She is beckoning to him with one finger. Bitch! The flare of jealousy and irritation is instant and burns at my guts. I quell the desire to stalk up to her and ram her finger down her throat. I stare at Jaron. He extends his thumb and last finger and bends all the fingers between and holds his hand as if it is a receiver to his face. What the fuck? He knows someone in my old haunt? A gay club? And the fucking bastard wants her to call him.
I stalk up to him. ‘Who was that?’
‘Gemma.’
‘Gemma?’ I can’t help how sharp my voice sounds.
He breaks into an idiotic smile. ‘You’re jealous?’
‘No. I am not fucking jealous.’
‘Then it’s no problem.’
‘Can I ask you a stupid question anyway?’
‘Fire away.’
‘Are you sleeping with her too?’
‘Why would you think that?’
That answer inflames me beyond all reason. I want to go around and slap him. I am in a bad way for this guy. And he is so cool and unconcerned and so fucking unavailable. ‘Just once can you just answer the fucking question?’ I grit.
He laughs deep and dark. I realize then that there will always be about him an undercurrent of lurking danger. Like a deep, deep well. ‘No,’ he says very clearly. ‘I’m sleeping with you.’
‘So what are you asking her to call you for?’
‘She works for a friend. I want you.’ His voice is tense and low. ‘Exclusively. If you want to bring another woman into the picture and share me it’s your call, but I’m not sharing you with anyone else. If I see a man even sniffing the air around you, I’ll rip his skin off.’
The breath squashes from my lungs.
Jaron is watching me, his eyes deliberately blank. ‘Well?’ he asks.
I make up my mind pretty quick. ‘Come on,’ I say, and pull him off his chair.
He slides off easily and follows me out of the nightclub. I’ll give him this. The guy knows when not to chatter. Never asks me where we are going. Simply follows. I like that. I turn down the road and into a side street. I know this place. I came here once to vomit. It leads to a cobblestone alleyway. There are large silver wheelie bins and black bin bags of rubbish stacked by them.
I pull him into the shadows of a doorway and slam him against the door. The sound is loud in the deserted place.
‘Remember when I said, I’d never suck your dick?’
‘You changed your mind?’ He chuckles.
‘You’re a genius, Jaron Rose,’ I say and start unzipping his pants. He is as hard and as long as a policeman’s baton.
‘I have a crazy fantasy. In it I am a policewoman who stops a very attractive woman on a deserted road. “Did I do something wrong, Officer?” she simpers. “You were speeding,” I tell her firmly, taking out my ticket book. “You’re not going to give me a ticket, are you?” she asks alarmed. “I’m afraid so, lass,” I say opening my book. “I’m so very sorry, Officer,” she purrs. “I promise to be more careful next time.” I click the top of my pen. “Surely there must be something I can do for you?” she asks desperately.’
Jaron’s face is a picture. He is so turned on his jaws are clenched. I reach into his black boxers and take out his baton in my hand. It twitches with excitement.
‘“Maybe,” I inform the young lady. Then I make her get out of the car and tell her very, very sternly to bend over the car hood with her legs spread open. In my fantasy the dirty girl is not wearing any knickers. I lay my palm on her lily-white buttocks and slowly push my baton into her wet, wet pussy. She screams with pleasure.’
At that moment I drop to my knees on the cold cobblestones and move my mouth toward his cock and the smell of his leather trousers. With my eyes trained on him I slowly push the thick shaft between the nice, tight O of my lips. He tastes nothing like I thought he would. Spice and plums! I don’t eat plums and I hate spicy stuff, but I like the taste of him.
His head rears back. ‘Oh God!’ he groans and I see the muscles of his hands bunch as they move toward my hair as if he wants to grasp it and control my head like he would the reins of a horse, but he stops himself in time. Maybe he doesn’t want to scare me away. I open my throat and take him deeper and deeper into my mouth.
He looks down on me, his lust-filled eyes astonished by my skill. ‘I love watching my cock fill your mouth,’ he snarls.
He doesn’t know that Lana and I have been to classes in London where we learned how to deep throat with a condom-covered banana. I am forced further down the trunk of Jaron’s throbbing monster. His helmet pushes my tonsils aside and I gag as the silky head lodges at the base of my throat. For a few seconds the gag reflex sets in and I stop. My throat flutters desperately. I grip his knees hard.