The Bonk Squad Page 9

  “We need...I think...to remove this,” he muttered, fumbling with the central fastening of her bra.

  She nodded assent. He folded the cups aside and gazed at her twin mounds, each delicately tipped with pink. His mouth moved closer and fastened onto her flesh. Angela smiled.

  “...on earth are you imagining?” Al asked.

  Meg jerked back to reality. “A sudden scene for my book turned up.”

  “You looked—somewhat ecstatic. I’d be flattering myself if I thought undressing me would do that for you?”

  “It wasn’t you I was undressing that time.”

  He glanced around the restaurant. “So who else?”

  “An English nanny.”

  His mouth dropped open at that, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Are you, by any chance, bisexual, Meg?” Did he sound thrilled or horrified at the prospect?

  “No Al, absolutely not. Would you prefer me to be?” she couldn’t help enquiring with a straight face.

  He shrugged his big shoulders, nonplussed. Meg let him off the hook with a smile. “My Italian billionaire just undressed his children’s nanny. The right words can happen at unexpected times.”

  Al nodded, looking unconvinced. He produced a pen and a small notebook from his jacket pocket and handed them over. “Jot them down while they’re fresh in your mind. I think I need the bathroom after that.” He rose and strode to the back of the restaurant.

  Meg made a halfhearted attempt, but the notebook was small, the lighting was dim and she knew she could recapture the scene once she had the keyboard under her fingers. She ripped out her page of rough notes as Al returned to the table.

  “Thank you. Very handy.” She smiled and committed his clothing to memory. Carlo might soon appear in well cut black trousers, a snowy white shirt and a stylish charcoal linen jacket—Armani, naturally.

  CHAPTER 16 - BEN’S LEARNING CURVES

  Ben still swung between desperate lust and total confusion by the time she opened the door. Why him? Why would a girl like Tigger want to go out with him when she knew he was seventeen? She was several years older. Several years more sophisticated. Well travelled and worldly. Gorgeous beyond belief.

  He reviewed her slender body, lit sharply by the setting sun. Her firm little breasts with their nubby nipples. Her narrow waist and trim butt. The warm mouth that had teased him with half a kiss when he was so embarrassed about Meg letting slip his age.

  He plucked up enough courage to reach for her hand as he walked her to the car. She linked her fingers through his and fell into step with him until they were there. His blood pumped faster at being found acceptable.

  He couldn’t resist. Just couldn’t resist. Raised his other hand to stroke her face while they were standing close together in the street. “Sorry,” he said, immediately guilty. He peered around, wary and defensive, in case her parents could see them through the shrubs along the front fence.

  “Chicken!” She grinned and wriggled free.

  Ben cursed under his breath. But at the movies in the dark it would be better. He would kiss her silly then, if she’d allow him to.

  Tigger folded herself into the old Toyota. It was older than she was. Quite a lot older. Almost a collector’s item. She glanced over her shoulder as Ben loped around to the driver’s side. There certainly wasn’t room in the back for what she had in mind.

  He drove not into the center of Hastings, but out along Karamu Road and through the orchards toward the coast.

  “Is it okay with you if we go over to Napier?” he asked. “The multiplex there is way better.”

  Tigger nodded, happy to go along with anything he suggested. “Anywhere you like, Ben. Benjamin? Is that your real name?”

  “Benedict. Benedict Reuben. So I end up Ben, whatever. Mom went a bit over the top.” He chewed the inside of his cheek for a few thoughtful seconds. “You’re not really Tigger, are you?”

  “No, that’s Dad’s old name for me.”

  The Toyota managed a surprising turn of speed under Ben’s size eleven boot but the roar of the motor and assorted rattles made conversation difficult. After ten minutes of hurtling noisily along, Tigger reached over and laid one hand on his nearest thigh. He jerked at her touch and gave a stifled gasp of surprise. She patted him as though he was a nervous dog requiring gentle treatment.

