Chapter 21
Isla
“Be right back,” Alistair said, and disappeared through the connecting door.
I peeked in on Teddy, then changed out of my skirt and into a long T-shirt and slouchy socks, just for something to do. My heart was racing a million miles an hour.
Back in the living room, I switched on the corner lamp and turned off the big light. Then changed my mind about both. Then back again.
Was the lamp too sexy?
Was I trying to be sexy?
I flicked it on again, when Alistair cleared his throat, hovering in the doorway.
Lamp it was.
He’d changed too. He still wore his soft jumper, but had switched out his jeans for grey jogging bottoms that made my breath catch.
One of the cuffs was slightly caught in his sock, like he’d changed in a hurry.
“How’s Teddy doing?” I watched his eyes register my bare legs.
Watched his tongue poke into his cheek before he held up the whisky bottle and walked into my kitchen, opening cupboards like he owned the place.
“Sound asleep,” I replied. “Tonight really wiped her out.”
“You don’t own anything but mugs.” Alistair scowled, pulling out one in the shape of a cowboy boot.
“Don’t hate on my mugs. Mugs are fun and they have a handle.” I snatched it, then pushed past him to grab a second, which was shaped like a pumpkin, grinning at the utter disgust on his face. But he didn’t argue.
I dished the pie out onto plates, grabbed some kitchen paper and carried them to the sofa. He busied himself, pouring two drams before joining me. The cushions depressed as he sat, less than an inch of space between our thighs.
Much closer than he needed to be.
Accident?
My eyes rocketed to him. But he was busy setting the mugs on the coffee table, then rolling up his sleeves, giving me an unobstructed view of his forearms, like he was starring in a designer watch commercial.
A tube of sanitiser appeared out of thin air, and he squeezed enough into his palm to scrub down a crime scene.
My forkful of pie paused at my lips, watching as he thoroughly rubbed it into his hands, then tucked a square of the kitchen paper into his collar, like a napkin.
“Want a linen tablecloth too?”
“Huh? Oh, no I’m fine— You’re teasing me,” he realised quickly, shaking his head.
“Kinda, sorry.”
He shrugged, finally cutting his pie with his fork. Eating the same way he did everything else: slowly but thoroughly, precise, perfect bites.
“Has anyone ever told you how pernickety you are?”
“Frequently.”
I nodded to the frankly terrifyingly large tube of sanitiser. “Is that, like, a doctor thing?”
“No. It’s, like, a hygiene thing.”
I choked on my pie, a piece of apple hitting the back of my throat. “Fair enough. Having a kid kind of blew the hygiene thing out the water for me. I mean, I’m not dirty. I shower,” I assured him quickly. “But Teddy once sneezed into my open eyeball. Nothing will ever top that.”
“A pregnant patient’s waters broke on my shoes once.
I didn’t have a spare pair, so I had to walk home in them.
” He cringed as I laughed. “Oh, and there’s the time I removed a wine cork from an elderly man’s rectum.
I was still two knuckles deep, his wife overseeing the entire procedure, when he asked if they could try it again when they got home. ”
“And I’m done with the pie.” I dropped my fork and reached for the whisky, sinking back against the cushions. He snorted but tipped the remainder of my slice onto his plate.
“This is way too fucking good to waste.”
I assured myself the heat in my chest was just the whisky, still I twisted to face him, entranced by the strong column of his throat as he ate.
Had Cameron ever looked attractive when he ate?
Even if he had, I don’t think I’d ever paid enough attention to note it.
“What did you tell them? The anal couple?”
“To wait a week for the rectal lining to heal and to visit a registered sex shop instead of shoving brittle materials up your arse.” He covered his mouth with a fist to swallow.
“His wife said they were worried about bumping into people they knew, so I introduced them to the world of online shopping.”
I lost it. Laughter poured out of me. “Truly changing lives!”
He smiled until his cheeks crinkled. “It’s why I went into medicine.”
“Honestly, good for them. I couldn’t imagine a relationship like that.” I got more comfortable, stretching my legs out, crossing my ankles on the coffee table.
His fork paused mid-air, his eyes prisoner to my movement. I pretended not to notice, even as my pulse sped. He cleared his throat. “You want a cork up your arse?”
“No,” I said. “Well . . . I don’t know? Not a cork, obviously. But . . . I’ve never thought about wanting anything up my arse. My sex life with Cameron was . . .” I broke off, not sure where I was even going with this. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
I started to stand but Alistair caught my wrist, tugging me back down.
“Tell me.”
“Stale, I guess,” I said quickly, cheeks burning. At least that’s the word he’d used.
