‘You like the sound of that? You’re wet for it. You want the feel of the night air on your nakedness as I fuck you hard and fast.’ But then he’d gestured behind to the cab. ‘Before he leaves, you need to decide. I want to fuck you until you can’t stand, but you leave your wants and desires at this door. You understand? I like things my way.’
‘Are you going to hurt me?’ My question sounded like pure encouragement. I didn’t consider the implications as I slid my lips against his. Tongues tangled as our kiss deepened, my fingers grasping his shirt as though to hang on to my sanity. It was a kiss like I’d never experienced before. A kiss that was hot, wet, and heavy, and a promise of things to come.
He’d groaned as he pulled away, signalling silently for the cab to leave.
‘My way.’ As he’d turned back, his eyes shined black in the moonlight, his fingers finding my chin. ‘Means you wait for an invitation.’
He’d kissed me again. Hard this time, his choice, and my further undoing. I leaned against the handle more heavily, the ache between my legs loosening my limbs. As our mouths parted, he’d slipped the key in the lock before leading me inside. Meek and disheveled, my mouth tingled as much as my back ached, but I was so fucking aroused.
Back in the morning light, and in the shade of the hedges surrounding the garden gate, I push away the recollection before I drown in sensation overload. Rousing myself, I pull an ever-present elastic from my purse, gathering my blonde hair into a messy topknot. Then, pulling down the hem of my skirt, I push my shoulders back and swing open the gate to step out onto the street. If I’m doing the walk of shame through whichever London borough I’m in, I’ll do it as I do everything. With my head held high.
Two
LOUISE
‘My slutty senses are tingling!’ Flo rises from the café outdoor table setting just around the corner as she’d promised. My borrowed hat sits on the table, her black hair loose around her shoulders, shining almost blue in the sun. ‘Where’ve you left your horse?’
I glance down at my crumpled clothing, taking a beat to decipher her non-sequitur. I suddenly feel a little old. Old enough to know better, at least.
‘It’s my shoes,’ I answer belatedly, realising she’s teasing me. Anyone who’d worn four-inch heels one full day and part of the night was bound to have an awkward gait. And here I was, wearing them again. There were, of course, other aches, but I wasn’t about to share those details.
Collapsing into the chair opposite, I swipe Flo’s cup and swallow a mouthful. My grimace is instant. ‘Green tea?’ When I so need a coffee. When she doesn’t respond, I look up; I’m greeted by one highly defined and eloquently raised brow. It’s the kind of look that demands details. The kind of look hard to ignore.
‘It’s true,’ I protest. ‘My feetarekilling me.’
Flo’s response is a dirty, sniggering laugh. ‘Only your feet, sweets? And do leave my tea alone. I’ve no idea where your mouth has been.’ Ignoring my shocked expression, she passes me my canvas tote. ‘Here. I’ve brought those god-awful plimsolls you wear. And a cardigan.’ Somehow, I sense she isn’t done, proven right when she breaks out into a sing-song tone, ‘Because appearances are everything!’
‘Only to the vain and shallow,’ I mumble, placing the bag on the empty chair next to mine.
‘Just ninety-eight percent of the city’s population, then?’ She lifts her cup as she stands. ‘Make yours a latte and a banana muffin?’
‘You know me so well,’ I reply gratefully, shrugging on the long-line sweater. I look down at my feet, realising this isn’t the case at all. After last night, I barely know myself. I slip my feet into my favourite pink Chucks and wrap the pale scarf around my neck. While I might be in desperate need of a shower, at least I’m now more suitably dressed for a Saturday morning, though a little cold.
Adele begins to croon from the café shop door as Flo pushes it open from the inside, cups in hand.
‘Anal,’ she states certainly, flopping into the metallic chair opposite. ‘It had to be.’
‘What?’ I splutter, my gaze darting around. Lowering my voice, I hiss, ‘I would... I... never didthat.’ But would I have said no? The pulse between my legs isn’t the answer I’m looking for.
‘Not you, silly. The song.’ She breaks into a couple of surprisingly melodic lines from Adele’s hit; words about the delights of a new lover and the things unshared. ‘The other tart gave him things she couldn’t. It had to be anal,’ she repeats with certainty.
‘I worry about what goes through your head sometimes.’ My tone is disparaging.
‘Only my head?’ Along with her response, she shoots me a bawdy wink.
‘It’s too early for sex talk.’
‘And don’t knock what you haven’t tried,’ she adds, ignoring my plea with a narrowed gaze. I feel the full weight of her scrutiny as I concentrate on the contents of my cup. ‘If I were a betting girl, my money would be on last night’s piece of hotness.’
‘Money? For what?’ I ask, glancing up from my cup.
‘I bet you’d have given him a backstage entrance pass.’
‘I’m not a concert.’
‘You’re sure? Because last night looked like his audition, but the question is, will he be getting a call back?’ When I don’t dignify this with an answer, she points an accusing finger in my direction. ‘I do hope so because you never show interest in anyone, and last night, I think you’d have shagged him on the dance floor!’
‘Can wenotdo this now,’ I groan, my mind filled with horror—flashes of movement, silhouettes flaring as though lit by a black light. ‘I’m not hydrated enough for a debrief.’ I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. ‘Stop!’ I say, holding up a hand. ‘That’s not what she said.’
