I love driving. I passed my test only weeks after my 17th birthday, having applied for my test date even before my birth date and before I could legally drive on the public roads. So as soon as I had my hands on my provisional license I had a couple of intensive weeks of lessons, practicing my driving skills on the public roads before I flew through my test a month later. Driving is one of the things that connects me back to my beloved grandfather, as he’s the person who took it upon himself to teach me how to drive. Back home he had a big enough plot of private land, that aged only 16, many an evening after school and every Sunday morning before lunch he would take me up to his land, so I could drive round and round in circles, practicing changing gears from first to second and back down again. He would put out cones so I could practice pulling out at pretend junctions, or reversing around a corner, and I perfected my hill starts on the slight incline. So by the time I could legally drive on public roads I was already able to manage the mechanics of driving reasonably well and just needed to be able to transfer those skills to driving amongst traffic.
As I change gear, I reach up with my left hand and touch the solid gold necklace that hangs round my neck. A gift from him. An old watch chain and Masonic Orb of his that has been refashioned into a lady’s necklace which he gave to me before he died. It’s irreplaceable, not least because it’s an antique, but because it belonged to him and it keeps me connected to his spirit. It’s my most precious possession.
On my 17th birthday, unbelievably, he also very generously bought me my very own first car and I’ve had one ever since. Having my own transport gave me a freedom and an independence that I realise, in hindsight, I’d craved for years - ever since I went to school outside of my home town. Suddenly I could arrange my own social life, meet friends at weekends and not rely on family for lifts or on the rubbish public transport in our semi-rural area.
Also, owning a car propelled me into work. The running costs of keeping my vehicle on the road, paying road tax, car insurance and filling it up with petrol every week became a major motivator in my urgency to get a job and earn a steady wage. I suddenly had a major outgoing and if I wanted to keep my independence and freedom I needed an income to keep the wheels turning. Which explains why, long before I started my career in business travel, I’ve always worked. Bar jobs, Saturday jobs, extra staff in the lead up to Christmas with some of the major high street retailers. While most of my friends at college were living off their maintenance grants or handouts from their parents, as well as my doing my studies, I held down both a bar job and a Saturday job in a local chemist to pay my own way.
Every time I’m behind the wheel, I relive that connection to the past and the security and love from my grandfather, whilst simultaneously relishing in the freedom and independence it gives me now.
I’m filled with these emotions now as Melanie and I are hammering up the M4 motorway towards London, to Michelle’s for her birthday weekend. Fortunately, we’re heading against the main flow of commuter traffic that is attempting to drive in the opposite direction away from the capital, so we’re making good time.
When we do this run, which we seem to be doing quite regularly at the moment to either visit Michelle or Tim up in town, I’m always pleased that our social commitments require us to head in and out of London when everybody else is going in the opposite direction. I don’t think it would be possible otherwise.
Only this past week, we headed up to Tim’s for dinner on Wednesday evening. He’s got a fancy new pad right over in Surrey Quays overlooking the river onto Canary Wharf on the opposite side of the Thames. His flat is gorgeous, three spacious bedrooms, a large open plan living/dining room. All mod cons. The apartment block is equally impressive with 24-hour concierge, a communal swimming pool and the like. I can only imagine the increase in his pay packet since his promotion and move up to London. He invited Mel, Jeremy and I, and another couple around for dinner, and what started out as a nice civilised dinner, as is typical of our gatherings, soon deteriorated into a raucous impromptu party. Fuelled by alcohol and loud music we didn’t go to sleep until around 3am. Mel and I set our alarms for 5.50am and after a quick shower, we jumped back into my little Renault to hammer back up the M4 in the opposite direction, making it back into work just before our first shift.
After a heavy session like that, I always have some reserves of energy left when I wake up in the morning, the tiredness and hangover hitting me later in the day, whereas Mel is always knackered first thing, and picks up later on. So we balance each other out at work. I help her out in the morning, taking on the bulk of the workload and picking up any urgent travel requests off her desk, then as I begin to fade after lunch she’ll pick up the slack for me. In fact, after this particular jaunt last week, I was so whacked by 2pm I snuck off to have a little ‘nana nap’ in the back of the walk-in cupboard in our office. Fortunately, once again, there was only the two of us in our small satellite office. There is no way we could get away with this type of shenanigans otherwise!
