A Twist of Fate (16 page)

‘Jesus, Jesus!' groaned Paul, and I knew he was about to come. He moaned out his orgasm as I moved ever harder on him, rocking on his cock, clinging onto the fingers embedded in my arse, binding him to me. When he came fully, he let it out with a sharp cry. ‘Fuck!'

With a laugh of ecstatic achievement, I let my second orgasm take me. This time I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on the stretch of my arse. More, more, always more! With him I'd take it all. The orgasm hit me with force, as if daring me, teasing me with how far I could take my body.

I collapsed down onto him, panting hard into his neck.

‘Oh yes,' he sighed out.

‘Was it good?'

‘Fucking incredible. You know it was. You liked that too, didn't you?'

I pushed up a bit, feeling slightly shy, like I had when I'd first explored sex in my late teens. ‘Hm-mm,' I nodded. He smiled.

‘Christ, we're good together, Callie.' I kissed him and he held me hard and kissed me back, taking over.

‘I think I …'

‘Hmm?' he hummed, nuzzling my neck, my face, any part of me he could reach.

‘I think I want …' I felt myself blushing under his kisses. I couldn't say it. I couldn't believe I was thinking it.

‘Go on.'

‘I think I want … next time … you know …'

‘Say it.'

‘Paul, it's embarrassing.'

‘No, it's not. Say it. I love hearing you talk about me fucking you.'

‘But I'm a good girl,' I crooned with sham naivety.

‘Not with me, you're not. You're dirty, filthy, and wicked. I fucking love it and so do you. Now tell me what you want me to do to you. Tell me in that gorgeous, posh, schoolteacher voice of yours what you want me to do to your delicious little body.'

‘I want …' I groaned, unable to get it out. Paul gave me a sharp little slap on the bum. I yelped but it worked. ‘I want you to put it in there.'

He smothered his laugh against my skin. ‘Put what in where?'

‘Oh God, you know!'

He pulled back and tried to meet my eyes. ‘Look at me, Callie.'

I rolled my eyes but then turned to look, my mouth pursed in embarrassment.

He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Now … say it:
I want you
…'

‘I want you,' I repeated.

‘
To fuck me
…' he prompted.

‘To fuck me,' I said. Paul smirked as he saw the word fuck formed on my swollen lips.

‘
In the
…'

‘In the …'

He waited, his lips moving a little, inviting me to supply the last word.

‘Arse.' I said it. Relief washed over me. Paul's smirk broke into a broad grin.

‘Again,' he said.

‘I want you to fuck me in the arse,' I breathed out, hurried now, but meaning it so much it gave me a rush to my head.

‘Good girl,' he chuckled. ‘Good, good girl.'

We kissed again. Kissing was our oxygen. If we stopped for too long it was as if were denied something essential.

‘So … Do you think it'll be OK? Aren't you too big?'

He gave a reassuring shake of his head. ‘No. You want it, that's what matters. And you're ready. You're opening for me like a magic box.'

I looked away shyly. ‘I've always hated the thought of it before, but … with you …'

‘It's us, Callie. Told you – we're made for each other.'

As we nestled into each other there on the sofa, my eyes fell on the pile of books and papers I'd knocked over earlier. I closed them tightly and inhaled the spicy, warm smell of Paul instead.

Nineteen

The next day, Paul went to Manchester for a meeting. I spent the time sorting things out at the flat before Anna came round for a counselling session. I didn't mind seeing her, but I kept losing my train of thought and staring out of the window.

‘Callie?' she prompted.

‘Yes?'

‘You're a bit distracted today. Maybe we should end it.' She started to tidy away her things.

‘I'm sorry. I'm not thinking about the crash or anything, I'm just … I don't know.'

‘I can tell, don't worry.' She gave me a smile. ‘You're doing brilliantly. There's not much more I can do for now, but you know where I am if you need me. I'll be honest; you'll be carried along on a cloud of euphoria at your survival and all the attention at the moment. It's in a few months and years that things may get hard. Then again, they may not … and your life is full and busy … but be ready for it. You'll need a rock-solid network around you.'

‘I have that.'

She smiled cautiously. ‘You have a good family. And your friends will be vital too, but don't shut out the crash. It's not good to go into a denial of trauma.'

