“You too. Nice Christmas?”
“Yes. I was at Helen’s, in Glasgow. You?”
“Cruising on a dhow in Doha bay. Listening to Once in Royal David’s City in forty-five–degree heat is a bit disconcerting. Still, the food was excellent.”
“Is that a hint that you’re hungry?”
“Ah, Faith, how well you know me. I just got back and I have nothing in. Any chance…?”
“Pizza okay?”
His smile dazzles me. I take myself and my dampening pussy off into the kitchen to raid the freezer while Ewan makes himself at home in my lounge.
I really need to get this lust thing under control beforeI make a fool of myself and embarrass him. He’s my friend, my neighbour. Nothing more. And my interest in him is surely just a sign of my loneliness and sexual frustration, possibly exacerbated by my upcoming anniversary. More to the point, it’s been six months since I had sex. I need to get laid.
Ed was good in bed. Well, enthusiastic certainly. I had no complaints. We weren’t in Caroline and Ewan’s league—not that I’m especially clear on just what that meant—but we were inventive enough. I recall Ed was somewhat sheepish the first time he suggested I might like to be tied to the bed. He needn’t have been; I loved it. He never gave me any indication he might like to progress his kink further and I confess it never entered my thinking then either.
It has now.
I keep remembering Caroline’s remark all those months ago about her dom and a gag. I recall her bruises, the marks she was so pleased with, so proud of. I imagine Ewan’s hands on her, creating those weals. And lord help me, I’ve started to wonder what those hands would feel like on me.
This has to stop.
* * *
“How long are you here for this time?” We’re sitting on my one and only sofa, the remains of a Hawaiian pizza on a tray at our feet.
“In the UK? A month. But I have to go to London next week, and Bristol the week after. I have meetings in Paris as well next month—early planning for their 2024 Olympic bid.”
“Sounds exciting. I love Paris.”
“Come with me.”
“What?”
“You heard.” His gaze intensifies. No dimples. He’sserious.
“I couldn’t.”
“Three days. Four at the most. You could spare the time. Come.”
“With you? In the same hotel?”
“Of course in the same hotel. Separate rooms though. If you insist.”
If I insist? Christ!
“Think about it. You’d have a good time, I promise you that. Sightseeing, fine food.”
“But wouldn’t you be working?”
“Some of the time, not all. We’d have plenty of opportunity to relax.”
“What about the sex?”Oh. My. God. Did that come out loud?
“Well, I hadn’t got to that bit yet, but if you insist on raising it now…”
There’s an expectant pause before I cover my face in my hands. The flush is burning from my neck up. I’m mortified, so embarrassed I could crawl down the back of my sofa and just die there. What on earth made me say such a thing? What must he think?
