Just Desserts
Trudy had to admit that living back at Eldorado had not been the hardship she expected. When she lived there as a student, sharing the house with Charlotte and Donny, and Donny’s visiting harem of pliant female admirers, Trudy had had a single room on the upper floor and a shared responsibility for the communal living area of the lounge-cum-kitchen. Now, although Charlotte still kept some belongings in her room, she spent most of her nights with Harvey in the apartment he’d acquired in the town centre. Daryl had taken over Donny’s use of the basement and, because Daryl didn’t spend much time in the communal areas, there were some days when Trudy felt as though she had Eldorado to herself.
‘Would either of you care for a bite to eat?’ Trudy asked, heading to the kitchen. She was trying to remember what remained in the fridge and whether it could serve the three of them.
‘No time to eat,’ Daryl reminded her. ‘You’re going out on a date.’
Trudy groaned. She had been trying to forget about that.
‘Do I have to?’
She thought of pointing out that she’d had enough romance for one day by watching Bill and Aliceon’s wedding. Looking at the steely resolve on Daryl’s face, Trudy could see there would be no point in attempting such an argument. They had already had this conversation several times. Daryl insisted she needed to return to dating as quickly as possible. She’d used phrases like ‘getting back on the horse’ and ‘clearing out cobwebs’, which had made Trudy worried about what she was expected to do on a date. More practically, Daryl had advised that Trudy needed to date again both for her own confidence and to show anyone interested in her life that she hadn’t been troubled by Bill’s marriage to Aliceon.
‘He’ll be here in half an hour,’ Daryl promised.
Trudy’s shoulders slumped and she nodded defeat.
‘Go get yourself ready,’ said Daryl. ‘Your mascara’s smudged.’
Trudy paused at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Who is he?’
‘His name is Mark. I used to go out with him. He’s a doctor at the local A&E department.’
‘When did you go out with someone called Mark?’ Beatrice asked.
‘We dated on and off for a couple of months last year,’ Daryl said. ‘Why?’
‘You never mentioned him.’
‘There are lots of things I’ve never mentioned to you, sweetie,’ Daryl purred.
She pushed her face close and kissed the frown from Beatrice’s lips. Beatrice responded with a widening smile and a tight embrace.
Trudy started up the stairs, relieved that she would be going out so she didn’t have to spend the evening in the house as an unwanted witness to Daryl and Beatrice’s obvious and intimate affection. It wasn’t that she minded the couple being together. She simply didn’t feel in the mood to watch other people being so blithely happy in a relationship.
In the bathroom she removed her mascara and most of her make-up. She’d worn an LBD from Coco Chanel for the wedding and it struck her as adequate for a blind date. The hem was short enough to show off that she had good legs whilst the high neckline suggested she wasn’t yet making herself available to anyone.
She applied lipstick and a touch of eyeliner and decided that was as much as she needed to do to make her face presentable. If her date Mark was expecting more from her then he was going to be disappointed. She supposed, in some ways, that it would be a kindness to introduce a date to disappointment so early on in a relationship. It saved making them wait until the word ‘love’ had been bandied around before teaching them that disappointment could have the power to crush a person’s heart or tear it, still beating, from their chest.
She shook her head, tousling the loose curls into shape, before heading down the stairs. Daryl and Beatrice had already retired to the basement so Trudy busied herself with working on an article about carrot cakes. She was just beginning to enjoy the writing when a polite fist knocked on the door.
She saved the document, closed the laptop and went out to greet him.
Mark turned out to be attractive and fun. He had dark hair and blue eyes and a rugby player’s nose. He recognised Trudy from a picture that Daryl had shared. Although it was obvious Daryl had mentioned Trudy’s role as a judge on Master Baker it was clear that he had never seen the show. Over dinner, at an unassuming town centre bistro called the Chekov, he asked her briefly about the programme and her investment in cookery. But mainly he talked about his work. He made her laugh with stories about some of the funnier things that had occurred in the A&E ward where he was currently stationed and Trudy felt a surge of gratitude to Daryl for organising such a perfect date.
