I laugh. I can’t help it. “Now that - ” I grunt as she squeezes me. “That…is high praise.” The pleasure burning along my shaft is stopping me from thinking coherently. “Fuck, babygirl,” I mutter, feeling myself getting pushed closer and closer to the point of no return until I’m gritting my teeth, pulling on my restraints hard, wanting nothing more than to touch her, dig my fingers into her flesh until she yelps…
And then I forget my name when the first flutters of her orgasm start to tickle me, and my hips lift up of their own accord, slamming into her over and over until we’re both shouting with ecstasy.
She unties me straight away, and I hold her, still connected intimately and making no move to alter that situation.
Fucking bloodyhell, I love her.
After a few scant minutes, she extricates herself from my arms, gets up, and throws some clothes on, downing the coffee I made her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Same place you are,” she says with a one sided grin, throwing my jeans at me. “Come on, get your kecks on.”
What my girl wants, my girl gets. She hurriedly finishes her cornflakes while I put my clothes back on, stretching away some stiffness.
“I’m taking you to Bean and Gone,” she says. It’s her favourite coffee shop along the waterfront. It used to be just a van that popped up now and again, but it was so popular that they leased premises.
“My coffee didn’t hit the spot?”
“Course it did. But today their mug of the day is amaretto, so…”
“Say no more.” It’s one of her most loved, most coveted coffees from any cafe in Foxton, and they only serve it everycouple of weeks or so. I reach for my wallet, and she shakes her head.
“Nope. This one is on me.” I open my mouth to protest, but she beats me to it. “Or what we just did never happens again.”
I drop my wallet like it’s on fire.
“You’re not serious,”Sadie hoots as we wait for our orders.
“Deadly. I mean, why not?”
“Because no-one wants cushions with your face printed all over them!”
I put a hand on my chest. “Pumpkin, I’m hurt…”
“Orcurtains with a life size portrait of you!” In spite of ticking me off, she’s giggling like a schoolgirl, almost doubled over at my suggestions of housewarming presents for EmEli.
“But they love me,” I grin, “and what could be better than to be able to hug my face any time they like? Or gaze at me whenever they draw their curtains?”
“One,” she says, holding up a forefinger, “either of them could end up sitting on your face…Don’t say it!” She gives me a mock stern look, and I hold both my hands up in surrender. “And two, I can’t think of anything more off-putting than drawing the curtains to settle in for some night time shagging, and having your face staring back at - ”
“Hey, hey, hey, I never said they had to hang them in their bedroom,” I point out.
“And I never said they’d be shagging in their be- ”
“Sadie?” A shocked male voice says behind us.
We both turn, and I think both our faces fall at the same rate.
Peter.
“Hullo,” he says, still seeming stunned but quickly donning his mask of haughty officiousness. It suits his Savile Row suit and Rolex watch, both of which very obviously cost a bomb and are unnecessarily flashy for a morning coffee break. His eyes have shadows under them, like he hasn’t slept well in a few days. Maybe he lies awake at night thinking about how badly he fucked things with Sadie, and what a life ruining mistake that was.
If he’s not, he seriously should be.
Sadie looks him up and down with a sneer before looking back at me. “Are our coffees ready yet? I’m ready to go.” Her voice is cold, but I know it’s not aimed at me.
Peter bristles. “I was about to say you lookedwell,” he says reproachfully. He pulls a woman closer to his side, and I hadn’t seen her until now. Blonde, reasonably pretty in a somewhat bland way, expensively dressed, and looking down her nose at us both. “This is Cecelia. My…”
“Fiancee,” she finishes for him in a nasal, brittle voice. Giving us an appraising look, her expression makes it obvious that we don’t pass muster as far as she’s concerned. Ah. The Vice-Chancellor’s daughter, the woman he was boffing on the side while Sadie tried her best to make things work. I can’t fathom how anyone could prefer beige Cecelia to technicolour Sadie. There’s just no contest, and if he’s honest with himself, even Peter would be able to see the stark difference now that it’s right in front of him, and he must see that he got the shit end of the stick.
