The Redeemer (7 page)

Blissfully unaware, she continued, ‘I guess it’s the same for you men when it comes to pussies. Each one is uniquely beautiful in the eye of the beholder. But whether it’s an innie or an outie, when she’s turned on and parts her thighs, giving you an unrestricted viewing of her moist labia slowly parting to reveal her glistening pink slit, it must short-circuit your brain and send the message straight to your cock . . . or your tongue. And when her swollen clitoris comes into view pleading for attention . . . and your nostrils catch the scent of her . . . that must send you over the edge. You’d be desperate to taste her and your cock would be begging to be sheathed inside her, needing to feel the heat from her tight muscles as they clamp down on your rock-solid cock as you slide inside her. Tell me I’m wrong. Dean . . . Dean?’

With his jaw clamped firmly closed, eyes glossy and dark from dilated pupils and very shallow breathing, Dean was gripping the bar with both hands. Her slurred musings had seemingly mesmerised him.

‘Are you okay, Dean?’ she persisted, attempting to get up from her bar stool to take a closer look. She struggled to maintain her balance, precarious as it was after consuming several glasses of wine and then gave a yelp as she slid ungraciously off the stool, slumped half over the bar and then, arms flailing, sending wine everywhere, she began to slide sideways.

As quick as a flash, Dean sprang up on to the bar in a crouching position and attempted to halt her fall by throwing his arms around her. It didn’t work. He hung on valiantly but, when she fell, that only succeeded in bringing him down with her. He managed to roll to the side so that he didn’t land on top of her when they hit the ground with a thud.

‘Oomph.’ The breath was knocked out of Isla’s lungs.

‘Fuck,’ muttered Dean, before rolling on to his side and lifting himself up on to his elbow. ‘Are you okay, Isla?’

Totally winded, she was unable to reply. Her glazed eyes had Dean on his knees, worriedly looking down at her but not quite knowing what to do. She was blinking so he knew she was conscious but apart from that, she was motionless and totally silent.

‘Isla, can you hear me? Did you hurt yourself? Is something wrong?’

Just as panic was setting in, forcing Dean to consider dialling 999, she raised her hand from her stomach, her wineglass remarkably intact.

‘Yeah, shomthing’s wrong. Need more wine.’

Then she began to giggle. Sheer relief flowed through Dean, and her giggles were so infectious that he couldn’t help but join in. When he pointed to where the remaining wine had seeped out of the upturned glass and on to her pale grey shift dress, making it look like she’d had an unfortunate accident, it set the pair of them off again.

‘Um . . . guys? I’m off. Er . . . is everything okay?’

They looked around to see Nadine viewing them with a mixture of confusion and bemusement on her face.

‘Yeah, everything’s fine. Our leader just had one glass of wine too many after a shitty day, that’s all. I’ll get her up to bed safely once I’ve closed down the bar. Goodnight, Nadine.’

Her eyes narrowed and her features hardened before she nodded and turned on her heel. That only made Isla burst out laughing again.

‘Now what?’ asked Dean as he got to his feet slowly, realising that he too had had more than enough to drink.

‘Nadine . . . doesn’t . . . ap . . . prove . . . Looks . . . like . . . my . . . mum,’ she managed between chuckles, pulling a disapproving face similar to Nadine’s and making Dean smile.

‘Ah well, we’re all entitled to let off steam sometimes, especially when we’re in a stressful situation. I think it’s nice to hear you laughing.’

She regarded him through her drunken haze with a serious expression on her face. ‘Yeah. Fuck her . . . misherable cow. I’m en . . . titled to het my lair down. Am sheriously stressed. A top up . . . barman . . . if you please.’

He shook his head and smiled. ‘I really don’t think that’s a good idea. Besides, I’m closing the bar now. I’ve had enough and you . . . well, you’ve had more than enough.’

She looked at him open-mouthed. ‘I’m the boss. You can’t . . . deny me . . . drink.’

He gave her a superior look. ‘And I’m a responsible employee. I don’t serve people when they’ve had too much to drink. Sorry.’

