Page 14 of Always Alchemy

When Kit got smacked badly on the hand by a fast football one Saturday morning and I took him straight to the paediatric A&E at Chelsea and Westminster?

Also fucking brutal. Even though he’d only broken a couple of fingers and not, as I feared, his wrist.

I’m invested, I suppose. I’m invested in Aida, and in her happiness, and in the happiness of the two little people she’s brought into the world. And the whole thing is a royal head fuck, because it’s emotional and demanding and exhausting andrewardingon a level I couldn’t have fathomed before I dove head first into this thing we’re doing.

I’m happy, too. Like, really fucking happy. I feel… purposeful, maybe? Because the three of them seem to be as happy to have me around as I am to be there. I’m that guy now. Saturday football guy. Farmer’s market guy. School carol concerts guy.

And Aida’s opening the car door, which means in about ninety seconds, I’ll also be car sex guy. For the first time since that dark, dark day when Zach took me (with immense glee on his part, I might add) to trade in my fancy sports car for a fucking Range Rover, I give thanks for the spaciousness of this car.

And also for its fast-heating seats.

‘Get in here,’ I mutter, helping her off with her coat and chucking it in the back seat.

‘Geez, it’s cold,’ she huffs as she clambers over my knee to straddle me in the driver’s seat.

‘I’ll keep you warm, baby,’ I mutter, circling her waist and tugging her down on top of me. I’m hardening by the second. Fuck, I love her so much.

‘I’m not taking my clothes off.’

‘No need. My magical dick can punch through as many layers as needed.’

That makes her laugh. ‘Your power drill.’

‘Believe it, baby.’ My voice might sound marginally distracted, because I’m frantically burrowing under the soft, fine wool of her flowing dress to find nirvana. ‘Fuck. Are you wearing fucking tights?’

‘It’s December. Of course I am. Turbo dick can’t handle it?’

I love it when she gets all mocking and sarcastic, because it just fuels my fire. In about three minutes, when she’s writhing on my cock and unable to string a sentence together, it’ll make my victory all the sweeter.

‘Nope. It’s fine. I just—wait a sec.’ Shit. They’re quite thick. I close my eyes to feel my way and grab at the fabric around the crotch area. When I have a firm grip with both hands I tug, hard, and it tears with a ripping sound.

‘They were Falke,’ she protests with a laugh that’s breathy enough to know my caveman act is getting her hot. ‘They’re super expensive.’

‘Tough shit. I’ll buy you some more. Or you can keep wearing these ones so your legs stay warm but I can access that pussy whenever I like.’ I lower my voice. ‘What would you think of that?’

‘I’d be good with that,’ she says with a shiver, because I’m now stroking my knuckles lightly over the wet fabric of her thong. She slides her hands up my chest, loosening mytie and unbuttoning the top couple of buttons of my shirt. Her fingers are cold when she slides them under my collar so she can touch my skin, but I don’t care. ‘God, you look so hot in a tie. It makes me crazy.’

‘Useful pieces of kit, ties,’ I observe before she drops her face to mine. I cannot resist this woman. Can’t resist any single part of her. I extricate one hand from under her dress so I can tangle my fingers in her hair and grab at her neck and pull her face closer. Not that she needs any encouragement. She’s sucking on my lower lip and entangling her tongue with mine—devouring me, basically.

I use my finger to hook her thong and yank it aside. Between that and the crotch-hole I made, I’ve got enough access. My wife is hot and soaking and so fucking slick it’s enough to drive a man mad.

Clearly, I should wear a tie more often.

‘Once again you’re a dirty little whore for my fingers,’ I murmur against her lips. ‘Just like that very first time.’

Her giggle turns to a sharp intake of breath through her teeth as I manoeuvre my hand enough to wedge two fingers inside her while my thumb finds her needy, swollen clit.

She moans and pushes down on my hand. ‘Jesus, sweetie. You’re not wrong.’

I slide my fingers out and back in. The only thought in my mind is how good this slick vice will feel around my cock in about thirty seconds.

‘Take me out, baby.’

She rests her forehead against mine as she wrestles with my belt and zipper, her movements clumsy and hurried because I’m still working her.

‘I wonder what all those pompous arseholes would say if they could see Aida Russell getting finger-fucked and loving it in the car park,’ I muse idly.

‘Probablyplease remove your son from our establishment and never come back,’she retorts, and I laugh.

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