We’ve hidden a small pillow and snuggle blanket at the back of the cupboard for just this type of occasion, but if either one of us ever got caught, then it would be game over - but we work extremely hard for our company, so we take the opportunity to play hard as well. As Melanie once said, “It’s all about balance. Work hard but play hard as well.” Another of Mel’s mottos in life is, ‘never ask permission, just be really good at apologising’ and this type of behaviour would definitely fall under that category. I take more risks when I’m around her and have more fun as a result. My life is definitely more playful with Melanie in it.
Jeremy, as always, was all over me at Tim’s dinner party. I keep trying to keep things light between us to be able to enjoy the company we’re with, or the things we’re doing in that moment, but he insists on making everything so serious, declaring how he feels at every available moment. He’s smothering me and as hard as I’m trying to reach out from underneath him, gasping for air, he continues to lord over me, insisting in making it obvious to God and sundry how much me loves me, or as he believes, how much we love each other.
Since that evening at his mother’s 50th birthday, he’s told me he loves me every time we’ve spoken or seen each other. I’ve been able to hold back from actually saying the words, “I love you” back to him and have maintained my default response of “Me too”. But I sense he’s becoming impatient that I haven’t declared the same level of devotion. He’s starting to want to make plans, talking about going on holiday together, or hinting towards moving in together.
“When is the lease up on your house with Mel in Wootton Bassett? Wouldn’t it make sense if you were to move up to London after that?” he keeps asking, as I keep dodging every attempt to talk about the future.
“My goodness, you’re a proper planner, aren’t you? Why can’t we just enjoy the moment we’re in right now?” I’ve said on more than one occasion. Attempting to distract him with an affectionate peck on the cheek, or a playful ruffle of his hair but I’m fast running out of excuses (or non-sexual ways of touching him). I’m backed into a corner and I’m losing sight of the emergency exits as he continues to crowd over me. He’s coming over to Michelle’s tomorrow but I find that I’m relieved that it’s just me and Mel’s family tonight. I’ll be able to relax and enjoy a nice glass of wine after a long week at work without any added pressure.
Mel is sat in the passenger seat next to me and we continue to chat amiably, whilst listening to the tunes on the radio. She’s currently involved in an irregular relationship with a young farmer who lives in the same village as the Grays down in south Wiltshire. It’s been going on a while now, and although he doesn’t appear to be giving her any commitment, that appears to suit her. It’s friendly, casual sex and easy company, appearing to be without any of the intensity or ‘heaviness’ that all my relationships, past and present, seem to become laden with. I could be wrong, perhaps secretly she wishes this John would step up to the plate and offer to make their relationship more formal, but if that’s the case she hasn’t said so. I envy her. I wish I could find a way to have a light relationship. Something fun and casual, at least at this point in life.
As we arrive at Michelle’s, Lynne (Mel and Michelle’s mum) and Chris are already there, Chris having just landed earlier that day from his recent trip to Greece. He is absolutely glowing. His smooth skin shining like polished leather and he’s clearly refreshed and healthy from his time away. He smiles warmly as we arrive, dumping our bags and sleeping bags inside the front door.
“You look really well, Chris” I say, making reference to his topped-up tan. “I can’t wait to hear all about your trip. I’ve not had much opportunity to visit Greece personally. Certainly not to island hop like you just have. You’ll have to tell us all what you got up to.”
His response is not what I was expecting or the fact he said it directly into my ear as we initially greeted each other with a friendly embrace, the intoxicating smell of his masculine scent drifting up my nostrils as he wrapped his arms around me.
“Oh, I have so much to share with you, Vicky. We’re going to have all the opportunity in the world for me to tell you everything,” is what he said to me. I had expected him to say something much more generic and to our whole group, something like, “I’ll tell you all about it over dinner,” but instead it was clear his reply was aimed directly at me.
The heat of his breath in my ear and the touch of his strong arms around my waist causes an involuntary ripple of desire to rush down my stomach and pool between my legs. I’m shocked by my body’s primal response to his directness and the intensity of his stare. The heat in my body now climbs upwards. An uncontrollable flush rises up my neck and into my cheeks. What on earth does all this mean? I’m confused. With the exception of the very first night I met Chris and walked past him sleeping on our sofa back in Wootton Bassett I’ve not allowed myself to think of him in that way. There’s no doubt he’s devastatingly handsome and highly attractive but I try to remind myself of the other feelings I had felt. My instincts sensing that as well as his playfulness he could also be dangerous. Despite this, my body responds magnetically and uncontrollably when he focuses on me like this. It takes all my mental strength to turn away from him before I give away any hint of the inner chaos he’s causing me, even if these physical sensations are beyond my control and have taken me completely by surprise.
