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“Have they got it on already?” Strike asked as he climbed up into the passenger seat of the Land Rover. He had already driven past Robin in the BMW and parked up behind her at a discreet distance, before walking back towards her to join her on surveillance.
“Yes, Mrs Federer is currently topless and astride her tennis coach on the back seat of her F-Pace” confirmed Robin, nodding her beany-covered head over towards the triangle of land off to her right, beyond which a high-end SUV could be seen, jostling around on its suspension.
“Game, set and match” chuckled Strike, looking at the tangle of bodies from afar. “I guess he’s aced it out, given they’ve been what, ten minutes max?” Robin rolled her eyes at Strike’s cliched performance analysis of their couple’s quickie.
“What on earth possessed them to park up here though, Lord alone knows” he added.
Robin looked at him in enquiry “Why, doesn’t this seem a likely place to you? Quiet, secluded, open spaces, lots of side roads and country lanes…?” Robin looked back around her; she could only see a row of houses beyond Strike’s BMW from her rear view mirror, and The Royal School in the mirror to the right.
“It’s Great Windsor Park, Robin..” he said with some exasperation.
“Well, I don’t think Her Majesty will see them from the castle” she retorted, looking over towards the floodlit rounded turrets in the distance, beyond the twelve mile walk which stretched off to her left. The rolling landscape was intermittently lit up by the landing and take-off lights from the passenger jets overhead, engines thrusting as they flew over in the take-off and landing pattern for Heathrow Airport.
“No, but the security might well have, if they’d stopped any further up that lane where they’ve parked” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we weren’t ANPR’d on the way in as it is, and if he’d gone straight on down Bishopsgate Road instead of turning this way, he would have come face to face with the Armed Forces on the security gate… then we could have all been sitting here getting checked out by a bunch of spooks pretending to walk their dogs” . Strike had followed tennis coach’s car into the park from the opposite direction; the second vehicle could be seen parked over in the distance, in the direction of Strike’s gesticulating hand.
“Really?” Robin sounded curious; her senses heightened by the sudden turn in conversation. She checked her mirrors again.
Strike grunted in response. “You won’t have seen if you followed Mrs Federer in from the entrance off Sunninghill Road, but there are guards posted just around that corner. If any suspicious activity is noticed they’ll be straight on the blower to the likes of MI6.”
“Wow, I never knew…. That really would be an unfortunate turn to Valentines night!” she laughed. “Unforgettable though!”. She imagined their mark being escorted away in an unmarked vehicle, to an undisclosed location, for questioning by men in black suits.
“At least they haven’t got any pretentious expectations for this evening; you never know, they might even enjoy a frisking, add it into their future role playing” he smirked. “What are they doing now?” he added.
Robin picked up the camera and looked through the long lens for a better view “Recovering, I would say”. Strike snorted. “Do we need to stay any longer, or have we got enough already, do you think?” Whilst she wasn’t in a rush to leave, she did have a mild prickling sensation at the back of her neck from the discussion of being surveilled themselves; she couldn’t quite decide if this was nervousness or excitement.
“Let’s have a look at what you’ve got already” he said, holding his hand out. “Any tea and biscuits going?”
“It wouldn’t be a stake-out without them” replied Robin, as she handed him the camera and then stretched over towards the bag on the back seat. Out came a thermos flask and, with a cheeky sideways glance, a packet of iced, heart-shaped biscuits. She unscrewed the cups and poured two teas whilst Strike flicked through the pictures.
“What the bloody hell are they?” he asked indignantly, looking at the brightly coloured but not very appetising snacks.
“Come on Strike, it’s Valentines, you know it’s compulsory to eat heart-shaped, fluorescent, tasteless food!”
“You’ve changed” he said in mock grumpiness, and reluctantly stuffed a pink biscuit in his mouth. “Christ, I think they might break my teeth!” he added, crunching down so hard he’d probably bitten the inside of his cheek at the same time. He still went back for several more.
