More to Life Than This Page 22
‘There are lots of places I’ve never been to before,’ Kate warned. ‘I’ve never been to Bognor, for one, but I’m not sure I’m in a tearing hurry to go there.’
‘You’d love it!’ he teased.
‘I’m frightened to do this, Ben.’ She wriggled uncomfortably. ‘I feel so inadequate,’ she whispered. ‘I’m a walking mass of stretch marks, gashes and childhood scars. You won’t know whether to make love to me or play noughts and crosses.’
‘You are so beautiful,’ he said lovingly. ‘The decision’s already been made.’ Ben buried his warm mouth into the soft skin of her neck and began to unbutton her blouse.
‘Oh,’ Kate replied weakly.
chapter 40
Jeffrey lay on his bed, arms stretched out above his head. He and Natalie had shuffled drunkenly up the stairs together, and had shuffled a bit more on the landing outside his bedroom door, exchanging looks of longing and indecision—on his part. He had never been any good at this sort of thing. He put it down to lack of practice and a certain emotional naivety when it came to the opposite sex. Kate, he could just about cope with, but other women were a complete mystery. The moment went on too long. Then Natalie had spun on her heels and marched purposefully towards her own room. And the sinking of his heart was matched by the bubble of relief he felt in letting her do it.
As he went about his ablutions, he wondered what Kate was doing now. He hoped that the course had been all she had wanted, and that she would come home feeling refreshed and ready to face new challenges. And what would he feel when tomorrow came? He was looking forward to her coming back. Wasn’t he?
There was a knock on the door and he flicked the duvet over him in case it was Kerry.
Before he could speak, the handle twisted and it creaked open on its hinges.
Natalie stood in the door, framed by the light from the moon. She was wearing a wisp of silk that was probably supposed to be a dressing gown and her normally tousled hair looked suspiciously as if it had been brushed.
‘Hi,’ she said.
Jeffrey sat up in alarm, clutching the duvet to his chest. ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘Yes.’ Her lips were full and pouting. She came to the side of the bed. ‘I’m in one room and you’re in another.’
‘Natalie…’
Untying the belt from her dressing gown, she let it fall to the ground in a careless heap. Her naked body was young and firm, her skin translucent in the darkness. The pierced belly button was very much in evidence. Somehow it didn’t seem nearly as innocent on Nat as it did on Kerry. It was aggressive, sexual and very scary. The tattoo was yet to come. Never in his wildest dreams—and there had been some pretty wild ones lately—had he imagined he would get a private viewing of it.
She sat on the bed, curling her legs beneath her. Her smile was feline in the extreme and Jeffrey could feel his heart pounding nervously. ‘Do you always wear your glasses, Jeffers?’ she purred.
‘Only when I need to see,’ he answered with a voice that decided to change key every other word.
She reached out and took them from him, placing them on the bedside table.
‘Do you prefer the light on or off ?’
Jeffrey jerked his shoulders tightly in a movement that was supposed to resemble a casual shrug. ‘I’m sort of an off man.’
Natalie clicked the light on, flooding the bedroom with a harsh light which reminded him of his neighbours’ halogen security light which lit up like Blackpool Illuminations every time a hapless cat—usually Erstwhile—strolled by. Catching the wisp of silk, she threw it over the lampshade and the room was instantly suffused with a soft rosy glow. ‘That’s better,’ she said with a half-smile. ‘Now we can see what we’re doing.’
He wasn’t sure they should be doing what they were doing at all. In fact, he was convinced they shouldn’t. Nor was he sure he wanted to see it bathed in a rosy glow. This was quite a departure for someone whose idea of debauchery was a nip of brandy in his bedtime Horlick’s. ‘Nat, this is making me feel horribly weak-willed.’
‘You’re a man,’ she said. ‘It gives you the perfect excuse.’
Natalie began to gently prise his fingers off the duvet. ‘There are more ways than one to enjoy a white-knuckle ride,’ she informed him.
He was hanging onto the edge again, knowing that there was no escape from what was about to happen.
