Chapter Thirty-Nine Netta #2
A comfortable silence descended as they unwound, finally still after the whirlwind.
Netta began to relax, allowing herself to sink further into the couch, tucking her feet beneath her as the fire splashed light across the dim room and the comforting smell of smoke mingled with the aroma of the shiraz.
‘Quite a night, hey?’ she said.
Mo nodded silently and took a sip of wine.
‘I’m sorry it ended up like this,’ she said. ‘I really do feel like it’s my fault. If I hadn’t gone with you, you’d probably be at some fancy after-party right now with—’
‘I’m not.’ His voice was low.
‘You’re not what?’
‘Sorry that it ended up like this.’ He lifted his gaze from the fire to meet hers.
‘But what about …’ Netta hesitated.
‘This is perfect. Apart from this, obviously.’ He gestured at his outfit. ‘I could live without this part of it.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Netta. ‘You actually pull that jumper off pretty well.’
‘The purple’s quite good on you, too. You look like Grimace’s beautiful sister.’ He touched the soft sleeve of the cardigan, his fingertips kissing the back of her hand as he pulled away.
Netta’s skin exploded with want at his touch, her heart racing so fast she was certain he’d be able to see it through her clothes. Their eyes met and the growing black pools in Mo’s blue eyes made her wonder if, maybe, he’d felt the same thing.
He took a deep breath and set his wine glass on the table. ‘Netta, I …’ He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, his gaze fixed on the floor between his feet. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’ But Netta was not okay. Her insides were a tornado and her skin was on fire. She’d never wanted to kiss anyone so much in her life. ‘Lorena’s probably sticking pins into a voodoo doll of me right now.’
‘Lorena?’ Mo looked confused.
Netta raised her eyebrows. ‘Lorena Long?’
‘Yeah, I know who you mean. But why would she be doing that?’
‘Because by now she’s probably seen the photo of our fake kiss on the red carpet and because now you’re here with me, instead of with her. I’m sure you’d rather it was her here with you, too.’
Mo hooked his arm over the back of the couch and turned his body to her. ‘Why?’
Netta fidgeted with the cushion she’d pulled into her lap. ‘Because you’re together, aren’t you?’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘I saw you in the stage entry during the rehearsal and after your performance tonight.’
Mo shook his head. ‘I’m not with Lorena.’
Netta gave him a look so pointy it could take an eye out. ‘You guys looked pretty cosy to me. And you look great together. She’s beautiful … you’re beautiful …’
Mo paused, as though choosing his words carefully before speaking.
‘Lorena has been … trying for a while. With me, I mean. I’m not interested, but she’s always there.
And she’s not backward in coming forward, if you know what I mean.
I’ve told her I’m not up for it but I think she thinks that if she keeps chipping away, I’ll come around. ’
‘Right.’ Netta backtracked through her memories of Lorena and Mo together. It had been Lorena who’d initiated contact both times.
‘And she is beautiful,’ continued Mo, ‘but not … not as beautiful as you. Not by miles.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Sorry.’ Mo looked mortified. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘You think I’m beautiful?’
Mo rose from the couch and went to the fire, stoking it despite its roaring flame. Netta watched him take a deep breath, his broad chest rising beneath the ludicrous jumper she could no longer see the funny side of.
‘I think you’re more than beautiful,’ he said, the deep gravel of his voice setting Netta alight. ‘And that kiss …’ He shook his head and puffed out his cheeks. ‘There was nothing fake about it for me. It was incredible.’
For a moment, Netta was struck mute. By his words, by the sight of him in front of the fire, by the warm glow of wine in her belly and the desire racing around her veins. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t going to. Fuck. Now I’ve made it weird. I’m so sorry.’
Netta sat in silence, aware that this was one of those sliding door moments.
Aware that her judgement in these situations was often very questionable in hindsight.
Aware that her body had been overriding her head since the moment Mo had come to her hotel room that morning.
She took another swig of wine and put her glass on the coffee table.
‘Are you telling me the truth?’
Mo looked her straight in the eye. ‘Yes.’
‘Because it would be pretty shitty to say that to me just because we’re stuck here together and Lorena’s not here.’
‘I told you, I have no interest in Lorena,’ he said earnestly.
‘She’s—she’s not a patch on you, Netta. I’ve been trying so hard to keep it in because I know you’ve just had a break-up and you probably think I’m a dirtbag with women everywhere.
I’m not, by the way. Plus, you’ve told me you’re on that man ban or whatever you call it.
Just forget I said anything.’ He rubbed the back of his neck, setting off the music and lights again.
‘Saved by the jumper, hey?’ His face creased into a sheepish smile.
‘I might just go to bed. Let’s start tomorrow afresh.
Friends?’ He looked hopeful as he stood, stretching his hand out to shake Netta’s.
A decision landed defiantly in Netta’s mind and there was no question about whether or not to walk through the door before it slid shut in front of her.
She took his hand and stood, looking up into his beautiful, beautiful face as her body brushed up against his.
Her other hand found his chest, warm and firm under her palm.
A look of delighted surprise flashed over his features and melted Netta even more.
There was no going back now. The man ban was toast.
‘I’ve been feeling the same way,’ she said hesitantly.
The rush of relief on his face pushed her nerves aside and she took his hand, guiding it to her hip as she stretched up onto her toes, pressing her breasts into his chest, her hips to his.
She couldn’t quite believe how bold she was being, but this feeling, this force, was unstoppable.
