*Takes deep breath*
Sep. 28th, 2009 11:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mymetalphantomOkay folks, here we go. Last chapter. I make no apologies for it, because I worked too damn hard on it.
So yeah, sexual content (but nothing graphic) and more angst than you can shake a stick at, if that's your idea of a good time.
The dank room was lit only by the soft glow from a low wattage ceiling light that was thick with undisturbed dust. There was a faint smell of burning in the stale air as the bulb glowed hot and singed the dirt that encrusted it.
Sarah sat crossed legged on the edge of the untidy bed in the middle of the room, naked except for her long shirt which she had put on to ward off the cold night air that drifted in through the gaps in the old windows. The bed was a mess and so was she; sticky, her hair tousled, her make-up smeared and her wits scattered all over the place.
She looked over at Tim who was still lying between the sheets, the lower half of his body covered by the thin off-white cover. He was laid back with his arms under his head, which would have made him appear relaxed if his brow wasn’t furrowed with a mixture of worry, anxiety and confusion. There was also a weary, broken look about him that made Sarah want to scream.
She stood up with a huff. She was always restless after sex, especially if it had been good sex or particularly vigorous sex and she would often find herself wandering around on her own while her lover slept. Tim, however, was not asleep and for some reason it made her uneasy. She was used to having these post coital moments all to herself and she wasn’t comfortable sharing them, especially not with him.
There was an ancient kettle in the corner of the room and a few packets of Red Label tea and Nescafe coffee. Apparently the rooms were advertised with tea and coffee making facilities, which seemed odd for a place mostly frequented by prostitutes and their clients.
“Do you want some tea?” she asked and was immediately struck by how absolutely absurd the question sounded when spoken aloud. Tim looked over at her in bemusement and he pulled himself up into a sitting position, resting his elbows on his raised knees.
“Of all the things I thought you were going to say to me, that wasn’t one of them,” he replied as he casually ran his index finger behind his right ear.
Sarah filled the kettle up in the bathroom sink, careful to leave the water running for a while beforehand. “Oh?” she called out from the bathroom. “What did you expect me to say?”
He waited for her to return to the bedroom before he answered. “I don’t know. Considering what an annoying know-it-all you are I was expecting some sort of rating on my performance.”
She flipped the kettle on and smiled broadly at the idea of being some sort of sex judge. “’B’ for effort I’d say,” she replied, trying to sound off hand, hoping that she didn’t sound like too much of a bitch. “I thought of giving you an ‘A’,” she continued as she noticed his questioning look, “but you can get a little bit selfish when it comes to your own pleasure.”
Nothing like honesty, eh Sarah?
“And for overall attainment?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“’A star’, I think,” she answered flirtatiously. “You really are a surprise, Mr Stamper. What you lack in style you certainly make up for in substance.”
He let out a quick snort of laughter and rolled his dark eyes. “You really are the master of the back handed compliment, aren’t you?” She bowed as she accepted the title.
She realised afterwards how bad her compliment had sounded, but she hadn’t quite meant it in that way. She had been surprised that someone who outwardly lacked so much finesse could possibly keep her entertained in the bedroom, but yet, there she was, tingling and sore in the aftermath. He had been rough, but she had welcomed it, even revelled in it. He wasn’t her lover. She hadn’t come here for tenderness; she could have that from her husband. This was not about the consummation of a love affair, it was about two people, stranded and isolated, using each other for their own purpose. He was her punishment and they had both thoroughly enjoyed it.
God, if that’s not twisted...
She looked at him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye. She did not consider him handsome; although there was nothing exactly unappealing about his features individually. Yet the sight of him all dishevelled and lost in his own dark thoughts did make her shiver delightfully. She tried push those thoughts back, but in such a close and intimate atmosphere there was little else to think of.
There was a moment of silence as they both became engrossed in their own thoughts.
Sarah leant back on the table where the kettle sat bubbling away and she crossed her arms over her chest. “To be honest, Tim,” she said, returning to their original conversation, “I don’t really know what to say.”
“That’s a first.” She ignored his sardonic reply. She was getting rather good at handling him really. She was beginning to tell the difference between times when he was shielding his own vulnerabilities and when he was just being nasty for the fun of it.
She looked over at the messy bed. It marked the progression of their unusual, positively deviant relationship. It had all started in his office, when he had confronted her about Francis and when he had given her a subtle warning to back away. She should have heeded his advice. She had suspected malicious intent, and maybe she was right, but if she had walked away then she would be at home now with her husband and not here. The image of lying in Andrew’s arms was a bright and beautiful one, in stark contrast to the ugly reality she was living in that dimly lit hotel room.