Robin laughed but relented, and brought out the packet of chocolate hobnobs. Strike rallied. “That’s more like it!” he said, snaffling almost half the packet.
“They’re decent enough photos, they’ll probably be enough to settle the case with Roger” he said, “But it might be worth us hanging around a bit longer just to see if they clinch the night with a goodbye snog. We can be sure to get their faces then, as well as their other body parts” Robin chuckled. They settled down in their seats whilst they dipped their biscuits in the hot tea.
After a short spell of not unpleasant silence, a strange mix of boredom and enquiry set in. A discussion around the futility of Valentine’s Day ensued, met with mutual fervour from both sides of the front seat, which only led to each one of the occupants wondering what previous Valentine’s Day catastrophes and torture the other had endured.
Both then drifted off into their own reverie at recollections of previous Valentines as they continued to watch the evening unfold.
Strike was remembering evenings that had started with potential: he and Charlotte dressed to go out, her looking stunning in one of her little black dresses, a swathe of flawless skin on show, shining hair, notes of Shalimar; sometimes they had already made love before they had ventured out, such was the attraction between them. Every man in the restaurant turning to admire, oblivious to their own dates’ looks of dismay. Then he remembered what usually followed: a capricious version of Charlotte, whose mood would ebb and flow along with the champagne; forced conversations over extortionately priced food that came in miniscule portions; hangriness met with recriminations over some perceived slight or material inadequacy; the outbursts occasionally so bad that plates were flung, with or without the food being finished…
He also remembered the alternative Februarys when posted on active duty in the army: no pretence here, if you weren’t with a significant other it was OK to hook up and just have a good time… girls that were happy to hang out with a squaddie for the night and take home what they could: pure, unadulterated, no strings sex… physically stimulating and satisfying - if both parties were lucky - but hardly emotionally or spiritually fulfilling…
Neither of his recollections met the widely marketed Hallmark version of the occasion. Although thoughts of both added a certain tension to his lower extremities.
Ironically Robin’s memories of previous evenings on February 14th weren’t that far removed from Strike’s: dining out in over-rated, over-priced restaurants that Matthew thought would sound good when name dropped to his colleagues, along with descriptions of expensive gifts that ultimately were shallow, meaningless, usually unnecessary: pointless apart from the forced act of giving. On other occasions, a home cooked meal that Robin poured her heart into, only to have her efforts critiqued or the thoughtfulness undermined… Either way, the evening leading to expectations of sex, regardless of mood or want, and where the physical act was ultimately rendered hollow or devoid of any real emotional attachment or affection, just obligation and an imposed sense of gratitude.
“Want another brew?” asked Robin, trying to steer herself away from her internal misery. She couldn’t decide whether being on her own was better or worse, upon reflection.
“Oh, you know how to spoil a guy” said Strike, holding out his plastic mug.
Suddenly there was activity in the near distance and the Jaguar seemed to start moving again. Robin picked up the camera to take another look.
“Oh hello, we’re going for a second set” she said, motioning over to the car, with her eye on the small screen already.
“Ball change, please!” replied Strike.
Robin continued to look at the camera image, pausing every now and then to take a shot. “Not so much ball change, as different serving position” she smirked, offering the camera over.
“Wahey! Reverse cowgirl!” he added, with a deep throaty chuckle. “That’s ambitious in a car, even if it is an off-roader!”
All at once the inside of the Land Rover seemed particularly hot for a February evening, and very small indeed.
Strike realised what he had said… and how enthusiastic he had said it. There was no point denying the Freudian slip stemmed from anything other than past, pleasurable experience – both of the position, and intimate knowledge of the internal dimensions of a motor vehicle.
He mentally blamed his bout of verbal diarrhoea on the E numbers in the sodding pink biscuits. He pretended he hadn’t said anything at all untoward or overly zealous, not looking in Robin’s direction, and concentrated on the action in the back of the Jag. Except that wasn’t helping him regain his composure….
