Trapped In Paradise by Lizzy Grey

Can Alix escape Paul’s clutches or will she be forever trapped in paradise?

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While working undercover in a London pole dancing club, Detective Constable Alix Barker is drugged and kidnapped by the blonde man who had come to watch her for six nights in a row. Regaining consciousness, Alix finds herself on a remote Caribbean island, owned by the man from the club – drugs baron Paul Blake.

Alix is Paul’s prized possession now and she has been remodelled to suit his requirements with large breast implants and lip augmentation. Alix has everything she could possibly want except her freedom. Can Alix escape Paul’s clutches or will she be forever trapped in paradise? 

 

An Excerpt From Chapter Three

Alix had been on the island for six weeks when Rosa came to her as she sat with her feet in the swimming pool one morning, struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Mr Blake has confirmed that he is returning to the island today. I need to prepare you for him.”

Alix’s heart sank. “Prepare me?”

“Hair, makeup, clothes. Come with me.”

In her bedroom, Rosa had laid out a black lace dress, a thong, and black high heeled shoes. There was no bra, Alix noticed. She was, seemingly, going to be topless for him, showing him exactly what he had paid for.

She sat meekly, her eyelids drooping, as Rosa re-dyed her hair blonde then did her makeup. That done, she changed into the thong and dress, refusing to look at herself in the mirror.

“Stunning.” Rosa stood back from her. “Look.”

Alix pushed herself to her feet and stared at her reflection. All she could see were her huge breasts, red pouting lips and blonde hair. “I look like a doll,” she murmured.

“It’s how he wanted you, so be grateful for that.”

“Rosa, I’m scared,” she said in a little voice. “I feel even more woozy today.”

“It’s the Valium, Alix, I upped your dose today so that you are obedient and let him use you. It’s just easier all round.”

“What does he like?”

“For you to be exactly the way he wanted you, which you are,” Rosa soothed. “And for you to allow him to use your body, which you will. There is absolutely nothing for you to worry about.”

Alix glanced towards the window as she heard a helicopter approach. “Do I go and meet him, or stay here?” she asked.

“No, go to the living room. He will come to you there.”

She walked unsteadily to the living room and stood in front of the fireplace before having to lean back against it. ‘Let him use you. It’s just easier all round.’ Rosa’s voice echoed around her foggy brain as the door opened.

Paul Blake was dressed in a black suit and white shirt. He closed the door before turning and looking her up and down. She clenched her fists as his pale blue eyes took in her hair, lips and breasts.

“Rosa tells me you are recovered.”

“Yes.”

“So, Detective Constable, I hope you like your new self?” She couldn’t reply and fought to stand her ground as he approached her. He tilted her chin up and she was forced to look into his eyes as his lips twitched upwards. “I like you very much. Your breasts and lips are magnificent.” He slowly licked her lips, taking them into his mouth, as if claiming them for himself. His tongue then opened them and explored her mouth, finding her tongue and swirling around it. She gasped as he drew it into his mouth and sucked hard until she was arching her back, breathless and clinging to him. Suddenly, he released her chin, stood back from her and she found herself almost whimpering. “I hope you like my island?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve always hated the police,” he went on. “I never ever thought I would have a police officer all to myself, though, one I could model to my own requirements with the huge tits and lips I love so much. You know I brought you here to fuck you, don’t you, Detective Constable?”

“Yes.”                  

“You are on the contraceptive pill?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I suppose I may as well tell you now that you are not my only partner.”

She frowned. Didn’t Rosa say that she was? “I also fuck my bodyguard, John. We must do a threesome sometime. Although, I’ll have to be the sandwich, as he won’t want to penetrate a woman. Come.” He held out a hand. “I want to explore those tits I paid for.”

Taking his hand, she allowed him to lead her out of the room, down the hall and into a large and airy bedroom. Letting her hand go, he went into the ensuite bathroom and returned with a tube of lube.

“Strip,” he told her simply.

Carefully, she peeled off the lace dress and laid it on a chair before kicking off her shoes and sliding the thong down her legs and stepping out of it.

He quickly undressed and she saw that his cock was semi-erect. When he took her breasts in his hands and smoothed his thumbs across her nipples, she watched his face and was relieved when he smiled. He began to lap her nipples with his tongue, moving from one to the other, before sucking on them until they were hard. A hand went between her legs and she opened up for him, allowing him to find and start stroking her clit. When she started to moan, he laughed, pulling his hand away and she whimpered aloud.

“On the bed, Detective Constable,” he told her, applying lube to his cock. “And on your back. Legs open. I want to fuck the police.”

She lay on the bed and opened her legs as he crawled up the bed with his cock in his hand. Positioning it at the entrance to her pussy, he let it go and forced it into her. Despite the Valium and lube, it made her groan but he didn’t stop and began to slide in and out of her with a firm and steady rhythm.

“Those are the best breasts money can buy, put in by the best cosmetic surgeon money can buy,” he said conversationally. “In time, you’ll become very proud of them, Alix, because you’ll know they give me great pleasure.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered as he pulled hard on each nipple with his lips. It made her wince and she reached up to cover them but he slapped her hands away.

“Don’t do that. I want to play with and explore those tits as I fuck you.” He gave her an icy smile. “I think you love being fucked, Detective Constable. I think you love being flat on your back with your legs open and a big cock fucking your cunt. Don’t you?”

“Oh, God,” she moaned as he thrust deeper into her.

“I said, ‘Don’t you?’” he added coldly.

“Yes.”

“Good. And there were to be no trout pout lips for my police officer. I wanted the best and you got them – great big luscious lips to go around my cock – or maybe John’s, he won’t mind that.”

She stared at him, gasping involuntarily at each thrust, and groaning as he pulled at her nipples again before lapping them with his tongue. “John’s?”

“You’re mine, Alix. You’ll fuck and suck whomever I chose.” He began to pump into her and brought her to a juddering orgasm and grinned. “You came for me first time. Good. You’re mine now, Alix. Remember that.” He pulled out of her and got off the bed. “I think I’ll fuck John now,” he said, walking out of the room.

Alix curled up on the bed, her nipples and pussy throbbing, and furious with herself for coming. Why didn’t he just pimp her out to passing cruise liners? She certainly had the face and body for it now. She slid off the bed and went out into the hall, hearing grunts coming from a bedroom at the far end. She crept unsteadily to the door and crouched down. She peered through the keyhole, hoping she wouldn’t topple over and sucking in a breath as her breasts rubbed against the cold wood. All she could see was a corner of the bed moving up and down so she straightened up, returned to her room, and took a shower.         

About to go into the kitchen for a cold drink, she heard Paul Blake’s voice speaking to Rosa, and waited in the hall.

“…It was like fucking a zombie. She’s far too compliant – she came for me first time, for fuck sake. What happened to keeping her on the Valium for only a few days?”

“I was very much afraid she was going to try and escape,” Rosa told him. “The implants are huge and she hates what’s been done to her, so I’ve kept her docile on a low dose. But today I upped it so she would be obedient for her first time with you. If it was too high a dose, then, I apologise.”

“It was far too high. Keep her on the low dose and I’ll see how she is with that.”

“Yes, Mr Blake.”

“She looks amazing, though, Rosa. I wondered if fourteen hundred CC implants might be too much but she certainly has the body to carry them off. I must get her photographed. Yes, she was a good find. Let’s see how she fucks on a lower dose of Valium.”

Ten minutes later, she was sitting at the breakfast bar with a glass of orange juice when the door from the hall opened and a man wearing black trousers, a white open neck shirt, and a black waistcoat, came in. He was tall, dark-haired, and muscular, and she couldn’t help but stare rudely, trying through her Valium-fogged brain to visualise him naked.

“You must be Alix,” he said with a genuine smile.

There’s no one else here who looks like a sex doll, she thought. “Yes.”

“I’m John Warren, Mr Blake’s bodyguard.” He held out a hand.

And I’m to suck your cock sometime. “Pleased to meet you.” She shook his hand. “Do you stay with Paul twenty-four-seven?”

“I certainly do. And I’m to watch out for you too, now.”

“Why? There’s nowhere for me to go.”

“I know, but there’s always the risk of you being kidnapped.”

“Oh.” She just stopped herself from laughing. “So I can’t go for a walk without you coming along, too?”

“Preferably not, no. Mr Blake values you very highly.”

“Oh. Well, I had planned on going for a swim in the sea for the first time. I haven’t been able to up to now because of my…” She trailed off and saw his dark eyes drop briefly to her breasts before he raised them again and nodded.

“You just tell me when.”

He went to the fridge and poured himself a glass of orange juice and she watched, blinking furiously to keep her eyes open, as he drank it in three gulps. Never mind Paul’s, what would her new lips feel like around his cock? She got off the stool and grabbed the breakfast bar to steady herself.

“I’ll just go and change.” She had a bikini and a swimsuit and both were barely able to cope with her breasts. With a struggle, she put on the bikini, then reached for a blue sarong and wrapped it around her. John was waiting in the hall, wearing a pair of black shorts, a white T-shirt, and a pistol in a holster strapped around his upper body. Was the gun really necessary? “Which beach would you recommend?” she asked, trying not to stare at the gun.

“The north beach. Less of a current there.”

“Okay,” she replied. “Lead the way.” He brought her to the beach nearest the villa and she self-consciously peeled off the sarong, noting again how the bikini bra was barely adequate. God, how she hated these breasts. He sat down and she placed the sarong on the sand beside him. “Are you coming in, too?”

He peered up at her, having to shade his eyes and shook his head. “Jet lag,” he said. “I’ll just sit here and acclimatise.”

She turned and walked unsteadily into the sea. Had her predecessor just kept on walking? Was that how she had drowned? She plunged into the water and began to swim parallel to the shore. Her breasts made it awkward but, she hated to admit it, she was getting used to swimming with them now. She swam up and down a couple of times, then walked slowly out of the water, and sank down onto the sand beside him with a groan.

“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.

“I’m on Valium to help me adjust to these.” She indicated her breasts. “And to keep me docile. But it exhausts me. I’m not a zombie and usually, I’m very fit.”

“I see.”

“Have you been with Paul long?” she asked. “As his bodyguard, I mean?”

“Two years. We met in a bar and, luckily, he was looking to employ someone. The fact that I was gay, too, was a bonus. He told me he was bi from the start and it doesn’t bother me.” He turned to her with a smile and she forced herself to return one. Why did he have to be gay? “So you needn’t worry, I don’t resent you.”

“Oh. It’s just that Paul mentioned a threesome…”

“Should be interesting.”

“I’ve never done one before,” she added.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

She gave him a sharp glance. He wouldn’t hurt her? Did that mean Paul would if she wasn’t co-operative enough? “What happened to my predecessor?” she asked. “If you don’t want to tell me, I understand.”

“She tried to swim out to a passing yacht but didn’t make it.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t try and escape Alix,” he told her softly. “Not only is it all but impossible, but you wouldn’t like Mr Blake when he’s angry. We’ll be here for a while, so you can talk to me in confidence.”

“How can I talk to you in confidence when you’re Paul’s boyfriend?” she demanded.

“I am not his boyfriend,” he added in the same soft tone. “He is my employer. We just happen to fuck, too. It’s an arrangement we’re both happy with. It would be a lot easier for you if you could just accept that your body is his as well. He spent a fortune on getting you out here and on your surgery.”

“I hate what he’s had done to me,” she whispered. “Look at me. I look like I should be in porn films. From now on, I’m only going to be defined by my tits. You can leave Paul. I can’t. I’m trapped here.”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Alix. And, yes, I can leave Mr Blake, but I don’t want to. I have a lifestyle many people can only dream of. Yes, you’re trapped here, but it’s paradise, and I can think of worse places to be trapped. Rosa treats you well, doesn’t she? Gets you things you ask for?”

“Yes,” she had to admit.

“Good. Well, if you feel you can talk to me, it won’t go any further, I promise. I do know what you’re going through.”

“Do you?” she asked sharply.

