“Your lot doesn’t have the premium on guilt, you know.”
“Guilt-shmuilt,” he murmurs, and a heartbeat later we are shaking with giggles like an eight-limbed blancmange.
“Oh, Giles!”
“I hate the idea of flying back home without you.”
He is breathless with laughter, but there is defiance in his voice now, and a little resentment, too, but what can I say? So I bend down again and kiss the cool skin of his shoulder. What else can I do? There is nothing I can do about it. So we will both be lonely, but there it is.
“I hate the idea of a whole week’s holiday,” he insists. “And what I would do with you if I had a whole week to do it in.”
“Don’t…”
“And when you get back you’ll pretend this never happened.”
A sensitive man, who, inevitably, has moments of tetchiness.
“No, not pretend it never happened. But it can’t happen again. We agree on that, don’t we?”
His arms around my waist tighten and for a few seconds he presses his face hard into my belly. “Giles! We do agree this is a…one-off, don’t we?”
“Please stay with me tonight. The whole night. Will you?”
I don’t know about this. I am getting really cold—wouldn’t be surprised if I am catching something, naked and sweaty in the cool hotel room—and after the first post-coital languor I can feel a wave of anxiety rolling toward me. I would rather be alone when it hits me. It will carry me far, far away from Giles, and I don’t want to be in the same room with him, let alone the same bed, when it breaks.
“Someone once asked me to assess, on a scale from one to ten, my ability to make myself happy,” he says. “I thought at the time it was about three and a half.”
“Are you asking me?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know whether this—coming here, tonight—falls into the category of making myself happy, or the opposite.”
He raises himself onto his elbow and gently kisses me on the cheek.
“Happy,” he says.
My cheek finds its place in the warm, fragrant crook of his neck; my shoulders relax in his embrace. He pulls me down, and our chests roll against each other, his ribs hard against mine, cushioned by the soft squishiness of my breasts, and our hips, pelvic bones colliding, and the smooth, musky skin of our bellies, and then our legs as we huddle under the blankets again.
“Come closer. While you’re still here, come close…”
I worm one arm through the narrow gap between the mattress and his body, slip the other around his waist, and nestle against him as if I could by some osmotic process become one with him. He catches his breath in the darkness above my head, and a large, determined hand clasps my buttocks.
“Every bone in my body turns to jelly when you do that,” he breathes.
I press my face against his shoulder and wonder whether he can feel that I am giggling again.
“And one bit of…um…jelly turns into a bone-er…”
A quiver runs through his chest and his hand on my ass squeezes in involuntary response.
“I had hoped you would notice…”
Leaning back on my trembling arms, I am mesmerized by the moonlit sight of our gyrating hips as Giles slams his cock into me, and because I am again half sitting on his lap, he has his hands free and puts them to good use on my breasts. Kneading them with his palms, tugging at them, a little harder now than before, as if he knew it was time. As if he knew I was riding the wave. Then he slows down, and frustration makes me want to cry out in protest, but I am determined not to surrender myself to him, to it—whatever it might be, my need for him—so I cautiously inhale, as calm as I can be while he is still inside me. God, this is so bizarre. Giles Cleveland’s cock inside me, utterly bizarre.
He clasps my hips and moves hardly at all, only his thumbs, stroking the sensitive skin above my ovaries, inching lower—I can’t believe he is doing this. Pushing my lips apart, away from his shaft, unfurling them to expose the swollen hood. I can feel it’s wet because it’s cool in the night air, then hot under the tender, tentative pressure of his thumb.
“Can I make you come…like this?”
“No,” I lie, and just in time my clit and the sensitive surrounding area are released from the firm, circling attention of the ball of his hand. I gulp for breath,