Robin had just had the thigh-clenching mental image of Strike in exactly that position, on her back seat. A flush of embarrassment and desire rushed up her neck and to her face. She eased her jumper and jacket up to compensate.
Watching Strike squirm with discomfort (from his comment or from something more physical, wasn’t entirely clear), Robin cleared her throat and tried to adopt an aloof professional attitude. Am I really watching complete strangers have sex - with my boss – on Valentine’s? Saves on pay per view charges, she thought erroneously. Good job we are best mates and nothing else, she told herself, not daring to think beyond the fake boundary placed around her feelings; pretending it was ordinary for two friends to hang out on February 14th watching other people’s sexual exploits. This evening suddenly felt soooo different to the other occasions when they had been on stake-outs together. Of course, the amount of times that people blatantly had sex outdoors were few and far between, but… God, she had to admit, it was a bit of a turn-on, seeing the blond head of Mrs Federer rock up and down in time with the car’s suspension, thinking of Strike on the back seat… stop it!
Suddenly a man came into view down the lane, with a German Shepherd in tow. Robin may not have thought anything of this development, had it not been for Strike’s earlier comments about the secret service. He was approximately six feet tall, with a fit physique and somewhat buzzcut hair…. Robin once again felt that prickling sensation scooting up her spine.
The occupants of the Jaguar were oblivious, even though Mrs Federer was practically staring at the man from her impaled, forward-facing position inside the car. Presumably the tennis coach’s focus was on other points of interest. Strike was determinedly staring at the camera; Robin wasn’t sure whether this was personal enjoyment, professional interest, or in situational avoidance given his earlier gaffe. She watched the man as he quasi-casually walked up the lane, noting how his gaze was taking in most vantage points as he moved with mock ease beyond the parked vehicles. Robin thought he could quite easily be a legitimate dog walker… or not…
“Do you see that man with a dog coming right towards us?” she whispered, sounding unintentionally sexy.
Before he had chance to answer, she quickly shlomped down in the driver’s seat in an effort to hide from view, inadvertently knocking Strike’s elbow from where it was anchored on his knee to support the camera for a steady shot. As she slid down in front of the steering wheel, her jumper and jacket, which she’d already half pulled up to hide her embarrassment, rode up her waist a little further, exposing a triangle of skin above her jeans.
As Strike lost balance off to his right, the camera slipped down and knocked his knee and prosthesis, tipping him further off centre. He tried to keep a hold, so as not to drop and break it or lose the evidence from this evening. Consequently he found himself free-falling across the front bench towards where Robin had squirmed down to hide. Luckily his shoulder met with the seat first and he managed to stop himself from completing a full-on nose-dive into her crotch; merely resulting in a face plant directly against Robin’s waist, right where her clothing had ridden up.
Robin gasped in surprise but stayed low in her seat, mindful that the man and dog were still heading in their direction.
He tried not to move. At least he knew he had some decent cover: as Robin slumped down a little further still, her left breast pressed against the side of his head. His olfactory senses were filled with the scent of fabric conditioner, body wash, and well, just Robin. Instinctively his head turned slightly into the hollow below her ribs, and he nuzzled his nose against her soft, warm waist and inhaled.
What the hell are you doing, Strike? His sub-conscience asked.
Realising he was already crossing boundaries, he started to pull his head back away from her side. But Robin could see that the man and the dog were still heading in their direction, and laid her hand down on the back of his head, preventing him from sitting upright, inadvertently caressing down to the nape of his neck as she held his face against her side.
“Stay still a second” she half whispered; half growled.
Strike was almost growling himself at the onslaught to his senses.
He tried to bring his right arm underneath his body so he could bolster himself away from her side, but even so the temptation was just too much. He found himself moving his face against her supple skin, brushing his lips and stubble up against her ticklish bits below her ribs. She squirmed against him and her breast brushed his temple and cheekbone. As he nestled against her a little more, felt her breath catch and her nipples harden. He kissed her belly, tentatively at first, but Robin didn’t protest. With another little wriggle into the seat, she continued to run her fingers through the curls at the back of his head.