“Right, should we head out?” Michelle musters our group before we all get too settled and the evening gets too late.
A short while later, after we’ve selected our respective seats around the table at the local Italian, our coats deposited with the waiters, bags slung off the backs of chairs and orders placed, the conversation flows easily between myself, Mel, Michelle and Lynne, while Chris seems content to sit back, sip his beer, and watch ‘his’ girls chatter animatedly. Mel is on my left, Michelle on my right, Lynne is next to her and Chris is between Mel and Lynne, so almost directly opposite me.
It’s a while since I’ve been out with all three of these women together. I’ve known Mel getting on for eighteen months now and we’ve been living together for the best part of nine months. In that time, I’ve also got to know Michelle and their mum really well, as Lynne also visited the UK last summer. I even call her my ‘surrogate mother’ - a label she doesn’t seem to mind, having ‘adopted’ me as another daughter. I feel a real kinship with these women and although we’re not related, they feel like family. A few months ago, the four of us enjoyed a quick holiday together in Malta when Lynne first arrived from New Zealand. An opportunity for her to catch up with her daughters before she started her first work contract.
“Lynne, do you remember when we won the jackpot that time?” I ask. “In the casino that night - how funny was that?!” referring to one of our nights out while we were all in Malta. This particular evening, we were almost ready to leave the casino but decided to use up the last of our change on a one-armed bandit close to the door. Lynne pulled the handle and the next thing we knew the three wheels locked onto the pot of gold and we won the jackpot! The four of us standing in shock as we attempted to register what had just happened.
“The machine almost blew up. Lights whirring, alarms sounding. You manhandling us all to keep us back, shouting ‘don’t touch it, don’t touch it’ in case we knackered the machine and scuppered the win. It was soo funny.” We all giggle at the memory.
“Well aren’t you glad I did? The winnings paid for a lovely slap up dinner for us all on our last night,” Lynne says in reply.
“I never win anything. I have such bad luck usually. Maybe you’re my lucky mascot, Lynne, and I should take you everywhere. I should get you to choose the pools this weekend.”
“Gambling… I didn’t know you all had such bad habits,” Chris mocks his mum. “I thought better of you,” he says pretending to be shocked at his mother’s behaviour.
“So, come on then Chris, you’ve been awfully quiet this evening, listening to us girls chatter away. Tell us what you’ve been up to in Greece. Where did you go? Who did you meet?” Melanie asks, drawing him into the conversation.
Chris tells us about some of the places he’s visited, the things he’s seen and the people he’s met. It’s sounds absolutely wonderful and he talks enthusiastically about a couple he met at Santorini, who live just outside Manchester, called Mike and Fiona. Apparently, they met at a winery one afternoon, then hung out for the next few days together. It sounds like they all got on really well and he’s planning to go and see them again in a few weekends’ time. It’s lovely that he’s made some friends of his own over here in England. We keep interrupting his flow, to ask him more details, wanting him to share more specifics about the sights he’s visited and the things he’s done across all the various islands.
“Whoa, steady on all of you. I’ll show you all the photographs once I’ve had a chance to take my films into the chemist to be developed,” he attempts to placate us.
“Obviously Athens is amazing, although unbearably hot. If I ever go back I wouldn’t go in the height of summer but even in the short time I spent there you really get a sense that you are witnessing what was the birthplace of modern civilisation and culture. The age of the place is mind blowing. I just can’t get my head around it. You can walk amongst what looks like just a pile of rocks but then you have to remember that these ruins were part of a building erected by other human beings over 2,500 years ago.
“Then you have the mix between that and the ancient mythology of the place which goes back even further. All the gods and goddesses they worshipped and the myths that envelope the history of the entire country. It reminds me of a lot of the Māori beliefs and mythology that also bridges the ancient and the modern in our culture back home. I found all of that really interesting.
“But my favourite island turned out to be the last one I visited, Milos. Much quieter than any of the others and having been there, I’m really surprised it’s not better known. It’s the place where they unearthed the Venus de Milo, you know that statue with no arms that’s housed in the Louvre in Paris now? Apparently, it was found by a farmer ploughing his field. But the beaches on Milos are just stunning. No surf obviously in the Mediterranean, just crystal-clear waters and miles and miles of stunning white sand. Most of the beaches I found were completely uninhabited.
