Dancing barefoot on sand in the moonlight
Standing on his step with homemade olive ciabatta, inspired by his cookery book and another lovely visit to Lynda’s deli, Claire felt a little churn of anticipation. Would Mr Grumpy still be AWOL? Would it just be a friendly night, or might there really be something more to all of this?
She’d been spying on his preparations from the cover of her balcony this afternoon. He’d set up a table and two chairs out the back on the grass overlooking the sea, and she’d spotted him bringing out a large storm lantern ready to light later on. She’d approved of the setting, smiling to herself over her cup of tea. Then he was in and out with cutlery, napkins, glasses. It looked like he was making a real effort. Hmm, interesting. After that, he’d disappeared for an hour or so in the car, possibly getting provisions in. She wondered if he’d be a good cook or more of an assembler.
And here he was, opening the door for her, dressed in a pale-blue cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a pair of dark jeans which fitted tightly over his long well-muscled legs and a lovely smile. His dark-blond hair was ruffled, and there was a shadow of stubble on his chin. Sexy or what. Or shouldn’t she be thinking that? Just friends?
She hoped she looked all right. She’d taken a bit more care with her make-up, using a light foundation, some blusher and a slick of red lip gloss as well as a hint of pale-gold eyeshadow; she hoped it wasn’t over the top. And she’d been in and out of three different outfits in the past hour, settling on a strappy dress with a floral pattern that came to just below the knee; she hoped it might look pretty and summery, but not overdressed. On her arm was a cardigan for later; from the setting-up this afternoon it looked like they’d be outside, and she might well need it.
‘Come on in. Welcome to my humble abode.’
‘Not half so humble as mine next door,’ she quipped.
‘No, maybe not.’ He gave her a small peck on the cheek.
He smelt gorgeous, all aqua and citrus notes, fresh, like you could just bury your head in the crook of his neck and sniff. Just a sneaky second then, hmmn.
She pulled herself away.
‘You look lovely.’ He sounded slightly nervous.
‘Thanks,’ she answered, giving a mental air-punch – phew, she’d got the outfit right. She then found herself at a loss for words, feeling shy and wondering what she was doing here. So much for keeping a low profile.
She followed Ed through to a spacious lounge. The room had French doors that opened out onto his garden, overlooking the beach and the sea. The furniture was off-white wood, and the soft furnishings various shades of blues, greys and cream, suggesting the sea and sky – perfect for leading you through to the beach. There were various knick-knacks of boats and shells – all very tasteful, but not quite what you’d expect a man on his own to choose. Mind you, she remembered it was his family’s second home, so maybe a mum and sisters had been involved, or even an interior designer had come in and done the lot. He’d probably be able to afford it, probably had the right contacts through his trade – didn’t architects earn a lot?
‘Right, well, would you like a glass of wine? White, red?’
‘White would be lovely, thanks.’ She settled herself onto one of the stripy blue and cream sofas, sinking into its cosy cushions. His Labrador bounded through, wagging her tail exuberantly and settling down beside her for a rub.
‘Hi, girl. You okay?’
The dog lay upside down for a tummy tickle.
‘She likes you.’ He smiled. ‘She’s called Bess. I hope she’s okay out here. I can put her away if you’d rather.’
‘No, she’s fine. Aren’t you, Bess? Just wants a bit of affection, don’t you girl?’ She knew the feeling.
‘Well, I hope you like seafood.’
‘Sounds good to me.’ She’d try just about anything – she’d never been a fussy eater, except when the chemo stole her appetite. But her appetite had made it back good and strong recently.
‘And thanks for the bread, it will go lovely with the langoustines I got today.’
‘Mmm, I’ve never tried those before.’
Ed headed off down the hall to fetch the wine. Claire heard the pop of a cork. Soon, he was coming back through, his voice getting nearer. ‘They’re like a big prawn really.’
‘They sound great.’
‘Would you like to sit outside?’
