Marcus made it all seem quite normal, and Jennifer had no reason to believe that, behind the ritual rigmarole, the Masons were anything other than just that.
She was actually relieved and reassured by what she had learned. She thought it was all a bit silly and probably a bit reprehensible — jobs, perks and God knows what else for the boys — but she knew that one way and another the world was riddled with that kind of thing. The Masons had no monopoly on nepotism, and alongside all kinds of unpleasant explanations for the more mysterious aspects of Marcus’s behaviour which had flicked uninvited through her brain over the years, being a Mason seemed relatively innocent and straightforward. It was also quite amusing. She knew the Masons wore robes and used all kinds of regalia in their ceremonies, and there was a distinctly funny side to the thought of a man as stylish and sophisticated as Marcus indulging in such pursuits.
When she realised she was going to get no more hard information from him, she found herself teasing him about all of that.
‘I’ve always wanted to know if Masons really roll their trouser-legs up,’ she said, stifling a giggle. ‘Go on, share with me the intimate secrets of your apron...’
Marcus went along with it good-humouredly enough. ‘Mind your own business,’ he said, only pretending to be stern.
He was actually relieved that Jennifer seemed so untroubled, and he thought he had handled things rather well. He hoped that would be the end of her niggling mistrust of him — and it seemed to be at the time. She could live happily enough with the knowledge that he was a Mason, and would, in fact, have no further wish to know anything much about it.
She certainly did not intend to let it interfere with the good times. More than anything else, what she remembered from those heady early days in London was the sheer fun of it all, the stimulation, the excitement.
Then came the day a few weeks after they had become engaged, when Marcus asked Jennifer to join him at his flat as soon as she could get away. He had an engagement present for her, a surprise. She duly turned up straight from the office. She was wearing a black Paul Costello suit with very high heels. She looked about ten feet tall. The effect was dramatic. Marcus opened a bottle of good champagne — his favourite Krug, the price of which still rather shocked her — and gave her a glass, finest Waterford crystal, naturally. He kissed her fleetingly on the lips, and his tongue lightly traced a line across her mouth. He too had just arrived from the office. He had taken off his jacket and tie and was wearing only the trousers of his suit. His handmade Jermyn Street shirt was open at the neck. He looked very attractive, and he looked dangerous, but then he frequently did. The fluffy blonde curls and the handsome, eternal boyishness were so deceptive. He reached out and touched her cheek, hardly a touch at all, and yet so suggestive.
‘Undress for me,’ he said huskily.
‘Is that my surprise?’ she asked, with a smile. ‘That’s no surprise.’
‘Later,’ he replied.
His eyes were very bright.
‘Please. I want to look at you.’
Why did she find him so irresistible? Why did she always do what he asked? She undressed in front of him as he had told her to. When she had stripped down to her bra and pants, she turned around with her back to him and gestured to him to undo the catch. He did so, barely touching her with his hands, but she could feel his hardness against her. She stepped forward, letting the bra fall away and her pants drop. Then she turned around and faced him. She was smiling at him, expectant now.
He took her into the bedroom and sat her on the edge of the bed. He knelt before her, opened her legs, and began. She lay back on the covers, spreading her legs wider, loving it, as always. He worked on her until she was crying out for him to be inside her. He stood up and undressed before her, naked, strong, beautiful. He came forward as if he was going to enter her, and then he eased himself up her body until he was sitting astride her face. He was going to tease her tonight. She didn’t mind. It would be all the better finally. She started to suck him and she felt his hand stretched behind him playing with her. She was aching for it. His fingers were so clever. Then she became aware of something very strange.
She realised two things at once. One was that Marcus was now holding both her wrists above her head with his hands, forcing her arms back on the pillows. And the other was that there was something at work again on the most intimate part of her. It was a tongue, a hungry seeking tongue. Somebody else was in the room with them, and that somebody was sucking her. She couldn’t see who it was. She didn’t even know if it was a man or a woman. She started to struggle. Marcus was thrusting deep into her mouth. Relentless. She could not speak. She looked up into his eyes and saw the wicked enjoyment there. Marcus was telling her that this was her surprise, this was her fantasy. Two men. So it was a man, she thought obscurely, thank God at least for that. Marcus was still talking. He wanted her to live it out, to explore every remotest part of her sexuality, every extreme. He wanted to watch her do it. He wanted her to have it all the ways she had ever dreamed of. She was still struggling. Two strong arms had pinned her legs down, forcing them apart. The tongue was busy, darting in and out of her. She felt herself begin to weaken. Whoever it was was good, very good, and she was so ready there. It felt so sweet and so exciting, she couldn’t struggle any more. God, what was happening to her? She didn’t want to do this but she couldn’t stop herself. Marcus had been clever.
She was starting to move with it now. The other man sensed the change in her immediately. He let go of her legs and she wrapped them around his head. He began to use his hands on her as well. She was going wild for it now, and when she looked up at Marcus she saw the triumph in his eyes. The bastard. When the sucking abruptly stopped, she knew what was going to happen next. The strong hands held her legs apart again and the stranger entered her, very powerfully, straight in. She was open and ready, but she felt herself stretching. This guy was gigantic. Marcus was big, this guy was a freak. She was completely filled up. It hurt a little at first, but he was good, moving only slightly inside her, gently to begin with, gradually building up the strokes until it felt as if he was hammering her right down into the feathered depths of the bed. This was pure sex. She had not even seen his face. This was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to her. She was living out all her wildest fantasies. She was crazy with excitement. She was going to explode. She came like fury, a wild, angry, gut orgasm, and as she did so Marcus could contain himself no longer. He shot into her mouth and he told her to swallow it as he pumped himself dry. Meekly she did so.
He rolled off her and for the first time she saw the man who was inside her. He was not letting up. The size of him was extraordinary, and his body was stunningly beautiful. He looked like a professional stud and undoubtedly was. He was probably shorter than Marcus but he was heavier, almost certainly a body builder. Every muscle was perfectly defined and his olive-brown skin was hairless and shiny, as if shaven and oiled. His hair was very black, and his eyes were black too. He was staggeringly handsome, almost too handsome, and he was definitely a pro. He had her bum right on the edge of the bed, his knees wedged against the side of the bed for extra purchase. Marcus, panting slightly, crouched on the bed watching.
‘You bastard, Marcus,’ she hissed.
His grin was devilish.
‘Nooo,’ he coaxed.
His voice was like molten silver, soft and liquid and burning.
‘This is your fantasy, my darling, and we are going to do it to you every way you ever wanted and we are not going to stop until you are begging for mercy and you are going to adore it...’