Skip to the End by Molly James

Author:Molly James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2022-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

16

The second the taxi is in motion, his lips are on mine. It’s hard to coordinate with the bumping and the breaking and I’m feeling a little champagne-dizzy so it’s a relief when he transfers his attention to my neck. He’s wearing a different cologne to the wedding but it smells equally expensive. It makes me feel like I’m in the hands of a professional. And he is slick – I barely notice the transition from the cab to his place. From the key in the door to the steaming shower.

‘It’s all ready for you . . .’

I hover in the doorway, asking myself if I’m really going to shed my clothes right here, right now. I’m sure there must be a reason why I should hold back but I can’t for the life of me think what it is. My eyes glance around the bathroom – it is exceptionally clean. Cleaning service clean. He has an aftershave collection to rival Selfridges and those towels look so plush . . .

‘Never mind the towels!’ I hear May huffing. ‘What are your instincts telling you about him?’

I don’t know if I can even trust them anymore – I’ve been wrong so many times, utterly convinced I’ve met a quality guy only to flash-forward and see his dark side. Perhaps it’s happening in reverse this time? The more layers I peel back, the more I like what I see.

Speaking of which . . . Tristan’s jacket is off now and his unbuttoned shirt is giving me a preview of his tanned chest. He may have been at the opera by night in Milan but he was definitely on the hotel roof terrace by day.

‘Everything okay?’ he asks.

And that’s when I hear a voice, which sounds a lot like Jay’s, say, ‘Go on, treat yourself!’

And so I do.

*

It’s dizzying to be desired with such intensity. I can’t believe someone so attractive could be this into me! I’d forgotten the outrageous pleasure of exploring a man’s body – how flawlessly silky his skin is, the firm lines, the boulder biceps . . .

It is clear now there will be no trip to the pub. Instead we kiss like we’ve been starved of contact for decades. Hearing his pleasure-drenched moans and knowing I am the cause is such an ego boost. My chin is going to be scorched tomorrow but I don’t care. I just want to pull him closer, clamp him to me and feel that primal connection, bruised hip bones and all.

There’s no gazing into each other’s eyes, no still moments, no giggling – it’s just full tilt sexual charge.

Eventually we fall apart, panting, shiny, trying to catch our breath. He reaches over and presses a button on his bedside remote and I feel a cool breeze whisk over my damp skin – it’s as if I’ve been sunbathing in the tropics and now I’m being spritzed by an ice mister. Heaven!

I’m just thinking that no words can do justice to what just transpired when I realise he’s fallen asleep.

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