“I know it doesn’t really compare with your breasts and lips, but Mr Blake insisted that I get a nose job, my teeth capped, and to keep my body muscular. He’s changed us both to suit him, Alix.”

She glanced at his straight nose, he caught her glance, and both smiled. His teeth were perfect, too. “He’ll keep me blonde, I take it?”

“Yes. All his companions have been…”

“Stereotypes?” she finished.

“Like what you are now,” he told her. “Accept it, Alix. You have no choice.”

She didn’t reply, climbed to her feet and walked into the sea again. She waded up to her breasts, watching as the waves flowed hypnotically over them. Her eyelids drooped and she raised a hand to her forehead. She was exhausted and was going to fall asleep standing up in the sea.

“Alix?” She heard John’s voice. “You okay?” She wasn’t okay. She had to sleep right there and then. She closed her eyes and swayed. “Alix?” She heard splashing behind her and hands caught her as her legs went from under her. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

“I’m all woozy,” she murmured.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” She was carried out of the sea, up the beach and into the villa, where he shouted for Rosa. “She almost passed out in the sea,” he explained. “She says she’s on Valium.”

“It’s to keep her docile,” Rosa explained. “We don’t want a repeat of what happened with Maya. Today, I upped the dose so she would be compliant with Mr Blake for their first time together. I may have given her a little too much. Put her on the bed on top of this towel.”

“She could have drowned,” John accused as he laid her down on the bed. “The drugged state she’s in, she shouldn’t be anywhere near water.”

“What’s happened?” She heard Paul’s voice.

“Alix almost passed out in the sea,” John told him. “Too much Valium. She shouldn’t be anywhere near water, it’s far too dangerous, the condition she’s in.”

“Has she been swimming while on the lower dose?” Paul asked.

“Well, she likes sitting on the steps at the shallow end of the pool,” Rosa began awkwardly. “I’ve only seen her attempting to swim in the pool a couple of times.”

“Attempting? Right, take her off the Valium altogether,” Paul told her. “I value her too much and I don’t want her to drown.”

“Yes, Mr Blake,” Rosa replied.

“Thanks for looking out for her, John.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Let her rest now, Mr Blake,” Rosa added. “I’ll keep an eye on her. I’m terribly sorry.”

Feet walked to the door, it closed and Alix drifted.

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Trust No One’s Becca Hills

Becca Instagram

Becca Hills is thirty-five-years-old and was baptised Concepta Burns after her Irish grandmother. The Burns’ are a notorious criminal family from London’s East End and Becca’s mother did her best to turn Becca into her so Becca could take over from her when the time came, or become head of her own family of drug dealers eventually.

Becca was sent away to boarding school and wasn’t allowed to mix with the local children when at home. Becca always felt as if she didn’t belong with the Burns’, hated her names and being brought up wrapped in cotton wool and longed to escape.

As soon as she could, Becca changed her name to Rebecca Burns, moved away and joined the London Metropolitan Police. One of the other police probationers was Stephen Connor. They fell in love and moved into a flat together. But the Burns’ wouldn’t leave her alone and arranged for her to be attacked. The attack left Becca deaf in one ear and she had to leave the police.

Becca and Stephen decided to try for a baby and they spent a long weekend in Brighton on England’s south coast. Soon afterwards, Becca discovered she was pregnant. One day, she forgot her Oyster travel card, returned to the flat and found Stephen and her sister-in-law, Jackie Burns, in bed together.

Jackie was told she couldn’t have children and her husband walked out on her. Money and drugs buy information and Jackie found Becca, discovered Becca was pregnant and was madly jealous. Jackie couldn’t allow Becca to be happy while she wasn’t, so she threw herself at Stephen, knowing exactly what to do, where to do it, and for how long. Stephen and Jackie had sex in the hall, in the bathroom and in the bedroom. For Becca, this was the ultimate betrayal and she disappeared.

Changing her name again, Becca Hills and her son, Tommy live a deliberately quiet life in a council flat on the twenty-fourth floor of a north London tower block. When Tommy started school, Becca began working part-time in a local crime bookshop. She misses Stephen, still loves him, but knows she will never trust him again.

Then, one morning, Becca wakes up late. She has forgotten to top up the electricity meter, the power went off in the middle of the night and her clock radio failed to wake her at eight o’clock. She gets Tommy ready as quickly as she can and they manage to arrive at his school shortly after nine o’clock.

Crouching down outside the gates to kiss him goodbye and pass him his rucksack, she is pushed over and a woman grabs Tommy. It is Jackie Burns. Jackie runs across the road carrying Tommy and when Becca goes after them, she is struck by a car.

When Becca comes to, her vision is blurred but, from the stink of disinfectant, she works out that she is lying in a hospital bed and she can see the outline of someone sitting beside her bed. When she wakes again, her vision has cleared. She is in an Accident and Emergency Department cubicle and the person sitting beside her bed holding a lock of her waist-length blonde hair in his fingers is Stephen…

 

Sooner or later, your past will catch up with you.

Rebecca Burns has been running and hiding from her drug-dealing family all her adult life and trusts no one. An injury ended her career in London’s Metropolitan Police, and when she took a chance on love, she discovered Stephen cheating on her.

Changing her name, she runs and hides again, despite being pregnant with Stephen’s child. ‘Becca Hills’ and her son live a deliberately quiet life in a London tower block, but when she is involved in a road traffic accident, she finds Stephen and her past catching up with her. Can Becca allow herself to trust, forgive and love again?

Stephen and Becca

An Excerpt From Chapter Two

Following a detour by way of a supermarket, the cab dropped them off on Dixon Street. Tommy was almost asleep on Stephen’s shoulder as he let them into the apartment.

“I want Bear,” Tommy mumbled again.

“I know, but,” they went into Stephen’s bedroom and he opened the wardrobe, “meet Humphrey.” He pulled out a very old and battered teddy bear. “I’m sure Humphrey wouldn’t mind standing in for Bear for now.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Tommy clutched Humphrey to him.

Five minutes later Tommy, in one of Stephen’s T-shirts, and Humphrey, in his birthday suit, were tucked up and fast asleep in the double bed in the mauve bedroom.

“A drink?” Stephen whispered to her.

“Yes, please.” She followed him into the living area. “A large one.”

“Coming up,” he said, going to a kitchen cupboard, and taking down a bottle of Irish whisky and two glasses.

“I really thought I’d left them all behind. I’m surprised I didn’t have television companies ringing up wanting to do programmes on the Family From Hell.”

He poured the whisky and passed her a glass. “Here. Think about taking out an injunction, I won’t have them putting you and Tommy in danger. Better still, come and live here.”

“Stephen…”

“What the hell is it with you?” he demanded, slamming his glass down on the worktop. “Every time I try to help you, you throw it back in my face.”   

“I’ve just got out of the habit of asking for help. I never liked doing it anyway.”

“I know.” The telephone began to ring and he went to answer it. “Connor.” He listened for a couple of moments before sighing. “No. No. Why? Because it’s over. Please don’t call me again.”

“After one date? Well, fuck you, Stephen,” she heard a woman’s voice shout and the call was promptly ended.

“Women trouble?” she enquired as he put the handset down.

“Not anymore. I just couldn’t commit to any of them.”

“How many were there?” She pulled a stool out from under the breakfast bar and sat down.

“A few.” Pulling out a second stool, he sat down opposite her and took a sip of the whisky. “How about you?”

“Two.”

“Did they last longer than a month?”

She met his eyes. “No,” she told him truthfully. “The first just liked the idea of having sex with a single mum. The second didn’t like Tommy so that was it with him.”

“And what about you?”

She shrugged. “All I wanted from the first was meaningless sex. Tommy was still a baby and he wasn’t aware of him being around but the second just didn’t like Tommy and Tommy didn’t like him and I wasn’t going to have strange men in the flat. I’d seen enough of that at home with Mum’s boyfriends when I was growing up and I didn’t want to turn into her.”

“You can’t hide from your family forever, Becca.”

“But what the hell can I do?” She rested her head on a fist.

“Take out an injunction. You should have done it years ago.” Reaching across the breakfast bar, he gently caressed her deaf ear. It felt wonderful and she fought a hard battle not to visibly shiver with pleasure. “Before they did this to you.”

“I know, but it’s too late now.”

“Does Tommy know about it?”

She nodded and took a sip of whisky. “He thinks it was an accident, though, not an attack.”

“Does he ever ask about them?”

“No, because I haven’t told him anything about them.” She sighed, cradling the whisky glass in her hands. “I wish I could. I wish they were worth telling him about but they’re not. He has no idea what it is like to be not the black sheep of the family but the white sheep, the only good person in a family of scumbags. And for me to join the police was just the last straw for them. So they did this so I’d have to leave.” She touched her ear. “And then there was you and me. If Jackie hadn’t waded in in her size sevens they still would have broken us up somehow.”

“But they hadn’t betted on Tommy, had they?” he said quietly.

“No. And I’m scared…I never thought I’d be found and I don’t know what to do anymore.” She put her glass down on the breakfast bar before she dropped it. “And I’m so tired all the time. I’m going to bed, it’s probably going to be a long day tomorrow.”

“Before you go to bed, listen to me,” he begged, clasping her hands in his. “Live here, please? I will be here as much as I possibly can. It has to be better than you being in that flat on your own with Tommy.”

“But if they find out?”

“The injunction, Becca. Think about it?”

“Yeah.” She extracted her hands from his and finished her whisky before sliding off the stool. “You’ll have to lend me a T-shirt or something.”

“Okay, come with me.”

She followed him into his bedroom, noticing again just how austere it was. Kneeling down at the drawers beneath the wardrobe, she watched as he opened one and pulled out an item of clothing.

“Here.”

She took it and held it up. It was a pink silk-effect nightdress with thin shoulder straps she had left behind in her rush to leave. “You kept this all this time?”

He nodded. “In the hope that you might come back.”

Oh, God. “I see.” Putting it over an arm, she retreated to the door. “Well, thanks. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Closing the door behind her, she hurried down the hall to the mauve bedroom.

Tommy was fast asleep still clutching Humphrey as she turned the bedside lamp on, undoing her plait, and shaking out her hair. She got undressed and slipped into the nightdress, finding it a little tight over her bust. Since she had last worn it, she had both given birth to and breastfed Tommy. Getting into the double bed beside him, she turned off the bedside lamp. She stared up at the ceiling, remembering the nights she and Stephen had sat at their old kitchen table talking into the small hours putting the world to rights. Oh, God, how she missed those nights. And, God, how she missed him, too.

* * *

Two hours later, she was still staring up at the ceiling. This was hopeless. Getting out of the bed without disturbing Tommy, she went to the kitchen and took a carton of milk out of the fridge. She poured some of the milk into a mug and put it in the microwave oven for forty-five seconds but opened the door with one second to go before it pinged. Taking the mug over to the display cabinet, she stared at the photograph of herself and Stephen with all the cardboard boxes. When had she laughed like that since?

Opening one of the doors in the bottom of the cabinet, she found two large photograph albums and pulled them out. Taking the albums over to one of the sofas, she sat down, opened one, and took a sip of the warm milk. ‘The Two PC Plods’ was written under a photo of the two of them as police probationers. She smiled, shaking her head, they were so young. The photograph below it was taken by Stephen’s younger brother, Gerard. She and Stephen were kissing. Talk about a tongue sandwich and a half. She quickly turned the page.

“That’s one of my favourites.”

She jumped, almost spilling the milk down her front. “Stephen,” she hissed.

“I couldn’t sleep either.” He sat on the sofa opposite her, dressed for bed in his usual T-shirt and boxer shorts. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me coming in.”

“Well, I didn’t.” She watched his eyes move up and down, taking in her loose hair and how fully she now filled the nightdress. God, how she wanted to straddle him and sit on his lap and push her breasts into his face and let him kiss them and – oh, God – so many other things she missed so much. “I helped myself to some milk,” she said instead.

“Good.” He smiled, raising his eyes to her face.

“How’s Gerard?”

“He’s very well, thanks. He told me that I was a bloody fool to mess you around.”

