The Honey Trap. Mary Baker Jayne
thigh, matching her speed to the buck of his hips.
The sheet tightened under her body as he knotted the cotton in a fist. It felt like his whole broad frame was ready to pop, needing her to unleash the primal energy pent up inside.
‘Don’t stop… ah! For Christ’s sake, Angel, please don’t stop now,’ he pleaded, choked with delicious agony.
His moans became louder, more ragged, more vital, and his back arched as she pushed him past the point of no return. She felt his whole body convulse and he let out a groan that seemed to contain his life’s essence as he fell into the oblivion of climax.
She paused a moment, then slid panting back up his body to where he lay, breathless and satisfied, on the pillow. He tilted his head to kiss her, the lips soft, tender, the bestial intensity of before now banished.
‘Oh God… that was incredible. You were incredible,’ he whispered, wrapping her in powerful arms.
‘Not so bad yourself.’ She planted a small kiss on the end of his nose. He smiled at her in the dim light and returned her kiss sleepily.
She snuggled into him, exhausted, satiated and happier than she’d been in an age. Silencing the nagging voice of conscience, she dismissed all thoughts of Steve, work, Carole Beaumont and the honey trap, letting herself fall into dreamless sleep in Seb’s reassuring embrace.
Angel woke with the taste of Seb still on her lips. The bed was warm, but he wasn’t there.
Had he gone into the other room? She called his name. No answer.
She rolled over on to her back and examined the carved white cornice around the ceiling as she took stock of herself. She had some idea she should feel guilty after the complete obliteration of her inhibitions last night, yet the thing had seemed so natural, somehow.
The whole experience felt dreamlike, looking back. Surreal. The second man she’d ever slept with and under such bizarre circumstances…
She’d known Leo for over a year before they’d started going out and it was months again until they’d started sleeping together. Yet last night she’d given herself to a stranger, another woman’s husband, who’d made her feel her needs completely synchronised with his. It had felt almost empathic, the way he’d touched her and anticipated everything she wanted from him. She hugged herself, thinking back to his touch on her skin, a dream now in her memory. And it seemed the dream and its subject had dissolved into nothing.
She snapped back to reality. What time was it? She pushed herself over on to her side and reached for her handbag to check her mobile. 10.15, shit! Checkout was at 11.00.
Swiping across the touchscreen, she read the text from Steve that had been waiting in her inbox since last night:
Done. And nice arse by the way.
Angel felt a sickening jolt as she remembered what was coming. It was Saturday today. Steve had told her the story would break in the Monday edition.
She thought of Seb’s electrifying touch, the comforting warmth of his body as he held her while she drifted into sleep, and of the pain he’d feel when he saw himself on the front page of the Investigator – how he’d despise her. She blinked hard, trying to hold back the tears she felt welling at the thought of the touch she’d never feel again and the man she was about to destroy.
Her gaze fell on a sheet of hotel notepaper next to her bag and she unfolded the note he’d left her:
Sorry had to shoot off, didn’t want to wake you. Loved spending time with you last night. Give me a call some time. Seb x. PS Make it soon.
And then a mobile number she knew she could never dial.
Get a grip, Angel. He’s married, for Christ’s sake. Just another cheating scumbag who can’t control himself. Now put it behind you and move on.
It was true; she knew it was. And yet she gave in and sobbed convulsively, pushing her face into his still-warm pillow until it was soaked through with her tears.
***
‘Hello?’ Angel called out, pushing open the door of the cheap-for-London two-bed flat she shared with Emily. She’d managed to shove everything into her overnight bag and check out of the hotel with minutes to spare, closing the door on the suite she’d come to both love and hate. She’d shot off a quick report to Steve from her mobile on the train home, a few observations on Seb’s mannerisms and behaviour, trying to keep it as brief and free from sordid detail as possible.
Her flatmate popped her head out of the kitchen and smirked, before pursing her lips into an expression of mock disapproval.
‘Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. And in the same clothes as she was wearing last night, no less. Just where do you think you’ve been, dirty stopout? I’ve a good mind to send you straight to your room.’
But her face fell as Angel burst into tears and flung herself forward into a hug.
‘God, Ange, what happened? Are you okay? Did he do something to you? Did Steve –’
Angel let out a bitter snort through her sobs. ‘Not them. It’s – it’s me. I’ve ruined everything.’
Emily made soft shushing sounds to her and stroked the back of her hair. Angel managed to choke back the sobs as her friend guided her to the black-leather sofa and sat down beside her, one arm around her shoulders.
‘Okay, drama queen, tell me the worst. How have you ruined everything?’
Angel sniffed and blew her nose into the tissue Emily passed her from a box on the coffee table. ‘God, it was the weirdest evening. I… slept with him, Em.’
‘Yeah, I’d kind of got that far on my own, sweetie. Not with that sleazoid Steve watching, though, I hope?’
‘No, I covered the camera after I got his text. Jesus, Em, it was unbelievable. It’s never been like that before, not even before me and Leo started having all the problems.’
‘That’s my girl.’ Emily gave the auburn head a fond pat. ‘Don’t you think you deserve a night of hot slutty sexifying after your gajillion years of being a born-again virgin? Why beat yourself up about it? You had a great night, you got your end away, minds were blown, the end. Put it behind you and get on with the rest of your life.’
Angel gave the pretty, hazel-eyed girl an envious glance. Ever since Emily’s marriage had broken up three years ago, it seemed like she’d decided life was too short for insecurities and done just exactly what she liked.
‘It’s not that, Em. It’s him. Seb. He was so… oh, I don’t know. It’s like there was this connection, or he could read my mind or something. And on Monday it’ll be all over the bloody Investigator and he’ll hate me forever. God, it’s a horrible idea, him thinking I was just some call girl sent to set him up.’
‘God, is that all?’ Emily gave her ash-blonde curls a disapproving shake. ‘You’re being too sentimental, sweetie. That’s what comes of swearing off men for two years. As soon as you finally let yourself have a bit of fun, it has to be bloody true love or something. Look, who cares what he thinks? Okay, so he’s earth-moving in bed, hung like a stallion, buttocks like two boiled eggs in a hanky, can push your every button, whatever. That doesn’t change the fact he cheated on his wife. Nice guys don’t do that: trust me, I should know. Just be grateful he won’t be in any position to break your heart, unlike that poor cow he’s married to.’
‘I guess… I mean, I know you’re right, but…’
Emily took Angel’s face in her hands and looked straight into her face. ‘Listen, Ange. You’re too good for creeps like that. And no offence, but you’re not tough enough for them. Look what happened