Body Temperature and Rising - Book One of the Lakeland Heatwave Trilogy Read online

  She wouldn’t have believed it under the circumstances, but it was an effort to hear his words as he kissed her ear. She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep wrapped in his arms, resting on top of the slow rise and fall of his bare chest. Still fully impaled.

  She woke with a start to find Tara leaning over her pushing her hair away from her face. ‘Wake up sleeping beauty. Storm’s cleared. Time to get you back home.’ She held out Marie’s panties teasingly on one finger.

  Blushing hard, Marie grabbed them away and shimmied them up over her hips.

  Surprisingly, Marie’s clothes were all dry and warm. While Tara watched her unabashedly, she scrabbled into them and looked around the cave expectantly.

  Tara offered a knowing smile. ‘Anderson asked me to convey his deepest apologies, but he couldn’t stay. He had a pressing appointment and he was loath to wake you.’ She shrugged. ‘His words exactly.’

  Marie tried to mask her disappointment, but Tara was too astute. ‘You completely and totally captivated him. Also his words. And if it’s any comfort to you, Anderson is not the fuck and run sort.’

  Once Marie was dressed, Tara produced a flask of tea and a very large cheese scone from her rucksack. ‘I figured you must be starving after your ordeal.’ Her eyes sparkled as they raked over Marie’s dishevelled condition.

  Marie tore into a scone. In truth, she was ravenous. ‘I lost my compass,’ she said.

  ‘I know, Anderson told me.’ She handed Marie a cup of tea.

  ‘I can’t believe I didn’t stir. I mean he was …’

  ‘Underneath you, yes, I know, and inside you.’

  Marie’s blush returned with a vengeance. ‘You saw?’

  Tara bent to adjust her boot laces. ‘Hard not to really. And in all honestly, I’m a bit of a voyeur, something you would know a thing or two about.’

  Marie blushed harder, but before she could apologise, Tara continued.

  ‘Anyway, good sex often causes a person to sleep soundly. And you were fucking Anderson, so it was most definitely good sex. Now finish up so we can get back to the car park before dark.’

  ‘Before dark? How long was I asleep?’

  ‘A couple of hours, I’d guess. Now come on, let’s go. It’s not a hard walk down, but I don’t relish stumbling around on the wet, slippery slate after dark.’

  Outside the quarry, the low sun shown jewel bright on the freshly washed fell side. Tongue Gill tinkled musically down along the path that descended steeply on loose grey slate. As they walked, the path turned slightly to the left until the top of Castle Crag peeked around the breast of the fell, its forested top looking like elaborate bird plumes in the rain-washed sunshine. The rest of the descent was without incident.

  At the car park in Grange, Tara nodded to a pale blue Land Rover. Once they were both belted in, she heaved a satisfied sigh. ‘Now, off to Lacewing Farm, isn’t it?’ She offered an apologetic smile. ‘Yes I know where you live. My sisters and I are your neighbours, and we’re very nosey. In fact they’ll be very excited when I bring back all the day’s news about you.’ She started the engine. ‘The talk around the dinner table will be delightful. You must join us. Not tonight obviously. That would ruin our gossip, wouldn’t it? But soon.’

  As they headed out of the car park, Marie couldn’t resist asking, ‘Anderson tells me that you two are just friends.’

  ‘That’s right, very old friends, actually.’

  ‘Fuck buddies?’ Marie spoke around the shudder of her pulse in her throat even as she mentally kicked herself for pursuing what was none of her business.

  Tara offered an amused smile. ‘I suppose you could call us that.’

  It didn’t take long to get to the farm lane that led to Lacewing Cottage. Tara stopped the Land Rover and turned to her companion. ‘I’m assuming you know Tim Meriwether.’

  ‘He’s my landlord.’

  ‘Surprised he’d rent to you. He’s not exactly friendly to strangers.’

  ‘Guess I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse,’ Marie said.

  ‘Fuck buddy?’ Tara asked.

  In spite of herself, Marie laughed. ‘Only in my dreams.’

