Chapter 53
Aida
‘This is the best sleepover I’ve ever had,’ I tell Cal.
I’m propped up on one elbow, feasting on the mighty fine view of him lying naked against his beautiful white sheets.
We just about made it to his bed for round two—round three for me, I guess, after my little horn-dog show against his thigh.
This time, we made each other come with our mouths, which I suspect was entirely for the benefit of my poor, raw pussy.
Cal’s wet tongue was the perfect form of aftercare.
He’s also fed me ibuprofen and pretty much funnelled a pint of electrolytes down me, and now we’re well-fucked and drunk on the kind of woozy contentedness only a few rounds of excellent orgasms can provide.
He’s grinning up at me, and he’s so smug and confident and boyishly sexy that I’m a lost cause.
‘And we haven’t even slept yet,’ he points out.
‘I think it was precisely the not-sleeping part that made it so fun,’ I muse.
‘Wait till you sleep with me. Are you a cuddler?’
I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Not especially. Are you?’
‘I don’t really have the opportunity,’ he says. ‘I don’t tend to bring women back here, unless I’m dating someone, obviously. But that hasn’t happened for ages. Not since Alchemy.’
‘Figures. The candy’s too good at the club, right?’
‘The candy’s very good at the club.’ God, his smile is lethal. Absolutely lethal. ‘But it was fucking delicious just now. And I want to cuddle you. You’re soft. I’m going to cuddle you all night long.’
He accompanies this statement with a brush of his knuckles over the skin of my stomach.
‘Shoot me now. You can’t tell a forty-six-year-old woman she’s soft. You may as well tell me I have no muscle tone left.’
‘I meant your skin is soft,’ he protests. ‘You know as well as I do you’re in fantastic shape.’
He wraps an arm around my waist and tugs me down to him so we’re lying nose to nose, and God it feels good. The simple pleasure of post-coital luxuriating in Cal’s enormous bed with him is right up there. Who even am I?
‘I have a secret,’ he mutters against my lips.
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yep. Do you want to know what it is?’
‘Sure.’
‘I’m going to cuddle you so much tonight, and be so adorable, and give you so many more orgasms in the morning that you’ll have no choice but to make this a two-night sleepover.’
I smile against his mouth. He’s the absolute sweetest when he’s like this.
‘Is that right?’
‘It is. And don’t think you can argue your way out of it, because I know for a fact your kids won’t be home till Sunday afternoon.’
He’s correct. They’re in Norfolk again with John. They’ll come home shattered, and there’ll be the inevitable scramble to do homework because John won’t have gotten it done while they’re away, and I’ll be tired and irritable and feeling guilty, and—
I stop myself. I don’t need to think about it right now. It’s at least forty hours away. And in the meantime…
The potential of a full weekend with Cal dangles itself before my mind’s eye like the most delicious treat. Could I? Should I?
I suspect the better question is shouldn’t I? Because why the hell not?
‘I was supposed to do some work tomorrow,’ I protest weakly.
‘We can go and get your laptop in the morning,’ he offers. ‘Or we can stay at yours and I’ll curl up next to you and stroke you like an adoring slave while you work.’
I laugh to hide the weird, uncomfortable thrill that courses through me at the prospect of hanging out with Cal in our family home. ‘That doesn’t sound distracting at all.’
‘Of course it’ll be distracting. Because work is boring and I’m me.’
He rolls me onto my back and climbs on top of me. I adore the sensation of being caged in by him far too much. He blots out everything else in life.
‘I’ve been working on another serenade,’ he says now.
I giggle. ‘Oh no.’
‘Oh yes. Would you like to hear it?’
‘I’d love to.’ I raise my legs up so he can settle his weight between them, anchoring me to the soft solidity of his mattress.
‘Right answer.’ He takes a breath.
‘All I want is Aida’s cunt,’ he begins to the tune of Wouldn’t it be Loverly from My Fair Lady. His Cockney accent is as ridiculous as his lyrics—he’s shot way past Audrey Hepburn and is firmly in Dick Van Dyke territory. My giggles intensify.
‘Thrusting in with my crown that’s blunt,
In one enormous shunt,
Oh, wouldn’t it be se-exy?’
‘Please, make it stop,’ I mutter, before I hook an arm around his neck and pull him down for a kiss that is wholly successful in shutting him the fuck up.