Page 117 of The Importance of Being Emma
By the time we reached my bathroom, we’d stripped off completely. I dropped our clothes in a sodden heap on the floor, got into the shower to turn on the water, checked there was plenty of soap and gel, and got out again. I fetched fresh towels out of the airing cupboard and arranged them on the heated rail.
‘Go in, the water’s just right.’
She hesitated. ‘Aren’t you coming in with me?’
‘Not yet,’ I said, with a smile. ‘I want to enjoy the view.’
She blushed and stepped into the shower. The doors were made of transparent glass and Mrs Burn kept them beautifully clean, bless her. As Emma twisted this way and that, revelling in the feel of hot water on her body, I leaned against the wall and studied her, every curve, every plane. I thought back to Ashridge, how I’d watched her get dressed while I pretended to be asleep. I’d so wanted to do then what I was about to do now. And yes, we’d made love at Forbury Manor, but my recollections of that night were hazy, thanks to the sloe gin, and scarred by the events of the following morning. This afternoon, I would treasure every moment.
This afternoon was now. Why wait any longer? I opened the door of the shower and got in. Instantly, her mouth met mine and it was like kissing in the rain all over again. Only this time it wasn’t just lips on lips, it was skin on skin, silk against steel. As we kissed she touched me, her hands slow and skilled and slick with gel, stretching my self-control to the very limit. And I almost took her there and then . . .
‘Come to bed.’ My voice was thick with desire, warm with love.
We moved as one, stepping out of the shower and wrapping each other in the towels. It took three kisses to get dried, two toreach the bed and one to slide deep inside her. I held myself still as stone, watching her, wanting her, but waiting . . . And then I drove forward with strong rapid strokes, as she arched under me and cried out my name.
My name.
Over and over and over again.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
I wondered if it was all a dream. Here I was, in Mark’s bedroom at Donwell, lying naked in his vast bed. In the fading light of a winter’s afternoon, I recognised the large chest of drawers with the framed photos. The little bottle of Eau Pour Homme was missing, no doubt packed away in his luggage. But the scent of Armani lingered, on the pillows under my head and on the skin of the man who had just taken me back to the most unbelievable place.
Time crept by, cloaking the room in darkness, stealing all sense of substance, except for the sound of his breathing and the touch of his hand in mine.
‘Mark.’
‘Mmm?’
‘Is this real?’
I heard him ease himself up and my lips parted in anticipation of his kiss. I wasn’t disappointed.
His voice caressed my ear. ‘Was that real?’ He trailed the tip of his tongue down my neck to my breast, took my nipple between his lips, tugged it gently, then released it. ‘And that?’ He nudged my thighs apart with his knee and guided himself into me, right up to the hilt. ‘And this?’
I laughed softly. ‘You want to do itagain?’
‘Yes, Emma. Just to prove it’s real.’
* * *
~~MARK~~
I missed it. I missed that first moment when I’d stir from the depths of sleep in my own bed and know that these wereherlimbs entwined with mine; the moment when I’d take her in my arms and kiss her awake; the moment when I’d whisper, ‘I love you, Emma’.
Instead, I was roused by the sudden glare of the bedroom lights and my father’s voice, sharp with surprise.
‘Mark! What the — ?’ He retreated onto the landing and called down the stairs, ‘Saffron, no need to phone the police, it’s only Mark.’ He marched back into my room. ‘We found the alarm off and the utility window open and thought we’d been burgled! Why didn’t you let us know you’d come back? What happened — didn’t you get to the airport on time? What about—’ He stopped in mid-sentence as he saw Emma snuggled up against me. ‘Is that who I think it is?’
I couldn’t help a complacent grin. ‘Yes.’
‘You mean you’ve . . .’ — he winced — ‘withEmma?’
I nodded. ‘Get real, Father, we’re consenting adults.’
He turned away. ‘Come down to the study, I need to talk to you on your own.’