Next had come the revelation; the tape. The one she played in her car sometimes like it was a mix tape that her boyfriend had made for her. In a perverse way it sort of was now. ‘The Life and Crimes of Francis Urquhart’. After that she had come to the crushing realisation that, as much as he hated her, Stamper was the only person she could trust. He may not like her but at least he was always honest. He didn’t pretend to be in love with her while he used her for his own political ends. She craved that honesty now, even if it lay in hatred.
Plus he was damaged too, just like her. They were both devoted to the same man and both felt betrayed.
She had asked him to meet her here knowing full well that they could end up like this, so intensely did she feel that connection between them. She had initiated it because she knew he never would but in the end he needed very little provocation. She had scrubbed herself clean before she met with him, scrubbed until her skin was red, but a man like Urquhart got under your skin and Tim could sense his presence.
There had been physical foreplay in place of their usual arguing and bitching. There had been harsh, bruising kisses and stroking and fire and intensity. She had clung to him; the only available doorway to the truth about Urquhart and he had become lost in her; Francis’ scent still upon her.
“I don’t understand any of this,” she announced, gesturing vaguely. “You know, I woke up today and realised that for the first time in my marriage, I went to bed alone and woke up alone.” She felt her throat tighten, but she swallowed hard, determined not to cry. “I came to work and I saw him and I tried to behave as normally as I could, but all I could see was that beautiful girl and all I could think was how she didn’t deserve to die like that...and to have it dismissed as the act of a tragically disturbed woman.” He went to say something snide but stopped himself just in time as he watched her green eyes flash with anger. “I feel so alone,” she spat out and her eyes wobbled with unshed tears.
The kettle clicked off. “I come here with you and I can pretend,” she continued as she turned to make herself some tea. “I can pretend that we are normal people and that you don’t hate me and that you actually care about what I’m going through.”
“While you pretend to care about me?” he asked, guessing at her line of logic.
I care, she thought to herself, I’m just not sure why.
“Something like that,” she sniffed. She wiped her nose against the back of her hand and sniffed again. “Do you want tea or not?”
“Not if you’re going to snot in it I don’t,” he answered and she laughed in spite of herself. She guessed correctly that his answer was yes. Tim Stamper seemed to have the motto ‘why answer a question simply when a sarcastic remark sounds so much better?’
She handed him the mug of cheap black tea which he looked at in trepidation. There was a thin oily layer on top that shone rainbow-like under the muted glow of the ceiling light.
“So,” she began, plonking herself down on the bed beside him, placing her tea on the battered bedside table, “that’s why I’m here. What about you?”
Tim held the mug with both hands. Sarah thought that it must be burning his palms, but either he hadn’t noticed or he actually liked the sensation.
He stared into the dark liquid; dark like his eyes. “Perhaps I’m just here because I enjoy screwing beautiful women.” He answered and tentatively took a sip of the hot liquid.
Sarah laughed softly, bitterly. “Oh no,” she said, “you don’t think I’m beautiful.” He cocked his head to one side and regarded her. She no longer minded his cold scrutiny; in fact she would give anything to know what was passing through his mind when his gaze hardened like that. She idly wondered whether she would be able to read his thoughts if she stared back long enough.
“Then why do you think I go through this charade?” She couldn’t read his thoughts; which was probably just as well.
She knew exactly why he went through this, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. Sleeping with someone just because they had slept with someone you’re in love with was tacky to say the least, and while she didn’t mind the thought she had no desire to hear it vocalised.
“I suppose because you can.” Her answer was rather vague so she attempted to clarify. “No man passes up free sex.”
“Most men aren’t above paying for it either,” Tim stated after taking another sip of that God awful tea.
It was Sarah’s turn to scrutinise him. “Are you above it?”
“Direct and to the point,” Stamper said, something akin to admiration in his voice. “You’re not after my job are you?” Sarah smiled but said nothing, allowing him to continue. “When you have a shopaholic for a wife you don’t have the kind of cash to spend on whores.”
“That doesn’t quite answer my question.” Sarah persisted, although not completely sure she wanted to hear the real answer.
Stamper took a deep breath and contemplated his answer, even though it was a simple yes or no type question. “I have never cheated on my wife before now.” Sarah looked down at her hands, idly examining her calloused fingers. “You don’t believe me do you?”
She looked up. “No, I do believe you,” she answered. “I just felt guilty for a moment there.” He rolled his eyes at her again. “Don’t worry, it’s gone now,” she joked before continuing. “I never thought I’d have an affair. I still can’t quite believe I was willing to throw it away for him.”
