“Oh fuck.” roared Rocky, pouring his all into Flipp’s tight channel while she twisted and turned and moaned into her own orgasm.
“’Ere. What you doing? You aren’t Vern.”
Footsteps somewhere in the reflective labyrinth.
“Bloody maze. I’ll find you. Whatever you’re up to, you’d better hope you finish it before I get to you.”
Much as Flipp wanted to drink in the luscious multiplied reflection of Rocky’s face in extremis, she did not want to end up in court on an indecent exposure charge, so she shuffled forward, off Rocky’s cock, and pulled her knickers up while she tried to find her footing. Feeling a little drunk, she put a hand up to the mirror, steadying herself, whispering an urgent, “Put it away. Let’s go.”
Rocky slumped back on his knees, fumbling with the condom and the buttons before making a noise of frustration, hauling himself to his feet, grabbing Flipp’s hand and running, jeans half-undone, through the remainder of the maze.
He seemed to know his route and within seconds they were outside, leaning against the hardboard wall, wheezing with panicky laughter while Rocky fixed his trousers.
“Vern. Is that you?” Flipp mimicked. “I nearly died.”
Rocky belly laughed, then wiped his mouth with a sweaty hand. “Christ, I need a drink. You make me crave cider, girl. Come on. Let’s get out of here before Vern comes back.”
Hand in hand, they walked through the flashing, crashing chaos of the fair and off the pier, looking for a suitably anonymous hotel bar in which to wet their dry throats.
“Definitely cider,” said Rocky, returning to their table in the busy lounge bar with two half-pints of cloudy orangey beverage. “Something sweet with a powerful kick.”
“Tangy and a little bit rough.” Flipp smiled, enjoying the game, enjoying everything about being with Rocky, from his low-key intelligence to his high-key sex appeal.
“Are you calling me rough?” He sat down next to her, pinching her thigh in warning. “I’ll remember that.”
“I love a bit of rough,” said Flipp, catching and squeezing the pinching hand. “All the nice girls do.”
“Ah, don’t tell me you’re a nice girl.” He pretended disappointment. “And I had such plans for you.”
“Something tells me they all involve risky sex.”
“Yeah. Safe sex too. But they all involve sex.” His smile faded and he looked down into the rusty-apple-scented liquid, as if an unwelcome reminder had been issued.
“What’s wrong? Sex is good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He swigged from the glass. “Yeah, it is.”
“But…not enough? Maybe? Are you going to tell me about Cordwainer’s overtime? And why I should avoid it?”
“You need a new job, Flipp. If you don’t work for him, then we don’t have to worry about getting caught together.”
Flipp almost laughed. “You seem like the last person on earth who worries about getting caught.”
Rocky made a face. “I know. And I’m probably the first person on earth who should. Seriously. If you want to be with me—and I hope you do—you need another job.”
“It’s that simple, is it? I can’t get another job. They’ll want references, bank details, all of that.”
“And you can’t provide them?” Rocky’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Why not, Miss Enigma? Why did you run to Goldsands, and what are you running from?”
Flipp looked away uncomfortably. “Long story,” she muttered. “Anyway, if you think Cordwainer’s such a bad guy, why don’t you work for someone else?”
“It’s that simple, is it?” He echoed her earlier words. “No. No, of course it isn’t. So it isn’t simple for either of us. It’s complicated. Perhaps it’s too complicated.”
“God, I hope not. Rocky, if you’d just tell me—”
“Shit,” he interrupted as a scream of electric guitar cut across their conversation, struggling to extract his mobile phone from the tight pocket of his trousers. “Cordwainer,” he told her with a grim look, pressing a button to accept the call.
So precise was Cordwainer’s enunciation that Flipp could almost hear him as clearly as Rocky.