Page 79 of The Importance of Being Emma
Without a word she rushed into the room, stopped and just stood there, staring at me. I deliberately left the door slightly open — you never knew with these highly strung types — and waited for her to speak.
After a minute or two, I said gently, ‘Is something the matter?’
Still nothing; then the words came tumbling out. ‘I’ve just read my horoscope again and it’s all there, what happened tonight, spooky innit? It says, “You’ll be eternally grateful to someone who saves you from embarrassment”. That thing you did, asking me to be your partner, it was probably no big deal to you, but it was to me. And I just don’t know how to show you I’m eternally grateful.’ She gave a loud giggle and took a small but determined step towards me.
I backed quickly away, ending up nearer the bed than I’d have liked. ‘No need, I only did what I thought was right. It’s very good of you to take the trouble to come and thank me.’ I did my best to conceal a yawn. ‘Sorry, I’m whacked—’
At this point, Emma lurched through the door, almost hitting herself in the face with it. She weighed up the low lighting, my state of undress and Harriet’s air of excitement and jumped to the obvious conclusion.
Except that the words came out in a drunken slur. ‘Shorry, am I int’rupping shomething?’
At least, I think that’s what she said. Thanks to the sloe gin, I was having difficulty making my brain function properly. On the one hand, this was the very situation I’d dreaded: Emma in my hotel bedroom, with me feeling at my most vulnerable. On the other hand, it was the stuff my fantasies were made of. Either way, it was best to encourage Harriet to leave. So I pulled myself together and explained to Emma that she wasn’t interrupting anything and that Harriet was just going. I couldn’t be surewhether Emma understood me, but at least Harriet took the hint and hurried out of the room.
We were alone. Totally alone.
I finished my drink and stood there thinking about — possibilities. When she fell on the bed and begged me to unfasten her dress, it was as if she was telepathic. For a brief moment, I kidded myself that she wanted to make love; but of course it was only because she couldn’t undo the dress herself.
After a feeble attempt to send her back to her room, I gave in. With self-preservation uppermost in my mind, I decided I’d undo just the hook and leave the zip to her.
That didn’t work.
Then, although I couldn’t avoid resting my fingers on her bare skin, I summoned every ounce of self-control to stop myself from enjoying it.
That worked, up to a point . . . until, with her dress unzipped, she turned over.
Such beautiful breasts, there for the touching. But I didn’t touch, I simply stared.
‘Kiss me,’ she said.
‘No.’ I should have left it there, but I added, ‘Once I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop.’
She smiled up at me. ‘Kiss me, then.’
It was as though she was throwing down a gauntlet, soft as velvet, strong as steel. And who could refuse those sultry eyes with their ‘take me to bed’ look, that provocative mouth, that slender but voluptuous body?
I tried one last time. ‘For God’s sake, Emma, you don’t understand—’
Too late. Her tongue was in my mouth and my self-control was in shreds.
As we kissed, I touched her breasts at last. No, not touched, worshipped them . . . Caressed them, stored their contours tomemory, felt the nipples harden and peak. Tore my mouth away from hers to trail urgent kisses down her neck and round the base of one breast in slow circles, up to the very tip. Teased it with my tongue until I could almost taste her arousal. Then started with her other breast. Caressed, kissed, teased all over again; this time knowing exactly how to draw out each murmur of response, each gasp of pleasure.
How long we lay like this, I don’t know. I wanted to hold on to every second, delay the inevitable as long as possible, but it was driving me insane.
When I released her and made to stand up, she clung to me. ‘Don’t go!’
‘Hey, take it easy. I’m not going anywhere.’
As I undressed, she lay back on the bed, her eyes never leaving me. When I’d taken everything off, even my watch, she held out her arms.
‘I want you,’ she said. ‘So, so much.’
I let out a long, ragged breath. ‘Not yet. Not until we get this posh frock off. And whatever you’ve got on underneath.’
As I spoke, I slid her dress and briefs down to reveal every inch of those perfect, perfect legs. For some time, I did nothing except look. And then looking became touching and touching became kissing . . .
Soft skin against my lips, the heat of her, the taste. Just like in my dreams. No, better than in my dreams; this was real.
And then, finally, I was where I longed to be — inside her, to the hilt. We held our bodies completely still, except for small, secret movements. It all felt so right and yet, in a way, so wrong. Because I knew that, if we hadn’t both been drinking, none of this would have happened.
