knicker elastic aside, his tongue slipping into the space this created, his tongue licking through the folds of her sex, dabbing at her, lapping her up. She didn't want to look at the ceiling and turning her face one way gave the disruption of the TV set on with the volume off. Turning the other gave her a faceful of pastel swirls of the upholstery. But if she looked down, she saw a blond, tousle-haired man called Seb busy with his tongue between her legs and that sight was too specific. She shut her eyes to focus on the feeling alone. She just wanted to concentrate on the tremors building in her body from her sex being licked so well. Was it horribly self-serving to close her eyes so that it didn't matter who was doing it? By now, she just wanted to come, to have a man make her come, to come on the mouth of a man.
Her hips were rocking hard to facilitate her orgasm which came in a gush of such intense pleasure that it wracked her body and her voice rang out in the soundless room.
And then it all ebbed away. The throbbing, the sound of her, the presence of him.
‘You can open your eyes now,’ Seb laughed but it took effort for Tess to unscrunch them. When she did, she needed to concentrate on the buttons of his shirt. She didn't want the bigger picture. She wanted, really, to leave. She felt emotional, a bit drunk, confused how her body could have been so sure when her mind was still wanting to mull it all over.
Black buttons on a navy blue shirt.
‘My turn?’ He sounded shy, hopeful. The thought hadn't crossed her mind.
And Seb was suddenly straddling her, unbuckling, unzipping, whipping it out.
How long since she saw a cock? The sight of it, of Seb's strong surfer's legs, of the way he was breathing, stroking her hair, grabbing her pony-tail, helped to put thoughts of heading home to one side. She played with his balls and fingered the length of him, kissing her way up the shaft, and tongue-flicked lightly over the top before taking him in her mouth, sucking him all the way down. She shifted so that she could use her hands too but she couldn't get comfortable. Her neck was a bit cricked and her jaw was locking and when she opened her eyes she saw her shoes and suddenly she longed to be on her way. Come on, come on. Come.
‘Can I come in your mouth?’
No, Tess thought suddenly. I do not want you to come in my mouth.
She pulled away, hoping for the sake of her conscience and his ego that she looked a little bashful, apologetic.
‘That's OK,’ he was saying. ‘I guess a full-on shag is out, then?’
She giggled. Dear Seb, so easygoing, funny, kind. She wished she felt more.
He sank back into the sofa and drew her to his chest. She watched his hand slide up and down his shaft. She tiptoed her fingertips over his stomach and down to his arm and along his hand, which he gladly accepted. He was close so she took over. He was clenching his fists and his teeth, his eyes screwed shut, his legs tensing, his pelvis thrusting as he spurted over his stomach.
He panted with the triumph of having just run some race. He pulled her to his chest and stroked her hair. She listened to his heart beating fast, then settling.
‘When can I see you again?’
He was looking down at her, his gaze intense.
Tess suddenly felt enormously tired, too tired to think about the answer so she nodded and smiled and let him kiss her gently. He went to the bathroom and by the time he was back, she was dressed, her shoes on, standing by the door insisting there was no need whatsoever for him to escort her up that steep old hill to the house.
The moonlight and the solitude are soothing. Tess thinks how you don't get this quality of darkness in the city. The woods to her left appear to have a depth ten times that in daylight. They are eerie, not malevolent, but she feels tiny and cold. No traffic. No people. She can hear the sea and it sounds brutish – as if it is on best behaviour during the day. The chill air sobers her up and she finds her pace increasing when the house comes into sight. One of the things she has grown to love more than anything is the opening of the gate and then the closing of the gate. Home and safe.
Lisa arrives in the hallway just as soon as Tess is inside and has shut the door.
‘How was it?’
Tess's new friend in Tess's cruddy old trackie bottoms. Lisa is all expectant and she's grinning away.
‘Fun,’ says Tess, with a nod and a smile. ‘I had fun.’
‘Fun and?’ Lisa is digging with a wink. ‘Any – shenanigans?’
‘Well,’ Tess pauses. This reminds her of a long time ago, sharing juicy details with Tamsin, the look on a friend's face of excitement and anticipation – and praise. ‘We did go back to his for a glass of wine.’
‘A glass of wine and?’
‘And – a bit of a fumble.’
‘A fumble!’ Lisa all but cheers. ‘A fumble she calls it!’ She pauses. ‘Did you?’
‘On a first date?’
‘Not sure I'd have your self-restraint, pet. But good on you. Will you see him again? I'll gladly babysit. You just let me know.’
Tess nods. ‘Thanks so much, by the way.’
‘As I said, any time,’ Lisa says, gathering her stuff, and she gives Tess a little hug because she's really glad this lovely girl was paid some attention tonight. She deserves it, thinks Lisa, good for her.
‘Thanks again.’
‘Happy to help.’
‘See you at playgroup next week?’
‘Perhaps before. How about tomorrow morning? Pop over to mine for a cuppa?’
Lisa has gone. Em has been checked on. Tess is sitting at the base of the stairs hugging Wolf who is at her side. She glances left. The answering machine still says zero. Something inside sinks a little.
Joe didn't hear his phone the first time. He was on site, with trucks coming in convoys and an irate foreman jabbering at him fifty to the dozen. Joe's French was quite good as long as he was given time to translate what was said and formulate the appropriate reply. It didn't help that the man was from the Ivory Coast and his accent was different, more twangy, yelling and gesticulating at breakneck speed. Joe beckoned him into the site office, offered him a seat and tea. He took off his hard hat and motioned for the man to do the same. Being bareheaded and sharing a cup of tea, albeit in a prefab office but with the door closed, created a more genial atmosphere between them and when the latter took off his helmet, he let go of his aggression too; allowed himself a sigh and a stretch and a moment or two just to hold the mug and blow meditatively. Joe noticed how he held it genteelly, as if it was bone china. The ritual of taking tea provided both men with respite from their dispute, until their mugs were empty at least. He offered the man another cup, which was gratefully accepted. Joe found him pleasant to trade details with and they bantered amicably about their home countries and the French until an insistent buzzing in Joe's pocket interrupted them. He took out his phone and glanced at it. A voicemail. Six missed calls. Joe assumed half would be from the UK office, one was probably Nathalie confirming their dinner arrangement, another could well be from Belgium – he'd sent a message saying he'd be a day or so late. He scrolled to the missed numbers only to find all six were from the house, from home.
Filling the kettle, Joe tucked the phone under his chin and dialled his voicemail. What could be so important it warranted six calls successively from Tess? Had she found a new job already? Suddenly he found himself hoping not. He couldn't deny the tiny knot of tension hitting him between the shoulder blades as connection to his message service was made. He glanced at his watch. Nearly lunch-time here. An hour earlier in Saltburn. And suddenly Tess's voice in a tone he'd not yet heard. Not the temper in which she'd