Fifty Days of Sin Page 20

  Adam told me how he realised something must have happened to me when I didn’t show up. And Michael had been giving him the creeps for a while. Somehow, he said, he just knew that my ex had gone a step further and I still remember the haunted look in his eyes as he told me how he feared for me. He knew that Michael lived in Jericho and frantically searched the area, looking for his dark green VW Golf, until he suddenly considered the possibility that he might have broken into my house. When he raced to my place and saw the car outside, he knew Michael was in there with me and then he heard the screaming through the open window.

  I shudder at the memory and push it away.

  And more than anything, thank God that Michael tripped on the stairs, plunging the knife into his own body. My mother always told me that if I was walking around carrying a knife or scissors I had to point the blade into the palm of my hand – now I know how right she was.

  I know that Adam was had nearly broken into the house as I tried to escape, but if Michael had not been bleeding on the floor when he broke in I truly believe Adam would have killed him with his own hands – or done his best to.

  Whether I would have still been alive at that point is something I try not to think about.

  Natasha is history now, and as upset and humiliated as I was that night that she saw me on Adam’s bed, it all seems very unimportant after what’s happened. I’m already putting it out of my mind, and there’s no way I’m going to let it get in the way of my relationship with Adam.

  He’s stroking my hair, and he gently wipes away my tears with his thumb. “Don’t cry any more, Justine,” he tells me softly. “I love you so much. It’s over now. Don’t cry.”

  “I’m so glad I’ve got you, Adam,” I tell him. “I love you too.” And I mean it from the bottom of my heart.

  Epilogue

  Four years later

  “KIVE!” SHOUTS JAMIE, WAVING HIS CHUBBY little hand as Adam’s brother crunches down the gravel of the drive and gets into his car.

  “Yes, Clive,” says Adam, picking him up to give him a better look. “Bye-bye, Uncle Clive.”

  “Uggle Kive,” he repeats, then squirms in his father’s arms and reaches out for me. “Mummy!”

  “Come on then, little fidget,” I smile at him and take him in my arms as Adam passes him over.

  “Daddy not good enough for you?” he grins at Jamie.

  “He might have to get used to Daddy a bit more soon,” I reply pointedly.

  “I wonder what he’ll make of a new arrival,” conjectures Adam wryly.

  “Touch wood,” I say superstitiously, putting my hand on the door frame. “We’ve only just agreed to try again, remember; we don’t even know if it’ll happen yet.”

  “I forgot you were so superstitious. Does the doorframe count as wood if it’s covered in paint?” he teases.

  “Okay, clever clogs,” I reply and walk a couple of paces to our silver birch tree. “There,” I tell him, touching the bark.

  “That should do it,” agrees Adam.

  “Look,” I tell Jamie, pointing, “Uncle Clive’s going now. Bye-bye!”

  “Bye-bye!” choruses Jamie and waves until Clive’s car has turned the corner and is out of sight. We go back into the house and I put Jamie down. He runs off on his little legs, in search of his favourite floppy toy dog.

  “Well, that was better than some of his past visits,” I comment to Adam as he shuts the front door. “Clive seems a lot easier to be around these days.”

  “I think he finds you less threatening now,” he agrees with a wry smile. “He can cope better with women when he sees them in traditional female roles. You’re a mum now, and you don’t even work at the university any more. So he’s more comfortable with you now.”

  I laugh. “Has he forgotten I’m a bestselling novelist too?”

  “I think he conveniently puts that out of his mind,” grins Adam.

  “When is he going to get himself a steady girlfriend?” I wonder aloud.

  “Probably never,” shrugs Adam. “Three weeks of marriage and that’s it for Clive. That was enough commitment for a lifetime, for him.”

  Life since our marriage has been all change. After being signed off from work for so long having counselling following Michael’s attack, I realised that I didn’t miss it as much as I expected. Adam and I had long talks about what I should do, and it was him who gave me the encouragement to follow my dream of trying to break into writing novels. I still remember telling Adam how much I would like to write fiction, that first time he took me out for dinner, and he remembered.

  I put in just over a year’s solid work researching and drafting my first historical novel and I was overjoyed when my publishers accepted it. It was glorious writing the story of Isabella of Angouleme, the wife of the ill-fated King John, and I was so proud of the finished product.

  It was a long time before my book hit the shelves, but I still remember the pride I felt when I saw it on a “new releases” display taking pride of place at the front of a bookshop. It was even weirder when I saw it for sale in the local supermarket with the titles by Alison Wier and Philippa Gregory. Yes, I’d had books published before, but this was the first one with popular appeal. And it felt great.

  As predicted by Matt, Adam made partner at Grantham and James shortly before we married. The financial package that came with his promotion made the decision to give up my steady income as a lecturer much easier. Since then, he’s quickly progressed onto a seven figure package. Combined with my royalties, our earnings eclipse my wildest dreams; but in reality, the financial side of things is not all that important. My love for Adam and our little family – Jamie, the image of his father, beautiful, wilful and incredibly sweet; Adam, my one and only, my true love: these are what matters.

