Black Lipstick Kisses Read Online Free PDF Page A

rub harder, squirming my hips against my hand, wishing he was really inside me, his body given over to my pleasure completely, mine to take.
    I came, my body tightening as I cried out in ecstasy,and at the last moment it wasn’t Michael Merrick in my head, but Stephen Byrne beneath me, terrified yet utterly enraptured as I fed on his neck and drew his come into my body.

2
    TWO MEN, AND very different. The question was, which first? Michael fascinated me, but he seemed the type to lose interest if I was too eager. With Stephen it was all a bit embarrassing because he was so much older, but there was no use denying my own interest, not after the way he had popped into my head just as I was enjoying my orgasm. Stephen’s plans for All Angels decided me.
    I called him on the Tuesday and fixed a date for the Friday night. By then I’d spent an hour in an Internet café and I knew a lot more about him. There were no surprises. He was married, as I’d suspected, to the daughter of one of the fat cats in his first constituency, who seemed to be a right bitch. She was high up in a food chemicals company for one thing and, to me, that alone made him fair game. There were no kids, and he lived in a fancy house in Suffolk.
    As I dressed I kept having to remind myself that my real aim was to change his ideas about All Angels, but that was no reason not to look good, just the opposite. I change my look for nobody, but I wanted to make the best of the naive image I’d already established, albeit by accident. I went for patterned tights, a thong, a dress so short and loose that the least breath of wind or ‘careless’ movement would give him a peep-show, no bra, heeled boots and a collar. As usual, I was dressed in all black, set off with my silver and tourmalines. Ieven toned down my make-up a little, more gravy and less graveyard.
    He picked me up in a fuck-off big Jaguar, very new and very black. From the outset there wasn’t much effort at pretending it was a business meeting. He was dressed casually for a start, the neck of his shirt open under a roll-necked jumper and cream-coloured trousers tight enough to hint at a not unimpressive bulge at the crotch. Nor was he talking political rhetoric as he had before, but normal, easy chat with the odd carefully dropped hint to show how wealthy and important he was. I soaked it up, playing the awed little girl as we picked our way through North London and onto the motorway. After slipping a CD in the sound system he put his foot down, picking up speed to just under a hundred miles per hour with the Rolling Stones on loud. It was mature yet cool, and just guaranteed to overwhelm silly little me.
    The place he’d chosen was miles from anywhere, by the roadside beyond Aylesbury, and presumably selected because there was no chance of him being recognised. Again, it was not the choice of a man wanting to have a serious discussion on a heavy issue, but just right for an experienced lothario out to seduce a woman half his age. That was his intention, no question. He took my arm as we went inside and selected a table in an alcove. Before we’d even got our drinks he had taken my hand under the pretence of admiring my rings, and by the time we’d finished our starters his hand was on my knee beneath the table. I couldn’t just let him seduce me, that would have been too easy, so I gently detached his fingers from my thigh and put the question.
    â€˜So, what about All Angels?’
    â€˜All Angels? Oh, don’t worry about that.’
    â€˜I do worry. I don’t want it ruined – no, desecrated – because that’s what you’re doing, even if it isn’t used as a place of worship any more. And besides . . .’
    He laughed and I stopped, right on the edge of pointing out that attempting to seduce young Goth chicks was not going to help either his marriage or his career.
    â€˜What’s so funny?’
    â€˜You.