She groaned. “Let’s not go into that now, I’m too tired.”

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” he asked. “Are you ill?”

“No, just overtired.” She drained the mug. “And sad. And fucking angry. They took all my photograph albums – all the photos you looked at of Tommy as a baby. Spying on me and trashing the flat I can take, kind of, because they’re scum and that’s what scum does. But taking the photos…only the lowest of the low would do something like that.”

“Live with me?” he added quietly. “Let me look after you both.”

“Stephen.” Banging the mug down on the coffee table, she got to her feet, the photograph albums falling to the floor. “We don’t need looking after.”

“Becca.” He got up from the sofa and grasped her shoulders. “Please?”

“Let me go.”

He complied and bent down to retrieve the albums. “The nights I lay awake wondering if that bloody family of yours had done something else to you. Every time a female body was found it used to scare the shit out of me…”

“Don’t.”

“But they know where you are now, Becca.”

She rubbed her forehead. “I know. I’ll just have to move again.”

“But think of Tommy and school?”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of not thinking about him,” she spat. “I think and worry about him every day – ever since he was born – ever since I found out that I was pregnant if you must know. I even thought about getting an abortion after I left you but I couldn’t.”

“Tell me why not?” He pointed to the sofa. “Please?”

She sighed and sat down and he re-took his seat, placing the albums beside him.

“The baby was yours and mine. Ours. Not my bloody family’s – ours. Despite everything that happened I just couldn’t get rid of him. We made him. It was on that long weekend in Brighton, just after we’d agreed to try for a baby.”

“Brighton?” He smiled. “I’m not surprised, we hardly left the hotel room.”

“I know, but I hadn’t counted on me getting pregnant immediately.”

“I should have asked you to marry me there.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Before, during, or just after?”

He shook his head. “Over dinner the first evening. I’ve regretted it ever since. And I’ve grabbed every chance that has come my way since. And, yes, I do want to make chief inspector before I’m forty.”

“Jan was right,” she muttered. “You are married to the job.”

“You could have made inspector, too.”

“Well, there’s no point saying that now.” She touched her ear. “I’m happy at the bookshop.”

“There’s a crime bookshop here, just around the corner,” he told her. “And Tommy could go to St James’ Primary School. It’s only five minutes walk away.”

“I do know where it is.”

“So what’s your excuse?” he challenged.

She gave him a defiant stare. “Don’t bloody interrogate me, Stephen.”

“All right.” He got up, went to the kitchen, and poured himself a whisky. “But I’m only worried about you.”

“I know you are,” she replied quietly. Getting up from the sofa, she went to him, turned his face towards hers and kissed his cheek. “I need to try and get some sleep.”

“Becca.” He caught her hand. “Before you go, tell me what it was like being pregnant. Please? I missed out on so much.”

“I was huge. And he kicked my insides black and blue.”

“How big were you?” he asked, putting his whisky glass down, standing behind her and taking her hands. “Will you show me?”

She could feel his body pressing against hers, his breath on her ear, and couldn’t help but tense. It felt far too good. “My stomach was out here.” She held his hands out from her body, not at all sure how accurate she was being but just wanting to show him something and then move away from him. “It was huge. I waddled for the last few weeks.” Letting his hands go, she turned around, backing away from him. “I was in labour for sixteen hours and Tommy weighed eight pounds and one ounce.”

“You breastfed him?”

“Yes, I did,” she replied matter-of-factly, not wanting to move onto the subject of her breasts. “And now I really must try and get some sleep,” she told him, walking to the hall door and opening it. “Goodnight,” she added and closed it behind her. She leant back against the door for a moment, raising her hand to her forehead, and finding it damp with perspiration. “Fuck you, Stephen,” she whispered.

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Trust No One’s Stephen Connor

Stephen Connor is thirty-six-years-old and is the eldest son of Michael and Mary Connor, originally from Cork in Ireland. Stephen met and fell in love with Rebecca ‘Becca’ Burns and her waist-length blonde hair when they joined the London Metropolitan Police as probationers and they soon moved into a flat together.

Becca is the white sheep in a family of black sheep. The Burns’ are a notorious criminal family from the East End of London and when Becca attempted to disassociate herself from them by changing her name from Concepta to Rebecca and joining the police, the Burns’ arranged for her to be attacked. The attack left Becca deaf in one ear and she had to leave the police.

Stephen and Becca agreed to try for a baby and they spent a weekend in Brighton on England’s south coast. Soon afterwards, Jackie Burns, Becca’s sister-in-law, turned up at the flat. Jackie was told she can’t have children and her husband walked out on her. Jackie was hysterical and threw herself at Stephen, knowing exactly what to do, where to do it, and for how long. Stephen and Jackie had sex in the hall, in the bathroom, and in the bedroom. Becca then walked into the bedroom and found Stephen and Jackie in bed together. For Becca, this was the ultimate betrayal and she disappeared.

Stephen searches for Becca but she is good at covering her tracks and he throws himself into his work. He rises through the ranks of the police, eventually being promoted to Detective Inspector at the age of just thirty-one. But he can’t forget Becca, no matter how hard he works and no matter how many women he sleeps with.

Then, one morning, Stephen is told about a road traffic accident outside a school in north London. A woman in her thirties with waist-length blonde hair attempted to stop the abduction of her five-year-old son and was knocked down by a car on a pedestrian crossing. The woman’s injuries were not life-threatening and she was taken to St Hilary’s Hospital. Stephen goes to the hospital immediately. Surely, it can’t be Becca. She doesn’t have a son. Does she?

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Sooner or later, your past will catch up with you.

Rebecca Burns has been running and hiding from her drug-dealing family all her adult life and trusts no one. An injury ended her career in London’s Metropolitan Police, and when she took a chance on love, she discovered Stephen cheating on her.

Changing her name, she runs and hides again, despite being pregnant with Stephen’s child. ‘Becca Hills’ and her son live a deliberately quiet life in a London tower block, but when she is involved in a road traffic accident, she finds Stephen and her past catching up with her. Can Becca allow herself to trust, forgive and love again?

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An Excerpt from Chapter Two

They went into the kitchen and she shut the door as overly-dramatic cartoon music began blaring from the television. The kitchen was miniscule, only about six feet square. With the cupboards, worktops, sink, and appliances, there was barely enough room for her to move around, never mind share the space with a furious Stephen.

“Too bloody right we need to talk. Tommy doesn’t have a clue who I am, does he?” Stephen demanded.

“No.” She moved as far away from him as the tiny kitchen allowed, feeling the sharp corner of the sink digging into her back.

“Doesn’t he ask why he doesn’t have a daddy like other children?”

“He’s beginning to, yes,” she admitted.

“And what do you tell him?” Stephen added savagely. “That I’m dead?”

“No.” She was adamant. “No, that you’ve gone away but will be back one day.”

He pulled a disbelieving face. “And now what? Are you going to tell him who I am?” She peered down at her hands. “Becca, for God’s sake, please. I’m his father.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “And married to your job.”

“What?”

“Jan told me,” she explained, raising her head. “Inspector at thirty-one. Congratulations. What’s it going to be – chief inspector before you’re forty? Superintendent a few years after that?”

“Please allow me to be Tommy’s father?” he asked instead of answering.

“Stephen, he needs someone reliable. Someone who, when they tell him that they’ll take him out at six o’clock, will take him out at six o’clock. You will never be able to guarantee him that.”

He slumped back against the worktop. “No, I won’t, but I’d make it up to him.”

“Guilt presents?” she suggested, shaking her head, and noting with relief that it wasn’t pounding quite as much as it did earlier. “No. I see far too many of them at Tommy’s school. Trainers, smartphones, video games – anything they think will make up for the disappointment.”

“Please just think about it, Becca?” he asked.

“What else did you think I was going to think about now?” she snapped.

“Jackie,” he replied. “Jackie’s family. I’ve just come here from telling them she had taken an overdose of painkillers and was dead.”

“Why the hell should I think about her or her family?” She exhaled a short, humourless laugh. “I don’t need to tell you what I thought of her. I’ve never met any of her family, and it’s not very likely that they’re going to give a toss about me or Tommy.”

“They asked me who the little boy was and I had to tell them. They’d have found out, anyway. Did you tell anyone, Becca?”

“No,” she replied simply and, adding before he asked, “because it was safest that way.”

“Well, there’s a good chance that Jackie has told your family where you are,” he told her and her heart lurched before it sank like a stone. “We found her iPhone and the last call made from it was to an unregistered pay-as-you-go phone.”

“Knowing Jackie, she probably tracked me down and took Tommy, hoping that John would take her back. ‘Please take me back’.” She mimicked Jackie’s high-pitched voice. “‘I even took Becca’s little boy so we can be a proper family, and we can bring him up as one of the next generation of Burns Boys’.” She rolled her eyes. “The stupid cow. Tommy will never be a Burns,” she spat. “Never. Knowing John, he probably just laughed at her.”

“Probably,” Stephen agreed. “There’s no way he’d want anything to do with a police officer’s son.”

His stomach rumbled as he spoke and she glanced at the clock above the doorway. Six o’clock. She really had to eat something and so did Tommy. It was his bedtime soon. “When did you last eat?”

He shrugged. “Can’t remember. Breakfast, probably.”

“Do you have to be somewhere?” She heaved herself away from the sink.

“No. I won’t get the official post-mortem results for a few days at the earliest. Then, Tommy needs to be interviewed, as well as you.”

“So Jan said. When?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he told her.

She nodded. “Well, today is pizza day. I hope you still like pepperoni?”

She saw him trying and failing to hide his surprise. “Yes, I do.”

“It’ll be about twenty minutes. Have one of these in the meantime.” Squeezing past him, she went to the fridge freezer, took out a pot of petit filous followed by a spoon from the cutlery drawer, and passed them to him.

“Thanks.”

Squeezing past him again, acutely aware of how he made no effort to move out of her way, she lit the gas oven. Extracting the pizzas from the bottom of the fridge freezer, she pulled them out of the box and cellophane and put them in the oven before turning around.

“Look.” She pointed to his tie. “You’ve dripped some on it.” He began wiping the blob away with a dishcloth but only succeeded in making it worse. “Stop.” Taking the cloth from him, she went to the sink and ran water on a corner. Holding up the tie, and feeling his eyes watching her every move, she wiped it clean. “There.”

“Thank you.” He pulled it loose then undid the top button of his shirt.

“Who irons your shirts these days?” she asked, going to a cupboard and taking three dinner plates out.

He gave her a little smile. “Non-iron.”

“Cheat.”

He laughed. “I burned holes in six shirts before I gave up.”

“And who goes around after you now picking up socks, boxer shorts, and T-shirts?” she added. “Jan or one of the other female officers?”

He stiffened. “No-one.”

She noticed and changed the subject. “Do you still live on Dixon Street?”

“Yes. Alone.” He finished the pot of petit filous and put the pot and spoon on the draining board. “I got fed up of renting so I bought the apartment. A couple of years later, I bought the apartment next door and knocked the two together. The living room is now three times the size and there are now three large bedrooms instead of the original two tiny ones plus a roof terrace.”

“Three bedrooms?” she echoed. She’d loved the old apartment but not their small bedroom and cold bathroom.

“Got to keep my harem of female police officers somewhere,” he told her. She grinned and his eyes widened. “Was that a grin I saw?” he teased with a smile.

“Something like that.” She busied herself in flattening the pizza box while staring at his reflection in the door of the microwave oven before putting the box and cellophane in the bin. He was maturing well, his face a little fuller, his hair cut a little shorter, but his smile hadn’t changed one bit and could still turn her legs to jelly. What did he think of her six years on? Did he find her prematurely old? Haggard? Coarse? At least her hair was still beautiful. “So, you haven’t quite managed to work your way through all the Met’s female officers, then?” she asked, turning around.

He gave her a humourless smile. “My longest relationship since you lasted all of a month.”

“That long?” This time he did laugh. “Jan fancies you,” she added, and his smile vanished.

“I know she does but I don’t fancy her.”

