Rich Pickings Page 9

  Chapter Six

  I stretch lazily, waking slowly. I can hear music, something classical by the sound of it, vaguely familiar. I roll onto my back, wincing slightly as my bottom connects with the soft leather. I’m pleasantly sore, aware of my body in a way I don’t recall ever before. I’m still naked but a light quilt has been tossed over me, and I grasp it, snuggling back down. I feel wonderful. Better than wonderful. I feel alive, tingly and deliriously happy. Dan Riche is very good for my sense of well-being.

  And talking of Dan, where is he? I crane my neck to peer round the room, or as much of it as I can see from here. He’s nowhere in sight. I wriggle into a sitting position and peep over the back of the sofa. He’s at the dining table, a mug of steaming coffee beside him. His smartphone is in his hand and he’s tapping the screen. Catching up with his emails perhaps. Facebook? He glances up, and smiles at me. He’s dazzling, quite stunning.

  “You’re beautiful.” The words are out before I have an opportunity to censor them. A case of mouth slipping into gear before engaging brain. I clap my hand over my face, embarrassed.

  Dan doesn’t seem especially fazed by my comment. Maybe grateful women tell him he’s beautiful every day. It wouldn’t surprise me. He puts his phone down and gets to his feet, a quirky, lopsided grin on his face as he ambles back across the living room. He’s still wearing just his sweatpants, his chest and feet bare. Prime male. My mouth waters.

  “You’re not so bad yourself, Miss Jones. Nice nap?”

  “Mmm, how long was I asleep for?” I lift my tangled hair from my neck with one hand whilst hanging on to my quilt with the other, and stretch again. I have visions of not being able to sleep tonight, though I daresay Dan will find some way to wear me out if I ask him.

  “Not long. Half an hour or so.” He deposits his long body on the sofa by my feet, flicking back the corner of my quilt to make a space for himself. His hands encircling my ankles he lifts my feet into his lap and starts to massage my toes.

  Christ! I thought his fingers on my clit were magical, but this is a close second. He grins at me, all sexy and rumpled and relaxed, tugging and squeezing my feet, stretching the muscles there and pressing his fingers into the soles. It should tickle, but it doesn’t. It just feels simply divine. I’m wondering whether men like Dan Riche could perhaps be made available on prescription. It would save the health service a fortune in tranquilizers and sleeping pills.

  I sigh and ease my body back against the sofa, stretching out and giving myself over to the hedonistic pleasure of a foot massage. Dan continues to work my feet, easing the kinks out of them just as he eases the kink into me, so to speak. Lovely.

  At last, he breaks the contented silence. “Show me your arm.”

  “What?”

  “Your arm. The patch test. Show me.”

  Ah, yes. The peppermint oil. I glance down at my arm, the skin unaffected by the liquid. Nothing to see at all. Dan nods in satisfaction.

  “Excellent. Can you reach the dish? My hands are full.” He gives my toes an extra squeeze, at the same time nodding in the direction of the small porcelain saucer still sitting on the low table. I stretch out my hand and can just get my fingertips to it. “Dip your fingers in and spread a little on your lips, please.”

  I do as he asked, my mouth flattening as the sharp, cool sensation seeps across my lips. It’s a bit like holding a polo mint between my teeth. The super strength variety.

  “How’s that?” Dan lifts one eyebrow, watching my reaction with interest. I run my tongue over my lips, which are just starting to throb. Or should that be tingle? The sensation is one of heat and coolness at the same time, a curious combination. I explore with my tongue again, my eyes locked on Dan’s dark gaze as the feeling intensifies, two extremes warring with each other on my lips.

  “It’s, oh, wow! That feels strange.” No longer the cool polo mint, more the warm glow of aromatic spices. I rub my lips together, seeking friction, then lick them again. I can taste the mint on my tongue, but only faintly. The impact on my lips where I smeared the oil is building though, and I press my fingers to them, expecting to feel heat, or a chill. There’s neither, but I rub anyway, only to find the sensation strengthens.

  “Is it uncomfortable?” Dan is still watching me carefully as he continues to massage my feet. I glance up at him, wondering where this is leading, though I have a good idea.

