LITMIR.BIZ

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Alice noted her skirt draped over the back of the chair, over jeans she’d worn at the weekend, her jumper strewn on the seat, her knickers scrunched on the floor. She wondered whether she was slovenly or if Mark was particularly fastidious. She wondered if her disregard for end-of-the-day neatness and order irked him.

      ‘Mark,’ she asked quietly, ‘do you despair of me being a mucky pup?’

      ‘Mucky pup?’ Mark frowned, slipping cedar shoe horns into his shoes. Alice gestured to her discarded clothes. ‘Don’t be daft,’ he smiled, selecting tomorrow’s shirt. ‘When I wake up, whichever way I’m facing, I see Alice rumpled. I like that.’ He picked up her jumper. ‘But this is cashmere and you really should fold it.’ He did it for her. ‘Which drawer?’

      Alice looked over to the chest of drawers. ‘Middle one,’ she said, suddenly remembering her vibrator was in the drawer beneath. And then she wondered whether perhaps tonight was as good a time as any to introduce Mark to her bright pink, battery-operated friend. ‘Not the middle drawer,’ she announced, ‘I mean the one below.’ Find it! Don’t find it!

      Mark didn’t find it. Alice didn’t know whether she was disappointed or relieved. He continued his bedtime routine, inching the curtains back and looking down to the street, up to the sky. ‘Clear night,’ he assessed. It had been cloudy yesterday. Blustery the day before. He flicked his bedside light on, went back to the doorway and switched the main light off, hung his robe on the back of the door, rolled his head to either side while he walked over to the bed. He plumped his pillow, took off his watch and wound it up, checked the alarm clock though he never changed the setting. Though he always awoke moments in advance of the bell, he’d never not set it. He liked the physical act of silencing it just before it trilled so as not to disturb Alice. He reached for his Ian Rankin and skim-read the last paragraph from the night before, settling himself further into his pillow to read a chapter tonight.

      He sighed. ‘Long day,’ he said, smiling apologetically at Alice, ‘long day.’

      Alice put her novel down. She reached for him, ran her fingertips along his forearm, stroked her hand up to his biceps, rested her touch tenderly on his shoulder. She nestled against him. He stretched out his arm and draped it round her shoulders though this made page-turning a little awkward. He kissed the top of her head. She kissed his chest in reply. Kissed it again, optimistically. Put her mouth over his nipple and changed her kiss to a suck. She looked up at Mark, he looked down from his book. He looked tired.

      ‘Are you tired?’ she whispered, her fingers tantalizingly tiptoeing a path down his chest and over his stomach.

      ‘I am a little,’ he admitted, ‘work is a bit of a bitch at the moment. I’m carrying all David’s while he’s convalescing.’

      ‘When he’s back, why don’t we take a week off?’ Alice suggested, her hand resting lightly on his stomach while the conversation remained prosaic.

      ‘Hopefully,’ said Mark, deciding not to tell her about the imminence of trips to Singapore, Australia and Japan.

      Alice decided distraction was good action. She traversed his torso with the palm of her hand. His nipples sprung to attention. ‘Mark,’ she murmured, licking her lips lasciviously, eyes asparkle, ‘are you tired tired? Or just tired tired?’

      He laughed through his nose. ‘Are you laying claim to your conjugal rights, Mrs Sinclair?’

      ‘I most certainly am,’ Alice winked and kissed him on the chin, his mouth, nibbling his lower lip, ‘if you’re up to it.’

      ‘I’m tired, but he’s certainly up to it,’ Mark said as he led Alice’s hand down his body, underneath the duvet to his hardening cock. Alice closed her eyes, closed her hand around him, felt him grow and stiffen and felt herself start to melt and moisten.

      Mark held her head in his hands and kissed her softly all over her face. Alice rated him a very good kisser but actually, just then, she didn’t want lips romantic and gentle, she wanted him to thrust his tongue into her mouth and gorge. Gently and evenly, he fondled each breast in turn before sliding his hand down her stomach, over the undulations of waist and hips, lightly over her bush and as far down her thigh as he could reach without breaking off from kissing her. She hungered for his mouth to feast on her breasts, she wanted his teeth to rasp against her nipples, she wanted his hands to knead her buttocks, she craved his fingers to delve greedily inside her. She pulled her face away and tried to guide his head down and his hand up. But he buried his face in her neck and nuzzled her there instead, cupped his hand over her sex without exploring further, stroking and stroking the length of her body. Desire for what he wasn’t doing was heightening her arousal far more than what he was doing to her. It was as if her body was screaming and he couldn’t hear it, so engrossed was he in his slow, tender lovemaking. The deafer he became, the more desperate her longing. It was strangely fantastic and frustrating.

      Mark brought his face level with hers and gazed deep into Alice’s eyes. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he told her. Gently, he parted her legs with his knee and, without taking his eyes off her, he carefully pushed his way inside her. He was pleasingly hard and Alice could sense her sex wanting to suck him in deeply. Her body tried to buck and grind against him but he had her securely enfolded in his arms and was setting a dignified, rhythmic pace. He moved inside her, gyrating subtly, moved and gyrated intoxicatingly slowly. She wanted to yell out fuck me you bastard but her mouth was plugged with his. She wanted him to thrust into her as if he had no self-control but he maintained his quiet, measured rhythm. He rolled her on top of him, sweeping her long hair from his face, scooping it up behind her head, holding her gaze. ‘You feel so good,’ he murmured. She sat up, the change in angle making her gasp. He stroked the fronts of her thighs whilst marvelling at the sight of her; the dip of her waist, the toned run of her stomach, the soft weight of her breasts, the eagerness of her nipples, the grace of her neck, the beauty of her face. ‘I love you,’ he whispered, ‘God, I love you.’ She was starting to pick up her pace, rotating and pumping as she straddled him. Mark pulled her down, rolled her over and kissed her and kissed her as he came. Deftly, Alice moved against him, the sudden rush of stickiness within her facilitating her own orgasm.

      ‘That’ll put me to sleep with a smile on my face,’ he grinned at her. She smiled back. She could see how sleepy the orgasm had left him yet it had energized her.

      ‘Did you know that the national average for sex amongst cohabiting couples is less than twice a week?’ Alice announced, the jollity of her voice, as much as her topic, causing Mark’s eyes to spring open.

      He had a head for figures. ‘Well, darling, we’re above average, then.’

      ‘Did you know that 50 per cent of women own vibrators?’ Alice said, glancing at her chest of drawers, her heartbeat picking up a little.

      ‘They must be the ones who are restricted to the national average,’ Mark deduced.

      Alice wasn’t very good with figures and presumed Mark to have calculated some statistic, so she changed her tack. ‘Have you ever used a vibrator on a woman?’ she asked carefully.

      He looked at her with a quick frown. ‘Why?’

      She gave him a sly smile. ‘Just wondered.’ Again, he frowned. ‘You have!’ she exclaimed, triumphantly. ‘You have! Who? Tell me who!’

      ‘No,’ he said quite sternly, ‘I assure you I haven’t.’ Because Alice believed him, she suddenly wasn’t sure how to progress the conversation.

      ‘Anyway,’ Mark said, ‘aren’t vibrators used in lieu of the real thing?’ Alice was about to suggest they needn’t be restricted to such times and would you like me to show you mine; but she sensed that Mark was mid-sentence. ‘Or ridiculous props in dodgy vids,’ he remarked.

      ‘Have you ever filmed yourself?’ Alice probed with a mischievous glint to her voice and eye.

      ‘Christ, Alice!’ Mark exclaimed, looking at her as if she was suffering sudden manic insanity.

      ‘Might be fun?’ Alice prompted

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