She smiled, having seen all the preparations he’d made earlier. ‘Yes, that would be nice.’
He swung open the French doors and Bess followed them out. The sun was low in the sky, making the sea glow gold and pewter. A few last tourists were packing up their wind-breaks, rolling up towels, and a dog-walker was striding by. But soon it would empty. Claire loved this time of day, when everyone went home and it felt like it was just their two little houses left in the whole wide world.
It was a touch chilly in the gentle sea breeze; she was glad she’d brought her cardie and slipped it on as she sat down.
‘Sorry, is it a bit cold out here?’
‘No, it’s fine. It’s lovely, in fact.’ The view was beautiful – she didn’t want to leave it.
He lit the chiminea that was near their table, and it wasn’t long before the warmth of the coals reached her bare legs and sandalled feet. Bess settled down beside it happily.
‘So.’ He sat back in the other chair, resting his long legs out before him. ‘How have you been? Back to work and everything?’
She couldn’t remember how much she’d told him; about the cancer, but she knew he was aware that she’d been off work. ‘Yes, I’ve been fine. I’ve enjoyed going back to work. Luckily, I was full of new ideas and energy, and my column with the newspaper’s going pretty well.’
‘So the break here did you good.’
‘I think it did.’
‘I took a look at your column in the Herald and some of the stuff you’d written before.’
Whoa. So he’d looked her up. Then it wasn’t just she who’d been thinking of him. She’d drawn a blank though: googling Ed from Edinburgh + architect hadn’t given her any clues.
‘Yes, I’ve been reading some of your cancer blogs. You’ve had a lot to cope with, haven’t you?’
So he did know. ‘Well, it’s not been the best of times … But hey, I’m still here to tell the tale.’ She paused, her mouth drying as she thought back to the unlucky ones, the ones who never got their second chance. How arbitrary it all was, how bloody cruel. She stared out across the sea. Sometimes it got to her – the emotions just crept up on her.
‘Claire, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?’
‘Oh … yes, I’m okay. It’s just that some of my friends on the ward … they didn’t make it.’ She had to stop talking as she felt the clutch of emotions at her throat, in her gut.
He looked at her sympathetically, then looked away to sea, giving her a chance to compose herself. They were both quiet for a while.
‘That’s tough.’ He spoke first. ‘But I bet your column’s helped a lot of people. Not just those going through it, but family and friends. It certainly helped me understand a lot more.’
‘I hope so. That was the idea. And I suppose it was good for me too, in a way. Writing it down kind of helped me understand my own feelings better. Even writing down the weird and funny things. I remember my mother sitting with me at the first chemo session, reading all the pamphlets. ‘Oh look, Claire,’ she comes out with. ‘At least you’ll get free pedicures.’ Trust my mum to find a silver lining. I had to smile. And the nice folk at Macmillan Cancer Support offer all sorts of things to prop you up, from headscarf-tying sessions to free massages. People still laugh in a cancer ward, you know.’ Laugh and cry and live and love, she mused.
He nodded, looking at her intently.
‘Anyway.’ She wanted to lighten the mood. ‘That’s all done now, and here I am. A new chapter in my life. I’m one of the lucky ones.’
‘Good.’ He nodded, picked up his glass and clinked it with hers. ‘Cheers, Claire … to your very good health.’
‘You too – to health and happiness.’ They smiled at each other.
He gave a small sigh. Now he was looking out across the sea, as though happiness was somehow a very long way off. Then he turned back, raised his glass and clinked it gently against hers. She wasn’t sure why, but that gesture seemed significant, made her feel that this might be the beginning of something.
They sat chatting. He told her a little more about his work. He’d been developing designs for the new library building for the university, something quite cutting-edge by the sounds of it. How did you dream up a building? She admired the fact that he could. But when her questions got a little more personal about his home and his life, he brushed them aside.
‘Ah, there’s not much to tell about me. It’s a pretty quiet life I lead. Home. Work. That’s about it.’