For me our sex life had always felt one-sided. Selfish.
A quick fumble beneath the sheets in the dark until he got off and I pretended to be satisfied because he was my first and I didn’t know any better.
My hand – attached to the wrist Alistair still held – balled into a fist. “Later, I didn’t know how to ask for more without admitting I’d been unsatisfied for years.
I’m twenty-eight, and I don’t really know what I’m into sexually.
” That made me feel really silly. So did the vibrator still hidden in the closet.
I couldn’t look at him.
Out the corner of my eye, I watched his very strained forearm set his plate on the table. “Some people go their entire lives without figuring out what they’re into; you have plenty of time.” His voice was hot and smoky, like the whisky I gulped down.
That must have been where I got the bravery from. From the whisky and the subtle looks we’d been throwing each other all evening. From the air of unfinished business that had been hanging between us since the food market.
“You’ve done it before?”
“Done what?”
I wasn’t even sure what I was asking. Anything other than missionary? “I don’t know . . . experimented? In the bedroom.”
He went absolutely still, like I’d sucked all the oxygen from the room. For a long, horrible minute, I thought he wasn’t going to answer, then his throat bobbed. “This feels like a trick question.”
“I can’t be curious?”
“You can be curious. Curiosity is” – another tight swallow – “good.”
“Have you ever spanked someone? I read it in a book once and—” It seemed hot, I couldn’t finish.
“Bloody hell.” He swiped a hand over his mouth. “Yes. Once.”
I tucked my feet beneath me, buying myself a moment to digest. “You liked it?”
He considered for a long moment. “I didn’t not like it. But kink isn’t something I require in a relationship. I think
Juniper preferred to be the spanker rather than the spankee.”
Fucking go, Juniper. I bet Callum was having an excellent time.
“And did you, y’know—” I trailed off, rolling my hand.
“Yes,” he admitted. I felt my eyes widen, and he laughed. “Why does that surprise you? You think I’d do something to a partner that I wasn’t willing to try myself?”
No. He wouldn’t.
“I don’t know, you’re just so . . . controlled.” He scowled. “Not in a bad way,” I added. I pictured him in the garden, building Lego with Teddy while she cried. “You don’t let people see past the facade often.”
“Perhaps there’s no facade and this is as deep as it gets. Ever think of that?”
No. I hadn’t.
“What else did you try?” I asked, feeling braver now.
“Bloody hell, Lang.” It was his turn to blush. “I don’t know, we experimented in the early days, but that kind of tapered off over time. My fault. I was so focused on work, I let that aspect of our relationship slide.”
“Did you tie each other up?”
“Yes.”
That intrigued me.
“Anal?”
He choked. Steadied himself, then coughed as he spoke. “Hearing the word anal pass your lips will be the last thing I ever hear. I swear to god, I’ll be on my deathbed, and it will send a little shiver down my spine.”
“You’re avoiding the question.” I hummed, grinning like a fool.
“Fuck, Lang, no. I’ve never done anal.” He picked up one of my scatter cushions, burying his face in it. I’d swear he muttered, “Going to be the fucking death of me.”
Taking it easy on him, I started to stand. “More pie?”
“Oh, no.” He dropped the cushion and caught my arm. “You’ve tortured me; I think it’s your turn in the hot seat.”
My smile instantly slipped. “I already told you: stale sex life, no idea what I’m into. There isn’t much worth sharing there.”
“You see, that’s what has me so fucking curious.” He leaned down to see my face. “Ninety per cent of the time you blush like a schoolgirl experiencing eye contact for the first time. Then, just when I think I have you pegged—”
“Interesting choice of words.”
“—a vibrator turns up on my doorstep—”
“That was a gift from your sister—”
“—or you’re absolute fire in my hands in a toilet block, giving me this look that tells me you’d fucking eat me alive in the bedroom. It’s enough of a disparity to drive a man mad.” My eyes slipped to my lap. “Isla, look at me,” he urged.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I’m embarrassed.”
“About?” He lifted my chin.
Could I actually admit to this? “Because I can’t – I could never . . . Cameron tried, but it was . . . I just couldn’t . . .” I hoped he would interpret what I couldn’t bring myself to say.
His fingers tightened. “Never?”
“A few times when I was pregnant and my body was hypersensitive all the time. I was so young when we started having sex, I never questioned what should be happening for me. The first time I orgasmed, I thought there was something wrong with the baby.” I laughed, but my face was so hot I felt like I was about to burst into flames.
“And then Teddy was born, and our sex life went back to normal.”
“I despise him.” His nostrils flared.
“He tried—”