  Tara raised a dark eyebrow. ‘What’s in your dreams is just reality in the form of a riddle.’

  Marie chuckled. ‘In my case, what’s in my dreams is usually in the form of a bad joke.’

  Tara glanced down at her watch. ‘I’ve got to get home. My sisters’ll be waiting for me.’

  ‘I never had a sister. It must be nice,’ Marie said.

  ‘Well, they’re not my physical sisters, but I still think of them that way. There are three of us. We call ourselves the Elementals.’ Tara held her gaze. ‘We’re witches.’

  Marie’s heart did a little tumble in her chest. ‘Witches?’

  Before she could question further, Tara pulled her into a tight embrace and kissed her with plenty of tongue that tasted of tea and cinnamon. Then she took a card from her rucksack and slipped it into the breast pocket of Marie’s anorak, lingering for a caress of the breast beneath. ‘This is my card. Call me. I figure after what happened to you today, once you’ve had a chance to sort through it all, you’ll be needing our advice.’ She kissed her again and waved as Marie stumbled out of the Land Rover, wishing like hell she could somehow replay what had just happened with slo-mo for the tonguey bits and the groping. Her nipples tingled at the thought.

  Voyeurism, sex with the hottest, if strangest man on the fells and now, she had kissed a girl. Well, the girl had kissed her, actually, and done a damn fine job of it. For the first time since her arrival from Portland, Marie didn’t feel terrified of the path she had chosen for herself. She had been damn good at the job she’d left, and she knew that her friends and colleagues thought her insane for walking away. In truth, it was the first sane move she had made in a long time. Her investments had set her in good stead. Financially she could survive for as long as she needed to without an income. That gave her time to rest, time to recover. Then when she stopped feeling like raw meat in a butcher’s window, she’d think about working again.

  Spontaneity had always frightened her, and yet here she was thousands of miles away from everything that was familiar, and in less than twelve hours she’d had more sex than she’d had in the last three years. She could almost believe that she had made the right choice after all, that she would get better, that she might eventually have a life.

  Inside the cottage, Marie started some coffee and squinted down at the card in the fading light. It read

  Tara Stone

  The Elementals

  Practitioners of Sex Magic

  Not for the first time during the course of the strange day, Marie wondered if she was still dreaming.

  While the coffee brewed, she went about the business of unpacking her rucksack, which was soggy inside and out. The sandwich she had packed would almost pass as soup in its not-so air tight bag. She wrung water out of her hat and the extra socks she always carried. She opened the front pouch of her rucksack to pull out the ten pound note she kept on hand just in case she wanted a pint at the end of a good walk or some other treat at the local. Next to the soggy bill, right in plain sight, was her compass.

  Chapter 3

  Marie cooked that night, something she never had time for in her other life, and it really was beginning to feel like another life now. The knot in her stomach from the load of work she never got finished had almost gone along with the constant tightness in her shoulders from the competition that was never less than cut-throat and the fear that somehow she would be found lacking.

  It was just stir fried vegetables over rice, but the vegetables were fresh and the rice was a healthy brown mix she’d bought at Booths on her last trip into Keswick. She had promised herself she’d eat healthier. She had promised herself she would get enough exercise, and living so close to the fells she could do that without an expensive membership in a gym she never had time to use.

  She ate slowly, savouring the flavours
and textures that weren’t fast food. While she ate, she studied the OS map that had survived the day’s drenching by being safely tucked in its plastic case. She ran a finger down the route Anderson had led her on, along Tongue Gill, a descent that had taken them past the disused quarries at Rigghead. No doubt it was a very interesting route when there was no mist. Not for the first time she wondered how Anderson had led her so competently and found the quarry so easily with no compass, no proper equipment, and dressed like he’d just come from a costume party. Not only that, but how had he known to look for her?

  A chill passed up her spine as she glanced down at her compass lying on the table next to the map. How could she have missed it there in her rucksack in plain view? Could she have really let the weather shake her that badly? She recalled the dark figure’s chilling caress in her dream and shivered. She was very glad Anderson had woken her when he did.

