Chapter Thirty-Three
‘I don’t want to assume anything,’ said Olly, his hand in mine, mask finally off. ‘But are we going somewhere together?’ His expression was pure poker face. I would have thought there was no hint of uncertainty there, but I appreciated the question.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Together is good.’ More than good, my champagne infused mind trilled.
‘Your place or mine?’
‘Yours,’ I said. I didn’t want to go back to my hotel room, to see my corporate clothes, my work laptop, the notebook where I’d been making notes for Esme and Ajax’s speech.
I didn’t want to see the traces of work Lizzy there.
I just wanted to be me. Create our own little bubble, just like we had a few days before.
Then, I hadn’t known just how incredible that would feel; now, the anticipation made me feel dizzy with excitement.
He nodded and led me onwards, through the softly lit alleys and streets.
As we walked, I folded myself against him, my head on his shoulder; felt his hand stroke my hair.
I wanted to give up the fight in that moment, even though I didn’t really know what I was fighting.
Olly’s confession glowed in my mind – it had an openness I’d been unprepared for.
I could feel the tension seeping out of me, a relief from something I hadn’t even known was hurting.
Had I ever really relaxed with anyone like this?
The feeling was new, or at the very least, long lost. With my exes I’d always been on guard, just a little, holding something back. I’d stayed composed, self-contained.
‘Tough day?’ Olly murmured, into my hair, as I swayed against him.
‘The toughest.’ I looked up at him, saw the soft flame of a lantern reflected in his eyes.
If I shook myself, surely this wasn’t real?
Surely this handsome – no, beautiful – man would disappear in front of my eyes; surely he was magical, like Venice?
Then I remembered him in The Hexagon: his laugh, his ability to eat pastries like they were going out of fashion, his steely-edged sarcasm.
‘What are you thinking about?’ he said, an intrigued smile on his face.
‘Can’t really say,’ I said.
‘Funny that,’ he said. ‘Me neither.’
We kissed, and picked up our pace to the hotel.
The night receptionist’s expression was a picture of seen-it-all neutrality as we passed the desk, masked, hand in hand.
We were barely inside the door of his hotel room when we started kissing, and he just about managed to slam it shut before gently pushing me against it.
Our kiss was X-rated, impolite, nought to sixty in mere seconds.
‘Let me,’ I said breathlessly, suddenly very much feeling the tightness of my clothes, watching as he tugged at the tie to his cape. ‘Let me take this dress off. It costs a bomb.’
‘And it looks very rippable,’ he said.
I laughed. ‘Just, let me.’ I fiddled with the buttons, the ties, the zip. ‘Your room is so—’
‘Sexy?’
‘Tidy.’ I finally managed to tug the dress over my head and saw him take a breath at the sight of me in my poshest underwear. I offered a hymn of praise to myself for bringing my good underwear to Venice. I mean, what were the odds?
‘We wouldn’t get on,’ I warned, kicking my shoes off, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. ‘I’m too—’
‘Sexy?’ he said, and pulled me on top of him as I started laughing again.
Oh, the glory of that feeling: landing on that hard, muscular body and the fact that it was his body, his hands at my waist, his touch so gentle that I wanted to yield, to cling to him.
There was only one thing wrong with this picture: some of his clothes were still on, but that was easily remedied.
He looked like he was carved from marble, but that was incidental: I just wanted him. We lay there, mouths clashing, hands exploring. When he put his hand into my underwear I saw his eyes spark. ‘Ready,’ he whispered into my neck. It wasn’t a question.
‘You wouldn’t believe,’ I said, as he leaned to get a condom from the table by the bed.
He lay down on his back, took my hands in his, raised them over his head. ‘On top,’ he said.
He released one hand, flipped the bedside lamp on.
‘Noo.’ I reached to turn it off, he gently caught at my wrist.
‘I need some lights on. I want to watch you.’
My breath caught, a mixture of hunger and apprehension. I let my fingers glide over his hip bones; he groaned. ‘When’s the first time you wanted to do this?’ I said. ‘Was it when we kissed?’
He smiled, putting his hand up and brushing my hair away from my face. ‘The kiss did drive me wild. But let’s just say you had me at hello. The first time I met you, and you… blushed.’
I leaned over him and kissed him deeply. ‘I think it’s my turn to say please,’ he said grittily.
I sank onto him, sighing with sheer relief at the feeling.
All words left me as I closed my eyes – all words, and pretty much every thought other than what was happening in that precise moment.
I heard him struggle to slow his breathing, felt each of us holding back, trying to delay the pressure of release, which was building so quickly as our bodies moved naturally in exquisite rhythm.
As I quickened, he took my hips and slowed me down.
‘Slow and steady wins the race.’ We both started laughing, breathlessly.
‘I want to know what you want,’ he said.
‘You.’
‘Say my name.’
‘Oliver.’
He touched me; I trembled, trying to contain the feeling, trying to hold back.
‘Elizabeth,’ he said, ‘I like the way you say my name. I want you to feel so much pleasure you never say anyone else’s name in that way.’
I almost lost my mind at the sound of his voice. I put my hand to his chest, felt the tension he was holding in his body, an echo of mine.
I looked deep into his eyes, and I knew my expression told him everything he needed to know.
Our second time together, and we were already learning what the other wanted.
We were a little rougher with each other, playful, but our touches bolder, exorcising the frustration between us, my nails hard in his back as he flipped me over, and we began again.
I was out of my body, my rational self obliterated.
Peaking together, our voices were raised in such a crescendo I wouldn’t have been surprised if the night receptionist had heard us.
Lying back on the bed, I was breathing as though I’d run a four-minute mile, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; put my hands to my flushed face, my tangled hair.
I glanced at Olly and saw he was similarly dishevelled but definitely less out of breath than I was.
‘Bastard,’ I said. ‘I need to get to the gym more.’
He gave a shout of laughter. ‘You can always exercise at home. With me. Like this.’
Slowly, I turned on my side and wrapped my arms around him.
He felt like a new and exciting place, and simultaneously like home.
Fireworks, and Sunday afternoon, combined.
He held me tight as I nuzzled into him, catching my breath.
‘Are you angry with me for dragging you away from the party?’ I said, playfully, into his chest.
He laughed, a sound that made my heart warm. ‘Lizzy, I don’t think I can ever be angry again. You might just have cured me of all negative emotions.’
‘Me too,’ I said. And the way he smiled at me made me feel as though I had discovered the secret to happiness. That everything would be all right. I hadn’t felt that way in a long time.