The Architect Page 5

  He spots me, stands, and heads my way. In the seconds it takes for him to reach me I take in as much of him as I can. He’s in a suit again. This time it’s light grey. His shirt is white, and he’s not wearing a tie. My gaze strays down as if being pulled by a magnetic force. I struggle to meet his eyes.

  “Afternoon, gorgeous.” He kisses my cheek.

  “Afternoon,” I return, before I follow him back to where he was seated.

  He adjusts his trousers as he sits, and I eye his package again before taking the seat opposite and asking how his day has been.

  “Not too bad, thanks, yours?”

  Aching to tell him that I’ve told Liz all about him and how sexy he is, I instead respond with something much more boring. “Yeah, it’s been okay.”

  “Good, now what can I get you?”

  I pull my sideways-lip thinking face as I ponder. “A cappuccino would be nice.”

  I thank him as he stands to go and order, and watch as he struts towards the counter. His arse is hidden by his jacket and his broad shoulders scream ‘scratch me’ as the fabric tightens around them when he puts his hand into his inside pocket to retrieve his wallet.

  He brings my drink over and drops back into his chair. “Have you been thinking about me?” He grins cheekily.

  I smile with my lips on the edge of my mug. “Yes I have, as a matter of fact.”

  He leans forward over the square wooden coffee table. “And what is it you’ve been thinking?”

  “Honestly?” I mirror his position. “I’ve been thinking about you sucking my toes and spanking me.”

  He shuffles in his chair and gives me a raise of the eyebrows. “You have, huh?”

  I nod as I take a cube of sugar, plop it into my drink, and stir.

  “Me too, in fact it’s the only thing I’ve been thinking about. That, and your great arse.”

  I try to concentrate on my stirring in hope that my reddened cheeks soon return to their normal ivory.

  “Do you like that kind of thing?” he asks.

  I frown as I ponder the answer to his question. I look up at him. “Yeah, I suppose I do.”

  “Really? Have you done a lot of that stuff before?”

  I tell him I haven’t, because truth be told I haven’t really, not without stopping half way through or giggling. Anyway, I don’t want to get into the whole conversation about what I’ve tried and haven’t.

  He picks up his coffee, then chuckles.

  “What are you laughing at, you bad man?”

  “At me.” He grins. “I don’t know what came over me. I just saw your pert arse and had to give it a whack. You didn’t mind, did you?” He takes a swig with his eyes glued to me, waiting for my reply.

  “Did it look like I minded?” I give him a sultry pout. “Actually, the first slap shocked me because I wasn’t expecting it, but no, I didn’t mind. I found it quite erotic, actually.”

  His ears prick up like a dog that’s just heard its food bowl hit the floor. “Elaborate on that last bit for me.”

  Suddenly becoming a little coy and realising that we might be overheard, I give him a disapproving look, then glance around the coffee shop. There are at least a dozen people in here and some are in close proximity.

  I nod towards a couple of girls sat a few feet away from us. “I can’t now, can I?”

  “Why?”

  I gesture with my eyes back to the two blondes, and he leans in closer while indicating with his head for me to do the same. “They can’t hear if you whisper.”

  I tilt my head in disapproval before giving in. “It made me wet when you spanked me, and it makes me wet when I think about it.” I smile against his ear and he stays there practically pleading for more info, so I feed his appetite a little more. “And I loved it when you sucked my toes, and played with my feet.”

  He turns back to face me, and kisses me hard on the mouth before reclining in the opulent chair, adjusting his trousers that have become much tighter in the crotch.

  “Well, Miss Watson, I’m very pleased to hear that.”

  How the hell does he know my last name? I rewind back as far as my memory will allow and try to pinpoint the moment I told him my name. I know I told him my name was Ruth after he introduced himself, but I can’t for the life of me remember telling him my surname.

  A troubled look must have shaped my face, because he asks me what’s wrong.

  “How do you know my name’s Watson?”

  He pulls an amused face. “Seriously?”

