It was a point of honour to Neve that she won in the most satisfying way possible; finally getting to use her ‘q’ on a triple word score by turning Max’s ‘hogs’ into ‘quahogs’ and waving the Oxford English Dictionary in his face when he dared to challenge her.
Then it was her turn to kiss the sulk off Max’s face until they were entwined on the sofa. Max’s hands had disappeared under her cardigan and dress, and Neve had been happy to curl her fingers around Max’s belt buckle but he was so hard and she was so curious that she slowly worked his belt free so she could slip her hand into his jeans and explore the twitching length of him through his boxer shorts.
It still felt weird to be touching an erect penis, but the good kind of weird that was doing as much for Neve as Max’s fingers slipping into the cups of her bra so he could rub her nipples, his tongue and teeth worrying at a pulse point on her neck. And soon having that cloth barrier between his cock and her fingers wasn’t reassuring but irritating. Neve skimmed her hand down and for one shocking moment she had him, hot and smooth and throbbing in her hand, until Max arched away from her.
‘Don’t do that,’ he gasped, head thrown back, eyes closed, and Neve thought he’d never looked quite so pretty as he did right then in soft lamplight, so the planes of his chest and the tense lines of his face had a ghostly glow. ‘Time to stop.’
Neve didn’t want to stop because she was half-drunk on champagne and chocolate and Scrabble victory. Which had to be the reason for the strange, compelling urge to peel away her clothes, not caring what horrors they uncovered, and beg Max to finish what they’d started.
Instead she lay on the sofa and tried to get her breath back as Max zipped up his hoodie all the way to his chin, so she wouldn’t be driven into any further frenzies of lust by the sight of even a centimetre of his skin.
‘I’m going to walk Keith,’ Max announced unnecessarily because he always had to walk Keith when things had got hot and heavy between them. It was part of their Sunday-night routine.
Neve was sitting up in bed with teeth brushed, hair pony-tailed and an absolute certainty that she was in for another sleepless night as Max slipped out of his jeans and dived under her duvet.
‘It’s freezing in here,’ he complained, grabbing great handfuls of quilt, which Neve attempted to grab back. ‘Is the heating on the blink?’
‘No, but I turned off the radiator and I’ve had the windows open all day, there are no hot-water bottles and I’m wearing my summer pyjamas.’ Neve huddled closer to him. ‘Any time you want to start doing a good impersonation of a thermo-nuclear blast is fine by me.’
‘Get away from me,’ Max said, shoving Neve to the other side of the mattress. ‘It’s like sharing a bed with a block of ice.’
‘Well, it’s colder for me than it is for you.’ Neve huddled down under the duvet, too cold to even read a couple of chapters of The School at the Chalet (inspired by Douglas and Celia’s reminiscences of her Chalet School phase) because it would mean exposing her arms to the elements. She’d just have to think warm thoughts instead.
Ten minutes later she was still freezing cold and wide awake. So awake that every time she closed her eyes, they opened of their own accord. Neve thought that Max might be asleep because he was still and quiet, though not deeply enough asleep to have started snoring, when he suddenly rolled over and she had every deliciously warm inch of him spooning against her.
‘I suppose you can put your feet on me if you like.’
Neve immediately pressed the soles of her feet against his shins with a blissful sigh. ‘That’s better.’
Max pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his arms tight but tense around her as if he was worried she might shatter into tiny pieces. ‘You can tell me if I’m way out of line, but you shouldn’t let this thing with your dad drag on.’
She’d been relieved that Max hadn’t mentioned anything dad-related after Celia had left, because deep down Neve knew that it was true; she wasn’t speaking to her dad. Or rather she was not not speaking to him in her usual passive-aggressive fashion. ‘I know,’ she said softly, hoping that was enough to satisfy Max and end the conversation.
