‘I mean, someone comfortable enough in their own skin to do all the, you know, sex things.’
‘Heather, I’ve had my mouth on you, my fingers in you, and my cock in a couple of—’
‘All right, I get the picture!’ I sort of squeak. Then I realise he’s making the sheet creep down my body again. ‘Stop that!’ I slap his hand away.
‘Plus,’ he says, completely ignoring me by wrapping it in his fist, ‘you gave me the blowjob of the millennium not half an hour ago. If that doesn’t tell you that your body was made for sex, I don’t know what does.’
‘It just never has felt like this before.’
‘No?’ Archer wriggles down in the bed, his head now level with mine as he rests his cheek on his fist. ‘Maybe you’re a late bloomer.’
‘Or maybe I’m like one of those flowers that blooms only one night before dying. That’s an actual thing, you know. And I’m sure you won’t be surprised to learn the thing, I mean flower, is a cactus.’
‘One night,’ he scoffs, pulling on a wisp of my hair. ‘You’re so ridiculous, it’s cute.’
‘You can say that—you might’ve gotten my one night of sex!’
‘I hate to tell you, but it’s Sunday already. And’—he lifts the sheet from where I’ve pulled it up to my chest—‘there appears to have been no spoilage. Unless I’ve spoiled you for other men.’
‘Maybe I’ve spoiled myself.’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ he says, abandoning our sheet wrangling and rolling away.
Before I have time to worry, he’s back brandishing the tiny bottle of bubbly snagged earlier from the minibar I hadn’t realised was there.I’m going to have one hell of a bill in the morning.
‘Here, wash your mouth out.’ He appears to be about to pass me the bottle, making it clear at the last minute that he’ll do the honours.
‘I’m not sure it’s much of a punishment, washing your mouth out with champagne.’
‘If I wanted to punish you, I’d pull you over my knee.’ The threat pulses inside me emptily.
‘Look at that,’ he purrs, trailing a finger down my cheek, dropping to my chest. ‘I wondered how far your blush ran, and now I know.’
‘Why would you wonder that?’ I ask a little dubiously. ‘I really don’t get the fascination. I get embarrassed, I go red. I’m in an awkward situation, I go red. I misstep socially, and guess what? I go red!’
‘It’s cute, and I have to tell you, kind of sexy.’
And . . .I’m pulling my what the fuck face.
‘It’s true,’ he protests with a puff of laughter. ‘Did you never hear of blushing brides?’
‘Oh, so it’s the virgin angle?’
‘No, it’s not even that. I can’t vouch for other men, but I can tell you I love to see you blush. And you should know, from now on, I’m going to try to make you blush more. Because you go the same colour during sex. And every time you turn pink, I’m going to think of you on your back.’
‘Urgh!’
‘Or your knees.’
‘Stop it.’ I swipe him again, when he begins to recite a silly ditty.
‘I cannot check my girlish blush,
My colour comes and goes;
I redden to my fingertips,
And sometimes to my nose.’
