Page 84 of Untether

He’s correct. They’re in Norfolk again with John. They’ll come home shattered, and there’ll be the inevitable scramble to do homework because John won’t have gotten it done while they’re away, and I’ll be tired and irritable and feeling guilty, and—

I stop myself. I don’t need to think about it right now. It’s at least forty hours away. And in the meantime…

The potential of a full weekend with Cal dangles itself before my mind’s eye like the most delicious treat. Could I? Should I?

I suspect the better question isshouldn’t I?Because why the hell not?

‘I was supposed to do some work tomorrow,’ I protest weakly.

‘We can go and get your laptop in the morning,’ he offers. ‘Or we can stay at yours and I’ll curl up next to you and stroke you like an adoring slave while you work.’

I laugh to hide the weird, uncomfortable thrill that courses through me at the prospect of hanging out with Cal in our family home. ‘That doesn’t sound distracting at all.’

‘Of course it’ll be distracting. Because work is boring and I’mme.’

He rolls me onto my back and climbs on top of me. I adore the sensation of being caged in by him far too much. He blots out everything else in life.

‘I’ve been working on another serenade,’ he says now.

I giggle. ‘Oh no.’

‘Ohyes. Would you like to hear it?’

‘I’d love to.’ I raise my legs up so he can settle his weight between them, anchoring me to the soft solidity of his mattress.

‘Right answer.’ He takes a breath.

‘All I want is Aida’s cunt,’ he begins to the tune ofWouldn’t it be LoverlyfromMy Fair Lady.His Cockney accent is as ridiculous as his lyrics—he’s shot way past Audrey Hepburn and is firmly in Dick Van Dyke territory. My giggles intensify.

‘Thrusting in with my crown that’s blunt,

In one enormous shunt,

Oh, wouldn’t it be se-exy?’

‘Please, make it stop,’ I mutter, before I hook an arm around his neck and pull him down for a kiss that is wholly successful in shutting him the fuck up.

54

CAL

‘You sore?’ I ask Aida as we lie together in my bed. I can’t stop touching her, stroking her skin.

‘A little,’ she admits. ‘The meds helped, though.’

‘Good.’ I hesitate. ‘Can I ask you something?’ It’s a question that feels personal given we’re not mid-fuck, and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Add to that the dull flare of my usual post-rough-sex paranoia and self-flagellation, and it’s safe to say I’m treading carefully.

‘Of course,’ she says, running her knuckles over my stomach with the lightest touch.

‘When we go at it… rough, is that something you’ve always liked? Or is it my bad influence?’ I hope that’s ambiguous enough. I’m not asking if she credits me with uncovering her kinky side as much as I’m asking if she had this kinky side before and failed to mention it in our early chats.

She’s quiet long enough that I start to panic, but I force myself to give her space.

‘Put it this way,’ she begins. ‘It’s not something I’ve everhad the luxury of entertaining in previous relationships, if you catch my drift.’

Got it. ‘You told Gen you’d had an underwhelming sex life when you were married,’ I venture. ‘Is that what you mean? It was pretty vanilla? If you feel weird discussing it, that’s fine,’ I add hastily.

‘My husband fucked around behind my back and several of his lovers sold their stories to the press. It’d be ridiculous if I had some false sense of loyalty to him after having had both our names dragged through the mud. The truth is, our sex life was very… safe. And it was safe not because we both preferred it that way, but because our preferences, I guess, weren’t compatible.’

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