  Still, there had been none of the usual heart palpitations, no hyperventilation, no cold sweats. She smiled to herself. Strange, when there really was something to stress about, when there really was a serious threat to life and limb, there had been no panic attack. She simply sat down in the rain and fell asleep. Perhaps she really was getting better.

  She’d been sleeping a lot lately, making up for lost time, no doubt. And as soon as the dishes were done and the kitchen tidied, she was ready to sleep some more. She slipped into her nightshirt, thinking of her love making with Anderson, thinking of how he tasted of Tara when she kissed him. The woman’s scent had been all over him, the scent of another woman’s pussy. Strangely she couldn’t recall his scent, that heavy base note of semen and male heat that made the smell of sex so heady. He had come inside her. She felt him. He’d come hard, and yet she couldn’t actually recall his scent, or their blended scent.

  Her own scent had been strong, urgent. She would have thought anyone within a city block could have smelled her excited pussy. Even when she got home, she had been loath to hurry off to the shower and wash away her sexy aroma. She was a woman who lived through her sense of smell, and yet she couldn’t recall Anderson’s scent. If not for Tara’s card on the kitchen table she would wonder if she dreamed the whole experience.

  Once in bed, she lay on her back, one hand up under her nightshirt cupping her breast while the other pushed and insinuated wriggling fingers between her pussy lips, still yielding and slippery even after a leisurely bath.

  It was in that position she woke to the awareness of a man sitting on the bed next to her, a man who, from the looks of his clothing, must have been at the same costume party as Anderson. His fly was open and he was stroking a substantial hard-on. Instead of being frightened, as would have been the normal response to a stranger rubbing one off on her bed, she simply admired his pale hair and the way his large hand moved over heavy equipment. She liked it when she conjured sexy men to visit her in her dream world. Better yet she had conjured one obviously ready to play.

  She watched through half closed eyes as he shoved his trousers open further and worried distended balls free from the press of his underpants. With one hand, he caressed the length of his cock, with the other he cupped himself and stroked with his thumb.

  It was still there, that strange thrumming warmth between her hips. It was almost uncomfortable, and yet somehow it felt right, especially when she was so turned on. Had it been there when she fell asleep? She couldn’t remember.

  ‘I heard them talking about you,’ the man said. ‘They didn’t say how strong you are.’ He groaned out loud and shifted to slide his trousers down so that his pale arse settled onto the duvet, allowing easier access to himself. ‘Even if they had, I would not have believed them.’ His voice was a harsh whisper. ‘I long to know what you look like beneath the duvet, beneath the nightdress. Please let me look at you.’

  So far this dream was shaping up well. She was happy to play I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours. Strangely, Dream Guy sounded like he’d studied the same romantics Anderson had. Who’d have thought antiquated poet-speak could be so damned hot? She eased herself into a sitting position against the headboard and pushed back the bedding. The nightshirt lay high against her thighs, barely covering her cunt.

  She was amazed at how well she could see in the moonlight drifting through her window. She could see the shape of him, the anxious rise and fall of his chest, the parting of his lips. She could feel his gaze on the hem of her nightshirt. She scrunched and raked at it until her hand rested against her pubic mound obscuring his view, and he groaned his frustration. Slowly, carefully she raised her bottom and shifted until the nightshirt was out of the way and her bare buttocks pressed against the smooth cotton of the sheet.

  His gaze on her felt almost physical, as though with his eyes alone he could gently nudge her open. ‘Please let me see,’ he whispered.

  She had played the voyeur with Anderson and Tara earlier. Now it felt wonderfully wicked to play the exhibitionist. She shifted her arse again and slowly, teasingly, opened her thighs, still nestling her hand in her curls, stroking and caressing, making herself wait until that magical moment when her fingers first slipped between the swell of her lips.

  ‘I can smell you,’ he said. ‘The scent of your sex is intoxicating, please, please let me look at you.’