  Ben’s thigh burned under her fingers. Only the need to change down a gear stopped him from grabbing her hand and planting it over the hard rod that strained to be free of his constricting jeans. He shuddered with hot hope and humiliation.

  He wanted sex. Wanted it desperately. Would have settled for it with almost anyone female. But the prospect of having it with Tigger was beyond his wildest, wettest, most ambitious dreams.

  And yet here she was beside him in the car, with her hand on his thigh and a teasing smile in her eyes when he glanced sideways and oncoming lights lit her face. Oh fuck—and she’d moved her hand higher. And lower. And higher. And higher.

  “Are you okay with his?” she asked.

  Was he okay? He was in heaven and hell combined. He was going to come any second. He was going to crash the car and kill them both. He might close his eyes in ecstasy and ram a tree or an oncoming vehicle. With the sliver of his brain still functioning, he braked and wrenched the wheel sideways. They shot across the road, cutting between two cars and no doubt giving the driver of the second a near heart attack.

  The Toyota bounced onto one of the tracks that led over the grassy expanse of wasteland toward the ocean. The uneven ground flung the car around as though it was an empty beer-can rattling along the gutter in a high wind.

  “Shit!” Tigger squealed as the car slewed this way and that.

  Eventually Ben brought it to a swerving stop not far above the high tide line, and cut the motor. Civilization was now a hundred yards away. And it was dark as sin.

  He dropped his flaming face onto the steering wheel, thanking whatever god there was for keeping them safe, and for sending enough danger to take his mind off getting into Tigger’s pants for the moment.

  “I just about killed us,” he said in a muffled voice.

  “We’re fine,” she said, apparently unconcerned.

  “We might not have been.”

  “Well...now we’re here?” Tigger teased, leaning across to ruffle his hair with her fingers. Ben groaned in frustration and raised his head. His eyes gradually accustomed themselves to the darkness. Faint radiance reached them from the traffic on the main road. It was a clear evening with most of a moon just emerging from behind a cloud to glitter across the water.

  Tigger’s shoulders shone pale as the moonlight grew brighter. Ben’s eyes fastened on the straps of her dark blue top. His fingers itched. If he could just slide the straps down a little... if her top could be pushed out of the way...then he could see and touch her skin instead of fumbling through her T-shirt as he’d done that afternoon.

  He tried to turn toward her, but the handbrake and gearstick made it impossible. The best he could do was swivel around and stroke her smooth left shoulder with his hot right hand.

  Her skin felt like velvet...satin...silk. All the things his Mom wrote were true!

  He’d often dipped into her files before she got home to see if he could pick up any handy hints. The love scenes both thrilled and embarrassed him—his own mother writing things like that. But he could certainly identify with the hot snakes of passion writhing through the body of Prince Eduardo until at last he got his aristocratic hands on the voluptuous body of ravishing Isabella.

  Ben writhed, too. And his hot snake would have writhed, but it was now so tightly trapped inside his briefs and jeans he was in considerable pain. And Tigger’s little hand sliding up and down his thigh made things a million times worse.

  “There’s not room,” he gasped.

  “Let’s get out then,” she suggested, tugging at her door handle.

  Ben wrenched his own door open and escaped into the navy-blue night, trying to adjust h
imself so he regained some slight degree of comfort.

  Tigger scrambled around the back of the Toyota to join him. He moved around the front to reach her. They stared across the roof at each other, Ben furious, and grateful for the darkness...Tigger letting out a sudden wicked giggle.

  “You stay there,” she said in a breathy voice, stalking him around the car. He saw her eyes with the moon in them as she drew closer, feet swishing through the bunny-tail grass. The salty tang from the long strand of driftwood and seaweed wafted all around him—until Tigger moved in so close her spicy perfume wiped it out of his brain.

  She laid her hands on his chest and pushed him back against the car. He reached out and stroked her shoulders, tweaking with longing at the narrow straps. Tigger stood close, warm, smooth, and fragrant. Ben’s heart hit warp speed.

