Read Black Lipstick Kisses for Free Online Page A

naked body, of the sacrilege I had committed, but most of all of the joy I took in everything she had fought so hard to repress. It was good, dark and dirty at the same time, just like what Stephen was doing to me, his tongue now on my clit, licking hard, the tip flicking over my taut bud, faster and faster. A thumb slid into my pussy, a fingertip began to tickle my bottom hole and my muscles were contracting, my orgasm rising up, and bursting in my head and sex.
    As I came I screamed out loud. He kept on licking and teasing, to give me a wonderful long orgasm, pure bliss as I held the image of my naked body over the tomb with him kneeling behind me. Only when I at last went limp did he stop and pull back. I stayed where I was, quite content to be spread so blatantly in front of him after what he had given me. He gave my bum a slap as he stood up, hard enough to make me squeak and bring me out of my daze. I put a hand back to the sore spot as I pulled myself up. He laughed.
    â€˜You are well dirty, Mr Byrne.’
    â€˜Well, that makes two, Miss McKie. Now I really am going to drive you back, I insist, and I could do with that coffee.’
    â€˜You don’t have to. I live here.’

3
    I DID SLEEP with Stephen Byrne in the end. He left in the early hours of the morning after several strong coffees and another bout of sex. It was a lot more conventional, not as much fun, but still good, and he didn’t seem to be able to get enough of my bottom. Again he let me go on top first and come first, but in return insisted on me kneeling for him and going doggy. We kissed as he left, and he made me promise to call, leaving me to go to bed feeling well pleased with myself. The sex had been good, much better than I’d expected, I hadn’t had to compromise my principles by threatening him, and the church looked like being safe.
    His behaviour showed just how wrong it was possible to be about a man. I’d initially imagined him as cold and grey, then as conventional. To find that he was obsessed with girls’ bottoms came as no great surprise, but I was taken aback by just how rude he’d been. I was going to be back for more, but I had no illusions whatever about him. What he wanted was a convenient Mistress on tap for sex. That was fine, but he was married and I wasn’t going to start getting guilty about seeing other men, especially Michael Merrick. Call me a slut, but I don’t get hung up on this ‘finding the single perfect partner’ bullshit. I like sex, and anyone who can’t handle that knows where they can stick it.
    I took the weekend easy. Having suffered the threat of All Angels being developed, it had become more special to me than ever, every stone, every carving, every piece of glass. The graves too, and I began to catalogue them in a lazy way, and the effect each had on my emotions, starting with Eliza Dobson. I thought about Michael Merrick too, but I was determined not to seem over-eager and didn’t phone. Instead I skated round to his address on the Monday, as if I’d just been passing.
    It was in a big warehouse conversion down by the docks, all old red brick and new plastic. I took off my blades in the doorway and buzzed for him. He let the catch off without bothering to ask who it was, and when I got up to his floor I found the door a touch open. I pushed in to a big, airy flat, one big room with an elevated section at the far end and a tiny bathroom and kitchen at either side of the door. A huge drawing desk occupied the long wall, with shelves, cabinets and a great litter of paper around it. On the far side was a moth-eaten settee, a stack stereo, chairs and a table under slanting windows let into the roof. There were also books, hundreds of them, some on shelves, more piled any old how on the floor. He was standing by the desk, unshaven in a black silk dressing-gown looking at a piece of artwork with an expression of brooding dissatisfaction. As the door