Christmas in the Cotswolds
Chapter Three
"Good afternoon. Lestrade," I announced to the concierge leaning over the desk at the country inn Greg had found. It sat approximately a mile from Bourton-on-the-Water and even I had to admit it was quite an attractive spot.
"No. It's under Holmes." Greg shuffled in, two holdalls in tow.
"Sir, someone will take care of those for you," advised the concierge with a grin.
"You used my name?" I asked as the concierge began to rifle through papers and keys.
"Well, Anthea did. They were booked," he paused to make his point, "until she called and used the magical name of Mycroft Holmes."
I rolled my eyes and turned my attention back to the young man behind the desk. "Oh, yes, of course. You're in the suite. Welcome, Mr. Holmes. It's truly our pleasure to have you here. I'll show you the way," he offered, as another young man came and took the cases from Greg.
We were greeted by the aroma of fresh scones as we entered the suite. "Tea already laid out for you, sir." The concierge passed the keys to me. "Dinner is served each evening at seven-thirty if you choose to join us. Tonight's menu is a choice of lamb or bass with a lovely anise hollandaise." Greg leaned a bit so that he could catch my eye from behind the concierge. Evidently, he thought that menu would cause me to suddenly cover the entire weekend with a stamp of approval.
"Many thanks," I said to the young men, handing them each a folded bill. Greg closed the door as they departed.
"Well, we're here. Now what?" I asked, running my fingers along the archway that divided the sitting and sleeping areas.
"Tea," answered Greg, finding his way quickly to one of the wingback chairs near the tea table. I examined my fingers for dust as he continued. "There's music in a garden nearby later."
"Mmmm," I acknowledged without enthusiasm.
"Your sort of music. A string quartet, I think. We can walk over and take everything in."
"Walk?" I scoffed, landing in the chair opposite him.
"Walk," he said with a grin, handing me a cup. "No complaints. You promised."
"Have I complained?"
"Not out loud."
I squinted my eyes at him, acknowledging the accusation.
He ignored it. "We'll enjoy this," he explained, dipping into the dish of clotted cream, "and we'll get settled a bit. Then, we'll walk around for a while, come back for dinner and drinks, and then rest. I'm sure you're tired from driving."
He was absolutely correct. I was exhausted. I was not used to driving, but rather to being driven. Greg drove a police car around London every day, so I thought it'd be a kind gesture to offer my less than seasoned skills behind the wheel for a day.
"We're here for three days. That will be the deal."
"What deal?"
"I get to plan anything I like all day, but you're in charge after dinner."
I smiled in agreement, knowing that would preclude any silly outings to view Christmas lights.
***
The stroll hadn't been completely unbearable. In fact, Greg clinging to my arm as we wandered felt quite good. There were moments in our relationship when I found myself completely at his mercy. Walking around that afternoon, however, he allowed me to lead, probably knowing it made me feel about ten feet tall. I had even stopped with him at a kiosk serving hot chocolate and mulled wine.
Having only been there a matter of hours, Greg was already appallingly happy. His face was glowing as though he'd spent six weeks relaxing on a tropical island. I certainly can't say that I was any more at ease than normal or that I was feeling, as Greg would say, "Christmassy." It was splendid, though, to know that my handsome silver-haired dish had confiscated my mobile. I was guaranteed not to hear from Downing Street, the Cabinet Office, MI6, or anyone else, for three days.
We had enjoyed a truly delicious dinner - Greg had been absolutely right about that menu - and decided to explore the pub area for a drink before retiring upstairs. It was named a country inn, however, the estate was breathtaking and absolutely premier. I'd left Greg at our table in the corner of the rustic, stone room to order my drink at the bar. They had a 1947 Chateau Cheval Blanc on the wine list and I could think of no reason Greg should know I was paying more for a glass of wine than we were for one night in our suite.
I returned to the table, sipping with anticipation as I sat.
"You alright?" Greg asked.
"Hmm," I hummed, licking my lips, "why?"
"I've never seen your face do that while you had clothes on." He chuckled, taking a gulp from his mug of beer.