She persevered. ‘Do you live on your own, then?’ She was being nosy, but she really needed to find out if there was someone else on the scene. If there was anyone else involved at all, then this was going nowhere. After everything with Paul, she could never do that to someone else. She needed to be clear. No point getting into him, if that was the case. It would just be a polite, neighbourly dinner and she’d be on her way.
‘Yes.’ A one-word answer, and the stony look on his face told her she really shouldn’t ask any more. He got up to his feet. ‘Right well, I’d better do something with the food or we’ll never get supper at this rate.’ He filled her glass. ‘I won’t be long – don’t go anywhere.’ He smiled and raised an eyebrow ironically as though very aware of his own rapid departure last time.
‘I won’t.’ She sipped her wine, relaxing back into the chair.
‘Right … good.’
She sat looking out across the evening seascape. The colours were now beautifully muted from the bold shades of a summer day – a gentle blue with a pale-gold horizon that reflected in a shimmer on the waves, a hint of peach just filtering through. Ten minutes later Ed was back. He added a small log to the chiminea, and then checked on the barbecue she’d watched him set up that afternoon.
‘Starters won’t be long,’ he announced as headed back towards the French doors. ‘It’s nothing too complicated.’
Claire watched a pair of black-and-white oystercatchers wander about at the seashore, dipping their bright-red bills into the sands. The waves hushed as they broke into gentle white froth: the sea was calm this evening. She warmed her toes by the chiminea, gave Bess a pat on the back as she lay there relishing the warmth. Felt the peace of the place. How wonderful it was just to be.
Soon Ed was on his way back bearing two plates. ‘Goat’s cheese – hope you like it. It’s from the local deli.’
Claire had to smile. So he’d been in to see Lynda. She wondered briefly if her friend might be in on tonight’s meal? Knowing how Ed guarded his privacy, probably not.
‘Looks lovely. Thanks.’
He lay the plate in front of her, then sat down opposite. The cheese had been grilled golden and was on a bed of mixed salad leaves with a dressing. She lifted her fork – balsamic dressing by the taste of it. Gorgeous. The cheese was slightly melted, so oozed as she cut into it. Scrummy.
‘This is really good.’
‘Great.’ He looked relieved. ‘Fairly simple, I know, but my culinary skills are limited, I’m afraid.’
Okay, so he was more of an assembler than a chef, but she could settle for that. And with delicious ingredients like this, the end result was great anyhow.
‘It’s so beautiful here, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Especially when you get a day like this. That view …’ Sea and sky and golden sand, so many shades of blues and greys and golds – she’d never tire of it.
‘Yeah, there is something pretty special about this place. Don’t get me wrong, I really like Edinburgh too, but here it’s so different – that sense of space and nature. There’s a little bit of magic about it. It keeps you coming back.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘And every day it changes: the sea, the sand, the sun or the stormy skies. Even when it pelts with rain …’ He stopped, realizing where his words had led them back to … To that day in the rain. They shared a poignant look, but said nothing.
‘You’re so lucky having a place of your own to come back to whenever you like,’ she said, swiftly moving the conversation on. ‘Somewhere with heating and hot water, no less!’ she quipped.
He nodded. ‘Yeah, this is a great place for a holiday home. My parents chose well. I remember playing in that stream as a kid, building dams. Fishing for crabs and shrimps in the rock pools.’
‘Do your parents still come here?’
He didn’t answer straight away. Oh bugger, she hoped she hadn’t put her foot in it. She could be quite good at that.
‘Mum died a few years back. Ovarian cancer.’ He stared out across the bay.
Well done, Claire – shit. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s okay. Dad comes occasionally, sometimes with my brother and his family. But I don’t think it feels the same for him without her.’ He let out a long, slow breath and stared down at his shoes.
Claire was at a loss what to say next. He saved her by standing up.
‘Right, well I’m off to sort the main course. Won’t be a mo.’
