Chapter 10
A disturbing thing happens on Saturday morning. I have a dirty dream. Which would be fine in itself. Delightful, even. Except that it’s about Zach Russo. It’s during that mysterious point of sleep when you’re not quite awake, but conscious enough to apparently stumble into your own personal porno.
It’s been a few years since I had one so vivid. I’d assumed they’d dried up at about the time adverts for caffeine shampoo began to pop up on Facebook. Aside from a short revival courtesy of the hot priest in Fleabag Season 2, there really haven’t been many to write home about for a while.
Now, though, my inner goddess appears to be back with a vengeance.
In the dream, I’m in a luxurious hotel room. Imagine a slick, cream-carpeted suite in a nineties movie starring Sharon Stone or Kim Basinger. It’s the sort of place where, in the days when I read Cosmopolitan as a teenager, I once firmly believed I’d be hanging out all the time later in life. The lighting is subdued, the furnishings plush, the mood seductive. There’s an unfeasibly large bed and a floor-to-ceiling window, beyond which the lights of Manhattan glitter against an obsidian sky.
Zach leads me into the room by the hand, anticipation rising in my chest. The apples of my cheeks are flushed, the taste of multiple whisky sours lingers on my lips. I’m in a midnight-blue slip dress, which pinches at my waist and reveals the soft, heavy outline of my breasts.
He’s in a tux, or at least he has been; the jacket’s now gone and his tie hangs loose around the collar of his shirt, top button undone. The smooth skin of his Adam’s apple is begging to be kissed and I am indescribably hot for him. He closes the door behind us and draws those dark eyes slowly down my body. The way he looks at me makes something liquify in my core. Like he wants to devour me.
‘God, you’re beautiful.’
The statement comes from deep at the back of his throat, before he slides his hands around my waist and pulls me into him. I lift my chin as his lips sink into mine, full and tender. An undulating heat rises from my belly as I run my hands across his back, feeling the swell of his muscles. Something twitches against me and I push my pelvis into him, registering not merely how hard he is, but how big.
He places his hand on my jaw and tips back my head, sliding his mouth to the sweet spot behind my ear, searing me with silky kisses. Then he runs his fingertips all the way to the slope of my neck and down my shoulder, before they skim the side of my breast. Forgotten parts of my anatomy spark into life. My need for him is so intense I can hardly breathe. I stand on my tiptoes and cup his face in my hands as I kiss him, sliding my tongue gently inside his mouth until he groans.
We are ferocious after that, tugging at his shirt and flinging it to the floor, until his beautiful, honed torso is bare and one strap of my dress has fallen off my shoulder. I run my hands over the ripples on his triceps, feeling the strength of him beneath my fingers. Then we make our way to the bed and I lie back, lifting my arms above my head in surrender as the silk of my dress gathers up around my thighs.
He climbs on top, straddling me, his knees at the side of my hips as my hem rides higher. He kisses me again, our foreheads pressed together as he slides a hand between my legs, where a warm pulse is already throbbing. He gently pushes aside my knickers and slips a finger inside, drawing it gently downwards in a slow vertical line. It begins as soft as a whisper, before building slowly into something more insistent, drawing me deeper and deeper under some kind of spell. I hear myself groan and think, Fuck me , though I’m too inside my own head to know if it’s an exclamation or a request. And then—
‘MUM!’
Someone is shaking my shoulder. I wake up to find Jacob standing at the side of my bed in his pyjamas, a tuft of hair sticking up from the top of his head. ‘Did you hear me?’
‘Huh? Oh. Yes!’ I say, wiping sleep from my eyes.
I push myself up, blinking as I fully register that I’m not in a hotel room with Zach Russo about to make me come so hard that I forget my middle name.
Jacob’s face brightens. ‘So does that mean . . . we can? ’
‘Can what?’
‘Can get one of them,’ he says, as if I’m being a bit dense.
‘Get one of . . . what?’ I ask, feeling as if this conversation has taken an ominous turn.
‘ A parrot .’
‘What?!’ I exclaim. ‘No, Jacob. No, no, no. Absolutely not.’
His brow furrows. ‘But you will think about it?’
‘No,’ I say, firmly. ‘It’s out of the question. Why would you want a parrot when you’ve already got a hamster?’
‘You can have more than one pet. Bella’s got three cocker spaniels.’
‘The answer’s no , Jacob.’ I peer at the clock. It’s 5.38am. ‘Why are you up so early?’
‘I had a funny dream,’ he tells me.
‘Me too.’
‘Was yours about a giant frog as well?’
‘Something like that. Anyway, off you go and jump back into bed.’
‘Can I get in with you?’
‘Oh, go on then,’ I say, lifting up the duvet. He curls into my arms and I kiss his head. The best feeling in the world.
‘How’s your nose, by the way?’ I ask.
‘All right now,’ he says. ‘It’s stopped tingling.’
‘Why on earth did you do that, anyway?’
‘It was a dare.’
‘Of course it was,’ I sigh. ‘ Promise me you won’t do it again.’
‘I promise.’ He snuggles into my arm and looks up at me with those big eyes and their long lashes. ‘I love you, Mum.’
‘I love you too,’ I whisper.
‘Are you sure about the parrot?’
‘Absolutely. And don’t even think about asking your dad.’