by Alam, Donna
Then she takes me all the way inside. It’s everything as I press my palm against her stomach, spreading my fingers wide.
‘You’re so deep inside of me,’ she whispers, covering my hand with hers. Our eyes connect in the moonlight, something passing between us I’m not sure I’ll ever get back. The moment is so sweet and yet so hungered as she begins to rock against me, her movements small and tight, her attention so focused.
‘Oh, God.’
A sigh. A hitch in her breath. A tremor running through her heralding a change of pace. My body surges into hers unrestrained as she begins to ride me with a breathless sort of urgency.
Her beauty makes the blood hum in my veins.
‘Oh, oh, that’s—’
She begins to chant, whisper half sentences, utter words that really don’t make any sense. I curl my hands around her hips, hypnotised by her, all though and reason tumbling into oblivion as I watch her lose herself.
As she reaches her peak, I press up into her, her cry so wanton and wild. I slide my hand up her back, grasping her hair, half maddened by the sight of her, and half by my need.
I buck under her, fuck up into her, my hand tightening in her hair. Her whole body jolts as my lips clamp around her nipple, the need to devour her great.
She tastes of heat and honey. My last coherent thought as nature takes over, blinding me to everything but the sense that I’m losing my heart.
26
Heather
‘Tell me I’m the best again.’
I reach behind me and thump Archer indiscriminately with the side of my fist. ‘I’m pretty sure I didn’t say that.’
‘I’m going to record it next time. You garble the most ridiculously cute stuff when you come.’
We both fall silent maybe at the mention of next time, neither of us willing to start that conversation. I have things to say to him, things to admit, but I’m not even sure where to begin as my eyes adjust to the room illuminated by reading lights set to either side of a wooden headboard. What does this room say about him? His bed is huge, the covers blue. Dark oak floorboards with a colourful rug. The furniture looks Danish and mid-century. It could be reproduction. A double set of drawers. A huge wall mounted TV, a door to the bathroom on one side, the closet on the other.
Does it look like a room that gets a lot of action?
Am I disappointed not to see a sex swing?
‘You may laugh but it’s all true,’ Archer says casually, picking up the thread of conversation. ‘Like you said, I do have the best love truncheon in the world. And I also fuck like a Viking. Although you might’ve said king.’
‘If you don’t know what I said, that definitely means you’re making it up.’
‘I was a little bit busy at the time to pick up the nuance of every word you uttered during your stream of consciousness orgasm. A little bit busy losing my own mind at the time. Through my dick, I think. Whatever that sensation was, it was pretty epic.’
I find myself giggling as I wallop him again. ‘You’re crazy.’
‘Takes a crazy to spot a crazy.’ He tightens his arm around me, burying his face in my hair, completely ignoring the sadness coming from the other side of the bedroom door.
‘Oh, Archer, let him back in.’
With a huff, Archer launches himself from the bed, his feet padding against the dark wooden floor, his tight arse and his toned back a sight to behold.
‘This bloody dog. Get in here, then.’ Door wide, he waves an arm in invitation, a blur of white and tan coming scurrying in.
‘Look, his little tail is between his legs.’ Not that his tail is so little. In fact, there’s nothing at all little about him. Except for maybe his eyes. You’ve frightened him. Oof!’ Elvis the dog jumps on the bed, clambering over me.
‘And you’ve fallen for it. Hook, line, and sinker.’
‘What? What have I fallen for?’ I ask, using my hand to redirect his tongue from my face.
‘I call it kicked dog syndrome. That’s how he ended up coming to live with me. He can really ham it up when he wants something. And he does a convincing limp if he feels you’re not paying him enough attention.’
‘Whatever the mean man says about you isn’t true, is it, lovely?’
‘Oh, you’re lapping up the baby voices, aren’t you a champ? You know he licks his balls with that tongue, don’t you?’
‘You sound jealous. Maybe you should take up yoga.’
‘Ha! Archer flops down on the bed next to me which means I missed the reverse part of the catwalk show, and all that big swinging—
I stop the thought right there.