Natalie tossed the duvet to the floor. He was naked and ready. She slipped to the end of the bed and began licking, kissing and biting his toes, slowly, tantalisingly, exquisitely.
‘This is sheer lunacy,’ he gasped.
She said nothing, but continued her tender assault, working her way up his body—ankles, calves, knees, thighs… Oh my God! His hands clutched convulsively at her hair, her face, drawing her into him. Oh, good grief. Oblivion. Jeffrey looked down and surrendered himself to the sensations.
chapter 41
This was how it must feel to be a heroine in a romantic novel, Kate decided. Ben was taking her on a roller-coaster ride of passion and with each heart-racing dip and turn she was unfurling like a flower, becoming instead the Whore of Babylon.
His love-making was a total revelation to her. She didn’t know whether she was up, down or inside out, whether she wanted to laugh or cry, but she knew that she felt more wanton and wanted than she ever had before—and was revelling in it!
Ben’s body was quite a surprise, too. She’d only ever seen Jeffrey naked in the flesh. She always knew there’d be different sizes and shapes of erections, but she never knew they had different personalities. A bit like cats really—they might be all small and furry, but they had very different ways of getting what they wanted. Jeffrey’s always looked polite and kind, very cheerful, good-mannered. But Ben had stood there every inch a man, looking, well…very cocky. There was a thrusting certainty about him that said ‘You are in the hands of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.’ And he did.
He was a skilled lover, there was no doubt about it. Tender, demanding, exciting. She surrendered herself to him and let him play her body like an instrument—and he was hitting notes she never knew existed.
Ben was sliding down her body, flicking his tongue over her burning flesh, darting it in her belly button. Kate was surprised, she’d never thought of the belly button as an erogenous zone before. Previously, she’d always had a pathological fear of anyone touching it—a bit like the feel of theatre seats or chalk down a blackboard—yet this was giving her the same sensation as sticking your tongue inside a Walnut Whip.
She’d never had oral sex with Jeffrey. They’d talked about it enough, but had never actually done the dirty deed. You could say they’d only paid lip service to it. Was she the only person in the world who hadn’t done it? According to New Woman magazine, quite possibly. Everyone was at it. Give it six months and they’d probably be doing it on television soap operas, too. Sweet thirty-five and never been licked.
His mouth moved lower, tasting her skin, lapping at her like a cat with milk. He was spreading her before him and feasting greedily on her. As his hands parted her thighs and his tongue tasted the parts that no one else had ever reached, Kate tried to remember to breathe, which was proving quite difficult given the relentless assault on her body and senses. Her head was swimming; a Catherine wheel was spinning in her stomach, showering her with tingling sparks from the inside out. She felt like Alice in Wonderland discovering unknown pleasures that begged her to Eat Me, Drink Me. Love Me. And she never wanted it to end.
When they were sated, for the third time, Kate lay on her stomach while Ben stroked her back with an intimacy that she and Jeffrey had never achieved even after fifteen years of what, essentially, had been a happy marriage. A shaft of rich pain cut across her pleasure, but the guilt that she expected to accompany it failed to materialise. What would he think if he could see her now?
Her arm rested above her head and she was watching Ben’s eyes. ‘I can’t believe we’ve done this,’ she said
disbelievingly. ‘This is the sort of thing other people do. Not me.’ Her head flopped languidly on the pillow. ‘What now, Ben?’
His fingers trailed over her skin in lazy twists and turns, writing I Love You along her spine. There was a sheen of perspiration on her skin that shimmered like phosphorescence in the light of the moon. ‘You feel warm,’ he murmured. ‘Do you want to cool down?’
Kate’s lips curved into a smile. ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’
‘Come on!’ He leapt from the bed, tugging her hand. ‘Where are we going?’
He was edging towards the window. ‘You’ll see,’ he said, pulling gently at her again. ‘Come on!’
Reluctantly, Kate got out of bed. ‘I don’t know where my clothes are.’
‘You won’t be needing them.’ Ben lifted the tall sash window, which creaked in protest. The night air was still hot and heavy, covering the ground like a thick blanket. He was up on the windowsill before Kate knew it.