The bistro was a clean family-run establishment. The shabby-chic furnishings were a mixture of tired aquamarine colours and weary woodwork that could have looked scruffy but somehow looked charming. Studying Mark’s jeans and jacket combination, as well as his polished smile and his untidy hair, Trudy thought she could say the same for him: scruffy but somehow charming.
Trudy ordered a stroganoff and she was pleased with its delightful blend of soured cream and beefiness that worked with the mushrooms and onions. When they were eating desserts, she sampled a portion of his sirniki, which had been served with blueberries and fresh cream. The pancake was golden and crisp on the outside but fluffy and deceptively insubstantial inside.
Trudy vowed to visit the Chekov again.
The only thing that cast a shadow on the evening was when she caught an unwanted glimpse of Donny. They had a window seat that overlooked the night. Trudy was staring out into the darkness of the rain-slicked roads and the neon colour of the passing traffic. Mark had left her alone for a moment whilst he visited the men’s room and Trudy was entertaining herself by looking at the animated movement of the night.
At first she didn’t notice the tall, handsome figure staring in at her.
When she finally registered the brooding intensity of his frown she recoiled.
It was Donny, glaring at her. He glowered through the window. His upper lip was curled with contempt. He shook his head as though unable to believe what he was seeing. She tried to tear her gaze away but he seemed to be holding her under some sort of mesmerism.
She’d heard people talk about rabbits being caught in the stare of oncoming headlights. Trudy had never appreciated what that meant before but now she thought she did.
When Mark returned, Donny stepped back into the shadows and then disappeared into the night. Mark asked if she was OK and said she looked pale. Trudy shook her head and pushed Donny from her thoughts. She’d had enough of him spoiling things that were good in her life. She was damned if she would let the coincidence of him walking past the Chekov be another reason to spoil something she was enjoying.
‘You’re sure you’re OK?’ he pressed.
She promised that she was and then declined the invitation to share a bottle of wine. It was enough to be in the company of someone who was attractive and attentive. She didn’t want to run the risk of drinking herself into another mistake so soon after the last one.
Once they’d talked about their shared interpretations of university experiences the conversation moved on to tastes in music, books and films. He was a rock aficionado and suggested a handful of tracks she could use to extend the musical accompaniment she had for her morning workout routine. Trudy downloaded the tracks and added them to her playlist whilst they sat in the bistro.
The tears came out of nowhere.
They were walking back to Eldorado through the town centre. They had just passed Melville’s and the radio station, when a wave of sadness rippled through her. It struck her that Mark would be an easy man to fall in love with. He was good, handsome and seemed kind. He was interesting and witty and considerate and…
…and he wasn’t Bill.
‘Shit,’ Mark gasped when he saw she was crying. He had an arm around her waist and a hand on her shoulder. ‘Is this something I’ve said or done? Or are you just overwhelmed by how wonderful I am?’
The words surprised a laugh from her throat. Combined with the tears she figured the noise would be horrific enough to give most people nightmares.
‘Not only am I good-looking and fun to be with but also, did I mention, I’m a doctor?’
She nodded and laughed again. This time her amusement sounded softer.
‘I think you did mention that once or twice.’
When he touched her elbow she thought his concern seemed genuine and sympathetic.
‘Let’s get you home,’ he suggested. ‘You’ve clearly had a long day and you need some rest.’
She wanted to protest but he spoke with commanding authority. He hailed a passing taxi, took her to the front door of Eldorado and then kissed her chastely on the cheek.
‘Will you call me when you feel a little less vulnerable?’
‘I don’t have your number,’ she told him.
‘Daryl has my number,’ he reminded her. ‘Now get yourself off to bed and get rested and call me if you fancy doing something like this again.’
She thanked him and promised him she would call.
Daryl and Beatrice either had gone out or were asleep in their basement room. Trudy took another sullen stab at the article she was writing about carrot cake but her enthusiasm for the subject had declined after the embarrassment of crying in front of Mark. She was in the process of pouring herself a warm milky drink when her mobile received a text message. She could see it came from Donny. She opened it knowing it would not be pleasant.
