Grand Gestures

"You're a lucky girl." That's what Steven says when he blindfolds me to take me down into the car. And don't I know it. I know how busy he is, how hard it has been for him to arrange for a Tuesday, which in the eyes of his employer is a wholly regular working day and evening and night, to be a night off.

In our five years as a couple, four out of which spent staying in the same flat, it is unbelievable to me that we are actually getting to spend Valentine's night together.

Before I met Steven, I was not big on Valentine's Day. I never asked for gifts, I thought cards were just another British excuse not to have to say I love you. What's the big deal, it's just another night, couples should spend a night together every week to do those things, holding hands, lighting candles, sharing delicious food, making love passionately and without clockwatching or regards for the neighbours.

But our first Valentine's together occurred almost a year into our relationship, when I was 29 and had come to realise that dating a successful lawyer means you won't actually be doing much dating. Steven gave me a necklace. It was so beautiful I wanted to cry just looking at it, because he wasn't there to hand it over in person. My friend who works at the jewellry counter at Harrods told me that it was a vintage Tiffany's from the 30s. "You're so lucky, you don't know it, Miss Golightly," she giggled to me the next day over lunch in Pizza Express.

And I told her how the box had been opened in front of me with a flourish in my skanky south London flat, just the way Steven likes it, a surprise presented with a big gesture. But afterwards, as I signed the little machine held by the courier, one of those grey plastic screens where your signature never looks anything like your actual signature, I only barely managed to hold back the tears.

I opened the handmade card included in the box while the courier waited in the doorway. A key fell out. "You outshine each one of these diamonds every day, my lovely. Put it on and the courier will take you to the real gift. Yours, Steve."

"Wait here," I told the courier as I grabbed my coat from its over-door hanger on my way to the tiny bathroom in my flat. "I don't want to be rude, miss," the courier said in a vaguely East Indian accent. "But I don't have all day. This is my last job of the evening, and it is Valentine's day."

"Won't be a sec," I yelled back from the bathroom as I slipped my sweater over my head. My breasts swelled eagerly against their black silk lace cage, a new cage at that. I put on my coat, closing it firmly and tying the belt around the waist to keep it closed. I kept my jeans on. I wanted to surprise Stevie, where ever he was meeting me. Only the slightest hint of cleavage showed when I checked in the mirror, cradling the necklace gently.

I tucked my jeans into a pair of boots and put my wallet and phone into my handbag. Downstairs, the courier handed me an extra helmet that had been resting his waiting Yamaha motorbike.

He gestured to me to sit behind him. I flung my leg over the seat and put an arms around his leathered waist, the other hand somewhat awkwardly tugging at my newly-dyed-mahogany-red hair, which had got trapped under the helmet and coat in the rush. I could never have afforded to pay for a dye job on my freelance journalist wages, but hey, people become journalists because they like freebies, and it certainly worked for me. My hair was smooth like runny honey and smelt much the same, all for free. I loved it.

As the motorbike took off from outside the council flat building, where I was amazed it had not gotten thrashed by a 15-year old crackhead while waiting, the movement made me employ both arms to hold onto the courier. His waist was narrow even beneath his outfit, and I could feel his firm thighs pressing against the inside of my own.

The speed with which he drove was exhilarating. I could feel my underwear being pressed firmly against my body, the slightest hint of an unusual smoothness against my nipples and waxed crotch, which was also "new" for the occasion.

We sped past the Portuguese cafes of Stockwell, smelling of chicken escalops and crusty rolls, I closed my eyes and as I did, I could almost imagine that it was Steve himself I was holding onto. He owned several motorbikes, but of course rarely had time to drive any of them. Where ever we were going, he would be there waiting for me, I knew it.

The anticipation made me shiver with excitement and I could feel myself moisten. We had not seen each other in private for almost a week, and although we were no longer shagging like rabbits six times a day, I was dying to have him to myself. Especially certain bits of him.

As we crossed the Thames, I could see the Albert and Victoria bridge further over, lit up almost as if it was decorated for the occasion. We fled past several couples walking along the Embankment, I could not see at that speed whether they were young or old, it didn't matter, they were together and holding onto each other. The women maybe wearing a little secret underneath like myself, the men planning to make up for a whole year of absences and silences.