‘I won't. I'm too sensible.'

She hesitated briefly before saying with what seemed like deliberate casualness, ‘Have you seen much of Paul?'

I felt colour rush to my cheeks. ‘We've spoken a couple of times.' I dropped my head. There was a momentary silence, far more than was due in the natural flow of conversation. To fill it, I asked, ‘How about you?'

‘I've tried but he's not the type to want help. He should. No one's immune.' She shook her head while picking up her bag. ‘He's a strange guy.'

My stomach lurched. ‘Oh? In what way?'

‘I can't figure him out. I wish he was just a bit more receptive to my advice.'

‘He likes to do things his way.'

‘He certainly does. But it was good seeing you together on TV.' She waited until I looked at her. ‘You seem to get on very well.'

Her tone was loaded. I resented it; she'd never been bothered before. I laughed it away. ‘Yeah, that was fun. We're doing another one on Thursday – the
Jack Northam Show
.'

‘Wow, fame indeed.' Anna smiled but her eyes remained fixed on me, as if trying to see behind my jovial banter. I wasn't fooling her at all. ‘Watch out. Jack Northam may be one of the lads, but he's a very skilled interviewer.'

‘We're on with a movie star – Tom Yearsley.'

‘Lucky you. He's lovely.' She stretched out the ‘o' of ‘lovely' and widened her eyes. I hoped she'd moved on from pondering my relationship with Paul. ‘I'll be off now. I'll watch your show.'

‘It's filmed tomorrow and broadcast on Friday.'

‘Good luck. Say hello to Paul for me.' At that point, she glanced back at me.

‘Will do,' I said, moving ahead of her to open the door. When we reached it she smiled genuinely and reached out to put a hand on my arm.

‘You're doing brilliantly, Callie. But it's a long process. Be careful.'

‘I'm always careful.'

‘Bye bye.' Anna leaned in and planted a kiss on my cheek. I was struck by a sudden outpouring of affection and care. My mother, Anna – was I not capable of looking after myself? Was there a reason people were so concerned? It was fair enough to have worries about the after-effects of the crash, but I felt it was more than that, as if they doubted my judgement, like they didn't want to let go of me as I couldn't be trusted in the world alone.

Anna left at last and I shut the door, breathing out in relief. She was the sort of person whom you knew you should like, who was genuinely caring, but who somehow annoyed you at the same time. Maybe it was the knowledge that you weren't actually perfect, and the fact that through her own goodness she made you acutely aware of it.

With Paul, my imperfections didn't matter. With Paul, I rejoiced in them.

Tonight would be lonely. As the day wore on, I sauntered to Tesco Express and restocked the fridge. I had various texts from Rupert, which I replied to carefully and politely, putting him off by saying I was busy and weary. Paul phoned again later. He sounded tired; it had been a tedious day, I could tell. We'd see each other tomorrow at the studio. It was better if we arrived separately, not to arouse suspicion. His voice lulled me to sleep. I only just managed to end the call before I nodded off.

Twenty

The next day a car from the studio arrived to pick me up. The driver was chirpy and chatty, wanting to know the usual – what I ate on the island, what I could remember of the actual crash (surprisingly little, I realised. It seemed much longer ago than it was), if I was looking forward to the show.

When I arrived I was taken through to meet Jack Northam and have a brief rundown of the sort of things he'd ask. Paul was already there. He stood up with a smile when I entered. How should I greet him? A kiss on the cheek would be considered normal, wouldn't it? Or just a hello? Luckily, the bustle around Jack distracted us all. I think we just smiled at each other. There was no sign of Tom Yearsley, but the excitement amongst the crew was palpable. We were clearly just the filler.

‘Guys, thanks so much for coming on!' beamed Jack, shaking us firmly by the hands. He was open and encouraging but I sensed the effort he had to put into it. In person, he was more manicured and groomed than he seemed on TV. It sat at odds with his laddish persona. ‘So … I'll go easy on you, don't worry. We'll get you on before Tom and just ask much the usual, you know – what you remember, how you got to the island, what it was like, shelter, food. We'll have a rehearsal of getting you on and the first few questions, but we don't go through them all as it loses the spontaneity.'

