Page 30 of Elijah
Elijah
aged 28
As Mia moved over me, dropping kisses down my chest, I let out a moan. My dick was hard and every inch of my skin felt sensitive.
“Mia,” I whispered. “Shit, babe.”
“Is that nice?” she asked, giving me a little smirk.
“Nice isn’t the word,” I gasped, arching my back.
“Good. You seemed tense tonight, so I hope I’m helping you relax.”
And boom! My hard on deflated like a fucking two week old balloon. She’d reminded me that before she’d turned up at my house, I’d been festering over my argument with Amy. Damn Amy and those fucking flowers and the fact that seeing her bin them made me feel like I’d swallowed a tennis ball and it’d got stuck right in the middle of my heart – it was her throwing our marriage away, all over again. The feelings one vase of flowers had evoked in me over the last couple of days was pathetic. I was pathetic. Since I’d seen them the day before, my head had been full of memories and I’d spent hours the night before looking at old photographs. Photographs of happier times when Amy had been mine and I’d been hers. As for how I’d reacted earlier, when she’d been about to ditch them, I wished I could redo that ten minutes of insanity, because no fucking way did I want her to see how much she was still hurting me, after all these years.
“Hey, you okay?” Mia asked. “You’ve gone somewhere else.”
She dropped a sweet kiss to the end of my nose and ran a cool palm down my cheek. I shook my head and tried to shift up the bed.
“Sorry, babe. I’m knackered, it’s been a long day.”
“You need a massage?”
“No.” My voice was a little louder than I’d meant. “Sorry, no. I might just get an early night.”
I had no idea why I’d turned down a massage from my girlfriend – maybe because I’m a stupid prick and that used to be Amy’s thing. After a long day gardening, she’d straddle my back, and with her long fingers ease my tense, overworked muscles. It usually led to sex, because that was what Amy did to me whenever she put her hands onto me – made me needy as hell to be inside of her.
“Oh, okay,” Mia said, looking a little dejected. “I’ll get off home.”
The way her shoulders slumped and her eyes dropped to examine her fingers made me feel like shit. She was gorgeous and sweet and I had just treated her like she didn’t matter, when she did. She mattered to me a lot, I just needed to remember that a little more often.
“Why don’t you stay over,” I suggested.
A light came in her eyes. “You sure?”
“Yeah of course,” I replied, running my fingers through her shoulder length hair. “Can’t say I’ll be much company, but as long as you don’t mind that I might fall asleep on you.”
“No, of course not. We don’t have plans tomorrow, so maybe you can make up for it with a long lie in bed in the morning.” She giggled and poked at my bare chest.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing what I hoped looked like a genuine smile. “You know it.”
Mia kissed me gently and I tried hard to wipe my mind of anything else other than her lips, but cinnamon-red hair and hazel eyes kept invading my thoughts. As Mia settled against me, her head tucked under my chin, I looked up at the ceiling, willing the images to go away.
* * *
Mia was in the shower while I made us a late breakfast. I’d been horny enough and relaxed enough to have sex with her when we woke, without a single thought of Amy. It was only after I’d slipped back into bed, after disposing of the condom, and Mia had distractedly traced the tattoo over my heart, that Amy reappeared as the invisible third person in the room.
Waiting for the kettle to boil, I ran a hand down my face and groaned. What the fuck was I going to do? My ex-wife was pushing her way back inside my head and I’d been doing so damn well for the last few months. I’d met Mia, I was letting go of the pain and anger twisting my gut and could actually say her name without feeling as though I was having a heart attack. But two fucking weeks of her being back in my life and I was back to being a damn basket case.
Blowing out a breath, I was pulling a couple of mugs from the cupboard when I heard a knock at the door. I glanced at the clock on the cooker, wondering who would be visiting at eleven on a Saturday morning and realised there’d only be one person; my brother, Sam.
“Morning,” he said brightly as I stood back to let him in. “You look like shit.”
“Cheers,” I replied, glancing in the hall mirror. He had a point. Considering I’d had some good morning sex, my eyes were dull and my lips turned down. Plus, I was dressed a little bit like a serial killer who hid the bodies in the walls of his house – I was wearing pyjama bottoms, an old and faded The Jam t-shirt, which had been my dad’s, and a ratty old cardigan that I think my Grandad had left after a family get together once. Okay, it was weird that I wore the cast offs of my family members, particularly as my grandad was dead, but it was that kind of morning.
“Does Nanna know you still have Grandad’s cardi’?” Sam asked, moving into the lounge.
“No idea,” I replied, following him and shaking my head as he bounced down onto the sofa and propped his feet on the arm.
