‘I’ve been looking forward to this,’ he said, speaking into my ear over the roar of the machine.
‘What, mowing the lawn?’ I was strongly conscious of my bottom mashed up against his crotch. I could feel stirrings, prodding the crisp cotton of my shorts.
‘You know what I mean,’ he said. ‘Seeing you again.’
‘So you can satisfy your horrible depraved desires?’ I said.
‘You don’t think they’re that horrible,’ he said. ‘Come on. And no, that’s not what I mean. I mean, seeing you again.’
He still hadn’t shaved and his soft beardy stubble prickled damply against my cheek. The primitive core of me fought the impulse to turn around and impale myself upon him without delay.
‘Well, here I am,’ I said, with artificial briskness.
‘And here you’ll stay.’
The throb of the machine was having an inescapable effect on my nether regions. I tried very hard not to be turned on, but that engine was revved now and it would take more than the mower’s grinding to a halt to turn it off. I wanted to stay on it, enveloped by Joss’s muscular frame, for as long as possible.
But he levelled the last stripe too soon, cut the engine and removed his hands from the steering wheel to my shoulders.
‘Now then,’ he said. ‘The garden is done. How about you?’
‘I’m … not done,’ I said, trying to regain my wits from their sensual scramble.
‘No, but you will be. Jump off, Lulu, and take off your clothes.’
‘What? Out here?’
‘Why not?’
‘But …’ I looked around cagily. We had acres and acres to ourselves, but all the same, it felt extremely risky.
‘There’s nobody here,’ said Joss, with a slyly raised eyebrow. ‘Nobody but us.’
‘Are you sure your millionaire isn’t enjoying a spot of voyeurism?’
‘He’s not down till next weekend.’
Next weekend, eh?
‘Are you sure?’
‘I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I wasn’t. Come on. Enough of this. Strip.’
Still peering at the surroundings, I began to lift my vest top.
‘Does he use the gardens?’ I asked, imagining the lawns thick with orgiastic revellers.
‘Yes. I think he will if the weather holds next weekend. But I won’t be allowed to see it. I’ll be sent off somewhere.’
‘Where do you go?’
‘London, usually.’ He looked, for a moment, pale with anger. I felt a twinge of genuine sympathy, which I batted energetically out of m
y mind. Don’t start with the ‘poor Joss’ stuff. Just don’t.
‘So we can’t meet up next weekend?’
I was topless now, the sun warming my breasts.