Isla huffed in frustration as he deftly removed the empty glass from her hand, walked back behind the bar and began to load the few remaining glasses into the glasswasher.

She managed, after several aborted attempts, to sit up. She was swaying precariously, even in that position. ‘Just one, Deano. Pretty please?’ She tried to flutter her eyelashes but her efforts were hampered by enormous hiccups that began to emit from deep inside her. ‘Oops! Pardon.’

Switching the machine on, he turned and looked at the inebriated state of her. ‘Nope. If you want another drink, you’ll have to get it yourself. The bar is now closed.’

He began to wipe down the bar, ignoring the rude remarks she was uttering, punctuated by hiccups. She made one attempt to get up but swiftly abandoned it. Then she gave crawling a go but fell flat on her face. Dean turned away to switch off the bar’s concealed lighting and couldn’t hide his smile, although with a face full of carpet, she wouldn’t have seen it.

He walked out from behind the bar to find her seemingly asleep. He sighed, knowing that getting her upstairs was not going to be easy.

He crouched down next to her. ‘Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Let’s get you up to bed.’

Nothing.

He shook her shoulder gently but all that achieved was a turn of her head so that her cheek lay on the carpet. Her face was obscured by auburn waves. He tenderly swept them from her face, resisting the urge to caress her skin with his fingertips. His heart began to beat heavily in his chest, making him squeeze his eyes shut for a couple of seconds. When he opened them again, he had a newfound sense of purpose.

He shook her more forcefully and spoke much louder. ‘Isla, wake up. I need to get you up to bed.’

She grinned and muttered, ‘Naughty boy.’ But her eyes remained closed and the grin quickly vanished as she slept on.

He slid his arms under her midriff and lifted her but she muttered something unintelligible and pushed away from him, almost causing them both to fall to the ground. He tried again but she attempted to roll over and push him away; he very nearly dropped her. His daily gym workouts meant that he was more than strong enough but she just refused to remain still enough for him to lift her safely.

‘Fucking hell, Isla,’ he cursed in frustration. ‘Why can’t you just keep still?’

He managed to roll her on to her back and then, planting his feet either side of her legs, he reached down, grasped her wrists and pulled her up. He managed to lift her upper body off the floor but he couldn’t get her to put her feet flat on the floor, no matter how loudly and insistently he urged her. She appeared to be firmly slumped in a drunken stupor. Growling in sheer frustration, he let go of one wrist and clamped his hand under her bottom, quickly following suit with the other and managed to pull her up and against his body.

He wrapped one arm around her back, lest she push away from him again and checked that her feet were properly flat on the floor. Her chin was pressed against his pectoral muscle and he could feel the warmth of her breath through his thin cotton shirt. His thoughts trailed away when he registered how her full breasts were also pressed against him . . . and that he had a handful of her arse . . .

‘Why the fuck does this happen to me?’ he muttered, registering the irony of the situation. He’d waited so long to have her in his arms and when it finally happened, she was comatose. ‘Fucking typical.’

She stirred and her head fell back. He found himself looking down at her, resolutely ignoring the curve of her neck and how he could dip his head and graze his lips along it. ‘Even with your mouth gaping open, you’re beautiful. And you have no idea how hard it’s going to be for me to take you to bed, undress you and walk away. No, fuck that. I’m leaving you fully dressed. I think my restraint would snap if I saw you even semi-naked. Fuck, I’d want to touch you. Feel you.’

His cock twitched. And again. ‘Oh fuck . . . Isla Hamilton, you have no idea what you do to me.’

She moaned softly and rolled her head so that it rested against his chest once more. Then, when her arms snaked up around his neck and she burrowed her face into his neck, he thought that his hammering heart would surely wake her. A strangled sound emerged from his throat and his eyes clamped shut. He stood, stock still and spellbound for some time until his biceps began to burn from the tension of holding her upright.