For a walker and public transporter like myself, it was quite a change to see London from the back of a bike. When we screeched to a halt, I was feeling dizzy from the twisting and turning. We were outside a large building which had recently been built next to a bridge in London, I had seen it go up on my commutes across the city.

"Where are we?" I said. "It's up here, miss," the courier said as he lifted the visor. We approached the building, it had a big glass entryway and the doors slid open silently as we approached. The courier went up to the reception counter and said something to the porter.

I realised we were in an apartment building, as I spotted names listed on the wall next to a video call system. Halogen spotlights shone on fresh flower arrangements, and the place still smelt new, and recently polished as well. Suddenly my Ugg boots and bedraggled grey coat felt out of place.

We stepped into the elevator, and as I saw the courier press the button for the top floor, my heart started beating even faster than it had been during the ride there. "I feel so shabby," it fell out of me. "If I had known I was coming to such a posh place..." I could feel the cheap coat rub against my naked skin and felt silly. "Oh don't be daft," the courier said. "You are a lucky girl to be here, and you're also prettier than all them over-made-up lunching ladies and stockbrokers living here." I smiled gratefully at him.

We stepped out of the elevator, and he led me down the corridor to one of two doors. "Your key should fit here, miss," he said. For some reason, even though it was his last job, he made no sign of leaving. "I would like to see it, miss," he said quietly. "I've never seen one of these places from the inside."

I felt annoyed. I didn't want anyone to spoil the moment for me and Steve. On the other hand, the courier had driven me across London in something which was probably exactly not a job description assignment, so I kind of felt like I owed him. So I put my key in the lock, it slid in like a hot knife in a block of butter. I turned it, and opened the door.

What met me was an amazing panoramic view of London's skyline, I could hear the courier gasp behind me, but I hardly noticed. I only noticed that Steve wasn't there. Was he hiding? But it would be unlike him to hide, he would want to be there, to look good as I opened the door.

In open-plan kitchen, a solitary spotlight was on, and I could see another card almost identical to the one which had been in with the necklace. In the flash of a light I was over to read it. "Hope you want to make this our new home. I also hope to be home by 0300 in the morning to kiss you goodnight. Steve."

I must have seemed like a spoiled brat to the courier when I threw the card on the floor and started crying. Credit to him, he didn't run away but came over and quietly asked me if I was OK. "Nothing wrong, I'm just being stupid," I said between sobs. "I thought... I thought he would..."

."..Be there," the courier said. "Those city boys. They can be such arseholes sometimes."

"He's actually a lawyer," I corrected loyally through tears. But I could tell that the courier had not much more regard for that profession. "Let me take your coat," he said. "I'll make us some tea. This place must have tea."

I hardly noticed as he untied the belt of my coat and slipped it down my shoulders. I didn't know why I was crying. It was not as if Steve had promised to be there. He had just promised to give me a surprise. And he certainly had.

"Oh, Miss," the courier exclaimed. He swiftly dropped my coat and took a step back, turing his head away. "I'm so sorry." I looked down and remembered that I was half naked. I could feel myself blushing. Instinctively I crossed my arms across my chest. "No, I'm sorry," I said. "I'll get a sweater."

Then, of course, I realised that I had nothing with me to wear. Nice job. "Oh sod it," I said. "Let's make some tea." I let my arms down and turned towards the kitchen counter. I could feel the courier's eyes on my back. And the "sod it" part of me was beginning to enjoy it.

It is a safe bet that any flat in the UK contains tea. Someone had obviously already been moving stuff into the flat. Kitchen appliances were lined up along the counter, including, thankfully, a kettle and one of those gift box style tea caddies that actually contain tea bags.

I filled the kettle and plugged it in. "So," I said, "I thought you had somewhere to go." I turned slowly towards the courier and leaned back towards the counter, propping myself up on my elbows in a position which is known by every woman to enhance her chest. The cool air in the flat made my nipples stand stiffly against the thin fabric.