  I nod and his gaze moves down to my breasts before he continues. “It’s written on that very lucky piece of metal sat on top of that delicious looking swell of your shirt.”

  I glance down to see my work name badge. “Oh right.” I laugh. “For a moment there I thought you were a stalker or something.”

  His eyebrows dome. “Would you really mind if I was?”

  Would I mind, is he joking? Hell no, I wouldn’t mind. I’d deliberately stand and get changed in front of the window, pulling my top off slowly and sensually, exposing my bra, while swaying my hips to some sexy music.

  I take a sip of my beverage and look up at him before I change the subject. “So how long are you here for?”

  He huffs, then smiles. “I love the way you avoid questions. I’m here for another three weeks, and then I’m off to the Highlands to oversee a project.”

  I utter a disappointed, “Three weeks?” as I whirl the liquid around in my mug.

  “You almost sound sad.”

  I am. As desperate and teenager-like as it might sound, I think I’m falling for him already.

  I peer at him from under my thick black lashes. “Not sad, just pondering on what kinds of stuff we can cram into three weeks.”

  With one side of his mouth kinked, he replies, “I’m sure there are lots of things we can stuff in.”

  I take it as another one of his naughty little innuendoes and smile. A sudden buzzing in my pocket makes me jump. Taking my mobile out, I frown. It’s my sister, Sally. She hardly ever calls, and she couldn’t have picked a worse time, but I excuse myself and answer as I head for the door of the café. We have a brief conversation before I guilefully tell her I’m busy at work, and we arrange to Skype tonight at eight and catch up properly, as we do periodically.

  Heading back to Heath, I apologise and tell him it was just my sister wanting a chat before I sit back in the warm, bum-dented chair. He looks thrown as I wriggle to get comfortable, so I ask him what the baffled look is for.

  “I thought you said last night that you had nothing to do with your family?”

  He looks genuinely interested so I explain. “I actually said I don’t see them, but you’re right, I don’t have anything to do with them, apart from my sister.” I pause and observe him and he nods as if to say carry on, so I do. “I haven’t seen my mum since I was five, my dad is dead, and I’ve had nothing to do with my stepmother since she kicked me out of the family home when I was eighteen.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” He reaches out for my hand with a concerned look, and I promptly let him have it.

  “I’m okay,” I reassure him. “It’s all in the past and I’m over it,” I lie.

  He looks down at my hand and nods.

  Changing the subject, and quickly, so I don’t bring the dark cloud of gloom over our table, I squeeze his hand and ask when our next date is.

  He’s instantly back in the room and twinkling in the eyes again. “How does Friday sound?”

  Oh my God, I have to wait all week? Is he serious? Holding back my frustration I reply, “Perfect.”

  He beams, then looks down at his gleaming silver watch before asking me what time I need to be back at work.

  “Two o’clock.”

  “I best get you back
then. Don’t want you getting into trouble.”

  Offering me a ride as we step out onto the high street, I accept, and he opens the car door for me before I take the familiar seat and watch him take his. I scan him from head to toe as he checks his mirrors and pulls away with a roar from his super-fast engine.

  As he slides the gears back and forth, my clit tingles, and my imagination takes over. I visualize his spunk invading my body like the petrol flooding the pipes and the motor. Suddenly, I’m interrupted by a warm hand on my thigh. “Which way am I going, darling?”

  “Oh sorry, totally forgot you didn’t know the way. Right here and then it’s the...” I count the roads in my head, “third left.”

  We pull into the car park and I give my little car a smile before I point Liz out to Heath as she heads around the back of the surgery, for what I suspect to be a quick fag. He looks her way three or four times and grins, then parks up out of view from the surgery doors and Fag Ash Liz.

  “So where would you like to go on Friday?” I ask as I pick my bag up from his immaculate Audi floor.

  “Shall we play it by ear? I don’t really know what’s around anymore.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good.” I kiss him on the cheek, open the car door and step out as I say, “Or we could just see who can find the kinkiest place?”