“The island is also dotted with natural hot springs, which as you all know, is right up my street. The smell reminded me of Rotorua back home. That distinctive smell of rotten eggs. Either that or some Greek God was letting rip!” I almost spit my drink across the table in his direction, as we all laugh at his explanation of what I assume is the strong sulphuric smell that he’s describing.
“I even found a natural hot spring at a place called Paliochori Beach. I just sat for hours in my own personal, warm rock pool, looking out at the ocean and watching the sunset. It was magical.”
“It sounds it,” I say. “It sounds absolutely wonderful, Chris. You’re making us all, or at least me, very jealous.”
“Well it was amazing and somewhere I’d dreamed of visiting for a long time and it didn’t disappoint. It is the kind of place though, that is best explored with ‘a special someone’. There were times when I wished I had someone there with me - to share it all with,” he says, staring directly at me and once again I feel the flutter of butterflies jumping up and down in my stomach and the pool of desire collecting between my legs. Mel and Lynne are distracted by their menus, deciding which dessert to choose, while Chris takes a slow and considered sip of his beer as he continues to hold my eye contact. I swallow hard, feeling the energy rising inside me again. The heat rising up into my cheeks and I have to resist the urge again to put my hands over my face to cover my flush.
We look at each other for what seems like a very long time, but in reality, is likely only a few seconds, before I break his gaze using the distraction of my own menu as a blessed relief. Had I still been looking up, I would also have seen Michelle clock the intensity of the non-verbal communication between Chris and I as she looks first at her brother then back to myself, before also returning her attention to her own menu in front of her.
***
The sleeping arrangements are all over the place as we all bed down for the night a short while later. Lynne’s sharing Michelle’s double bed. Melanie is in the single in the second bedroom. Chris is on the sofa, and Michelle has blown up an airbed for me which because of its size, has had to go on the living room floor.
“Are you sure you’ll be alright on the floor?” Michelle asks.
“Absolutely Mich. This will do me just fine, thank you.”
Part of me is wondering why Michelle hasn’t suggested I sleep in the single bed in the back bedroom and Chris and his youngest sister bed down together in the living room. Is Michelle intentionally putting us in the same room together? My mind whirring for clues. What have I missed?
Suddenly I remember another moment from earlier, another clue perhaps. As we’d prepared to leave the restaurant I had struggled to gather all of my things and Mel, Michelle and Lynne were already out the front door. Chris had waited for me, helping to put on my jacket and holding the door open as we left together. Very chivalrous, but am I reading more into all of this than what really exists? I know I’ve felt the magnetic pull of his energy. Is this something Michelle has picked up on, or is he in cahoots with her? If that’s the case I’m not sure how I feel about that. Should I be offended? I do have a boyfriend after all and Michelle clearly knows that, so part of me knows I should speak up. Protest now and suggest I swap rooms with Mel. Yet I find that I’d rather be here in the room with Chris, than lying on my own in the back bedroom.
“Night-night, you two,” Michelle says, as she leaves the room, giving Chris a gentle pat on his chest as they pass in the doorway. He has just returned from the bathroom, now only wearing boxers and a loose t-shirt. “Be good, boys and girls,” she says as a throwaway comment, her back to me as she leaves the room, but based on the smile that flashes across Chris’s face as she leaves, I think she’s just given him the cheekiest of winks. Proof that there is definitely something going on. An unwritten scheme that I’m not privy to as I realise it’s no accident that the sleeping arrangements have worked out as they have.
“We will, sis,” Chris replies.
“Night, Mich,” I add, climbing into my makeshift bed on the floor, as she quietly leaves the room and closes the door behind her.
I’m not ready to go to sleep yet. The heady mix of emotions coursing through my veins combined with the wine from earlier in the evening means I’m feeling very relaxed but also wide awake. The reluctant acknowledgement of Chris’s attractiveness, the feelings of being smothered by Jeremy’s persistent devotion, the confusion about my own physical response to Chris’s obvious non-verbal flirtations from earlier in the evening, and the possibility of what all of this means has me completely wired. I can’t deny the undercurrent passing between the two of us across the table at the restaurant was almost palpable, which I reluctantly admit to myself is very exciting, but I had thought that was just my physical attraction to him. It terrifies me but also excites me in equal amounts.