‘What he said was unfair and hurtful, I get that, but there’s going to be a time when it will be too late to make up with him because he’s not there any more.’ Max kissed her shoulder again almost as if he knew Neve was debating the quickest way to remove herself from the conversation, even if it meant hurling herself out of bed. ‘Then what he said and how he said it won’t be important any more. What will be important are all the things you never got to say.’
She didn’t want to escape any more but turned over so she could hold Max instead of being held. Neve wriggled in his embrace until she could trace patterns on his face in the dark with her fingers. ‘If your mum was still around, what would you want to say to her?’ she whispered, and it felt like the bravest thing she’d ever done; hoping she was worthy enough that Max would let her share some of his pain.
He didn’t answer at first, but let her smooth out the worry lines that had appeared on his face. ‘I don’t know … probably I wouldn’t even say that I missed her or that I loved her, I’d just make her a cup of tea and ask her about her day and what she thought of last night’s Coronation Street.’ He made a small indistinct noise and for one moment that made Neve’s heart hurt, he rested his forehead on her shoulder. ‘I suppose the things that you always take for granted, that you don’t even notice, are what you miss the most.’
Neve held on tight to Max’s stiff body. ‘It’s OK to miss her, you know.’
‘She was always so angry. Angry at my dad for pissing off. Angry at me because she had this fantasy that she’d have had an amazing, fulfilling life if she wasn’t lumbered with a kid.’ Max rubbed at his eyes and swallowed hard. ‘It wasn’t so bad when my nan was alive but after she died, my mum got even more depressed. Moving to London when I was sixteen was the best thing that ever happened. But if I’d known she only had another two years left, I’d have stayed. I should have been there for her.’
‘But you couldn’t have known that, Max, and on some level, she must have had some peace in knowing that you were independent and could look after yourself.’ Neve didn’t know what else to say to make him feel better so she kissed him. It was a clumsy kiss and they bumped noses, but that made Max smile against her lips and Neve could feel the tension slowly leaving his body like air escaping from a puncture.
‘So, I’m just saying, you should make up with your dad,’ Max said. ‘Because I don’t want you to have to live with this kind of regret. It’s a pain in the arse.’
‘Well, I’ll talk to my mum,’ Neve decided because there were benefits to having a mother who wanted to know everyone else’s business. ‘See how the land lies.’ She tried to shrug, which was surprisingly hard when you were cuddling someone. ‘The silly thing is that I’m glad that he said it. I needed to hear it, but I wish it hadn’t been from him.’
She turned over because now it was Max’s turn to hold her. She didn’t even tell him off for splaying one hand over her belly. ‘It sounded to me as if you and your dad used to be close,’ he prompted.
And they had been. They’d shared … silence and it had been golden. ‘When I was at Oxford, he’d visit and take me out to lunch,’ Neve said falteringly. ‘We’d go to this restaurant on the river and I’d read a novel and Dad would read a Which Guide and we’d not say a word, but we were still there together. It was the only time that I ever felt really comfortable just being me, as if he loved me and didn’t judge me, so when he said what he did in the way that he did, I felt so betrayed.’
Max didn’t try and kiss the hurt away or hold her tighter, but kept stroking her belly in slow, concentric circles. They lay there silently until he cleared his throat. ‘When I’m interviewing someone and I go quiet, it usually encourages them to keep talking.’
Neve choked out a giggle. ‘Sorry, I’m done with my paternal signifier issues for now.’
; ‘Only you could use those big, wordy words at this time of night,’ Max grumbled, shifting slightly so Neve could put her feet back on his shins. ‘God, all these confessions have really taken it out of me.’
‘Me too. We should go to sleep,’ Neve murmured. She should have been exhausted because it had been one hell of a day, but Max’s hand had slipped under her T-shirt and she could feel the warmth of his palm on the bare flesh of her stomach. All those urges from earlier had only been dozing and now they’d woken up and were pleading with her to do something. Something like arching against Max or unclipping her bra so she could surreptitiously rub her breasts against his arm.
‘Yes, sleep,’ Max slurred, as if he was already halfway there and didn’t realise that his thumb was looped into the waistband of her pyjamas.