  I close the door to ensure he doesn’t have time to answer, and wiggle away, smiling to myself.

  His engine purrs next to me as I cross the car park, and I hear his window open. I look to my left to see him leant with his elbow out the window, peering at me from over his dark shades. He smiles. “You’re on.” Then he winks, before pushing the sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and racing off in his sexy car.

  My core aches at the sheer coolness of this man; he’s everything a girl could want, he’s sexy, he’s naughty, he’s got a great arse, he’s independent, he’s sexy... did I mention that already?

  “Ruthie!”

  Shit, she’s seen me! And, more annoyingly, interfered with my perving. I halt and turn in the direction of the shouting.

  “Wait for me,” Liz calls as she blows the last of the lung-blackening smoke from her mouth.

  I wait for her to catch me up, and we walk in together while she questions me about my lunch date. I tell her it was nice and asked if she got a glimpse of him, but she didn’t.

  Back behind the reception desk, answering inquiries and checking people in, I contemplate a night of kink. I have no idea what to do, and come up with only one possibility, and that is to turn up to his hotel room dressed in a long coat, concealing a combination of tight latex and rubber. I make a plan to get home soon after my shift, and research using good old Google.

  Chapter Eight

  Sitting on my soft beige sofa with a full belly of lasagne, I open up my laptop. The first thing I search for is ‘Kinky nights out in London.’ The search engine gives me a list of shops, definitions, and clubs. Purely out of interest and research purposes, I open the link to a shop called ‘Dungeons and Hard Ons’. The first page that loads asks me to verify that I am over the age of 18. It has a background image of a cage, and a silhouette of a curvy woman standing with a whip. I validate and enter the site, protected by my computer’s antivirus system. I’m so concerned over privacy on the internet and computers, I always think someone’s going to hack my system somehow and be able to watch me over the built in webcam or something, which is why I stick a sticker over it when I’m not using it to talk with my sister.

  The page loads and I’m surprised to see that it’s tame and tasteful. Pictures of clothed women and men behind category names. I scroll through the departments and click on ‘Bondage’, which takes me to another list. From there, I choose ‘Bondage Kits’.

  As I navigate, there’s nothing that I haven’t seen or heard of before. Apart from a ball gag, which I have to say, I do not like the look of. Next, I choose another section in the ‘Bondage’ group - ‘Nipple and Clit Toys’.

  I am shocked as soon as the webpage starts to load; I see a picture of what looks like a microphone filter, with a hand pump attached to it. My face almost hits the screen as I move closer in disbelief. A clitoral pussy pump! I laugh out loud as I read what it does. Apparently it’s meant to make your vagina hypersensitive and temporarily enlarge your lips and clit. I mean come on, even if it did make me super sensitive, there’s no way I’m lying there pumping at something that shouldn’t be pumped, just to get a bit more of a thrill. And what if it got stuck and I had to go to hospital? Now that would be a story to tell, wouldn’t it? After you died of embarrassment, and swelling, of course.

  Back on the search for a dirty night out, I decide to check out a club called Fantasia. I scrutinise the website. I click on every link, look at photos, and read reviews. This could be a very kinky night out indeed. All the user reviews state that they had great fun and felt safe the entire time, and almost one hundred percent of what I read says they would definitely go back again.

  They also have an events calendar, naming Thursdays as ‘Go Crazy Gals,’ for single ladies and every other Friday as ‘Fetish Night.’ The club has three different areas; ‘The Dance Floor’, ‘The Dungeons’, and ‘Let Loose’. The Dance Floor is pretty much what it says on the tin, somewhere to dance and get a drink. The Dungeons are located in the basement under the dance floor, where people go to be flogged, tied, gagged, and all manner of other things, I suppose. And the Let Loose zone is to the right of the dance floor through a tall black door, where you basically walk into an orgy, from what I can tell. They word it much better on the website, but basically if you step foot over that threshold you’re asking to get fucked by men and women alike.