It was pleasurable torment. He knew he shouldn’t be holding her like that. Never mind the inappropriateness of it; the last thing he needed was for his biceps to stiffen up. He still had to get her upstairs. Resolving to get his arse into gear and his feelings in check, he turned his head and bestowed a feather-light kiss on her forehead. That’s when all hell broke loose.

Dean almost jumped out of his skin when he heard something crash against one of the windows. He turned towards it and saw something move. It might have been a face but he wasn’t sure; the glare of the bar’s lights reflecting in the glass obscured his view. Angry shouting followed but he couldn’t hear what was said. He could tell that there was more than one person shouting. He deciphered the odd word before the commotion was worsened by a dog’s ferocious barking.

He desperately wanted to take a look but he was stuck holding Isla upright. Then he remembered that she had employed security guards to keep that low life, Xander Rhodes, off the premises. Dean guessed it was him creating all the noise outside.

‘Fuck, that must have been his face at the window. What a crazy fucker!’ Shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation, he recalled Xander’s scathing comments whenever he’d found Isla in the bar. Dean frowned. There he was, holding up a very drunken Isla and knowing how it must look to anyone looking in from outside. He grinned. Just the realization that anyone, let alone that pompous prick, Xander Rhodes, would think that he and Isla were canoodling in the bar was enough to make him feel ten feet tall.

Isla appeared to be fast asleep so he decided to attempt to lift her again. She stirred as he did so but kept her arms around his neck, enabling him to carry her safely. As he stepped into the reception lobby, he could hear the commotion outside – although it was muffled. He paused and looked through the stationary revolving door and there, illuminated by the welcoming coach lamps, was Xander being restrained by a security guard as another remonstrated angrily with him.

Dean walked closer to the door out of sheer curiosity. That was a mistake. Xander saw him holding Isla to his chest and roared, tearing himself from the grip of the security guard. He barrelled past the other guard and threw himself at the revolving door. His face was contorted with rage. Dean didn’t hesitate; he shot to the lift, thankful that Isla was completely immobile in his arms, and managed to hit the call button. Relief poured through him as the doors opened immediately. He jabbed his finger on the second floor button just as Xander raced inside the lobby.

‘I’ll fucking kill you!’ was all Dean heard as the doors closed. He prayed that the lift would move before Xander could hit the call button. There was no way that he wanted to be confronted anywhere by that raging tyrant, let alone in a confined space. He’d thought that Isla’s decision to employ security guards was sheer overkill. He’d been unable to see why she hadn’t called in the police when he turned up and let them deal with it. Now, seeing the maniac in action, he decided that Isla was right; Xander was clearly unhinged and Isla was perhaps in grave danger. Xander was threatening to kill her, for fuck’s sake. He pulled Isla closer to his chest; his own self-preservation paled into insignificance in relation to how protective he felt of her. He breathed out a long sigh of relief when the doors remained closed and he felt the lift begin to ascend, knowing what a close call they’d had.

He stumbled out into the hallway as soon as the doors parted and then realised that he had no idea which room Isla was using, or which rooms were occupied by guests. He headed towards the main suite, knowing it was usually unused during the week. Then, when he heard angry shouting in the distance, he realised that Xander was taking the stairs. Panicking, he stopped outside one of the junior suites instead and gave a silent prayer that he wasn’t about to intrude on the privacy of some poor resident. Letting go of Isla’s legs, he held her torso against his as he rifled through her pockets for her master key. The shouting was getting louder and he feared that the lunatic would reach them but thankfully, his anxious fingers felt something smooth and flat. He thrust it into the lock and heard a life-saving beep as he withdrew it. He pushed the handle down and stepped inside, pulling Isla with him. The room was in darkness but he knew that if there was a resident inside, he’d have to find a way to keep them quiet.

Closing the door slowly to mute the sound, Dean fumbled for the light switch. He found it and, when the room was bathed in light, was relieved to see that there was no sign of habitation. He could still hear the disturbance but it was muted now that a solid oak door was between them. He had no idea how close by Xander was, or whether the security guards had caught up with him yet; he was just so relieved to have kept Isla safe. He slid his arm under her legs once more and carried her through the living area and into the bedroom.

