Page 23 of Untether

Glasses back in place, I smooth my palms over my cute Dolce shift. I always dress up for Simone—she both expects and appreciates it—and there’s something in my Italianblood that goes feral over the colours, the opulence, of Dolce and Gabbana’s dresses.

You could say they’re my weakness. My mom is first-generation Italian, and those guys dress women the way Mom always said we should dress. Colour. Flair. And, above all?

Flaunt those curves.

Even when they do an LBD, it’s sensuously feminine and made to stop traffic. Or so my little experiment last night suggested, anyway…

‘Holy fuck.’ Simone’s posh curse interrupts my little daydream. ‘Did you shag him?’

I roll my eyes with the moral outrage of someone who absolutely did not make out—and more—in a club last night. ‘Shh! No. Course not. How’s Karim?’

She gives that lame attempt at deflection the disgusted scowl it deserves. ‘Don’t bullshit me, darling.’ Reaching over, she grabs the bottle of Pellegrino and pours herself a glass. ‘Spill. I want details. Full details. Salacious details. Go.’

I sigh. My friendship with Simone runs deep. She knows all the nasty ins and outs of my marriage and divorce. I know all the less nasty ins and outs of hers. But we were both married when we met, so swapping hot gossip about guys was definitely not on the agenda. Not unless said gossip pertained to who was fucking who at work.

Because I’m a badass, hard-hitting, award-winning reporter and not some bashful teenager, I cut to the chase.

‘He ended up dirty-talking me into an orgasm while he finger-fucked me under the table at the Zebra Club.’

If it wasn’t for this place’s no-phones policy, I’d take a snap of Simone’s face, because it’s a picture.

She sucks in a breath. ‘Dirtybastard.’

‘Yep.’

‘I fucking love it. Tell me more.’

I let out a resigned sigh. ‘He was telling me about one of the Unfurl sessions last year where it was three of them and some young woman, who was a virgin. A virgin with alotof balls, because the stuff she let them do to her sounded hot as fuck. Anyway, there was an ice cube involved, and he kind of… reenacted it. He got one from his drink and slid it up my leg, and…’ I shrug, attempting nonchalance. ‘I kinda went with it.’

Simone’s staring at me in awho the heck is this creatureway. ‘Bravo, darling. Bravo. So the boy toy knows what he’s doing, yes?’

I press my fingertips to my brow. ‘Oh, God, please don’t call him that. It’s so objectifying.’

‘And I’m sure you haven’t objectified him at all,’ she drawls.

I sigh again. ‘Okay, fine. Of course I have. He’s fucking delicious. But you make him sound so young.’

Her face softens, and she reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. ‘He’s ten years younger than you, isn’t he? You’re hardly a cradle snatcher. If John can fuck women less than half his age, you can certainly take some pleasure—pleasure you absolutely deserve—at the hands of some delicious fuckboy. It sounds like the guy has experience, darling. Bucketloads of it. Souseit, for Christ’s sake. That’s precisely why you approached Alchemy.’

‘I guess,’ I say. She’s right, obviously. And last night was as enjoyable as it was unexpected. But Simone’s use of the termfuckboy,while definitely sexier thanboy toy, only underlines the shitty feeling that underscores all the post-orgasmic smugness.

‘And it was a good orgasm?’ she persists.

‘Fucking amazing.’ It really was. It was sohot. So dirtyand carnal—like I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t have stopped him if I tried, because his filthy mouth and magic fingers had me spiralling into another version of myself so quick I didn’t know which way was up.

It wasn’t just coming at someone else’s hands which, given the year I’ve had, was, in a word, delightful. Having someone else take control of my body. Drive it. Own it.

It washim. It was the overwhelming masculinity of his huge body. His absolute confidence in his own attractiveness, in his ability to work a woman’s body. The way he managed to be so smutty and intense without letting go of that light humour of his. The way he spoke to me, like I was a dirty, dirty girl and he knew just how to wring me out.

I’ve only been waiting for someone to speak to me like that my whole married life.

‘Good.’ She gives an approving nod. ‘How did you leave things?’

I shoot her a rueful smile. ‘And here’s the rub.’

‘Go on.’ She sits, ramrod straight, and waits.

It wasn’t awkward at all after I came all over his fingers. He held me there, his arm in a vice-like grip around my back, as we made out like teenagers. I was all gooey and limp, my entire nervous system rewired in the best possible way. And I suspected, from the hungry way he kissed me, that he was still hard. Something I felt awful about, but I wasn’t about to jerk him off under the table.Thatwas a step too far.

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