  I search some more until I realise it’s 20:13, and past time for my chat with Sally. The very second I’m logged on to Skype, she’s calling. I answer and see her curly blonde hair and chubby cheeks pop up on my screen.

  “Well, hello. It’s about time, you’re late.” She wags her finger like a cross parent.

  I bob my head. “Yes, yes I know, sorry.”

  “I’ll let you off, as it’s a first.” She smiles. “So, how are things?”

  “Things are really good, actually.” I grin ear to ear. “I’ve met a man, and I really-”

  “Oh my God. Finally. What’s he like? Where did you meet him? And has he got a big ding dong?” She laughs, and I join her.

  “Well,” I tuck my feet underneath me, “he’s really nice. He’s gorgeous, he’s tall, he’s got brown hair, and a great bod.” I turn bashful. “He’s really nice.”

  I see her screen wobble as she gets comfy. “Where did you meet him?”

  “I met him in a bar, and it just went from there, really.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  She comes closer to the screen and whispers down her mic, “Has he got a big...” She moves back and wiggles her little finger at me.

  I laugh. “Yes!” Then I change the subject. “How are you and Marcus?”

  “Yes, we’re fine, thank you, although my poor baby had to have his nails cut yesterday, and he didn’t like it at all.”

  The Labrador hears his name mentioned and suddenly I catch a glimpse of his black head as he lowers it to rest on her lap.

  “Hello, Marcus,” I say in a baby voice.

  Sally sticks her bottom lip out. “He’s ignoring you, Auntie Ruth.”

  I pout. “Why?”

  “Because you haven’t been to see us in a long, long time.”

  “Aww.” I frown. “Well, I promise I will be up to see you soon. And you, Sal,” I add.

  She scowls at me, and I return her facial expression before going on to ask about her love life. She’s been on and off with this one guy, James, for as far back as I can remember. She ran away to Wales with him when she was eighteen, leaving me at home with Dad and
the wicked stepmother, and she’s been there ever since.

  He’s an all right guy, he just doesn’t want the same things she does. He wants to watch EastEnders, she doesn’t, he wants to have pork for Christmas dinner, she wants lamb. But the main fall out they have is over children. He wants kids, but she doesn’t, yet, which I say is fair enough. At the end of the day, no matter how much she criticises him, I know she loves him. And no matter how many times she swears she’ll never have him back, I know within two hours she’ll be calling me telling me they’ve sorted their disagreement out and are going to give it another go. So now I just do what I quite frequently do to Liz, act like I’m listening to every word, and nod occasionally.

  She tells me things are the same old with James, then moves on to a more upsetting subject.

  “You know Dad’s been dead two years at the end of this week?”

  I look down at my keyboard. “Yes, I know.”

  “Are you going to be doing anything? You know, like in remembrance?”

  “I’m not sure.” I look back up to the webcam. “Are you?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not like we can go to his grave or anything, is it? That bitch has got his ashes!”

  I run my fingers through my hair. “I know. Try not to get too worked up about it, though. It doesn’t matter where his remains are, Sal, he’s not there anyway.”

  I can tell she’s getting carried away. She always breathes heavily when she’s annoyed or about to burst into tears.

  This time it’s a mixture of both. She sniffs. “It’s just so unfair, Ruth. She’s an evil, cheating, back-stabbing-”

  “Stop it, Sal. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I’m sorry.” She wipes her nose on her sleeve.

  Trying to lighten the mood, I joke, “God, can’t you get a tissue? Or at least use the dog’s tail? It looks like snails slithered over your top now.” It works and she judders with laughter.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She salutes and goes on to bore me about her job at a local farm shop, and how the fruit there is so much nicer, and how everything is so much cheaper. I know she wants me to move there, but there’s no chance. I’m a city girl and that’s that. There’s no way I could live there. There are no shops for miles, no gas, or electricity, and I don’t look that good in wellies. Well, maybe I’m exaggerating on the power supplies, but still, it’s not my cup of tea.