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We sit down to dinner at my tiny little table in the living room and he’s even put a flower in a tiny vase. He pours a glass of elderflower water for each of us and proposes a toast.
“To new beginnings,” he says, and I drink to that.
Tucking into my dinner, I discover he really did push the boat out; the flavours are strong but complementary and he’s thrown in tiny shards of carrot and Spanish sausage to mix it up.
“It’s really good,” I tell him, diving in for more.
“Good, it’s kept me busy most of the day. Not much else to do.”
I know he’s scared of going out because of the urge to drink. Plus, if he calls any one of his friends to meet up, he’ll be the social pariah not wanting a drink. That’s half the battle for Paul, I think. Drink is so ingrained in both of our social lives.
“How was your day?” he asks.
“I’ve been offered something new.”
I let him absorb that for a moment as I chew through another mouthful.
“Yeah, what?” He stares at me, surprised.
“They want me to work with the police. Apparently, I’ve impressed my colleagues and now they want me to be a consultant on mental health related calls that come in. It’d be crazy shifts but I’d get more days off in between and it’s better pay, more challenging and intense but on the front line, so to speak.”
“Is that really a thing?” His eyes are wide.
“Yeah, it’d involve prioritising which calls are most urgent. It’s getting to be a major thing now. They’re getting all these calls. And did you know, a great percentage of homeless people have mental health issues and the police try to intervene when they can. I mean, it’s not like there’s people like me on the streets to advise… the police are overwhelmed with mental health-related incidents. They’re taking on so much themselves and they need help from people like me. It’s going to be a reality check, let’s just say that.”
Paul stares at me and smiles. “You’re amazing, you know. You really are.”
I’m lying in bed wondering if I should cave and let him in. After dinner we sat and watched TV, his arm around me, our bellies full of pasta and then the chocolate bombe he bought in for me, too. I’m not sure I’m ready to trust him again, that’s all. It’s also crossed my mind that if I do take the new position, will that make it easier for Paul to drink when I’m not here? Not only drink… but who knows what. Can I trust him?
It’s been a few days now going without and I’m horny but also still resolved to make him pay for how much he hurt me. Also, I can’t get Theo out of my mind. He really stuck up for me and pushed back against that gross saying ‘bros before hoes’. He’s also not messaged me all week and it hurts. He’s probably my best friend. The girls have always been here for me and always will be, but only Theo seems to have understood me when I’ve talked to him about my feelings for Paul and how for so long, they felt unrequited. I miss him. I do. He kipped on my sofa many times after a few drinks, but he also sort of crept into my daily routine. We’d always text good morning, even goodnight. I’d tell him about something gross I saw on the way home from work, because there’s a lot to see on the city streets, and he’d tell me about his latest disastrous audition and how he knew he wasn’t going to get it so performed the whole thing in a Glaswegian accent just for kicks, even though he was going up for a role as a scouse or a cockney. He kept me going during some of my darkest ever days. And where was Paul? With his cock either in that older blonde woman… or the Japanese girlfriend he so far hasn’t mentioned at all.
I switch off the bedside lamp and lie back, looking up at the ceiling. My mind is whirring and it doesn’t feel like it’s going to switch off anytime soon. I consider turning the light back on and reading a chapter of the book Theo bought me for Christmas – it’s been slow reading with my heart so mashed up all the time. Probably not worth trying again. I’ve had this inability to settle down to anything ever since Paul fucked me and left me at that hotel. I try to get calm and focus on reading or watching a film or something, but my mind always wanders to the stuff he did and how my heart still feels like it has a hole in it.
I reach into my bedside drawer and bring out the rabbit. It might be the only thing to get me off and get me to sleep. Tugging down my pyjama bottoms, I kick them the rest of the way off and whip my top off over my head. Lubing up the rabbit, I grin knowing that even if I have it on the lowest setting, Paul will still hear it from the next room. The thrumming noise will be unmistakable and also, I’m more often than not unable to stop myself moaning because of how good this thing is.
Spreading my legs, I push the cool head of the rabbit against my clit and tease myself a bit, rubbing around my clit in circles to get the party started. Playing with my nipples, they’re hard in no time and I let my legs fall loose so I’m fully open beneath the duvet. Why do we need men when there are unyielding plastic objects to make us go wild? I don’t know… because an orgasm with one of these inside you is something new entirely.
I wait until the tip of the rabbit is warm and I feel wet and ready. I’m thinking about Paul, imagining him watching me. He’s got a hard-on, watching, his hand against the doorframe, his cock stood up and flicking back and forth, possessed with energy and need. I plunge the rabbit inside me and slip it in and out a few times. God, I need to be filled, all the time. It’s insane. Ever since Paul that Christmas, when we fucked in Chloe’s mum’s downstairs bathroom, I’ve been dying and wishing for another night like that. I thought I got it at Adam’s wedding, but that was just… pity. He fucked me out of pity. Whereas our Christmas fucking felt like more – it felt like Paul trying to win me or save me or make me his. It felt natural, unrehearsed and real.
I bite my lip trying not to moan when I flick the rabbit into motion, the little prongs vibrating against my clit, the head swirling and throbbing inside me. It’s almost criminal how quickly I feel the blood stir beneath my clit, a volcanic eruption pending. I can only hold it in place as my body caves, giving in to this ridiculous double pleasure. I squeeze my eyes shut, legs shaking, as my pussy contracts wildly down the length of the rabbit, gushing and bearing down hard on the thick pink shaft of glorious naughtiness inside me. I can’t help a little welp escape me as I turn the rabbit off and still continue to ride the shocks rippling through my core. It was quick, almost too easy and too deep, but it’s better than nothing.
In the dark I search for my robe and knot it tight at my waist. I jam the rabbit in my pocket and put my hand on the doorknob, listening out for any sign of life out there. Doesn’t sound like it.
I open the door and hear the unmistakable sound of a hand gripping a cock tight and slapping up and down against it. My eyes are adjusted to the dark so in the few seconds I have before catching him out, I see he’s completely naked and has his legs spread, wanking himself off like a fiend. His stomach muscles are ripped, his body on the cusp, his thighs thick and jiggling. Wow. So did he hear me? Or is this what he does every night?
I switch the living-room light on and immediately, he grabs the covers and tries to smother what it is he’s been doing. He turns his head to check out why I’m here and looks breathless.
“What? I wasn’t doing anything. Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
I burst out laughing and head for the bathroom as quick as I can, slamming the door behind me. I have to bite my tongue as I wash the rabbit under the water, trying not to laugh out loud.
Taking a deep breath, I head back into the living room and discover he’s fully bundled up, embarrassed and ignoring me. I chuckle to myself and switch the light off as I pass back into the bedroom. I don’t think about what I do next.
I disrobe and climb into bed naked, lying still, waiting to see if he notices I haven’t shut the door. It takes him a few minutes before he’s in the doorway, the city light behind him illuminating his tall, masculine outline. He’s naked but I can’t see the front of him which is in shadow.
“What were you doing?” he asks, the grit in his voice making my clit ache again.
“What do you think I was doing?”
