Buying the Virgin

Chapter 83: The Girl Who Came Back - Chapter Thirty-Nine

… and there, I see, set in the trees, tumble down and dilapidated, is an old house. Shutters hang from

rusty hinges. The roof is showing daylight, and a tree grows out from the inside, reaching for the sky

through a broken window. It is a sad remnant of the building it has been.

But it has been, in the past, utterly beautiful.

“It goes with the hotel,” says Michael. “The owners think it needs to be demolished. I don’t agree.

Neither does James…” He swings around to my Master, inviting agreement.

“It does need a lot of work,” says my Master. “But yes, I agree, it’s worth saving.”

Hands in his pockets, Michael stands up straight, looking at me. “What do you think?”

“What do I think? Of what? You doing a renovation? Yes, fine, if it’s what you want to do… I’d not

realised it was your kind of thing….”

My Master shakes his head, sucking in his cheeks. “You can lead a horse to water….”

Michael looks exasperated. “Charlotte, would you like to live here? For this to be our home?”

Home?

“I’ve never had a.…. home…”

He takes me at the waist, pulling me in, his chin resting on my head. “You can have one now. Would

you like this to be it?”

Would I like it?

Oh, my God. Yes!

“Michael, I don’t know what to say…”

“’Yes’ or ‘No’ would be a good start…”

“Yes. Oh God. Yes!”

“Good. That’s decided then. I’ll put in the offer to the owners. Wait here. I’ll be back”

He strides off, leaving me with my Master. He smiles, takes my hand and kisses it. “Happy?”

“Happy, Master? Happy’s not the right word. Ecstatic would be more like it.”

He looks at the crumbling wreck. “Don’t get too carried away. It won’t be fit to live in for some time.”

“Can we go inside?”

“Not yet. Half the roof’s gone. Most of the joists are rotten, and woodworm has had most of the floors. It

really will need to be rebuilt from the ground up….”

He is interrupted by Michael’s return.

“You’ve made them the offer?” asks my Master.

“Yup, and now that there’s cash on the table, they want to haggle.”

He snorts. “There’s a surprise. I don’t think you have much competition though. They won’t find too

many others willing to take it on.”

“Michael? Master?”

They turn to face me. “Yes?”

“Um... When you say ‘our’ home, you mean… the three of us?”

“Yes.” Michael rests his hands on my waist and kisses the top of my head. “The three of us.”

“After all,” says my Master, “I need somewhere to live. I won’t have the City apartment anymore.”

“You won’t?”

“It was only ever loaned to me, as part of the accommodation deal on my old contract. Now I’m a

director, I’m supposed to be able to house myself.”

“Oh!” I say, staring at the ground.

My Master lifts my chin with a finger, his expression concerned. “What’s wrong? You look disappointed.

Surely being here, when it’s ready, would be better?”

“Just being silly. It’s a pity to lose the mirrored room, isn’t it.?” I grin.

“Ah,” he says, raising a finger. “I’m glad you mentioned that. The mirrored room will rise from the ashes.

In fact, I’d already drawn up a few sketches. Michael thinks they look quite promising….”

*****

Our last evening before I leave.

“I’m going to miss this place,” I say.

My Master’s hand on my shoulder, we both gaze out, to where the grey sea tumbles surf over the

sands. Clouds loom, threatening the first of the Autumn storms. Music plays softly in the background;

some lovely, lyrical piece that leaves me swaying in time.

“I daresay Richard will be happy enough to let us use it again from time to time.”

Gulls wheel in the sky, buffeted by the winds, occasionally diving into the roiling waters for fish.

“What would you like to do this evening?” asks my Master.

“I’d prefer to stay here, to just enjoy being with you both.”

The music grows suddenly louder. We turn. Michael is there, adjusting the volume. A melody, haunting,

lyrical and lovely, ripples through the room.

“Dance with me,” he smiles, arms held out.

“Um, I’d love to, but…”

“But...?”

“I don’t dance very well.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute. Here…” He takes me at the waist and the shoulder. “Just follow my

feet.”

He leads me, dancing to the sway and rhythm of the beautiful song. I look down, trying to follow his feet

with mine. He moves so beautifully; graceful, like an athlete. My own clumsy efforts to follow him

embarrass me. Upstodatee from Novel(D)ra/m/a.O(r)g

“Don’t stop. You just need practice, that’s all.” He leads me around the floor, and it becomes easier, as I

ease into his rhythm. He watches me all the time, guiding me around the room. So close to me, I can

smell him, clean, piny, masculine.

My Master, leaning back against the wall, arms folded, watches us, silently, smiling.

As we pass him, Michael pauses, turns me to face him, offering me.

He holds out his hand in invitation, my tall, dark Master, and as I take it, his other hand on my waist, he

kisses me softly on the lips and continues the dance.

He still says nothing, but his eyes, on mine, are warm. We spiral through the room, the music enfolding

me, seducing my senses.…

“You want to make love?” he murmurs.

“You mean that’s not what we’re doing?”

He raises his eyes to meet Michael’s, who holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers for mine. Each of

them holding a hand, they lead me upstairs.

I stand between them, my Master before me, Michael behind.

Holding my eyes with his, not smiling now, but with that softness to his eyes that tells me of the smile

inside, my Master unbuttons my blouse. Released, the soft garment falls open. Michael’s hands on my

shoulders slide it away from me. He unclips my bra, and again slips it away, then caressing my naked

shoulders, he runs fingers down my spine. Bending his head to mine, he nuzzles at the back of my

neck, nibbling at the skin.

My breath quickening, I glow inside.

To the fore, my Master, a hand on one breast, kisses me, softly, teasing my mouth open with his.

Michael unclips my hair, running fingers through it, unravelling it from the tight ponytail that keeps it

under control. It billows down over my naked torso, my shoulders, my breasts. He unzips my skirt,

letting it fall.

My Master kneels, a hand to either side of me, stroking me as he descends; my shoulders, the curve of

my waist into hip. He hooks a finger into my panties, sliding them down, discarding them, along with the

skirt as I step out of them.

Naked, I stand before him as he kisses my belly, and inhaling my scent, descends to my loins,

mouthing at my dampening curls. Michael, behind me, his body pressed close to mine, runs his hands

over me; strong hands that caress and stroke, in slow, strong movements, the hands of a masseur. My

body heating, skin flushing, I’m conscious of the beads of sweat trickling between my breasts.

My Master probes into me, teasing my clit, and I gasp and stagger, convulsing inside as pleasure

stabs, exquisitely, through me, but Michael grips me at the waist, prevents me from falling. Parting

pussy lips with his fingers, my Master probes and flicks with his tongue, in a gentle torment of my bud

that leaves me quivering, whimpering. He stands, locking eyes with me again, a hand inviting me to the

bed.

I lie back, naked on the soft whiteness of the sheets, my hair spilling in a copper-red cascade around

me. My Master eases my thighs apart, kneeling upright between them, his hands, flat over the smooth

muscle, plying and kneading me, as he looks down at me...