His lips parted as she moved her face closer, his hand holding the back of her head, fingers woven into her hair as their lips met.
Netta disappeared into the heat of the kiss, entirely engulfed.
His mouth moved with hers as though it had been made for this exact moment and his guitar-callused fingertips traveled to the nape of her neck, lingering for a moment before trailing down her spine to the dip of her lower back.
He moved his lips to her ear. ‘Netta.’ His whisper was ragged, his breath hot and tormenting as his kiss dipped to her neck.
Netta ran her hands down his torso, stealing under his jumper to find the soft skin beneath, her fingertips sliding around to his lower back and under the waistband of his pants.
He groaned and pressed his body into hers, his desire for her hard against her belly.
He cupped her face in his hands once more, and kissed her again, this time with urgency, his lips charged.
She ran her hands up the length of his back, his muscles tightening under her touch, and around to his chest. The smattering of hair covering his pecs sent a thrill through her entire body.
She couldn’t remember ever being so overcome with longing before.
She needed this more than she needed air.
He slid her hands out from under his jumper and kissed her fingers, his lips grazing her knuckles one by one.
Her head tipped back at the unexpected pleasure of such a simple, but wildly intimate, gesture.
When his lips left her hand, Netta shrugged off the cardigan and let it drop to the floor.
His thumbs drew slow circles over her hip bones and she lifted her arms, inviting him to take her T-shirt off.
He bunched the fabric in his hands and pulled her to him, kissing her again, before sliding it slowly over her head and throwing it over his shoulder, drawing a sharp breath as his gaze settled on her bare breasts.
‘Oh my God, Netta.’
She took his hand and guided it, the warmth of his palm on her breast sending heat through her body. He grabbed her bottom, pulling her in close to him, kissing her hard.
‘Take this off,’ she said, tugging at his jumper. ‘I want to see you.’
He peeled it off, revealing his torso—a rippled canvas painted with tattoos. Netta traced her fingers along them.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ His eyes searched hers for a green light.
‘Yes,’ she said, not breaking eye contact as she tugged the pants past his hips and let them drop to the floor.
He stepped out of them, his skin glowing in the firelight, and pulled Netta in closer.
His hands followed her spine south and slid beneath her skirt and knickers, pushing them both down, his hands cupping her cheeks as the last of her clothes fell away, leaving her naked in his arms. She moaned as he squeezed her butt and bit her gently on the neck, his fingers trailing further down and under, finding her ready.
A growl vibrated from his chest. ‘Fuck, Netta. I want you so much.’
He kissed her shoulder, her collarbone, his breath hot on her skin.
He lay her back on the couch, leaning over her, moving his lips to her neck, her breasts, her stomach, while his hands ran slowly up her thighs from her knees to her hips.
His mouth settled between her legs and she arched her back as his tongue found her.
‘Oh, God, I’m already too close,’ she said after a few moments, already nearing the brink, her hands in his hair, pushing him gently away. ‘Have you got anything?’
‘Don’t move a muscle; there might be something in the guest cupboard.’ He kissed her and disappeared to the bathroom, returning with a foil packet. He tore it open and took the condom out. ‘You’re sure about this?’
She nodded. ‘Put it on.’
He knelt before her and ran his tongue along her one more time, slowly, feather-lightly, before sliding the condom on.
She pulled his face to hers and kissed him as he pushed himself inside her.
His weight pinned her to the couch and she wrapped her legs tightly around his hips as they moved against hers, his chest grazing her breasts.
Netta tipped her head back in pleasure and he pressed his lips into the hollow under her jaw.
‘I want to be on top,’ she whispered.
He slid his arm under her back and flipped them over, sitting on the couch with Netta over him. He clasped her hips in his hands as she rode him, his head tipped over the back of the couch momentarily before meeting her gaze.
‘Oh fuck, you’re incredible,’ he said. ‘I can’t hold on much longer.’
‘Me either.’
Netta’s face crumpled with her crescendo as Mo gripped her hips, the low, guttural sound escaping from him telling her he was right there with her. She melted into him and he wrapped his arms around her, his head resting on her shoulder.
‘That was …’
‘Mind-blowing.’
‘Yeah.’ She exhaled into his neck, enjoying the feeling of his fingertips tracing languid circles on her back before she moved to sit next to him, curling into his side. He dragged one of the blankets off the back of the couch, arranging it over her body and stroking her hair.
‘I feel dizzy,’ Netta said. It was a monumental understatement—she felt chemically altered. As though her cells had shifted and evolved into some blissfully higher state of being. Thirty-nine years old, and never once had sex felt like that.
‘I do too,’ he said. ‘But I’d better go and deal with this situation.’ He stood, a hand over his groin, and disappeared to the bathroom.
When he reappeared, he was wearing a grin and a bathrobe, a second one laid across his hands like a sacred offering. ‘We’ve just had sex on their couch, so we may as well wear their dressing gowns too.’
Netta’s laugh morphed into a guilty groan. ‘Oh God, poor Rhona. Would she die if she knew?’ She accepted a robe and stood to slide it on.
‘Nah.’ Mo smiled. ‘I kinda get the feeling she’s been hoping something might happen with us.’ Mo sat and reached for the wine bottle. ‘Another?’
‘I feel like I need something stronger after that.’
‘I’ll go see what they’ve got hidden away.’
As Mo walked out of the lounge, Netta closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Nothing would ever be the same after that. Nothing.
For better or worse, the sliding door had shut behind her.