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“It's okay, Alex.” And for the first time, it really is. Because we've been lost for so long, trying on these roles that never really seemed ours. Mum, Dad. Husband, Wife. They're all characters we play until they begin to seem real. And they do seem real now, as we talk about our son. But we can't lose sight of the people we used to be, either.
“I want to come home,” Alex states firmly. “I want to put Max to bed and turn on the telly and let you put your feet in my lap. I want to leave the toilet seat up to hear you moan at me. I want to wake up in the morning and feel your breath on my face, and your legs slung across my waist so I can't bloody move.”
“You old romantic.” I bite my lip. “Keep going with that smooth talking tongue and who knows where we'll end up.”
“I could talk about watching your breasts leak,” he offers. “Or the fact that your fringe sticks out to the side when you wake up, making you look like something out of Star Wars.”
“Seducer.”
“Temptress.”
“Dirty talker.”
“Sexy bitch.”
I smirk. “Arse licker.”
“Can I come home?”
I don’t miss a beat. “Okay.”
Before I know it I'm in his arms. Alex sweeps me up from the sofa, swinging me until my feet are only just in contact with the ground. We're laughing and crying, our cheeks pressed together, our skin plump with smiles even while damp with tears. He slides his lips along my cheek and everything in my body responds. My mouth falls open, a sigh escaping my lips, as finally he presses a kiss to them.
Soft skin, hard teeth. Tongues slowly tangling until we're short of breath. His fingers dig into my behind, pressing me against him. He's never tasted so sweet; like a treat I've been waiting a lifetime to have. Even though my heart's beating frantically against my chest, our kiss is slow and languid, as if we're taking our time to get to know each other again.
“I've missed you,” he whispers into my mouth. His fingers run up my spine, cupping the back of my head. He drags his lips down my throat, pressing them against my sweet spot, and the muscles in my inner thighs start to quiver. I have to put my hands on his shoulders to steady myself. It feels strange, like coming home to find that something's different. Something I can't quite put my finger on.
“I've missed you, too. Missed this.” My head tips back as he runs his lips to my collarbone, nipping at my skin. His breath is warm, tantalising, and I gasp as he dips his mouth lower.
“Babe.” He reaches the swell of my breasts. “Christ I love these.”
“You do?”
“Mm-hmm.” His words are muffled by my skin. Slowly he pushes my top down, revealing my black lace bra. His fingers trace around the ribbon trim, and I feel my body react, my nipples harden. When he moves his mouth down, sucking me gently through the fabric of my bra, I let out a small moan. My fingers press into his scalp, my nails digging into his skin, and he groans loudly.
“I want to touch you.”
“You are.”
“Everywhere.”
He looks up at me, his eyes dark and round. I see myself reflected back in them. And it's been so long since I felt him, felt this, that I'm breathless and needy.
“Can I take you to bed?” He sounds as desperate as I am. His thumb brushes my nipple, making us both sigh.
I nod quickly, letting him drag me through the living room, pushing the door to the bedroom so hard that it crashes into the wall.
I don't have a chance to check if I made the bed, or if the room is tidy, because before I know it I'm on my back, his body pressing into mine. I feel his chest on my breasts, the line of his erection against my thigh. Then we’re scrambling to undress each other, our shaking fingers releasing stiff buttons, until we are skin against skin.
“Lara, Lara, Lara,” he whispers my name between kisses. Cupping my breasts with rough hands, he pushes them together, lips brushing against one nipple and then the other. “Pretty girl.”
I love it when he calls me that. Pretty. Beautiful. He dances his fingers up my thighs, softly, so softly, and it's all I can do not to cry out. Because he's gentle and sweet, with an edge of dirty. My pretty boy with the potty mouth. We touch and we stroke, hands loving and caressing, and it feels so good it makes me shout out loud.
When he finally pushes inside me, his lips pressed to my ear, his words hot against my cheek, I call out his name. It makes him groan, his hips slamming into mine, his lips stealing my tears like they're some kind of nectar.
We laugh and we weep, giving pleasure and
taking it back. It feels good.
