Jasmine flicked of the radio, silencing the relentless, ancient Christmas pop songs. She rolled back into bed and closed her eyes. God, she thought, those songs must have been dated when Tim was her age.
Her age. She'd seen photos of Tim when he was younger. Handsome, slim, dark hair. Still, she preferred how he looked now. Still in good shape, broader in the shoulders, the grey flecks in his temple adding to his authoritative demeanour.
Thinking about him, she found herself outlining her breasts with her fingertips. Her mind recalled the first time, four months ago, when they had shared a bed in Barcelona. Close together, his breath on her neck, strong body behind her. The next day, his rough hands smoothing cream into her back. Their first dance ... her hand now tracing the gentle curve of her stomach... their first kiss... that pained, slow first kiss. Oh god, that kiss... and where it lead ... the slow build up of that weekend... now building up again in a cold English winter, like the heat of Barcelona itself.
Her eyes closed. Her feet slowly pulled the sheets down, expensive cotton dragging over her breasts, tripping over hardening nipples, reminding her of the first time he took them in his mouth, gently pulling on them. She gasped as the memory flooded her. One hand, almost independent of thought, gently stroked her breasts, fingertips slowly, gently rolling her nipples. Her other hand deliberately smoothing over her mound, the inside of her thighs. Her hips rose as she removed her thong. She moved a finger up her lips and let her fingernail trace back down again, revelling in the electric tingle.
As it rose again, it fell between her lips, accompanied by another finger, gently slipping around her clitoris. Her other hand moved to her mouth, stroking those lips, sucking on a finger as she did that night with Tim. Her lower hand squeezed gently ... the slight, delicious pain ... him entering her for the first time...
Then footsteps. Harsh footsteps, outside.
Jasmine pulled the sheet up and rolled to her side as the door knob turned. Shoma, her mother, entered and started talking.
"Jasmine, up. I heard your alarm go off twenty minutes ago."
Jasmine rolled back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling in silence. Blocking it all out.
"I have things to do. And, and you left your washing in the machine again last night. It's in a bag on the side. I need to do washing as well you know."
Back to reality.
"Well, when it's finished make sure you sort my stuff out before yours. I have a lunch date. I'll be back after that. And you're back tomorrow at twelve, yes?"
"Yes, mum." Jasmine winced at the childish tone of her answer.
"Well, make sure it's twelve. No later." Her harshness towards her father hurt more than the condescending tone.
"Yes. Mum".
"I'm just surprised Tim can find the time for you." With that she walked out, pulling the door just hard enough to avoid slamming it.
Since starting university, holidays had become a chore.
Jasmine rolled her delicate neck, stretching the stress away. More relaxed now, she felt the faint traces of the earlier ecstasy that had throbbed through her body.
It was true. Tim, her father, was coming over soon.
She threw back the covers and planted her feet. The last few months had been wonderful. She could feel his touch and love even when he wasn't there. It had been easy to keep the secret. No one suspected anything. But, she felt the strain was showing on her father. At first, the time he took off work was just to be with her, after lectures, on quiet days. But recently, he hadn't been at work or home.
She would have to do something special to remind him of who he was. Who he was meant to be. But what?
She strolled over to her chair and pulled on her dressing gown. She opened the door and headed to the shower.
She had to do something. She was a smart girl. She would come up with some way to re-invigorate her father. She just needed to tap into the generic male fantasy... a fantasy even he would share with those stupid boys and young men her mother was seeing. A mother oblivious to the way they looked at her.
She walked to the bathroom, pulled the cord and waited for the shower to heat up. A practiced, cautious part of her mind sparked up. She knew what she was doing was, on many levels, seen by many people, wrong. But she saw through that. Actually, circumstances saw
to
that. Circumstances beyond her control.
She had read about Egyptians, about the Bible. About Lot and his daughters. If God had condoned it...well.
No, that was the Catholic guilt talking. That nonsensical, contradictory theory of what was right, what was wrong. Some big ghost in the sky. Some Heavenly ... Father ...
She stepped into the shower cubicle, young body accepting the warm watery embrace with pleasure.
The shower... Barcelona ... still sore after that night, tied to the bed ...
The warm water seemed to flow through her, feeding the faint, lingering traces of desire.
His large body behind her. His erection, the proof of his love and desire for her pressing against her back.
She allowed herself to finish.
*********
Tony Brennan stared at the computer screen. The last four months had been difficult, and it had been down to one man. Tim. His shining star, the man he had moulded to take over in a few years when he retired. The man around whom he'd created his entire team.
What was it? Death, divorce and moving? Well, Tim was going through the last two of those, but he looked like he was approaching the first as well.
HR had informed him that Tim was dangerously close to hearing from them in an official capacity, and Tony had told them to go fuck themselves. Literally. He told the CEO the same, figuratively. Fortunately the CEO saw matters the same way as Tony. For now.
Ten past nine. Tony looked at the phone. Any moment now. Any moment Tim would ring. Tony wondered how much longer he could cover for him.
*********
Jasmine looked around her bedroom. She needed something special today. There were things she'd promised Tim that hadn't happened yet. And God, she wanted them to. But, he had insisted on being careful.
She walked to the master bedroom. The room where, until four months ago, Tim slept with the bitch. The room where any number of leering men had slept since. How could her mother not see how they looked at
her
. How many of them thought of her while in her bed, fucking the tired old whore. She sat on the bed, and pushed those thoughts from her mind. She was going to take this part of the house back, for her and her father.
She imagined him sitting there, watching her enter. She wondered what he would see, what would re-invigorate him. Give him back the power he should have. Then power her father deserved over his girl...
An idea came to her. She smiled.
*********
The gravel drive crunched out its announcement. She looked out the window of the master bedroom and saw Tim's second-hand BMW 3 series pull up. He had downgraded since the divorce. Another legacy of the bitch.
She pulled her dressing gown over her clothes and went to the door. A cold winter breeze blowing in.
She opened it before he had even exited the car, beaming at him.
"Hi hun!" He shut the car door and ran over to her. They hugged, happily, innocently.
"You're not dressed? I thought we were heading out to lunch?"
She moved back, smiling with a practiced coyness. "I have something for you."
Tim's eyes flicked up to his old bedroom.
"Hey, if it's about that, you know how I feel."
"There's a letter for you up there."