I’m not stupid, I know I’m playing with fire and what I should do is turn over right now and go straight to sleep. If I don’t I’m effectively waking up the sleeping tiger, poking it with a metaphorical stick, albeit he’s still safely tethered away from me on the other side of the room, but the tiger is also wide awake too and based on his confident stare, already locked onto his prey.
I feel powerless to resist Chris’s magnetic pull. It’s as if he has an invisible cord attached to me and with every smile, every look, and every movement he’s pulling me ever closer. So, I don’t turn over and go to sleep like I know I should, instead I lean up on one elbow from underneath the covers, look in his direction as he climbs into his sleeping bag, clearly waiting for me to start talking.
I begin with an intentionally leading question hoping to draw him into an easy conversation. “So, come on then Chris, what is it in life that really gets your juices going?” hoping to open up the conversation to a generic topic around likes and dislikes.
“Oh, this ‘n that,” he replies nonchalantly.
“Reeeally?” I reply sarcastically “That’s very specific - NOT. Throw me a bone here, Chris. I was being nice.” I flop back down onto my back in protest, the unintentional innuendo hanging heavily in the air between us.
Is he trying to play it cool? After what I’ve interpreted as non-verbal flirtations earlier, he’s suddenly being very non-committal, but before I’m left feeling awkward he flashes me another winning warm smile. He’s playing with me. The tiger is playing with me, as a cat would a mouse.
“It’s quite an odd situation I suppose we find ourselves in,” I say trying again to lead him into a conversation. “I feel as if I know you really well, Chris, but then I don’t know you at all... if that makes sense. Because obviously I know your sisters really well, especially Mel, and more recently I have got to know your mum even more and they talk about you and your family all the time. Sharing stories that involve you, so it’s more than a bit weird having you here in the flesh.
“The only other situation I can think of that would be anywhere similar to this, would be meeting someone famous. Someone who you’ve been a fan of for years and years, having read everything that’s available on them, or talking to people who know them, only to then unexpectedly meet them for real and become friends. From everything you’ve learned, you’ve already formed an opinion of them, on who you think they really are, when in fact it soon becomes apparent you only ever knew the illusion of them and it turns out you had absolutely no idea who the real person is behind the imagine. I suppose on some level that’s what I feel about getting to know you. I think I know you, when in fact I don’t know you at all.” I’m rambling now. My nerves making me jabber away unnecessarily.
“Would you like to get to know me, Vicky?” Chris says slowly and with clear purpose. I feel as if the tiger within him is slowly stalking me, circling me, ready to pounce at any moment. I should be taking actions to stop that happening, but instead I feel compelled to continue, powerless to resist his controlling magnetism which has me rooted to the spot.
“Well of course, Chris. I love Mel, so why wouldn’t I want to know all the members of her family?” My tone is suddenly elevated and I’m talking a bit too quickly.
“But would you really like to get to know me, Vicky?” he pauses, his eyes locking with mine again, his words laced with meaning, “because you must realise by now that I really want to get to know you - all of you.”
That’s it. He’s put it out there. He’s made his intentions clear. I know I should be offended. He’s making a play and I’m not available but instead as he holds my gaze with that magnetic stare, I feel my insides flip upside down again. We’re still a couple of feet apart in the living room, me on the floor and him on the sofa and inside my head my common sense is screaming, “Stay where you are. Vicky turn over now and go to sleep,” whereas the hot desire I feel between my legs is screaming “Come and join me on the floor, Chris and kiss the hell out of me.” I know what I should do, but I also know what I want him to do. I desperately want him to make a move.
“You do know I have a boyfriend, Chris.” I stall him, my head kicking in for a fleeting moment as I attempt to do and say the right thing.
“It hadn’t escaped my notice.” He’s speaking so slowly and intensely it’s almost hypnotic, pulling on that invisible cord ever so slowly drawing me closer and closer still. I am aware of this pull but continue to feel completely powerless to resist. “But admit it, Vicky, he’s a dickhead.” I let out an involuntary snigger. Partly through nerves and partly because he’s hit the nail on the head. I mean honestly, who still calls their parents ‘Mummy’ and ‘Daddy’ like they’re two years old? Certainly not a grown man in his twenties.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say about Jeremy.” I attempt a protest, although my heart clearly isn’t in it.