  “I want to lick my lips. All the time.”

  “Imagine how it will feel on your pussy. And your clit. You can’t lick those lips. At least, not for yourself. Or maybe we could try it on your nipples…?”

  I was right. I suppose now the only question remaining is ‘when?’

  I try for nonchalance, but privately I’m squirming at the prospect. My lips are throbbing now, the sensation not quite painful, but nowhere near comfortable either. The compulsion to rub, to lick, to stroke is becoming irresistible. “Well, I suppose you’d have to make yourself useful then…”

  “Mmm, yes, I might. I’ll tie you up I think. Your legs spread wide. Now that I know you’re not allergic to the oil, and I’ve got the dilution about right, we can have some fun. Well, I can. I’ll be interested to know what you think. Afterwards.”

  He lifts my feet from his lap and tucks them back under the duvet as he stands up. I’m expecting to be instructed to lie back and open my legs immediately, so I’m a little nonplussed to see him pick up the dish of oil and take it over to the kitchen worktop. He leaves it there, to return with a glass of water in one hand and my phone in the other.

  “Here, rinse your lips. It won’t make a lot of difference as that stuff’s oil-based, but may help to soothe them a little. You have a text.” He hands me the glass and waits while I take a few sips, using my tongue to splash water against my lips. He’s right, the effect is minimal. The irritation, if that’s the right term for it, is not increasing any more though, and I’m finding it quite bearable now I’m accustomed to it. Maybe my pussy will react in a similar manner.

  Yeah, right. Dream on.

  Dan takes the glass and passes me my phone. The blue light on the top is flashing, indicating a message is waiting for me. I tap in the unlock code and see it’s from Ashley.

  Hi Summer. Sorry to interrupt but I want to offer you a job? We need someone to organize things here, deal with admin, paperwork, company secretary, that sort of thing. Interested? If you are just let me know and we can discuss details when you’re back. I’d like to get it tied up before Tom and I go away though. Please say yes. A xxx

  I stare at the screen and read the message twice. Then once more, just in case I’ve somehow misunderstood. Then again, for good measure. Eventually I raise my eyes to Dan’s. His head is cocked to one side, waiting.

  “Wow.”

  My comment is not sufficiently illuminating. He frowns in puzzlement, though he doesn’t say anything as he settles down by my feet and starts the massage again. I re-examine my phone, just in case the words have somehow rearranged themselves. They haven’t. I’m still on the receiving end of a job offer.

  “It’s from Ashley. She’s offering me a job.” I look at the tiny screen again. Yes. A job. Me. Shit!

  “A job?” Dan’s tone is unruffled, he doesn’t seem unduly surprised.

  An insidious thought occurs to me. “Did you know about this? Have you put her up to it?” I don’t mind him organizing my emotional and sexual well-being, but I don’t want Dan sorting out my employment for me.

  “Me? Not guilty, yer honor. But I did hear Ashley and Tom talking to Nathan and Eva so I knew it was a possibility. What is the job?”

  “Sort of secretary by the look of it. Office manager. Organizing things.”

  “Sounds right up your street. Will you take it then?”

  My head’s reeling with possibilities. I like Ashley, and took to Tom straight away. Same with Eva. Nathan’s scary, but so far he’s been pleasant enough. The prospect of working with them all is appealing. I wonder where I’d be based. Ashley’
s text says she wants someone to organize things here so that suggests Black Combe, or Greystones. It’s a lovely location, I could certainly get used to living in Yorkshire.

  But what about Freya? My heart sinks in unexpected disappointment as I realize I can’t just up sticks and move to Yorkshire. Only two days ago I promised her I was on my way home. And Dan lives in Cumbria too. Now that we’re an item—well, I think we are. I look up at him, his gaze still on me as he manipulates my feet firmly.

  “So? Will you be taking the job?”

  “I can’t. I can’t just leave Freya. And what about…?” Us? Is there an ‘us’?

  “Freya’s moved in with Nick, you’d be on your own anyway. She might decide to sell the apartment, or sublet it.”