“I would...” Stamper started, but then thought twice about whatever he was going to say. His pale skin flushed and he looked away from her, his nervous eyes scanning the room. “Never mind”
There was another moment of silence while she took a sip of tea and he placed his mug on the table before lying down on the bed again. She couldn’t help but think about his confession. He had never cheated on his wife before today. It did make her feel guilty. In her affair with Urquhart all she was doing was wrecking her own marriage; after all it had been Elizabeth Urquhart who had chosen Sarah as her husband’s new ‘project’. She had the feeling that Mrs Stamper was probably not as keen for husband to engage in such extra marital activities.
What does she look like? What is their home life like..?
“Do you have any children?” she blurted out then instantly regretted it. He didn’t seem to mind the question though. He just looked up at her from the flat pillow and ran his right middle finger over her bare knee.
“Yes, two sons.” The gentle caress of his finger moved from her knee up her smooth leg to where the hem of her shirt fell. His finger ran under the material just a fraction then back down to her knee again.
“H-how old are they?” she asked, trying to ignore teasing sensation of his feather-light touch against her skin.
“Twenty and nineteen,” he replied. His other fingers joined in then, the pads running smoothly against the hairless skin of her thigh, ducking under the shirt for a second then stroking back down.
“Do they look like you?” She tried to imagine two young men with their father’s impossibly dark eyes as she tried not think about the effect his hand was having on her.
“They do yes.” He paused in his stroking and laid his palm flat against her thigh. His hand was wonderfully warm and dry and felt large against her slim leg. She put her tea down for fear of dropping it. “Although I don’t suppose they’d recognise me if they saw me now.”
“Oh?” She enquired.
“Um,” he hummed thoughtfully. “I never seem to see them anymore. Without realising it I’ve found that I gave my family up to work for Francis.”
Sarah felt a stab of sympathy in her chest and she bowed her head to look down at the hand upon her leg. She had selfishly assumed that she was the only person who had ever unwittingly sacrificed personal happiness for Francis Urquhart. She was not. She felt guilt flare up again. Tim had given up as much if not more for him and still Urquhart treated him like shit.
“I’m sorry, Tim,” she said and ran her thin hand over his. He turned his hand and held hers firmly while a dizzying array of emotions passed over his face, finally resting on annoyance, which had rather become his default expression. His hand clutched hers a little too tightly and with a quick tug Sarah found herself sprawled across his chest, her head level with his. He grinned when he saw her look of surprise then reached up to kiss her.
It was the first time he had initiated anything between them, but she wasn’t complaining. Their conversation had become a little too heavy and his soft caresses created echoes in her mind of their previous activities.
It started out quite rough but in the odd position they soon ran out of strength and sank into a more relaxed kiss, her hands in their favourite position, buried in his hair, his hands around her back, stroking her through the thin cotton of her shirt.
Mustering up a little more strength he rolled them over, careful not to throw them both off the narrow bed. Now she was lying partially under him and he broke this kiss to look down at her. She leant her head back and watched him, waiting for his next move, her fingers still threading through his hair.
“Will you leave my bloody hair alone?” he said half-heartedly. She bit her lip to stop herself from laughing out loud, but a large smile broke through all the same.
“Sorry, I suppose I’m just not used to having such thick hair to run my fingers through,” she replied, gently tugging on a lock. “It’s nice.”
Tim rolled his eyes and bent to kiss her, if only to get rid of that silly grin on her face. Sarah returned the kiss, keeping her eyes open so she could watch him. He responded oddly to her compliments, even the non-backhanded ones. She wondered just how many people said anything complimentary to or about him.
He pulled away from her mouth and pressed kisses down her cheek down towards her neck. There was a sensitive spot just above her collarbone and she squirmed beneath him as he scraped his teeth over it.
“Um, I like that,” she hummed contentedly as her hands ran over his shoulders up the nape of his neck and back through his hair. “And I really do like your hair, especially when it’s all messy.”
He brought his head up and looked sharply at her. “What is this?” he asked and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why the running commentary?” Up until that point her vocalisations had been inarticulate sounds like sighs and moans, so this new verboseness was obviously disconcerting.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I thought since you already know the things I don’t like about you that you might want to hear the things I do like.”
He looked at her blankly as though he didn’t know what to make of her statement. “Tell you the truth I’ve never really thought about it.”
She raised a sceptical eyebrow. “You mean you’ve never wondered what gets me all hot and bothered?”
He chuckled and Sarah felt it rumble against her. “I thought we agreed that I was a sadist and you were a masochist.” Sarah fidgeted underneath him.
