‘It was one morning,’ she said. ‘I pictured you in uniform.’
‘Did you do it like this?’ he asked, taking her finger and making it stroke her slowly.
‘No...’ She was upended with the memory of a kiss that didn’t exist, of how it had felt when the only desire she’d known was Galen. ‘Like this.’
She turned, and now it was Roula leading, undoing his buttons just to get to his skin, kissing him as she had wanted to then. Hungry, desperate kisses. And even if her mouth didn’t know what to do, it worked, because he met her as she climbed up him and gathered her in.
His tongue was duelling with hers as he tore her brand-new knickers. She was at his neck now, feeling the slap of his belt coming undone on her inner thigh, and then he guided her onto him.
‘Look,’ he told her.
And she rested her head on his shoulder and watched his taut buttocks in the mirror as he thrust in. Her breasts were flat against him and her hair was falling down.
‘My turn,’ he said.
She felt the cold of marble on her bottom. Galen was looking down on them and very slowly he took her, stroking her curls, playing with her, and Roula could see her own thighs shaking.
‘Slowly,’ he said, and then he swore, and his hand went for the cabinet behind her.
They were giving in. They were having the sex they should have had way back then, because now they were beyond sensible.
‘You’re really bad for me, Roula.’
‘I know.’ She was coming just a little, right on the edge of it, and just so fascinated by him...by them, by the absolute freedom he allowed her. ‘I want to see you come,’ she told him.
‘Shh...’ Galen said, because he was doing all he could not to do that.
‘I want to.’ Her voice was rising, urgent—imperative.
As he swelled he pulled out, and she glimpsed the brief pulse of his come, and then he slid back into her and she folded. Dizzy and frantic, she came so deeply that he gathered her in, his hands warm on her bottom, as she gripped the last of him.
And then, drunk on pleasure, they kissed each other all the way to bed, and she lay there so happy and watched him undress.
‘You have to hang your dress up,’ he said as he looked at her.
‘No...’
‘You do,’ he told her. ‘I don’t want Leo telling us off. Go on.’
‘No!’
But she was laughing, reluctant, obliging, hanging up her dress. And it was the nicest moment as she realised she could laugh, and that her night with Galen wasn’t over.
They weren’t done with the other yet.
Floating. That was exactly what it was. Just as Galen had described it.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked, and she knew he never usually did.
‘That I haven’t checked in for my flight,’ Roula lied. ‘You?’
That you’re pregnant, and yet you can’t tell me.
Galen was certain now. And not just from the changes in her body...
But what caused the real disquiet was the fact that he was certain she knew, too.
He was certain she was terrified, and perhaps that was why she was running away.