Slowly but deliberately he worked his way from her side across the front of her stomach, kissed and licked and sucked as he went. She tasted divine. Robin continued to card her fingers through his hair, scraping her nails along his scalp, sending tingles of electricity straight to his cock.
He moved his arm from where it was pinioned beneath him and wrapped it around her, into the void beyond her backside where she had shuffled forwards and down on the seat. Finding more exposed skin in the curve of her back, he started stroking, tilted her pelvis slightly, to free up the waist of her jeans a little more. He continued his path of kissed further, nudging his face a little lower between her trousers and her skin as he went.
“Were you bloody serious about MI6?” She hissed, trying to push through his distractions. “He’s coming right towards us, the dog’s making a beeline for the Rover. Shit!”
Just as he lifted his head to answer, she tried to shlomp even further down into her seat, pushing her nipple into his face. It was beyond him at this point to do anything other than to emit a sharp expletive, and give in to his desire, nosing and nudging at her cream jumper, lifting it up until he had exposed the swell of her breast. He kissed her nipple through the material of her bra.
Robin now seemed to be fully distracted from the activity in the park. A groan escaped her lips as the pleasure ran through her to her core. She reached across to him with her hand, pushing herself down sideways across the back of the bench, so as to put her hands round his hips . It was impossible for her to slide any lower in the seat, so she found herself twisting to reach around his frame.
She worked her hand inside his open coat and pulled out his shirt from the sides. She trailed her fingers up his stomach, feeling the muscles contract and ripple as she stroked, running up the sides of his torso until she reached his chest, feeling the hair round his nipples; then running her hands back down through his soft curls, delightfully following the hairline down as far as she could reach.
“Are you ok with this?” Strike eventually had the sense to ask, Robin’s reciprocal touch bringing with it a jolt of pleasure, and a dollop of awareness at the direction they were taking; although in reality they were probably both already beyond the point of earnest protest.
“Hmm… keep going” she murmured appreciatively, “But stay down, they haven’t gone yet”. Her hands ran down his back in response to his continued kissing and nipping and she tried to edge closer to allow herself better access to his crotch. Strike hummed back in approval and pleasure.
“Is this ok too?” He asked, looking up momentarily whilst he indicated to her jeans buttons.
“Hmm… if I can too?” she said, aware that she was struggling to reach, and this would involve a low-level reshuffle of positions. The man was only about 20 metres away, walking down the other side of the lane and still heading in their direction.
“Wait until he goes past” said Strike, continuing with unbuttoning her jeans and kissing and stroking the newly exposed flesh.
Robin surreptitiously watched the dog return to its owner as they passed in front of the Land Rover and continued down the lane towards Strike’s BMW.
She lifted herself up, encouraging Strike to do the same; their gaze met for the first time since his unintended face-plant. Need and desire were reflected in each other’s’ eyes. They leant into each other for a heated kiss, teeth clashing through haste and the strange angle. Tongues met and flicked across each other, tasting and exploring open mouths , lips skimming. They both repositioned themselves to allow the other to reach each other’s bodies, Strike’s hand went back towards Robin’s buttons and continued undoing her trousers, now with more urgency. Robin pulled the shirt back up and fumbled for his belt buckle, reaching down to stroke along the length of his erection, causing him to hum again with approval.
Strike finally unbuttoned Robin’s fly and loosened her jeans off her waist. The coolness hitting her skin sent goose bumps up her spine again; she checked the mirrors for the location of the stranger; he was nowhere to be seen.
She felt Strike’s hand slip slowly down the front of her jeans, and resisted the instinct to press her thighs together. He reached in again for another kiss, and tongues once more lapped against themselves, mirroring the strokes he’d started, beyond her pubic bone, into her folds.
