“I take it every day at seven am, so as long as you haven’t got super sperm, we’re good.”
A kiss was pressed to my shoulder, his hands cupping my breasts. “I don’t think I’ve ever had sex like that.”
“Me neither. I’ve never come as soon as someone’s got inside me.”
There was a grumble from him. “I don’t want to think about anyone else being inside you.”
I turned around in his arms so I could see him, pulling the covers over us. I needed to use the bathroom but it could wait a couple of minutes more. “Then don’t, but I’m glad I didn’t lose my virginity to you. That would’ve hurt.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“Feel free.”
“Who did you lose your virginity to?” His hand was on my side, positioned so his fingers were grazing the side of my boob. He was definitely a boob-man. I had no issue with that.
“Brian McClure when I was sixteen. On that beach on the coast of Ireland. He was a local boy I’d crushed on from when I was about fourteen and that summer we had a romance. I think he had a romance with a few other girls as well, but I wasn’t bothered about that.”
He managed to grin. “That’s kind of sweet.”
“What about you? Who was your first?”
“Rachael.”
“Your wife?” I traced the cut of his muscles on his chest.
“You’re the third person I’ve slept with. I had a one-night stand six months after she died. I never cheated on her.”
I changed my touch so it was softer, gentler. “I would never have you down as a cheater.”
“I was too busy with work to manage a relationship with one woman, let alone another. I wasn’t a good husband.” He looked remorseful. “And right now isn’t the time to talk about how I wasn’t a good husband. You’re not my therapist.”
“I’m not. I’d be a crap therapist. They’re meant to let you work out your own solutions. There’s no way I couldn’t interfere.” I slid my hand over his hip onto his back, pulling myself closer. This didn’t feel like the one-night stand that it was meant to be.
He settled into the pillow, looking relaxed, which he should be after what we’d just done. I’d have to think of ways to unrelax him shortly. Or relax him more – I wasn’t sure what the best way to phrase get him horny again would be.
Re-hornerise?
“What are you thinking?” He looked worried.
“How to get you in the mood again.” I lacked a filter sometimes. I considered it a positive.
He smirked, eyes alight again. “Just show me your tits. That’s all it’ll take.”
“Watch this then.” I slipped out of bed and walked backwards towards the bathroom, making sure he got a good view. “And I’ll be right back.”
I woke when the phone rang at five-thirty, a requested wake-up call because I couldn’t attend today’s meetings wearing last night’s clothes, smelling of sex and the opposition’s aftershave. That wouldn’t go down well, although I did grin at the thought.
Sleep hadn’t been plentiful. It’d been more like naps with interludes of orgasm inducing activities, involving a variety of positions and skill levels and a lot of laughter. As serious as Grant had been at work over the last couple of days, he wasn’t serious in the bedroom.
“Who’s in the room next to you?” The niggle I had about his dad potentially hearing his son in the throws of passion was still there.
“I think it’s a laundry cupboard. But then it’s my dad’s suite.” He rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him. “Are you worried about how loud you screamed my name at three o’clock this morning.”
“You checked the time?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had sex at that time before.” His hands combed through my hair. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backwards.”
“That’s sex hair and it’s your fault. I’ll wash it before work. Thank god we’ve got a later start.”
