4. Chapter 3
Peter
Mandy opens the door before I have time to decide whether arriving at gone eleven makes me look keen or pathetic.
She has changed out of her walking clothes, her blonde bob framing her face and a dark green top soft against her skin.
I manage to look at her face before my brain embarrasses us both.
“Evening,” I say. “I’m here about your repeat order. I should warn you, the dick has terrible customer service but excellent availability.”
She stares at me for one long second. “You drove over here to say that?”
“I had fifteen minutes to prepare.”
Her mouth twitches. “You are a deeply silly man.” She steps back from the door. “Get inside before I change my mind.”
I step over the threshold and the warmth of her kitchen hits me like a wall.
Her house smells of something citrussy, a candle or one of those diffuser things, and underneath it the faint clean floral scent I have come to associate so specifically with her that catching it anywhere else would stop me cold.
The door clicks shut behind me and the sound settles into my chest with a finality that has nothing to do with locks.
She pours two glasses of wine, and I watch the way the dark green fabric moves against her back. The top is loose, almost floaty, the kind of thing she would never wear to the surgery. She is barefoot on the wooden floor.
Her chandelier earrings catch the light from the kitchen doorway, throwing small prismatic fragments across the wall as she turns.
I step closer. My hand slides from her elbow to her wrist, and I wrap my fingers around it, feeling the delicate architecture of bone and tendon. Her pulse is quick. I can feel it against my fingertips, a steady kick that contradicts the composure of her face.
"You're sure about this?" I ask.
"Don't ruin it."
"Mandy."
"Yes, I'm sure. I was sure when I sent the message.
I was sure when I opened the door. I was sure when you made that terrible joke about customer service, which I am choosing to find charming rather than mortifying.
" She sets the wine glass in her hand on the kitchen counter without looking, her fingers finding the surface by memory. "So yes, Peter. I am sure."
I pull her towards me by the wrist, gently, and she comes.
Her body meets mine, the firm press of her hips against me making me acutely aware of how close she is.
At five foot eight, she is hardly tiny, but I still have to look down as she tips her chin up towards me.
Her eyes hold mine. I can count the adorable faint lines at their corners, the ones that deepen when she smiles.
I kiss her.
Not hard. Not yet.
I kiss her slowly, tasting the red wine still on her lips. Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt and I pull her closer, one hand at her waist.
She opens her mouth beneath mine, and whatever intention I had of taking my time becomes significantly harder to maintain.
Her hand slides into my hair.
“Bedroom,” she says.
“Say please.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
I grin against her mouth.
She gives me a small shove, picks up her wine and heads for the stairs without looking back.
Apparently, please is not happening.
I follow.
Her bare feet make almost no sound on the stairs. Mine do, because the cottage seems determined to announce my movements to anyone within a three-house radius.
At the top, Mandy pushes open her bedroom door.
The bedside lamp is on. The bed is made.
I stop in the doorway.
She turns. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re smiling with your whole face. It’s very distracting.”
“You made the bed.”
“I usually make the bed.”
“You invited my dick over to a prepared bedroom.”
Her eyes narrow. “Would you like to go home?”
“Absolutely not.”
I take the wine from her before she can weaponise it and put it on the chest of drawers.
Then I kiss her again.
Her hands find the buttons of my shirt. Quick and efficient, because of course Mandy does not fumble. Within seconds, she has it open and is pushing it from my shoulders.
Her palms flatten against my chest.
The way she looks at me sends considerably more blood south.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“That was not a nothing look.”
“I’m assessing.”
“Of course you are.”
Her mouth twitches.
I pull her green top over her head. Underneath is a plain black bra, simple and practical and somehow much sexier than anything designed to be sexy.
I reach behind her and undo it.
One-handed.
Still got it.
Mandy notices.
“Pleased with yourself?”
“A little.”
“Try not to peak too early.”
Before I can answer, she kisses me again.
Then her palm lands in the centre of my chest and she pushes.
My back hits the wall.
“Mandy.”
“Yes?”
“That felt hostile.”
“You’ll survive.”
She rises onto her toes, both hands in my hair, and pulls me down.
This kiss is nothing like the last one.
No patience. No teasing. Her tongue slides against mine and my hands lock around her waist as she presses herself into me.
Then she pulls back just far enough to speak.
“You talk such a good game.”
“I do?”
“All those clever comments. All the filthy little suggestions.”
Her fingers trail slowly down my chest.
My stomach tightens.
“You forget I’m very good with my hands.”
“I have not forgotten anything about your hands.”
She reaches my belt.
The buckle comes undone.
Then the button.
Then my zip.
I am beginning to think I should stop talking.
Her hand slips inside my boxers and closes around me.
Yep.
Definitely stop talking.
“There you are,” she murmurs.
“Mandy.”
She strokes me once, slowly enough to make my hips move before I can stop them.
Her mouth curves.
“Enjoying the assessment?”
“I’m trying to remain professional.”
“Very brave.”
Her thumb moves over the head of my cock and whatever reply I had disappears completely.
“You’re not the only one who can talk dirty,” she says.
Then she drops to her knees.
Fuck.
Her mouth closes around me and my palm flattens against the wall beside me.
Not dramatically.
For structural support.
Mandy takes her time at first, one hand wrapped around the base of my cock while her mouth works over me. Slow enough to make me notice everything, and confident enough that I know exactly how much she is enjoying my reaction.
My other hand finds her hair.
I hesitate.
She glances up at me.
That is apparently permission enough.
I thread my fingers through the soft strands without pulling, and the little sound she makes around me nearly finishes the evening embarrassingly early.
“Mandy.”
She keeps going.
“Mandy, fuck.”
She pulls back.
Her lips are swollen, her eyes dark and far too pleased with herself.