‘Ben, you’ll fall!’
‘I won’t. Here…’ He helped her up next to him. ‘There’s a fire escape.’
She crouched naked on the sill next to him, trying unsuccessfully to cover herself with her arms.
‘People will see us,’ she hissed.
‘Who?’
Kate surveyed the scene. Ben was quite right. There was no one around. The window overlooked the terrace where the party had long since died; its only traces were a few used paper plates discarded in the shrubbery and some brightly coloured strings of party-poppers wound round the odd unsuspecting saxifrage. There were no lights on in the priory, nor the accommodation wing, but two spotlights shone out from the darkness picking out the ramparts against the night. The ornate wrought-iron fire escape wound straight down to a grassy mound which bordered the main house, which was then just a mere slither away from the croquet lawn.
‘Let’s go.’ He stepped out onto the fire escape.
‘Where to?’
‘You’ll see.’ He grinned, his teeth looking whiter than white in the moonlight.
Kate put her foot gingerly over the sill. She was going outside, naked in the dark. She didn’t think she’d ever been outside in her birthday suit before, not since she was about three years old on Bournemouth beach and then she’d had considerably fewer bits to be bashful about.
Ben smiled back at her encouragingly as he led the way, pitter-pattering carefully down the fire escape in their bare feet. At the bottom, the grass was cold and damp between her toes.
‘Let’s keep to this side,’ Ben said, putting his arm round her. ‘Away from the lights.’
‘Supposing there’s a security camera,’ Kate whispered anxiously.
‘Then we’ll be giving the guard something to talk about.’
They stuck close to the edge of the trees, crouching down as they ran, ducking under the Cedar of Lebanon, making themselves small, lightning-quick. Entering the more dense area of the copse, the darkness enveloped them. It was black as pitch and cooler under the umbrella of trees. Ben held her still. ‘If we stand here for a few moments, our eyes will get used to the dark,’ he said.
It didn’t help that she had the distraction of his hands roving her body while they were waiting, but sure enough, out of the blackness, the grey fuzziness of indistinct shapes started to form in front of them.
‘Walk slowly,’ Ben instructed. ‘Don’t look down. Your feet will get used to feeling their way round obstacles.’
They made their way up the path, past the place where they had eaten their picnic. Kate could feel the rough dampness of leaves, twigs and bracken beneath her soft feet. As they climbed higher into the woods, the path became steeper, the ground softer, more yielding under her step. She could hear Ben’s breathing just behind at her shoulder, senses alert, conscious of their nakedness. The blood was zinging through her veins, she could feel every pulse, every beat of her heart, and there was a lightness to her spirit that had been missing for years. At the very top they broke out into a clearing. They were on a high, exposed ridge which jutted out proudly, dominating the surrounding countryside.
The moon was full and high, blue-white in an ebony sky. Solid black clouds massed, stage right, thick, threatening, laden with the weight of gathered rain. They were backlit by the celestial torch, silver-edged with dramatic filigree. The stars were low, close, sheltering beneath the coming storm. In the distance, faraway lights of tiny towns gave off a subtle golden glow on the horizon, speckled with the amber pinpricks of streetlights. A sharpness spiked the air, clear and refreshing, prickling the senses to life. The breeze had quickened.
Ben held her hand and they walked together to the edge of the ridge. There was a vertical drop in front of them—sheer until it reached the flatness of the plateau of fields spread out beneath like a safety net.
Kate turned to him, pressing her body against his, suddenly scared, desperate, vulnerable. ‘Make love to me,’ she begged. ‘Now.’
‘Not yet,’ Ben said. ‘I want you to fly with me, Kate.’
A trickle of terror rippled through her. ‘I can’t,’ she gasped.
‘What did Sam say? Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith.’ He urged her towards the edge of the precipice. ‘It’s time.’ He turned towards the drop. ‘Take my hand.’
‘I’m scared,’ Kate murmured, clutching him.
‘Don’t be. I’ll be with you.’