  I’m working on my second novel now, the story of Edward III’s wife, Philippa of Hainault. Sometimes I wonder if I should give up writing altogether. During the week, we have a nanny for Jamie, and he knows that when Mummy’s in the study I’m not to be disturbed. But when I emerge from working and they tell me all about what they’ve been doing together, sometimes I feel jealous or guilty. Of course, writing is the ultimate flexible job and if I want to do something special with Jamie the work can wait. But if I do that too much, my working routine is upset and it’s difficult to progress my novel.

  Adam has told me over and over again that I should only work if I want to – God knows we don’t need the money - but in my heart I believe it’s good for me. I need to use my brain and I enjoy the recognition and self respect that comes with having my own career and my own earnings.

  “Time for your bath,” I hear Adam say to Jamie. “Come on, little man, we’re going up the stairs.”

  I watch them, Jamie running up the steps pursued by his Dad who’s pretending to try and catch him. A shiver runs through me but I push the thought of Michael to the side. It’s a long time since I allowed the memories of the attack to creep in. Initially, I was on heavy medication to help me through the trauma, but I impressed my doctors with my progress and I was drug-free by the day of our wedding.

  I hear the run of the bathwater and shrieks of laughter from upstairs as Adam wrestles Jamie out of his clothes. My son loves to make a game out of bedtime. First he fights having his clothes off, then he splashes his little hands and feet in the bubbly water, creating a huge mess on the bathroom floor, and then it’s another wrestling match trying to get him into his sleepsuit for bed. But once he’s on my or Adam’s lap clutching Doggy and listening to his stories, he calms. He has a beaker of warm milk last thing at night and it makes him drowsy. He’s a good sleeper, on the whole, and always was. If the second baby we’re hoping for is conceived soon, I hope he or she will be a good sleeper too.

  I go up the stairs to join Adam as he bathes Jamie, who is filling up a jug with water and holding it as high as he can to tip it out again. It’s amazing how, no matter how many rubber ducks, Thomas the Tank Engine toys and squirty fire engines you buy fo
r your child’s bath, they’re more interested in the jug you use to rinse the shampoo out of their hair. “Woah!” I cry as he splashes me. “Aw, Mummy’s all wet!”

  “Daddy wet!” says Jamie and gets his Dad too.

  “Right, you, I’m coming to get you,” says Adam and Jamie squeals and wriggles away, laughing, as his Dad wields a bath sponge, getting his soft little body clean.

  Soon Jamie is wrapped up in a hooded towel, looking like a swaddled newborn. I pat him dry gently and Adam goes to find his nappy and sleepsuit. I lie him down on the towel and Adam slips the nappy under his little pink bottom, fastening it at the front, and then with some resistance from Jamie, he pulls the sleepsuit onto his tiny legs and fastens the first few poppers up to his tummy.

  “Up-a-daisy now, Jamie, let’s get your arms in,” he encourages, and Jamie springs to his feet and runs out of the bathroom, half-dressed and giggling wildly. I smile and start tidying the bathroom as I hear Adam catch his son and finish the tricky job of wrestling him into his nightclothes.

  When I go in, Jamie is selecting some picture books from the shelf in his room. Adam sits down in the armchair and lifts him up to his lap.

  “That’s Not My Penguin,” reads Adam, looking at the front cover with our little son. “Is this still Jamie’s favourite?”

  “Yeh,” grins Jamie, putting his fingers out to explore the textures of the touchy-feely book.

  “I’ll go warm up the milk,” I say to Adam and set off down the stairs. By the time I get back they’ve nearly finished reading. I gaze at my husband’s handsome face, suffused with love as he reads the last couple of pages.

  “Then he nibbled a hole in the cocoon, pushed his way out and...” Adam turns the page. “He was a beautiful butterfly!”

  “Butter-fie,” repeats Jamie.

  “Good boy,” I tell him. “That’s right, butterfly. Here’s your milk, darling.”

  He reaches out and takes it eagerly and has soon finished the beaker. “Mummy,” he says, reaching out for me as Adam takes the empty cup from him.

  “Okay, baby. Here, come to Mummy.” I lift him out of Adam’s arms and lie him down in bed. “You be a good boy and get to sleep nice and quick, okay?” He gives a sleepy nod and Adam and I kiss him goodnight, tucking the covers around him, looking down at his innocent little face as he cuddles Doggy. He’s already sucking on one of the toy’s bedraggled-looking ears. I’ll never get tired of the indescribably touching sight of my little boy tucked up in his bed.

  We walk softly down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Time for a glass of wine,” I declare. “You having one too?”

  “Go on, as you’ve twisted my arm.” I select a bottle from the wine rack and open it, pouring two glasses.

  “He’s growing so fast,” I comment, and take a sip of my drink. “He looks so much bigger now he’s in a proper bed.”

  “Scary, isn’t it?” agrees Adam as we move into the living room. “You know what we need, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Another baby. So we can start all over again with a new one.”

  “I just want him to have a brother or sister to love,” I reply, sitting down on the sofa and putting down my wine.

