An Acute Attraction Page 5

  “Hey you, how’s it going? Hope you’re having a successful day. Where are you now? x”

  I realise it will be a mixed message I am giving him, but I want to be open and honest.

  “Hey you back. It could be better, not found anything as yet, so I’ve stopped to have some lunch. How are you? x”

  “That doesn't sound good. You’ll find something soon I'm sure of it. I'm fine, we've just stopped for lunch as well and then I’ll be doing the presentation. x”

  I smile at his optimism. “I'm sure I will also. You go knock ‘em dead Mr Sanders. x”

  “Haha!! I will do Miss Chambers. x”

  I am just typing my reply when another message comes through. Don’t you just hate it when that happens? Anyway, I delete what I have started and read what’s been sent.

  “How daring do you feel?”

  Frowning as to what is written on the screen I type, “That’s a bit cryptic. What do you mean?”

  “Take a look around you, then you can judge how daring you are as I ask you to touch yourself.”

  Yup! My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets too! The thing is, I know what he is asking me to do and the adrenalin has rushed to all of the right places of my body. My nipples harden to peaks against my white lace bra, my stomach does a somersault and the hairs on my arms stand on end. My sex clenches and yes, I even bite my lip. What sways my decision is that he is asking me and not telling me to do it. He is giving me the option. Taking in my surroundings, I can tell by the layout of the place and where I am sitting that nobody would notice if I went for it.

  “Okay then, where?”

  I'm not sure if that was the answer he expected or thought he was going to get, as it takes a little time for him to reply.

  My phone vibrates, “Your nipples; pinch them hard through your dress.”

  Licking my now dry lips, I look up through my eye lashes checking the other diners out. No-one is looking at me, so I nonchalantly look towards the market. Leaning forward more onto the table I cross my arms and then with the fingers and thumb on my left hand I pinch my right nipple. I don’t stop there though, the electric surge I get from my breast encourages me to tweak, twist and turn it. Oh my, am I really doing this and enjoying it? Another text comes through.

  “Are you doing it?”

  “Yes”

  “How does it feel?”

  I tell him honestly, “Amazing, electric…Hot!”

  It takes a couple of minutes for the next message to come through.

  “Good, I thought you might like it. Now I’d like you to stroke your inner thigh and then touch yourself between your thighs. I want you to pretend that it’s my hand there. I want you to feel how wet your panties are for me, cos I know it will be because of me that you are wet.”

  With shaking hands through excitement and not nerves, all I can type is, “Ok.”

  It’s not that I don’t want to do this, but I pause wondering how on earth I am going to manage it. The dress I am wearing is long. Think Chambers, think! Cashing in on my clumsiness I push a knife that is on the right hand side of the table, to the floor. With a clatter of metal against stone, the noise attracts a little attention from a woman on the next table. I smile apologetically, and then she returns her attention to her companion to continue with their conversation. Oh gawd! Apprehensively I reach down to pick it back up all the time looking around me. Grabbing the knife I don’t bring my hand back up straight away, but instead I pull the hem of my dress up and hook it above my knee. I shift in position a little so that I am able to bring the dress up my thigh and, rest the knife in between my leg and the seat of the chair. Feeling the air skim against my skin is enough for me to swiftly inhale. Thinking back to yesterday, we were outside then, but this is totally off the scale. The number of locals and tourists around excites me all the more and I imagine that my hands are Marc’s. An envelope symbol appears on the screen of my phone, opening the message it reads,

  “Tell me what you are doing.”

  It’s a good job I'm left handed, bloody hell!

  “I've pulled the skirt of my dress up and I can feel your hand against my thigh.”

  “Humm! That’s right baby. Now I want you to slowly stroke the inside of your thigh.”

  Casually I observe the happenings in the market which covers up the fact, that inside I am aroused to high heaven. I spread my legs a little and stroke the whole of that area. Slowly up and down, my fingers sweep over the sensitive skin.