He could barely see where he was going as the only light was from the one he’d switched on; it was spilling around the corner. He stood and allowed his eyes to adjust before locating the bed and gently lowering her on to it. She mumbled something unintelligible and curled up into the foetal position. He stood over her and then, unable to resist the temptation, flicked the switch above the bed to turn on a bedside lamp.

He gasped when he looked back at the bed. Her long, flame-red locks were flowing out, fanning her sleeping form. It was such a beautiful sight and, though he knew he shouldn’t be observing her in that vulnerable state, he was unable to tear himself away from the enticing vision in front of him. There was no way he was going to venture out of the suite until he was sure that the deranged madman had been removed from the premises. And, he told himself, it was necessary for him to remain so that he could warn Isla of the near miss she’d had and the danger she was in as soon as she awoke. He also told himself that it was unnecessary for him to remain standing over her and that he should crash on the sofa in the living area but he chose to ignore himself.

Gently, he removed her shoes and, as he kicked off his own, he also ignored the little voice in his head that told him it was both unnecessary and inappropriate to consider easing his long frame on to the mattress next to her. The little voice sounded like a haughty headmaster when it demanded to know why he was removing his clothes and just what it was that he thought he was doing. Dean blanked it out then, clad only in his boxers, he tiptoed into the lounge area and flicked off the light. In a lithe movement, he lowered his body gently on to the mattress so that he was on his side, facing her in order that he could continue to observe her as she slept. She stirred at the disturbance, straightening her legs and mumbling something that Dean couldn’t quite catch. He held his breath, hoping desperately that she wouldn’t wake. She remained still and quiet.

He was just drifting off to sleep when he felt her becoming restless again. He froze as she snuggled up to his tensing frame, throwing her arm around him and resting her face against his chest. His arm appeared to move of its own accord as it slid around her back. She snuggled closer still, throwing a leg over his and pressing her body against him, murmuring in her sleep, ‘Need you. Don’t leave me.’

‘I won’t,’ he replied, his voice barely a whisper.

Dean knew she was dreaming. He didn’t know who she was dreaming about but his imagination soon determined that it was him. And that they were both naked. As Isla was only wearing a thigh-length, cotton shift dress, it was easy to imagine since much of their contact was skin on skin. He reached up and flicked the switch to douse the lamp so that his imagination was not tempered by reality. The room was pitch dark thanks to the new heavyweight curtains that ensured residents had a good night’s sleep.

Lowering his arm, he began to stroke the bare skin of her upper arm, feeling the heat of her breath against his chest. He closed his eyes and savoured the moment that he’d longed for and feared would never happen. The little voice of his conscience told him that he was skewing reality and that he had no right to be touching her but Dean was suddenly hard of hearing.

Isla began to moan softly as his fingertips trailed up and down her arm. Emboldened, he extended his reach and began to caress the side of her neck. Her appreciative moans grew louder and, when he grazed his fingers behind her ear, she pressed her lips against his bare chest. His heart began to thump wildly against his ribcage. She continued to kiss his chest, little tiny kisses that were heading towards his neck. He didn’t know whether he was more concerned that the accelerated thudding of his heart would surely wake her or that she’d feel his cock against her leg. It was twitching and hardening with every press of her lips.

His conscience went from scolding to full-on bollocking mode as the little voice screamed at him to stop. That he shouldn’t be there. That he was taking advantage of her in her inebriated state. But he wouldn’t hear of it. After all, he reasoned, he was only comforting her as she slept.
Bullshit
! his conscience bellowed. That worked; his hand stilled as common sense began to prevail. But, in an instant, Isla changed that.

