A Stringed Instrument Ch. 04

I knew, of course, just when the film would end. Phoebe did not, and when the final music played she froze for a moment, watching intently — would they, wouldn't they? — and then let go of my hair, rolling onto her back to look me in the face. She was flushed, lips parted, and I told her:

"I want you. So. Fucking. Much."

"I want you too — ah!"

For as she spoke I'd pounced, my weight on top of her, my knees prying hers apart. I took a fistful of hair and pulled her head back to bare her throat and went for her, biting and sucking, as the side of my hand shoved upwards between her legs.

I didn't want her naked. I wanted her dishevelled, breasts spilling from her bodice, skirt hiked up around her waist and briefs shoved to one side to expose her to my desire. I bit her lip, bruising, and my hips slammed against hers knocking the breath out of her.

Missionary, you could call it.

"Oh god." She clawed at my back and my arse — she would've drawn blood if I hadn't still been fully dressed — and I ground my hand against her, feeling slickness spreading through her folds. Her arms closed around me, one hand sliding into my slacks to stroke my backside, the other coming up under my T-shirt to my back. So I let go of her — another sharp thrust of my hips, to keep her distracted a moment — and rose to my knees just long enough to yank off the shirt, unclip my bra, unbutton my pants, and then I was on her again. No teasing now, no thought of holding back to prolong the pleasure, just rough urgency. Her lips were wet with my saliva, my nipples slid over hers, her knees rose around my hips as my hand sawed urgently at her sex and she fumbled at mine.

And my other hand clamped over her mouth, just as I wracked an orgasmic groan from her, and another and another, until she subsided into little whimpers of pleasure. I took her by the hair again, made her look up at me as I reached into my own knickers, pelvis positioned so my knuckles ground against her clit and made her feel every movement as I rubbed myself, pressed my breast to her mouth and made her suckle me as I came to a sharp and very satisfying climax on top of her.

I ebbed.

Memory becomes a mellow blur.

And in time we were lying side by side in a languid exhausted embrace, music on the DVD menu looping over and over, and her body shook as she chuckled. "I don't know what the ushers are like in your neck of the woods, but they'd never have let us get away with that at the cinemas I go to."

I nibbled at her earlobe. "Paid them off. Sent them home early. So we wouldn't be interrupted. Um, I wasn't too...?"

"Too rough? I'd tell you." She found my hand, squeezed it. "Although I think perhaps I should wear a high collar to rehearsal tomorrow."

I glanced at her neck. "Oh. Er, yes, that might be best." I'd marked her more than I'd realised. The sight of it gave me a pang of guilt and a pleasurable buzz; the buzz won out, although I was too shagged out to make anything of it.

Neither of us wanted to break off from cuddling, but once the adrenaline had worn off we began to notice that with two people sprawled full-length the sofa was getting cramped. And both of us were still mostly-dressed. So eventually I struggled to my feet and helped Phoebe up afterwards. We took turns in the bathroom (the other toothbrush had vanished) and changed into pyjamas, and got into bed with no more talk about making up the sofa.

We were nestled together like spoons, her chest against my back, and I was just beginning to drift off when she spoke. "Thank you for a really lovely date. What is the etiquette? Can I ask you on one now?"

"Let me think about that yes. What did you have in mind?"

"Hmm." Her toes wriggled against the back of my ankle. "Hmm. How about something involving heavy breathing and ropes?"

"You surprise me."

"There are still things you don't know about me, Yvonne. So is that a yes?"

"Yes indeed. Sounds exciting."

And so it turned out to be, but not in quite the way that I'd expected.