‘I’ve an apartment in London, but I’m almost never there.’ He couldn’t hide his pride in this.
‘And how long are you in Dublin?’
‘I leave tomorrow.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘Here, at the Clarence.’
‘Top.’ Lisa didn’t want to bring him to Pine Cottage. She was afraid that he’d be put off by all that unstylish pine, but there was an even bigger chance that she’d have gone off him by the end of the taxi journey.
As soon as the waiter took the plates of slightly rearranged food away, Lisa decided she’d deferred gratification for long enough. Wantonly she said to Wayne, ‘Time for bed.’
‘Blimey.’ He started at her brazenness and stood up obediently.
Ascending the lift of the hotel, bubbles of anticipation simmered in Lisa. She felt wicked and decadent – sometimes what a girl really needs is fast and furious sex with a total stranger. And what’s the point of having a fabulous, starved body if someone doesn’t get to see it occasionally?
Wayne’s smooth, brown hand shook slightly as he put the key in the door, and though she was really only acting a part, Lisa was thrilled at her power.
Once in, her fizzy expectation built. It was like being on a film set: the modern, stylish room, the man, young and fit and firm and pumped. There was no denying it – he was beautiful.
‘Close the door and take your clothes off,’ Lisa said, getting more and more into her dominatrix role.
Wayne anticipated her admiration. ‘You’re going to love this,’ he grinned, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. ‘I do two hundred sit-ups a day.’
His stomach was a tight marvel of six taut mounds, veeing outwards and upwards at his ribs into a taut, tanned chest. He was so perfect that Lisa’s confidence stumbled. He must be used to sleeping with exquisite, skinny models. Good thing she never ate.
‘Now you,’ he said.
With a minxy, meaningful smile – attitude was important – she pulled her white dress over her head in one fluid movement. Kelvin had been right – no knickers.
‘Snap,’ Wayne laughed, unzipping his tight, tailored trousers. His erection sprang forth, already semi-tumescent. No underwear.
A thrill passed through her. She was so ready for this.
He wasn’t the first person she’d slept with since Oliver. Shortly after he’d left she’d brought someone home in an attempt to get him out of her head. But it hadn’t been a great success, she’d probably tried too soon. This was far nicer.
‘You’re beautiful,’ Wayne remarked, touching her nipple with a professional interest.
‘I know. So are you.’
‘I know.’
They gorged on laughter, on each other’s beauty, and he kissed her, not unsexily.
‘Come on,’ he tried to lead her to the bed.
‘No. The floor.’ She wanted it rough and hard and intense.
‘Kinky,’ he said.
‘Hardly.’ She was scornful. ‘You’ve led a sheltered life.’
He wasn’t bad. He wasn’t great either. That was the problem with very good-looking men. They thought that if they just lay there it was enough to trigger a wave of orgasms. Luckily Lisa was very sure of what she wanted.
She shooed him away when he tried to get on top of her. This was her gig.
‘Slower,’ she warned, when he looked like getting a little too frisky beneath her. It was a bother having to stage-manage events, but at least he was compliant.
Some time later she shoved her hands under his buttocks and said, ‘Faster, faster!’
‘I thought you liked it slow.’
‘Well, I like it fast now,’ she gasped, and Wayne obediently obliged. In the throes of pleasure, she bit his shoulder.
‘Don’t,’ he yelped. ‘I’m on a swimwear shoot in two days’ time. I can’t have toothmarks.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ she exclaimed. ‘Harder!’
Wayne gathered force and speed, bucking his muscular hips up into hers. ‘I think I’m going to…’ he panted.
‘You’d better bloody not,’ she snapped. And she was so frightening, his imminent orgasm receded obediently.
Afterwards, they lay on the floor, still panting and breathless. Momentarily sated, Lisa idly surveyed the beechwood chair-legs at her eye level. That had been great, she thought. Just what she’d needed.
They continued to lie on the kingfisher-blue carpet until their breathing returned to normal, then Wayne began to make signs of life. Tenderly he stroked her hair and mused dreamily, ‘I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re so… strong.’
She responded with a curt, ‘Is there a mini-bar? Pour me a drink, I’m going to the loo.’
‘Righto.’
Righto!
She could barely squeeze into his bathroom because it was so crammed with skin-care products, shampoo, mousse, setting lotions and cologne. This did not endear him to her. What a girl. She curled her lip in contempt. On the washstand there were some beautiful shower-gel and body-lotion freebies and Lisa promised herself that she’d nick them before she left.
When she emerged, he guided her to the bed and put a glass of cold champagne in her hand. Climbing in beside her between the cool, cotton sheets he said, ‘Can I ask you something?’
His hushed, serious tone gave her to expect it would be one of those wanky questions that lovers ask each other – Do you believe in love at first sight? What are you thinking? Would you be faithful to me?
‘Go on,’ she said shortly.
He leant on his elbow, pointed to his forehead and asked, ‘Does that look like a spot to you?’
There was nothing on his forehead. It was as smooth as a baby’s bottom, as the skin of a peach, as a millpond, whatever…
‘Ooh, yeah,’ she frowned. ‘Quite a nasty one, isn’t it? Looks infected.’
He actually squawked with distress and pulled out a mirror he’d obviously been inspecting himself in while she’d been in the bathroom.
Lisa guffawed, highly amused. ‘What’s on the in-house movie?’ she asked. She didn’t want to talk to him while she waited for him to get it up again.
In between bouts of satisfyingly rough sex they watched films and drank champagne from the mini-bar. Eventually, sated and exhausted, they fell asleep. Lisa slept soundly and woke up in a marvellous mood, insisting on one more shag before she prepared to leave.