Before I could move he lifted me bodily and tossed me across the bonnet. It was hard and hot. So was he. He pushed my skirt up around my hips and tore off my knickers. I really didn’t know that could happen. I don’t know where they went. I never saw them again. He slipped two fingers inside and, satisfied, pushed himself into me – hard. It should have been brutal, but it wasn’t. I arched up to meet him, wanting every inch, wrapping my stockinged legs around his waist and pushing hard against him. We crashed together and I felt heat building in and around me. His hands were all over me, rough and urgent. I moaned and this galvanised him further, thrusting harder and faster. It hurt, but it was glorious, and I couldn’t have stopped to save my life. I pulled up his shirt and raked my fingernails across his back. He gasped and groaned, but didn’t stop. I bit his neck and he took my head between his hands and kissed me, tongue pushing its way into my mouth, matching the rhythm of our bodies. I could hear a wailing noise, rising in crescendo and volume. Oh God, it was me. I twisted my hands in his hair and pushed back, matching him all the way. He whispered, ‘Lucy,’ and as soon as he said it, I was away, heaving and shuddering and gasping as wave after wave broke over me, increasing in frequency and strength. I couldn’t stop, all control gone, totally abandoned, lost in a sea of sensation and pleasure, until my body convulsed, a scream ripping from between my clenched teeth. He pushed again and again, prolonging the moment endlessly until, with a series of harsh, inarticulate cries, he shuddered and collapsed across me. I could feel him inside, pulsing over and over, as he finally released himself and we both slowly came down together.
Eventually, he lifted himself up and looked down at me. I sprawled across the bonnet, breasts exposed, skirt around my waist, legs spread wide. My hair had come down and hung over my face.
He rested his weight on his hands and tried to catch his breath. Slowly, he withdrew and straightened up. ‘Dear God.’
I struggled to breathe. I pushed my hair off my face and looked up through the green and gold dappled sunshine to the blue sky above.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Let me help you,’ and he did, helping me sit up. He pulled down my bra and tucked in my shirt. He was slow and careful and very gentle. His hands shook so badly I had to button his shirt for him, so we took care of each other. Finally, we were presentable. Not decent. We would never be decent again.
I slid down off the bonnet and cast a quick glance around, wanting to make sure my knickers weren’t hanging off a nearby tree. He caught and steadied me. Still experiencing aftershocks, I was almost unable to stand.
We sat together on a nearby log, his arm around me. He gently kissed my hair as I twisted it back into shape.
‘Do I look all right?’
‘Not in any way. You look wanton and dishevelled and knickerless and outrageously desirable. I’m a lost man.’
I put my hand on his cheek and he leaned into it, turned his head and kissed my palm.
‘Can we do that again?’
‘Well, I think I can hear the low-loader, so you might want to hold off until we get back home, but I warn you, I’m not finished with you. I want you again. And again.’
I drew a sharp breath and for a moment, lost my place in the world.
Dieter arrived. He jumped down and we went to meet him.
‘Are you two OK?’ he asked. ‘Because you don’t look it. Bloody hell, Max, sit down will you. You too, Chief. I think you’re both in shock.’
‘No, we’re fine.’
‘You crashed the Boss’s Bentley, Max. I’d develop shock if I were you; and severe internal injuries. It’s the only thing that will save you.’
‘Actually,’ said the Chief. ‘I was driving.’
Dieter winced. ‘You crashed the car? What happened?’
‘Deer,’ I said quickly. They both looked at me. ‘A deer ran across the road. We swerved. Missed the deer. Hit the tree. We could have been killed. Neat bit of driving. Good job it wasn’t me. We’d be a ball of flame by now.’
The Chief rolled his eyes and folded his arms.
Dieter said, ‘A deer? At four o’clock in the afternoon?’
‘It was confused,’ I offered.
‘It’s not the only one. Did you bang your head?’
‘Not my head, no.’
‘Get your stuff,’ said Dieter, ‘I’ll start the winch.’
‘Do you want a hand?’
‘No thanks, Chief. Perhaps you’d better get Max on board.’ He grinned. ‘You both look pretty shagged out to me.’
So we did as we were told and climbed into the cab.
We were all quiet on the way back. Word had got round and a small, jeering crowd met us at the hangar doors. No sign of the Boss. He would be off somewhere organising our P45s.
‘Stay where you are,’ said Dieter, walking round the front of the vehicle. He opened the passenger door and helped me down.
‘Doctor Foster says to go straight up,’ said Polly and I groaned. God Almighty, was there no respite?
Helen, thank God, didn’t mess about. ‘No blood, no pain, no fractures. Chief, as the marginally more sensible one here, watch out for pallor, shaking, decreased physical co-ordination, and loss of consciousness.’
‘Already had that!’ I muttered and got a nudge.
‘Of course, Doctor, pallor, shaking, unconsciousness – got it.’
‘Go away now. I think the Boss wants you. Before you go, Maxwell, a word.’
‘I’ll wait outside.’ He closed the door behind him.
‘What’s up, doc?’
She looked unusually serious. ‘I need you to answer this question honestly and completely. It’s important. This has serious implications.’
I felt uneasy. ‘What?’
She looked at me sternly. ‘Have you just had intercourse?’
I threw caution to the winds. ‘Not so much intercourse as such. More like full-blown, in your face, head-banging, shrieking, shuddering, mind-blowing sex that’s probably illegal in many parts of the known world. Why? Are there medical implications?’
‘Oh, no, nothing to do with that. It’s just there’s an awful lot of money changing hands in this building even as we speak and I want to be sure I get mine off Peterson.’
I opened my mouth to speak, couldn’t think of anything to say, shut it, blushed, swallowed, and opened it again.
‘You’re speechless, aren’t you?’
I nodded.
‘Good, that’s an extra tenner Peterson owes me. You can go now.’