Dear Madam,

Would I play master and servant? No, I already have servants. My wage bill alone tells me this.

Kind Regards,

 

 

We wander up the steps towards the villa, and as Asa and Billy move ahead, I pause and look around at the spot I have grown to love most.

It’s a huge veranda shaded by a sand coloured canvas. There’s a large, old, scarred wooden table on which is set a motley assortment of candles. Mismatched chairs are pulled up to it, and in the sunshine against the villa wall is a deep, white sectional sofa which is insanely comfortable and festooned with blue and white pillows. You can sit on it and look at the unimpeded view of the Mallorcan coastline, or down to the pool with its pale green waters and wide sun loungers with brightly coloured cushions.

Every night once Billy has gone to sleep, I sit out here in what I now consider to be my spot. I bring out a glass of wine, start my music using the Bose Bluetooth speakers which are dotted everywhere, and then read contentedly. There are books everywhere, which I’m growing to realise is a characteristic of all Asa’s homes. I’ve happily worked my way through an old set of Dorothy Sayers’ books, enjoying the old fashioned mysteries.

Inside is gorgeous too, and not at all what I was expecting after living in the pink palace. Rather than bold, stunning colours, this is a comfortable and easy home with a slightly shabby seaside air about it. Exposed brick walls abound, with floors of thick Mallorcan honey wood. The walls are whitewashed and the rooms are airy. There are the customary pops of colour like the bright pink sofa in the lounge, or the mustard coloured claw-foot bath which stands in a room of tiny bright blue mosaic tiles. However, these serve to echo and enhance the stunning colours of sea and sky, showing through the windows.

I can hear Billy’s excited voice in the lounge, so I drift in and find him upending a bucket of shells at Asa’s feet and explaining where he got them from.

Asa looks up at me as I lean against the door, and his eyes darken as they track down my body, tracing the grooves of my abs and the way the shorts hang from my hipbones showing the pelvic muscles. I rub one sandy foot against my leg and give him an innocent look, and his gaze intensifies, before Billy says crossly, “Daddy, pay attention. This one had a little person in it. Isn’t that lovely?”

Asa smiles. “It’s lovely, Bill.” He looks at me. “You went to Ca’n Picafort, then? Did you like it?”

I nod. The seaside town is incredibly pretty and very laid back. “I knew it anyway because my mama comes from around here.” I pause. “Was that okay? I didn’t know whether you wanted us out and about, but I had to get some cream for Bill, because someone forgot to tell me it would be easier to put sun cream on a warthog.”

He laughs and looks up as Valentina’s voice shouts out that she has lunch ready. Asa stands up. “Run and wash your hands, Bill, and then go through to the kitchen. I just need a quick word with Jude and we’ll join you.” The little boy nods obediently and, after giving Asa a quick hug he bounds off. I look up at Asa as he stalks towards me.

“Oh dear, am I in trouble?” I say lightly, laughing as he grabs my hand and tows me after him to the study. Shoving me through the door, he shuts and locks it, before leaning against it.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I need you. Christ, I need to fuck you so badly.”

I gasp, all the laughter turning into this fiery ball of need and want inside me. I quickly draw in a breath, feeling like I’m heating up all over.

“Come here,” he says in a guttural voice. Then I’m on him and we’re kissing, the force clashing our teeth together at times. Our breaths pant between us, creating a humid little cave. He sucks my tongue before pulling back to lick and bite at my lips, his beard heavy and sharp on my skin.

“Yes,” I moan. “I need you, Asa.”

I pull his t-shirt up and over his head, dislodging his bun so the dark strands fall around his face and shoulders, and I stare at him for a second. He looks like a fucking pirate, all white teeth and tanned skin and that scar through his eyebrows. Then I get busy pushing down his shorts while he gets in my way as he thrusts his palms under my shorts and palms my arse. We laugh helplessly as our hands tangle, and suddenly we’re naked and he pulls me hard against him, our cocks rubbing against each other and all laughter stops.