If she’d been cold before, now Neve was burning hot. She closed her eyes, but that made the urges worse, as if her senses were heightened and all that she was were the nerve-endings beneath Max’s hand.
Neve could have screamed in frustration when Max’s hand moved up instead of down, but actually that was OK because his fingertips grazed the underside of her breast. She breathed in sharply.
‘Sorry,’ Max mumbled sleepily, as if he didn’t even know what he was doing, when Neve wanted him to know exactly what he was doing and to do it more and harder and just there … ‘Why do you sleep in a bra?’
‘I’ll take it off,’ Neve said quickly, fumbling with one hand to release the catch. ‘And it’s all right – what you were doing. I mean, you can carry on doing it if you want. I don’t mind.’
‘Doing what?’
Neve managed to get her bra straps down her arms, then pulled the bra through the armhole of her T-shirt. ‘You were touching me here,’ she said, and she placed Max’s hand on her bare breast because the urges won out over bashful modesty. No contest.
Max tried to pull his hand away, but the rub of his palm against her aching nipple was all the incentive Neve needed to keep a tight grip on his wrist.
‘I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to do this,’ Max said, and his voice didn’t sound thick with sleep any more but as if he was so wired that he was clenching his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering.
‘No, we said we weren’t going to have sex but I don’t want that, I just want you to touch me,’ Neve explained, pushing herself into Max’s motionless hand in case he needed a practical demonstration as well. ‘And I’m really tense and I know I’m not going to be able to sleep.’
‘So, I’m just performing a public service?’
‘Personal service,’ Neve corrected, and she could let go of Max’s wrist because his hand was moving now: shaping, pressing, and each touch of his fingers had her arching back against him so Neve wasn’t that shocked when she could feel his cock hardening against her.
‘Anywhere else you want me to touch you?’ Max’s voice had thickened again, not with tiredness but something else.
Neve didn’t even have to think about it. ‘Here,’ she said, grabbing Max’s hand again so she could slide it down her belly and, there really was no point in prolonging her agony, into her pyjama bottoms.
This time she released his wrist straight away because Max was already cupping her pussy, testing how wet she was with the tip of one finger, then sliding it inside her so he could thrust shallowly, as she tightened around him in shocked delight.
‘Like that?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Do you like that?’
‘Yes!’ Neve gasped, reaching around awkwardly to try and touch him. She was surprised to encounter bare skin and hipbone and her knuckles kept brushing against his cock until Max tugged her pyjama bottoms down to her knees and they could start moving together.
Max had found the perfect combination of thumb rubbing against her clit, his finger moving inside her and Neve could hear what his other hand was doing behind her. Had never heard that soft slapping sound before but she knew instinctively what it meant and wasn’t surprised when Max suddenly groaned and she felt something warm and wet hit the small of her back.
It should have been gross, but Neve was more concerned with wrapping her hand round Max’s wrist one final time so she could grind down on his hand and then she wasn’t capable of doing anything. Her airless gasps sounded deafeningly loud as Neve screwed her eyes tight shut and felt as if she was freefalling through time and space until in that split second before she hit the ground, Max was there to catch her.
Afterwards, when they’d dabbed ineffectually at each other with tissues and were halfway decent, Neve let herself snuggle back into Max’s arms. Not being able to sleep was the mootest of moot points, she thought, as she felt herself drifting off.
‘Are you freaking out?’ Max asked suddenly.
It was hard to speak when Neve felt as if she had syrup running through her veins and up into her brain. ‘Not right now,’ she yawned. ‘Probably will in the morning.’
‘Sometimes I worry that if I keep focusing on sexual gratification, I’ll never be able to sustain a proper relationship. That’s what my th— one of my friends keeps saying,’ Max admitted. ‘What do you think about that?’
Neve tried to give the matter the serious consideration it deserved. Then she gave up. ‘I think you need to find some new friends.’
