Probation Violation
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On Probation (Chapter 3) free porn video
The car came to pick me up at six next morning. As instructed by Liam, I had packed an overnight bag, but I still had no idea where we were heading to. The only clue I’d been given was that it involved flying of some kind. Tossing and turning all night, I had fantasised about everything from helicopter rides over central London, to hot air ballooning through the Cotswolds, even wondering for a split second if he’d organised a skydive.
Outside, the weather was frosty but dry, with a thin blanket of ice coating the parked cars. I downed the last mouthful of my nasty instant coffee and checked the hall mirror; I was wearing low-heeled boots, tight jeans, a jumper and a black mac with a faux fur stole. My hair was blow-dried and straightened, falling over the stole and sending out some low-key Russian assassin vibes.
“You look beaut,” Claire said, appearing in the doorway between the lounge and narrow hall corridor. Her hair stuck out in all directions. “Have you packed some trainers, just in case you’re hiking? Evening dress? Sexy underwear?”
“Check, check, check,” I said, kicking the black bag at my feet. I wasn’t sure if I would end up wearing it - and sex with Liam definitely did not require any spicing up - but I had thrown my obscenely priced French lace bodysuit and suspenders in too; more to see the look of shock on his face than anything else. I hoped the overnight surprise didn’t involve camping.
“Right. Get out of here then, what are you bloody waiting for?” Claire gave me a hug and took the latch off. “You look like Villanelle from Killing Eve. I fucking love it.”
--
The Range Rover indicated at the Luton Airport motorway exit and minutes later we were sweeping past the main airport building and into the private jet terminal, queuing at the security gate behind two other blacked out SUVs. My stomach quickened as we were waved through and straight on to the tarmac.
“What the fuck?” I pressed my face against the window. Was this some kind of joke?
The driver didn’t speak, but I caught him flash a small smile in the rear-view mirror as he slowed down beside a private Gulfstream jet, the sleek and shiny kind you see in rap videos, not real life.
My heart leapt as I noticed Liam, standing at the bottom of the steps, chatting animatedly to the pilot. He was wearing an expensive navy polo shirt and a sports jacket, a leather holdall at his feet.
“Hey,” he said, opening the door a few seconds later.
He helped me out of the car and kissed me on the cheek, slipping his hand under my jacket and into the small of my back. “You look beautiful.”
“Are we shooting a music video?” I said, staring around in awe.
He laughed and slung my bag over his shoulder. “We can make a film later if you want.” He winked and laced his fingers with mine, “come on.”
The pilot shook my hand as I followed Liam up the steps and onto the plane. An air hostess was standing just outside the flight deck, beaming from ear to ear and dressed in a blue and gold uniform. I tried to pick my jaw up off the floor a few seconds later as the interior revealed itself; a handful of cream leather seats, luxurious walnut panels and a bedroom cabin at the back.
“Mr Hale and Miss Chalmers, it’s a pleasure to have you both on board,” she said, leading us down the aisle to a pair of seats that faced each other. “Please take a seat and I’ll fix you a drink. We’ll be pushing back in fifteen minutes or so. The weather in Edinburgh is beautiful: chilly but sunny.”
“Edinburgh?” My head was spinning.
--
London looked like a toy town as we picked up altitude and cut through the thick white clouds. Across from me, Liam looked incredibly handsome, with the edges of his tattoos just visible below the sleeves of his T-shirt.
“You’re too far away. Come and sit here,” he said, patting his knee. We were at cruising altitude now and had a flight time of forty minutes.
I stood up, surprised at the lack of turbulence, despite the small size of the aircraft. He pulled me on to his lap and slid his arms around my waist. His chin rested on my collarbone and I could feel his warm breath on my ear. Goosebumps formed on my skin as I tried to wrap my mind around the situation. I was on a private jet with Liam Hale.
I pushed all thoughts of my shitty job to the back of my mind and focused on the feel of his arms around me. I adjusted myself against him, pushing back against the erection that I could feel through my coat.
“Would you like to join the mile-high club?” he whispered, brushing my hair back and peeling off my scarf.
I took a deep breath and nodded, my pussy already wet.
He led me towards the tiny cabin at the back a few moments later. The air hostess briefly glanced up from the galley before busying herself with stocking the fridge. Apparently, rich people could do exactly what they wanted without raising any eyebrows.