So they’d both had hurt and pain in their lives. But she wanted to make the most of tonight. She had a feeling he did as well. Life could roll and punch you, but it could also lift you. Like the flotsam and jetsam at sea, you were tossed about chaotically, but then you somehow made it to shore. And there wasn’t anywhere she’d rather be than this shore right now.
He came back out with a bucket of shellfish that looked a bit like mini lobsters and proceeded to barbecue them over the coals whilst she sat sipping her wine. Life at this moment was pretty good. The smell was delicious, especially when he warmed a frying pan of garlic butter on the barbecue and popped the shellfish into it right at the last. He dished them out into white bowls and served them with a wedge of lemon and some thin slices of the olive bread she had made.
‘Langoustines, madam,’ he announced.
Eating them was gorgeous – messy but finger-lickingly good. Lucky he’d thought of paper napkins.
‘Wow, these are really delicious, thank you. Are they local?’
‘Yes, I picked them up this afternoon just along at the fish merchant in Seahouses.’
She carried on peeling and plumping juicy, garlicky langoustines into her mouth, then mopped up the sauce with her bread. Bowl emptied, she sat back in her garden chair feeling warm, content and full. Ed relaxed too, stretching his legs out in front of him. His jeans clung nicely to his quads beneath. Her mind flitted back to her first ever glimpse of him … of those legs … and more … the early morning swim. She felt the heat of a blush rise up her neck.
They carried on talking and she learnt a little more about his brother and family, who lived just outside Edinburgh too. He didn’t seem quite as closed-off as earlier. And she mentioned her sister Sally and her two boys, and her memories of holidaying here as a child. The sun shifted lower, the pale-blue sky fading to an orange glow, then diffusing to indigo as dusk crept in with the promise of a few early stars. He lit the storm lantern and a couple of tea lights that were on the little wooden table they were sharing. She sighed, feeling utterly content for the first time in ages.
‘Dessert, madam?’
‘Crikey, is there more?’ There might just be a teeny space for something else. ‘What have you got lined up?’
‘Meringues from the local farm shop, with raspberries and cream.’
Lush. ‘Okay, I’m sold.’ She grinned. She hadn’t eaten this much in ages. But her appetite was definitely back – and, looking at his tall, toned physique as he stood to go back into the house, in more ways than one. Oh God, what was she thinking? Especially after the disaster of last time. It was probably the wine sending her brain in weird directions, though she’d only had a couple of glasses. Still, she’d better ease off it a bit.
The meringues were amazing. He was definitely watching her lips as she licked off the crispy sugar crumbs. So she did it again, exaggeratedly, to test his reaction.
His gaze was intense, his pupils darkening within the green.
She started to feel a touch nervous. Or was it anticipation? Perhaps she’d better not tease any more – she’d better be sure exactly what it was she wanted.
‘That was gorgeous, thank you – the whole meal. Amazing.’
‘My pleasure – and you’re very welcome.’ He gave her a wide, disarming smile.
Hah, there was still a tiny morsel of meringue stuck to his bottom lip. She could just lick it off. And then kiss those lips, which would taste of cream and sugar. Oh my, she remembered his kiss so well. It was making her feel all tingly.
‘You okay?’
Oh God, she must have been staring? The wine had made her drop her guard, mind you she’d only had a couple of glasses.
‘Yes. Fine.’ Her voice came out high-pitched.
And now he was staring back at her … a little too intently. Were they going to go over old ground? Would it work out this time? And if things were going the way it looked like they very much were, she’d have to tell him this time. About her scars. So it would all be out in the open, so to speak, as her bra came off. Forewarned was forearmed and all that. But God Almighty, what would he think?
He leaned forward and softly, surprisingly, touched his nose against hers and then tilted his face so their lips brushed teasingly. Wow, that was sending shivers everywhere. Uh-oh, warning bells were clamouring, as well as the air-punch she was mentally making. Could this really be about to happen? Oh yes … The kiss deepened. Then she forgot to think and just let her lips take her to somewhere else. A longing swirled inside and her hand found its way to the soft curls of hair at the back of his neck.
