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“That’s enough.” The belt straps cracked through the air. She thrashed him, once, twice, thrice, quickly laying a series of fine strokes across his back. She paused, eyeing the fine tracery of lines that smarted up on his skin.
“And you admit that you are filthy, a dirty boy, for looking at me when you undressed me.”
“Yes, oh, yes,” he cried out in ecstasy, his whole body shuddering.
She thrashed him again, only pausing when it looked as if he might come. She didn’t want him to get that much pleasure out of it. Oh, no.
She walked around his bulk and saw how eagerly and urgently his cock twitched, how much dubious pleasure he was getting from her assault. He squeezed his eyes shut, then open, as if trying to focus. He was close to coming, the skin of his loins taut with tension. Each strike of the weapon had only given fuel to his lust. She could see his cock pounding, pulsing high and hot against his stomach.
He smiled and looked at her with adoration, a single trail of sweat finding itself a path from his neck down across his chest.
“Why are you smiling?”
He didn’t flinch. His smile became subtler but didn’t entirely fade, and the heat in his expression intensified. “Because you’ve punished me for my crime.”
Her chin lifted defiantly. “Oh, no, your suffering isn’t over yet, not by a long shot.”
She smiled to herself. First a shower. Then a phone call. She would track down Cal and get him over here. Then she’d show this guy what he was really missing.
Chapter Thirteen
Jason stepped through the chiming doorway of the coffee bar and selected a booth away from the entrance, but facing it so he could watch the people coming in. So he could watch for Zoë’s arrival. She’d spoken briefly, calmly, as if she’d been waiting for his suggestion to meet. He didn’t know if that pleased him or worried him even more.
A scrawny youth in skintight black gear came over to Jason’s booth and flicked open the menu in front of him. He rested idly on one hip, wearing an expression of complete boredom while Jason cast an eye over the extensive list of caffeinated drinks available to him. He ordered a double espresso and glanced around the place.
It used to be called The Milk Bar when he and Zoë were dating. He wondered why she suggested meeting there when it had changed so much -- or maybe that was the point. Maybe she was testing him to see if he could find it, after all this time. He had; of course he had. How could he forget?
They used to come here when they were kids and order milkshakes. When they were older, they drank cappuccino and thought they were the height of sophistication. Despite his preoccupation with the problems at hand, he couldn’t help smiling at the thought of it: two teenagers about to take on the world. He used to play guitar while she sang along and dreamed of being in a real pop band. She had lived the dream. She had made it happen, with her unceasing energy and determination, and more than a fair share of good looks and talent. She was one tenacious lady, even as a teenager. Back then, The Milk Bar was done out like a 1950s diner. Now it was a trendy coffee house that discouraged customers from staying overly long with its chic but far from comfortable décor -- teetering aluminum barstools, cramped booths, and the overpriced but apparently infinite variety of ways in which to serve the brown bean juice.
Although the surroundings were very changed, as were the circumstances of their meeting, he could easily picture Zoë sitting opposite him. Zoë Eliza McCormack. She had dropped the ending of her real surname to sound more accessible for the punters, one interview had reported. Despite that and the other changes in her life, she was still fresh in Jason’s memory. In fact, when he looked at the publicity photos she had done recently, all the record covers and magazine features, he had a strange sense of misgiving. He both recognized her, and did not. Oh, yes, she still had the same gorgeous figure, long legs, sexy pout, opaque blue eyes, and naturally light blonde hair that appealed so much to the record-buying youth of the day. The press photos played on her sporty body, with shots of tight shorts fraying halfway up her gorgeous bottom and her nipples jutting out under cropped Lycra tops, her sleek bare abdomen in profile. She was lean and leggy, with perfect, up-tilted breasts. She’d always been into physical sports and had the long, slim muscles to show for it. He recognized every line of her body, right down to the beauty spot just beneath her navel.
However, when he looked at those publicity shots and record covers, it was sometimes hard for him to see the kid he had known, the girl he had grown up with, the person he had fumbled with behind the cricket pavilion, the young woman who had agreed that they should discover each other in the most intimate way. His cock instantly awoke as his mind went over those vivid stored images. She’d had a crushing eagerness that took his breath away and left him heady with pleasure. He could still feel how her flesh had trembled when he’d undressed her the first time, truly discovering the beauty of her body. Discovering it in the most intimate way two people could, again and again, hungry for each other and dizzy with eagerness to explore.
He squeezed his eyes shut. She’d been the dream of every boy in the school. Ironically, with her more recent mega pop-star status, she still was every boy’s dream, but now it was every boy in the bloody country!
The door of the café bar chimed open, and he glanced up nervously, not knowing quite what to expect or do. There was all the water under the bridge to acknowledge, lost friendship and all the awkwardness that would bring. Then there was the more pressing issue of Georgie’s safety and the unwanted press attention. He gave a deep sigh. Why Kelly had to get Zoë herself involved was beyond him. He guessed he could see Kelly’s point. If he’d been in her position, perhaps he would have done the same thing for a friend. Somehow it made him wonder whether his sister had believed him at all when he had assured her that he was simply coming up to retrieve and destroy the photographs. How Zoë felt about the whole thing was another question entirely. But he figured he was in for a hefty verbal reprimand, at the very least, and he was about to find out.
He stood up when he realized that the young woman in the baseball cap and shades was coming over to his booth. She had her hair tied back and wore a long denim wrap-over skirt, strappy high-heeled sandals, and a zipped-up sleeveless jacket with a New York logo emblazoned across the chest. She looked like any street kid in the city, and she certainly wasn’t attracting the undue a
ttention of the other people in the café. In fact, it wasn’t until she slid into the banquette opposite him and abandoned her shades that he was sure it was Zoë.
“Cappuccino,” she said to the waiter. She didn’t look up and kept her face in the shadow of her baseball cap. This was obviously a skill she’d had to learn since she’d become so well known. When the waiter walked away, she sat back against the seat, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her fleece. She was chewing gum. She always chewed gum when she was worried or nervous.
“You look great,” Jason offered. She did.
She didn’t answer, nor return his smile, but chewed the gum more rapidly and then blew out a big pink bubble.
Jason sat back into his seat, smiling to himself. Perhaps things hadn’t changed that much.
She sucked the gum back in, her tongue flicking out to lick her lower lip while she eyed him, warily. The silence rested steadily between them. They needed the space just to check each other out after all the time that had passed.
“You aren’t very good at keeping in touch with your old mates, are you?” There was an accusing tone in her voice.
No, he hadn’t replied to her annual Christmas cards, cards that always contained a scribbled note that wished him well and urged him to keep in touch. He wasn’t very good at writing letters. He’d always intended to visit home, but his hectic schedule had always taken him from one freelance project to the next. It was rare that he got a break. Even this enforced absence from his schedule had to be taken under the guise of compassionate leave. He shuffled his feet.
“No, I’m not,” he admitted. “But it’s really good to see you again.” He had kept a watch on reports of her in the gossip columns, and if he was honest about it, he didn’t feel inclined to keep in touch with the young woman who was dating the likes of a premier league football player and an Australian soap star these days. He had wondered, wryly, if she took the footballer with her to Marks and Spencer changing rooms to try on dresses. Those high-profile relationships hadn’t lasted, though, and it often looked like the dates were set up for mutual publicity. In any case, she always seemed to be very busy.
“It’s good to see you, after so long.” She stared at him “But the circumstances could have been better!”
