SEVEN DAYS (12 page)

They sat gazing into each other's eyes. The moment she realised that they hadn't spoken for a minute, she became nervous and rooted around for something to say, other than telling him how beautiful he was or how lucky she felt that he’d come back.

He asked her what was wrong.

Deflect deflect deflect.

“I've applied to go on an art course,” she said. “Seven days. In France. I probably won't get on. My application will have arrived on the closing date and I had to submit a new drawing, hence all the scrap paper around the place.”

Shut up shut up shut up.

“It's not scrap,” he said.

“But you didn't like it, did you?”

“No,” he said. “But that doesn't mean it's not worthwhile.”

“I don't think I like any of it either. That's why I want to go on the course. I want to find my style. I want to find myself.”

Mark looked doubtful.

“What?”

“Can I speak freely?”

She steeled herself.

“I think France is a long way to go to find yourself,” he said. “And that that's not actually what you're doing. I think that you're actually running away.”

“Running away from what?” she said, feeling angry suddenly.

“Yourself,” he said.

She laughed at him.

“I'm not running away from myself.”

“It's okay,” Mark said, “but it's essential to know you're doing it.”

“I'm not running away from myself,” she repeated firmly. “Is this your way of telling me not to go on the course too?”

“No,” he said. “I'm suggesting that you work out exactly what you’re looking for. It might be closer than you think. And if you don't know what you want, how will you know when you've got it?”

“I know what I want,” she said and the Judy that she could only be in his presence was back, ready to make the first move.

She had absolutely no doubt that they were going to make love this evening. Her next breath was the first in a world in which she had decided for sure that there would be something physical between them. No more daydreams, no more hopes and desires. Now it was certain. The only question was whether she leaned forward and kissed him or whether she allowed him to take charge of her body.

She wanted him to push her gently backwards so that she was lying on the bed and she wanted to feel the weight of his body on hers.

The moment came and went, however, and it looked like she would have to do it after all. As she leaned forward, she succumbed to an incredible cramp in her leg that had her shooting off the bed and collapsing on the floor.

Later, she would laugh about it, she told herself, in ten or twenty or even thirty years time.

“Stretch it out,” Mark said, dropping to his knees beside her. His hands were on her bare leg, sliding up and down her thigh, but she could think of nothing but the alien, excruciating pain in her hamstring. He held her very firmly and very still until the pain began to dissipate.

“How does that feel now?” Mark asked.

“Wonderful,” she said eventually.

She slid herself forward, sliding her bum across the floor so that her legs were either side of him and then she leaned in to kiss him. Her lips parted and her breath hitched as she got closer to him than she had ever been before. As she drifted in she felt like a thief and a renegade.

As their faces neared, his hair brushed against her forehead. She felt his nose against hers. Their mouths would join soon, like pieces of a puzzle. The puzzle was no mystery to her though. She had been observing this puzzle long enough and she knew which pieces she wanted where.

He was cool to the touch, but not in his response. She gave his face an exploratory kiss, very softly, and his response swept her away, taking first her bottom lip between his and then exploring her mouth. She opened her lips and pressed her mouth against his and kissed him as passionately as she had ever kissed anyone in her entire life. She rushed her fingers through his hair and held him tight.

No escape for you
, she thought, but he had no intention of going anywhere. His hands sought her waist and held her in that firm but gentle manner of his that made her feel safe and protected, but also desired.

She raised her T-shirt so she could feel his fingers against her skin. His hands were warm and she felt delicate beneath them. Her chest ached wonderfully as they kissed and explored each other. She felt as if a ball of pleasure was growing inside her, shooting filaments up to meet his hands wherever they went.

She breathed into his neck.

“Who are you?” she sighed.

She clawed at his neck and pulled at his collar.

“Take this off,” she demanded.

He undid the buttons while she lifted her T-shirt and threw it aside.

He immediately cupped her breasts through the black, lacy material and kissed her neck.

She felt as if her mind spilled away and all that was left were the sensations in her body and some remnant of her personality, all that was wanton and selfish and hungry.

She pushed herself away from him in order to unbutton her shorts and slide them down over her thighs. He helped her tug them off and those too were cast aside. The wanton Judy, enjoying her body in only her knickers, then spread her legs. She had no more cramp in her legs, but there was still one ache that required soothing.

Mark obliged by kissing her legs from knee to thigh, to inner thigh and then sliding her knickers down. He didn’t wait for her to kick them away before sliding his tongue over her pussy. She didn’t wait for him to finish his first stroke, before sliding her hands around the back of his head and holding him close to her.

