Page 49 of Swiping Right (and other disasters)

Kiera’s brain was full of this moment, this woman, this sensation. The rest of the world faded away. This was more than the hormone-fuelled sex she’d enjoyed with Clodagh all those weeks ago. This was different, it meant even more, it felt even better.

Seymour drew her fingers back and forth slowly and steadily. Kiera had one arm tightly around Seymour and the other above her head, eyes closed, letting it all happen. Soon she could bear it no more and came loudly, sighing in relief as the spasms eased. “Wow,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll talk in a bit.”

“Take your time. Oh my God, you’re so gorgeous. Your pink cheeks. Ugh. Gorgeous,” said Seymour, rolling over to lie beside Kiera’s spent form. She closed her eyes and brought her hands up to her head. She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped.

They lay there, side by side for several minutes. Breathing.

“Well,” said Kiera eventually. “That was impressive. I still have my bra and pants on.”

“And you look incredible in them.”

“You look incredible in yours, too,” said Kiera, “but now they need to come off.” She sat Seymour up and without fuss removed her bra, dipping her head to kiss her breasts. Seymour arched her back, then reached out to Kiera’s bra. Seconds later they were both naked, and Kiera eased herself on top of Seymour, who sighed with the quiet intimacy of it all.

“You feel incredible,” said Kiera, closing her eyes. Gently, she kissed Seymour’s lips and then slowly began to kiss her neck, her chest, her arms, her breasts. She made her way down her stomach, Seymour’s eyes closed and her arms flung above her head. Keira’s mouth moved below her belly and Seymour gasped. “You taste incredible,” said Kiera, before returning to giving Seymour the pleasure she knew she deserved.

Seymour’s orgasm came quickly, but more quietly than her own. She brought her hands down to stroke Kiera’s hair and then pulled her back up to lie on top of her. For a time they held each other and breathed together. Kiera couldn’t stop replaying the evening, the words they were saying, the things they were doing, the events running through her head.

“I can feel you smiling,” said Seymour, her voice muffled.

“That’s because I am. Oh,” Kiera stopped talking; Seymour had reached down to slide her fingers inside her.

“Still smiling?”

“Mmhmm,” said Kiera unevenly. Her breathing hitched and she went with the moment, rocking in time with Seymour’s movements. There was no urgency this time, just a sense of closeness, of wholeness. Kiera felt she might be able to live in this moment forever, somewhere between real life and ecstasy.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Kiera eased her foot off the accelerator as her satnav beeped to inform her there was a speed camera coming up. She wasn’t normally one to zip up the outside lane at eighty miles per hour, but sometimes, needs must. She was unshowered and still in yesterday’s clothes. She’d managed to pick up a chocolate bar and some cola to keep her going as she flew down the M50 to North Wales. She could hear her phone vibrating, probably with messages from Seymour, but she couldn’t think about that now. She had to get to her destination and she had to do it quickly. She checked her watch. She had just under ninety minutes. She had to make it.

This hadn’t been how she’d expected her day to pan out.

She’d woken in Seymour’s flat to the sounds of breakfast being prepared. The smell of pancakes had greeted her, and brought a smile to her face. Could she really be this lucky?

Kiera shook her head. She had to concentrate on the drive. The next exit would take her to the layby near Prospect House. Nestled in the North Wales hills, she knew it might be tricky to find. Off the motorway now, she turned off the radio so she could focus better. She had to get there. She could feel her heart beating faster with every passing mile, and tutted every time she came to a red light.

“Nutella or strawberries on your pancakes?” Seymour’s voice from the kitchen just an hour or so before had been warm, and Kiera’s smile had broadened.

“Both, surely,” she’d called, laughing. Laughter felt a world away now. And so did the Seymour who had instructed her to stay in bed while she finished breakfast.

Kiera had turned over and closed her eyes. Breakfast in bed, without complication or angst. She must have done something right to deserve this.

A queue of traffic appeared in front of Kiera’s Micra. She swore, in a more creative way than she’d thought herself capable of. She zoomed out on the Sat Nav to see if there was an alternative route. There was, but it would add an extra seventy miles to her journey. She couldn’t afford that. She had to hope that the traffic would clear. There must be a breakdown up ahead. She could hear sirens approaching, and the cars behind her began to pull onto the side of the road. She did the same, applying her handbrake and turning off the engine. This wasn’t good. She picked up her phone and looked back at the message which had cut short her breakfast.

“Help me. They won’t let me leave. Sending a pic of a map. Please, I think I can get to the layby for 11.45, but I can’t stay long. They’ll notice. I need you. Please. I know you hate me. I’m sorry. But they’re moving us soon and I don’t know where to next. C x”

It was at that moment that Seymour had come in with a tray, complete with teapot, cups and a plate piled with pancakes. “What’s wrong?” asked Seymour, immediately spotting the distress on Kiera’s face.

“I need to go. I’m sorry. I have something, somewhere to, well, someone to get to.” Kiera struggled to put her words together in a meaningful way as she dragged herself out of bed and threw on her clothes, which were strewn across the floor.

“Sorry, I don’t understand,” said Seymour, putting down the tray. “What’s happened? Do you need my help?”

“I can’t ask you to help. Look, I’ll call later. I just need to go and sort this out.”

Before Seymour could respond, Kiera had brushed past her, whispering “sorry” as she left. The front door slammed on her way out – an accident, but was that how Seymour would hear it? “Sorry,” she called out again, both for her departure and for the slamming.

Kiera looked at her watch. She still had time. She could still get there. She dialled Clodagh’s number. “So,” came the voice, “how was it?”

“What? Oh, yes, good. That’s not why I’m calling,” said Kiera.

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