The inevitable fiddling with cuff links leads to the moment of revelation – the slow unbuttoning of the shirt, opening up on to a pale freckled chest, a stomach flatter than it used to be (must be all the sex) and then finally powerful thighs framing a cock in full-blooded erection.
It astonishes me that I used be indifferent to Lloyd. As he shrugs the shirt over his shoulders, I want nothing more than to pull him on top of me and shag him into the fifth dimension. It’s not about his looks. It’s about the looks he gives me. Nothing sends an arrow of devastating lust straight to my sex as fast as one crinkle of a Lloyd eye, one curl of a Lloyd lip.
The familiar alarms ring and buzz in my body. A man stands before me and he means to have me and there ain’t nothin’ I can do about it.
He waves a hand at the chair. ‘Shall we?’
I bend over it. ‘How do we do this? What’s the best way?’
He sits himself in the shallow bend of the S and clasps his hands together behind his head, letting his legs rise up and then drop down over the seductive leather curves.
‘This feels good to me,’ he says. ‘Hop on.’
His lazy, entitled posturing inflames me, as he knows it will. I leap on and straddle him, giving the side of his head a playful slap.
‘So very fucking romantic, aren’t you?’ I chide. ‘Hop on. Charming.’
‘Sorry, should I have invited you to step aboard the lurve ride?’
I kick my legs, which dangle either side of the chair, causing me to jolt and rock a little on his pelvis. He yelps and grabs my hips, stilling me.
‘Play nicely now. Best behaviour for the lady.’
The tips of our noses touch. I pretend to bite him, snapping my teeth together. He forces a kiss, which I pretend to struggle against, enjoying as ever the combative nature of our relationship.
I emerge from the kiss panting and grinding my hips, violent joy coursing through my blood.
‘Are you going to behave yourself?’ he whispers. ‘Hmm?’ He gives my bottom a light smack.
‘Never,’ I reply.
His smile is broad and white. ‘Say cheese.’
‘I’ll give you cheese.’
‘Thanks. Got any crackers?’
‘You’re bloody crackers.’
He catches me again, lips on lips, his hand cupping my bottom, pulling me towards him. His cock butts my thigh. I reach down for it, curling fingers around its fat width. Soon it will be inside me. Do I have to wait long? I move it so that its tip sits between my labia, up and down, gathering juice, round and round my engorging clit.
He grabs my wrist and lifts my hand off his cock. ‘Not so fast,’ he whispers. ‘Let’s take our time. Let’s build up slowly.’
‘But you’re already …’
‘I know. I don’t care. Nice and slow. No rush.’ He buries his face in my neck and kisses hard. I hold on to the back of his head, run a hand down his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles flex and move under the skin. His hands toy with my breasts, circling my nipples with practised fingers. His hard cock eases up and down my thigh. I try to crouch on to it, but he holds me above it, keeping me in a state of suspended readiness.
Flashes of light behind my eyes remind me that there is photography going on, but I am away from that world now, deep inside my other self.
‘You’re gorgeous, Sophie, you’re so fucking gorgeous. You make me want you all the time. Oh God.’
He takes a long time licking one nipple then the other. I gyrate my pelvis, my mouth wide open, eyes glazed, loving the feel of his arms propping me up. One of his hands strays down my side, over the bump of my hip, then it flashes across a thigh and finds the target.
He releases my nipple from his mouth.
‘You’re wet,’ he says.
‘You’re Captain fucking Obvious,’ I hiss into his ear.