  She raised her face for a kiss. It was going to be as easy as that? What if he disappointed her? He tried to dredge up embraces from movies and TV programs. He knew he should do small soft nibbles to begin with—tasting, teasing, searching. And then with luck they’d progress to having their lips parted a little, bodies pressed closer...breathy sighs and moans indicating their passion.

  The small soft kisses killed him. He wanted to pull her hard against him, devour her, drown in her.

  Tigger nudged her hips against his, and a hoarse exclamation of “Fuck!” burst from his throat.

  “Yes, but not quite yet,” she agreed. “We need to get rid of this first.” She rubbed against his erection again.

  Ben gulped. What was she planning to do to it? Cut it off? Frighten it into submission?

  “Are there any tissues in the car?” She ran her hands around his hips. No wadded-up handkerchief lurked in any of the pockets, but he registered the instant she felt the giveaway circle of a condom packet tucked against his hard flank.

  He made an incoherent attempt at answering her, and fumbled for the door handle.

  She leaned in. Ben found himself nanoseconds away from grabbing her skirt and sliding it up so he could caress her thighs and butt.

  She set Meg’s box of tissues on the roof of the old car, then began to undo his jeans. Ben grunted, grasped her hands, and tried to pull them away. This wasn’t what he’d pictured at all.

  “No—let me, Ben,” she soothed. “You feel fantastic. I want to see you and touch you. And I’m going to milk you this first time so you’ll last longer when we really do it.”

  He slumped against the car in shock, mind trying to process what she was offering. Twice? A hand-job and then the real thing? His cock lurched as she peeled his jeans down. Then her fingers were under the elastic of his briefs and he was out in the cool evening air, hugely, savagely, helplessly hard.

  He waited, embarrassed, at her mercy. Was it so obvious he had bugger-all experience? That he needed to have things explained to him? Plainly she thought he wouldn’t last more than a few seconds. He lowered his head in shame.

  But then her magic hands wrapped around him, sliding, squeezing, stealing his resistance, restoring his manhood.

  “Awesome,” she whispered, leaning back to inspect him in the moonlight. “Tell me when we need the tissues.”

  Ben fought to stay afloat. The sensation of being worked on by another person was a hundred times more exotic than his own solitary sessions. Her hands were small and soft. She rubbed him in different places and at different angles from his own hand, and stopped when he least expected her to. And she was female. This was Tigger. The excitement was unreal.

  “Yeah!” he gasped urgently—far too soon, fuck it—feeling the deep muscles starting to contract and convulse. He threw his shoulders back against the roof of the car and tensed, thrusting his hips forward as he came in huge ecstatic jerks and shudders.

  Tigger smiled as he gasped and fought for breath, chest heaving, eyes closed tight.

  “Good?” she asked.

  “Mmmfff!” He was beyond words, still spasming.

  “You like that?” she murmured. “Tell me how it feels...”

  Words were impossible. Ben finally managed to get his eyes open, his hands in her hair and his lips onto hers. He kissed her as though tomorrow might never happen, as though these few minutes were all they had. Maybe they were? Perhaps she’d been teasing and there’d be nothing else?

  Tigger kept him clutched in her handful of tissues until he’d partly deflated.

  Minutes later she drew away, although he remained half aroused and totally turned-on. He groaned as she smoothed his briefs back up and concealed him.

  “Now you can have a little play with me,” she said, bending to toss the tissues under the car.

  Ben’s heart turned over. Where should he start?

  “Is there a travel rug or anything?” she asked.

  He found the old striped one in the back of the car and spread it on the ground. But when she started to crouch down he blurted, “No, I want you standing first. By the car. Like me.”

  He positioned her against the door and slipped his fingers under her shoulder straps. “Will this slide down?” He hoped his voice wasn’t shaking as much as his knees.

  In answer, Tigger crossed her arms, grasped at the hem, and drew the top upward. His eyes fastened on her gradually exposed waist, ribs and then the undersides of her pale breasts. His hands floated towards her and settled. The air rushed out of his lungs.

  Tigger stopped. “Higher?” she asked.