‘Right, hop it. Literally.’ He tugs on Elvis’s collar and the dog eventually wiggles to the end of the bed, circling twice before flopping down with a definite grumpy huff. He props his big head on his crossed paws. ‘And you can stop glaring at me, you big faker.’
‘You’re not very nice to him.’
‘I am nice to him,’ he replies touchily. ‘In fact, I’m very nice considering that miscreant, last summer alone, ate a pair of brand-new Paul Smith shoes, chewed the corner of an antique Persian carpet, and stole the sandwich out of a toddler’s hand while he sat with his family in Weavers Fields, minding his own business and having a quiet picnic.’ At this, one of Elvis’s triangle shaped ears twitches and I swear he sighs as Archer carries on. ‘He’d eaten half their food before I’d gotten to him. And don’t get me started on Christmas because you don’t need to know how he tried to wear my poor neighbour’s turkey as a hat.’
‘How did he get into your neighbour’s?’ Something tells me I’m about to be told the tale of a wall chewing dog.
‘Two days a week I pay the kid that lives down the hall to sit with him after school. I walk him before work, a dog walker comes for him at eleven, back for one, and the kid is back to watch TV with him at three. I pay for the privilege, of course. At Christmas, the kid thought it might be a good idea to take Elvis to his. Elvis in a non-Elvis proofed house was less than ideal.
‘What happens on the other days you’re working?’
‘He goes to doggy day-care.’
It seems I’m revising my opinions of Archer all the time. It’s one thing to find he actually does own a dog, but another to find what a devoted owner he is, despite his attempts at proving otherwise. You can’t fool me, Archer Powell. You’re more than a little devoted to this mutt.
‘That’s a very London thing, isn’t it? Day care for dogs, I mean.’
‘It’s not as though I can open the door and let him wander through the streets while I’m at work, is it? And it stops him chewing stuff. Plus, socialisation is very important.’
Devoted, see?
‘But despite all that, he thinks he has abandonment issues.’
‘You mean you think he has?’
‘No, I think he’s just a bit stupid because he seems to forget that when I go out, I always come back in.’
‘But that’s the crux of abandonment issues, isn’t it? He’s been rejected before, so he fears he’s not loveable. And because he’s not loveable he doesn’t trust that you will come back.’
‘You’re missing the point, because the point is, I do come back. He’s just forgetful.’
‘You must love him very much,’ I say, sensing Archer isn’t going to agree. As I twist my head over my shoulder, he seems miles away, his gaze still on the end of the bed, his mind someplace else. ‘And he loves you.’
‘He loves expensive shoe leather and peanut butter.’
‘Admit it—you love him.’
‘Well, he’s a pain in the arse, but he’s my pain in the arse. And he’s bloody expensive to keep, so I suppose I must love him, mustn’t it?’ He glances my way, his smile taking on a boyish edge as he tries to suppress it. ‘That seems to surprise you.’
‘No, it’s just.’ I look down at the sheet that I appear to be twisting in my fingertips, because yes it does surprise me but to say so would hardly be compliment. Why wouldn’t Arche
r Powell love? ‘We never had a dog when I was growing up, just a temperamental cat. I suppose you hear of dogs being so hard to look after and so many of them get abandoned.’
‘Doesn’t mean it’s right. He’s already been in kennels once.’
‘You took him there?’
‘No, that’s where I got him. I couldn’t take him back there. Not after he channelled Scooby Doo to get me to take him home with me.’
‘That’s who he reminds me of!’ I suddenly realise. Different colouring but the same large head and dopey smile. Yes, it would seem that dogs do smile.
‘He wasn’t in the local council kennels but was with a charity with a partiality to rehabilitating the Boxer breed.’
‘Is that what he is?’
‘Maybe one part of him. The other fifty-six parts belongs to Heinz. You know, Heinz fifty-seven varieties? He’s a mutt. He was in one of their kennels with another couple of dogs and when they opened it, he bowled me over. Literally—swept my feet from under me, plonked himself on my legs and wouldn’t get off. It wasn’t until I’d signed the paperwork that I saw the sign on the kennel door.
