He throws his head back laughing and kisses my hand.
“Lets get you fed baby.”
I open the wine and cheese to allow them both to breathe as he cuts the bread and arranges the meat and fruit on a large plate. He takes a blanket from the sofa back and throws it out over the floor, puts the food and our plates and glasses on it.
“A picnic Will?” I grin and he sits down and pats the blanket next to him. I sit and start to giggle.
“Music?” he asks and I nod yes, wondering what he will choose. We have discussed our music tastes several times, and I know we share some, but also that he listens to artists I would never play. He grabs a remote control from the side table and hits play.
The mournful strings from Damien Rice’s Delicate reverberate through the room and I hug him tight. He knows that song makes me tingle.
Lifting his glass, he proposes a toast, “To us… at last.”
After eating and talking, and snoozing slightly on the blanket, he stands and takes my hand, leads me upstairs.
I feel heat and throbbing between my legs as he leads me to his bedroom. He pulls his shirt over his head and sits near the edge of the bed. He waves me to come sit and when I do, he manouvers me so that I am sitting on the edge between his open legs, facing his mirrored wardrobe.
Blood flushes my neck and cheeks as I realize what is on his mind. He reaches around me and opens the buttons of my shirt, sliding it down over my shoulders. His hands move down to my jeans button, and he pops it open. I lift my bum up to allow him to push my jeans and underwear down to my knees, then I finish the job and pull them off, discarding them on the floor.
He looks at me in the mirror, his face nuzzling against my neck, his stubble tickling me. I meet his eyes and feel desire so strong I think I might set myself alight.
His hands on my thighs, he pulls them apart to reveal me in the mirror, I see his eyes track down and linger there. He takes my hand and gently, but firmly, guides it down between my legs. I look at him in the mirror but his eyes are locked onto my groin.
I begin to touch myself, feeling my fingers slipping over me because I am so wet. He removes his hand and lets me take control of my own pleasure. I writhe against my own palm, using my other hand to stretch back my labia to allow me more access to my clitoris.
He pulls down one strap of my bra and exposes my breast. Takes my nipple between his fingers and lightly pinches it, rolling it between his finger and thumb, drawing it out, making it harder.
My head is back against his chest. I am panting and moaning.
I am so aware that he is watching me fuck myself and I feel… free, liberated and glorious! His breath in my ear as he whispers my name, “Lexxxxiii, sexy Lexi…” send shivers through me.
I stroke myself faster and faster, desperate to come. He grabs my chin and turns my head towards the mirror and says, “Open your eyes, look how beautiful you are,” and I open them.
My chest and face are flushed, one breast exposed, my legs wide open, my fingers buried deep within them.
I come… it feels as if it will never end, orgasms surge through me, once, twice, again, three times. I cry out, feeling tears springing to my eyes. I cannot take anymore and pull my hands away but the aftershocks continue to flood through my body.
He lifts me onto his lap, sucks on my wet fingers and wraps his arms tight around me, holding me as I sob against his chest.
“You are amazing Lexi.”
We lie, side by side in his bed, naked beneath the covers. There are things I want to say but I don’t want to ruin our time together.
“Will? How is this going to end? What are we actually doing?”
He sighs heavily. Sadness shadows his lovely blue eyes and I feel awful for saying it. He has told me about his depression and I am scared that bringing reality into our weekend has brought him down.
I also know what it feels like to be in that dark place and I don’t want him going back there.
“I’m sorry babe. Don’t look so sad. We don’t have to talk.”
“I just hate to think of this ending,” he reaches over and strokes my cheek tenderly.
“Are you feeling ok?”
“I will be… if you kiss me again,” and I pull him close and do exactly that.
We need to get back to London, but I don’t want to. I am loving being here in his house, surrounded by his life. We left our luggage at the hotel, all I have is my handbag, but I want to spend the night here, at his place.
“Will, babe? Do we have to go back tonight? Can’t we stay here and go back in the morning?” I whisper, scared he will hate the idea.
A broad grin spread across his face, “Sure baby, why not?”
I shriek with delight and clap my hands.
“I’m cooking for you! Can we go back out and get things?”
I select a random radio station and dance around his kitchen as I collect a chopping board, knives and pans to make supper with.
He watches and chuckles to himself. I throw mushrooms at him and order him clean them.
I chop onions and garlic, fry them off in oil and add the sliced mushrooms. He hands me a glass of red wine and I sip it, enjoying the rich spicy tannins on my tongue.
As I stir the mushrooms he comes behind me and wraps his arms around me, swaying to the music. A slow song has come on the radio and he reaches over me, shuts off the gas and spins me around. We move to the middle of the floor and begin a slow dance together, his arms around my waist, mine reaching up to circle his neck. I have to strain my neck a bit to look up at him so I lay my head against his chest instead.
I hear his voice, low, softly singing along and I listen to the lyrics…
“You only miss the light when it’s burning low
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow
Only know you love her when you let her go”
The words ring out, the elephant in the room rears its ugly head and we hold each other tighter and sway slowly to the music.
The song ends, we smile sad smiles as I move back to the stove and turn on the gas again, picking up my wine for another sip.
Morning sunlight streams through his window, waking me early. Looking over to see him still asleep, I lie back and reflect on last night.
After eating, he took me back to his massive sofa and we lay together listening to music. He ran his fingers through my hair and rubbed my shoulders. Every time he touches me, heat flares between my legs, and last night was no exception. I turned, stomach to stomach with him, and licked the outline of his lips, felling his stubble against my tongue.
He opened his mouth and we kissed long and deep. My hand reached inside his jeans to find him hard and erect. We became more desperate to have each other and began tearing each others clothes off, panting and frantic. I lifted myself up, my hands on his chest, pushing my breasts together, and lowered myself onto him.
I didn’t need any preparation, I was wet and ready.
I rode him fast, hard, feeling the need to own him completely, too conscious that we had only one more day together.
His hair grinding against me pushed me over the edge and I called out his name as I came, feeling him thrust up into me as he felt his own orgasm take over.
Sinking onto his chest, smelling his scent and feeling his scattering of hair brush against my face, I closed my eyes and told him I loved him.
“I love you Lexi.”
Looking over at him again, I wish our lives were not as complicated.
The normality of us cooking together, setting at the table to eat and stacking the dishwasher, was simply lovely, but in the cold, hard morning light, I see that we were just playing house.
I think to myself, “Fuck it! It is what it is, enjoy it Lexi.”
I slide over to him and reach my hand down, deciding to wake him up with an orgasm.
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