Page 80 of The Importance of Being Emma
She must have sensed my hesitation. ‘Don’t stop,’ she said. ‘Please, not now.’
‘Are you absolutely sure?’
‘Yes. Oh, yes.’ A little sigh as she shifted under me, raised her hips, took me deeper. ‘Oh, Mark.’ Her eyes widened, then closed.
Hearing her call my name was all the confirmation I needed. I gazed down at her face, with its intimately familiar features, seeing them for the first time in the grip of physical desire. And in me awoke a long-forgotten joy in the power of my own body, an instinctive urge to create something that would last beyond these few precious moments, a burning need to make her remember this mad, unplanned act for ever.
What better way to show her how much I loved her?
So I took it slow, achingly slow at first; watched for her response; guided her gradually into a seamless, soaring rhythm that brought us to the edge. And we went over together, stifling each other’s cries in one last, lingering kiss.
Afterwards I lay at her side, overwhelmed by a sense of completeness. Always my friend, she was now my lover. I linked my fingers through hers, listening as our breathing steadied; anxious to talk, but unsure where to begin.
At last I said, with a catch in my voice, ‘I love you, Emma. I think I always have. Since the day you were born.’
I turned towards her, ready to confess all my soul-searching of the last few months.
She was fast asleep.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
Somewhere, a clock chimed six, maybe seven times. I opened my eyes. The lights were on low; unusual for me — I liked to sleep in the dark. Given that I hadn’t gone up to my room until nearly midnight, I mustn’t have had my usual eight hours. But I felt good. And, for the first time in a long while, I hadn’t spent the night alone.
I stretched a luxurious cat-like stretch, then curled round the warm body beside me. What bliss. I’d got the man of my dreams into bed after all, although the details were distinctly hazy. But it had been worth it, I knew that much. He could shag for England, as Harriet would say. Or should that be Australia?
Wait a minute — Harriet! I sat bolt upright, wincing as my head started to pound. Hadn’t she been here, too? I looked wildly round in case there were three of us in a post-coital stupor. But instead of dark red curls on the pillow next to me, I saw a tousled head of black hair. What the — ?
I knew, even before he rolled onto his back and greeted me with a sleepy smile. I knew it was Mark.
‘’Morning, beautiful,’ he said, propping himself up on one elbow and reaching out to stroke my cheek with his other hand. Such a familiar hand, with its long tanned fingers and the signet ring that had belonged to his grandfather. But such an unfamiliar gesture, presuming intimacy. It stirred something within me, a vague memory of taking those fingers in my mouth, one by one, tasting sloe gin and . . .
I shrank away from him, grabbed the sheet and pulled it up to my chin. ‘What are you doing in my bed?’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
He grinned. ‘Technically it’s my bed, although you’ve spent just as much time in it.’ He leaned over and traced my lips with a confident forefinger; but I kept my mouth firmly closed, frowning as I absorbed what he’d just told me.
‘Don’t you remember, you hussy?’ he said, his eyes dancing.
My heart started to pound as painfully as my head. ‘Are you telling me that we . . . ?’ I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
‘We certainly did, although I don’t find it exactly flattering that you’ve forgotten so easily. Maybe you need an action replay.’ He pulled down the sheet, bent his head and started nuzzling my breast.
‘For God’s sake!’ I shook him off with such force that the sheet ended up in a useless tangle. Still, he must have already seen all I was showing — and more. I moved to the far edge of the bed and looked at him warily.
‘Let me get this right. I came to your room and we . . . Oh, shit! I just can’t understand how we could do such a thing.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Well, Emma, it’s like this. I get hard and you get wet and we—’
I put my hands over my ears. ‘No, no! I mean I can’t understandwhywe would do it. With each other.’
Silence. Then he said, in a cold, clipped voice, ‘Can’t you?’
‘Well, sort of, at a basic level. We both have needs, after all. But we’re just friends, we’re not into each other in that way.’
‘Believe me, we were into each other in that way last night,’ he said flatly. ‘Correction, this morning. More than once, in fact.’
I looked at him in horror. ‘You mean we — more than once?’
