Page 18 of The Wrong Suitcase

She’s not afraid to let me know she’s having a good time. Not that I’m Mr Boombastic or anything, but what man doesn’t want to know when he’s rocking a woman’s world? She’s lightly moaning every time I rub against her, and it makes me feel like I’m The Man. I run my hand up the bare thigh peeking through the slit in her dress and pull her leg up so that I can find the edge of her underwear. The more I tease her, the more I threaten to slip under the satin fabric, the more I caress my thumb over the small damp patch of her knickers, the more she pants. At this rate, she won’t even need to touch me to get me off – I’m going to think of these noises for the rest of my life. I really want her, too. Her head lolls back to expose the nakedness of her neck, and I suck and lick, and she keeps groaning and sighing. It’s heaven. Actual, literal, sexual heaven as she gets louder and louder.

And then she coughs.

Or – wait. No. She doesn’t cough. The cough comes from my right. It’s from a third person.

Somebody else is here.

Right as in one ear Izzy is panting, telling me ‘Yes, yes, oh god, yes,’in the other ear, in another part of my brain, I hear a cry of, ‘Jesus! I thought I thought somebody was hurt! You put the fear of bloody god in me!’

It sounds like Ian. My step-dad.

Oh my god.

It’s Ian! My step-dad!

I whip away my hand from where it’s pressed between Izzy’s thighs faster than a teenager with a joint when a police car cruises past, and in half a second she goes from squirming at my touch to pushing her face into my chest with force, mortified, as if by closing her eyes and willing it, she could disappear and none of this would ever have happened. The mood has soured in the time it takes to blink.

‘Sorry,’ Ian says. ‘The noises, I thought … it sounded like …’ He can’t finish his sentence. Now he knows he’s caught me getting my rocks off, he’s switched from concern to stifled laughter.

‘It’s your mother. She wants some family pictures. She was worried. Just … whenever you’re ready. No rush,’ he adds. ‘Come whenever you’re ready. So to speak.’

This is horrific. I feel Izzy stiffen in my arms at the mention of my mother and whatever it is we were doing in the same breath.

‘I see you’ve met Sam, Izzy. It’s nice that you’re … getting along.’

That sarcastic bugger. It’s so like him to say it all whilst saying hardly anything. He disappears, and at first neither of us speaks, but then we laugh, which then becomes a kiss, which then becomes deeper and more intense, and it’s painful to tear myself away from her, but I know my mother herself will appear if I’m gone any longer, and the only thing worse than being caught dry humping by Ian is to be caught red-handed by Mum.

‘Oh my god,’ Izzy says, leaning her forehead against my chest again and catching her breath. I’m catching my breath, too.

‘You know that I just …’ She makes eye contact, her face illuminated by the almost full moon above us. She’s exquisite. She raises her eyebrows, willing me to understand.

My eyes widen. The penny drops.

‘You did?’ I say.

‘Yeah.’

‘From the kissing?’

‘Honestly,’ she giggles, ‘I don’t know what happened. The way you touched me? That was … You’re …’

She’s gasping like she’s just run a quick five kilometres. I can’t wait for her to finish the sentence. I’m desperate to hear her say the words because if it’s that easy to give her an orgasm, I’d like to do it twenty more times before the sun comes up. I want to make her feel good all night long, to make all those noises again and again. God, I want her.

‘See you back here in half an hour?’ I whisper into her soft, delicious neck, already getting hard. But I have to go – it’s not worth the risk to try and defy my mother. ‘After the photos?’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ she hums, and as we walk back hand in hand, this time I don’t care that everyone can seeing I’m mooning over her. Whatever just happened, it was bloody brilliant.

17

Izzy

Claire senses us turn back into the dining square, which has now been transformed into a dancing area, with the tables and chairs at the very far end of the field and a band setting up where the speeches were given. Sam doesn’t drop my hand though – why would he, I suppose? We’re not minors. We’re grown adults. Instead, he pulls my knuckles up to his mouth, kisses them, and tells me he’ll be right back. It’s such an intimate gesture, like he is laying claim to me. I don’t mind it. In fact – I quite like it.

‘Okay.’ I smile, absentmindedly wondering if half my mascara is now under my eyes and lipstick smeared across my face. I try to figure out where my clutch might be, now the tables are all rearranged. It’s got tissues and breath mints in it – the essentials for this moment. Claire’s eyes are still on me, but as I move to smile at her, she quickly looks away. She must think I’m trashy, disappearing with her son that way, but I try to push the worry at what she must think of me out of my mind. She’s notmymother, after all.

Sam gets corralled into photo after photo with Claire and Ian and the kids and his siblings, and their group gets bigger as Adriano’s family joins them, and eventually the bride and groom as well.

‘You’re staring,’ Anastasia informs me, leering in front of my face. ‘You know that you’re staring, don’t you?’

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