Elvis, a mixed breed who believes he is Pekinese. Likes hugs, long walks in the park, running away from you on long walks in the park, staring into your soul in order to get all the hugs. Dislikes trance music, not getting all the hugs, and peeing where he’s supposed to. He had issues written all over him.’
‘But you still took him home anyway?’
‘What choice did I have? He weighs thirty-five kilos and he was sitting on me. Besides, as we left the kennels it meant I got to utter those immortal words; Elvis has left the building.’ And yes, Archer also does the whole Elvis snarl-sneer lip thing.
‘You may say that but we know you really took him home because he woofs you.’ I make a heart shape with my thumbs and index fingers. Isn’t that right, Elvis?’
‘Don’t even think about it.’ Archer points his finger at Elvis, his tone stern. ‘Heather might be a soft touch but I’m not.’ While I suspect this a show for my benefit, Elvis still settles back in his spot. ‘Now, where were we?’ Archer adds, a particular note in his tone.
‘We were talking?’
‘I think we were snuggling.’ He reaches a broad arm around me, pulling my bum into the cradle of his hips, his legs slotted behind mine, which is fine because there’s a bedsheet between us, so it’s—oh, scratch that. We’re now skin to skin, my nerve endings like fire reacting to the brush of coarse hairs on his thighs. Archer lifts my wrist settling it over the sheet, his fingers trailing a path up the inside of my arm, the pads of his fingers tickling the sensitive skin. It’s so strange how the soft touch radiates all the way to my centre, my breasts tingle and my nipples pebble, aching for his attention.
‘And if I recall correctly,’ he murmurs, his mouth just a whisper away from my ear, ‘you were telling me how good I am in bed.’
‘I’m pretty sure I wasn’t.’
‘Then feel free to do so now while we snuggle.’
Snuggling does feel sort of important, or maybe it’s just a way of numbing ourselves.
‘No compliments for my manly vigour? Then maybe you’re ready to tell me what you were doing in the Spit and Sawdust tonight?’
I don’t want to, but I owe him at least that, don’t I? I dread to think what might’ve happened if he hadn’t been there. A scene, definitely, no matter how discreet their staff tried to be. I clear my throat, my words when they come sort of tremulous.
‘You know I don’t have a lot of experience with men, right?’
‘I know.’ His answer is even, his tone void of any teasing inflection. Will this make things easier or harder to explain?
‘And you asked me what I was doing trawling Tinder, or E-Volve. I suppose the honest answer is that I was trying to get a little more experience. See, I didn’t tell you the truth about last Saturday. I didn’t get dumped by my boyfriend because I didn’t have one. I-it wasn’t a complete lie. I’d been seeing someone but I was only going out with him so I wouldn’t have to go alone. I hadn’t even kissed him.’ I tighten my hand over his as I feel him move behind, worried that he might pull away, maybe try to turn me so we’re face to face. I don’t think I could take that. ‘And then you were great—so great. I mean, you were also annoying and all sorts of other things, but with you by my side, the day was so much easier. But it also made me realise how dismissive I’ve become about, well, relationships. About men. It sort of made me see what I’m missing out on. Connections. The chance to find love. To settle down at some point.’
As I witter on, Archer remains silent and I can’t help wonder who the next woman will be to lie with him like this. Will she see the side of him that I’ve seen? Will she see him better than I have? Past the accusations and the shortcomings I’d plastered him with before I’d really known him? What will she be like? And the woman after her, and the one after that?
‘So you’re going to put yourself out there? You want to date. Properly?’
‘No, not just date. I suppose ultimately I want to fall in love. I want to settle down.’ To have what Miranda has, probably without the millions. ‘Don’t worry. I know that’s not you.’ I twist my head over my shoulder, I can’t see his face properly to read his expression. I press my head back to the pillow again. ‘I promise I’m not one of those women who thinks they can change you. I’ve no bunnies to boil—I’m vegetarian. And I’m too lazy to stalk anyone.’
‘I’m not sure you’ll find what you’re looking for using E-Volve,’ he offers gruffly.