“Well, apart from that,” she answered. She twisted a dark clump of hair round her index finger.
Tim studied her face as though he was weighing her up in his mind. “So...my hair then, is that it?”
“Well...not just that,” she said, feeling flirtatious again. “You do have other qualities.”
“Go on then,” he said and pulled back a little to get a better view of her. “What does get you hot and bothered?”
Yes, she could play this game. She knew that her attraction had very little to do with his physical appearance but at that moment she was eager to pretend that they were a normal couple. She needed the denial.
She took advantage of his retreat and pushed him over onto his back so she could sit astride him. He looked surprised for a moment then relaxed as he allowed her scrutiny. “Your eyes,” she stated looking down at him through narrowed eyes like she was judging a piece of artwork.
“Really?” he asked with a heavy trace of cynicism.
“Yes, they’re very mysterious and rather attractive when they’re not boring into my brain.” He gave a derisive little snort which spoiled the moment for her completely.
“Boring into your brain, how melodramatic,” he said, tucking his arms behind his head. “What makes you think I want to see what’s going on in your brain?”
For that she had no answer. She had rather arrogantly assumed that someone with her intelligence would always be envied by those less intelligent. Francis had told her she had a remarkable brain that he wanted to plunder, so she figured she could be forgiven for believing that everyone thought the same way.
“I don’t know-”
“I can’t think of anything more depressing than seeing all that analytical data streaming through your brain,” he continued, rudely cutting her off mid sentence just to insult her. This was one thing about him that she did not find attractive. “I don’t buy all that super intelligence stuff.”
She was starting to get angry and suddenly she felt their relationship falling back into its original position of animosity. “Really?” she asked in a sharp impatient tone.
“Oh, I think you’re very clever,” he said moving his hand from behind his head and reaching for her bare leg once more. “And you’re very good at your job.”
“But?” she asked, sensing the hesitation in his voice.
“But there’s a blind spot,” he said. “Despite the fact that you love your husband you still had an affair, because the temptation got too great. You knew that your relationship was wrong and ultimately hopeless but you still fell in love.”
She swallowed hard as she felt the lump rising in her throat once more and her eyes well up with salt water. “Oh, God,” she whispered. He reached up and stroked her cheek with his knuckles.
“He appealed to your weaknesses,” he carried on, watching in rapture as the tears spilled freely down her cheeks and onto his hand. “And that makes you no different from poor little Mattie,” she gasped and the tears fell harder. “Or me.”
She stared down at him, captivated by the brutal honesty in his statement. He cupped her face with his hand and she pressed her cheek into the dry, warm palm, seeking out the comfort of human contact. At that moment, behind the sorrow and pain that she felt a sharp pinch of anger as well as she examined the tattered remains of her old life. Her life had been a fun, rich and exciting one, but her desire for more excitement had led her down this dangerous path.
“Beneath the shiny veneer of intelligence or good looks or charisma, we’re all simply a series of vices and weakness ready to be exploited,” Tim said, timbre lower than usual and it vibrated against her body.
“What about him?” she countered, as she placed her hand over his. “Urquhart, what are his vices and weaknesses?”
Stamper smiled slyly up at her. “He thinks he’s invincible,” he announced. “He doesn’t believe he can fail; after all, he’s got away with so much already. How many men do you know with the balls to take on a King?”
“Not many,” Sarah agreed.
Her face was a picture of misery, and as much as he obviously enjoyed watching her hard face soften under the intense weight of her grief, he offered a crumb of hope. “He’s not invincible though, Sarah,” he said in a faint whisper. “And if he doesn’t come to terms with that soon, he’ll have a big fall ahead of him.”
Then he sat up and kissed her roughly, wrapping his arms around her to bring her flush against his body.
Sarah’s mind reeled as she tried to analyse the meaning behind his words.
Has he decided what to do with the tape? Is he planning something?
She allowed her mind to wander though as his kisses became more and more exciting and as his nimble fingers undid the small buttons of her shirt. As he trailed his mouth down her throat to that spot again he pulled her further onto his lap. She moved her hips in a steady sensual rhythm and she felt his erection against her.
He looked back up at her and a predatory grin spread over his face. He kissed her once more and rolled her beneath him where she was completely in his power.
Sarah allowed him to take control and she soon forgot about their conversation as she slipped back into denial. She retreated into her pretend world where they were two normal people, not adulterers or accessories to murder. There was, she conceded, plenty of time to deal with the reality of their situation later.
Author's Note: Plenty of time?
