Me: What are your plans for this evening?
Lulu: Icecream and maybe some bingeing
Me: Alone?
Lulu: Are you offering to keep me company?
Me: Is that an invitation?
Lulu: If you bring ice-cream it is
Me: Would wine do?
Lulu: You’re lucky I already stocked up on white chocolate & raspberry ice-cream
I’m already on the pavement in front of her building with a bottle of wine and my overnighter in hand, so I head inside and call down the lift. I can see her surprise when she opens the door.
“Did you teleport here?”
“I was more or less downstairs when I texted. A little more than less.” I can feel the grin on my face. I feel like I’m doing that a lot lately.
“You’re very sure of yourself, Mr Pierce.” Her eyes are twinkling, cheeks pink, I hope with pleasure.
“Perhaps hopeful is a better word?” I drop my bag to slip my arm around her waist and kiss her.
“And the overnight bag?”
“I think we both know where tonight is headed.” I drop my lips to her neck and suck on her silky skin. “No point in playing games.”
And then I’m backing her up against the wall and standing the wine on the side table before my hands drop to the buttons of her overalls. She’s been painting again, but this time appears to be relatively clean.
“I find myself in need of a pre-dinner fuck,” I murmur in her ear. It seems like we’re on the same page because her hands are busy unzipping my fly and pushing aside my boxer briefs. This woman knows what she wants and isn’t afraid of going after it. “And the bingeing you mentioned? I hope you meant bingeing on me.”
Her response is nothing but a gurgle of laughter mixed with a moan as my fingers find her already wet and swollen. “Oh, yes. That’s it. Always so wet for me, Lulu.” I pull my fingers from her heat and suck them into my mouth. “You taste so good.” Then I’m dropping to my knees, my face buried in the smooth flesh at the top of her thighs, tongue sliding into the wet heat.
“Oh, good God. I can’t. I can’t stand …” she gasps. I tip her over my shoulder and carry her to the bed, where I can take my time bringing her to the brink with my mouth before burying myself in her with one brutal thrust.
It turns out Lulu does binge on me. And vice versa. We order Thai takeaway and eat it naked on her bed, followed by a shared bowl of icecream. By midnight, we’re both physically exhausted and aching all over. I stretch out on the bed with Lulu curled like a cat in the crook of my arm in a deep sleep.
I have no idea what this thing is between us. But it’s snug and enveloping and overwhelming in the best possible way. I don’t generally do feelings. I was taught from a young age not to express any type of emotion, but it seems like even the idea of Lulu brings with it a warm tide of sensation washing through me. Not to mention a rush of blood to my boxers. Part of me wishes I could attribute it to just that—simple lust. Purely physical. The other part, maybe the bigger part, knows this is something more. And for some reason it all seems tangled up with my feelings of dissatisfaction regarding my life.
I wake up the next morning determined to live in the moment and not worry about what will happen in the future. Lulu makes it pretty easy.
“Is that bacon I smell?” It’s not even full daylight, and Lulu is at the stove in her colourful silk robe, frying bacon and scrambling eggs.
“I thought you might need some sustenance after last night.” Her tone is as wicked as her grin.
“No one’s ever cooked me breakfast before.” I slip my arms around her from behind, bury my face in her crazy curls and breathe deep of the ever-present wildflower fragrance.
“Nobody? Not even your mother?”
“Especially not my mother. The housekeeper would make me porridge when I was in primary school, but by the time I hit high school, I was pretty much on my own. A bowl and a box of cereal were left on the bench for me. There was always plenty of food in the fridge if I wanted anything else.” I move over to the coffee machine. An old-fashioned contraption I have no idea how to operate. I can feel Lulu’s stare on my back.
“Did your mum work long hours?”
“You don’t have a pod machine?” I ask, hoping it will distract her.
“No way. Do you know how much landfill those things create?” She follows me and starts the complicated ritual of making coffee the traditional way.