‘Do we stay on when Tom Yearsley's on?' asked Paul, hands in pockets.

‘Yeah, yeah,' nodded Jack. ‘Yeah, you stay and keep up the banter. Helps to keep it all natural. He'll be along later, just before we shoot. Busy guy.'

‘I think I'll be dumbstruck in front of him,' I laughed, more for something to say than anything.

‘Callie, no worries,' smiled Jack then pushed us abruptly towards some of the crew. ‘You guys look great but let's get you into make-up and we can get started with your segment. The audience are nearly set for their warm-up. I'll see you soon.' He smiled, promptly turned his back and left.

I was left with Paul. ‘Hi,' I said.

‘Fancy meeting you here,' he replied, hands still in pockets and a slight smile on his face. I felt like a fish out of water. A hug would have been glorious right then.

‘How was your meeting?' I asked, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

‘Necessary. Useful. Long.'

‘Do you think this'll be all right?'

‘Yeah … why wouldn't it be?'

‘What if we say something silly?'

‘We won't.'

A woman who barely reached my shoulders hurried up beside me, her hair piled high on her head, clutching a clipboard and with an earpiece attached like an alien insect to the side of her face. ‘Hi, I'm Laura, production assistant. I'll be looking after you. Come through to make-up. Not that you need it, Mr Mason. I could cut myself on that jawline!' She laughed, staring into Paul as she said it and putting a hand on his arm to guide him through. I clenched my jaw. Why did every woman who met him start flirting with him instantly?

We were seated in chairs next to each other, but I may as well have been in another room from Paul. My make-up artist was a miserable girl whose facial expression didn't shift at all during the twenty minutes or so I was sitting there. She only spoke to me if asking me to be quiet or to open or close my eyes but otherwise kept up a vapid conversation with the others. Paul sat beside me, not that I knew it. He had four women buzzing around him. What the hell were they doing? They were yabbering on about everything and nothing, lavishing compliments on him. He barely responded, but they annoyed me nonetheless.

There came a sudden surge of energy from out in the corridor. Voices grew louder and brighter, there was exaggerated laughter. The make-up artists looked at each other, murmured, ‘He's here', promptly dropped their brushes, and disappeared out of the door.

‘Oh,' I said flatly, staring at my one completed set of lashes. ‘Sorry to keep you.'

Paul chuckled. ‘S'pose that means luvvie's arrived.'

‘He's called Tom. Don't forget. You'll have to at least pretend to like him.'

‘I don't dislike him. I've seen him on stage. I just don't know him … and I'm not going to fawn over him, I'll tell you that.'

‘You'd disappoint me if you did.' I smiled across at him. They'd done something rather wonderful to his hair and tidied up his eyebrows. He looked stunning. I couldn't take my eyes off him. And I was still smiling.

‘What you staring at?' he asked.

‘You. You look lovely.'

‘Lovely, eh? I'm going up in your estimation. Must be doin' something right.'

I bit my lip, not that I was aware. ‘I can't stop thinking about …'

‘'Bout what?'

I gave a little laugh in embarrassment. ‘You know … What we decided last time. What we said we'd do.'

‘Oh aye.' He smirked. ‘Me neither.'

‘I'm quite nervous, but that makes it all the more exciting.'

‘I could tell you not to be nervous, but I don't want to spoil your fun.'

‘Seriously though, Paul, I never thought I'd let anyone do it to me.'

He softened his grin and I could have melted towards him. ‘Don't do it because you're letting me, do it because you let yourself.'

I started to reach out my hand to him but at that moment a few of the make-up people came in again.

‘How come she gets to do it? I normally get the A-listers! Fucking cheek!' One of them – the one who'd been with me – was on a rant.

‘Come on, Hayley, give her a chance. She did a great job on Schwarzenegger the other week. Took years off him. She's in demand.'

‘Tom Yearsley doesn't need years taking off him! He's only thirty-one!'

Paul winked at me. The moaning one came back to me and started prodding my face with sponges as if I was a wall she was mottling. ‘Screw her. I'm off to ITV if this carries on. And I am definitely doing Jamie Dornan next time.'