‘Vee, my friend, she pretty much said the same. But it’s really just for practice. Not real.’ I lick my lips a little nervously, pressing his hand tighter to me. ‘You remember Barney?’
‘Something tells me we aren’t talking about the kiddies purple dinosaur.’
‘The man we bumped into in the reception of Frambrough Castle.’
‘Yeah, I remember,’ he says, his tone flat. And for good reason, I suppose. That moment was all such a mess. ‘He was your lunch date.’
Not really, but I suppose indicating the difference is pretty pointless. ‘I’m so sorry about that. You know, I wouldn’t have dreamt of making you come.’
A puff of laugher moves disturbs strands of my hair, making them dance in the periphery of vision.
‘Oh, I got that, babe. No need to labour over that point.’
I pin the sheet to my chest as I turn, pulling myself to sit up as Archer remains on his side, arm bent, and his head propped on his open palm. It’s a kind of angelic pose for one so devilish.
‘You wouldn’t have wanted to come—I know you wouldn’t have. To my parents’ house? To sit through a lunch with people you don’t even know after what we did the night before?’
Is it possible for someone to shrug, lying in the position he’s in? I’m pretty sure he just did. ‘I don’t have an issue with my poker face.’
‘Be reasonable.’
‘It wasn’t nice being dismissed. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘That’s not what happened,’ I almost splutter.
‘You were pretty horrified.’
‘On your behalf! Can you imagine—really? A lunch more awkward was probably never had! I’m sure there were a hundred places you’d have rather been. Including the dentist’s chair. Having a root canal.’
‘If I dig out a magnifying glass, would I find an apology somewhere it that?’
My cheeks begin to sting. I totally misread the situation—I thought I was helping him. Or was I helping me? Avoiding the situation. Escaping? One or all of those things?
‘Archer, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt your feelings like that.’
‘That might be a little strong,’ he mutters, like he’s embarrassed to have brought it up. ‘But this bloke, Barney. You were about to say something about him.’
‘Barney. Yes, well, William really. He’s wants to take me out next time he’s in London.’
‘Right.’ His brows low
er, his jaw tightening. ‘I fail to see what that has to do with you being out with that fucking Muppet earlier tonight.’
‘This is what I’ve been trying to tell you.’ Holy mother of pearl, this calls for some big girl knicker wearing. ‘I went onto E-Volve to find someone to date. For practice.’
‘You want to practice dating for this Barney? The blond? Because you don’t have a lot of experience with men?’
‘Yes,’ I answer simply, relieved he seems to be getting it. Finally!
‘That’s fucking ludicrous. You’re going to fuck a load of men to get a bit of experience?’ It’s almost like he puts air quotes around the words. ‘Is that what you’re doing here? Is that why you’ve fucked me?’
‘Do you want a punch? Because you’re going the right way about getting one.’
I know violence is never the answer but in light of what he just said, I think there are plenty of women who wouldn’t have even given him the option.
‘I’ve just repeated what you said—exactly what you said.’
‘No, you twisted it into something dirty!’ I swing my legs out of the bed, my fingers clutching the sheet to my chest as my feet hit the ground with a thud. I get three steps before Archer’s grip on the linens pulls me to a stop, yanking me back a couple of steps.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘Home,’ I yell, trying to pull the sheet from his grip. Oh, fuck it! I let it fall. It’s not like this is anything he hasn’t already seen. Seen. Touched. Owned. Just like his gaze is doing now as I stomp around the bedroom, snatching up my clothes. Pants. Bra. Knickers, or what used to pass for them. The rest of my clothes under my arms, I shake them out, angrily trying to untangle them.
‘Come back to bed, Heather.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘Heather, please. I’m not going to let you leave like this.’ He swings his long legs out of the bed, slipping on a pair of Hugo Boss boxer briefs as I try not to watch. Elvis’s nails tap against the wooden floor as his master makes his way over to me, taking the balled clothes from under my arm, throwing them in the direction of the bed. I don’t fight him for them or offer to punch him again because it takes everything I have in me not to give into tears. Not to crumble in front of him.