In other news, I has a Twitter thingy now (which I set up then promptly forgot about). Anyone who has one follow me so I don't look like a loser!
twitter.com/emmalknightx
So yeah, sexual content (but nothing graphic) and more angst than you can shake a stick at, if that's your idea of a good time.
The dank room was lit only by the soft glow from a low wattage ceiling light that was thick with undisturbed dust. There was a faint smell of burning in the stale air as the bulb glowed hot and singed the dirt that encrusted it.
Sarah sat crossed legged on the edge of the untidy bed in the middle of the room, naked except for her long shirt which she had put on to ward off the cold night air that drifted in through the gaps in the old windows. The bed was a mess and so was she; sticky, her hair tousled, her make-up smeared and her wits scattered all over the place.
She looked over at Tim who was still lying between the sheets, the lower half of his body covered by the thin off-white cover. He was laid back with his arms under his head, which would have made him appear relaxed if his brow wasn’t furrowed with a mixture of worry, anxiety and confusion. There was also a weary, broken look about him that made Sarah want to scream.
She stood up with a huff. She was always restless after sex, especially if it had been good sex or particularly vigorous sex and she would often find herself wandering around on her own while her lover slept. Tim, however, was not asleep and for some reason it made her uneasy. She was used to having these post coital moments all to herself and she wasn’t comfortable sharing them, especially not with him.
There was an ancient kettle in the corner of the room and a few packets of Red Label tea and Nescafe coffee. Apparently the rooms were advertised with tea and coffee making facilities, which seemed odd for a place mostly frequented by prostitutes and their clients.
“Do you want some tea?” she asked and was immediately struck by how absolutely absurd the question sounded when spoken aloud. Tim looked over at her in bemusement and he pulled himself up into a sitting position, resting his elbows on his raised knees.
“Of all the things I thought you were going to say to me, that wasn’t one of them,” he replied as he casually ran his index finger behind his right ear.
Sarah filled the kettle up in the bathroom sink, careful to leave the water running for a while beforehand. “Oh?” she called out from the bathroom. “What did you expect me to say?”
He waited for her to return to the bedroom before he answered. “I don’t know. Considering what an annoying know-it-all you are I was expecting some sort of rating on my performance.”
She flipped the kettle on and smiled broadly at the idea of being some sort of sex judge. “’B’ for effort I’d say,” she replied, trying to sound off hand, hoping that she didn’t sound like too much of a bitch. “I thought of giving you an ‘A’,” she continued as she noticed his questioning look, “but you can get a little bit selfish when it comes to your own pleasure.”
Nothing like honesty, eh Sarah?
“And for overall attainment?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“’A star’, I think,” she answered flirtatiously. “You really are a surprise, Mr Stamper. What you lack in style you certainly make up for in substance.”
He let out a quick snort of laughter and rolled his dark eyes. “You really are the master of the back handed compliment, aren’t you?” She bowed as she accepted the title.
She realised afterwards how bad her compliment had sounded, but she hadn’t quite meant it in that way. She had been surprised that someone who outwardly lacked so much finesse could possibly keep her entertained in the bedroom, but yet, there she was, tingling and sore in the aftermath. He had been rough, but she had welcomed it, even revelled in it. He wasn’t her lover. She hadn’t come here for tenderness; she could have that from her husband. This was not about the consummation of a love affair, it was about two people, stranded and isolated, using each other for their own purpose. He was her punishment and they had both thoroughly enjoyed it.
God, if that’s not twisted...
She looked at him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye. She did not consider him handsome; although there was nothing exactly unappealing about his features individually. Yet the sight of him all dishevelled and lost in his own dark thoughts did make her shiver delightfully. She tried push those thoughts back, but in such a close and intimate atmosphere there was little else to think of.
There was a moment of silence as they both became engrossed in their own thoughts.
Sarah leant back on the table where the kettle sat bubbling away and she crossed her arms over her chest. “To be honest, Tim,” she said, returning to their original conversation, “I don’t really know what to say.”
“That’s a first.” She ignored his sardonic reply. She was getting rather good at handling him really. She was beginning to tell the difference between times when he was shielding his own vulnerabilities and when he was just being nasty for the fun of it.
She looked over at the messy bed. It marked the progression of their unusual, positively deviant relationship. It had all started in his office, when he had confronted her about Francis and when he had given her a subtle warning to back away. She should have heeded his advice. She had suspected malicious intent, and maybe she was right, but if she had walked away then she would be at home now with her husband and not here. The image of lying in Andrew’s arms was a bright and beautiful one, in stark contrast to the ugly reality she was living in that dimly lit hotel room.