“We land in twenty minutes,” I said, tugging at his buckle.
“I don’t think we’ll need that long,” Liam laughed, bending me over the walnut desk in the corner.
I pulled down my jeans, leaving my thong on. He pressed against me then, sliding his fingers in between my legs and moving the material to one side. He entered me seconds later, groaning as he slid the full length of his cock into me, reaching one arm around to my pussy and running his fingers over my clit.
“You’re soaking,” he whispered, pushing harder.
“What do you expect?” I breathed, feeling weak. “Now hurry up and fuck me.”
He inhaled sharply at my words and moved faster, gasping as he orgasmed. Staying inside me, he rubbed my clit steadily until I came, sliding his fingers through the slippery mix of my wetness and his cum.
The jet cut through the clouds again a few minutes later, bringing the old city of Edinburgh into view.
--
“It’s a fucking castle,” I said, dumbfounded as our chauffeur-driven Mercedes crossed a moat and entered the grounds.
A stone castle with a tower and turreted walls came fully into view, dark and dramatic against the lush green fields behind it. A gold-plated sign announced it as ‘Luftmere Castle Hotel’.
“I told you this was a date fit for a princess, and I’m a man of my word,” Liam said.
His brown eyes twinkled with delight at my reaction as the car came to a halt in front of a red carpet that led inside. A group of people had assembled, looking like the cast of Downton Abbey and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“You’re mad. You’re actually mad.”
“About you, Nat.”
I smiled and pressed my nose against the window, pretending that his words hadn’t just hit my heart like an arrow piercing a target board.
--
“I want to know more about you,” Liam said, later that evening as we were eating dinner in a 15th-century dining room, cooked by one of Scotland’s leading Michelin-star chefs.
We were sitting at one end of an extravagantly long dining table that was decked out with antique candelabras and thousands of pounds worth of silverware. Behind us, a log fire was roaring, casting flickers of orange on the ancient tapestries and wall hangings opposite. We had been given a bell to ring if we needed anything and apart from the stuffed stag’s head on the wall, we were completely alone.
“Like what? Ask and I’ll answer” I said, spooning another duck fat roast potato onto my plate, followed by a slosh of red wine jus from the solid silver gravy boat. I didn’t even care if I was making a pig of myself, I’d never eaten anything so delicious.
I was wearing a black velvet halter-neck dress, with my hair twisted and clipped up. The afternoon had passed in a blur of sex, swimming and spa massages. I couldn’t recall a more perfect day in my entire life.
“Have you been in love before?”
“Wow. Cut to the chase, why don’t you?” I said, nudging his hand playfully.
“Seriously.”
I took a sip of wine and leaned my head back, staring at the ornate plasterwork on the ceiling. “I don’t think so. Not really, anyway.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
I sighed, my stomach tightening slightly at the memories that were bubbling to the surface. “I was engaged to someone for three years, together for six.”
“And what happened?” He topped our glasses up.
“He cheated on me with someone from work,” I played with the edge of my napkin, remembering the shit storm Paul had rained down on my life; the house we had to sell at a loss, the ring I threw off the edge of a cliff, the feeling that I’d never meet anyone again.
“I was devastated, obviously, but looking back, I know it wasn’t right.” I looked up and found Liam nodding slowly, taking the information in, analysing my back story. “I cared about him, but he didn’t... make my heart sing, if you know what I mean. That sounds stupid but...”
“I know what you mean.”
I exhaled. “What about you? The famous Liam Hale.”
“Relationships, yes, several. Love? No, never.” He drained his glass in two big gulps and placed it down, running his fingers thoughtfully along the stem. “I was beginning to think I was a stone-cold psychopath.”
“Beginning to?”
“Yeah, but I think I’m finally starting to thaw out.” He cracked a smile then.
I moved my glass from side to side, concentrating on the rise and fall of the liquid as it splashed against the crystal.
“What is this, though? A fling?” I said, not daring to look up at him. “Where’s it going to end? I feel like we’re characters in a Christmas movie, and next week it’s going to end.”
He shook his head and looked over his drink at me. “In ten years’ time, when we’re married... with two kids and a country pile in Berkshire, no one will care that once-upon-a-time you were my parole officer,” Liam said, clinking the edge of my glass with his. “We’ll have a good story to tell.”