  Dan’s right, though I doubt that Freya would dispose of the property while I was still staying there. That wouldn’t be fair, though, and I know that if she were not living in Kendal I wouldn’t be either. I won’t be homeless. I have my flat in Margaret’s old house in Ulverston. Freya had the place converted into four holiday flats, but she gave me the ground-floor one as a present for my twenty-first birthday. My bolthole she called it, because she knew how much I disliked returning to my mother’s house. I’ve not used it much because I’ve mostly lived at Freya’s, or in Bristol, but it’s there if I need it.

  I’m turning over the not especially welcome prospect of setting up home alone in Ulverston when Dan interrupts my thoughts again. “In any case, I think it was Freya’s suggestion. She put the idea in Ashley’s head, though from what I heard she didn’t take a lot of persuading.”

  “What about you? I mean, would you mind…?” I’m not sure just what I’m asking here. Would he mind me staying in Yorkshire when he goes back to Cumbria? Would he mind me working for his brother’s company? Would he mind me assuming he gives a damn?

  “Sweetheart, I’m easy either way. I’m thinking of asking Freya to sublet her apartment to me, and if she agrees you’re welcome to share it. But you won’t be in the spare room any more. Or if you decide to stay in Yorkshire it’s only a couple of hours away. I come down pretty often anyway to scrounge a decent meal from Grace. We’ll work something out. It’s up to you.”

  Share it? He’s asking me to share an apartment with him. Shit. Now, there’s an us. And here was me wondering if he’d even want to see me again after this weekend. I’m just gaping at him like an idiot, to such an extent that he casually leans across and places his fingers under my chin to close my mouth. My jaw snaps shut, and I continue to stare, incredulous.

  “I never thought— I mean I didn’t realize…”

  “Me neither until just now. But it’s a nice idea. Don’t you think?”

  “Which? I mean…”

  “Both ideas are nice. It’s your choice, love. But the offer of a decent job doesn’t come along every day. And you can always come to Kendal at the weekends.”

  And he’s right. I know he’s right. We may need to compromise, both do a bit of work, but I can take this job and continue to see Dan. What’s more, it seems Freya’s been planning this all along, the cunning little cow. I’ll have words with her, though not especially angry ones.

  On impulse I pull my knees to my chest, dragging my feet from Dan’s gentle hands, and squeeze myself. I’m squealing, giggling, hugging my happiness inside me. Is this what joy is like?

  * * * *

  Dan and I are snuggled in bed. The peppermint oil stayed on the worktop while we chatted about my job offer, and Dan’s plans for moving to Kendal. He currently lives in a rented house in Keswick, but that’s not convenient for his practice. He needs to be in South Cumbria and has been contemplating a move. If Freya doesn’t want to sublet, he’s thinking of taking another apartment in the same building, but not surprisingly he fancies the penthouse. I wouldn’t lay money on her agreeing, she does love the place, but it’s worth asking her.

  I’m not sure where I’d live if I accept the job with Ashley. When I accept it—there’s no remaining doubt in my mind. Dan tells me that between them Tom and Nathan own a dozen or more cottages around their properties so I’ll have a choice. The text said nothing about accommodation being thrown in, but Dan seems pretty sure it’ll be part of the deal. We’ll see. There’s a lot to iron out, but the main thing is, I want to give it a try. I texted Ashley back before we came to bed.

  Thank you. What a lovely offer, and what a surprise. I’d love to work for you. When can I start? S xxx

  She replied within minutes.

  Soon as. Talk tomorrow. A xxx

  So now I’m nestled happily in Dan’s arms, my back to his chest, my bum tucked up tight against him. His cock is nudging my swallow tattoos, which feels appropriate for some reason. He pulls me closer, though I would not have thought that possible.

  “I’m glad Ashley tracked you down.”

  “Me too, though I was intending to come home to Kendal anyway.”

  “Mmm, but would you have come back to the club?”

  Good question. I think for a few moments. “No, I doubt it. You terrified me.” Not strictly true, it was me that terrified me, not Dan. I turn in his arms, intending to set the misunderstanding straight. He loosens his arms around me to give me space to move, but that’s all the leeway I get.