Robin gasped with pleasure as her hips pushed in towards his rhythmic fingers as they worked their way further in to her core. His thumb made circles on her clitoris and again, she moaned and slid down further in her seat to allow him more access.
Reaching round towards him, she let herself into his fly and carefully lifted the elastic of his boxers over the swollen head of his cock. Her hands were cold as they spread the bead of moisture over his erection, and he sucked in air through his teeth from the combined chill and pleasure. His dick gave another involuntary twitch as she moved her thumb along the inside edge, fingers wrapping round his shaft, pumping in time with his own ministrations.
Strike leant forwards a little further so he could gain a little more access to her heat. They were almost facing each other now, legs apart. He pushed her jumper up again and ran his hair up her side, thumb brushing along the swell of her breast until it found her nipple, rolling and pinching.
Robin came forwards to claim him with her tongue. They hummed into each other’s mouths and increased the pace. She wasn’t far from climax, his thumb circling her clit and his fingers stroking her sensitive spot inside. She pumped her hand quicker as she canted into his.
Strike nudged her away with his elbow and bent forwards to concentrate on his fingers and thumb. She moaned into his neck as he bent to bite her earlobe. Her hands reached forwards again and found his hard cock, and she pumped up and down once more.
“Ellacott, take a hint a give me a minute”, he groaned, breathing heavily into her neck, pushing her wanton hand away again.
“I want to touch you, too” she murmured. Her expression was full of desire and intensity. She wasn’t to be turned away.
“Robin…” he stopped her again, panted with desire. “Seriously, if you carry on you’re going to be the undoing of me” he said with a little embarrassed laugh, clearly highly aroused, pink in the face. She chuckled. “Let me have a minute, I want to concentrate on you” he said, leaning forwards and renewing his efforts. She arched her back as he pinched her nipple again, rolling, stroking. She leaned forwards and captured his mouth again, kissed hard and deep, moaning his name as she reached her climax, bucking into his hand. He rode her through it until he could feel her pulses start to lessen.
Flushed with pleasure, Robin reached forwards again, not wanting to leave the job undone. Her hand wrapped around Strike’s erection once more, and she started to work on him, squeezing and stroking. He pulled her across towards him and tried to distract her with a deep and fervent kiss, but she wasn’t fooled. She chuckled into his mouth and continued with her hand.
He growled, half in pleasure, half in frustration at her determination. “If you carry on like this we’ll both end up in a mess” he grumbled, not really wanting her to stop.
“Well, I’m only returning the compliment” she said in mock innocence with a cheeky grin.
If you’re going to carry on , you’d best put it in your mouth”
His downright cockiness (yes, cockiness), and cheeky grin made her bark with laughter.
So she did.
She leant forwards and pushed his trousers and underwear down further, allowing her more access to his groin. He leant back, and towards her caress, all at once.
“Fuck” he groaned as her hand went back towards his dick. She circled his girth and squeezed at his base, working her other hand around the back of his pelvis, as he had done to her a few minutes before. She caressed his lower back, adding to the tingling sensation already building there.
“Oh, God, that feels good” he moaned, pushing into her hand with his hips. She continued to bend down until his head was near her mouth, she kissed and sucked it and rolled her tongue around, spreading the moisture that was gathering.
“Fuck…!” His hips involuntary jerked in reaction; he braced himself up against the door of the Land Rover and the dashboard. It was tempting to place his hand on the back of her head, but he resisted.
She slid her lips over his head and took in his shaft, licking and sucking and she moved back and forth, sliding down further with every move. She cloaked her teeth with her lips and continued to take him into her mouth. Her tongue was making slurping noises as she sucked down and then moved back out along his length. Strike erroneously thought of his Aunt Joan’s trifle, and somewhere in the back of his mind hoped he would never have to listen to Lucy serving that dish again. He hissed and groaned a little more as she eventually took in his entire length.
The fingers of one hand continued to stroke his lower back, whilst the other hand moved to caress his balls, whilst still keeping a grip around the base of his cock. The pressure and the stroking were all adding up to bring him quickly to climax.
