I grab his hips and slowly slide my puckered mouth over the thick roll of meat. He groans with pleasure. The heat of his lust flows from him onto my skin. I love sucking his cock. I’ll make all the other women who have taken him into their mouths a memory that never was. It is a lazy, dreamlike thought.
Outside the storm passes. The sky becomes milky white, shadows move, but I do not stop. Every time he is about to come, I pause, I change my rhythm. He hisses with frustration. I understand. It’s annoying. But there is a point to it all. My lips grow as numb, but I do not stop. As if sucking his cock is an old tradition that can bring bad luck if broken.
But he has other ideas.
He seizes my head, fully determined that I will no longer have the reins, and starts thrusting lustily towards his climax. I taste the salt in my mouth and jerk my head back so his cum sprays onto my face, my open mouth, my chin, and my throat. There is nothing he has done to another woman that he cannot do to me. When the last drop has been squeezed onto me I slip my tongue out of my mouth and slowly lick his cum from my lips.
He smears the rest on my face, neck and breasts.
Then he pushes me onto my back and presses his naked flank into my softness, crushing it beautifully, and thrusts into my body as it arches up to receive him. The sensation is magic. My loins ache. My insides feel raw. A gasp. A cry. A stiffening. His muscles strain and ripple urgently. We move together, slick and sliding against each other. My breath comes faster as his cock swells inside me. The whole time his gaze never leaves mine, his eyes smoldering and rapt. The moments lengthen into technicolor dreams: rich like wine. I sigh at his gentle hands, his velvet mouth.
Afterwards, I slip on his t-shirt and we drink apple mojitos. He is funny. I laugh. We have sex on the floor. Then we drink more mojitos and eat cold chicken and popcorn. I feel myself become lazily drunk.
‘You up for a fuck?’ I ask. There is a definite slur in my voice. An elongation of the vowels.
‘Is Fukushima leaking radiation?’
I fling off his t-shirt and hair trailing down my naked back, crawl around the food towards him.
He puts a dark hand on my pale exposed shoulder.
I push him to the ground and climb atop him. His strong hands curl around my ribs to keep my body steady as I impale myself on his cock. I know I’m tipsy and without a steady rhythm. Despite that, we come quickly. I lie on his body and listen to the dull beat of his heart. I love simply having him inside me.
‘I could fall asleep like this,’ I whisper.
‘Get on your hands and knees, woman.’
Hours later, the fire has burned down to embers and ashes. I lie weary and trembling beside him in the dark. I reach out a hand and touch him, a gesture that is both a question and reverent. My eyes are wide and filled with a strange new perspective, an awareness, an impossible intensity, as if I have never been truly or fully alive before.
‘I have to get back to London soon.’
He turns towards me, his face drugged and slack with desire. ‘Not yet. I’ve not had enough of you.’
‘Ahhhhh,’ I gasp, my juices splashing into his mouth.
TWENTY
Layla
‘I got the job,’ I crow into the phone.
He laughs. A good sound.
‘You are now talking to a member of Vincent & Prestige’s Studio’s team of interior designers. I start my first design and fit-out assignment on Monday!’
‘Want to celebrate over lunch?’
I feel the disappointment inside my body, like a wave passing through. ‘I can’t. I’m going shopping with my sister-in-law. We’re buying baby stuff.’
‘How’s Lily?’
‘She’s quietly freaking out after convincing Jake that she should have a totally natural childbirth in their bathtub. She’s actually going to give birth without an epidural! Apparently she’s going to be sucking on sugar pills the whole time. I told her I think she’s bananas. When I have a baby I want to be put out. And I don’t mean just an epidural. I mean general anesthetic. I don’t want to know nothing! Nada. I want to wake up to my husband holding a pink baby all clean and wrapped up in blankets.’
The silence on the other end is so thick you could have spread it on a slice of bread. Then it hits me how I must sound to him. A crazy woman banging on about babies three days after having sex with him. And with him being a player—yeah, even then I resisted the words junkyard dog.
‘Thank God it will be at least ten years before I am in such a position,’ I rush into the treacle of silence.
‘We should celebrate your job offer,’ he says evenly.
I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘Yeah, we should,’ I agree.
‘Where do you want to go?’ he asks.