Free Besotted by Georgia le Carre Page B

brave.’
    ‘You’re one of the bravest people I know.’
    ‘How am I brave?’
    ‘You left me. That’s brave.’
    ‘If you knew how frightened and confused I was when I left.’
    ‘That’s the definition of bravery, Lana. Doing something even though you are terrified of the consequences. And I am really proud of the way you handled my brother today, too.’
    ‘You are?’ I squeak, immeasurably pleased with the compliment.
    ‘When I was in the toilet I was so nervous about leaving you with him I was gripping the edges of the sink to keep from running back into the restaurant. But I knew I had to let you handle it, and I’m glad now that I did. If you can handle him you can handle all the rest in time.’
    ‘I hope you’re right.’
    ‘And if I’m not we’ll work it out together.’
     

Thirteen
    Victoria Montgomery
    If I had a flower for every time I thought of you…
    I could walk through my garden forever,
Alfred Tennyson
    T his morning he calls me and tells me he is coming to see me. He sounds puzzlingly distant, but still, I sense that he is desperate to see me again. Finally. I never once—well, maybe once or twice—doubted that he would tire of that thieving bitch. I’ve always known—he will come back.
    I look at the clock. He’ll be here in less than an hour! Feeling almost dizzy with excitement and triumph, I slip into white underwear. The silk slides deliciously against my fevered skin. Blake loves a woman in white. The slut knew that, too. Her underwear drawers were full of white bits and pieces. My lips tighten of their own accord. I won’t think of her now. Why should I? I’ve won.
    I, too, can drive him crazy with need. I, too, can slowly strip and crawl on the floor towards him. I will unzip his trousers and take his thick manhood, throbbing with power and strength, deep into my throat. I will swallow what he gives me. He is my man. I will be Mrs. Blake Law Barrington. I will walk into restaurants and parties and people will see that I am the power behind the throne.
    I look at myself in the long mirror and don’t just feel reassured and satisfied, but highly pleased with the image that looks back. If there is a woman more desirable than me then I am yet to meet her. I am a class act all the way. That woman—I cannot even bear to say her name—is cheap. Even the best designer clothes cannot hide that fact. It lurks in her eyes, her big lips, her silly butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth expression.
    I dress simply in a mint green dress, its hem faultlessly grazing the tops of my knees. I encircle my throat with two rows of creamy pearls. Nothing elaborate. It wouldn’t be appropriate to display my triumph. Some decorum and subtlety is called for. And yet this dress knows how to ride up my thighs when I sit down. Maybe… He will slide his hand up the inside of my thigh and, moving aside my knickers, insert his strong fingers into me, one, two, maybe even three… Forcing them deeper and deeper, working them furiously, until I gasp. Until I come, drenching his hand.
    I imagine him pushing my dress up so it bunches around my waist. He will roughly tear away my knickers, open my long, slender legs wide, and while I arch my spine with uncontrollable lust, he will eat me out like a wild beast. And I will hold him by the hair until… I climax again.
    ‘You taste so much better than her,’ he will say to me.
    My legs are trembling and my knickers are wet. I push a finger into my own wet hole, and pulling it out put it into my mouth. This is me. That is what he will taste. Then a thought: You don’t have much time. I snap out of my fantasy. I must be the picture of calm loyalty.
    Quickly, I move to my dressing table.
    Nearly black mascara, smoky brown eyeshadow and luscious berry lipstick. I press my lips together, and let the color pigments spread. Nice. Very nice. I’ll just be soft and innocent. That always works. I dab perfume—potent and specially created for me—behind my ears,