Next had come the revelation; the tape. The one she played in her car sometimes like it was a mix tape that her boyfriend had made for her. In a perverse way it sort of was now. ‘The Life and Crimes of Francis Urquhart’. After that she had come to the crushing realisation that, as much as he hated her, Stamper was the only person she could trust. He may not like her but at least he was always honest. He didn’t pretend to be in love with her while he used her for his own political ends. She craved that honesty now, even if it lay in hatred.
Plus he was damaged too, just like her. They were both devoted to the same man and both felt betrayed.
She had asked him to meet her here knowing full well that they could end up like this, so intensely did she feel that connection between them. She had initiated it because she knew he never would but in the end he needed very little provocation. She had scrubbed herself clean before she met with him, scrubbed until her skin was red, but a man like Urquhart got under your skin and Tim could sense his presence.
There had been physical foreplay in place of their usual arguing and bitching. There had been harsh, bruising kisses and stroking and fire and intensity. She had clung to him; the only available doorway to the truth about Urquhart and he had become lost in her; Francis’ scent still upon her.
“I don’t understand any of this,” she announced, gesturing vaguely. “You know, I woke up today and realised that for the first time in my marriage, I went to bed alone and woke up alone.” She felt her throat tighten, but she swallowed hard, determined not to cry. “I came to work and I saw him and I tried to behave as normally as I could, but all I could see was that beautiful girl and all I could think was how she didn’t deserve to die like that...and to have it dismissed as the act of a tragically disturbed woman.” He went to say something snide but stopped himself just in time as he watched her green eyes flash with anger. “I feel so alone,” she spat out and her eyes wobbled with unshed tears.
The kettle clicked off. “I come here with you and I can pretend,” she continued as she turned to make herself some tea. “I can pretend that we are normal people and that you don’t hate me and that you actually care about what I’m going through.”
“While you pretend to care about me?” he asked, guessing at her line of logic.
I care, she thought to herself, I’m just not sure why.
“Something like that,” she sniffed. She wiped her nose against the back of her hand and sniffed again. “Do you want tea or not?”
“Not if you’re going to snot in it I don’t,” he answered and she laughed in spite of herself. She guessed correctly that his answer was yes. Tim Stamper seemed to have the motto ‘why answer a question simply when a sarcastic remark sounds so much better?’
She handed him the mug of cheap black tea which he looked at in trepidation. There was a thin oily layer on top that shone rainbow-like under the muted glow of the ceiling light.
“So,” she began, plonking herself down on the bed beside him, placing her tea on the battered bedside table, “that’s why I’m here. What about you?”
Tim held the mug with both hands. Sarah thought that it must be burning his palms, but either he hadn’t noticed or he actually liked the sensation.
He stared into the dark liquid; dark like his eyes. “Perhaps I’m just here because I enjoy screwing beautiful women.” He answered and tentatively took a sip of the hot liquid.
Sarah laughed softly, bitterly. “Oh no,” she said, “you don’t think I’m beautiful.” He cocked his head to one side and regarded her. She no longer minded his cold scrutiny; in fact she would give anything to know what was passing through his mind when his gaze hardened like that. She idly wondered whether she would be able to read his thoughts if she stared back long enough.
“Then why do you think I go through this charade?” She couldn’t read his thoughts; which was probably just as well.
She knew exactly why he went through this, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. Sleeping with someone just because they had slept with someone you’re in love with was tacky to say the least, and while she didn’t mind the thought she had no desire to hear it vocalised.
“I suppose because you can.” Her answer was rather vague so she attempted to clarify. “No man passes up free sex.”
“Most men aren’t above paying for it either,” Tim stated after taking another sip of that God awful tea.
It was Sarah’s turn to scrutinise him. “Are you above it?”
“Direct and to the point,” Stamper said, something akin to admiration in his voice. “You’re not after my job are you?” Sarah smiled but said nothing, allowing him to continue. “When you have a shopaholic for a wife you don’t have the kind of cash to spend on whores.”
“That doesn’t quite answer my question.” Sarah persisted, although not completely sure she wanted to hear the real answer.
Stamper took a deep breath and contemplated his answer, even though it was a simple yes or no type question. “I have never cheated on my wife before now.” Sarah looked down at her hands, idly examining her calloused fingers. “You don’t believe me do you?”
She looked up. “No, I do believe you,” she answered. “I just felt guilty for a moment there.” He rolled his eyes at her again. “Don’t worry, it’s gone now,” she joked before continuing. “I never thought I’d have an affair. I still can’t quite believe I was willing to throw it away for him.”
