Bend over Bundle Read Free Page B

falls
in late spring. When the world is coming back into life, the trees
bursting into feathery bud, birds singing songs of love and war,
students barricade themselves in bedrooms with curtains drawn to
prevent the sun glaring on laptop screens, or deep in windowless
libraries which open around the clock. Mark had never been one to
let his academic responsibilities get in the way of his social
career though, and he felt disappointment that his teammates lacked
the same dedication. However, the bar wasn’t completely
empty.
    She
sat in one of the booths, by herself; but didn’t seem to be waiting
for anybody. Her hair was platinum blonde, swept up in a messy bun.
The blondeness seemed genuine, judging by her pale eyebrows and
lashes and blue eyes. She wore a black tank top which showed off
her ivory skin and excellent rack. Mark stared at her until he had
made eye contact, then smiled at her. He was a fan of the direct
approach. She stood; her hips flared out from her waist in an
exaggerated hourglass, emphasised by the tight jeans she wore. She
jerked her head, indicating he should follow him to the smokers’
terrace. He whooped with glee internally; he was in. He felt in his
pocket for cigarettes and found a pack. He didn’t smoke often, as a
sportsman, but the social advantages were unignorable. Besides,
chicks who smoked always turned out to be sluttier. He followed her
outside.
    She
stood with her back to the door, and, unexpectedly, lit a cigar,
flaming around the end to ensure an even burn. He sidled up, put a
hand on the small of his back and held his Marlboro out.
    “ Got
a light?”
    She
held out her Zippo, but before she flicked it, murmured:
    “ I
should make myself clear: my appetites are not the same as normal
women.”
    “ That’s fine by me.” he said. He couldn’t help smiling; this
female was freaky. Now he could see her up close, she was
definitely not his usual type. She had several piercings in her
ears, a dark stone glinting under her full lower lip, and a tattoo
peeking out of her tank top. The modifications somehow struck a
different tone that they did on other girls, more like declarations
of a deeper darkness than mere adornments. She took a deep draw of
her cigar and exhaled, a smoke ring or two among the cloud, and
clicked her lighter. It lit on the first try. Mark wondered if she
had rehearsed this routine. He decided to see if he could catch her
off balance. He leaned in for the light, but didn’t stop, brushing
her lips against his. She stepped backwards, sharply.
    “ We
play by my rules. Are you in or out?”
    “ What do you think?” He leered at her insolently, putting his
second hand round her waist, the cigarette dangling from his lip.
She finally smiled, then placed a hand on his stomach and pushed
out of his grasp.
    “ Like I said, my rules.”
    “ Which are?”
    “ You’ll find out as we go along.”
    “ You’re lucky I feel like playing, cheeky bitch. So what’s
your name?”
    She
didn’t answer immediately, taking another couple of puffs,
evidently savouring the smoke on her tongue. Then she murmured,
“Meleah.”
    “ I’m
Mark. So, Meleah...” What an odd name. He hadn’t heard it before.
It had a weird, exotic ring to it. “... How did you get into
cigars?”
    “ My
father owns a tobacco plantation.” He had felt a bit left footed up
to that point, uncomfortable despite his attraction, but her words
put new resolve into him: a cigar magnate father was no bad thing
at all, almost as good as a brewery owner. However, his discomfort
didn’t ease enough that he knew what to say to her. He was used to
an almost choreographed mating dance, the female following his
suggestions and hints of how she should behave like a ballroom
dancer obeying the leader’s touches and nudges. This woman...
Meleah. She was different. Almost alien.
    She
turned to face him, and placed her hands on his waist, feeling the
firmness of his core muscles under the poncy pink polo shirt he