“Jesus, Robin” he moaned, his voice husky with rising need. His body felt on fire, tingling sensations passing from head to toe, the build-up at the base of his spine heightened by her ongoing caresses.
She could tell he was close, so she pushed it all a little further…. Taking his length until she could feel him at the back of her throat, wondering herself how she wasn’t gagging; reaching further round between his legs to apply pressure to that place below his balls but in front of his arse, lightening the touch as her fingers came forwards onto his sac.
“Aaaaah, fuck Robin, fuck” he exclaimed, as he came in her mouth, unable to resist the build-up she had so expertly worked upon him. “Robin” he gasped in admiration as she swallowed down his ejaculation, catching each pulse as he came over and over. She didn’t quite have the capacity to swallow and breathe as the last of his pleasure hit the back of her throat, and a little spilled over onto his lower stomach. When she had caught her breath and swallowed the salty slickness, she slowly retracted up his cock and kissed across his hairs where the extra spunk had landed. Instinctively she then ran a tongue up his side, and his abdominals once more flexed in response to her tickly and seductive caress. He grunted with surprise and a little extra appreciation.
As she lifted her head again and took in his reaction, she was met with an expression mixed of awe, utter satiation and an unidentified emotion she didn’t dare to name. Strike’s limbs were loose and his body was slack in the corner between the car door and the back of the seat. He was still breathing heavily. He wasn’t sure that he could move, even if he wanted to. Waves of pleasure were still rippling through his body, and his psyche.
He had never expected an encounter with Robin (or her mouth) to feel quite like that…
As she regained her composure, so did he. Re-entering the world within Great Windsor Park, she quickly checked the immediate vicinity for their marks and the suspicious dog walker.
“Looks like we missed the match point with Mrs Federer” she quipped.
“We must have missed it during our own Grand Slams” he retorted. She failed to hide her smirk.
“Not sure what happened to the dodgy dog walker?” she enquired, aware that his viewpoint had been better than hers for the last few minutes. She resignedly acknowledged he wouldn’t have been paying attention – well, not if she was getting other things right, anyway.
They both spent a few moments adjusting their clothing back to some semblance of normality. After which, Robin took a sideways look at Strike. He caught her eye and gave her a beaming smile.
“I enjoyed you. Thank you” she said, quite formally, with a coy smile, leaning forwards to plant a kiss on his lips.
“No need to thank me, it was my pleasure too” he said with mild surprise.
“Yeah, well… as long as you know I had a good time” she said, still coy.
He kissed her again, filled with wonder at how sweet she was post-coital, and wondering why on earth she felt she had to say such things. Didn’t she understand what she had just done to him, made him feel?
“Shall we make a move before we get breezed by dog walkers or security again?” she asked.
“Sounds like a plan” he replied, still not sure that he could collect himself enough to return to his car.
“Do you think any of them really were spooks?” she asked, not sure if she was being ridiculous, and if it had all been a white lie.
“I guess we’ll find out if you get a strange phone call from your Dad” he replied with a little smirk.
“My Dad? What do you mean?”.
“Is this car still registered in his name? Good luck explaining this evening’s events away…. You thought Barrow was bad enough!” he said with a cheeky grin as he prepared to get out of the car.
“Bugger!” she exclaimed, more than a little perturbed at the thought.
“What about you? You said you might have been scanned at the park entrance?” she added as an afterthought. “Aren’t you worried about being recognised?”
“Well, for one, we aren’t in my car” he said sardonically, “And secondly, if any soldier can identify me from any redeeming features whilst I was face down in between your legs, then all I can say is my career really didn’t go as well as I might have thought!”
And with that, he pushed on the door handle and made to depart back to his BMW. “Call me when you get home safe?” he added fondly, hoping the night wouldn’t be entirely at a close, in the knowledge that it was probably one of his best Valentine’s, ever.