  “Are you turned on by it Isabel?” is the next message.

  “Yes” I type. I am positive he’ll know that my breathing will have increased a touch and it is getting more difficult to type out my replies.

  “Good, I am with you baby. Touch your panties Isabel, I want to be able to feel how wet they are. With your fingers rub your clit like I did.”

  Without hesitation I do what he asks. I need this; I am too far gone to want it to stop now. As I hitch the skirt up further I touch the silk material and feel the dampness that has already soaked through. I hiss through my teeth as I touch myself there. The exertion of holding back the primal noises that are dying to escape from deep within my throat is causing beads of sweat to accumulate on my brow. I have to text him, I want him with me.

  “I don’t know how long I can carry on, I'm getting close. Marc I want you.”

  This is true! I am so close to bringing myself to orgasm in a goddam freaking restaurant. Marc’s reply is short.

  “Do it! I’m right there with you baby.”

  I curse repeatedly in my head and I have to bite my lip so hard I think may draw blood. Grasping at a glass of water with my left hand, I bring it to my mouth so that I can gruffly moan into it as I tip over the edge of orgasmic oblivion.

  Giving myself a couple of minutes to pull back together the seams that have been ripped apart, I straighten my dress again and place the knife back on to the table. Before I can type out a text the screen illuminates.

  “Did you come for me Isabel?” Understatement of the year so far goes to…

  “Yes I did Marc and it was freaking awesome.” I’m sorry but I can’t hold back on the truth.

  “Good. If it was as awesome for you as it was for me, then you must have one heck of a smile on your face.”

  My brow knits together in confusion. I re-read his text and then decide to call him.

  “Hey!” he says.

  “Marc, where are you?”

  “I’m sitting in the car. I thought it was best to do what I was doing in private.”

  Cupping my mouth to mute the piercing cry of shock, I then start to uncontrollably laugh. Oh, My, God!!

  After that lunch flew by. The food was delicious by the way; I would recommend it to anyone. Walking with more of a bounce in my step, I feel more confident about myself. Was that his plan all along? Shaking my head I ponder on the idea. Right come on Chambers, I am going to pick out something to wear that will be for me and for Marc.

  Chapter 6

  Having enjoyed my lunch rather more than I expected, I was feeling a whole lot more positive about the rest of the afternoon. I was still buzzing from what Marc and I had done in the restaurant and the sentiment behind it. He knew I hadn’t had a great morning, but thanks to him and what we did, I was feeling a heck of a lot better; so finding the ideal dress along with shoes and a few accessories which I loved and felt confident in, topped it off nicely. However, I didn’t want to come away from Cambridge without buying Marc a gift, so leisurely strolling towards Kings College; I knew exactly what to get for him. I am not your stereotypical woman who classes shopping as a hobby or a favourite pastime, but boy! I have to admit, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I also took advantage of the time I had to visit the spectacular King’s College Chapel. It has always been a dream of mine to come along to the Christmas Eve carol concert here. I have watched it every year without fail, so maybe one day. One Christmas is extra special though; it was 18 years ago this year and I was watching ‘Carols F
rom Kings’ on the TV. I had a feeling that this Christmas was going to be different and my instincts were right, when 4 hours later I went in to labour with my eldest son. Thank goodness with it being Christmas Day morning, the roads were clear and at 4.49pm my beautiful James was born; the words “Get him out!” that I screamed worked a treat! Two slices of toast and a cup of tea for Christmas dinner wasn’t quite what I envisaged, but he was the best Christmas gift anyone could ask for. Bless him. I have tried so many different ways to make his birthday special for him, but Christmas always seems to win. I once did a party; I think it was his 3rd birthday, for him during the summer to break up the year. Now we go out for our Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve night; a local traditional pub with a roaring fire, decorations hung around the wooden beams and a party atmosphere and then Christmas Day I do a buffet throughout the day for James’ Birthday; a winning formula.