The forcefulness of his tone took her aback a little. “Once bitten twice shy?”

He shrugged. “Something like that. But you and I were the same rank back then.”

“Yes, so don’t expect me to call you sir now.”

His lips twitched. “I won’t.”

The kitchen door opened slowly and they both turned to look at Tommy. “Mummy? I’m hungry.”

“The pizzas are in the oven,” she assured him. “They won’t be long.”

“Okay.” Giving Stephen a puzzled look, he retreated back to the living room.

She sighed. “I’m going to have to tell him something. I’m not going to have it all come out tomorrow when he’s being interviewed.”

“What will you tell him?” Stephen asked, and she could hear the trepidation in his voice.

“That his daddy has come back,” she said simply. “I’m not going to lie to him. Are you ready?”

He took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Come on, then.” She opened the door. “Tommy, turn the television off, please.”

“Oh, Mummy,” he protested.

“Now, please. Then, go and sit in the armchair.” Tommy climbed up and sat down, reaching for the remote control and switching the television off. “Good boy. Now,” she began, glancing around the room. Where was Stephen? He was standing at the kitchen door and she beckoned him to come to them. “Tommy, remember when you asked me where your daddy was?” she continued and he nodded. “What did I tell you?”

“That he was away but that he would come back one day.”

“Yes. Well.” She stroked his hair. “He has come back. Tommy, this is your daddy.”

Tommy peered up at Stephen, who crouched down beside the brown armchair with a smile.

“Hello, Tommy.”

“Where’ve you been?” the little boy asked him.

“Working.”

“Doing what?” Tommy persisted.

“I’m in the Metropolitan Police,” Stephen explained. “A detective.”

“Mummy watches Inspector Morse,” Tommy informed him. “A lot. It’s on for ages.”

“Does she?” Becca saw Stephen’s lips twitch. “Well, I’m an inspector, too. Not a chief inspector, though.”

Not yet, Becca added silently.

“Do you have a big car, too?”

“I have a car but it’s not a Jaguar. It’s a Ford.”

“Oh.” Tommy sounded disappointed. “What’s your proper name?”

“Stephen Connor.”

Tommy nodded, his brain clearly processing the information as fast as he could. “And you’re really my daddy?”

“Yes, I am.” Stephen smiled again.

“Are you coming to live here?”

“No.” Stephen’s face fell. “I have my own apartment. You and Mummy will have to come and see it sometime.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-six, a year older than Mummy.”

“That’s okay.” Tommy gave him a solemn nod and Becca couldn’t help but smile. Tommy had no idea what thirty-six was.

Stephen’s eyebrows rose. “Is it? Why?”

“My friend Simon’s daddy is really old. And his hair is all grey. Yours is nice and black.”

“Thank you,” Stephen replied, before nodding at the television. “What were you watching?”

“The Tweenies.”

Stephen frowned. “The what?”

She laughed. “Oh, dear, we’ll have to educate, Daddy, won’t we, Tommy?”

“Yes.”

“Do you watch the Teletubbies, too?” Stephen inquired.

Tommy gave him a scornful look and she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for Stephen. This was going to be a very steep learning curve. “They’re for babies.”

Stephen pulled an awkward expression and adjusted his position, getting down on one knee. “Oh. Right. Well, what do you like?”

“My Disney DVDs.” Tommy pointed to a scatter of DVDs on the floor beneath the television. “And Scooby Doo.”

Stephen’s face brightened. “I used to watch Scooby Doo.”

“You?” Tommy replied sceptically. “What else did you used to watch?”

“Oh.” Stephen paused, clearly racking his brains. “Play School, Grange Hill, Blue Peter…”

“Do you love Mummy?” Tommy interrupted.

“Tommy,” she scolded, feeling blood rushing into her cheeks.

“I used to,” Stephen told him. “I used to love her very much.”

“Then, why did you go away?” Tommy continued and Stephen’s shoulders shrugged.

“Mummy thought I didn’t love her anymore.”

“Do you love Mummy now?”

Stephen exhaled a long sigh. “I haven’t seen Mummy for a few years. You can’t just go back to the way things were back then. I would like to be friends with Mummy again, though. And with you. Would you like that?”

Tommy nodded. “Yes. When can I see your apartment?”

“When Mummy says it will be all right.”

“The lady today. She said she was married to Mummy’s brother.” He glanced up at her. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I haven’t seen either of them for a few years,” Becca explained. “The lady didn’t hurt you, did she?”

“No. She just told me to watch the television, argued with someone on the phone and then she cried a lot. She’s got satellite television. Have you got satellite television?” he asked, turning back to Stephen.

“Yes, I have.”

“You mean you’ve got the Disney Channel?” Tommy added, his eyes widening with excitement.

“Erm,” Stephen scratched his head. “Probably. I’ve got lots of sports channels for the football. Do you like football?”

“Yes. I support Arsenal.”

Stephen’s face broke into a grin. “So do I. We must go to a match sometime.”

The oven timer beeped and Tommy slid off the armchair. “Good. I’m hungry.”

“Go to the bathroom and wash your hands,” she instructed and he ran out of the room. Stephen stayed kneeling beside the armchair, his head bowed. “Stephen?”

He sniffed, running a hand over his face. “Sorry.” He got up and wiped his eyes. “Becca, he’s beautiful.”

“He likes you,” she told him gently, fighting the urge to take him in her arms. “I mean it. If he didn’t, he would have told you.”

“Yeah.” He smiled through his tears.

“Daddy?” Tommy stood at the hall door making Stephen jump violently at being called that for the first time. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh.” He fumbled in his trouser pocket before pulling out a handkerchief. “I’m just so glad to see you and Mummy again.”

“Can I see your apartment soon, Daddy?”

“We’ll see,” she replied instead and went to the kitchen to serve the pizzas.

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Trust No One by Lizzy Grey

Untitled design

Sooner or later, your past will catch up with you.

Rebecca Burns has been running and hiding from her drug-dealing family all her adult life and trusts no one. An injury ended her career in London’s Metropolitan Police, and when she took a chance on love, she discovered Stephen cheating on her.

Changing her name, she runs and hides again, despite being pregnant with Stephen’s child. ‘Becca Hills’ and her son live a deliberately quiet life in a London tower block, but when she is involved in a road traffic accident, she finds Stephen and her past catching up with her. Can Becca allow herself to trust, forgive and love again?

 

 

An Excerpt From Chapter One

They were late for school. Very late. And she had no one to blame but herself. She had forgotten to top up the electricity meter, the power had gone off sometime in the middle of the night and, as a result, her clock radio had failed to wake her at eight o’clock.

Waiting at the pedestrian crossing, she pushed her left sleeve up and looked at her watch. It was two minutes past nine.

“Fuck.”

“Naughty word, Mummy.” Tommy pulled her hand.

“I know, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said the naughty word. Oh, there’s the green man. Keep hold of my hand, it’s after nine o’clock.”

They crossed the street and she crouched down outside the school gates. She gave him a hug and a kiss, put a clean handkerchief in his trouser pocket and was about to pass him his bright yellow school rucksack when feet approached quickly from behind. She went to straighten up and move aside when she was given a hard shove and she found herself sprawled and winded on the footpath on top of the rucksack. Heaving herself up onto her hands and knees, she peered behind her as a dark-haired woman picked Tommy up and ran across the pedestrian crossing with him.

“No.” She tried to scream, but the word only came out as a croak.

She got to her feet and ran after them onto the crossing as a car horn beeped and tyres screeched on the tarmacadam…

* * *

Okay, this was strange. Why couldn’t she see clearly? Everything was fuzzy but, focusing as hard as she could, she could see the outline of someone sitting in a chair. Reaching out, her fingers found the edges of the bed. It was a single, so she couldn’t be in her double bed at home. So, where was she? Inhaling a strong whiff of disinfectant, her nose wrinkled. Hospital? How had she ended up in hospital? Blinking and widening her eyes made no difference to the fuzziness so, shutting them, she slept.

When she opened her eyes again her vision was clear. Blue curtains surrounded her single bed. She could hear feet rushing up and down outside and someone throwing up a little too close to her for comfort. It could only be an Accident and Emergency cubicle. Rolling onto her back, she winced as her head began throbbing. Fuck. No, don’t swear. Mustn’t swear in case Tommy heard. Tommy! She tried to sit up but couldn’t, she was lying on her hair. Twisting around for the emergency button, she spotted Stephen. Inhaling her breath, she coughed and almost choked.

Sitting and leaning slightly forward in a plastic chair beside the bed, he was holding a lock of her waist-length curly blonde hair in his fingers and watching her without a sound. Oh, bloody hell, of all the officers in the London Metropolitan Police, it had to be Stephen. Coughing, she lay back on the pillow until it passed. Then her head started pounding again and he spoke.

“You’re in the Accident and Emergency Department at St Hilary’s Hospital. You have bruising and mild concussion.” She nodded and instantly regretted it. “What do you remember?”

“What information do you have?” she asked.

“You first,” he replied and she heaved herself up a little on the pillows, spotting huge purple bruises on her elbow and upper right arm, but relieved she was still wearing her T-shirt and jeans.

“I was outside the school gates saying goodbye to Tommy. I gave him a hug and a kiss and I was about to pass him his school rucksack. Then—” She went to shake her head but stopped herself just in time. “Then, I heard feet running up behind us. I went to step to one side with Tommy to let whoever it was pass us but she pushed me over and grabbed Tommy from me. She picked Tommy up and ran across the road with him. I got up and went after them but a car got in the way.”

He nodded. “The woman has been described as tall, well-built and dark-haired.”

“It was Jackie,” she said and watched him shrink back from her.

“Jackie Burns?” he demanded. “You’re sure?”

“You think I’d forget my only sister-in-law and what she and you did?”

“Do you have a current address for her?” he asked, instead of rising to the bait.

“No, I bloody don’t but she’s probably still at the same fancy apartment.”

“Okay, I’ll send some officers there. I won’t be a moment.” Taking a smartphone out of the inside pocket of his black suit jacket, he got up and pulled the curtain aside before going out. She heard him speaking in low but urgent tones to someone and being told to turn the phone off by a female voice.

“When was the last time you spoke to Jackie?” he continued, coming back into the cubicle. “Or seen her?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“And Tommy is how old?” he asked, retaliating at last.

She glared at him before throwing back the bedcovers. Gingerly, she got out of bed, and carefully crouched down at the bedside locker. Opening the door, she saw that her jacket and shoes, handbag and plastic hair clasp had been shoved inside and she began pulling them out, feeling him watch her every move.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not staying here exchanging smart comments with you, Stephen,” she replied, throwing the items onto the bed. Straightening up, she gathered her hair together and pinned it up as best she could with the plastic clasp. “Get a nurse, I’m discharging myself.”

“What? No. Absolutely not. For God’s sake, you’ve got a head injury, you need to be admitted and kept under observation.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “If you won’t get a nurse, I’ll go and find one myself.”

Swearing under his breath, Stephen pulled the curtain aside and left the cubicle again.

* * *

Ten minutes later, they left an exasperated staff nurse behind and waited for the lift to come down from the fourth floor.

“Detective Constable Jan Carter will be assigned to you as your liaison officer,” Stephen told her. “She’s on her way to your flat now. We got your address from the school.”

“Not you?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then, who’s heading the investigation?” she added.

“I am,” he replied, extending a hand as the lift doors opened and she went in. “I’m a Detective Inspector now. So don’t make this any harder for me than it already is.” He followed her inside, the doors closed, and he pressed the button for the ground floor. “When exactly were you going to tell me I had a son?”

“When exactly were you going to tell me you were sleeping with my brother’s wife?”

He sighed. “It happened once. It was the biggest mistake I have ever made.”

Not wanting to stare at him as the lift brought them up from the lower ground floor, she took the opportunity to observe him in the mirrors lining the walls. The black suit he wore was creased, his cheeks were heavily stubbled, and he seemed exhausted. Had he been in the hospital all night with her? If it had been night time. What time was it, actually? She pushed her jacket sleeve up her left wrist to look at her watch but it wasn’t there. She sighed and focused her attention on the mirrors again.

