He’ll deepen the kiss, move a hand to her front and cup her sex, pushing a finger into her cunt before he even checks that she’s wet, because he knows she’ll be wet.
It’s the anticipation. It’s the knowledge that she’ll be fucked and had and made to come; someone else taking the control to bring her pleasure.
One finger, then two, her clit avoided. I've watched him before, how he pleasures her, different that me. Different than when we’ve been together alone. He’ll pretend he’s taking what he wants first, but he isn’t and she knows it.
When he moves his hand, it’s a loss for her, leaving her empty. But then he’ll pull off her top, leaving her tits exposed, her round full tits with nipples dark and hard.
A bite, a nip, a pinch, and she’ll be on her back on the bed, legs spreading to encourage him, but first he’ll tease her with his mouth, pulling off her knickers and discarding them on the floor. His tongue will trail down to her clit where he’ll lick; once, twice, and then again, leaving her needy for his cock and to be filled again.
If I was there, I’d hold her hands above her head while he entered her, slow and deep thrusts that showed control I could barely manage, control he’d maintain until she came around his cock, her tits bouncing with every thrust, every contraction of her muscles.
And if I was there, I’d wait until he’s come on her tits and then pick her up, facing me, lined up on my cock and bounce her on it while Isaac’s come trickles over her tits and her eyes glaze over as she orgasms again and I ejaculate inside her.
It’s a fantasy.
A fucking fantasy.
Because I’m not inside that room and it’s just Blair and Isaac and a letter he probably hasn’t opened yet, my ghost watching them.
Resentment isn’t here; it doesn’t loom over me, a silent spectre. But pain is.
I miss them.
There’s a percussion of branches and I start walking again, this time away from where I started the day. Any debt I owed my sister is paid and it’s time to go to ground, because while I’m still worth more alive to them than dead, Blair isn’t safe.
And her safety is worth any pain.
Chapter Six
Apen drive is dropped off at my Kensington flat, neatly packaged in a brown envelope with my name printed in a common font that no one would ever question.
It’s an expensive gift: the information I’ve requested from my intelligent friend, and while I should be hesitant uploading it to any device, I’m not. He knows the unspoken terms. If there are any bugs in this or anything that will damage my equipment his business will stop being profitable. Or he’d stop being able to be profitable.
The pen drive opens after a series of passwords which he’s already passed on and I see folders and folders of ordered information. The first one I open shows me photographs of Majken Smith, also known as Majken Rennolds, daughter of a man affiliated with an extremist group that sought a Scandinavian alliance, ridding the countries of any minorities or people who didn’t fit into the Scandinavian ideal. Those countries included Scotland.
Oil.
It’s always about money and there was money in oil.
There are pictures of Majken right from when she was a baby until now, and I see the few similarities she shares with her younger brother; their smile, eyes and the way they stood.
That’s where it ended. Another folder gives me her school grades, reports, qualifications, all reports suggesting that she was high end academic, but they were concerned about her lack of empathy or her inability to make friends with others her own age.
It painted a sad picture.
She left school, went to university, studied environmental science, was arrested for protesting several times, and then started to disappear for months at a time. He’s highlighted periods where she wasn’t paid or in employment, social security records showing nothing and Majken is, to all intents and purposes, dead.
Away with who? The next folder tells me. This isn’t official information legally or illegally sought, this is unofficial, found in the nooks and crevices from the dark web and beyond.
Majken took after her father. Involvement in extremist groups: environmental, animal rights, a religious sect that was disbanded with the leader being arrested, and then Scottish independence, only it wasn’t just that.
Scotland was a wealthy wife. More oil in the north sea, in Scottish territory. The means for it to be independent from England and cut its apron strings and a group within a group, that was part of something more.
Politics.
The swirling polluted sea of lies and deception. And leaders.
Alba an-Asgaidh.Free Scotland.To join who? Because behind Alba was a man I knew had a grievance against Ben, a man who lost his brother at Ben’s hands. And behind him, another group.