He kisses me furiously, before breaking away to grab and turn me. “Need you,” he mumbles. “I’ve thought of nothing else this week apart from being here. Laid in bed at night with my cock in my hand thinking of you.”

“Yes,” I moan, pushing back against him, turning my head and demanding that he kiss me harder, hold me harder. “Want you so much,” I whisper.  

“God yes,” he mutters. He reaches down, rifling through his shorts, and withdraws a slim tube of lube.

I grin. “You have the best ideas.”

He smirks at me, holding the cap between his teeth as he slicks up his cock and then squirts more onto his hands rubbing them together briskly. Then he pushes me against the wall flattening himself against my back. He leans into me so I feel the harsh rasp of his chest hair on my spine, and reaches between my legs, slicking my inner thighs liberally with the lube, pausing only to cup my balls and give my cock a hard tug.

I jerk. “I thought we were going to fuck.”

“Not in here,” he whispers. “I’d really rather not have an indignant five-year-old knocking on the door when I fuck you for the first time. So I came up with this idea instead.”

I chuckle and moan. “I stand by what I said. The best ideas. I haven’t done this since I was fifteen.” I groan out a laugh as he pushes against me so I lean more into the rough plaster of the wall. Kicking my legs apart he pushes his slick cock in between my inner thighs. It slides smoothly along my channel in the slick of the lube until it bumps gently against my balls, making me jerk and groan at the instant sizzle.

“Yes,” I gasp and close my legs, trapping him in the tunnel he’s made.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck. That feels bloody amazing.”

I gasp as he starts to move, pulling almost out so I feel the cooler air on my arse and back, before tunnelling back in. All the time his hands are moving over me, pinching my nipples and grabbing my hipbones to move me. His cock is as hard as I’ve ever felt it, and the sticky wetness of his pre-come mingles with the lube, making a slippery ride that is much more intense than I remember as a fifteen year old.

The steely thickness of his dick slips back and forth along my taint, catching and pushing against my balls, while the slick sounds of the lube and his movements add a sensual layer that has me hotter than I’ve ever been. It’s like being sucked into a tornado where the only thing on my radar is him, the hot brand of his cock rubbing and catching on my rim, and driving me mad. His massive shoulders tower over me making me feel almost small.

I moan harshly and go to grab my neglected cock, as his dick rubs the underside of my balls creating a heated burn in my blood. He grabs my wrist in one of his big hands, and bites my shoulder. I cry out and he chuckles hoarsely, before licking over the bite. “No touching. That cock is mine.”

“Well, treat it properly then,” I snap. “Rather than wait for it to die of neglect.”

Incredibly, I feel the bastard laugh. If he’s still coherent enough to do that, I’m not playing my part properly I think savagely. Then I bend slightly forward at the waist and start to roll my hips sinuously. The gentle movement gives me an advance and retreat motion on his cock, a fact which becomes apparent when he grunts out an expletive and his other hand comes down and grips my cock in his wet, slippery fist.

“Nearly there,” he pants, rubbing faster, and I choke back a shout as he tugs my cock in the motion I like best, hard and fast with a twist on the sensitive crown. The combined scent of our sex is heady in the small space and I inhale sharply.

“Oh God, so close,” I groan, as his cock rubs against my hole and then tunnels back between my thighs. I look down and see the head of my dick, shiny and angry looking as it emerges from his hot, tight grip. I jerk as I feel the come broiling along my cock and fuck myself harder and harder into his fist. The next second I give a stuttered grunt as I explode and I see his hand covered with warm, wet ropes of come. Then he shudders and forces himself further between my thighs. I tighten the hold as he gives a harsh grunt and I feel hot liquid spread between my thighs and drip down my legs.