  Adam looks into my eyes. “Well, I guess I have my duty to do then,” he says pointedly.

  “Ha! Is having sex with your wife such a chore?”

  He puts down his drink and takes a firm hold on my head. My heart leaps as he pulls me to him and kisses me hard.

  “It’ll never be a chore,” he promises. “You’re just as beautiful as the day I first set eyes on you.” And then he’s kissing me again, urgently, our tongues duelling as he lets his hands roam to my breasts. I feel a thrill of arousal as he trails kisses from my earlobe down the nape of my neck and starts to push away the neckline of my top and the lacy cup of my bra to reveal my nipple. I gasp as I feel him lick and tease it with his tongue.

  “Adam, can we please close the curtains?” I ask, glancing around nervously.

  “If we must,” he grins and stands, doing as I’ve asked. Then he turns to face me, his grey eyes dark now and his face serious. “Does this mean what I think it means?”

  I know exactly what Adam’s talking about. Jamie is in bed so we can’t be too noisy – particularly in the bedroom, which is near his own room. If we stay downstairs with the door shut he won’t hear us. We’ll be able to hear him over the baby monitor if he wakes, but the monitor doesn’t allow him to hear us, and he can’t get down the stairs past the safety gate. So there’s no danger that he might walk into the room.

  So if we stay downstairs, we won’t be disturbed.

  We can do whatever we like.

  “Yes,” I reply, feeling desire spread through me.

  Adam doesn’t need any further encouragement. I can see his erection already straining the crotch of his jeans. “Yes, sir,” he corrects.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He sits down next to me. “Strip for me, Justine.” I do as I’m bid, rising from the sofa and removing first my top and maxi skirt, then my nude holdups, bra and then knickers. I’m naked to his gaze. “Kneel. And suck me,” he commands.

  Eager to obey, I kneel at his feet, unfasten his trousers and free his straining erection. First I take it in my hand, moving up and down on him as I revel in the feeling of his hardness beneath my fingers. Then, tentatively, I lean forward and put out my tongue, licking the tip. I’m gratified by the sharp intake of breath I hear from Adam as I start to pleasure him. He flexes his hips forward as I take him fully into my mouth, and I slide him wetly in and out. Flicking my tongue over the sensitive tip with every movement, I increase the pace and feel his fingers gripping my hair, meshing into it.

  Wetness is forming between my legs as I feel his shaft thicken inside my mouth and I suck harder, moving faster with an urgent rhythm as I bring him closer to climax. And then he comes, releasing the thick salty liquid into the back of my throat as he groans out my name.

  I look up at him from my servile position on the floor, feeling wanton and aroused.

  “Do you have something to say?” he asks.

  “Thank you, sir,” I tell him, trying not to grin.

  “I think you owe me an apology,” he tells me, putting on a serious look. “You’ve made a mess.”

  I glance at his jeans and realise he’s right, a little of his come is on the crotch of his jeans.

  “Sorry, sir,” I say meekly.

  “That’s not good enough,” he pronounces. “I’m going to have to make sure you don’t do it again. You need punishment.”

  His words send a thrill through me and no sooner do I start to wonder what he’s got planned, he’s pulled me up to lie across his lap. His hand starts to caress my bottom.

  “You can count,” he says, stroking my flesh tenderly with his hand. “Twenty.”

  “Yes, sir,” I reply and then I gasp as his hand hits me squarely on my behind, stinging my skin. “One.”

  He trails his fingers over the cheeks of my bottom, moving in little circles. Oh, I am getting so wet now and he’s only just begun my spanking. Then he raises his hand and gives me the second blow. “Two,” I cry, panting.

  Again he alternates pleasure with pain, stroking the sensitive flesh at the top of my thighs. My clitoris is throbbing with need but then he moves away his teasing fingers and strikes me again. “Three!”

  Over and over again he continues, first slapping hard onto my bottom and then stroking and touching me into a greater and greater state of arousal with his skilled fingers. As I wait for the final blow I feel him slide two fingers inside me and I groan with frustration and desire.

  Then he removes them and delivers the final stinging blow. “Twenty,” I pant and he’s touching me again, rubbing the wetness between my thighs and sliding his hand forward to tease my throbbing, needy clitoris with his moist fingers. I moan incoherently at the feeling and then wail in frustration as he suddenly stops.

  “You’ve forgotten somethin
g,” he says, and I twist my head round to look at him. I see a devilish smile playing on his lips.

  “Thank you, sir,” I reply.

  “That’s better.” With a deft movement, he moves me further up the sofa, stands up and then pulls me suddenly to my knees, positioning me on all fours.

  “What shall I do with you now, Justine?” he asks, postponing the pleasure I crave even longer. Oh, please, Adam, please, I want you inside me now.

  “Fuck me,” I tell him. “Please. Sir.”

  Then he strips off his shirt, socks, jeans and boxer shorts and kneels behind me, pulling my hips towards him to meet him. I feel his erection pressing against me and then he slams hard inside, making me gasp.