Page 50 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

‘My ears might never recover,’ Gus whined.

Sutton laughed. ‘Man up, dude.’

Sutton was glad to see him looking relaxed, amusement lightening his eyes. Taking her hand, he pulled her into him, slid his lips across hers and gently spun her so her back rested against his chest. She shared his beer and laughed as a couple butchered a Taylor Swift song and a floppy-haired Hugh Grant lookalike slayed Eminem’s ‘Lose Yourself’.

She stroked her thumb over the back of Gus’s hand, flat against her stomach. He responded by pushing his half-hard cock into her lower back, a reminder of the naked fun still to come. It was subtle foreplay, a stroke, lifting her hair away from her neck and kissing the tender spot where it met her shoulder. Occasionally she’d place her hand on his thigh and squeeze, wiggle her butt just a little, to let him know she was there, anticipating the pleasure to come.

There was a lot to be said for delayed gratification.

‘Ready to go?’ Gus asked, his voice low in her ear. She watched another inebriated couple stumble off the stage, laughing uproariously. They’d been dreadful but didn’t seem to care. But she’d seen enough of drunken people making fools of themselves, and it was time to go, time to do what they most wanted to do…

She nodded, turned to face him and looped her arm around his neck. Despite wearing heels, she wasn’t tall enough to reach his mouth, so she stood on her tiptoes, her lips skating over his. His hand drifted over her hip and onto her lower back, pulling her into him, and his hard dick pushed into her stomach. She sighed as his tongue twisted around hers. She wanted him so damn much. She’d never had this instantaneous, hot, I’ll-die-if-I-you-don’t-take-me feeling with anyone before, not like this. It was new and petrifying.

How would she find the willpower to walk away?

The microphone screeched, and Sutton pulled away from Gus. She winced and raised a hand to her ear as the high-pitched sound bounced around her brain. She was done, she wanted to be alone with Gus. She slid her hand into his, their fingers intertwining as they pushed their way through the crowd to the exit. Sutton made a mental checklist, coats, taxi, hotel, bed…

Naked.Nice.

‘I’m not singing, dammit!’

Sutton braked at the high-pitched, slightly drunk, tear-soaked voice, and turned to look at the stage. Gus turned as well, and Sutton took in the tiny brunette teetering on sky-high heels. She wore her hair in a blunt-cut bob and Sutton liked her scarlet shade of lipstick. The rest of her face was bone white, and she was shaking.

She winced and knew whatever was coming would electrify the room. The crowd at the front of the room tittered and Sutton stood on her toes. Frustrated, she looked up at Gus, who was tall enough to see. ‘What’s happening?’ she demanded.

‘Some guy is begging her to get off the stage…ohshit, it’s Owen.’

She’d met Owen earlier, and he introduced them to his wife, Alice, a lovely, stylish and witty woman who thought Owen made the world spin. Sutton decided they were who she’d like to be when she hit her early sixties. Elegantly dressed, effortlessly confident, at home in their skins and with each other.

They’d explained they were about to celebrate their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary and couldn’t decide where to go to celebrate. Sutton suggested Cape Town, followed by a safari, and they’d both been thrilled by her recommendations of places and things to do.

They planned to spend the next day researching, and could they phone her if they had any questions?

‘Oh,fuck.’

Sutton heard Gus’s curse and saw Owen’s wife standing off to the side of the room, her hand clutching her thick gold chain. Even though the lights were turned down low Sutton caught her tight mouth and her wobbling chin.

‘No, dammit, I’m sick of you promising to tell her, promising to leave and then doing nothing about it.’

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Gus muttered, his hand tightening around hers. Okay, this was interesting and compelling, in a car-crash kind of way, but she didn’t think Gus was close enough to the couple to be so upset over their marital drama. All the colour had leached from his face and his eyes looked a little wild.

‘We’ve been sleeping together for a year, and with me, you don’t need Viagra!’ Oh, ouch! And too much information! ‘I’m sick of lying and I’m very sick of sharing you with her!’ The brunette placed her hand on her chest and the microphone wobbled in her other hand. ‘I’m sick of being your moon, Owen!’

Your moon? What was she talking about? Sutton heard the crowd’s confused tittering. ‘She’s his sun and I’m his moon – it’s a country song, you idiots!’ Was it? She loved country music but didn’t recall a song with a sun and moon theme. She’d have to look it up. For curiosity’s sake, of course.

‘I want to marry you, Owen, I want your baby! Youpromisedme a baby, Owen.’

‘He’s had a vasectomy,’ Alice shouted.

Sutton’s head, along with everyone else’s, swivelled towards Alice. She now stood tall and straight, her shoulders pushed back and spine straight. Man, she looked pissed. Not a little pissed but run-a-spear-through-his-heart angry. Sutton looked at Owen, his head now in his hands. This was the Christmas party version of Wimbledon, with eyes bouncing from player to player and back again.

‘That’s not true. He would’ve told me!’

Sutton grimaced at Owen’s mistress’s shrill screech. Right, this evening was far more entertaining than she’d thought it would be. While she felt sorry for Alice, and it was embarrassing for Owen, she didn’t know them well enough not to enjoy the entertainment factor of their drama. It was like watching reality TV in HD, up close and personal.

Tears streamed down the PA’s face, but she kept a tight grip on the microphone, turning away from the emcee every time he tried to grab it from her. ‘And you know all those business trips he took? Well, we went to Spain, and Santorini, and we did it inyourbed.’

An invisible hand slapped Alice and her head jerked back. She was now bone white, and Sutton suspected she was close to snapping. She grimaced. Ok, she’d seen and heard enough. She didn’t want to watch this anymore, the pain on their faces was too real, too naked, too intense. The emcee led Owen’s sobbing mistress off the stage and Owen stood where he was, his fingers gripping the bridge of his nose, and stared at the floor. On the surface, Alice seemed the most composed, but Sutton knew she was deeply traumatised.

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