She followed him and stood right at the edge. Her toes curled over into nothingness and she felt a tremor of fear and exhilaration shudder through her. Ben spread his arms wide, exposing his body to the night. Hesitantly, Kate did the same. The breeze trailed its fingers through her hair, lifting it from her face and her neck, carrying it on the wind, soothing her. It licked over her breasts, hardening her nipples to aching points, before it breathed over her belly and between her legs, stirring exquisite sensations in her loins.
‘Remember the white crane, Kate,’ Ben said from the blackness. ‘Spread your wings.’
The wind whirled round her, warm and chill eddies teasing and flirting with her body, sending out tendrils of air to stroke her skin, intimately caressing her. Leaning into it, she let the tangible nothingness support her, lift her, exalt her. She moved her arms tentatively, offering uncertain wings to the taunting moon.
‘Reach for the stars, Kate,’ Ben said. ‘Look. They’re so close, they’re almost within your grasp.’
He was right, they were a hair’s breadth away from her. All she had to do was stretch out.
She focused on her breathing, high and tight in her chest and she dragged it from her belly, swelling through her body, bursting against her lungs until it broke out of her mouth with an anguished cry. A surge of power filled her arms, lifting them as if driven by pistons, thrusting them through the air like an oar cutting through water. Lunging, beating, sweeping. Her arms moved again, gathering the air to her, cradling it in the curve of her wings, before the powerful uplift raised them in supplication to the sky again.
And then her heels lifted, her legs melted away, the ground fell from beneath her, the strong hands of the wind supported her belly. She was rising. A lightness surrounded her, the strong movement in her arms propelling her upwards, breaking the gravitational pull of the earth.
‘Oh God,’ she breathed. Still higher and higher, she soared, head up towards the stars. Her whole body was pulsating to a steady primeval rhythm, like the ebb and flow of an ocean. As she looked down, the fields and the ridge were laid out beneath her, insignificant in their earthly solidity. She was weightless, unfettered, hovering above the ground. Free.
Hot tears splashed from her eyes, running cold down her cheeks, before the breeze brushed them tenderly away. ‘I’m flying, Ben. I’m flying!’
chapter 42
The sun was bright and yellow in the sky like the sun in Teletubby land. It flooded the bedroom with unnecessary brightness and Jeffrey rolled over, now modestly covered by the duvet again, blinking against it. Natalie was gone.
He threw back the tangled duvet and it was there staring at him. A psychedelic pink notelet, one of the ones Kate kept by the phone. There was a message scribbled on it.
Jeffers—it wasn’t lunacy, it was beautiful, fun, sexy and fulfilling. Wild thing! Your wife’s a very fortunate person. Nat x
Jeffrey looked bleakly at the wreckage of the sheets, the smears of lipstick and mascara from Natalie’s face on the pillow slips, and thought that if Kate could see him now, the last thing she would consider herself was very fortunate.
His sleep had been fitful, without any of the usual contented postcoital drowsiness. He had woken in the night, still haunted by a dark shadow of disbelief that he was actually in his bed—in his marital bed, in his marital home, his marital children just down the hall—with another woman. Natalie was curled against him and his arms were wrapped tightly around her. She was breathing deeply, like a slumbering child. Her cheeks were pink from exertion, a delicate flush from her orgasm still colouring her throat and her blonde hair tousled. This was the first time he had ever been in bed with a woman other than Kate, and to say it felt strange was an understatement. The contours of her body were different, but he and Natalie fitted together just as easily, curving together with the easy comfort of spoons.
He pushed the image out of his mind. His body felt as if it had been filled with heavy-duty porridge and he plodded to the bathroom trying not to encourage too much unnecessary movement in his cranium. The shower battered his body with sharp little needles and he regretted having to wash the imprint of Natalie’s scent from his skin. Why had she gone from the bed so early? Had she stayed all night or had she slipped away as soon as he was sleeping soundly? Perhaps she had gone back to her own room or was sitting downstairs reading the paper, waiting for him to wake. He sniffed the air for the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Nothing. Not even the less delicious aroma of freshly spooned Nescafé.