at his temples and none on his shiny head, took my order for a large glass of white wine, a denture-ridden smile transforming his wrinkled face. I wondered what he saw every night and what he thought about it. People meeting for illicit trysts. Obvious extra-marital affairs. Drunk men gaining bravado from alcohol, trying to pull women so obviously out of their league. Women, legs like elastic from too many alcopops, hoping their knight in shining armour would notice them and sweep them off their feet.

  I had my knight. I had my castle. I just wanted a little enhancement.

  The barman turned away and walked to the wine cooler, getting in the way of another, much younger man who bustled around getting drinks for a gaggle of twenty-something women down at the other end. They shrieked at a joke one of them had told, and I recalled nights I’d spent out with the girls in my university days.

  I didn’t miss them.

  I returned my attention to the old man, and as he poured I took in my surroundings, wondering where Jacob was. He’d hidden himself well, then, would watch me as planned until my drink was nearly gone and then he’d show himself.

  The wine, when I took a gulp, was cold and crisp on my tongue and gave me something to do while I threw surreptitious glances about the place. The men on the corner leered some more, but rather than please me this time it made me a little uneasy. Jacob still wasn’t in plain sight, and I could only hope he was watching them, keeping an eye on the situation. One of them stared a bit too hard for a bit too long, and as a blush crept into my cheeks, I turned away.

  My glass of wine had suddenly become an interesting study.

  I sipped, awareness of being watched prickling my skin. It wasn’t meant to be the eyes of other men—only Jacob—and the unpredictability of my plan, the thought of it going wrong, hadn’t entered my head until now.
>
  Wine almost gone, I searched the pub with my gaze for the one man who mattered and finally spotted him standing behind the crowd of men at the corner. He glared through the space between a black-haired beefcake and a blond wiry guy, his face hard, mouth set in a grim line.

  The game was on.

  I tossed the remainder of my drink down my throat and left the pub, the shock of cool air adding to the buzz of adventure shuddering through me. A few metres ahead lay the dead-end alley between two buildings we’d agreed on, and I checked behind me so the next act could begin.

  Jacob wasn’t there.

  Come on! Where are you?

  I slowed, head bent, and wondered why he’d deviated from the plan. He was supposed to be right behind me, making it clear he had been tailing me since we’d left the hotel. I was meant to make my mouth into an ‘O’ of shock, whimper, and rush down the alley to get away from him.

  A quick flash of footsteps sounded behind me, and I smiled, keeping my head down. So this was how he wanted it, was it? He wanted to control this fantasy. Fine, I’d let him, but he’d better be good!

  At the alley entrance, I rested my hand on the brick and made to turn around, to give him that little mewl of fright, but a hand clamped over my mouth before I had the chance. I was jerked backwards against a very male chest and held tight by a strong, thick arm across my belly. I lost purchase in my damn heels and stumbled. I bit back a squeal, my hands flailing as I instinctually fought for balance even though Jacob was holding me steady.

  “Down here,” a voice said.

  A voice that wasn’t Jacob’s.

  Oh, shit. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not for real.

  Bone-cold terror coursed through my veins, turning my blood to ice. I lashed out, arms flapping, raising them in order to smack the bastard and cause him pain, make him lose his grip. He held me tighter. I jabbed my arse back, hoping to catch him in the groin where it would hurt the most, but my efforts were wasted.