London, Actually by Clare Lydon

Author:Clare Lydon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Custard Books

Chapter 27

Cleo lit another cigarette as soon as Becca left. She didn’t want to fall back on her old crutches, but this was one time when she knew she needed to.

What a fucking mess she’d made of this trip. The thing was, she wasn’t even sure how it had happened. Yes, she knew in reality how it happened. She’d had too much vodka and let her guard down. Then, her true feelings for Becca — the ones that had been bubbling under the surface — had slipped free.

And what a glorious night it had been. For a few hours, she’d forgotten all the reasons it couldn’t work. Last night had been a break from reality. A sexy, freeing, astounding trip to a place she’d long forgotten.

Even standing here, looking out across Boston’s rooftops, she could feel the fire under her fingertips, on her tongue, in her very core.

Connection. She’d forgotten what a powerful force it was.

In the past two years, she hadn’t had sex. When Sara had left her and gone travelling round the world, putting as much distance between them as she possibly could, it had felt like a kick in the guts, a rejection of everything she was and everything they had been.

Being a fan of order, Cleo had boxed up her feelings and shelved them, coming away from their five-year marriage with a new set of rules to live by. The key points being: younger women and her were not compatible; and sex, no matter how good, didn’t necessarily equate to a great relationship. She and Sara had great sex their whole time together, it hadn’t gone the way of most of her friends in long-term relationships. But it hadn’t been enough. So sex was put on the back burner, too, along with relationships.

But Becca had fabulous sex game, and it had made Cleo sit up. Literally and metaphorically. Her inside walls took a breath just thinking about it. How she’d missed touching someone, and having someone touch her. How she’d missed kissing someone. The touch of a tongue on her back. The feel of a hand on her inner thigh. The strong push of a hand inside her.

She closed her eyes.

This wasn’t like her. She normally played by the rules, and she’d known the rules with Becca almost since they’d met. Almost. And perhaps that was the key word.

Because that first night, there had been frisson, and there had been a kiss, a connection, a brief flicker of something. And yet, the age gap was too much to bridge. Even before she knew Becca worked with her, there was that.

Nonetheless, Cleo had allowed the flicker, had allowed a brief fantasy to play out. She’d allowed her lips to roam where they shouldn’t, there was no harm.

Last night, harm had been far away. When she’d licked Becca’s lips and thrust three fingers inside her, harm had been the opposite of where her head and heart had been. But it was a mirage, a temporary plane.

Now, harm had crept in.

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