  This time, she moved her fingers down over the hard rise of her clitoris and in between the pout of her lips, her breath catching, her hips jerking with that first electrical touch. Then she spread her labia as wide as she could manage with two fingers and opened her legs still further until she was certain Dream Guy could see every detail of her dilating pussy, every fold of her slippery landscape.

  He gasped at the sight, and she could see his balls tighten and jerk with the intake of breath. He shifted a fisted hand down the length of his penis, lingering for his thumb to caress and circle the head, its slit opening and closing with each stroke. She could feel the gentle rocking of the mattress and wasn’t sure if it was from her dream lover, who was now grinding his arse against the bed with each stroke, or if it was from her own bearing down.

  ‘Touch yourself for me,’ the man said. ‘My desire is to watch you pleasure your lovely womanhood.’

  There was a strange man sitting on the foot of her bed watching her masturbate. The very thought made her juices run thick and hot. With her left hand, she inserted two fingers deep into her wet cunt. With her right hand, she stroked and thumbed her clitoris in tight little rubs until it ached with urgent expansion.

  ‘Breathtaking,’ he gasped. ‘Absolutely breathtaking. Now play with your bosoms for me.’

  What was it about the selective use of euphemisms that was such a turn on? God, why didn’t more men study the romantics? She chuckled breathlessly. ‘Perhaps you would like to play with my bosoms for me?’

  He shook his head almost as if she had asked him to drink poison. ‘Oh I may not. I may only watch, and for now that must be enough.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Who understood what went on in the dream world? It didn’t matter though, if he wanted to watch her play with her bosoms, it was definitely something she could get off on.

  Keeping her eyes on his, and making sure not to obstruct the view of her pussy, she quickly lifted the shirt over her head and felt his gaze lock on her heavy breasts, nipples and areole at full attention. While one hand still busied itself at her pout, the other tugged and pinched her nipples in turn, cupping her weightiness and kneading the firm, warm flesh.

  Dream Guy intensified the stroking of his cock until the whole bed shook with his efforts, and she could see the precome glistening on the head of his penis.

  ‘Fuck me,’ she grunted, inserting a third finger into her gaping pussy. ‘I know that’s not very poetic, but I want to come on your cock.’ She reached to pull him to her, but he jerked away and stood quickly, shaking his head.

  ‘What? What’s the matter? I have condoms if you’re afraid –’

  ‘It is not the use of prophylactics, no. It is just that … I cannot.
I want to, but I may not make love to you. Not like this. You have not been prepared.’

  ‘How much more prepared do you want me to be?’ She spread the fat slippery swell of herself and lifted her hips to prove her point.

  But he only shook his head harder. ‘You must believe me. I may only watch your pleasure. For now, it is enough. It must be enough. Please do this for me.’ He pumped hard against his hand. She could tell he was getting close, and that made her want it all the more.

  She cried out in frustration, then threw open the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a thick, penis-shaped vibrator. There was no need for lube. She was sopping. She rammed it home and turned it up on full power.

  Suddenly the room was filled with the breathless duet of two people urgently approaching orgasm. Marie arched back against the stack of pillows thrusting the vibrator in and out of her clenching cunt and pinching and stroking her clit while the man shifted on the bed, his trousers dropping to his knees. As he watched her, he stroked and jerked his erection with accelerating speed. Every muscle in his body tensed for the coming explosion until at last he grunted loud, bucked against his hand, and shot a viscous arc of semen across the tangled duvet. Marie’s orgasm tore up through her like an earthquake, and she collapsed back onto the pillows, closing her eyes as the waves rolled over her.

  When she woke up, honeyed sunlight was streaming through the bedroom window. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. As she did so, the vibrator slipped from between her thighs and she gasped at the slick warm feel of it being expelled. Jesus! Had she had a wank on the vibrator in her sleep? The heat of the dream came back to her and her still-wet pussy quivered. Almost without thinking, she slipped the vibe back inside her and absently worked it as she looked around the room. Her nightshirt was tossed in a heap on the floor. Her pussy tightened and gripped at the vibrator as she remembered Dream Guy coming all over her duvet, but there was no tell-tale stain. Of course not, she chided herself. It was a dream.