Wow! As they pulled away, Claire recognized the music playing from the small speaker he’d brought out earlier. It was Coldplay, ‘The Scientist’.
‘Ah, I so love this song.’
And suddenly all she wanted to do in this world was dance. She stood up and swayed to and fro, as he watched her, softly smiling.
‘Would you care to dance?’ she enquired as if they were in a 50s dance hall. It would be so lovely to be in his arms, slowly moving to the rhythm of one of her favourite songs. It had been such a perfect night so far.
He looked a little taken aback. Then he smiled. ‘Yes, why not? Though I’ll warn you now, I’m not really much of a dancer.’ He stood up to join her and held her rather formally, one palm against hers and an arm round her back. It felt somewhat stiff.
‘Hang on … on the beach. I want to feel the sand under my feet.’ She had already kicked off her sandals and discarded them under the table before dessert. Ed was in flip-flops, which he slid out of.
‘Okay then,’ and he led her the few metres out through his garden gate down to the sands. ‘Better?’
It was darker out here, but she could see well enough to witness his wry grin that said he was going along with it just to please her.
‘Better.’
She felt his arms close round her, and they danced slowly to the remainder of the Coldplay song, then to the next, Keane’s ‘Somewhere Only We Know’, with the feel of the sand under their feet, the stars above them and the hush of the waves on the shore, his arms wound around her waist and her head nestled against his shoulder. It was chillier out here with the breeze from the sea, and he pulled her in even closer. It felt like she had come home.
As the music paused between tracks, they stood staring at each other in the half-light. He dipped his head towards her and she leaned up for the most exquisite kiss. Tender, passionate, stirring every sense in her body. Oh, what a night. And she had the feeling that it wasn’t going to end here.
As the kiss began to ease, reality moved in. Surely he wouldn’t back out this time?
Okay, okay, so she was going to have to tell him.
‘Ed …’ She pulled away, felt a trembling in her hands as they fell away from his neck. Oh, sweet Jesus, she’d never had to say this to anyone before. ‘Ed, umm … before this goes any further. That’s if this is going the way I think it’s going –’ She managed a nervous laugh. ‘Well, there’s something I have to tell you.’
‘Okay.’ He looked watchful. ‘Fire away.’
‘Well …’ God, this was so awkward. Nothing like killing the moment. But she knew she’d feel better if it was said. How he would react was another matter. ‘Well, you know I’ve not been well.’
‘Yes.’
‘Breast cancer.’
‘Yes … Oh God, you are okay, aren’t you?’ Fear rippled through his tone, his eyes still on her. ‘It hasn’t come back or anything, has it?’
‘No, no. Thank God. But it’s just … it’s left scars. Bad scars.’ There, it was said. She bumbled on. ‘The left breast. I don’t look normal there any more.’ She gulped back a knot in her throat. It wasn’t like this in romantic movies, where their bodies were perfect and they tumbled into bed and lived happily ever after. But there, she’d told him.
‘Oh, I see.’ Silence.
She didn’t know how to gauge his reaction. It looked like he was thinking, processing the information. ‘I didn’t want it to be a shock. If you want to change your mind …’
‘Hey, I’m not that shallow.’
‘No, but … Well, it’s not pretty, by any means.’
‘Okay.’
‘Sorry to kill the romance and all that.’ Her voice dipped. ‘It’s been worrying me.’
And suddenly his arms were round her once more, strong, protective – dare she hope … loving? ‘Hey,’ he said quietly, holding her close. She felt his hand rubbing her back in a slow, soothing motion and relaxed into him. A few moments later he pulled back to speak. ‘And I thought maybe you were going to be the one to run this time.’ He smiled with humour and understanding.
‘No, not if you don’t want me to.’
‘I don’t want you to.’ And he took her back into his embrace, his lips moving towards hers. ‘Let’s carry on where we left off, shall we?’ And his lips pressed hers before she could answer.