You’re dating another bloke already? Fuck me, Gertrude. You seem to be collecting more DNA samples than a CSI team.
3
An hour later she was back in his arms.
There was no sensation to compare with the thrill of naked skin touching naked skin. When she stood in his embrace, she felt the perfect balance of being protected and being vulnerable.
Her breasts were pressed against his chest. The stiffness of her nipples jutted hard against his pectoral muscles. His strong hands, the fingers as sensitive as a surgeon’s, the palms callused and hard, held her tight against him.
Because he was taller she could feel the stirring of his arousal against her belly. He was long to begin with. As excitement flooded through him, the warm flesh pressing on her bare stomach grew longer.
She had wanted him before.
Now, she needed him.
Their kiss was a sweet exchange of exploration and excitement. He made no demands on her flesh. He didn’t tease her lips with his teeth. He didn’t plunder her mouth with his tongue. It was one of those intimacies she had experienced so rarely. It was a kiss of gentle affection.
Her heartbeat raced.
The muscles inside her sex thrilled with a liquid rush of delight. In that moment she knew, whatever he asked of her, she would be happy to endure.
He broke the kiss to guide her on to the bed.
The room was nothing special. It was a fairly anonymous motel close to the motorway. If she had closed her eyes and concentrated, Trudy knew she would have heard the drone of swift traffic. But there were more important things occurring in the room that demanded her attention and no time to listen to sounds outside.
She stared up at a dimly lit ceiling, luxuriated in the firm mattress and savoured the sensation of his kisses at her feet.
He stroked his hands along one leg, whilst his mouth worked slowly up from her foot to her knee on the other. The scratch of his razor stubble was briefly too much when he went higher and neared her inner thigh. But Trudy figured she had suffered much worse in the name of intimacy and she wasn’t going to call a halt to events just because of a scratchy kiss.
When his kisses slipped to the tops of her legs, landing lightly upon the lips of her sex, Trudy did moan. She grabbed fistfuls of the linen on which she lay and wrenched at the sheets.
He laughed between her legs.
She savoured his mirth and heard herself giggling lightheadedly as his lips lingered on the centre of her sex. Her heartbeat was pounding faster. She could hear the throbbing pulse in her temples. The delicious sensations of excitement began to swell in her stomach and she knew he would take her to a peak of satisfaction.
‘You taste divine,’ he told her.
She writhed against the sheets, not sure whether the compliment was embarrassing or enthralling. Before she had a chance to make up her mind his mouth had again returned to her sex and his tongue was parting her inner lips.
She held her breath, fearful that if she made any sound it would be a sob. The slickness of his mouth against her wetness was a wickedly light lubrication. Occasionally the scrub of his beard rasped against her sensitive flesh, and she knew she would likely be left reddened and sore in the morning. But that was a small price to pay for the nirvana of what she was currently enjoying.
He lapped and kissed at her sex until the first rush of orgasm flooded through her body.
It was an intense release. One moment he was suckling hard upon her clitoris, and she felt as though she was teetering on the brink of a powerful eruption. The next moment, he had released his lips from her sex and simply held his tongue against the pulsing bead of her hypersensitive flesh.
It was enough to have her groaning with ecstasy.
She shoved a fist against her mouth to quell the sounds of her satisfaction.
Whilst a part of her wanted to scream with a mixture of gratitude and elation, she was aware that the motel room would not be the most discreet place to have a shrieking orgasm. Not only would it be inconsiderate for anyone trying to sleep nearby, she knew there would be serious consequences for her career if anyone discovered what she was doing.
He kept his tongue against her sex until another surge of relief rushed through her body. This one wasn’t quite as powerful as the first but it was strong enough to make her push him away.
He stared up at her, his blue eyes shining brightly in the darkness. His grin moistened by the wetness of her release.
‘Was that too much for you?’ he asked.
She propped herself up on an elbow and stared down at him. It took an effort because her muscles felt too weak to support her after the excess of her climax. But she was determined to appear as casual about this liaison as he was.