“I would...” Stamper started, but then thought twice about whatever he was going to say. His pale skin flushed and he looked away from her, his nervous eyes scanning the room. “Never mind”
There was another moment of silence while she took a sip of tea and he placed his mug on the table before lying down on the bed again. She couldn’t help but think about his confession. He had never cheated on his wife before today. It did make her feel guilty. In her affair with Urquhart all she was doing was wrecking her own marriage; after all it had been Elizabeth Urquhart who had chosen Sarah as her husband’s new ‘project’. She had the feeling that Mrs Stamper was probably not as keen for husband to engage in such extra marital activities.
What does she look like? What is their home life like..?
“Do you have any children?” she blurted out then instantly regretted it. He didn’t seem to mind the question though. He just looked up at her from the flat pillow and ran his right middle finger over her bare knee.
“Yes, two sons.” The gentle caress of his finger moved from her knee up her smooth leg to where the hem of her shirt fell. His finger ran under the material just a fraction then back down to her knee again.
“H-how old are they?” she asked, trying to ignore teasing sensation of his feather-light touch against her skin.
“Twenty and nineteen,” he replied. His other fingers joined in then, the pads running smoothly against the hairless skin of her thigh, ducking under the shirt for a second then stroking back down.
“Do they look like you?” She tried to imagine two young men with their father’s impossibly dark eyes as she tried not think about the effect his hand was having on her.
“They do yes.” He paused in his stroking and laid his palm flat against her thigh. His hand was wonderfully warm and dry and felt large against her slim leg. She put her tea down for fear of dropping it. “Although I don’t suppose they’d recognise me if they saw me now.”
“Oh?” She enquired.
“Um,” he hummed thoughtfully. “I never seem to see them anymore. Without realising it I’ve found that I gave my family up to work for Francis.”
Sarah felt a stab of sympathy in her chest and she bowed her head to look down at the hand upon her leg. She had selfishly assumed that she was the only person who had ever unwittingly sacrificed personal happiness for Francis Urquhart. She was not. She felt guilt flare up again. Tim had given up as much if not more for him and still Urquhart treated him like shit.
“I’m sorry, Tim,” she said and ran her thin hand over his. He turned his hand and held hers firmly while a dizzying array of emotions passed over his face, finally resting on annoyance, which had rather become his default expression. His hand clutched hers a little too tightly and with a quick tug Sarah found herself sprawled across his chest, her head level with his. He grinned when he saw her look of surprise then reached up to kiss her.
It was the first time he had initiated anything between them, but she wasn’t complaining. Their conversation had become a little too heavy and his soft caresses created echoes in her mind of their previous activities.
It started out quite rough but in the odd position they soon ran out of strength and sank into a more relaxed kiss, her hands in their favourite position, buried in his hair, his hands around her back, stroking her through the thin cotton of her shirt.
Mustering up a little more strength he rolled them over, careful not to throw them both off the narrow bed. Now she was lying partially under him and he broke this kiss to look down at her. She leant her head back and watched him, waiting for his next move, her fingers still threading through his hair.
“Will you leave my bloody hair alone?” he said half-heartedly. She bit her lip to stop herself from laughing out loud, but a large smile broke through all the same.
“Sorry, I suppose I’m just not used to having such thick hair to run my fingers through,” she replied, gently tugging on a lock. “It’s nice.”
Tim rolled his eyes and bent to kiss her, if only to get rid of that silly grin on her face. Sarah returned the kiss, keeping her eyes open so she could watch him. He responded oddly to her compliments, even the non-backhanded ones. She wondered just how many people said anything complimentary to or about him.
He pulled away from her mouth and pressed kisses down her cheek down towards her neck. There was a sensitive spot just above her collarbone and she squirmed beneath him as he scraped his teeth over it.
“Um, I like that,” she hummed contentedly as her hands ran over his shoulders up the nape of his neck and back through his hair. “And I really do like your hair, especially when it’s all messy.”
He brought his head up and looked sharply at her. “What is this?” he asked and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why the running commentary?” Up until that point her vocalisations had been inarticulate sounds like sighs and moans, so this new verboseness was obviously disconcerting.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I thought since you already know the things I don’t like about you that you might want to hear the things I do like.”
He looked at her blankly as though he didn’t know what to make of her statement. “Tell you the truth I’ve never really thought about it.”
She raised a sceptical eyebrow. “You mean you’ve never wondered what gets me all hot and bothered?”
He chuckled and Sarah felt it rumble against her. “I thought we agreed that I was a sadist and you were a masochist.” Sarah fidgeted underneath him.
“Well, apart from that,” she answered. She twisted a dark clump of hair round her index finger.
