‘Definitely some kind of edge.’ Her tone sounds pondering, and it tickles as she runs her finger across the pale ridge. I sit up a little to better see her, warmed by the small, worried frown on her face. ‘What happened? Did you have an accident?’
I laugh but not at all pleasantly, slightly disconcerted she didn’t get the terminology. Was she that unexperienced? I wouldn’t have thought so up until now, perhaps.
‘An accident? I suppose you could say that. If accidents have names and last a number of years.’ I inhale a deep breath. ‘Annabelle, my ex.’
‘Ouch,’ she murmurs. ‘Must’ve been acrimonious if she tried to stab you.’ She purses her lips, almost as though she’d said too much
Acrimonious is true, but she didn’t stab me, not that I’m certain she wouldn’t, if she thought she could get away with it. ‘Well, yes. She is a bit of a nut.’ Attempted murder or not, this was true.
‘But how ex?’ she asks, scrunching her face. I shake my head, reluctantly finding her expression adorable.
‘Acta est fabula.’ Breath rattles in my chest. I believe it’s what’s called a laugh.
‘Daniel?’ There are questions in the softly spoken word. It was the first time she’d said my name, discounting sighs and moaned utterances. And the bit where she’d almost screamed it at the end as she came. It had been a rush; the bottle, my mouth. Her reaction. I’d have happily eaten her out all night.
‘The drama has been acted out,’ I translate, the words expelled with a sigh. ‘The marriage is well and truly over. It had been for a long time, apparently. It might’ve been kinder if she’d just said so, rather than finding them in our bed. Not this bed, obviously.’ I reach up and rattled the cuffs, not missing the hitch of her breath and the gleam in her eye.Kinky all right, just not well versed. ‘What’s left between us is a little paperwork and, of course, the customary awkwardness of things.’ I brush the hair away from her face, twisting a lock around my finger. ‘I made dinner. Ihadn’tconsciously planned to debauch you on the table the minute you walked through the door.’
‘I’m disappointed.’ She laughs softly. ‘Here I was thinking you’d put a lot of thought into this evening. Selected the bottle, especially.’
‘The bottle was one on instinct. A lot like taking your business card.’
‘You wanted to see me again?’
‘I was sorely disappointed when I woke, and you weren’t here.’ I keep my voice even, trying not to chastise.
‘I panicked. I’m sorry. For both then and now.’
‘Now?’
‘For not responding. You couldn’t have been sure I would come.’
‘Couldn’t I?’ This one was pure salaciousness, along with my slap to her arse.
‘Ouch! Be serious.’
‘Oh, I am,’ I reply darkly. ‘I’ve put more thought into this than you’d probably care to know.’
She shivers. Perhaps, it’s nervous excitement. Perhaps, it’s the finger I draw along her spine.
‘Are you cold?’ I ask, the thought just occurring as I attempt to pull the abandoned quilt from the bottom of the bed with my foot. She begins to giggle at my attempts, so I give up, rolling her underneath me instead.
‘Shall I be your blanket?’ I whisper huskily as she spreads her legs around me. ‘I could cover you. Keep you warm.’
Her groan is pure pleasure that I taste on my tongue. Lips move and tongues caress as, between us, her stomach rumbles.
‘Hungry?’ I graze her jaw with my teeth, wondering how long before I can have my fill of her again.
‘For you, maybe.’
I flick my tongue across the seam of her lips, light and deft. Because, God, it turns me on to hear that. As she tilts her head, exhaling a shaking breath, I take her lip between my teeth to hear her moan. To hear her hunger for me.
Teeth grazing, hips lifting, skin rubbing skin. How long had it been since I petted heavily while naked in bed? For added effect, I take her hands in mine and lift them to the pillows. Her breath hitches; her fingers close enough to reach out and graze the cuffs. All telling pointers to slot away as I bring my mouth to her ear for some sadistic whisperings.
‘Get up.’ I as good as plank above her, delighting in her lust-suffused confusion. ‘Come on; let’s get you fed.’
‘I’m a different type of hungry,’ she complains, her tone petulant.
‘Food now,’ I repeat, rolling from her. I slip from the bed and slip on my discarded jeans. ‘I promise, you’ll need your strength later.’ As I turn my head from her shoulder, she peers out from under the weight of her bed-messy hair.