Stephen’s dark hair and stubble made him appear deathly pale but that could be shock, too. Finding her again after so long and discovering he had a five-year-old son was enough to knock anyone sideways. Six years ago she’d thought he was the love of her life but then he’d betrayed her in the worst possible way. How did she feel seeing him again now and hearing his regret? She went to raise a hand to her throbbing head before lowering it, not wanting to hear another lecture on how she should still be in bed and under observation. She just wanted Tommy back. She’d contemplate her feelings for Stephen when she could think straight.

Tailing him across the hospital car park, she watched as he beeped open a black Ford Focus and opened the passenger door for her.

“Who knows about us?” she asked, getting in as he walked around the car before getting into the driver’s seat.

“No one.”

“But you’ll never be able to keep it a secret.”

“Just you watch me. I’m quite good at keeping secrets, too.” He reached for his seat belt. “Look, if you’d prefer for someone else to take over, just tell me.”

“No, but be careful for God’s sake.”

* * *

Following her directions, he pulled up in a car park located in front of three dilapidated 1960s tower blocks.

“Which one do you live in?” he asked, craning his neck to get a better look at them.

“Tommy and I live on the top floor of the middle one.”

“The top?” he echoed and she saw him try to hide a grimace.

The lift wasn’t working yet again so they climbed the stairs to the twenty-fourth floor, stepping over hypodermic needles and used condoms. In a way, she was relieved, who knows what delights they might have seen or smelt in the lift. She waited for Stephen to make a comment but, to her surprise, he said nothing.

A young woman with short ginger hair was waiting outside the flat and Stephen introduced her as Detective Constable Jan Carter. Becca searched her handbag for her keys, hoping they weren’t lying on the road outside Tommy’s school, before finding them beside her watch at the very bottom. She opened the battered front door and the three of them went into the flat, Stephen telling the Detective Constable that he had been given an address and officers were on their way there.

The two-bedroomed council flat was like going through a time warp back to the nineteen seventies. Everything was brown – the colour of poo – as Tommy had once described it. She hadn’t been able to afford to re-decorate yet, except for Tommy’s bedroom with wallpaper she had bought in a closing-down sale, and to paint over the horrific swirly living room wallpaper with the cheapest Magnolia-coloured paint she could find.

“Are you up to being questioned?” Jan asked her gently.

“Questioned?” She threw her handbag onto the ancient, sagging, and bloody uncomfortable brown sofa. “Jackie Burns took Tommy and I want him back.”

“Sir?” Jan turned to Stephen, standing at the scratched chipboard display cabinet examining the framed photographs. He had one of Tommy in his hands. God, they were so alike.

“Tommy’s birthday?” he enquired, looking straight past Jan and at her.

“Yes. His fifth. Take it.”

“‘Concepta aged ten’.” Jan had picked up and glanced at the back of a framed photograph of her as a ten-year-old and which had been inscribed by her mother.

“I’m Concepta,” she explained. “Well, I was. The first thing I did when I left school was to change my name by deed poll. I’m Rebecca Hills now. Becca for short.”

“Concepta – bloody hell.”

“Tell me about it.” She almost smiled. “So, you can understand why I much prefer Becca. At school, I might as well have had a notice tattooed on my forehead with, ‘Bully Me’ on it. Except, no one dared to.”

“Why not?” Jan frowned.

“My original surname was Burns.”

“Burns.” Jan’s face paled. “You’re a member of the Burns family from the East End? Your mother is Ma Burns?”

“That’s right. She had six kids and I was the only girl. You might have heard of my eldest brother, Pat?” she enquired.

Jan nodded. “So Jackie Burns is your sister-in-law?”

“Yes. I haven’t seen nor spoken to her for nearly six years, nor to any of my family for a good few years before that.”

“Why is that?” Jan took a notebook from her handbag and opened it.

“My mother had named me after her mother, so she never forgave me for changing my name. But I’d always felt different – like I didn’t belong with them – and I longed to escape. She’d done her best to turn me into her – so I could take over from her when the time came – or become head of my own family of drug dealers eventually. She sent me away to a posh boarding school and I wasn’t allowed to mix with the local kids when I was home. But I hated my names and I hated being brought up wrapped in cotton wool so I changed my name and I moved away. But they couldn’t – or wouldn’t – leave me alone. Six years ago my brother, John, left Jackie for another woman shortly after they discovered she couldn’t have children. Jackie went to pieces. Somehow, she managed to track me down and she found out I was pregnant. She was jealous. She couldn’t allow me to be happy while she wasn’t, so she slept with my partner. It worked.” Becca gave Jan a bitter smile. “I left him.”

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His Sexual Partner’s Lesley Strickland

Thirty-two-year-old Lesley Strickland owns and runs a bookshop in central London called Crime Always Pays. She inherited the bookshop from her late father and she lives above the shop with her flatmate and work colleague, Emma.

Lesley survived breast cancer, had a double mastectomy, and now has perfect 32 F cup-sized breasts. When His Sexual Partner opens, Lesley has recently returned to the UK from six months in Spain, where her mother lives. Coming back to London, she found that she craved solitude, so she now spends her weekends in her mother’s holiday cottage in Essex in eastern England.

One weekend, she was persuaded to attend a cancer charity fund-raising event in a local hotel and to take a cab there and back. Unfortunately, the cab firm recommended to her turned out to be the worst in Essex. The cab broke down and Lesley arrived two hours late, missing both the dinner and the speeches. Buying a glass of wine, she goes out into the hotel gardens and meets a man called Jonathan.

Lesley and Jonathan get chatting and she learns that he survived testicular cancer, had a testicle removed and now has a false testicle – a prosthesis. Comparing how having cancer in such intimate places has affected them, Lesley confesses that she hasn’t had sex for three years because she’s afraid men will now find her weird and repulsive. Jonathan immediately assures her she is neither weird nor repulsive and that he would sleep with her. Lesley has never had a one night stand before but her primal need for sex after so long rules her head and she agrees to spend one night with him.

Lesley and Jonathan have amazing one night stand sex in his hotel room and when she wakes in the morning he is gone but a note with Thank you. Ring Me. has been left on his pillow. She puts the note in her handbag and returns to London, only to see Jonathan on the news that evening. Jonathan is Jonathan Lewis, Member of Parliament for Nerin in Essex and the new British Home Secretary. Lesley is disgusted. She hates politicians and she certainly doesn’t want to be fucked by one.

That weekend, she goes to the cottage in Essex as usual, only to discover that Jonathan’s parents live in a neighbouring cottage and that Jonathan spends most weekends there so he can hold a constituency surgery in the village. Jonathan tells Lesley, he wants to see her again and she finds herself not turning him down flat. Jonathan calls to her holiday cottage that evening and he fucks her deep, hard, and unrelenting and she throws him out.

Jonathan grovels and apologises for his behaviour but admits to her that he has a huge sex drive and now he is Home Secretary, with the possibility of becoming Prime Minister one day, he needs to keep his sex life under strict control. He must find someone to satisfy his constant need for sex, someone discreet, someone he can call upon for sex at any time. Jonathan puts a proposition to Lesley – that she become his sexual partner. She can’t help but be flattered, so she asks for time to consider it, and he agrees. 

Just after Jonathan leaves the cottage, his mother arrives. Unknown to Jonathan, Margaret Lewis has recorded Lesley and Jonathan’s one night stand in the hotel room. Mrs Lewis can’t allow Lesley to turn Jonathan down and risk the future Prime Minister satisfying his need for sex with casual fucks with women who might sell their stories to the tabloid press. Jonathan wants Lesley. He needs Lesley. He will have Lesley. So Margaret Lewis threatens to upload the sex video to the internet if Lesley doesn’t agree to become Jonathan’s sexual partner.

What choice does Lesley have? She’s always hated and mistrusted politicians and now she is being blackmailed into being fucked by one – a very handsome man with a dry sense of humour – but a politician all the same. 

Can Lesley turn Jonathan against his mother? Can Lesley make Jonathan love her, or will their relationship always be only about sex for him? Read His Sexual Partner to find out!

One night of passion. A lifetime of regret. Or can a relationship built on blackmail turn to love?

At a charity fundraising event, Lesley Strickland meets Jonathan Lewis – a fellow cancer survivor – and they spend the night together. When Lesley discovers Jonathan is a politician, she never wants to see him again, despite a deepening sexual attraction. But Jonathan can’t forget her. Only Lesley can satisfy him, and he has a discreet proposition for her – that she become his sexual partner.

Lesley asks for time to consider the proposition, but Jonathan’s mother intervenes and blackmails her, threatening to reveal a secret which could ruin Lesley’s reputation and business. Lesley is forced to accept Jonathan’s proposition and all it entails – being at the new British Home Secretary’s beck and call whenever he needs her – as his sexual partner…

Lingerie

An Excerpt From Chapter Three

“Don’t be embarrassed.” Mrs Lewis smiled. “I advised Jonathan to try you and he did and now he will only have you. Typical man, he loves your body, especially your magnificent new tits.”

“Did he send you here?” she demanded.

“No, he doesn’t know I’m here. Lesley, he is his father’s son. He has an enormous sex drive, and it will take someone special to satisfy him. That person is you.”

“And if I don’t want to satisfy him?”

“Then, I will release the video recording I have of you in The Oaks Hotel being titty-fucked by an unidentifiable man. I was quite touched to see you kissing and licking Jonathan’s huge cock between your tits,” his mother added and Lesley’s jaw dropped. “You don’t believe me?” Mrs Lewis reached into her handbag and brought out a tablet computer. “Look.” She tapped the screen then passed it to Lesley who stared at herself kissing in slow motion the head of an enormous cock poking out from between her breasts. She was immediately identifiable and her stomach churned. “It’s wonderful HD quality and I really think you could fall in love with Jonathan’s cock. Would you like me to upload the recording to the internet and email it to the tabloids? Those wonderful tits really belong on Page Three of a certain tabloid newspaper.”

“No,” she whispered.

“So, you agree?”

Lesley glared at her. “What choice do I have?”

“None. I’m so pleased.” Mrs Lewis returned the tablet to her handbag. “You needn’t worry. Jonathan takes after his father and will age very well, too. He will keep you satisfied, Lesley. Just like his father’s cock has satisfied me since I was eighteen.”

“Why not just find him a wife?”

“Lesley, he could be Prime Minister one day so we need to keep his sex life under strict control. If you continue to satisfy him, you could well be that wife. You’re from a good enough family. And when the time comes for children, your IVF treatment will touch the hearts of millions. I take it that, like Jonathan’s sperm, your eggs are stored in the Heartfield Clinic?”

Lesley blinked furiously, trying to take it all in. Prime Minister? Wife? Children? The woman was nuts. “Jonathan didn’t mention any of that. I don’t want to be a Prime Minister’s wife and I don’t even know if I want children.”

“In that case.” Mrs Lewis reached into her handbag for the tablet.

“Stop.” Lesley slapped her hand away.

“Good girl. Now, listen. Over the next few weeks, you will develop a love for politics, we will introduce you as Jonathan’s girlfriend, and the rest will be history, as they say.” Mrs Lewis looked at her watch. “His meeting with Gerald should be finished by now. Ring him and ask him to come back here. Tell him you have a reply for him.” Lesley didn’t reply and waited for her to go. “I’m waiting.”

She got up and went to the kitchen for her smartphone, brought it back to the living room and, with his mother’s eyes on her, rang him.

“Jonathan, are you still in Nerin?”

“Yes, I am. Why?”

“Could you come back to the cottage? I have a reply for you.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.”

She ended the call and threw her phone onto the sofa. “Happy?”

“You will tell him you would love to be his sexual partner. You will let him fuck you. You will send him back to London satisfied. I will be ringing him this evening and if I hear that he went back to London disappointed, well, you know what will happen.” With that, Mrs Lewis got up and left the room.