“See, I knew you knew it,” he says, acknowledging my snigger and the tone in my voice. “I’ve seen you with him, and there’s no way you love that guy, Vicky… he’s a complete dickhead. A posh one, but a complete dickhead all the same.”
I find that I’m offended by this last comment. It’s one thing to give his opinion on my boyfriend’s character, but it’s completely another to make a big leap from that to the assumption of my own feelings.
“Well I think that’s a bit presumptuous of you, Chris, to be making such an assumption about what I do or don’t feel for my boyfriend.”
“I know I’m right,” he says arrogantly, “and I’ll prove it to you.”
With one swift movement he slides off the sofa and under the covers next to me, onto the airbed on the floor, leaning up on his hip next to me, so we’re both lying on our sides facing each other, his head also propped up on the hand that is supported by his bent elbow, mirroring how I’m also lying. He loosely lies his free arm over my torso, gently stroking my waist back and forth.
On one level I find his arrogance hugely offensive. I want to rebel against him and tell him to go fuck himself. To take his Kiwi arse and park it back over on the sofa because he has no right to prove or disprove how I’m feeling, even if he is right. But more powerfully I find his masculinity and authority intoxicating. My insides are on fire with desire. I feel as if I could internally combust at any second. We stay still, lying next to each other, staring into each other’s eyes for a few long minutes, not saying anything just looking at each other, him gently stroking my waist over the top of my PJs.
“See, you would have stopped me by now if you really loved him.”
“I need you to stop, Chris” I say softly, even though the tone of my voice and the intensity of my stare is saying the complete opposite. “I need you to go back over onto the sofa.” I sound weakened and Chris’s tone softens in response as he continues.
“But Vicky, you haven’t said you love him yet and I know that you don’t. Tell me that you’d rather it was him lying next to you now, rather than me. Just tell me that you love Jeremy, that you wish he was here and not me and I’ll leave you in peace Vicky. But if you don’t love him Vicky … please don’t waste this moment.”
We continue to gaze at each other. I don’t think I’ve ever stared so deeply or intently into a man’s eyes before. Even though Chris has only one seeing eye, his glass eye a static mirror image of his true iris, I feel like I can see into the deepest depths of his soul. Like me, I see a heart that has also known pain and loss. A soul that is desperate to love and be loved. A confident but complicated persona, but overall, I see a strength and masculinity I’ve never encountered before.
“Tell me you love him, Vicky, if you really do.” He leans in, whispering softly into my ear. The short hot puffs of his breath on my ear as he speaks are driving me absolutely wild with longing and my back arches upwards involuntarily.
“I can’t,” I say, desperately dropping my gaze.
“You can’t what, Vicky? You can’t tell me you love him?” he says, gently lifting my chin with his hand, so that our eyes meet once again. “Or you can’t kiss me, because you know how much I want to kiss you?”
My mind and body are no longer connected. My mind is whirring so fast I can’t catch any of the thoughts or pictures that are flying through my brain, meanwhile every nerve in my body is tingling. The burning heat inside me is like a volcano ready to explode. My conscience and my desire are in conflict but eventually my body wins, and unable to hold back anymore, I lean forward and kiss him ever so lightly, our lips brushing together delicately, giving him the answer he’s been waiting for. The tiger has won. In the end he didn’t need to pounce on its prey, I surrendered willingly.
Instantly he kisses me back fully, passionately, so that I can taste the coffee and wine that lingers on his tongue from earlier in the evening. As he kisses me, slowly, deeply, his tongue twisting with mine he sucks air urgently in through his nostrils, I feel the tender touch of the back of his fingers as he strokes the side of my face and I can hardly breathe. Never in my life have I ever felt such an intensity or passion, ever. I realise this feeling; these uncontrollable physical sensations are what have been missing with Jeremy and with Steve and even with Mr Summer Fling and Mr STI. Even with them it never felt this powerful. This overwhelming. This perfect. Whatever it is about Chris that makes me respond this way, I’m liking it and I simply want to lose myself in the moment. I never want his kiss to end but then, reluctantly, my mind floats slowly back to reality.
“But what about Jeremy?” I say breathlessly, pulling back ever so slightly.
“Let’s worry about him tomorrow, because right now, Vicky, all I’m worried about… is kissing you again,” he says, as he slowly rolls on top of me, kissing me again before we slip under the covers together.