  Time must have been getting on as I notice the tired faces of fellow shoppers and sightseers, most were heading towards the bus station. It was 4.20pm according to the time on my phone; surely Marc must have finished his presentation by now and hopefully be done for the afternoon. Laden down with bags, my feet were really starting to ache as I rounded the corner to where Marc had parked the car at the College. What I see makes me freeze on the spot. Next to the Merc are two figures; one I could distinctly make out was Marc standing rigid, holding his briefcase and seemed to be wearing the most intense, cold looking face. In front of him was an immaculately dressed woman; in her heels she stood just short of him. Clothed in a grey trouser suit, she has her hair cut in to a bob, which must have had nearly a tin of hairspray on it as it never seemed to move in the breeze. I could tell by the way; her perfect face lights up, the way she plays with her perfect blonde hair and settles a perfect hand upon his perfect shoulder, that they are more than colleagues. While she speaks showing her perfect white teeth, Marc's expression never changes. At that moment, I have to hold myself back from bitch-slapping her! Whoa Chambers! I shock myself with that; I have never ever thought such a thing before. I retract my claws and watch them talking for a couple more minutes. He so obviously looks uncomfortable by what she is saying or doing.

  Pushing my shoulders back I walk tall over to them, ok I still only come up to Marc’s chest but hey! I feel six foot tall and ready to butt in on the situation. Please don’t trip, please don’t trip, please don’t trip! Once I’m about 10ft away when Marc sees me approaching, so stepping aside out of the grip of “Crop Cut Barbie”, he flashes me the most heart stopping smile.

  “Hey, I see you managed to get something in the end.”

  As I get to his side he leans in to kiss my cheek. I look up at “CCB” as he does so and see the award winning teeth disappear under…..are those real? She scowls at me when my eyes finally move from the silicone like pieces that are her lips.

  “Erm! Yes, yes I did. Your motivational phone correspondence at lunch time helped so thank you.”

  Lifting his eyebrow in response he answers, “You’re most welcome, I am glad I could help.”

  The look in his eyes is telling me more than the words he says, which then makes me blush ever so slightly. After a momentary pause, Marc introduces me to the woman before us.

  “Isabel, this is Dr Emiliana Acerbi. She is a fellow at the University of Bologna in Italy and a Professor of Biological science.”

  Stretching out a petite, steady hand; she forces a smile, “I’m happy to meet you Isabel. Please call me Emelie.”

  Her Italian accent is full and strong, which runs thickly through my blood. Not wanting to show how she has unnerved me somewhat, I shake her cold hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you too.” I wasn’t going to offer that she should call me Izzy, as I didn’t feel that we would become friends in the slightest. Despite those feelings, I will be friendly to her for Marc’s sake. I suspect Marc must sense the tense atmosphere, as he promptly puts an end to the introductions.

  “Well we had better get back to the hotel. We only have a couple of hours or so before we have to return for this evening’s festivities.”

  Emelie searches for her own car keys. “It was good to meet you Isabel; I might see you again soon. I shall hopefully see you later tonight Marc.” I hear the anticipation in her voice.

  “You will see the both of us later Emelie.” Ouch! And here I was thinking that it was only a woman’s tongue that cuts deep! I inwardly cheer Marc, Go you! First set to Mr Sanders!

  On the drive back I don’t even entertain to ask Marc any questions about Dr Acerbi. As much as I would like the gossip on the woman, I don’t want to taint the mood for this evening. I do however ask how his presentation went.

  “It went extremely well. They were very interested in the results, so it’s looking good. I reckon we’ve done enough to work in partnership with the research team here.”

  I am really chuffed for him. I can feel the pride emanating from Marc, and so it should. Over 2years of research presented in one hour!!