‘That was good for a start,’ she told him. ‘But I think I need more.’
‘More?’
He had a pair of fingers against her sex as he shifted up the bed and lay against her side. He stroked his free hand over the stiffness of her nipples and then cupped, squeezed and kneaded her breasts. She could taste her own wetness on his kisses and the flavour only served to excite her. The fingers on her sex had slid on either side of her clitoris and he lightly pulled and stretched at her flesh.
His kisses had been a powerful stimulant but this was far more intense.
Trudy pushed herself against his mouth, eager to let him know how much she was enjoying their passion and determined to give him the same satisfaction that he was bestowing on her. She didn’t know where he had learned the technique to touch her so intimately but she was amazed by how swiftly he was able to take her to another rush of pleasure.
The inner muscles of her sex ached from excessive stimulation. Her sex and upper thighs felt sticky and sodden from the release of so many orgasms. And she knew there was still more to come.
‘My turn,’ she told him.
He arched a questioning eyebrow.
She pulled herself from beneath him and forced him to lie flat on the bed.
He did as she asked, grudgingly but without complaint.
She placed herself over him, kissing his face, then his chest and then moving her mouth down to his hardness. When she licked his length, another quiver of arousal bristled through her body. When she dared to take him in her mouth, and then stared up at him whilst her lips were being stretched by his girth, she could see he was sharing her heightened excitement.
Trudy kept him there for a moment, savouring the taste of him and lightly running her tongue over the rounded shape of his end. It was only when he slid his fingers into her hair, and curled one hand so that he was gripping her tight, that she pulled herself away from him. Her smile remained fixed and polite as she eased his fingers from their grip on her blonde locks. Even though she was shaking her head, she could see that he wasn’t offended by her resisting his control.
She straddled him easily.
He was hard, and moistened with her saliva, and slipped effortlessly into her sex. Her inner muscles were pushed forcefully apart as she took him deep into her wetness. Trudy had thought before that her excitement was reaching new levels of euphoria. And, whilst the sensation of his mouth against her sex had been good, this experience was far more satisfying.
She was on her knees and sitting over him, easing herself gently up and down with a slow, mechanical rhythm. She allowed as much of him as possible to slip from her confines, before firmly and deliberately pushing herself back down on him.
He rushed smoothly into her.
He stiffened on the bed and stared up in amazement.
‘That feels good.’
‘It’s about to feel better,’ she promised.
Without waiting for a response she shifted from sitting on him to squatting over him. Without the barrier of her thighs from the previous position she discovered she could get more of him inside. His shaft, already satisfying in length, was now pushing so deeply into her that she felt the prospect of another climax building in her loins.
When she pressed down hard against him her clitoris was teased by the harsh scrub of his pubic curls. Her arousal accelerated to another level. She held him there for an instant, thrilling to the fact that she could feel the pulse of his arousal so deep inside her sex. And then she was pulling herself away from him and gliding easily up his slippery length.
He murmured sweet words of affection.
She clenched her teeth and said nothing as she rode slowly and deliberately up and down. She had her hands on his chest to steady her balance. Accidentally, her nails clawed at his skin. She occasionally pulled chest hairs from their follicles but he didn’t complain and she didn’t care.
She knew, when the explosion of his climax came, it would likely be enough to send another thrill of release through her body.
Working more swiftly, battling against the strain of the muscles in her thighs, and congratulating herself for exercising so regularly so that her quads were able to cope with this level of exertion, she squeezed herself tight around him.
He groaned.
She sighed, grateful she had managed to force some response from him. And then she pushed herself firmly on to him and squeezed again.
Whatever effort of willpower he had been using to resist his climax was finally beaten. She could feel the slick hot jet of his orgasm throbbing inside her. He pulled her tightly into his embrace and kissed her mouth as his length continued to throb and shiver. Her own orgasm felt equally powerful. Although she’d been trying to keep her inner muscles squeezed tight around him, the exhilaration of the climax was so severe she lost control. Pleasure surged through her body and she collapsed against his kisses as their bodies bucked and shivered together in wet satisfaction.