  “I think we both know that’s not how it was. I challenged you, pushed you, hurt you perhaps. But I didn’t harm you. You didn’t run from me, did you?” His voice is low and sexy, and although he’s very much in Dom mode he’s not seeking to intimidate me now.

  His repertoire is most impressive. And effective. Despite his unthreatening manner I’m moved to apologize. “No, Sir. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. Forgive me.”

  He drops a kiss on the top of my head. “You’re forgiven, love.”

  “No spanking?”

  “You’ll save until tomorrow. Get some sleep now.” His palm is on my bum, my swallows once more receiving some welcome attention as he caresses my skin.

  I’m still pleasantly sore from our activities earlier in the evening.

  “Thank you,” I mutter, my nose pressed up against his chest.

  “Do you know the collective noun for swallows?” His fingers are lazily tracing my tattoos as he drops the question, seemingly out of the blue.

  “Mmm, yes, Sir, as it happens I do. I Googled it a while back.”

  “Yeah? Doesn’t surprise me. What is it then?”

  “A flight usually, or a gulp.”

  “A gulp of swallows? I like that.” He pats my bum gently.

  I wriggle under his hand, loving his touch. “There are more. You could have a kettle of swallows, or a swoop.”

  “A swoop? Makes sense.”

  “Yes. My personal favorite though, is a richness of swallows. That one’s a bit obscure.”

  “A richness? That’s gorgeous. A richness on your bum. And in my hands.” To demonstrate his possession of my ‘richness’ he shapes his hand around my bottom, smoothing his palm across my tender buttocks.

  “Yes, Sir, in your hands.” I agree, as I drift off to sleep.

  * * * *

  I awaken before Dan. It’s light, the morning sun streaming through the open curtains. We’re on the top floor and short of a passing airplane, no one’s likely to be able to see in so we saw no point in closing them. I lie still, enjoying the sound of Dan’s gentle breathing behind me. He’s curled around my back, his leg slung across my hips. One arm is draped over my shoulder, his fingers grazing my breast. I’m sure he’s asleep, but even so, his touch seems deliberate, studied, intentional as ever.

  I lift my eyelids to gaze around me. As I lie still, I start to notice other things about this room, details I didn’t spot when I first came in here last night. There are solid beams spanning the ceiling, incongruous in such a modern structure. Several of them are sporting chunky-looking metal rings. No prizes for guessing what those are for. I know that the chest at the foot of the bed contains a dizzying array of sex toys, paddles and several canes, as well as ro
pe and a number of leather straps. There’s a chest of drawers at the other end of the bed, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find that stuffed with consumables such as lube and condoms. And peppermint oil.

  I squeeze my thighs together as I contemplate what the morning may well bring. He’ll have to get a move on—we need to be leaving by around eleven I think, in order to be back at Black Combe for the board meeting which starts at one. This may be an informal gathering of friends, but I know that Nathan and Tom will expect everyone to be on time. Dan’s a member of the board so is expected to be there. I’m not sure if I’ll be allowed to attend, but I gather Freya’s been invited. They’ll be discussing the finance for the wind farm project which Tom has been working on. I know Freya has an interest in sustainable energy and is thinking of investing in the scheme, especially as by now she’ll have explained to Nick that she has rather more in the bank than he may have imagined.

  I roll onto my back, wondering how that conversation went. The movement reminds my bladder that it’s been a while, and I know I’m going to have to make a move soon. A couple more minutes tick by whilst I drift happily between sleeping and waking, then the increasingly urgent signals from my bladder force me to extricate my snug and cozy self from the cocoon of duvet and Dan. I slither from the bed and make my way silently across to the en suite.

  I’ve just reached the door when Dan’s voice rumbles from somewhere under the covers, “Have one for me while you’re there.”

  * * * *

  “How long do we have.” I’m sipping a creamy latte, which Dan has conjured up from the rather amazing coffee maker perched proudly on the kitchen worktop. I had a close look at it yesterday, but was unable to fathom out how to get so much as a gurgle from it. The machine looks so elaborate I wouldn’t be surprised to learn it could launch a lunar expedition, but Dan has the measure of the gadgetry and has managed to produce a cappuccino for himself and a latte for me. We’re lying on the bed, both naked, propped up on a pile of pillows.