In her relief, she relaxed into his kiss. It was intense, a promise of so much more. They were still on the beach, with the sound of the waves rushing to shore, the dark of the night around them now, the storm candle flickering within its glass case from the garden. It was beautiful here, peaceful – but it was getting a bit chilly.
‘Shall we take this inside?’ he murmured between kisses.
‘Yes,’ she replied, though he could have taken her right there and then if he’d persisted. This was number 8 on her magic moments to-do list, after all. But yes, a bedroom might feel more protective, more private for her undressing. Oh jeez … she still had to get her bloody breasts out.
‘Okay.’ He led the way, back through the garden, the grass scratchy under foot, into the lounge, the hall, holding her hand all the way and on up the narrow staircase. At the top of the landing he paused, holding her gaze reassuringly. He led her into a cosy bedroom, lit by the glow of a bedside lamp, with wooden furniture painted in a cream shabby chic style. Crisp white bedding. A king-size bed. It was a lovely room. But her nerves kicked in. This was the first time she’d had sex in ages. The first time since Paul’s betrayal, since cancer, since the scars. Would she be any good? Would he be disappointed?
Ed seemed to sense her fears and held her to him once more, stroking her hair. Then he shifted his head back slightly to watch her as he lifted a fingertip to trace her cheekbone before kissing her on the lips again, very gently this time.
Okay, Claire, now or never. Let’s do this thing. Her thoughts drifted anxiously for a moment, and then all she could think about was his lips on hers, responding with a longing she hadn’t felt in a very long time. His body pressed so close, the scent of his aftershave, his skin, one arm tracing her back, the other holding her against him, the hardness of his erection firm and sexy against her hip.
She pulled back to take a slow breath, and he nuzzled her neck, sending little shivers down her spine. ‘Oh, yes, that’s good.’ She wasn’t sure if she’d said it out loud or thought it. Her lips close to his ear, she kissed the lobe. Then she took a step back, drew a deep breath, and pulled her summer dress off in one swoop. In her underwear, matching lacy stuff this time. Nothing like being prepared. Would she ever be prepared? Ed looked at her – she could see the desire in his eyes. She stepped forward to kiss his lips, then the tip of his nose and a little scar that rested on his forehead above his right eyebrow. He seemed to tense for a second, but then relaxed as she moved her hands down to his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one, appearing more in control than she felt inside. She traced her fingertips beneath the loose material, following the definition of his abs – my God, his chest was gorgeous, toned and solid. Her fingertips trailed down further, finding the line of dark hair that led down to his belt, his trousers. The skin of his stomach quivered under her touch, a sensual ripple.
She looked right at him. He smiled, but there was a trace of nervousness there in his eyes too. Maybe he hadn’t done ‘it’ for a long time either. That thought made her feel better somehow.
She undid the buckle on his belt, unfastened the button on his jeans, and eased the zip down. She could feel the heat from him there, her hand brushing against his hardness. It made her feel wanted. It made her feel good. Not that she intended being good at all.
He peeled down his jeans.
Jesus, right then, we’re really doing this. And, she had no intention of running away.
They stood staring at each other, both down to their underwear. She wanted to be the one to take off her bra. She took a long, slow breath. ‘Oh God.’ The words slipped out. Her hands found the clasp at her back.
‘It’s okay. It’ll be fine,’ he soothed, still holding her gaze.
Mists of tears were in her eyes. She hadn’t meant to get emotional. Damn.
He took a step closer and brushed a thumb gently beneath her lower lashes, where the first tear had spilled. Then kissed her cheek, oh so gently.
He moved back a fraction, giving her space. He nodded. She nodded back. Then she slipped the bra from her breasts and stood before him. He was still smiling gently as he stood and looked at both breasts, at the scar laid bare. He lifted a hand towards her, tenderly touching her good right breast, trailing a fingertip over the nipple, which tensed under his touch. Moved his hand towards her damaged left breast. ‘Is this okay? Will it hurt at all?’
