‘Do you like to be driven fast?’ The innuendo’s out my mouth before I can overthink it and I’m rewarded with a laugh that pierces the air.
I don’t need to ask where she lives because she already told me. She’s three miles from the house that Eddie and Emma bought, a stone’s throw away from Emma’s salon where we first kissed. They’re beachfront; she’s tucked away in a small cul-de-sac the other side of town.
It takes less than thirty minutes at this hour. Amy tuts and fidgets as if she’s uncomfortable, so I turn the heat down on the dash.
‘You ok?’
‘Just hot.’
‘Take your jacket off.’
As she does, wriggling against the leather seat, her dress hitches up, exposing long toned legs. My eyes automatically drift to them and she catches me.
‘Eyes on the road, buddy.’ She laughs. ‘Driving fast takes a lot of concentration and not everyone can multitask.’ Her smirk might not be visible in the dark, but it’s certainly audible.
Indicating into the cul-de-sac, Amy points out her house. It’s a white pebble-dash cottage with sash windows. A cobbled pathway leads the way through the tiny front garden to a red front door with a rusty brass knocker and an old traditional letterbox, which has to let in a terrible draft.
‘It’s not much, but it’s all mine,’ she says staring at it wistfully, one hand on the passenger door handle ready to flee.
‘It looks cosy.’ The compliment is sincere. I can only imagine how cosy it might be inside.
‘Want to come in and see?’ The whites of her eyes gleam against the blackness surrounding us. She leans across the car and I find myself sloping to meet her, our mouths less than an inch apart.
‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’ It comes out more guttural than I’d intended but I can’t help the effect she has on me. It’s feral, animalistic; I want to ravage her but I also want to protect her, envelop her and, in a caveman-like sense, claim her as mine. The prospect of tasting the forbidden fruit overwhelms me, but just like Adam and Eve, the consequences will be profound.
‘I think given the week we’ve had, it’s the only idea.’ Her lips press against mine. It’s not the first time she’s kissed me, but her passion still surprises me. Full and firm lips push against mine demanding entry. I can’t resist, and I don’t want to. The draw of her is too strong. Breaking away, I hop out of the car and open her door.
She drags me by the elbow across the cobbled pathway as if I might change my mind. It’s never going to happen. I’ve fallen too far already. It feels too right to be wrong. With one hand she fumbles in her bag for her keys, the other wraps around the back of my neck pulling my face towards hers in a hungry, desperate kiss.
The front door opens, slamming against the inside wall, and we tumble through it, lips still entwined. She pulls me through a narrow corridor to a sitting room with low ceilings comprised of cherrywood beams. A worn grey fabric sofa covered in mountains of lilac cushions takes centre position in front of a wood-burning stove. The embers still glow, burning and smouldering.
Hips sway as she stalks deliberately across the room to the stove, bending to lift a log from the bucket next to it. Her dress splits at the front flashing another view of her thigh as she places it on the fire, closing the stove door again. The fire roars to life, the crackling, spitting heat mimics the burning inside of my core.
I doubt she’ll need the heat of it tonight but it provides a fabulous atmosphere, and hopefully a good excuse to strip her off. I’ve sold my soul to the devil. To hell with the consequences.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ She returns to stand in front of me, her mouth grazing mine as she talks.
‘No, thank you,’ I utter between kisses. The only thing I want to drink is her.
Working my hands over her dress, my kisses nudge her backwards towards the sofa. She drops to a seated position. I break away long enough to gaze into her lust-filled eyes, silently searching for permission.
‘Don’t stop.’ Her voice is barely more than a whisper but the urgency in her tone is clear as she pulls me towards her again.
‘I couldn’t if I tried.’ Kneeling in front of her, our lips lock, teasing, tongues tracing against each other in an explorative rhumba.
Trembling fingers grip my jaw before running over the stubble on my head. A moan slips from her throat like she’s enjoying the sensation. Pressing myself further against her, her thighs part and my hips rock against hers. I grip her ankles and she attempts to wriggle out of her stilettos. The building desire is charged powerfully enough to fuel a freight train for a month.
‘Leave them on.’ It’s barely more than a murmur but she gets the gist, feet stilling as I trace an invisible line from her heel across her calf to the sensitive spot behind her knee, teasing the skin all the way back down again. From the way her hips wriggle against me, I can only assume she likes it. I’m going to draw this out. I want to ruin her for anyone else; I want it to be the best she’s ever had, so she has no choice but to keep coming back for more. I have got it bad for Amy Harrington. To hell with tomorrow’s game, tonight’s games are going to be so much more rewarding.
Dropping my face to her right ankle, I use my tongue to trace upwards over the silky flesh inside her knee, as my hands move further up to explore the flesh of her inner thigh. Scooting slowly towards her groin, I wonder if her underwear will match her usually conservative outfits, and more importantly, if she’ll let me get all the way into it.
Finding the lacy seam of her panties, my index finger follows the stitching from her hip and traces the curve of her pelvis. My thumb runs across the material that covers her centre. Her gasp is almost lost against the crackling fire. My smile presses against her calf as I pull my hand away from her, not willing to let her have it too easily. By the time I allow her to finish she’s going to be screaming my name from the rooftops. She’ll barely be able to remember her own name, let alone that she was supposed to be looking for a doctor or a dentist.
‘Oh, Amy. What am I going to do with you?’ It’s a rhetorical question. I’m going to do everything with her, at least twice tonight.
Half-closed eyes look suddenly almost apologetic. ‘I need to tell you something.’
‘Go on.’ After a brief glance to check she’s ok, I continue tracing the lace with my fingers.