"Well actually..." The courier stopped mid-sentence. I had a proper look at him for the first time. I couldn't quite tell where he was from. But I could tell that he was hot. His cappuchino coloured skin across his high cheekbones and square jaw betrayed that he was also feeling slightly flushed. He could have been a model or an actor, he was probably in his twenties, maybe even younger, young enough to still be hopeful. London is full of them, most work as waiters or couriers. His hazel eyes were struggling not to rest on my chest.

"So do you like my necklace?" I held it up in front of me. He took a couple of steps towards me. "Not half as lovely as the person who is wearing them," he said. "I think you have to look more closely," I whispered as I grabbed his leathered waist and pulled it closer. He stumbled into me and I could feel an extra hardness against my thigh. He was clearly feeling the heat not only on his face.

"Miss, I..." he stuttered as he supported himself on the counter behind me with both hands. I showed him the card. "It says at 0300. I think we'll manage before then, huh?" I slipped one hand behind his neck, pulling him in to kiss.

He tasted different than Steve, less ashy, he was not a smoker, sweeter, saltier. His tongue immediately met mine as his hands slid down my back and onto my buttocks, pressing me towards him. His jacket was freezing cold against my stomach, I could feel him breathing harder.

I slipped a hand down his thigh and even through the leather trousers I could feel that he was rearing to go. I could feel the blood rushing to my pussy in anticipation. "I bought this underwear for the occasion," I said as he slowly worked his way down my neck, nibbling and kissing me, savouring the taste of my tears and skin in a way which was simultaneously eager and indulging.

"So let's not waste it," he said. He gave me a hand opening his trousers, and rubbed my hand firmly against the tip of his cock, moist and slippery and hot, poking out over the top of his boxers. He was so hard I could feel each heart beat throbbing through my fingers. He let out a low groan as he continued kissing me at the same time as wrestling his jacket off.

Underneath he was wearing a white cotton t-shirt. He pulled it over his head, and I was thrilled to see that his thighs weren't the only firm and toned part of his body. His lean but muscular torso connected a pair of strong shoulders and lean hips.

I didn't get a long look as he immediately fell back into me, tugging eagerly at my bra straps, freeing both my breasts to amply fill each of his hands. I closed my eyes as he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking and teasing as his hunger increased further.

He pushed my nipples towards each other, his firm tongue lapping them both. Each lick further pumped up the flesh around my pussy, I could feel my clit impatiently rubbing against my jeans through my panties, now soaked in wetness.

I wanted to feel that hot cock rubbing on myself and slipped it out of his boxers. He stepped back for a second, bending over to take off his shoes and socks, giving me a good look at his tight brown buttocks, gleaming briefly in the light from the city. As he stood back up, his cock bobbed only slightly, so stiff now it was almost touching his belly.

He stroked it slowly, pre-cum dripping down on the kitchen floor. His cock was perfect, so straight and smooth, too large for me to take into my mouth all in one, but not too large for a comfortable fuck. What a Valentine's treat.

I undid my own jeans and slipped them down my legs slowly. Almost unconsciously he grabbed his own cock and started stroking it, watching me. "Keep your underwear on," he said hoarsely. I hoisted myself up on the kitchen bench, spreading my legs as I did so to expose the soaking wet silk fabric covering my mound. This courier was definitely hot enough to tip. If he did his job well.

He came in to kiss me again, his cock thrusting against my panties, massaging me eagerly as he kept fondling my breasts, eventually taking the bra off.

He knelt down and pulled my panties to one side, and I sensed his hand pumping between his legs as he started licking me, his tounge hungrily flicking across my clit, sending lightning bolts up my belly to my breasts, I brought one nipple to my mouth, licking it, I could taste him on it. I was already nearing the edge.

His licking became more and more intense, I could hear him groan between my legs as my clit hardened. This man really liked the taste of pussy. I grabbed his head, pushing his face into my shaven lips, he grabbed my buttocks with his free hand.

