“How did you know?” He hadn’t been in the same room as me when I was dressing this morning.
“Marie, there isn’t anything I don’t notice about you. I’m crazily, madly in love with you and there’s nothing I wouldn’t dofor you.” He slipped his hand between my legs, pushing up my dress and angling his fingers into my underwear.
I knew he’d find me wet and ready, my body already felt ready to explode.
My panties were lost to the floor, my skirt pushed up around my waist. I fumbled open his jeans, pushing them and his underwear far enough down to free his cock, running my fist up and down it.
He was hard and big and my body was so ready to have him inside me. Grant lifted me up enough so he could angle his cock at my entrance, and then he was pushing inside me, the gasp from both of us one of relief.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, fully at his mercy as he fucked me against the wall, no heed for taking it slowly or gently. This wasn’t a romantic session of love making, this was take-it-when-you-can-get-it and I-can’t-keep-my-hands-off-you sex and I was here for it.
“Now come on my cock like a good girl,” he whispered the words into my ear. “I need to feel your pussy clamp around me. Make me come.”
I wasn’t far off. Two more deep, hard thrusts and I was spasming around him, feeling the hot pulse of his orgasm pour inside me. Words spilled out of my mouth, incoherent and babbled, my world being spun by him again, another time.
He slowed, holding me tight against the wall, both of us breathing rapidly. Another kiss, slower, less needy.
“I wasn’t planning on that.” He lowered me to the floor, then ran a finger along my cheek. “You look beautiful when you’re freshly fucked.”
“I need my brain back before we move.”
He grinned, smug. Pleased with himself.
“You needn’t look so happy with yourself.” I slapped his arm then tucked my boobs away, doing up the buttons and hoping I had some tissues in my bag.
“I think I’ve got every right to after making you come like that.” He did up his jeans and straightened his shirt. “In our new bedroom.”
“It is, isn’t it?” This was the room we’d called as our own, overlooking the small courtyard garden. “I feel a bit less guilty about that.”
“Better than it being the next floor.”
“That would be wrong. Are you seriously going to buy this?” I did have tissues in my bag. There was a god. I cleaned myself up, which must’ve looked utterly devastatingly attractive to Grant, but it was his fault.
“Yes. I am. It shouldn’t take long to go through and I’ll see if a rush can be put on it. It’d be nice to be here before we get married. In four weeks.” He was looking at me as if I was about to change my mind.
“Four weeks. We’ll see what’s in store after that.”
CHAPTER 12
MAX
“That was out! The umpire needs glasses, Dad. That was so out – LBW!”
I clamped a hand over my daughter’s mouth which probably broke some parenting code I was unaware of, but I didn’t care because if she didn’t shut up, she was going to be thrown out. Lucy was loud when she was passionate about something and she was often passionate. She’d also absorbed the rules of cricket by osmosis, because I hadn’t taught her about leg before wicket and the reason the umpire wasn’t calling it was because it wasn’t a rule with kids the twins age.
“You need to pipe down.” I spoke in her ear. “You’re being too loud.”
She dropped me a glare that could kill and folded her arms in exactly the same way Vic did when she was pissed off with me. Unfortunately, it made me smile, because she was really starting to turn into a mini Vic, and while her mum was my favourite person in the whole world, the world really only needed one of them.
“You’re laughing at me.”
I nodded. “Yep. I am. Can you stop yelling abuse at the umpire? There’s only another over left.”
She nodded and looked away from me, hating being told off for anything. Just like Vic.
Vic who was sitting next to Marie with a gin and tonic, an essential in the hamper my dad had put together. Happiness was clothing her today; our kids were happy, our house didn’t look like a world war had just taken place and she’d had the physical proofs of a book she’d written on Eleanor of Aquitaine delivered this morning, which had prompted a cheeky glass of champagne because neither of us needed to drive anywhere.
My dad was right, if Vic was happy, I was. I saw that with him now too, that Marie being content was his main aim in life, as well as us.
