Time To Play by KA Richardson (best book club books of all time TXT) 📗

couple of buttons off. Her neck arched towards him as he nipped at her neck and closed his hands over her breasts.

Marlo had no idea how she became naked and was glad she’d kept the box of condoms in the drawer on her coffee table. As he pushed into her, she felt herself open and move to meet him with the same enthusiasm. She gasped as he sank deeper into her, and he captured her mouth with his again. Her nails scratched down his back as they met each other’s rhythm, both getting harder and faster until her orgasm broke around him, causing him to follow suit.

His chest was crushing her breasts, every sense tingling as he lay on top of her, spent for the moment. And then, ultimate tenderness, as he shifted his weight, and kissed her, more leisurely this time. His fingers played along the length of her arm, and she turned, snuggling into his chest, silent as he kissed the top of her head.

Ali reached up with one hand and pulled the mink effect throw down from the back of the sofa and covered them both. Tomorrow would be soon enough to wonder what the hell had just happened; for now, they were warm, comfortable, and absolutely exhausted.

 

Chapter Twenty-Six

Connor’s Parents’ Home, Sunderland – 17 November

J ames Maynard sat himself in the chair in the room. It was almost dead silent, the padding on the walls blocking out any sound from outside. Not that there was much at this time of the morning. The ticking of the clock was irritating, though: he’d never realised how loud it was when that was the only noise you could hear. How the girls had put up with it he didn’t know.

Because you never gave them an option, dick-head. They didn’t get any choice in what happened to them.

It wasn’t right, what he’d done. The more he thought about it, the more he understood that there would be no explaining it away. There was no magic ‘forget’ pill, nothing that would ever make these feelings of desolated worthlessness and guilt disappear. And why should there be? He’d done the most horrible things to those girls. Unspeakable things that belonged in late night crime shows and documentaries.

He’d thought he understood at first, figured by teaching them pain that they would go on to survive and be stronger. But he’d never actually let them go so they could even try to survive. He’d played God, decided when things weren’t going so well. He alone had made them cry and weep with pain and anguish, had terrified them every time he’d entered this forsaken room. He’d even had the forethought and planning to soundproof the walls. And he’d decided when to clasp his hands round their throats and squeeze every inch of life from them. Except for Nita – she’d been the exception.

James knew he deserved everything he was going to get.

His whole life had turned to shit. It had happened so gradually he hadn’t even seen it coming, hadn’t noticed its approach. How could he fuck everything up so royally?

He didn’t even deserve to be on this earth. He was utterly useless, a waste of space and time.

Fred had told him often enough, always rubbing it in as he’d slunk into the whorehouse to pick out his latest girl.

He should have stopped ages ago, not given Fred the satisfaction of seeing him return time after time. Shouldn’t have let his own brother see just how low he’d become.

For some reason, Fred had always seen himself as better than him, had bigged it up even as a kid when his knobbly knees knocked together as he ran through the fields they’d called home. And James Maynard had always just put up with the bullying, never moaned when he knew that it was Fred who had killed Stinky, didn’t grass him up when their dad had found weed in the bedroom they shared so had ended up getting the blame as the oldest, and had coped with Fred kicking and punching him out of utter meanness.

When he’d met Sheila, he thought he’d found redemption. He barely spoke to Fred any more unless he’d turned up at the house unexpectedly. It hadn’t been a hard decision to move to the north-east.

And then they’d found they couldn’t have kids. His worthless body refusing to give Sheila the sperm she needed. She’d been completely and utterly devastated. Fred had a couple of kids, not that he saw them, but James had been jealous. It started to cause problems in his marriage; him being so desolate that he believed Sheila needed to find someone else.

He’d all but pushed Sheila into Fred’s arms, practically begging the pair to make the child his beloved wife so desperately wanted. And she’d been so happy when she’d fallen pregnant, and all the heartache had seemed worth it.

When Connor had been born, he thought he’d have felt a niggle of unease, a shred of envy that the boy wasn’t his, but Sheila had made sure that where he might’ve had doubts, she was there to bolster him up. They’d recovered, slowly, and finally he’d started to feel like a man again.

Then Sheila had told him she was pregnant again.

He hadn’t even realised that she’d still been shagging his brother, had thought that with Connor, they had everything they needed together.

He’d left then, for a long while. Did some things he was ashamed of. Fred had hooked him up with some of his girls, hell, he’d been classed as a regular for a while. He’d lost his way, smoking dope and ending up high every chance he got, and always with a girl on his arm. A girl he’d paid for with money he should’ve been spending on Connor. Then Sheila had called him from the hospital to tell him Marie had been born