Chapter Twenty-two
Max’s half of the bed was empty the next morning but the duvet had been tucked tight around Neve. She’d given Keith a walk and was just packing her gym bag, when she received a text from Max.
Thanks for my lovely birthday surprises. Especially the last one. Are you freaking out yet? he wanted to know, as if Neve being freaked out was her only rational response to what had happened the night before.
Truthfully, she was a little freaked out and a little embarrassed too. Or actually a lot embarrassed, but God, she was twenty-five and it turned out that she had needs that couldn’t be satisfied by her own hand and a one-armed read of Anaïs Nin’s Delta of Venus any more.
Sort of, she texted back, and was just about to hit send, when she decided that if Max was hinting at what she thought he was hinting at, then she needed to make her feelings crystal clear. But I want to do it again and next time, I want to return the favour.
She wasn’t sure what time Max’s flight was, but after ninety minutes of cardio and free weights, there was another text from him.
Can’t wait, you naughty girl. Give Keith a kiss for me and have one for yourself.
Max had left a week’s supply of foul-smelling dog food and two pages of instructions about doggie daycare. Neve had expected advice about dog-walking, worming tablets and the vet’s emergency phone number, but it turned out that Max had a very dim view of her dog-sitting abilities:
• Do NOT let him in your bedroom.
• It also goes without saying that he is NOT to sleep on your bed.
• Do NOT let him in the bathroom. He’ll try to drink out of the toilet bowl.
• Do NOT feed him at the table. He eats dog food not human food.
• And do NOT give him chocolate. I’m serious. Human chocolate can make dogs very ill. Have left a bag of liver treats instead.
• He doesn’t like old men, especially if they have walking sticks or zimmer frames.
• He doesn’t like balloons, carrier bags or kites.
• Also avoid small children.
• A small child trying to fly a kite, while holding a balloon and a carrier bag in their other hand would just about finish him off.
By the time Neve went to bed that night, Keith had stayed in the bathroom while she had a shower (and tried to get in the cubicle to drink the water), because he’d barked and scrabbled at the door so hard, she’d feared for her paintwork.
He’d also had a piece of steamed haddock from her plate because she hadn’t been able to eat dinner without his nose in her crotch and his paw prodding her leg until she fed him.
Neve had secretly suspected that Keith wouldn’t have so many emotional issues if Max refused to indu
lge him, but it turned out that she was the softest of soft touches, unable to wield any sort of discipline or say, ‘No, Keith, you have to sleep in the lounge,’ in an authoritative voice.
She’d lasted five minutes until the sound of Keith whimpering and howling and generally giving the impression that he was being tortured had forced her into the living room to pick up his bed, and his toys and his water bowl. But if he had to sleep in her room, then he could do it in his own bed, Neve reasoned as she sat up, eyes fixed on Keith. Every time she took her gaze off him and tried to read, he’d dive out of his bed and start advancing towards her.
‘Back to your basket, you wicked boy,’ she’d say and he’d slink away, eyes downcast, only to be given away by the joyous wag of his stumpy tale, as if it was the best game ever.
It was inevitable – as soon as Neve turned out the light, there was a scrabble of claws on the wooden floor, then a dead weight landed on her feet. ‘Bad dog,’ she snapped, but they could both tell her heart wasn’t in it. Besides, if Keith stayed at the bottom of the bed, he could double up as a hot-water bottle.
Keith had other ideas. He wriggled up the bed on his belly as if he was being stealthy and settled down next to Neve, batting his paws against her back until she was shoved right over and he could put his head on her pillow and pant hot doggy breath against her face.
‘Celia was right,’ Neve grumbled. ‘You are a devil dog.’
Celia hadn’t revised her opinion of Keith when she came round the next evening for Chinese food and sisterly support.
‘I can’t believe you let him sleep on your bed!’ she exclaimed, with a horrified look at Keith, who was watching her every move as she shovelled chicken and cashew nuts into her mouth. ‘He could have savaged you in your sleep and it’s gross and unhygienic.’
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