Tim studied her face as though he was weighing her up in his mind. “So...my hair then, is that it?”
“Well...not just that,” she said, feeling flirtatious again. “You do have other qualities.”
“Go on then,” he said and pulled back a little to get a better view of her. “What does get you hot and bothered?”
Yes, she could play this game. She knew that her attraction had very little to do with his physical appearance but at that moment she was eager to pretend that they were a normal couple. She needed the denial.
She took advantage of his retreat and pushed him over onto his back so she could sit astride him. He looked surprised for a moment then relaxed as he allowed her scrutiny. “Your eyes,” she stated looking down at him through narrowed eyes like she was judging a piece of artwork.
“Really?” he asked with a heavy trace of cynicism.
“Yes, they’re very mysterious and rather attractive when they’re not boring into my brain.” He gave a derisive little snort which spoiled the moment for her completely.
“Boring into your brain, how melodramatic,” he said, tucking his arms behind his head. “What makes you think I want to see what’s going on in your brain?”
For that she had no answer. She had rather arrogantly assumed that someone with her intelligence would always be envied by those less intelligent. Francis had told her she had a remarkable brain that he wanted to plunder, so she figured she could be forgiven for believing that everyone thought the same way.
“I don’t know-”
“I can’t think of anything more depressing than seeing all that analytical data streaming through your brain,” he continued, rudely cutting her off mid sentence just to insult her. This was one thing about him that she did not find attractive. “I don’t buy all that super intelligence stuff.”
She was starting to get angry and suddenly she felt their relationship falling back into its original position of animosity. “Really?” she asked in a sharp impatient tone.
“Oh, I think you’re very clever,” he said moving his hand from behind his head and reaching for her bare leg once more. “And you’re very good at your job.”
“But?” she asked, sensing the hesitation in his voice.
“But there’s a blind spot,” he said. “Despite the fact that you love your husband you still had an affair, because the temptation got too great. You knew that your relationship was wrong and ultimately hopeless but you still fell in love.”
She swallowed hard as she felt the lump rising in her throat once more and her eyes well up with salt water. “Oh, God,” she whispered. He reached up and stroked her cheek with his knuckles.
“He appealed to your weaknesses,” he carried on, watching in rapture as the tears spilled freely down her cheeks and onto his hand. “And that makes you no different from poor little Mattie,” she gasped and the tears fell harder. “Or me.”
She stared down at him, captivated by the brutal honesty in his statement. He cupped her face with his hand and she pressed her cheek into the dry, warm palm, seeking out the comfort of human contact. At that moment, behind the sorrow and pain that she felt a sharp pinch of anger as well as she examined the tattered remains of her old life. Her life had been a fun, rich and exciting one, but her desire for more excitement had led her down this dangerous path.
“Beneath the shiny veneer of intelligence or good looks or charisma, we’re all simply a series of vices and weakness ready to be exploited,” Tim said, timbre lower than usual and it vibrated against her body.
“What about him?” she countered, as she placed her hand over his. “Urquhart, what are his vices and weaknesses?”
Stamper smiled slyly up at her. “He thinks he’s invincible,” he announced. “He doesn’t believe he can fail; after all, he’s got away with so much already. How many men do you know with the balls to take on a King?”
“Not many,” Sarah agreed.
Her face was a picture of misery, and as much as he obviously enjoyed watching her hard face soften under the intense weight of her grief, he offered a crumb of hope. “He’s not invincible though, Sarah,” he said in a faint whisper. “And if he doesn’t come to terms with that soon, he’ll have a big fall ahead of him.”
Then he sat up and kissed her roughly, wrapping his arms around her to bring her flush against his body.
Sarah’s mind reeled as she tried to analyse the meaning behind his words.
Has he decided what to do with the tape? Is he planning something?
She allowed her mind to wander though as his kisses became more and more exciting and as his nimble fingers undid the small buttons of her shirt. As he trailed his mouth down her throat to that spot again he pulled her further onto his lap. She moved her hips in a steady sensual rhythm and she felt his erection against her.
He looked back up at her and a predatory grin spread over his face. He kissed her once more and rolled her beneath him where she was completely in his power.
Sarah allowed him to take control and she soon forgot about their conversation as she slipped back into denial. She retreated into her pretend world where they were two normal people, not adulterers or accessories to murder. There was, she conceded, plenty of time to deal with the reality of their situation later.
Author's Note: Plenty of time?
In other news, I has a Twitter thingy now (which I set up then promptly forgot about). Anyone who has one follow me so I don't look like a loser!
twitter.com/emmalknightx