“What?” she asks. “Too much?”
“Not nearly enough.”
Her eyebrows rise.
“But not like this.”
I take her arms and bring her back to her feet.
“My turn.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It should.”
I walk her backwards until her legs meet the bed.
She sits.
I kneel between her knees.
Mandy looks down at me. “You seem very comfortable down there.”
“I’m conducting a thorough assessment.”
“That is my joke.”
“I’m improving it.”
“You’re really not.”
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her trousers.
She lifts her hips, and I pull trousers and knickers down together, then toss them somewhere behind me.
Mandy is now sitting naked on the edge of the bed while I am still wearing far too many clothes.
I approve of this arrangement.
I kiss the inside of one knee.
Then the other.
“Peter.”
I move higher.
Her fingers slide into my hair.
“Peter.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you dare take all night.”
I smile against her thigh.
“Watch me.”
Her fingers tighten.
I keep going slowly, kissing my way higher until I am close enough to feel the heat of her.
Then I stop.
She exhales sharply.
“Peter.”
I look up.
Her expression makes me grin.
“Do you need something?”
“You know exactly what I need.”
“I’m enjoying the clarity.”
Her heel catches lightly against my back. “Get on with it.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
I finally put my mouth on her.
Her head tips back.
That reaction alone makes the teasing worthwhile.
I keep it slow at first, learning what makes her thighs tense around me and what makes her fingers tighten in my hair. Every time I find the right pressure, she shifts closer.
“Stop teasing.”
“I’m not teasing.”
“You absolutely are.”
I press my tongue against her clit.
The rest of her complaint becomes a moan.
“Sorry,” I say against her. “Did you say something?”
“Smug bastard.”
That sounds encouraging.
I slide two fingers inside her.
Her hand fists in my hair.
There.
I keep my mouth on her and curl my fingers until her thighs tighten around my shoulders.
“Peter.”
This time my name sounds very different.
I do exactly the same thing again.
Her hips move towards me.
“Don’t stop.”
I don’t.
The smart comments disappear after that.
Mandy’s breathing gets quicker, her hand still locked in my hair while I keep the pressure where she needs it.
Then her whole body tightens.
She comes hard, trying to muffle the sound with the back of one hand and failing spectacularly.
I keep going until her grip loosens and she pushes weakly at my forehead.
“Enough.”
I sit back on my heels.
“Good assessment?”
She gives me a dazed look. “Fuck off.”
“I’ll take that as positive feedback.”
I stand and finally get rid of my jeans and boxers.
Mandy has one arm across her eyes.
It lifts.
Her gaze travels down my body.
“Get up here.”
“That sounded suspiciously like an order.”
“You can stay down there if you prefer.”
I am on the bed before she finishes the sentence.
She reaches for me, but I catch her hand and kiss her knuckles.
“Turn over.”
Her eyebrows rise.
“Now who’s bossy?”
“I’m conducting the second half of the assessment.”
“That is not how assessments work.”
“You should have issued written guidance.”
Mandy laughs as she rolls onto her stomach.
There it is.
That laugh.
The one that always makes me want to make her do it again.
I grab the condom from my wallet and put it on while she moves onto her hands and knees in front of me.
Then I look at her.
And briefly forget every joke I have ever known.
She glances back over her shoulder.
“Have you forgotten what happens next?”
“Temporarily.”
“Poor Peter.”
I run my palm down her back and over the curve of her arse.
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“I enjoy being right.”
“About what?”
“That you talk a better game than you play.”
I grip her hips and pull her back towards me.
“Careful,” she says.
The warning would carry more weight if she were not pushing herself into my hand.
“Changed your mind?”
“Not remotely,” she
I guide myself into her.
Her breath catches.
I stop once I am fully inside.
“All right?”
“Yes.”
She draws in a slow breath.
“Move.”
I pull back and thrust into her again.
The angle takes me deeper, and Mandy’s hands tighten against the mattress.
“Like that?”
“Do it again.”
I do.
Then again.
The bed shifts beneath us as I settle into a rhythm, Mandy pushing back to meet me.
Her hair falls across her face.
I gather it in one hand and hold it away.
“Still assessing?”
“Your technique requires further observation.”
“Any early findings?”
“You remain irritating.”
I change the angle and thrust harder.
Her answer turns into a cry.
“Sorry. Didn’t catch that.”
“Smug bastard.”
“That sounded almost affectionate.”
She reaches back and catches my thigh.
“Less commentary.”
I bend over her, planting one hand beside hers.
My chest presses to her back as I keep moving.
She turns her head and I find her mouth.
It is an awkward kiss at this angle. Messy and breathless and somehow more intimate than anything we have done tonight.
Her fingers close around mine on the mattress.
And suddenly I notice that more than the sex.
Her hand holding mine.
The small shift in the way she leans back against me.
The fact that neither of us is making a joke.
I could straighten.
Break the moment.
Instead, I lace my fingers through hers.
“Peter,” she says against my mouth.
Just my name.
No punchline.
I kiss her once more, then straighten enough to slide my free hand around her hip.
She drops her head when my fingers find her clit.
“Tell me what you need.”
“Don’t slow down.”
“Anything else?”
“For once in your life, stop fishing for praise.”
I laugh.
But I keep exactly the rhythm she wants.
Her thighs begin to shake.
I feel her tightening around me.
“I’m close.”
“Good.”
I keep my fingers moving.
A few seconds later, Mandy comes with my name breaking from her, her whole body pushing back into mine.
That does it.
I grip her hips and follow her over, burying myself deep as I come.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then Mandy lowers herself onto the mattress.
I follow, catching my weight on one arm.
Her breathing is still uneven.
So is mine.
Her hand finds mine beside her head.
Our fingers link.
Neither of us says anything about it.
That would make it mean something.