‘No, it doesn’t hurt.’ If anything, she had lost sensation there – the lack of a nipple, the long horizontal scar which had deadened some of the nerve endings.
He tenderly traced his finger along the scar and kissed the skin of her breast above it. ‘It’s fine, Claire. It’s who you are. You’re a survivor.’
And yes, she was. It was who she was now: a woman who had survived cancer and had the scars to show for it.
‘And –’ he lifted her chin with a gentle hand and looked her in the eye – ‘you are beautiful.’ He kissed her on the lips, then his tongue found hers.
Then he brought her so close she could feel him hard against her, sending warm pulses right through her, and she felt a huge sense of relief. He had seen her and he still thought she was beautiful and he still wanted her. His body was telling her as much.
She slipped her pants down, a giggle escaping her now. He stood staring at her with a grin. ‘Okay then, if that’s the way we’re playing it –’ and pulled his boxers down, launching them with humour across the room. He lifted her to place her on the bed, and her soft laughter was silenced as his hands got to work. Light, teasing touches, firm long strokes and massages all along her body. Then down, exquisitely, to tease her inner thighs until they quivered, his fingers tracing her secret curves, parting and stroking, gently at first, then rhythmically, until she was pushing back with him, against him. Taking her oh-so-close.
But she wanted to pleasure him too. She leant up on her side, pushing him flat down on the bed, delighting in the defined contours of his chest. She traced her hand down through the dark hair around his navel and below, reached his hard shaft, wrapping her fingers around its firmness and starting a slow, sexy glide. He lay back on the pillows, arms angled each side of his head, eyes closed, losing himself to her touch. She liked watching him there, the slow smile that lay on his lips, a quiver of tension beneath her fingertips as she moved faster, firmer, slowing as he began to moan.
‘Whoa there.’ He lifted a hand, opened his eyes with a grin. ‘Steady, or it’ll all be over before we get to base.’
She smiled back and knelt across him, her bare breasts brushing his chest, kissing his lips. Aware they were so close. One move and he’d be in.
But he sat up, rolled her down onto the bed on her back, slowly caressed her inner thighs, finding that perfect spot until a soft moan escaped her lips. He stared at her with longing in his eyes. ‘Are you ready?’
Oh boy, was she ready. She nodded, thinking any words might end in a whimper. He leant to take a condom from the bedside drawer. God, how she wanted to feel him inside her. Even if she only got this one night. She wanted to feel whole again, loved again. He’d done everything right so far.
She watched him place the condom on; she didn’t even know if she could get pregnant any more. There was a chance the chemo could have damaged her ovaries. She hoped not … there was still that dream of a family. But not to worry about that now. Better safe than sorry.
She felt the pressure of him hard against her, she took a slow breath, and then he was gloriously filling her, tight as he became part of her. He cupped her breasts, both scarred and good, as he glided in and out, the feeling exquisite – sensual, long and slow, and then faster, harder. She gripped his buttocks, pushing him deeper. Wanting him so much. Heard herself moan.
‘Claire, oh, Claire.’ His words came in a hot breath by her ear.
She was so … damned … close. Bucked her thighs up against him. Oh god, yes-yes-yes-and-YES. Golden waves of pleasure throbbed within her and around him. His deep groan above her was a joy.
They slumped down on the bed together, her brain a fuzzy, happy mess. Blissful fade-out.
Bloody hell, that was amazing. She’d not had sex like that for a long, long time. In fact, had she ever had sex like that? ‘Aaaahh,’ she sighed.
And he curled around her, from behind, his face against her hair, his chest lining her back, knees locked gently behind hers.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘My pleasure,’ he answered. There was a pause. ‘It really was.’ And she could hear the smile in his voice.
No one else could have made her feel that way – so relaxed, so wanted.
Ed, you are one special guy.
And she dozed off, nestling back against him, his arm wrapped protectively around her.