Lesley sank down onto the sofa and began to shake. She was still shaking when she heard a car pull up outside. Forcing herself to stand up, she went to the front door and watched Jonathan through the small window. He was speaking on his smartphone and laughed suddenly. This was the man she would be spending the rest of her life with, whose huge cock she’d have to endure pounding into her poor pussy. He was very handsome, seemed to have a dry sense of humour, but he was a politician. She’d always hated and mistrusted politicians. He ended the call, put the phone in his jacket pocket, got out of the car and walked towards the cottage. She opened the door and forced a bright smile.

“Come in.” Taking his hand, she led him into the living room, then took his other hand. “Jonathan, I’ve thought about it, and I couldn’t let you go back to London without telling you, yes.”

His eyes widened a little and they sat down together on the sofa.” You mean it?”

“Of course,” she lied. “Now, you need to tell me the details. I mean, will we only meet at your apartment? Not here?”

“Not here, just yet. And, I’m not going to lie to you—it won’t be possible every evening—but as many as I can possibly manage.”

“What will you do on the other evenings?”

“Lie back, think of you, and wank,” he replied immediately and she smiled.

“You’d better kiss me now, then.”

He got down on his knees, pulled her gently to the edge of the sofa, and positioned himself between her legs. He kissed her lips, softly at first, then with force. He parted them with his tongue and slowly rubbed the tip against the sensitive roof of her mouth, making her shiver against her will with anticipation.

“That’s good isn’t it?” he whispered, sliding his hands up her body to her breasts, caressing them, and pushing them gently together. “I love your breasts. I want to bury my face between them. I want to lick your nipples. I want to suck your clit. I want to slowly slide my cock into your wet pussy so that I don’t hurt you. Want that?”

“Yes,” she replied breathlessly.

Taking her hand, he led her up the stairs, and into her bedroom. He eased her T-shirt over her head then undid her bra, freeing her breasts. He gave a little laugh, bent and took a nipple into his mouth, pulling gently at it. He cupped her breasts in his hands, lifted them a little and buried his face in them.

“God, I love your tits.” He raised his head and laughed with delight. “Promise me that you won’t have anything done to these.”

“I won’t”

“Want me to suck your clit?”

She nodded, kicked off her shoes, and took off her skirt and panties. She sat on the edge of the bed, opened her legs, and he knelt down. His dark head disappeared between her legs and he began to lick, flick, and suck her clit strongly, sending unwanted sparks flying through her body.

“Oh, God. Oh, Fuck.” This was a man who knew what to do with his mouth. It was amazing and she lay back on the bed beginning to jerk against him and he expertly sucked her through her orgasm.

When she opened her eyes, she was lying spread-eagled on the bed, and he was watching her as he got undressed.

“What made you say yes?” he asked.

Your insane mother. “I love sex. You love sex. Our sex will be amazing.”

“Yes, it will, and I promise I won’t hurt you,” he said, running his fingers along his thick hard erection before rolling on a condom. “I’m going to slide my cock into your pussy and hold it there.” He climbed onto the bed, she opened her legs, and he slid slowly inside her. “How’s that?”

“You’re stretching me but it’s okay.”

“Good.” He withdrew a little and pushed in again. “All right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll try a bit faster.” He began a slow and steady rhythm and she moaned. Oh, God. Oh, no. Oh, God, that feels too good. “Like that?”

“Yes,” she replied again and gasped as he began to steadily increase the pace of his thrusts. Her breasts began to bounce and she saw him smile before she closed her eyes, succumbing to the pleasure the huge cock was giving her.

“I don’t think my cock hurt your pussy one bit this time.” She heard his amused voice and looked at him lying on an elbow beside her. “Did it?”

“No,” she had to admit. Her pussy was still throbbing and it felt exquisite.

“Thank you for agreeing.” He leaned over and gave one of her nipples a lick and then a kiss. “You satisfy me and I clearly satisfy you. I think this arrangement is going to be very agreeable to the both of us, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she replied automatically.

“What do you like to wear?”

“Wear?”

“I’d like to buy you something to wear.”

There was no way he was going to start dressing her. “There’s really no need.”

“I’d like to.” His voice was gentle yet firm. “Tell me. Something to show these off to perfection.” He smoothed his fingers around and over her breasts. “I’ll surprise you.”

“I’m surprised you’ll have time to go shopping.”

He smiled. “I’ll find the time.”

“Are you frightened?” she couldn’t help but ask. “I mean, Home Secretary?”

“Nothing is as frightening as being told you’ve got cancer but at least I was only a humble backbench MP then. I’m Home Secretary now with the world and his wife watching and commenting.”

“How are you going to keep us a secret?”

“The constituency party chairman is beside himself with delight that I’m now Home Secretary. Between the constituency party, the party itself, and my mother, our arrangement will be safe.”

“Your mother?” she echoed.

“Mum is on the Parish Council and is Leader of the Women’s Institute. She can be pretty persuasive when necessary.” Lesley turned her face away but he turned it back. “What is it?”

“Your mother approves of this?”

“We agree that my sexual needs have to be kept in check. So someone had to be found who I was attracted to and could keep me satisfied. Believe it or not, it was she who suggested you. She’d seen you arrive late at The Oaks Hotel, pointed you out to me, and I knew I had to have you.”

“What if I’d said no.”

He laughed. “But you didn’t say no.” He glanced at the clock radio on one of the bedside cabinets and groaned. “I have to go.” He leant over and kissed her forehead. “I’ll ring you if I need you, and I will be back next weekend.”

He climbed off the bed, disposed of the condom in the bathroom, then got dressed and she beckoned him to come to her.

“Your tie is crooked.” She re-did it and he smiled gratefully.

“Thank you.” He kissed her forehead again, followed by one of her breasts, then was gone.

Lesley sank back onto the bed and hugged her knees. If only her pussy still hurt so she could hate him. But it didn’t. It was still throbbing exquisitely.

She got dressed, went downstairs, and almost jumped out of her skin when she found Mrs Lewis sitting in the living room.

“I do hope you don’t mind, Lesley, but I listened to Jonathan fucking you. You are quite the screamer. You are going to have to do something about that, but I suppose it does prove that you do love my son’s lips and tongue on your clit and his cock in your cunt. As he said, I think this arrangement is going to be very agreeable to the both of us, isn’t it?” Mrs Lewis got up. “I’ll see myself out.”

The front door opened and closed and Lesley raised a hand to her forehead. She wouldn’t cry, she needed to think. If only there was a way she could turn Jonathan against the bitch. But the bitch was his mother and seeing as the bitch chose her as her son’s ideal sexual partner, that would be easier said than done.

“Oh, God. Oh, Fuck.” This was a man who knew what to do with his mouth. It was amazing and she lay back on the bed beginning to jerk against him and he expertly sucked her through her orgasm.

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His Sexual Partner’s Jonathan Lewis

jonathan1

Jonathan Lewis is thirty-eight years old and is an MP – a Member of Parliament – with a constituency in his home county of Essex in the east of England. He was one of the youngest MP’s ever elected to Parliament, one of the youngest Junior Minister’s ever appointed and it is his life’s ambition to become Prime Minister.

When His Sexual Partner opens, Jonathan is attending a cancer charity fundraising event at a hotel in Essex. His interest in the charity comes from his own struggle with testicular cancer. Despite being seriously ill, he managed to hold a constituency surgery once a month, except for when he was in hospital. He had one testicle removed and he now has a prosthesis – a false testicle – and when he was deemed well enough, he ran the London Marathon to raise money for the charity.

Jonathan is an only child. His parents, Michael and Margaret Lewis met when they were eighteen years old and they both have extremely high sex drives. Jonathan has inherited their constant need for sex and now he is well again, he needs to satisfy that need.

Jonathan first meets bookshop owner Lesley Strickland at the cancer charity event. She survived breast cancer and he can’t help but admire her large and perfect new breasts. His mother advises him to try her out and with some help from the event organiser, it is arranged that Lesley is late arriving at the hotel, misses the dinner and speeches and is encouraged to buy herself a drink and have a breath of fresh air. Lesley buys a glass of wine and all but makes a beeline for Jonathan who is sitting waiting for her on a bench in the hotel gardens.

Jonathan and Lesley get talking about their cancer experiences and she admits she hasn’t had sex for almost three years. Jonathan tells he will sleep with her, hoping that her primal need for sex after so long will rule her head. It does, and they agree to spend one night together.

Jonathan and Lesley have amazing one night stand sex in his hotel room. In the morning, he receives a message calling him back to London and, despite their agreement, he leaves Lesley a note asking her to call him. In London, he is appointed Home Secretary by the Prime Minister. It is a stressful position with huge responsibilities and it also means he will need to keep his sex life under strict control. He must find someone to satisfy his huge sex drive – someone discreet – someone he can call upon for sex at any time. Could that person be Lesley?

Discovering that Lesley spends her weekends in Essex, in a cottage just up the road from his parents’ home, Jonathan puts a proposition to her – that she become his sexual partner. She asks for time to consider it, and he agrees.

Unknown to Jonathan, his mother recorded his night with Lesley in the hotel room. Margaret Lewis can’t allow Lesley to turn Jonathan down and risk the future Prime Minister satisfying his need for sex with casual fucks with women who might sell their stories to the tabloid press. Jonathan wants Lesley. He needs Lesley. He will have Lesley. So Margaret Lewis uses the sex recording to blackmail Lesley into becoming her son’s sexual partner.

Does Jonathan discover what his mother has done? Will his sexual partnership with Lesley develop into something more? Read His Sexual Partner to find out!

One night of passion. A lifetime of regret. Or can a relationship built on blackmail turn to love?

At a charity fundraising event, Lesley Strickland meets Jonathan Lewis – a fellow cancer survivor – and they spend the night together. When Lesley discovers Jonathan is a politician, she never wants to see him again, despite a deepening sexual attraction. But Jonathan can’t forget her. Only Lesley can satisfy him, and he has a discreet proposition for her – that she become his sexual partner.

Lesley asks for time to consider it, but Jonathan’s mother intervenes and blackmails her, threatening to reveal a secret which could ruin Lesley’s reputation and business. Lesley is forced to accept Jonathan’s proposition and all it entails – being at the new British Home Secretary’s beck and call whenever he needs her – as his sexual partner…

An Excerpt From Chapter Two

At ten past nine, there was a knock at the front door and she opened it. Jonathan stood on the step a little out of breath and she brought him inside.

“Is your protection officer out there? Would you or he like a hot drink? I have—”

She didn’t get any further as he kissed her. His hands slid down her back, he clawed her buttocks and pulled her against him. She could feel his hard cock pressing into her stomach and a buzz of excitement and nerves pulsed through her.

“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked, breaking off the kiss.

Taking his hand, she led him up the stairs, and into her bedroom at the back of the cottage. She turned the light on and he walked her backwards to the bed, sliding her skirt up then pulling her panties down. They fell to the floor, she stepped out of them and undid his trousers. His erection sprang out as she sat on the bed and lifted herself back a bit further, watching as he rolled on a condom and climbed over her.

He sank his cock straight into her and began to pound her pussy. She’d never been fucked like this before—deep, hard and unrelenting—his huge cock stretching her dry pussy painfully. His eyes were closed and the only sounds were his balls slapping against her buttocks. She closed her own eyes, attempting to block out the throbbing, but—shit—not only could she feel him coming, he was making her come, too. How the fuck was that possible? He cursed and groaned loudly as he climaxed and she was lost, clawing his buttocks with her fingernails and allowing herself to carried away by wave after blissful wave.

When he withdrew from her, he lay on his back beside her for a few moments to catch his breath.

“Shit,” he whispered eventually as she quickly slid off the bed and rubbed herself before picking her panties up and putting them on. Christ, what was wrong with her that she allowed this man to fuck her and hurt her and yet she had come for him like a bitch in heat. “Please say something,” he added.

“You can go now, Jonathan,” she said. “You’ve got what you came here for. Maybe the next time you’re tired and stressed out after a long week in the Home Office, you could buy some stress balls instead of fucking me. My poor pussy will be very grateful.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” she demanded. “You didn’t even have the courtesy to look at me. You just wanted pussy and mine just happened to be convenient. You’ve just made me feel cheap, so could you go now, please?”

