Tim Connor Hits Trouble by Frank Lankaster Page A

Her teeth closed around the head of his cock. For a moment he feared the worst as she played the groove between pain and pleasure. Then pure sensation took over.
    He exploded like Vesuvius on Speed. She joined in the wild laughter of his release. Reaching for a tissue she wiped the remaining semen from his cock. He leaned heavily against the kitchen wall, sated, tension gone. She stood up and they embraced and kissed gently.
    ‘Strange man you are.’
    He smiled down at her through half-closed eyes. ‘Not really, we’re all like this, we men.’
    ‘Not quite, some men make love before they make sex. Or even at the same time.’
    He winced and she regretted her remark. But she couldn’t believe what she had been persuaded to do.
    ‘Look, you must go. This isn’t sensible. I can’t drive you back now. It’s still warm outside … the walk will clear your head.’
    She steered him towards the front door. He turned to kiss her goodbye. Instead she pressed her forefinger to his mouth. ‘Be good, and call us when you get there. Maria will miss you.’
    ‘And you?’
    She gave a wistful smile as she opened the door. ‘Who knows,’ she said, as he stepped outside.

Chapter 4
Out of the Frying Pan
    Tim looked closely at the possibility of commuting from Peyton to Wash but the distance was too great. His temporary accommodation in Peyton, little more than a glorified B and B, offered no long-term appeal. It was obvious that once work got underway he would have to move into Wash or close to it. Wash University provided him with a list of local rented accommodation and within two days of checking out of his digs, he had signed a three-month lease on a first floor flat in the restored Georgian terrace of Calcott Place. It was located in the Western part of the city, about a mile south of the River Wash. A short lease suited his plans. He hoped to be able to raise a mortgage on a small house, made possible by the salary hike from his new job. It would stretch his finances, but he wanted the freedom of owning his own property as well as the possibility of a long-term profitable investment. And he planned to have his daughter over to stay, if not her mother.
    The flat consisted of a tiny entrance hall, two large square rooms - a living room and a bedroom, both painted in plainwhite, a small kitchen and even smaller bathroom. The walls of the main rooms were decorated with cornices that were clearly recent additions, possibly replacing originals. He noted the large king-size wooden bed with approval. It was more than big enough for his lanky frame and better than what he had recently been used to. The living room overlooked a main street separated from the block of flats by a surprisingly broad terrace that softened the traffic noise to a murmur. ‘Pretty good for now,’ he concluded.
    Once he had sorted out short-term accommodation he responded to an invitation from Henry Jones to meet. There was no response to his call to Henry’s mobile, so he tried the house phone. His call was answered by a sharp female voice that he took to be Henry’s wife.
    ‘I’ll get him,’ an irritated staccato. The phone clattered down before he had time to give his name.
    Henry’s voice came on, friendly through the catarrh. ‘Tim, good to hear from you. So, you’re down here. When can we meet up?’
    ‘Yeah, I’ve fixed up a place to live … temporarily … from next month. I’m free to get together whenever it suits you, anytime in the next couple of days. Where do you want to meet?’
    He was not surprised when Henry suggested a pub.
    ‘Why don’t we kick off with a drink? There’s a pub with decent ale down by the river, the
Mitre
. It’s easy to get to. Let me give you the best route. Get onto the footpath by the riverbank just below the Cathedral and then walk westwards. It’s about quarter of a mile from there, just back from the river. We could meet today. How about in a couple of hours, say four-o’-clock?’
    ‘Fine. Do