He responded by eating her greedily, not licking, but sucking at the folds of her pussy, pinching her ever so slightly between his lips before releasing her and then plunging his tongue inside her.

She threw her head back so hard that she banged her skull against the floor. She laughed, but the sound came out as a throaty moan and even more parts of her disappeared, melted on the floor. She was just a loose mass, of no particular shape. Mark’s tongue was everything. And then his hands joined in, sliding up her thighs, parting her legs even further, stroking the back of one leg.

She was completely at his mercy, thankful that he was such a diligent lover, moving from her labia to her clitoris, tonguing her and not stopping until she bucked, thrusting herself against him.

“I want you,” she said, guiding his head up over her stomach and towards her breasts.

“Do you have -?”

“- top drawer,” she answered, pointing.

As she watched him tear the blue wrapper open, she regretted that she didn’t have a stash of anything more subtle. She had always elected for the thickest, most durable condoms. There were times when, if it had been possible, she would have insisted that her men wore two at once.

As he slipped it out of its case, however, she wanted as little as possible between them. She snatched it from him and waited impatiently for him to undress further so she could unroll it over his penis.

He stood before her in only his shirt, his sizeable cock hard and ready to go, his body firm and angular, his eyes encompassing her. She kept her eyes on his while she unrolled the sheaf, passing one hand over another to smooth out wrinkles and evidently sending pleasure shooting up into him.

She lay back, content to continue on the floor. That appeared to be fine with him too, because he immediately kneeled before her.

“Wait,” she said.

She spun over and raised herself up onto her knees, her palms on the floor.

“Like this,” she said.

He assessed her wetness with his fingers, before easing his cock into her from behind. Although she had already had a great orgasm, she desired more.

Finally, he was inside her. He pulled out, too soon for her liking, but then eased back into her again, further this time, her clitoris firing jolts of pleasure.

He repeated the move again.

And again.

She sank her forehead to the floor and closed her eyes.

He teased her in the extreme until she couldn’t bear it any longer and at that exact moment, he switched gears, shortening the length of his strokes to accommodate his increase in pace.

Soon, all she could hear was the sound of her breathing, her forehead against the carpet and the rhythmic slap of Mark’s toned hips against the back of her thighs.

She whined, self-consciously at first, because of the thought of Lisa downstairs. If she was in, she would hear her lovemaking, which would make a change, but she wasn’t entirely comfortable with that. She soon forgot her sense of propriety, however, and even thumped the floor with her fist as the glorious sensations mounted.

She cried out loud, wincing. Then she was breathless and Mark kept at her, his hands sliding over her hips, her back, her ass.

“Turn over,” he said. “I want to see your face.”

He withdrew from her and she suddenly felt cold.

“On the bed,” she demanded. “Lie back.”

He did so and she climbed up on top of him, settling herself gently on his cock. They both guided him into her and then she rode him slowly and gently, watching his face intently to gauge her strokes, grinding her clitoris against the shaft of his cock. It was her favourite position and she usually  came this way. Sitting astride him allowed her to see the pleasure on his face, not only feel the passion of his hands.

His hands massaged her breasts, squeezed them together, teased her nipples.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He groaned as she bucked and bounced. He used his hands to take some of her weight and help her bounce on his cock. He thrust into her on the down strokes, which made her yelp.

She came again, her breasts bouncing wildly with the vigour of their lovemaking. She became dimly aware of the bedsprings creaking and also noticed that she was making a sound she’d never heard before too.

His body beneath her, spearing and bouncing and stroking, was so sweet, the pleasure so intense.

He snatched her arms then, hard enough to hurt her, and she thought that something was wrong, but then he came, long and hard and she continued to rock against him, gently now, easing down, milking him.

He dragged her down to him and they kissed again, hard and passionate, as if they were angry with each other. Maybe they were. Angry that they had waited so long to do this.

As their pulses slowed, Judy continued to lie on top of Mark, her ear against his chest, listening to the rhythmic thud of his body, delighted to know that she had stretched him and brought him back.

He stroked her hair.

She could have slept, except he ruined it by saying:

“I’ve got to tell you something.”

Her heart raced once more. She immediately thought of Peter, who’d barely waited until he’d come before announcing that they would only ever be friends. That might have been enough for her at one time, but having seen Mark, having felt something click inside her on seeing him, she wanted more.

Being rejected by Peter was one thing. That might have been for the best in terms of compatibility.