Page 29 of An Angel's Share
“Oh I don’t know. Sometimes a bit of a breeze helps. Things need to breathe, to feel free.” His eyes light up at the banter.
As his hands brush up to the apex of my thighs, my breathing picks up until I’m panting.Oh my God.My thighs open of their own accord, practically welcoming his hand. What are they doing?!
He’s still eating and talking. I didn’t think men could multi-task to this extent.
I glance into his face. Big mistake. The look in his eyes is pure desire. Total embarrassment ensues as my pussy clenches inwards in my first failed attempt at a cocknap for the day, and he feels it.
“Oh dear Rua, it seems we have a problem.” The heel of his hand is clamped just above my pussy, his fingers moving aside the gusset of my knickers. My very large, very robust knickers. “Whilst I am all for security—it is in fact my job at times—too much security can be a problem. And in this instance, it is one.”
I make a strangled noise as his fingers gently slide inside me. I can’t believe how wet I am. I’m at the fucking lunch table. This man is the devil. Wrapped up in an angel's face and sent to drag me into his debauched kingdom.
I look over at the women. They’re oblivious, still consuming all the goodies the chef has prepared. Thank God the chef is as good as he is.
Jonno looks like he’s busy eating. No one can see his busy fingers. I clearly look like his lunch. My legs have a mind of their own, and are widening.
“Now Rua, let’s discuss your punishment. Because I may be wrong, but these feel very much like knickers to me.”
His velvet voice pouring into my ears, I can’t think straight. His fingers are busy moving, and my breaths are coming in stuttered pants.
“Shall I make you come here? And your punishment is trying to be quiet? Or shall I leave you hanging, and you can meet me at the old stable block in half an hour to sort you out, deal with you properly.”
The grin is downright devilry. His eyes I’m sure flash red. He is Lucifer, come to tempt me. I can’t speak to tell him, butclearly my body is trying to as I shamelessly thrust my pelvis at him.
“Meet me in half an hour. No knickers, Rua, or I won’t let you come at all.”
His comment is light and airy as he removes his fingers. I slam my knife and fork down and am just about to grab his devilish fingers and place them back where I want them, when he widens his eyes at me. Liam has come into the room. But the total bastard puts the fingers that were just in me into his mouth, pretending he’s licking pesto from them.
My jaw drops open at the most salacious display unfolding in front of me. I nearly orgasm on the spot.
He states loudly, “My compliments to the architect of that lunch. It has got to be one of the most tastiest lunches ever.” His grin is positively demonic. It’s a wonder devil horns have not appeared from the top of his head.
“Really, what is it that you have there?” Liam is picking up covers from the dishes and putting them back down again. He twists his head around to check out Jonno’s plate.
“Pasta pesto. But sorry, Liam, all theredpesto has gone. It wouldn’t be any good for you anyway. Not your flavour at all.”
He grins at me and taps his watch, leaving me bereft, panting, fuming and needing to come.
I. Am.Not. Going. To. That. Stable. Block.
My mind is at war with my whole body. There’s mutiny afoot from my neck down. Actually, not even the neck. Brain only, the last outrider. But anyway, how dare he torture me, threaten me. I’m a pregnant woman. I want kindness, cuddles, softness. Cool flannels on my neck. Cheesesandwiches with pickles on them. Now you’re talking. I should be looked after, not getting punished.
Oh, dear. My brain has just joined the rebellion as it runs through the punishments he may have in mind. My legs, clearly the instigator and the leader of the rebel alliance, are taking me out of the house and towards the old stable block.
I’m positive I can repel any ambush, any tactic he deploys. Yeah right, as my waddle hits full speed. So much for maintaining a strong resistance.
13
Jonno
I sitand wait in the old stable block. It’s quiet, calm, the sunlight streaming in through the old round windows high up in the apex of the building. The warmth comes through, but it’s still nice and cool, built to be a place to house animals in the summer heat. The stalls, with their old peeling paint and rusty lattice ironwork, show a level of decoration that was not meant for the horses, but more for the owner’s vanity. A show of wealth to others.
I’m at the far end of the building, currently being used for storing hay bales and unused, clean horse rugs waiting for the weather to turn so they’re back in business. The fabric of the old chair I’m sat on has seen better days. It looks like someone has tried to stuff the cushion with hay. A workbench is at my elbow, and a highly polished, incredibly well-used wooden saddle rack at my feet.
My fingers tap on the workbench next to my soft leather belt. An old crop, the leather keeper at the end rough and unoiled, sits beside it. I’ve also brought a few items whichI’ve placed into an old tin. I sit and wait. I know she’ll come. I just don’t know when.
I smile to myself when I hear the old wooden door open and close. It’s nearly an hour later.
Her flip-flops slapping on the floor, her summer dress swishes around her shapely legs.