  Arriving back at the hotel Marc offers to carry my shopping bags in for me. I am extremely grateful for the offer, but I really don’t want him getting even a brief glance of what is in the bags, so I politely decline his offer and take them up myself. I have butterflies in my stomach as I prepare to get ready in my room; I don’t want to let either Marc or myself down tonight. I can hear his words now even though he’s not in the room, saying how I could never let him down. I still doubt myself, am I really ready or capable of socialising with people who have a far grander background than me? I am trying my best to dispel the insecurities that are seeping to the surface, but all I can see is me being looked down up on or not being able to take part in any of their intellectual conversations. Stop over thinking it Chambers, you always do this!

  I’ve not long stepped out of the shower and wrapped my robe around me, when there is a knock on the door. I check out the time on the clock; still having an hour before we leave it can’t be Marc. Hesitantly I open the door to see the young lad from the hotel reception, standing with a large flat box in his arms.

  “Sorry to disturb you Miss Chambers, but a parcel has just been delivered for you and we were instructed to bring it up as soon as it got here.” Simon is the name on his badge, looks as baffled as I do. They mustn’t get many requests like this one.

  Taking the black shimmering box off of him, I thank him before closing the door with my foot. Placing it on the bed, I proceed to undo the cream satin ribbon that is tied neatly around it. Lifting the lid and removing the top layer of tissue paper I am taken aback by its contents. Picking up the first garment I see that it’s a satin black, boned, under wire strapless Basque. The front consists of a lace panel, diamante charm on the cleavage and delicate red stripes. My arms start to hurt as I continue to hold it aloft, staring at the beauty of the material. Gently putting it to one side I reach for the next couple of pieces of lingerie; a pair of black French knickers, garter and sheer stockings. I find that my hands are trembling as I clutch on to them. This is me Isabel Chambers, virgin to any such clothing! Bloody Hell!! I don’t even know what attaches to where. After a few silent minutes contemplating what to do next I spot a small card resting in the box.

  “O beauty, passing beauty! Sweetest sweet!

  How can thou let me waste my youth in sighs?

  I only ask to sit beside thy feet.

  Thou knowest I dare not look into thine eyes.

  Might I but kiss thy hand! I dare not fold

  My arms about thee--scarcely dare to speak.

  And nothing seems to me so wild and bold,

  As with one kiss to touch thy blessed cheek.

  Methinks if I should kiss thee, no control

  Within the thrilling brain could keep afloat

  The subtle spirit. Even while I spoke,

  The bare word "kiss" hath made my inner soul

  To tremble like a lute string, ere the note

  Hath melted in the silence that it broke.”

 
The poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson is written in such grandiose handwriting and signed by Marc. My heart literally jumps into my throat, which then stings as I fight back tears. The tenderness and sentiment behind the words, forces me to look at my reflection in the wall mirror. Lightly touching my cheek, I close my eyes. What is it he sees that I don’t? If its confidence and belief in myself, well then I do believe it is ever so slowly starting to re-surface above my skin. This is the second time today that Marc has re-ignited my positive outlook of me and life.

  Carefully stepping into my wine coloured heeled pumps I am finally ready. Taking a deep breath I smooth down my tape work black and ruby dress, check my make-up and straightened hair one last time. Here goes nothing, no turning back now Chambers! Hearing the dull knock on the door I pick up my matching clutch bag and stilt walk to open the door. Oh my heavenly dinner suit Gods!! You really don’t want to know the curse words going through my head right now, the air would turn blue. The fact I am singing them in Soprano as well, it would be enough to set off a pack of wolves! Leaning casually against the door frame with one hand in his trouser pocket is Mr Marc Sanders. My eyes involuntary travel up the fine specimen in front of me. His well styled facial hair emphisises his high defined cheek bones. Marc holds out his other hand in invitation for me, softly kisses the top of my palm, looking me up and down.

  “Well check you out Miss Chambers, you look sensational. I have to agree with your choice of clothing and shoes this evening.” Marc leans forward to whisper in my ear, “Red is my favourite colour.” He is beaming as he says this, yes beaming.