“Fuck!” I say softly, and spasm as he raises his hand full of spunk and licks it clean, before seizing my mouth in a deep, lush kiss as he shares the taste of my come. Finally, he draws back and we stare at each other, our panting breaths loud in the sudden silence that springs up.

“Shit,” he finally says.

“I know,” I sigh. “Welcome to Spain.” His shouted laugh is smothered in my back, and I feel it rumble through my body like thunder in a valley.

***

The next few days pass in a whirl of bright, hot sun, sandcastles, and the smell of coconut from the sun cream. Our days are spent either on the beach, or swimming and horsing around in the pool. Our nights are spent tangled together, sweating and struggling to get closer.

I watch Asa closely, and slowly the tension and pain fade from his eyes. His body relaxes its tight hold on his muscles, and gradually he becomes the man I first met. Or an approximation, because there are still occasions when he fades away, a tight look on his face, his lips thinned. Like now. I look at him sitting on the veranda, staring unseeing at the beautiful view.

I huff, and when he makes no motion to acknowledge me, I huff again, and add a heavy, despondent sigh. A smile tugs at his lips. “I know you’re there.”

“Of course you do,” I say comfortably, walking over to stand next to him. “Who could miss my awesome presence in a room?”

He looks up at me and I catch my breath at the gold sparks in his warm, brown eyes. Then he snorts. “God knows how I managed it for all of two minutes.”

“Don’t let it happen again.”

“Is there anything I can do for you, Jude, or does that heavy breathing mean you’ve got asthma?”

“Kind of you to ask, Asa, and yes there is.” I pause before elevating my voice to a whine. “Pleassse can we get out of here? We haven’t left all week. It’s like fucking Colditz.” He shoots me a look and I smirk. “Okay, a very nice Colditz, but prison is prison.”

“How philosophical.”

“Yes, to all that. Come on, Asa. Let’s go into Ca’n Picafort and take a walk down the front. We can let Billy see it at night. It’s lovely.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Are you worried about people seeing you?” He nods, and I gesticulate wildly with my hands. “Well, wear a mask or something.”

“A mask or something. Jude, I think that might draw more attention than me just walking along in a crowd of people.” He pauses. “And where do you presume I’m going to find a mask? Conjure one up?”

“Alright, Gandalf. There’s absolutely no need for sarcasm.” He looks as if he might be going to argue, so I hurry on. “Stick on a hat then.”

“Or maybe a balaclava. I don’t know. Perhaps I’ve got time to have a face lift.”

I stare at him. “Well, those crow’s feet are a little more noticeable these days, old man.” I jerk and cry out as he sticks his long, pointy fingers into the one vulnerable place on my ribs and twists them.

“Shit. Okay, okay,” I shout, trying to stop laughing. “We’ll stay in.” I pause. “And you can put a nice eye mask on.”

He suddenly grabs me and pulls and I fall on the sofa, landing with a soft thump. He takes advantage of the move to roll on top of me. When I look up he’s staring at me. “Why?” Before I can say anything, he holds his hand up. “I know it’s not because you’re restless.”

“How?”

He shrugs. “I just do. So why?”

I stare at him. “I think it’ll be good for you to get out. Lovely as this villa is, anywhere is a prison when you’re trapped in your thoughts.”

Something works behind his eyes. “Every day I question what I must have been thinking when I decided you were stupid.” He shakes his head. “Okay, you win. Grab Billy and we’ll get off.”

I pause. “What about being seen?”

He shrugs. “If I’m seen, I’m seen, I suppose. It doesn’t matter really. I’m not running from the press. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“That’s the spirit,” I say approvingly. “Although sleeping with Phillip might be classed as such.” He punches my arm lightly. “Ow! Too soon?”

A couple of hours later I view my handiwork with satisfaction, as he looks ten years younger, a contented smile playing on his lips. Twilight has fallen, leaving the sky a gentle violet shot through with pink and cobalt blue, against which the lights of the tiny amusement rides glow neon bright. It’s still warm, with a gentle breeze that leaves a tang of salt on our lips. On the other side of the mainland, Alcudia glows like someone has thrown a cape of tiny fairy lights over it.

