Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IONA
Now
Richard is in a good mood as he pulls on his work things. “That was fun last night, wasn’t it?”
“Aye, it was.” I have to force a smile as I get myself dressed and ready for another day of farm visits.
Until last night, Richard had only been up for sex at times when Maw was out of the house. He’d always said no if she was in, even when I was certain she was fast asleep. But after my gym session, I finally convinced him, arguing it’d be exciting and a wee bit naughty to do it while she was downstairs watching TV. I’d hoped it might liven things up, but... it ended up being much the same as always.
Sex with Richard is never bad —in fact, it’s pretty good—but... well, as much as I enjoy Christmas dinner, I’d get bored if I ate it every day. Variety is the spice of life, but Richard obviously missed that memo when it comes to his sexual technique. I’ve tried chatting with him about exploring new things, but there’s a disconnect somewhere.
“Right, that’s me off.” He gives me a quick kiss. “After work, Joe and I are going to grab some pub grub in Auchenford, so I won’t be back till later. Enjoy your girls’ night.”
“I will. Say hi to Joe for me.”
He heads downstairs, calling goodbye to my maw, then the front door thuds shut behind him. I’ll be following him before long, but now that I’ve got a moment to myself, I sit on the bed and attempt to untangle a few troubling thoughts I’ve been having. I’d never admit this to Richard, but there have been times where, to make things a little more interesting for myself, I’ve imagined scenes from my favourite books as we’ve been doing it. I probably shouldn’t let my mind wander when we’re supposed to be sharing an intimate experience, but I honestly never considered it to be a major problem.
But then yesterday, while Richard was inside me , an image flashed into my mind of Lewis, in his form-fitting T-shirt and shorts, his muscular arms and legs on show, his skin glistening with sweat from his exertions at the gym. Of course, I immediately banished the vision—I’d never cheat on Richard, even in my head—and yet guilt gnaws at me that it happened at all.
What makes the guilt worse is that, well, sex was never boring with Lewis. Yes, it’s hardly fair to compare my current boyfriend’s sexual proficiency with that of a former partner, but it’s the truth. I don’t recall Lewis ever saying no to anything I suggested, whether it was something really hot or else something a bit silly and out there. He had a playfulness about him and a complete lack of inhibition around me.
Like one time, when I was still at university and hanging out with Lewis in my room, I was bored and looking for something to do. So... I asked Lewis if I could use his dick for a game of hoopla. It was such a stupid request—like, unbelievably ridiculous—but he didn’t even hesitate or question it. He just shrugged, got his thing out, then let me toss bangles at it like I was at the fair. And you know what? It was fun. We both cheered whenever I got one of the makeshift rings on target.
Richard would never agree to something like that—he’d find the idea humiliating. That’s okay—they’re different men—but what I miss even more is the way Lewis’s playfulness could ignite into searing passion in a heartbeat. When the mood really took a hold of him, he’d become like an animal, wild with lust. He’d throw me onto my back, bury his face between my thighs, and eat me out, his tongue and lips making every nerve in my body sizzle to life. Or he’d push himself into me, maintaining eye contact as he teased me with slow, shallow thrusts before quickly working up to a fervour that’d leave me gasping as he drove us both towards ecstasy. When he was like that, the intensity of our sex was off the charts.
Of course, I shouldn’t be thinking about this stuff, but last night in the gym was the longest one-on-one interaction I’ve had with Lewis in years. He was my first, and my childhood best friend, so it’s hardly surprising that the workout stirred up certain memories. But they’re obviously problematic, for a whole variety of reasons.
After Lewis tore all my self-esteem away, I worked hard to restore it. I moved on and built a life for myself—finished my studies, established myself in my career, eventually found Richard. I can’t let my history with Lewis spoil all that I’ve accomplished. Aye, Richard may not be as exciting as Lewis in some ways, but he’s kind, steadfast, and reliable, and that counts for a lot.
Lewis, on the other hand? He knew how my da’s secret tore me apart—he comforted me when it happened and saw what it did to me. He knew better than anyone how important trust is to me, and yet he did what he did anyway.
Well, you know what? I’m perfectly entitled to come back here, to this town where I spent my first eighteen years, and I’m perfectly entitled to find happiness in my relationship with my new boyfriend. I won’t let these old memories ruin that for me. And there’s no way in hell I’m letting Lewis McIntyre, with his unwanted “therapy sessions” and nosy questions about my sex life, fuck everything up.
I clench and unclench my fists, trying to release some of the nervous tension that’s building inside me. When I leave here, I need to be focused and professional, so these thoughts and emotions have to go—for now, at least.
Standing, I head downstairs, give Maw a quick kiss on the cheek, then set off for work.