  He nodded, speechless, caressing the softest skin he’d ever touched. And she resumed her little striptease, exposing her breasts as she drew the top up past her face.

  “Stop! I don’t want you watching me. I just need you to stay like that for a minute.”

  His eyes were well accustomed to the moonlight now. His mouth literally watered as he gazed at the delicious tight peaks of her nipples. He leaned down and ran his tongue over each in turn. Tigger tensed and drew a sharp breath each time he licked her.

  “Jesus,” he gasped, glancing up toward her shrouded face.

  “More,” she begged.

  More? He’d do it forever if she wanted him to.

  He licked, he sucked, he nipped, trying to gauge from her reactions what gave her the most pleasure. All of it, apparently—to judge from her muffled sighs and rapturous moans.

  “My arms are killing me,” she finally complained.

  “Sorry.” He presumed she’d cover herself up again. His heart pounded with furious excitement. Her body was an erotic playground and he hated being turned away from it.

  But instead she peeled the top right off and tossed it onto the rug. “Lie down now?”

  Needing no second invitation, Ben collapsed flat on his back, jeans still unzipped.

  Tigger straddled his thighs, and leaned over until a swollen nipple slid between his lips again. He swept his hands up her arms, over her shoulders, down her back, and sucked her with enthusiasm until she drew away.

  “Too hard?” he asked, worried he’d hurt her.

  “God, no. I just want the other side done too.” She offered her other breast. “You have such a sinful mouth, Ben Josephs,” she purred. “This is turning me on so much.”

  Beneath her, Ben lay thrilled and disbelieving. A woman—enjoying what he was doing to her. He was hard enough to split concrete again.

  “We can do anything you want,” she continued.

  Ben’s hormones danced and swooped and dived. Anything? Anything he wanted?

  The cocksmen at school—Skank Blackmore and Joe Moulton—told stories that had the other boys on fire with lust and admiration. At last he’d join their elite company. Not that he’d name Tigger of course. But after tonight he could nod quiet agreement instead of laughing with nerves. He’d be one of them.

  “There’s just one condition,” she added.

  His spirits plummeted. “Mmmm?” he queried, mouth otherwise occupied.

  “I want you to tell me things. I want to know how I taste and what it feels like when you come. How I am to touch inside.”
<
br />   His hips lifted at the thought.

  “Am I what you expected?” she added. “And is this your first time?”

  Ben stopped sucking.

  “So is it?”

  He sighed, defeated.

  “Oh great—I did hope so.”

  His ears buzzed with disbelief. Was he hearing right? She didn’t mind?

  “I want to make it good for you and trade you for information, if that’s okay?” She drew her breast away from his mouth and regarded him with serious dark eyes.

  “Information?” he croaked. Was she MI5 or something?

  Tigger started to unbutton his shirt. Her breasts swung softly, inches from his face.

  “For my writing,” she said. “I know how it feels for me, but not how it feels for a man. And I’ll be a better writer once I’ve found out.” She ran her hands over his hard chest and teased his nipples. “For instance, I bet mine are more sensitive than yours?” She bent over him and licked. Ben sucked in a sharp breath.

  Slowly his brain processed her offer. She was doing this as a tit-for-tat deal. Plenty of tit anyway, he thought, letting loose a puff of nervous laughter. She’d allow him sex if he told her what it felt like? He was willing beyond belief.

  She’d only slightly offended him with her proposition. She was awesomely cool and far too good to be true. And really, how much better could things be?

  He ran his hands up her thighs and tumbled her sideways onto the rug.

  “Lie down,” he urged, surging testosterone giving him courage. “What do you want to do first?”

  CHAPTER 17 - LIZ AND MARCY ON THE WARPATH

  The Bastard had arranged to collect the kids at nine o’clock Sunday morning. It was his weekend to look after Rosie and Brett, but he and the new girlfriend were out late tonight. He’d agreed with Liz that he’d have them for the whole of Sunday, and then get them to school on Monday before she took over again on Monday night.

  Ideal. She could taunt him with her latest man without saying a word.