This is wrong, but it feels so right. And more to the point, I can’t help myself.
With a hiss, my head tips back, my eyes on the ceiling. I’m sure she wouldn’t want me to think of her right now, but I’m grateful the memories seem to increase with use rather than fade. And I remember it all so vividly. Heather standing in front of the mirror in nothing but her heels, her eyes dark and trusting, her hot, panting breaths fogging the glass.
‘Ungh.’ Those same fingers tease the head of my cock, sliding lower to grip it, my body relaxing with that distinct bone-melting kind of relief.
The soft moue of her mouth.
The way I’d wiped her essence there.
Her tongue darting out to taste.
The sensation of my whole body tensing as I fought the urge to fuck her right there.
‘Yes... fuck, yes.’ I know lube would help ease the slide, aid the drag. Maybe a little more spit? But easy isn’t what I deserve even if it comes anyway in the appearance of precum leaking from my slit.
Harder. Faster. My breathing becomes jagged and sharp.
I hiss out a curse as I’m consumed by this sating grip, the sensation even more snug on the backslide. My heart rate begins to climb, and my legs to shake, tension drawing my balls tight.
That peach of an arse.
Nipples like cherries.
The flare of her hips.
Fuck me blind, how am I already this close?
My head jerks back, the images of the woman I can’t have adding a layer of something bittersweet because I’m coming on her arse, seeing her in disjointed flashes under me. Over me. Her mouth around my cock replacing this satin slide. She’s in lingerie. Wrapped in a sheet. On her knees, her hard nipples presented to me.
My body reacts as though struck by lightning. I cry out, my back bowing from the chair, not sure if I’m chasing touch or avoiding it as my orgasm barrels from the depths, bringing with it light and heat and ecstasy. I may be in an anonymous hotel room in Europe, but in my mind’s eye, I’m defiling her with strands of my cum.
I’m not sure if it’s better or worse that I’m alone. Perverted or preferable that I’ve just wanked myself into oblivion with nothing more than the memory of her and a pair of blue satin knickers.
I was offered anonymous pussy on a platter, and I couldn’t go through with it—I didn’t want to go through with it—because, as gorgeous as the woman was, she wasn’ther.She wasn’t Heather. It’s like, the night could be full of stars and I’d still be watching her. For me, there is only her.
22
Heather
‘Start from the beginning.Tell us again.’
‘To recap, I coerced a guy from work to take me to the wedding. Into faking a relationship with me for the next few weeks to get Haydn off my back. We went. We had fun. He threatened to rip off Haydn’s arm and beat him to death with the soggy end if he continued his reign of terror—’
‘Terror’s a bit strong,’ Vivi interjects. ‘Reign of dickishness is more like it.’
‘Whatever,’ I retort witheringly, earning a snigger from Daisy. ‘Am I telling you this story, or are you?’
‘You have the floor,’ Vee answers magnanimously. ‘A floor I think came out really well.’ From her position on her peony-coloured velvet chesterfield sofa, she peers down at her newly painted floorboards in the shade of damask which I think is just another name for white.
‘Anyway, he also said Hayden’s nastiness comes from the man’s stunted attempts to woo me—’
‘Woe you more like.’ This from Vee again.
‘Woo or woe, it’s unwelcome, though I still think he’s wrong about him fancying me. The idea is just a bit mad and very unhealthy. But in defence of Archer’s theory, Haydn’s stopped trolling me since.’
‘I told you. Didn’t I say so?’ Daisy declares excitedly, her finger pointing between us as though conducting a symphony. A symphony that makes no sense.
‘Well, the man is an arse, and I’m pleased someone threatened to sort him out. I think I like this Archer already.’ Vee curls her feet under her butt, resting her cup of camomile tea on the arm of the sofa. ‘You’re not eating.’
