I wriggle out from under his arm and push myself up onto one elbow so I can see him properly. He’s so beautiful asleep. I reach out and trace the curve of his cheekbones, then draw the tip of my finger over each eyebrow in turn. I lean closer and press a kiss to the tip of his nose.
He’s all I ever wanted. My Gil.
My hair tickles his face and he brushes it away. I’m about to lie back down, leave him to sleep, when he reaches out, pulls me down on top of him. We’re pressed together now, torso to torso, and his other hand comes up behind my neck and draws me down towards his lips.
The first kiss is so soft, so deliciously slow and gentle, that I forget to breathe. He might have been dozing just a few seconds ago, but from the way his lips brush and tease mine, I know he is now fully in control of all his faculties. And maybe some of mine. When his tongue explores my parted lips, I let out a deep sigh and slide my hand up his bare back. I’m fascinated by the planes and dips of the muscles and I map out each and every one.
Gil makes a noise deep in his throat and flips me so I’m lying beneath him. His lips never leave mine for a millisecond, but his hands begin to move over me, touching me with both confidence and familiarity – he knows my body so well – but also with tenderness and awe. I feel … treasured.
And then his hands move lower, skimming my knees, drawing a lazy path up my inner thigh, one finger hooked around the hem of my nightdress. The slip of the silk over my skin only adds to the torrent of sensations.My breathing becomes ragged and uneven.
I bring my hands around to his chest and give him a shove so he falls onto his back and we reverse our positions. A low chuckle rumbles through his chest and he lets his arms fall flat out on the crumpled sheet, spreadeagled in surrender. I push myself up, swing one leg over him and come to sit low on his belly and then, as his eyes grow dark, I cross my arms, reach for my nightdress and pull it slowly up over my head.
For a few seconds he lies there, then he blinks softly and reaches up for me, his fingertips making contact with my ribcage, where they drift and tease. ‘I can’t believe you’re all mine,’ he says. There’s desire in his tone, but wonder too.
We make love, slowly, tenderly at first, but then any gentleness is swept away by a building need to consume and be consumed. But even amid the building pleasure I never lose sight of him, and he never loses sight of me. We lock eyes. I don’t need him to tell me he loves me. It’s there in every touch, every look.
Just as everything is rising to a crescendo, I hear a noise off in the background. I try to ignore it, concentrate on letting the waves of sensation take me to their peak, when it happens again, louder this time. It sounds like … it sounds like someone knocking on the door.
‘Erin?’
In a whoosh of sensation, suddenly I’m ripped from one world into another. The air is chilly around me, the light beyond my eyelids dimmer. I snap them open as the bedroom door brushes against the carpet.
And there is Gil, fully clothed, looking concerned. It takes a moment to make sense of how he managed to teleport fromone place to the other, but then reality crashes through my brain. I roll over and bury my face in the pillow, cheeks flaming.
Oh, God …
It was like I was revisitingthatdream. Writing the ending that surely would have happened if I hadn’t woken sooner.
‘Are you okay?’ His voice is soft with concern, which only makesotherparts of me burn along with my face.
I nod, still hiding in the pillow, and let out a muffled ‘uh-huh’.
‘When I came back and it seemed as if the house was empty, I got worried.’
I lift my head but avoid making eye contact. ‘I, um … just needed a nap.’
‘Okay.’ He hovers at the door, not indecisively, but as if he knows exactly what he wants to do, where he wants to be. I sense he’d stand there like a sentry if he could, only leaving his post if he was convinced I was all right.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, flicking a glance towards him and adding a weak smile.
‘Do you need anything?’
My body is screaming an answer I don’t want to hear.
‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ I say, checking the clock and realizing it’s almost evening. ‘I should probably get up if I don’t want to be awake all night. I’ll be … I’ll be out in just a second.’
I can tell I’m not giving the most convincing performance of my life but he reluctantly nods, then the door closes softly behind him. I lift my head and stay frozen in that position until I hear his footsteps retreating towards the main part of the house, and then I collapse back down onto the mattress and let out a silent scream.
* * *
Gil is silhouetted against the windows when I eventually pluck up the courage to enter the living room. He’s staring at the easel. I want to rush over, to pull my painting from it and turn it face down on the table, but it’s already too late. Embarrassment is a corkscrew within my gut, its sharp tip tearing through me, turning, churning everything as it goes.
‘E … This is …’
‘A mess?’ I ask with a laugh, feigning nonchalance.
‘It’s …’ He turns and looks at me, his brows pinched as he searches for a reply. ‘It’s beautiful.’