Trudy didn’t know if she had passed out from the experience or had simply drifted into a state of euphoric bliss, but she was aware of awakening on his chest and being graced by his smile.
His dwindling length remained inside her.
She could feel the thump of their heartbeats pounding in unison. Smiling down at him she kissed him lightly on the mouth and said, ‘Thank you, Mr Hart.’
4
The studio lights were harsh on Nicola’s pastry. They were so bright they bleached the golden-brown colour from the blintz’s shell and made it appear pale and undercooked. When Carlos Fielding cut into a corner of the blintz, breaking easily through the layers of puff pastry and securing himself a mixture of steaming apples, seasoned with cheese and cinnamon, the dessert still looked too pale to be really appetising.
Fielding seemed untroubled.
He winked at Nicola as he raised the forkful to his mouth.
Nicola watched him with breathless expectation.
Fielding had the dessert in his mouth for less than ten seconds before he spat it out. He was shaking his head and holding his hand up, as though surrendering.
‘Cut!’ he cried. ‘For Christ’s sake, please. Cut.’
The director echoed Fielding’s cry, then, red with fury, stormed over and pointed a warning finger in Fielding’s face. ‘Stop being such a diva,’ he roared. ‘You’re not the one who tells my crew to cut.’
Fielding sneered at the director. ‘And you’re not the one with a mouthful of irradiated dog shit testing their gag reflex. So, unless you want live footage of me puking all over your Master Baker set, you’ll stop filming for a moment so I can get a drink and get this piss-awful taste out of my mouth.’
Surprised by the onslaught, the director stepped back.
Fielding paused and flashed a thin smile at the bewildered Nicola. ‘No offence,’ he added coolly. ‘I’m sure this would be a lovely delicacy in a prison or in some sort of zoo where they don’t like the animals.’
Nicola studied him with an expression of pained horror.
Fielding placed a hand over his mouth as though he was holding back involuntary reflux. He steadied himself and then asked, ‘What the hell did you put in that blintz? Did you really want the filling to taste partially digested?’
Nicola ran away sobbing.
The director was walking away from Fielding, signalling for the filming team to take five and telling the studio audience that they’d be resuming as soon as Carlos had recovered from his ‘ordeal’.
Trudy watched as Fielding waylaid one of the studio runners and demanded a bottle of water. Quietly she muttered a prayer, desperate for any gods listening to make sure she never ended up being as big a diva as he was. She wondered what it would be like to be so self-obsessed and care so little for the feelings of everyone else. It couldn’t be a pleasant way to live.
‘He looks more butch on TV,’ Daryl told Trudy.
Daryl was on the set in her capacity as Trudy’s PA. She wore a Michael van der Ham miniskirt, the pattern an abstract blend of blacks and silvers on silk jacquard. She handed Trudy a bottle of mineral water so she could get a drink before filming resumed.
‘You say that everyone on TV looks butch,’ Trudy reminded her. ‘I think you have a thing for butch TV stars.’
‘Except you,’ Daryl corrected. ‘You come across as very butch on TV. But I don’t have a thing for you.’
Trudy didn’t know whether to be relieved or crushed.
‘Do I really come across as butch?’
‘Not really. You’re possibly the fairest judge on the set. Carlos is too quick to be rude for the sake of being rude. Tom is a sucker for a story of hardship or personal bad luck. But you make judgements based on the proper criteria of the competition. You base your judgements on the food alone.’
Trudy considered this and realised that was exactly how she was trying to judge the competition. She gave Daryl a grateful peck on the cheek and thanked her.
Daryl looked quietly pleased with herself.
They were filming the last of the Master Baker preliminary rounds. Two of the winning contestants from this evening’s show would go on to the semi-finals in the following weeks. During the semi-finals, as had happened in the previous rounds, contestants would be whittled down by their ability to produce quality desserts. Considering the way Nicola was now crying over her disrespected blintzes, shouting promises of retribution and refusing to let Carlos Fielding insult her again, Trudy thought she knew the name of at least one contestant who wouldn’t be going through to the next stage.