The promenade by the beach is busy with families and couples wandering slowly along, looking in shop windows and choosing places to eat. But here on the beach it’s quiet as we walk away from the crowds, dragging our feet through the sea. Rows of empty sun loungers stand neatly ready for the next day, and the tiki umbrellas sway in the breeze, their topknots bobbing happily.

Nobody has spared a second glance towards the two men with the small boy walking along the beach. Gradually his shoulders have eased from their tight hunch, and now he walks beside me, seeming quietly content.

At first we chatted, but now a companionable silence has fallen, broken only by the music drifting on the breeze. The sea rolls languidly onto the beach feeling like silk on my feet, and I smile as I watch Billy jump in and out of the waves like an excitable Labrador.

“Thank you,” he says suddenly, and I look at him in surprise.

“What for?”

“For this.” He gestures at the stretch of sand. “For knowing what I needed and nagging until I gave in to you.”

“Nagging?” I raise my eyebrow. “I simply pointed out the error of your ways and instructed you to fix it. That’s not nagging. Nagging would be me telling you to pick up your fucking shoes which are everywhere and the size of boats.”

He snorts. “They are fucking not.”

I nod. “They are. A family of four could quite happily holiday in them for a couple of weeks.” I pause. “But only if Thomas Cook offers gas masks.”

He shoves me sideways. “Oh, fuck off. My feet don’t smell.” I laugh helplessly and he grins.

We wander a bit further, and I shoot him a sidelong look. His lips quirk. “Ask me, Jude. I can practically hear your brain about to burst a fuse.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

He jerks as if he was expecting me to ask something else. “No. Of course not.”

“Why not? If someone ever did that to me I’d be all up in their business so bad.”

He smirks. “You’ve been watching teenage programmes again, haven’t you?”

“It’s not a crime,” I say indignantly. “Just because your generation only want to watch ‘Midsomer Murders’, it’s not my fault you aren’t down with the kids.”

“I don’t think you are either, using that phrase,” he says primly.

I laugh and then nudge him. “Well?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to see him again. Ever. I have nothing to say I wouldn’t regret afterwards.”

“What would you say that you’d regret?” I ask in astonishment. “I can’t think of anything I’d say to him that I’d be sorry about. The man’s a tool.”

“Why are you so bothered?”

“Really?” I ask in disbelief. “You’re asking me that?”

He stares at me looking bewildered, and it touches me deep inside that this big man, this talented and intelligent man, can’t understand why someone would be so cross on his behalf. My mind races, because really, we’re nothing to each other. I should only feel sorry for him, not want to punch Phillip’s lights out. It’s an impulsive act and I don’t do those.

“I just am,” I finally say, and when I see him looking, I become aware I’m shaking my hands. I immediately stuff them into the pockets of my shorts.

“Okay,” he says soothingly. “Thank you.” He stops suddenly and grabs my arm. “I don’t want to talk to him ever again. I have nothing to say.” He shrugs. “People see me and they think because I’m a big bloke, I’m going to be aggressive and react to everything with my fists, but that’s the simple reason why I can’t. I am a big man and I could seriously hurt someone if I lose my temper.” He sighs. “If I were to meet him it would just be another story for him to sell anyway.” He smiles sadly. “I think it’s all I ever was to him to be honest - a story. Which is pretty embarrassing, and makes me feel rather stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” I make my voice firm and absolute. “It’s stupid not to let people in.” He looks at me quizzically, and I flush because even I can see the irony. Then he looks out over the water. His expression is distant, and I simultaneously want both his attention back on me, and also to run away so he can’t see me so clearly. Ugh, I’m fucking exhausting at the moment.

