I feel like I’m outside of myself when he starts kissing my neck and I nearly don’t hear the whisper against my skin of, ‘Perfect, you’re so perfect.’
When he slides out of me, he breaks away for a moment, his eyes dancing fleetingly around my face, as if he’s checking I’m real. I follow the shape of his jaw with my fingertips and kiss him again, in a way that feels easy and unhurried. Eventually, he lies down next to me, wrapping both his arms around me.
The rain pattering against the roof of the tent gets heavier and heavier, the sound of it so soothing I rest my eyes for a moment, still basking in the sensation of his skin on mine. He presses a kiss to my forehead and I make a conscious effort to tame the grin that wants to escape.
I stretch my arms above my head in a way that feels so specifically sublime after an orgasm and watch the way he eyes my body with such reverence. I decide to let the grin free after all.
‘Do I look like a sexually satisfied woman, now?’ I tease as I face him in all my radiant glory.
He purses his lips and looks me over, pretending to study me seriously, before revealing a smile of his own. ‘Mmm, not enough.’
I huff with laughter as he reaches for me again, and without even thinking about it, I reach back.
45
Firecrest is alarmingly quiet when I wake up. The food trucks and vendors have all closed down, and the early risers are packing up their tents in hushed voices.
Elliot’s arms encircle me with my face buried in his chest, breathing in the scent from his shirt with a contented sigh. Due to Elliot’s relentless sensible nature, he insisted that we both put clothes on before we fell asleep, lest I freeze to death. He moves to kiss my forehead and then my lips, which I gladly return.
‘Owen wants to take off early to beat the traffic,’ he says with a bittersweet smile. ‘Think I have to go.’
I nod and capture his lips again quietly before he sits up to gather his things. I get into my travel-home outfit in between quick kisses and whispers, agreeing that Elliot will come to Brighton by train after work on Friday.
When we emerge from my tent, there are already empty patches around the site and hordes of people with backpacks, pulling trolleys with dark bags under their eyes. The brisk morning air makes me shiver in my t-shirt. When Elliot faces me he must notice, and gathers me in his arms once again.
When our eyes meet I struggle to think of anything to say, but settle eventually for, ‘Remember you have visitation rights on our drumstick, so you’re welcome to come and see him whenever he’s free.’
‘Well, I’ll be seeing him on Friday then, if he’s with you.’ He gives me a light peck. ‘If I can wait that long.’
Contentment must be radiating out of my pores. ‘Thank you for this weekend.’
‘Thankyou,’ he echoes. ‘It was… much better than I was expecting.’
‘Ditto. Get home safe,’ I say, and he quietens me with one more kiss that steals all the air in my lungs.
‘You too,’ he says, giving my hand one last squeeze as he walks away.
I watch him go as he winds his way around the remaining tents, and can’t control the smile that breaks when he turns to shoot me one last grin.
‘Nora Hartley,’ Hennie’s whisper snaps me back to life, and I look down to see her giddy face poking out of her tent with her hair at all angles. ‘Get in here thisinstant.’
I laugh and dutifully follow her in.
After I fillHennie in at length on the previous evening’s events, she tackles me into a hug so tight that I have to beg for release with a pathetic wheeze. When her face takes on a fiercely tender expression that looks something like pride, it’s a miracle my eyes stay dry.
‘Get ready for me to be a third-wheel,’ she warns. ‘And I will still require our movie and game nights.’
‘Of course. You’ll always be my number one, Hen,’ I say in all seriousness. She smiles at this and reaches over to plant a messy, wet kiss on my cheek.
‘Good,’ she says, laughing as I rub my cheek in jest. ‘Can’t wait to tell him that at your wedding.’
‘Please,’ I say with a laugh. ‘We’ve known each other for three days – technicallylessthan three days. Might be a bit early to joke about weddings.’
‘If he’s in any way sane, he’ll cling onto you like his life depends on it,’ she huffs.
She tells me about her Sunday night as she starts to pack up her clothes and I tidily roll up her sleeping bag. The sounds of campers around us grow louder and louder until it’s clear that no one is asleep anymore; the festival site is awake for the last time until next year.
Taking down our tents isn’t as painful as I thought it would be, and before long we’re walking among the steady throng of people moving towards the exit with our enormous rucksacks, letting the morning breeze tickle our skin.
