Wildwood by Janine Ashbless Page B

the point where my thighs brushed together. For a moment he paused there, making a point of not forcing me into anything. Assessing my readiness. I could smell his aftershave and his warm skin. My shoulders were rammed hard into the car seat, my spine taut with alarm. I might have done a number of things at that moment: I might have slapped his hand away or opened my door to jump out or told him exactly how unprofessional I thought his conduct. What I did was allow my legs to ever so slightly part to his touch, letting his fingers continue their journey right up into the hot pocket of my crotch and press against my pubic mound.
    His eyes widened slightly as he acknowledged my complicity.
    The seams on my jeans were sturdy and it would take a fair pressure to make any friction felt through them. He gave me that pressure. His grasp was firm, his fingers strong. They squeezed my mons and stroked the hidden crease of my sex with long, sure movements. I arched against the seat back, curling my lip to bare my teeth, barely breathing, my outrage and displeasure as undisguised as my submission. I couldn’t wrench my own gaze from his face, from those slightly parted lips and those merciless blue eyes fixed in intent concentration on his task. He wasn’t smiling but I could read the pleasure he was getting from his control and from my surrender. He caught his lower lip in his teeth as he delved deeper, his wrist working hard, and I writhed my hips shamelessly against the invasion. His thumb ground back and forth across my zip. Control was slipping rapidly away from me, swept aside by wave after wave of pleasurable sensation, each demanding the next. A flush blazed up my throat and cheeks. Oh, oh, oh, I cried in my head, my lips shaping inarticulate monosyllables, my tongue suddenly craving his. The hard edge of his hand mashed into my swollen sex. I arched my back, thrusting my breasts up, and then suddenly my sight was glazing over and I was bucking helplessly and he was hearing for the first time the broken little gasps and moans of my climax.
    ‘That’s right,’ he whispered as he pleasured me. Then as my last spasms died away he withdrew his hand and glanced at his gold Rolex. ‘Not more than a couple of minutes then,’ he sighed. ‘How tedious for you.’
    I threw open the passenger door and staggered out, slamming it behind me. Then I had to lean back against the side of the car because my legs had gone to quivering jelly. Shame was almost overwhelming.
    I heard his door open and then close. ‘Let me know if you change your mind about the Eden Project,’ he said. Then he walked away.
    What could I do after that? I followed him up the slope to the eaves of the wood. Inside my jeans my pussy was all squishy with juices and my backside felt swollen, and on my cheeks was a scarlet flag of embarrassment, but there was no other alternative. Anything else would be running away.
    When I caught up to him just in front of the Wood Gate he didn’t even glance at me. His gaze rested on the mossy bars in much the same way as most people’s might rest on a box they knew to be full of snakes. ‘Is this the way you came in?’
    I was shocked. Was that it? He’d frigged me senseless and now he’d moved on to something more important? ‘Yeah,’ I mumbled.
    ‘Did you climb it or open it?’
    ‘I climbed over.’
    He shoved his fists into his pockets, feet firmly planted. ‘Hm. Did you climb the hill?’
    ‘No.’ I shook my head, and then wondered at myself. I’d meant to climb the hill, hadn’t I, to start with? I’d hoped for a view over the land. ‘There’s a lot of dead wood,’ I muttered. ‘I ended up going that way.’ I pointed vaguely round the right flank of the mound.
    ‘I see.’
    I walked past him to the gate and laid my hand on the top bar, intending to climb. Then for the first time that day I took a proper look into the wood and I frowned. ‘That’s new,’ I said sharply.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Those.’ I