Her head lifted and her hungry mouth sought his. When her soft, plump lips landed on his, his brain seemed to implode, taking out his conscience and any capacity for rational thought. He felt so shocked that he just lay there, unresponsive as her kiss became more insistent. When her tongue slid across his bottom lip, the caution-inducing knowledge that she was under the influence of alcohol and may not realise who she was kissing, evaporated. Her tongue entering his mouth caused a testosterone overload, sending him into primal autopilot. He kissed her back, teasing her tongue with his and delighting when she moaned appreciatively into his mouth. When she caught his tongue and sucked it, tingling sensations shot through his balls making his cock lurch with desperate need. Her hands began to roam his body, making his head spin and his balls ache. He followed her lead when she rose into a sitting position so that they clung together as they allowed their hands fuller access to the other’s body.

Any chance he had of recapturing his faculties or his morals, disappeared when she slid her hand inside his boxers and grasped his cock. His breath caught in his throat but still she devoured his mouth. He thought he was dreaming when she pulled away and purred, ‘Can you smell my pussy? It’s soaked, waiting for your talented mouth. Fuck me with your tongue. If you can make me squirt, I’ll give you the wettest, sloppiest blowjob your depraved little mind can imagine.’

Dean was taken aback by her words. He sat motionless, his mind reeling. He’d never been to bed with a woman with such a demanding, dirty mouth before. He wasn’t completely sure he liked it. Before he could make up his mind, she grasped his head and threw herself backwards, pulling his head down between her thighs. Her dress had ridden up so there was no barrier to her spreading her legs. No barrier at all, he realised as she pushed his face against her scented skin. Even as his mind processed that she was sans knickers, she began to slide her pussy against his face, keeping a firm hold of his head.

His mind reeled faster until he registered the taste of her on his lips . . . then it unravelled completely. He stuck out his tongue and prepared to lap at her gently but she was having none of it. Her hips bucked and writhed as she ground herself against his face. He felt almost powerless, so out of his sexual comfort zone. Then she began to chide him for his passive role. ‘What’s wrong with you? That’s not going to make me squirt, now is it? What’s the matter, not man enough to make me squirt?’

That’s when Dean thought he must be dreaming; that he’d curled up next to Isla and was having some weird, horny dream. He’d not been with a woman in weeks so he thought it was just his sexual frustration seeping into his dreams. But surely that heavenly taste couldn’t be his imagination and nor could his throbbing cock . . . frankly, he didn’t know which reality he preferred. He wanted to be in bed with Isla, of course he did, but he wanted to be making love to her reverently like she deserved, not fantasising about some sex-crazed, slutty version of her in his sleep. He told himself to wake up, to end this ridiculousness.

But when a frustrated Isla pushed him off, on to his back and then squatted over him before lowering her pussy on to his face, he was jolted back into reality. He hadn’t seen it coming; the darkened room had seen to that. Then she began to slide her wet slit up and down his face, shouting, ‘Make me come, you filthy fucker.’ Dean was stunned by her vulgarity and, at first, he just lay there until the sweet taste of her began to wind its way into his consciousness. He began to lick her but she was writhing around like something possessed, making any attempt to slide his tongue inside her, as she’d instructed, impossible. He tried valiantly to tongue her clit but she wouldn’t keep still.

Shock and indignation railed inside him when she tilted her hips forward and slid her anus over his tongue. It felt wrong, it felt beyond dirty, but the appreciative moans she gave called to him and helped him to overcome his reluctance. ‘Fuck my ass with your tongue,’ she instructed fiercely as she began to bounce up and down. His tongue shot back inside his mouth and she seemed to get the message. She pushed her hips back and began to slide her pussy over his mouth once more. He began to lick and lap as best he could, given her animalistic thrusting. As she did so, she pulled her dress up and over her head, abandoning it on the floor and then unfastened her bra.

Within a minute or so, he could barely breathe so when she paused, huffing in disappointment and told him to stick out his tongue for her pussy, he was relieved. She proceeded to impale herself on it and began to thrust up and down until he could no longer feel his tongue. Then she grasped his hands and clasped them over her soft, swaying breasts. When she released his hands, he fondled her gently until she shrieked, ‘What’s the matter with you, for fuck’s sake?’ Dean froze as she continued in an aggressive tone, ‘Pinch my nipples, squeeze my tits, slap them . . . mark them . . . I don’t care, just make me fucking feel something.’