I felt his thick tongue thrust into my tight hole rhythmically, exiting only to flick across my clit and I came harder than I had for ages, pussy juice wetting his face as I gyrated uncontrollably against him . I could feel his tongue batting against me to fill me up, my whole pussy exploding again and again. "You taste so good," he muttered, his hand speeding up on his own shaft. "Stop that," I managed to moan. "I don't want you to cum too early... My turn now..." I jumped down from the counter and lead him to the softly carpeted sitting area, pushing a glass table out of the way. I pushed him down onto one of the brown leather sofas. It was my turn. His cock looked so delicious, I just wanted to taste it. I grabbed the gleaming shaft with both hands. I puckered my lips firmly around the head, he was salty and a little bitter as I slid down his hardness.

As I had predicted, I could not swallow all of his cock, it butted smoothly against my throat as I started sucking him off. His balls were shaven, contracting more and more in preparation to shoot their tasty load. But I didn't want him to, not yet. He started thrusting against me, grabbing my hair and begging me to keep sucking. "I want to lick you, baby," he groaned loudly. "I want you to cum all over my face."

He got off the sofa, and pulled me down on the soft carpet so that I was straddling his face and facing his cock. He pulled my soaking panties off, no more keeping it on. With both hands he grabbed me and thrust his face into my pussy again, eating it even more vigorously.

I grabbed his cock with both hands, and not wanting him to cum, I just kept teasing his cock head with my own tongue. He started fingering me as he was licking me, pushing two, three, four fingers into me, wiggling them around to hit my g-spot.

The pressure was building up as he lapped at my clit, one hand wetting my nipple in slippery pussy juice, making it more sensitive, playing with it. I could feel another orgasm building, more powerful than the previous one, as I felt him thrust against my hands and mouth, his cock becoming veiny, so filled with blood there was only one way to go.

"I'm cumming," I moaned as I felt my pussy exploding again, pussy juice squirting out between his fingers onto his face between my thighs. "Cum in my face baby, I want to drink your juice, you taste so fucking good," he panted, and then he came too, without me even sucking him, his cock pumping in free air, long strings of hot cum landing on my face and hair and his hips, I lapped it up, making my own orgasm last for what seemed like an eternity. Steve, in a year of often passionate lovemaking, had never made me feel like that.

When I felt I could get up without fainting, I went back to the kitchen, where the kettle had long since boiled. I filled it with fresh water and we both sat naked on barstools at the kitchen isle waiting for it to boil again, in the lit cone from the solitary spotlight.

The courier told me his name was David. I said my name was Cheryl. I was lying. Maybe we were both lying. And maybe David lied too, when he told me that his girlfriend had just dumped him for his best friend and that he had been planning to spend the evening alone in front of the television with a crate of beer.

He reached across the isle and grabbed my hand, it looked pale and insignificant in his bigger one . He turned it around and looked at the palm. "You will have a child, but not in the next three years," he said, tracing the lines of my hand with his index finger. "Your heart sang in the past but now it doesn't. But it will again, in three years time."

"A hand reading courier," I said. "My mother is a psychic," he said. "Back in the Dominican Republic. She taught me a few tricks." He smiled a somewhat tired smile, his teeth impossibly white against his lips, which I knew now to be very soft. Then he brought my hand to his mouth, sucking and licking my index finger gently.

"This is what you will feel like from the inside," he said, and as he pulled my other hand to his crotch, the velvety inside of his mouth made my whole body tingle again. I was amazed to feel his warm, wet cock firming up again. "You're such a sexy girl," David said. "And it is Valentine's, yeah."

I grabbed my handbag from the counter and managed to find a condom in the mess on the bottom. Probably a pre-Steve one, I thought guiltily for a brief second. But as David rolled it down his eager shaft, circling my still-tingling clit with a wet finger at the same time, I didn't care. Sod Steve, a voice said in my head. Everyone should get laid on Valentine's.

David lifted me impatiently onto the empty kitchen isle, my body heavy against the cool marble. He hitched my knees up and pushed his way slowly and teasingly into my pussy, still tight and swollen from cumming all over him a minute ago. I used my legs to pull him in sharply, he rammed into me like a freight train, filled me up so completely, his hot cock throbbing against my tight pussy as he groaned in pleasant surprise.

"Fuck me hard, David," I said, staring straight into his eyes. I lifted my arms above my head and grabbed onto the edge of the counter top behind me, my breasts jutting out invitingly, I could tell this aroused him even further.