‘Stunningandsplendid,’ River manages to get out, his voice sounding much higher than the usual deep baritone. I realise then that the wobble in his voice is actually suppressed laughter. I feel my lips twitch in response.
Mrs Casablancas waves away the compliments, ambling over to River and taking an extremely resistant Squish from his arms. ‘It’s what I do, honey. Don’t forget to bring over the jeans when you have a moment. I have plenty of ideas for them. No need to pay me for the hat today, okay? We can settle the bill once the jeans are done too.’ She throws us both a benevolent look before marching out of the houseand back into her own apartment, humming happily to herself and to Squish as she goes.
As soon as she’s left, River covers his mouth with both hands, eyes big circles. He immediately cracks up into laughter, bending over at the waist, shoulders shaking. ‘Wha-ha-ha-hat has she done?’
‘Shhh,’ I giggle. ‘Oh my God.’
I race over, stand on my toes and take the hat off his head. We inspect it together. In between the green sequins and orange rhinestones, there are shiny little black beads in the shape of love hearts.
River runs his hand over the felt fabric. ‘She actually did a great job on the tear.’
‘Ah look, the bedazzling is only on this ribbon!’ I point out. ‘Phew! You can take it off when you leave and no one need ever know what happened here today.’
River snatches the hat from me and drops it back onto his head. ‘Now why would I want to do that? You don’t think I can pull off a little zhuzh?’
He twirls then, hands on his hips, gap-toothed grin on full show. I laugh and when he catches my eye his smile slowly drops, my laugh fades away and the tension from just moments ago in the bathroom returns full throttle.
‘I think maybe we should, um, pick up where we left off,’ I say, my voice already trembling with desire. ‘That is, if you don’t mind?’
A slow smile spreads across River’s face. He trails his hand across my throat, dancing his fingers across the bareskin of my collarbone. Then he leans down and whispers into my ear.
‘I’m gonna work those good manners right out of you.’
And with that sentence shooting straight to the top of my list ofhottest things I’ve ever heard, River grabs a fistful of my dress, impatiently lifting it above my head and tossing it onto the sofa. His hands move swiftly over the fabric of my bra. He unhooks it expertly and buries his face into my breasts, making a noise that sounds like pure relief. When he steps back and undoes his shirt, I inhale sharply. There he is, in nothing but his jeans. Just like he was on the first day he appeared here. How could so much have happened since then? How could so much have changed?
River takes me in slowly, deliberately studying me like I’m a work of art he’s admiring. ‘You’re fucking beautiful,’ he murmurs, breath hitching slightly.
I think about my left boob that is slightly bigger than the right. The two matching scars on my lower belly from my endometriosis surgery six years ago. The fact that my knickers aren’t lacy or sexy, just plain black cotton from M&S. But River is doing a fine impression of a man who means what he says. I glance down. The thick strain beneath his jeansshowsme he means what he says.
The last time Henry and I slept together – about twenty-two hours before he told me he wanted us to go on a break – I remember realising that something was amiss. That curl of nerves in my stomach that just knew something was off. In the bedroom we’d gone through the motions, me trying todo something more interesting with my body, wearing pink crotchless underwear because he’d recently talked about wanting life to be a bit more exciting. And I had gathered that bylifehe’d meantme.
He’d snickered a little when he’d seen me in the lacy underwear. I’d laughed along too, because who did I think I was? We both knew I was not the sexy type. I never had been. Yes, I could get the job done, but I wasn’t some femme fatale. It was weird to think I ever could be.
But the way River’s eyes are feasting on me …
He scoops me up easily, carries me over to the bed, lays me out on the sheets and gazes at me like he wants to devour me in one swift gulp. He presses his hands down onto my thighs and squeezes the flesh with a groan. ‘Tell me what you need,’ he sucks his bottom lip in, eyes blazing. ‘I want to hear you say it. Out loud.’
No one’s ever asked me that before. What I need. I’m not sure I’d even know the answer if they had. Except I find now that I do. I very muchdoknow the answer.
‘Use your mouth,’ I pant, raising my voice so that he can hear my words amidst the other noises I’m making without quite believing that it’s me, Gertie Bickerstaff, who is making them.
‘Fuck, yes.’
He growls as we scramble to slide off my underwear. When he finally presses his lips hungrily against me, flattening his tongue and licking rhythmically like I’m ice cream and he’s a man dying of heat exhaustion, I lose it.
‘Faster,’ I breathe impatiently. ‘Firmer.’
He obeys, curling his tongue into a flick with each quickening stroke.
He pulls back for a moment. ‘Fucking beautiful,’ he says again. ‘Truly.’
And then, just as I’m about to ask, he slips his fingers inside of me, eyes fixed on mine.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘That. Oh God,that.’
‘Yeah?’ He curls his finger in and out, a slow, deep, come-hither motion.
‘Yes.Yes.’