"You couldn't possibly understand," I demeaned, looking at his stout and then shaking my head at him. The wine truly did border on the orgasmic.
"I feel bad for you, really," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"It's a shame that you somehow got sucked into wanting me - of all people."
"Greg," I tried to contradict him.
"No. Really. I mean, the great, clever, debonair, cultured Mycroft Holmes stuck with the inept, simpleminded, common Detective Inspector."
"Gregory," I tried again.
He looked up from his stein and winked at me. "You're so easy to rile up."
I stood, reaching my hand to him. "Detective Inspector," I paused, winking in return, "I propose we finish these in our rooms."
He stood, taking my hand, clutching his beer in the other. "Sounds pretty perfect to me."
***
Rifling through the suitcases I hollered to Greg who was already lying in bed, "I've no idea where anything is."
"What are you looking for?" he called back.
"Nevermind. I found it," I declared, pulling my nightshirt from a pile of both his clothes and mine. As I reached to close the lid, something metal caught my eye. I pushed a cashmere jumper out of the way and found Greg's handcuffs. Next to them, rested his unloaded Glock. He had taken my mobile and insisted that neither of us even think about work for the duration of this little escape. "Looks like work to me," I mumbled to myself, picking up the unlocked handcuffs and walking toward the bedroom. "Do you care to explain what an off-duty Inspector needs with his weapon and cuffs?" I demanded playfully, stopping in the doorway.
He was reclining against several pillows, clad only in hip shorts. "I just like to be prepared."
"For?"
"You never know."
"Greg," I moaned, "we agreed to no work. I've cooperated - surprisingly," I admitted. "You need to do your part."
"Do I look like I'm working?" He ran his hand through the air as if a model in an advert, presenting his mostly bare body. "But," he continued, "if the bloke in the room down the hall tries to rape some poor woman in the middle of the night, won't it be nice that I'm prepared to deal with it?"
"Do you even know where the key is?" I asked, holding up the cuffs as I approached the bedside.
"Of course I do. Now, go put those away and come here."
I stood beside him, examining the metal contraption. "Yes. That would be one option."
"Mycroft put them away," he warned.
I ignored his request. "Or," I began to suggest, "I could do this." As quickly as I could I gathered his hands above his head near the brass bars of the bed's headboard. He was stronger, but I was always faster.
"Myc. Come on. Stop it." I laced the chain connecting the two units behind a brass post and then secured his wrists in the cuffs. "What if I just lied to you? What if I don't have the key?"
"Your right eyelid twitches when you lie. You were telling the truth," I said, crawling onto the bed, one leg on each side of his.
"You ever considered a stint as a professional poker player?"
"I choose to use my skills for good, not evil," I replied, bending down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts between my teeth.
"Considering my current predicament, I'd like to argue that."
"Argue away, Inspector." I tugged his shorts all the way past his strong thighs, then off of his legs, before lifting myself to be face to face with him. I licked his lips, as he pursed them together in an effort to resist me. "Come on," I complained. "If you don't let me warm up here, it won't be nearly as good down there."
Before the words were completely gone from my mouth, his opened. As I kissed him, he allowed his head to fall back onto the bunch of pillows upon which he was resting. He moaned into my mouth as I plunged into his, my tongue hoping to reach new depths of his delicious maw. I pulled back, taking only his bottom lip into my mouth, alternating nibbles with gentle suction.
He nipped back and inhaled audibly as he kissed me in return. "Myc, will you get the keys, please?" he asked, releasing my lips.
"When I'm through," I answered.
"With what?"
"With you," I replied, moving my lips to the cartilage of his right ear. "Use your imagination," I whispered, certain to leave the tingle of warm breath on his skin. "If you could live one fantasy right now, at this moment, what would it be?" I dragged my just slightly parted lips down the artery point in his neck, to his collarbone, stopping there to kiss and suckle.
"If you know me so well, Mycroft," he answered, "you know that I don't have any fantasies left. I have everything I could possibly want."
