‘Still lovely,’ Tom agrees.
‘Ooops,’ I scream, as my heel catches in something.
Oh no, it’s okay. I haven’t fallen over. Tom has his arm round my waist and all is well.
‘For a moment there I thought you were going to haveanotherfoot incident,’ he says.
‘No. There’s no chance of that. It would be ridiculous. As previously discussed.’
‘Yeah. Should we maybe sit on this bench, though, for a bit?’
‘Good idea.’ I’m very happy with Tom’s idea, actually, because his arm that was round me kind of stays round me as we sit down, although now it’s round my shoulders, and it feels very right there, like it belongs.
‘I know we’ve said this before,’ I say after a bit, ‘but the starsarevery, very nice. Twinkly.’
‘Yeah.’
We sit there some more, just looking at the stars, and then – I’m not really sure why, well, just because I want to, I suppose – I kind of snuggle into Tom a bit more.
‘Cold?’ he asks.
Am I cold? No. Do I want to un-snuggle? No.
‘Not now,’ I settle on saying.
He hugs me in tighter.
I do fit very well inside his arm, actually.
I sense him shift to look at me, and turn my face up to his.
And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he bends his head and kisses me. At first, his lips just brush mine, but then he kisses me harder, and I kiss him back, and it’s exactly like you always imagine the best kiss in the world would be like. It’s delicate, and tender, and urgent, and almost desperate, all at once. Tom’s lips are firm and soft and gentle and hard, and I never want this to stop.
Itdoesn’tstop, for a long time. We just sit there, nestled together on the bench, kissing and kissing.
Until one of us moves, and then, frankly, we have handseverywhere, and it’s amazing and I couldtotally, basically, have al fresco sex, except, also, I couldn’t, and, suddenly, I slide out of Tom’s arms and take his hands and pull him to his feet and hurry him back down the garden.
We have our arms wrapped round each other as we go. We’re kissing, I think we definitely have arms under clothes, and now we’re almost running, and then I trip and Tom picks me up and carries me upstairs to our rooms.
‘Mine,’ I say between kisses.
Tom slams the door closed with his back, and then we’re on my bed and… it’s amazing.Nothing, other than Tom himself getting up and walking away – which seems pretty unlikely right now – could stop me now. It’ssogood.
* * *
I wake up very confused for a moment. The sunlight is bright on my face, painfully bright. My head is fuzzy, my eyes feel scratchy like I didn’t take my make-up off, and there’s a solid man-sized weight against me, and legs across mine.
And ohhhhhh, all of that is because last night Tom and I had glorious, amazing, wonderful, divine sex for a very long time, in this lovely four-poster bed, and I didn’t close the curtains or take my make-up off, and I might have had a teensy bit too much to drink, which would account for the headache (and possibly the sex, although I wouldveryhappily have done that entirely sober, and in fact Iwassober by the time we were really doing stuff, thank goodness, because I remember it all very clearly and that is a memory I would beverysad not to have), and the solid weight against me is of course Tom. Who I know that I love very much. And with whom, from my side, I know that I was making love last night, as opposed to just shagging.
Not to say that the sex wasn’t superb and worth it just for itself. In fact, I’m remembering my conversation with Tom right at the beginning, the night we met, and I’m wonderingwhyI had this belief that no-strings sex was a bad thing. Because even if we never do that again (I really hope we do, many, many times) it will have been worth it.
Although… maybe it was only that goodbecauseI’m in love with him. Which I very clearly am.
I move my arm a little, because it’s going a bit pins and needly, and Tom stirs.
I look at his lovely, kind, stubbly, square-jawed, ridiculously handsome face, and smile, and wait for him to wake up.
‘What the bleurgh, what, where, what,’ he says.
