Page 96 of Kiwi Gold
He’d also been, I suspected, a fiercely loyal and utterly devoted husband. And an infuriating, overprotective, rock-solid, bloody good dad.
42
PROBABLY NOT PMT
Laila
I waited ages. At first, I walked around in that way you do when you can’t possibly sit still, even though it was close to eleven o’clock now, and I needed to be up again at six. After a while, though, when clarity refused to come and all I had was a jumble of contradictory thoughts fighting it out in my head, I sat down on the couch again and started to read those articles.
I hadn’t studied them, not really. I’d just picked out a few that seemed to offer actually practical advice, rather than, “Take the time to set the mood,” and so forth. Obviously you wanted to set the mood. Candles. Wine, possibly, given my new depravity. Nice undies, music, no kids popping up out of bed, and all that. Iknewthat, even if I hadn’t done it much. What you didafterthe mood was set—that was the part I was unclear on. And when you were unclear, you studied, right?
I was so engrossed, in fact, that I didn’t hear the footsteps, and when the three soft raps came at the door, I jumped, then flew to the door and opened it.
He didn’t walk straight in and kiss me, the way I’d thought, and he didn’t do any of those other things in the articles, either. He said, “I think we should wait.”
“Well, obviously,” I said. “I told you—I’m on my period.”
He blinked, but said, “Right, then. That could be another reason, if it bothers you. Also, it’s late.”
I was a go-along person. I was also a timid person, or I’d always thought I was. So why didn’t I say, “Of course. See you tomorrow,” shut the door, and salvage what remaining dignity I had? No idea, but what I said was, “Whatever your reason is, I don’t care. I’ve repressed my sexuality for years, I’ve repressedmyself,and what good has it done me? You said you’d show me how. Right, then—I want you to do it. Unless there’s some other reason, unless you reallydon’twant to do it, or—” I stopped. “Oh. Youdon’twant to do it. My dad, or me mentioning my period, or that I said I loved you, or …”
Three young blokes passing on the pavement below the stairs had stopped, I realized, and were looking up at us. I was in the heart of the CBD in a university town, emoting like I was performing for an audience. How had I gone from a modest woman who didn’t show her body or take down her hair to somebody standing outside in her dressing gown, said hair falling around her in exactly the way she’d been taught it shouldn’t, practically shouting about her sexuality and her menstrual situation to every passerby?
Lachlan said, “What? Of course I want to do it!” That came out louder than usual, too, and one of the blokes said, “Too right, mate.”
Lachlan, who hadn’t seen them, spun around and said, “Piss off.” They started to laugh, one of them muttered something I didn’t quite hear, and Lachlan was halfway down the stairs in the blink of an eye.
I didn’t think. I went racing after him, not caring that my dressing gown was probably falling open, grabbed his elbow, and said, “No. Stop. Come on.”
“Yeh, come on, bro,” one of the blokes, the tallest one, said. “She wants you.” The same one who’d talked before.
Suddenly, I was furious. It was like a switch had flipped, and I was advancing on him like the Fury I never was, asking him, “Why are you trying to ruin this? To laugh at this? How does that make you feel good? This is mylife.I’ve got two little girls. I’ve got a … a deadhusband.And I want to have a life! You’ve got a mum. You’ve got a sister, probably. They want to have a life, too! They don’t want some random fella on the street saying … saying horrible things to them, making them feel dirty. Why would you do it? What does it help?”
All of them backed up. One muttered something that might have been, “Sorry,” and started walking away. The second one hesitated, but the tall one said, “You shouldn’t talk about it in the street, then.” As for Lachlan? He was barely holding back. I could feel the tension vibrating in him like piano wire. He was about to hit this bloke in the neck, and I knew it.
“You’re right,” I said. “I did that, because this is emotional for me, because I’m in love with him and it’s all too complicated and I … I …”
Oh, no. I was going to cry.Lachlan said, “Laila. Come on, sweetheart. Come into the house.” Now, he was the one draggingme,but at least we were going in the right direction. Also, the blokes were leaving. Not completely steadily, because they may have been a bit drunk. I recognized that condition now, because I was officially imperfect, sinning all over the shop.
I managed to tell Lachlan, “S-sorry. I was … it was … well, PMT, probably. We know it wasn’t wine.” And tried to laugh.
He didn’t answer. He’d pulled the door open again and was taking me through it, and he wasn’t telling me that we shouldn’t, and I wasn’t telling him again that it was probably PMT, or just too many changes too fast. Instead, he had his hands in my hair, and he was kissing me, walking me backward until my legs hit the couch and I collapsed into it. He had one hand in my hair, still, and the other one was holding me around the waist, keeping me from falling.
I hadn’t known a man could kiss like this. With his hand wrapped around your hair, his mouth that hungry, like he was starving for you. I was gasping, and he was taking advantage of it and going deeper, then pulling back and kissing my cheek, kissing his way to my ear, and under it.
Now, it was soft, and I was shivering.PMT again,my brain tried to say, that surge of lustful hormones you got just when it did you the least good, but I couldn’t think about it, because he was kissing my neck, and his hand was cupping the back of my neck again. It was a big hand, and a hard one, but it was gentle, and so was his mouth. And they were burning me up.
* * *
Lachlan
I was all the way past thinking. Laila was bent all the way back, her head almost at the arm of the couch, and I was holding her up with one hand, a hand that was still wrapped in her hair, because I couldn’t not touch that. She was making a little noise now, though she was trying to suppress it, and that was heating me up more. I thought,Be careful, mate. Be gentle.And I was trying. I was.
Until I found exactly the right spot on her neck, she turned her head farther to give me access, arched her back, got her hand in my hair, and said, “Oh. Oh, do it there. Kiss me there. Do it harder.” After that? I was in trouble. My hand was splayed over her chest, and I was sliding it inside the vee of her dressing gown. Silk on the back of my hand, and silk against my palm, because that was how her skin felt. We were on her client couch, surrounded by babies, and I didn’t care.
Ididcare, though, that that couch was about half size and slippery, and that between the silky fabric of her dressing gown and the fact that I was several sizes too big for the furniture, we kept sliding. She must have thought the same thing, because she said, “Lachlan,” pushed off, and slid straight down onto the carpet, then reached up to pull me with her.
I didn’t go. I said, “No. Not on the floor,” and pulled her up again, settling her right over my lap, her knees against the leather and her mouth under mine.