I ignored the deliberate saccharine of his comment, setting aside the fact that I knew far more about his past than he realised. Next, I continued on to his nipples, giving both ample attention with my tongue and teeth. I spent time pulling one into my mouth until he let out a gasp of air, then repeated it again, and again, until his breathing became heavy. His chest was waxed again - something he did only for my benefit. I rubbed my nose up and down his chest between his pectorals, before sliding my tongue lightly in a straight line downward. My hands gripped his pelvic bones as I toyed with his navel in much the same way as his nipples. His hips reflexively thrust upward every several seconds as his abdomen began to rise and fall at a far quicker pace.
"Definitely evil," he said, adjusting his shoulders to shake off the urgency of desire.
I stopped for a moment to examine his body. His cock was already dripping and engorged with excitement and I could watch his pulse pumping through his balls. I had never been a particularly convinced believer in religion, but the perfection of his body was something I could easily worship. Locking my eyes with his, I used my tongue to clean the wetness off the tip of his aching prick. "
"Oh, God," I heard him moan as soon as he saw my tongue touch him.I kissed my way down the underside of his shaft, closing my eyes with pleasure as I took one ball in my mouth and the other in my hand. He moaned again, this time without words, as I sucked and massaged. Sliding as far down the bed as I could and moving onto my back, I slid my head behind his right leg, taking just a few brief seconds to rim him before focusing my tongue on his taint.
"Fuck." He squirmed his hips, the inability to use his hands to direct me or even take care of himself was starting to drive him mad. I stayed beneath him, licking the underside of his cock, stopping every few passes to blow the smallest bit of warm breath on his slit. After spending a moment or two gently sucking his frenulum, I slid back out from under his legs, planting myself next to him, resting on my right shoulder. I used parted lips to tease the rim of his prick, moving in circles until I heard him again, "Holy Fuck!"
Now, perhaps, I could say I was relaxed and certainly happy. I thrived on giving Greg pleasure and the added impact of his hands being restrained was leaving him breathless. No matter what else the weekend might hold, this moment was worth the entire trip. Still wanting to tease him, but truly unable to resist any longer, I devoured him, taking his entire cock as far into my mouth as I could without discomfort. Six years of his size and thickness had trained the back of my throat well. I released him, only to hear him sigh. I looked up to find his eyes clenched shut and his arms yanking at the cuffs, desperate to control me with his hands.
I reached toward the nightstand. I knew quite well that he would have already made sure every area of this suite was prepared for anything. I opened the drawer to find three packets of lubricant from the box he kept in our ensuite at home. He opened his eyes as he heard the pack rip open. "Oh God," he said, now deliberately clanging the chain of the handcuffs against the brass.
Covering a few fingers lightly with the gel, I returned quickly to his twitching cock, taking it again in my mouth, finding my up and down rhythm, while holding my tongue flat against its underside, creating enough pressure to make Greg whimper. I eased two long fingers into his hole, kneading his balls with my other hand. His entire body tightened, as he thrust his cock deeper into my mouth. He circled his hips begging for my fingers to go deeper. My long hands gave me just enough reach within his slightly smaller body to press on his prostate. I pumped against it with my fingers, savoring the salty taste of his cock. I could feel my own stiff shaft now resting against his thigh as it began to shake. The chain rattled again and he screamed in his husky voice, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I grinned as I swallowed every drop of his pleasure.
Greg's body went nearly limp beneath me and I could almost hear his heartbeat between his gasps for air. "Will you unlock me, now?" he panted.
I laughed quietly. "Where's the key?"
"Billfold," he replied breathlessly. I stood and walked across the room to remove his wallet from the trousers he'd draped over the back of a chair. I climbed onto the bed, straddling him again, carefully releasing his wrists, then placing the key and cuffs on the bedside table as I kissed the edge of his lips.
Suddenly, his strength returned and he clutched my backside, pulling my hips toward him. "Come here, Daddy," he said, using one hand to pull my cock from my satin bottoms and taking me, dripping and begging, into his mouth.
Maybe I could get used to Christmas getaways.