I raise my voice to get his attention back. “Anyway, if you could be driven to violence, you’d have exploded that happy day when naughty, bimbo Jude threw away all your old clothes because they were last year’s fashion.”

I feel a sense of happiness when he looks back at me, and suppress it quickly. He shakes his head disapprovingly, and then spoils it by laughing. “God, yes. I was so close to throttling you that day, but it makes me laugh even now thinking of you standing with your hands on your hips, in front of my wardrobe, and lecturing me on how skinny jeans were the key to a positive aura.”

I laugh out loud. “I miss those days. I had so much fucking fun.” I walk on a few steps before I realise he’s stopped walking. “What?”

“I don’t miss it,” he says clearly. “I like the Jude I have in front of me now.”

“Which Jude is that?” I ask light-heartedly. “The supermodel in his pants?”

“The real one.”

The flippant words die in my throat, and we stare at each other for a long second, before we’re interrupted by Billy.

“Come on, slowcoaches. What are you doing, always talking, talking, talking? There’s a dog over there doing a poo, and it’s got sand all over it.”

On the drive back to the villa, Asa stirs. “I forgot to tell you, Bill’s going to stay with Len and Sandra.”

“The old couple next door?” They share the private beach with Asa, and I see them most days. He nods. “Why?”

“Their grandchildren are here for two weeks, and they’re the same age as Bill. They all play together and have sleepovers. It’s their turn tomorrow, but don’t worry, we’ll reciprocate.”

“Oh, good,” I say faintly. “Because that worry would have kept me up all night.” He laughs and I turn to look at him. He’s sitting relaxed in his seat, one big hand resting securely on the steering wheel and the breeze from the open window blowing his hair about. “Wait. That means we’re going to be alone,” I whisper, and he turns and looks at me, his eyes dark and hot. I wriggle in my seat. “How long is it before he goes over there?”

“Twelve hours, thirty minutes and forty-two seconds,” he says promptly, and I burst into laughter aware of him watching me, his gaze intent on my face.

“Not that you’re counting or anything.”

He smiles. “Not at all.” He pauses. “I have got something to do though.”

I shift in my seat. “Asa, not here,” I chide, and he laughs loudly.

“Not that.” He pauses. “Well, not only that, because it will happen.” He looks at me, and when I nod, he shudders and looks away. And just like that, I know Asa will be fucking me tomorrow night. He clears his throat. “A friend messaged me today. He’s having a party at his house in Cala Bona, and he wants me to go.”

“Oh!” I say, disappointment searing me. “Well, that’s fine. I’ll be okay at the villa, and I’ll see you when you get back.”

He turns to look at me. “Jude, what on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m saying while you’re at the party I’ll be okay.”

He shakes his head before returning his attention to the road. “Idiot. I meant for both of us to go.”

“Oh. Oh, okay then, because that works much better.” He laughs and I punch him lightly. “Shut up.” I wait until he’s finished laughing. “What sort of party is it?”

He shrugs. “Probably crap. Julian is a bit of a snob. No common people for him. It’ll be wall to wall names and faces.”

“Yeah, I’ve been to my fair share of those.”

He nods. “I hate them usually. I’m not a fucking show pony to be paraded around in front of an audience. I prefer to stick to real friends who don’t care if I roll up wearing jeans with holes in them, and a shirt which looks like I’ve gardened in it.”

I sniff. “They’re the people who see you every single day then, because even the new replacement clothes look like that now.”

He pushes me good naturedly and carries on. “Phillip loved those sort of parties, and I met Julian through Phillip.”

“Will he be there?” I ask, startled, and he shakes his head.

“I doubt even Julian is stupid enough to throw us together in the same room. Anyway, Phillip hated Mallorca.”

“Why?” I say indignantly.

“He said the villa was too quiet and boring. He preferred Ibiza because it was cooler, and there were better clubs.”

“What a turd,” I say disgusted, and he smiles.

“Anyway, what do you think?”