I laughed then, my stomach whirling round like a clothes dryer on the highest setting. There was something else on my mind too, that I wanted to get to the bottom of.
“What do you do, Liam?” I asked, wondering if his guard was down enough to let me in on that side of his life. He was watching me, head tilted to one side. “Who do you work for... and how is this,” I looked around the room exaggeratedly, my eyes wide, “your life?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “That’s a whole other conversation, for a whole other day,” he said, pushing out his chair and then helping me out of mine, “and we’ve got a four-poster bed to make use of.”
--
At some point during the night, I woke up to find Liam’s arms wrapped tightly around me and his warm stomach pressed against my spine. His breathing was slow and steady, hot on my neck. Certain he was fast asleep, I gently ran my fingers from the crook of his elbow, which lay under my breasts, down to his hands, and back. I kissed his forearm softly, enjoying the warmth on my lips and the feeling of security. I felt untouchable at Liam’s side, despite the fact, much of him still remained a mystery to me.
I froze as he kissed the base of my neck a few minutes later, embarrassed at my display of intimacy.
“Sorry if I woke you,” I whispered, awkwardly adjusting my pillow.
“Shhh.”
Wordlessly, he moved on top of me, parting my legs and running his hands gently down my thighs, barely grazing the skin. I could feel his heart beating against my chest and the sound of my own blood whooshing in my ears as my pulse quickened. Outside, it was eerily quiet; a thick silence peppered by the occasional hoot of an owl.
He entered me as though I was made from porcelain and might break; gently, placing his arms either side of me to support his own weight. His tongue softly caressed mine as he moved inside me, so slowly it was almost agonising.
I held his face in my hands, my palms on his cheeks and fingers touching his hairline. Despite the almost pitch-dark room, when I opened my eyes, I found him looking at me, our eyelashes almost touching. He swallowed and kissed my temple, letting out the softest of moans as we came within seconds of each other.
We had just made love, I realised, as he silently moved back to his original position, with his arm across my chest.
--
The Christmas holidays came to an abrupt end the following Monday. The last two weeks felt like a distant memory as I battled my way through the thick crowds of commuters towards the probation office. In my handbag, feeling like a loaded gun, was the typed resignation letter I had prepared with the help of Bec and Claire the previous evening. The thought of handing it to my boss at the end of the day was both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.
My office was cold after two weeks of no use. I fiddled with the radiator dial and warmed my fingers on the Costa coffee I had treated myself to on the way in. The ancient PC took a few minutes longer than usual to flicker into life; the fan working overtime to clear two weeks’ worth of dust.
There was a firm knock on the door. There was still twenty minutes before my first scheduled appointment with Duncan, the kleptomaniac pensioner.
“Come in,” I said, unwrapping my woollen scarf and pushing it to one side.
It was Frank, my supervisor, looking a few pounds heavier than when I had last seen him, and wearing a garish royal blue jumper that presumably he had received for Christmas.
“Hi Nat,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Did you have a good break?”
“It was wonderful, thanks. How about you? Kids have a good time?” I couldn’t remember their names, but I knew there were several.
“Lovely, lovely, just over too soon.” He smiled, rocking back on his heels.
“What can I do for you?” I said, smiling. To my relief, the radiator had finally started emitting some heat.
“I need you to pull up Liam Hale’s file and leave it on my desk before lunch,” Frank said, glancing at his watch as if to emphasise the deadline.
My blood ran cold. It took every ounce of discipline I had to keep my expression neutral.
“Sure,” I said coolly. “Any reason?”
“NCS wants it,” Frank said, wriggling his eyebrows conspiratorially.
The NCS was the National Crime Squad; they dealt with organised crimes of the highest order. My heart was like a jackhammer against my chest and I half expected to look down and see it pounding through my blouse and cardigan.
“Wow. NCS, eh?” I said, trying to sound casual as I tapped my fingers against the paper cup. “I’ll dig it out after my first meeting.”
“Thanks, Nat,” he said, backing out and closing the door behind him.
The walls of the room seemed to move back and forth like a fairground funhouse. My legs were trembling uncontrollably. The NCS had requested Liam’s file; this could only mean one thing: he was under investigation for something incredibly serious.
I had to warn him.
Myra
- 07.04.2020
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