“Lesley—”

“Now.”

He got up off the bed and left the room. She heard him go into the bathroom, the toilet flushed and he ran down the stairs. A couple of moments later, the front door opened and closed.

She went to the bed and sat down on the edge. He hadn’t even attempted to get at her ‘amazing tits’, he’d just wanted his huge cock in a pussy—any pussy. Hers throbbed with an exquisite mixture of pleasure and pain and she rubbed at it again before bursting into tears.

* * *

By morning, the pain had dulled to an ache. She made herself a mug of coffee and decided to drink it in the garden. Opening the back door, she looked down. On the step was a bouquet of red roses with an envelope tucked into the cellophane wrapping. She brought the flowers inside, undid the wrapping, and opened the envelope.

Lesley, I’m sorry. I used you, I hurt you and I made you feel cheap. There is no excuse for the way I treated you. It was unforgivable and I am deeply ashamed of my behaviour. I’ve never done anything like that before so, after surgery in the morning, I’m going back to London and I hope that you will be able to enjoy the rest of your weekend at the cottage knowing that I’m gone.

Jonathan

She lifted a vase out of a cupboard, filled it three-quarters full with water and placed the roses in it. She left the vase on the kitchen table and went outside with her coffee. She walked to the far end of the front garden and peered up the road at his parents’ cottage. There was only one car parked outside, a red hatchback of some sort. Jonathan’s black Lexus wasn’t there.

She returned to the cottage and picked up her smartphone from the kitchen table. Scrolling down to his number, she rang it. The call went straight to voicemail.

“Jonathan, it’s Lesley. I hope you get this message before you go back to London. I just wanted to thank you for the roses and your note. Yes, you hurt me, I’ve never had sex with no foreplay with someone as big as you before, so it was painful and I still ache now. I don’t make a habit of having one night stands and casual sex either, so if you’re feeling worried and a bit scared at your behaviour, then, so am I. Since being ill, I’ve learned not to leave things with people on a sour note, so please come to the cottage before you go back to London and we’ll try and…” She tailed off. Try what? “Talk about this.” She ended on an unintentionally feeble note and ended the call. “Bollocks,” she whispered.

She spent the morning pottering about in the back garden, enjoying the fresh air. About to go inside to make herself some lunch, she heard someone calling her name, and walked around the side of the cottage. Mrs Lewis was at the front door.

“I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t realise you were out the back. I’ve made vegetable soup, far too much as usual, and I just wanted to invite you to share it with us.”

“That’s very kind, but—”

“No buts.” The older woman held up a hand. “It’s delicious, even though I say it myself.”

Lesley smiled. “I’ll just go and wash my hands and I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

“Good girl.”

Five minutes later, she was walking along the road, when she heard a car approaching behind her. She stepped onto the grass verge to allow it to pass and squirmed when she saw that the driver was Jonathan with his protection officer in the passenger seat. He turned into his parents’ drive and stopped outside the front door. For a moment, she considered running back to the cottage, but how would she later explain it to his mother? She would have to carry on.

Mrs Lewis met her at the front door and introduced her to Jonathan’s father. He was also tall but with grey hair and it was interesting to see what Jonathan would look like in thirty years time.

“Jonathan wanted to go back to London but I’ve persuaded him to stay.” Mrs Lewis smiled and Lesley’s heart thumped uncomfortably as his mother brought her into the living room.

Jonathan was standing in front of the fireplace and turned slowly to face them as they went in. He was dressed immaculately in a black suit with a white shirt and burgundy coloured tie and she wished she’d changed out of the v-necked black T-shirt she’d pulled from her suitcase. Her considerable cleavage was on display and blood began to flood into her face as his dark eyes drank it in.

“Lunch will be about ten minutes,” his mother added. “Why don’t you show Lesley the back garden, Jonathan?”

He nodded, opened the French doors for her, and she went outside. He followed and closed them firmly behind him.

“I got your voicemail message,” he said as they walked onto the lawn. “But I was summoned back here, otherwise I’d have come straight to see you.”

“Point at something,” she told him.

“What?”

“Your protection officer is looking at us. Point at something.”

“Oh.” He pointed at a rosebush and she gave him an exaggerated nod.

“Can you come to the cottage this afternoon?” she asked. “Or are you really going back to London?”

He turned to her and she saw him look momentarily at her breasts again. “I can come to the cottage.”

“Okay. Do you like gardening?”

“I don’t really know. It’s always been my dad’s department.”

“Lunch is ready,” Mrs Lewis called from the doors and they walked back to the cottage.

She was seated opposite him at the kitchen table, so each time she dared look at him, his eyes were on her breasts. His parents and the protection officer must surely be noticing this, she thought, taking a sip of the delicious soup.

“How long have you been coming to the cottage, Lesley?” Mr Lewis asked.

“Only about three months. I was in Spain for six months and when I came back to London, I discovered that I longed for a bit of privacy.”

“We’re not disturbing that, I hope?” Mrs Lewis smiled.

“No, not at all.”

“Good. Jonathan, pass Lesley one of the rolls.”

He lifted the plate, held it out to her, and she took a brown roll.

“Thank you.”

When they finished the meal, Mrs Lewis tapped Jonathan’s arm. “Why don’t you walk Lesley back to the cottage?”

“Are you ready to go?” he asked and she nodded.

“Thank you for the delicious meal, Mrs Lewis.”

“Not at all. I hope we’ll see you here again soon.”

They walked in silence back to the cottage, with the protection officer following at a discreet distance, and she unlocked the front door.

“Come in.” She brought him into the living room. “Sit down.”

He sat at one end of the black leather sofa and she sat at the other end. Now he was here, she didn’t know where to start.

“Lesley,” he began instead. “I have never done anything like that before and I can’t apologise enough. I’ve…” He tailed off and shook his head. “Last night, I went far too far. I’d had a crap week, I took it out on you, and I despise myself for that. It will never happen again. I never thought I’d ever hurt a woman. I love sex, but I’ve always kept my sex life under control. It’s had to be like that because of my illness and my job, but since meeting you—” He stopped again. “I’m making excuses and there shouldn’t be any. All I can say is that I’m sorry and it will never happen again.”

To her surprise, he got to his feet, as if to leave.

“Are you going back to London?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to?”

He frowned. “Well, no, but—”

She got up. “Jonathan, listen to me. I love sex, too. I always have. When I was ill, I thought I’d never have sex ever again. I lost my hair and my breasts and I hid every mirror I had because whenever I looked in one I saw a thin, pale, bald, breastless stranger looking back at me. Now I’m well again, my hair has grown back, and I have new breasts, and when you propositioned me at the hotel I accepted you as an experiment. I wanted to see if a man would be repulsed by the way my body—well, my breasts—look now. My mum is very blunt and she told me she hates what she calls my ‘Page Three tits’. That hurt a lot and for a while, I thought I’d gone too far and I considered getting them removed. It was your reaction to them which persuaded me not to. I fell asleep that night with you kissing them and I realised that I might not be the freak I thought I was and that I might just be able to have a proper relationship with a man again.

“If I did meet someone,” she continued. “I intended to take things slowly so when you said that you badly wanted to see me again, I was scared but I found myself feeling flattered by a man for the first time since I became ill. You badly wanted me and I’ve never been fucked like that before. It hurt, but I loved it, too, and now I don’t know what to think. I know I’m rambling, but I asked you here because I need to ask you what it is you want from me? I just don’t know what you want, Jonathan.”

She sat down again and watched as he retook his seat.

“I want you,” he said simply. “But I don’t know how. You don’t like politicians and that’s a pity, but at the same time, I want you to like me—not the Member of Parliament—not the Home Secretary—but me. But I don’t know how that can work.”

“You are an MP and the Home Secretary now. That’s what you are.”

“I’m also a man who has had cancer and has found a woman who has had cancer, too, and understands him and what he’s been through. Will you ever just be able to see that?”

“No. You brought the stress of your job here and took it out on me. I will not put up with that. I’ve always loved sex, but I am not a human stress ball. I am not here for you to fuck away your stress on at the end of a long week.”

“When I’m here most weekends, I’m simply the local MP, I do a surgery and I get force-fed fry ups by my mum to ‘feed me up a bit’.” She couldn’t help but smile. “But, now that I know you’ll be here, too, I’ll go crazy unless I fuck you. I know I have a big cock and that it hurt you but I’ll get you used to it. I need to be inside you. Will you allow me to?”

“To what?” she asked. “Be your weekend fuck buddy?”

“No. My sexual partner.”

Wow. “Well, you’re certainly shattering all the preconceptions about boring, stuffy politicians I had in my head.”

“I love sex. I’ve missed sex. I need sex. And I need to have sex with you.”

“Just me?” she added, wanting it to be absolutely clear.

“Just you,” he confirmed. “I only want you.”

Bloody hell. “How often?”

“Whenever I need you.”

“How would it work?”

“I call you and you come to my apartment.”

“So you can fuck your stress away on me?”

“No,” he replied firmly. “That happened because I hadn’t had enough sex. I need sex regularly and I need it with you.”

“Are you one of those… dominant types?”

He frowned. “Dominant types? You mean a Dom? Bloody hell, no. I just need and have to have regular sex. With you.”

That sounded pretty dominant. She got up and went to the window. “I need to think about it.”

“Yes, of course.” She heard him get to his feet again. “All being well, I will be here next weekend for your answer.”

She watched as he walked across the room and let himself out.

She returned to the sofa and sank down onto it. His sexual partner. A buzz of excitement coursed through her but it was lessened by the lingering dull ache in her pussy. How would it cope with his huge cock? ‘I’ll get you used to it’, he had told her. How? By just pounding it into her time and again until her poor pussy sagged?

She sat on the sofa until she heard a knock at the front door. Opening it, she found Jonathan’s mother on the step.

“May I come in, Lesley?”

“Yes.” She brought her into the living room. “Please sit down.”

“Thank you.” Mrs Lewis sat down on the sofa. “Jonathan has a meeting with his constituency party chairman, then he’s going back to London.”

“I see.”

“He told me that he asked you.”

She shrugged. “Asked me..?”

“To become his sexual partner.” Blood flooded into her face and his mother smiled. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. We have no secrets and I did tell him you’d be more than suitable now you are well again.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve been watching you, Lesley. Ever since you started coming here at weekends. I saw the tablets you’re on through the back door window, and I’ve been into your bookshop in London. With the pink breast cancer ribbons for sale at the till and your magnificent new breasts, it didn’t take me long to put two and two together. I instructed Gerald Bryan to introduce himself to you in the supermarket and encourage you to buy a ticket to the cancer charity fundraiser. On my instruction, Gerald suggested that you get a cab to and from the hotel so you could have a drink and he gave you the number for the worst cab company in Essex. Thanks to Kool Kabs, you arrived at the hotel so late you missed the dinner and the speeches. Gerald was also instructed to advise you to get a glass of wine and take a breath of air in the gardens. You took his advice and you all but made a beeline for Jonathan.”

Lesley’s heart began to pound. “What do you want, Mrs Lewis?”

“I want you to agree to let Jonathan fuck your cunt whenever he needs to.”

She’d never been fucked like this before—deep, hard and unrelenting—his huge cock stretching her dry pussy painfully.

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His Sexual Partner by Lizzy Grey

One night of passion. A lifetime of regret. Or can a relationship built on blackmail turn to love?

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At a charity fundraising event, Lesley Strickland meets Jonathan Lewis—a fellow cancer survivor—and they spend the night together. When Lesley discovers Jonathan is a politician, she never wants to see him again, despite a deepening sexual attraction. But Jonathan can’t forget her. Only Lesley can satisfy him, and he has a discreet proposition for her—that she become his sexual partner.