I stare at him. “I usually fucking hate these things because I’ll be stuck with someone who will invariably say ‘so you’re a model, then? That must be glamorous’, or ‘how on earth do you manage to keep your body so beautiful?’”

He laughs. “Yeah, I usually get someone asking me if I do my own stunts.”

“I’ll go. I think it’ll be different with you. More fun.”

He gives me a startled, soft sort of glance. “Yeah, that’s just what I thought.”

***

The next evening, I button my shirt and look in the mirror hanging on the wall. I’m wearing skinny, steel-blue trousers and a brilliant white shirt which shows off my tan. My hair is actually cooperating for once, lying smooth against my head and the quiff is perfect. I smooth a finger over my eyebrow, and a smile quirks my mouth. This is new to me. Normally, I cannot abide spending a lot of time on my appearance, and I loathe being fussed over and primping.

Left to my own devices, I’d be happy in an old pair of jeans, a t-shirt and my Vans, but my work says otherwise. It requires I look good at all times, so I have to make sure to pay just the requisite attention to my appearance so I don’t get into trouble with my agent. I well remember his last tantrum, when I’d been pictured buying cigarettes dressed in joggers, flip flops and an old parka of Dylan’s.

Tonight, however is different, because I want to look good for him. I want him to take one look at me and for his dick to become hard. I want him to spend the night thinking of nothing more than getting inside me. I shudder, the need running thick in my blood like molasses. Tonight, I think for the five thousandth time. Tonight.

Taking a last look at myself, I grab my wallet from the bedside table, and lope over to close the tall window which is usually left open, letting in the ever present roar of the surf and the smell of salt. Then, switching off the light, I make my way downstairs. Asa went next door to drop off Billy an hour ago and I haven’t seen him since. I know he returned home, because I heard the water running in his room. This is a big suite running along the top of the house. I’d poked around it nosily the first week, but now I’m a regular visitor at night. I shiver at the thought of the huge oak bed in there, piled high with pale-blue Egyptian cotton bedding which smells of his amber and lavender scent.

When I get downstairs I see the gauze curtains billowing in the breeze, and I smile and make my way over, only to stop dead in the doorway. Asa stands resting against the balustrade looking out to sea. Night is approaching and the sky is a soft lilac, like crushed velvet. ‘Make It Wit Chu’ by Queens of the Stone Age plays softly on the stereo, but my attention is on the man standing alone, unaware of my presence.

I’ve grown so used to seeing him as he is around Billy and me, dressed in casual, old clothes and with his usual easy-going manner, that I forgot I was dealing with a real film star. I swallow, because I won’t forget it tonight. He’s dressed in black pinstriped trousers and a black shirt which shows off his warm, olive skin, and his hair is down, flowing around his sculpted face in dark waves tipped with gold from the sun. Rather incongruously, he’s also wearing his favourite pair of black Converse. For some reason this relaxes me, as if there’s a tiny part of the real him on display.

I must have made a noise because he turns and smiles when he sees me. He looks me up and down slowly, and I’m gratified when the smile dies, only to be replaced by open hunger. “You look good,” he says hoarsely, striding over and taking me by the shoulders and kissing me softly. I’m amazed when he doesn’t go for tongues, but instead his kiss has a sweetness and warmth which fills me inside like I have bubbles.

I lean into him, breathing in the scent of warm amber. “So do you,” I say, and then stop to clear my throat. “Armour?”

He looks startled, and then laughs. “A little. I’ve found it’s best for protection.”

“From me?” The question is like a gunshot, and his smile dies.

“No, not ever with you. But maybe it should be. Maybe I need it more with you than I do all those strangers.” I swallow hard, and the strange expression clears as he looks at me challengingly, holding his hand out. “Ready?”

I take his hand and watch curiously as he takes a deep breath. It’s almost like holding my hand relaxes him in some way. I immediately dismiss the notion. “I’m ready,” I say firmly.