My eyes feel as though they are glued together, my lips are cracked and dry. I slowly moisten them with my tongue before attempting to open my eyelids, fighting against the sleep that’s keeping them closed.
“Don’t move.” Niall’s voice is raspy and low, the aural equivalent of my own come-down state. Of course I do the opposite, sitting up in his unmade bed, seeking him out. He’s perched on an old wooden chair, a large sketchpad propped on his knees. Pulling an over-sharpened stub of a pencil across it, his movements are just short of furious. When he looks up and sees I’ve moved a flash of irritation crosses his face.
“I told you to stay still.” Even though his words are harsh, he manages to soften them with a smile.
I reach up my arms and stretch them to the ceiling, letting a yawn escape my lips. “What are you drawing?”
He puts the sketchpad down, locking his gaze on to my exposed chest. My nipples peak as they’re bathed with cool air.
“Nothing.” He’s still staring at me. I cover myself up with my arms, feeling self-conscious. The irritation returns to his face. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”
“You’re being very bossy this morning.” I don’t tell him that I like it, but I do. There’s nothing I don’t like about this man. I’m totally infatuated with him.
“And you’re being very disobedient.” Niall crawls across the mattress until he’s looming over me on all fours. Dipping down, he captures a nipple between his lips and scrapes his teeth across it. I arch my back in pleasured response. “What can I do to persuade you to lie still?” he asks.
I gasp as his fingers find me and push inside. “Not that.” I prove my point by starting to squirm. He laughs into my chest, and I feel the vibrations on my skin. Then he lifts his head up and kisses me hard, and I forget about everything except the sensation of his body on mine, and the absolute, sheer pleasure of come-down sex.
Later, we lean out of his window and share a joint, looking out at the green, undulating campus, watching the few solitary figures who are braving the early morning rain. Mostly staff; no students would feel the need to be up at this hour. He offers me a toke, exhaling smoke that quickly dissipates into the damp, misty air. “I want you to model for me.”
I lift the joint to my lips and breathe it in. “Nude?”
“Of course.” He sounds as if he’s smirking and I turn to look at him.
Yep, he’s smirking.
“How very Rose and Jack of you.”
Propping his elbow on the windowsill, Niall stares at me. “Who are they? Friends of yours?”
I start to blush, feeling stupid and suburban and so very ordinary. I can’t bring myself to tell him I’m talking about Titanic. This is why I feel silly whenever he is around. He paints beautiful pictures and makes love as if it’s an art form, and I go around talking about overly melodramatic films. I’m a child trying to catch a butterfly.
It seems like a good time to change the subject. “What time is it?”
“Nearly seven. Why?’
I take another puff. “I have a nine o’clock seminar.” I can’t miss this one. Lectures are one thing—easy
to avoid and then borrow notes from somebody else—but at seminars there’s only a few of us. It’s obvious when we aren’t there.
“Skip it. Stay with me.”
I want to, I really do. But somewhere beneath the lust and the intoxication lies obedient Bethany from Essex. Daughter of a city banker. Mostly A-grade student. She stretches her arms and slowly wakes up.
I go to the seminar, but I barely pay attention. Instead, I find myself daydreaming about him.
7
I’m running late again. I almost make it to the Tube station before my phone rings. Stopping mid-pace, I pull it out of my bag, pausing a moment to catch my breath.
“Hello?”
“It’s Simon.” He has this propensity to think we’re still using analogue phones. It’s as if he forgets his name comes up on my screen when he calls.
“Hello. Everything okay?” We’ve been treading on eggshells for the past week. Pretending to be asleep when I know we’re not; neither of us mentioning Daisy or the clinic. When I went to visit Allegra last weekend, he didn’t bother asking me where I was going. I didn’t volunteer the information, either.
“Do you know if my suit came back from the cleaners? I want to wear it tonight.” Another thing he does: leaves all things domestic until the last minute. I don’t think that’s why he’s calling this time; we both know his suit came back last Friday. He’s trying to remind me we are going out tonight.
“It’s there. I should be home after seven. What time are we leaving?” The last thing I want to do after taking ten kids around an art gallery is go out to some dry, work-related dinner party. They’re clients of Simon’s and it’s important to him, though, so I’ll pull on a dress and paint my face and make small talk as I always do.