Lesley asks for time to consider the proposition, but Jonathan’s mother intervenes and blackmails her, threatening to reveal a secret which could ruin Lesley’s reputation and business. Lesley is forced to accept Jonathan’s proposition and all it entails—being at the new British Home Secretary’s beck and call whenever he needs her—as his sexual partner…

Lesley1

An excerpt from Chapter Three

In the lift, she stared at her reflection in the mirrors. The little black dress barely contained her breasts and the skirt was more of a belt. She looked like a high-class call girl. She closed her eyes for a moment. She was a high-class call girl now, though an unpaid one.

As she walked along the eighth-floor corridor, Jonathan swung open a door and smiled.

“I hope you’re thirsty? I’ve just bought two bottles of wine.”

“I am,” she replied, feeling ridiculously nervous all of a sudden. He was wearing the trousers of a black suit with a white shirt. His blue tie was pulled loose and the top couple of shirt buttons were undone. She couldn’t help but admit that he oozed virility. Could she make this man love her, or would it always be only about sex for him?

“Good. You look incredible.” He opened the door further for her. “Come in.”

She went inside, and glanced around the apartment, feeling his eyes drinking her in. The apartment was large, open plan, with wooden floorboards and French doors opening out onto the roof terrace.

“It’s strange,” she began. “I’ve suddenly become a news junkie. It’s driving Emma mad because she’s addicted to Strictly Come Dancing.”

He groaned and walked to the ultra-masculine kitchen complete with black cabinets, black granite worktops and black stools at the breakfast bar. He took a corkscrew from a drawer then turned to her. “Red or white?”

“Red, please.”

He pulled the cork out with a pop and left the bottle on the worktop. “I’ll let it breathe for a few minutes. So, a crime bookshop, eh?”

“Yes, I really do make a living from crime.”

He laughed. “Don’t tell anyone, but I love a good crime novel.”

“Surely, reading one must be like taking work home with you now?”

“There’s always the historical ones.”

“That’s true.”

“Are we going to discuss the weather now?” He leant back against the breakfast bar and folded his arms.

“I hope not.” She smiled. “What would you like to talk about?”

“Our agreement. But first—and I hope you don’t mind—but I’m a terrible chef so I got some food in, threw it all together and made a kind of a goulash. I didn’t really want to call it stew.”

“No problem.” She glanced at an orange casserole dish in the oven. “As long as it’s not paella, I never want to see paella ever again.”

“You won’t in this apartment, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

She watched him serve the goulash and followed with the bottle of red wine as he went out onto the roof terrace with the two dishes. A black cast iron table and two chairs stood in the centre. It was beautifully cool and with hardly any breeze, a candle was flickering gently in the centre of the table.

“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”

“I don’t have dinner guests here very often,” he said as he put the dishes on the table.

“Oh.” She stared at him in surprise. “I thought you would.”

“No, this is where I sleep. I get up and go to work, come home, and sleep.”

“You’re not regretting accepting the position, are you?” she asked, as he held her chair for her and she sat down.

“No.” He sat opposite her. “The workload I can cope with, the responsibility is harder, though. I’m glad you’re here.” He gave her a smile. “It’s been years since I’ve wined and dined a woman here.”

“You’ve had a love life which wasn’t just sex, then?” She sampled the goulash and found it to be surprisingly good.

“Back in the dim and distant past and it didn’t last very long. She dumped me when I got the cancer diagnosis.” Her eyes bulged and he nodded wryly. “You really find out who your friends are at a time like that. I’m half expecting her to come crawling back now and it will give me great satisfaction in telling her where to go.”

Is that because of me, she wondered, eating another spoonful of goulash. It was far easier to have a sexual arrangement with someone, rather than a proper relationship.

“Luckily, I was single when I was diagnosed. I did lose a few friends, though. They couldn’t—or wouldn’t—cope with it so stopped ringing and calling around. Their loss.”

“Exactly. Fair weather friends, who needs them, eh?” He poured the wine then held up a glass. “Fuck the lot of them.”

“Fuck the lot of them.” She touched his glass with hers. “I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to bite my tongue. It must be awful for you now everyone knows about you.”

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “It comes with the job. Luckily, I haven’t yet been asked directly whether I’ve got the balls for the job yet, but all the balls and testicle jokes have been well and truly done to death in the newspapers and it’s only been a few weeks.”

“If I were you and everyone was making jokes about my breasts… actually, they wouldn’t, because it would be seen as sexist.”

“To some,” he said. “To others, you’d still be seen as fair game.”

“Which is why I’m nervous being here. If the press finds out about me.”

“Lesley.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “I will do my utmost to try and keep your name out of the press for as long as possible.”

“Thank you.” She sat back in her chair with her glass of wine and glanced around the roof terrace. It was large but the table and chairs were the only furniture on it. “It is lovely here. I’ve always wanted a roof terrace and I suppose I’m lucky that the shop has a backyard, but I had the Pyrenees as a backdrop for six months and the yard doesn’t really compare.”

“So you go to Essex?”

“Yes,” she said and took a sip of wine. “No mountains in Essex, though.”

“That’s true.” He laughed.

“Not as easy to sunbathe nude there either.”

“I suppose not.”

“You’ve never sunbathed nude?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “In my parents’ back garden? No. And now it probably wouldn’t be such a good idea given that part of my anatomy could melt.”

“Silicone doesn’t melt, trust me.” She made a point of glancing down at her breasts then smiled at him and out over the rooftops. “It’s lovely here,” she said again, putting the glass on the table.

“I know. I was very lucky to find this apartment. Let me give you the tour.”

He took her hand and led her indoors. In the living area, two black leather sofas stood opposite each other while a terrifyingly thin LCD TV hung on the wall. A door opened into a short corridor with three rooms off it.

“Two bedrooms, each with tiny ensuites so I use the main bathroom,” he explained, opening a door. The bathroom was huge with a large Jacuzzi bath and a gigantic shower. “I’m not vain but I can lock myself away in here and just stand under the shower or wallow in the bath.”

“I like a good wallow, too.”

“That’s good to know.” He led her into the bedroom next door. French doors opened from his bedroom onto a Juliet balcony.

“Okay, that’s not fair.” She went to it and gazed down at the street. “A roof terrace and a balcony.”

“I can leave the doors open all night so I don’t melt.”

“I hope you don’t sleepwalk and stand there completely starkers for the paparazzi to see?” she teased, turning around.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“You have a lovely apartment,” she told him sincerely, noting the huge wooden-framed bed. “My place is a bit of a dump. The cottage is nice, though.”

“It’s lovely. More wine?”

“Yes, please.”

She let him take her hand again and lead her back out onto the roof terrace. She watched him pour two more glasses of red wine before putting the bottle down with a bit of a crash.

“I need you now.” Backing her up against the wall of the apartment block, he undid his trousers and freed his cock. He slid his fingers between her legs, pulled her panties to one side, and pushed into her. She moaned at the sudden stinging invasion of her pussy and he shook his head. “Shh,” he whispered. “You have to be quiet out here.”

He lifted her off her feet, his arms under her thighs, and her behind bumped hard against the brick wall with each thrust. Bumping towards him off the wall, forced him deeper into her, and she exhaled hot gasps into his ear. In the darkest corner of the roof terrace, they fucked as silently as they could until he thrust one last time and held himself inside her as he grunted and came. Her pussy clamped hard onto his cock as her orgasm ripped through her and she forced herself to pant so she wouldn’t scream.

He held her up against the wall until she lifted her forehead from his shoulder and he kissed her lips. “You can slap me now if you want?”

“Do you want me to slap you?” she asked mischievously.

“Well, no, not really. I have to make a statement in the House of Commons tomorrow and—”

She tilted his head up and kissed him back. “Okay, I won’t slap you.”

He gave her a grin. “Thank you.” He gently let her drop to her feet, slipping out of her, and she righted her panties.

She walked back to the table and took a sip of wine, hearing him zip up his trousers and follow her.

“Did you have a bad day at work?” she asked. “Is that why you had to have me?”

“Not particularly. Yes, I wanted you, but I was curious to see how long it would take you to get here, too. You look fantastic, considering the short notice.”

“Emma, my flatmate helped me get ready.”

He tensed. “So, she knows?”

“She thinks we’re dating.”

“Will she keep quiet?”

“Yes.”

“Make sure she does,” he commanded. “I’d rather no-one knew about us yet.”

“You summoned me here with less than an hour’s notice, I had to say something. I also had to borrow some things from her.”

“Oh?” He looked her up and down. “What?”

“These.” She raised the hem of her dress and showed him her stockings. “She also did my hair and makeup.”

“Useful flatmate,” he murmured.

“What would you like me to wear when we meet?”

“Variations on that outfit,” he replied immediately. “Show off those tits I love so much. I like stockings on you, too.”

“Jonathan.” She ran a finger around the rim of the glass. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, of course, you can.”

“Why don’t you just find yourself a Stepford Wife?”

He shook his head. “No. When the time comes, I want to find a wife who I enjoy fucking. She also has to enjoy being fucked and she must quite like politicians, too.” He gave her a little smile, reminding her of her own aversion to them.

So, he didn’t know his mother was trying to turn her into a Stepford Wife for him. That was interesting to know. Bringing her glass of wine to the railings which surrounded the terrace, she gazed out over the rooftops.

“Do you have a secretary?” she asked as he joined her.

“I have a few secretaries. None that I’d want to marry, though. Come inside, I want to undress you.”

He led her inside, and she put her glass down on the kitchen worktop as he strode through the apartment and she almost had to run to keep up with him. He brought her into his bedroom, kicked the door closed, and reached for the hem of her dress. In one swift movement, he pulled it up, over her head and off her. Holding the inside-out dress in one hand, he looked her up and down before tossing the dress onto a chair.

“It was a nice dress,” he told her. “But I want to see what’s underneath now.”

“I want to see what’s under your clothes, too.”

He nodded and undressed until he stood naked in front of her with no hint of embarrassment or self-consciousness. Reaching out, she took his hard cock in her hand, rubbing her thumb over the tip. The cock twitched in her hand and she smiled, extending her rubbing to the entire head, and he exhaled a little groan.

She moved closer to him, holding his cock with her left hand, and smoothing and rubbing the head with the thumb and forefinger of her right. Pre-cum began to ooze from the tip and she used it to coat the head and then the shaft, gripping it and sliding her fingers up and down while continuing the smoothing and rubbing. He stood perfectly still, and she glanced upwards. His dark eyes were watching her hands intently. She gradually quickened her fingers, he closed his eyes, and she felt him tense. Jerking violently in her hands, he cursed, spurting cum over her fingers, panties, and stomach. She continued to slide, smooth, and rub his cock through his orgasm until he pulled away from her.

He sat on the edge of the bed with his head bent, breathing heavily. A minute or two passed before he looked at her. “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up and I’ll call you a cab.”

Her heart plummeted. “You want me to go?”

“Clean yourself up and get dressed.” He reached for her dress and passed it to her.

She went into the bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror over the wash hand basin. What had she done wrong? He’d enjoyed it. She’d made him come. She washed her hands and body, yanked a towel from a rail, and dried herself. He could have stopped her at any time. She pulled her dress the right way out, put it on, and went into the living area. He was dressed and bringing their plates inside from the table on the roof terrace. The evening was over.

“When will my cab be here?” she asked.

“Five minutes.”

“I’ll wait downstairs in the foyer.”

Feeling his eyes on her, she left the apartment, closing the door behind her. In the lift, she rubbed her forehead. If only she knew what she’d done wrong. Was their agreement over now? What if he told The Bitch and the videos of her were uploaded to the internet? Fuck.

The cab driver’s eyes bulged as she left the apartment complex and got into the back of the cab bum first again.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes at this hour of the morning. Good evening, was it, love?”

“No.”

The flat was in darkness as she crept inside and went into her bedroom. She sat in front of the dressing table mirror, reached for cleansing lotion and cotton wool, then wiped away the makeup. Underneath, her face was as white as a sheet and she turned away from the mirror. Waking up her laptop, she accessed her emails and opened the video. She curled up on the bed watching herself kissing, licking, and sucking his beautiful cock. She put the video on repeat until she fell asleep.

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