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“I have a surprise waiting for you back home, baby.” He uncorks the bottle and hands it over.
I feel a tingle of shivers as I take the bottle from his hand.
“Get drinking and enjoy yourself like a teenage rebel,” he laughs. “I’ve had an amazing weekend of new friends, time for you to have an amazing evening of new acquaintances.”
I stare at the bottle in my hands, all thoughts of Sunday dinner fading away. He obviously reads the shock on my face.
“I hoped for a little more enthusiasm from you.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I… I just wasn’t expecting…”
“You mean you’d forgotten?”
“Yes. No. I mean…”
“Shall I call it off? Is that what you want?”
He’s so quick. So harsh.
“No,” I say in an instant. “No, of course not. I’ll love it, I’m sure.”
“Really?”
I nod, giving him a smile. Fake.
“Yeah, of course. It was just a surprise, that’s all.”
I take a swig of champagne as he pulls the car away from the High Street.
That seems to appease him. He grabs my knee as we leave Bucklebury behind us, giving it a tight squeeze.
I wonder what will be waiting for me back at the house. Fuck. In just a few hours’ time I’ll be on the rubber mattress, spread wide.
“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” Ant asks, picking up on my mood.
“A bit.”
“Don’t lie to me, Cass. You’re shitting yourself,” he says. “Why, though? I’d never put you through anything you can’t handle.”
“I know that. I’m just… it’s just intense…”
“That’s how it’s supposed to be, princess. That makes it all the more fun.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Guess so or know so? If you don’t have faith in me, then call time out. Believe me, I’m never going to take advantage of you.”
He’s so genuine. So worried. I see it on his face, and it gives me a pang of shame, because I do want it. I want to make him proud of me. I want to enjoy a night of being a slut for him. His slut. I tell myself that I don’t care who comes through that door, because I’ll give it everything I’ve got.
“I won’t call time out, Ant,” I insist. “I’ll enjoy it, just like I did last time.”
He doesn’t let up.
“I hope you’re not convincing yourself you want something you don’t. I’d rather you were honest.”
“I am being honest,” I tell him. “I want it, I promise.”
“You really want it?”
I think back to being with the two guys last time around. I think about the bearded guy making me come, and how hot Ant was when he fucked me afterwards, and the pride on his face.
“Yes, I really want it. I’m not convincing myself of anything. I know what I want. I want this. With you.”
For you. But I don’t add that part.
“That’s my girl,” he says, and his smile is bold and bright.
Thank fuck for that.
He switches the conversation back to the weekend we’ve had, and how much he’s enjoyed meeting Mum and Dad. He grins as he speaks about Harry and how cute the little guy is and how much he’s looking forward to watching him grow up.
Seeing how much he wants the family life ahead of us makes me even more keen to make his night a good one. I want to indulge every one of his fantasies and enjoy them along with him, because our life will change into one of family and friendships and a climbing frame in the garden. Not one where random guys come into our house and fuck me on a mattress all through the night.
My commitment to the crazy session ahead doesn’t stop my legs trembling as we get closer to Malvern. I could push Ant in a bid to tell me what’s waiting ahead, but I know he wouldn’t want to.
There could be a convoy lined up on the driveway ready to go as soon as we pull through the gates for all I know. Shit. That thought makes me wish there was a fresh bottle of champagne in my hands, even though I’m already drunk enough to feel it spinning my head.
Here we go. The car climbs the hillside, and the house comes into view. Lights off. The gate swings open and there isn’t a convoy waiting for us. I’m grateful for that. I might have time for a few more glasses of fizz before our guests arrive.
I’m a bit unsteady when we park up and he helps me out of the car.
I stand by the front door while Ant gets our cases, smiling at him in a champagne glow. The De Chante has definitely worked its magic.
“Need something to eat?” he asks when we are back inside, but I shake my head.
“No thanks, I’m still stuffed from Sunday roast.”
“Me, too.” He smirks. “Your mum is a superb chef. I might need to take some lessons from her.”
