So Now You're Back

Way to go, Xanax, only twenty minutes late to the party.

Luckily, Luke didn’t call her on her euphoric state, because she wasn’t quite ready to give him back his hand.

‘You look terrible,’ he said.

Way to go, Luke. You sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself.

‘I’ll look a lot better once I’m sure we aren’t going to get struck by lightning, hit a freak snowstorm, get hijacked or generally encounter anything that might cause us to go down in flames en route.’ The burst of verbal diarrhoea came naturally as the extreme panic downgraded to a bogstandard bout of nervous tension.

Nervous tension was doable. She knew how to handle that. She even knew how to use it to her advantage, because she’d had a lot of practice. Her nerves were an old and trusted friend.

The show’s first executive producer had once told her that her reaction to stress was the secret of her success, because the sharp, perky motormouthed quips she used to cope entertained while also making her totally relatable. Embracing the horrendous stage fright before every taping had become a key part of her ‘Everywoman appeal’.

‘Just so you know, if any of that stuff happens,’ she added, on a roll as her body sank into the seat, ‘I intend to arm-wrestle you for the Xanax. You have been warned.’

‘If any of that stuff happens,’ Luke replied drily, ‘you’re gonna need to be Dwayne Johnson to get to them, because I plan to bolt the lot.’

She laughed, the sound only slightly manic. And released his hand.

He flexed his fingers, probably checking for fractures, and she noticed the dark indents where her nails had dug into his skin.

‘I’ll keep these just in case.’ He flipped the bottle and caught it one-handed. ‘No more legal highs for you. Unless the slaphead executive over there turns out to be a hijacker.’ He nodded at the bald businessman, who had already resumed typing on his laptop. ‘In which case, let the arm-wrestling begin.’

He lifted his bum to shove the bottle of Xanax into the front pocket of his jeans, drawing her fuzzy gaze to his lap. The worn, comfortable denim cupped him, the metal studs of his button fly visible where the placket stretched over his groin. And a question from over twenty years ago popped into her head.

I wonder if he remembered to wear his underwear today?

Her pulse spiked and warmth settled into her lower body as she allowed her mind to drift into the safe, comforting fog of memory.

Chapter 7 (#ulink_6a3918ea-c44f-501d-85c1-f64512a39111)

She could smell dust and varnish and the faint whiff of boiled cabbage as she stood in the wings of the school hall’s stage, waiting to do her piano solo for the Year Ten end-of-term recital.

Her school shoes scraped from side to side on the scuffed floorboards, her lungs sawing in and out. Clammy sweat trickled between her shoulder blades as she undulated the fingers of her right hand, miming the opening movement of the piece she’d practised for hours the previous afternoon. It had to be perfect, or her mum and dad might start questioning the cost of her weekly piano lessons. Then they would surely ring her piano teacher, Ms Havilland, to ask what was going on. And Ms Havilland would tell them their daughter had stopped coming to lessons months ago, and then her mum and dad would know she’d been pocketing the five-pound lesson fee to sneak off and hang out with Luke at the precinct.

And if that happened, her life would be over, because they would ground her forever and she’d never be able to see Luke again.

So, basically, her whole entire life was balancing on the edge of a precipice, ready to plunge into the abyss at the sound of a single bum note in five minutes’ time.

Wiry forearms banded round her waist and a calloused palm captured her gasp as her captor hefted her back into the secretive darkness backstage.

The scent of Lifebuoy soap and the sweet whiff of marijuana had the blast of recognition careering through her and all thoughts of Beethoven, bum notes and imminent disaster shot out of her head on a wild rush of adrenaline and adoration.

It’s Luke. Luke’s here. Luke will make everything all right.

‘Luke, you shouldn’t be here. Miss Giddings will have a fit,’ she whispered frantically, the thrill pumping through her as she absorbed the determination on his face.

‘Let her,’ he said, and his lips covered hers.

Molly Tanner’s halting rendition of ‘Give Peace a Chance’ on the pan pipes dimmed, obliterated by the buzz of excitement as Luke’s tongue thrust deep, claiming her mouth in hungry furtive strokes. Rough fumbling fingers delved under the skirt her mum had ironed for her less than an hour ago and found the plump, yearning flesh already dampening the gusset of her knickers.

She cupped him in return—the illicit thrill of doing something forbidden streaking from the tips of her breasts to throb against his probing fingers. He hardened and lengthened against her palm, creating a big top in the coarse gaberdine of his uniform trousers.

‘That feels ace.’ He panted, cooling the sweaty hair stuck to her neck. The thrill turned to white-hot need, tempered by panic, when he ripped open his zipper and wrapped her fingers around the stiff column of naked flesh. Her hand jerked in shock.

‘Where are your pants?’

‘Forgot them this morning.’ His breathing became hoarse and rapid. ‘After this, I may never remember them again.’

She’d felt his erection before, prodding against her belly through their clothing when they kissed. She’d even seen it tenting his trousers when they’d done some heavy petting last Thursday, and it had fascinated her. But she’d never realised it would feel this wonderful. Soft and silky, and yet so large and rock hard. It leaped in her hand as she brushed her thumb over the head and made his breathing catch.

This was more than ace. It was totally amazing. To have this power over him, to know he wanted her this much.

His hand folded over hers, directing the speed and strength of her strokes, urging her on with soft grunts of approval.

‘That’s right, keep going, make me come.’ His other hand yanked down her panties. ‘I’m going to do you, too,’ he hissed, thrilling her even more.

She bucked against his invading fingers as he parted her folds and discovered the burning spot at the top. Excruciating pleasure coiled between her legs.

‘Oh!’ She sobbed, biting into her lip to muffle the sound.

‘Did I hurt you?’ He stopped. ‘Show me how to do it the way you like it.’ His demand sounded feral, intense in the darkness.

‘Don’t stop, it didn’t hurt,’ she managed. She grabbed his wrist, directing him the way he had directed her, until he began to press and circle the right spot. ‘That’s it.’

‘You’re so wet down there,’ he whispered, sounding surprised but pleased. ‘It feels wonderful, all soft and slick.’

She grasped his erection again to stroke him, too.

‘I know,’ she said, as if she did know, but she didn’t really.

She’d touched herself before, explored, but it had never made her feel like this. Terrified and desperate and cherished and bad all at once. The tight coil of need twisted and yanked, ready to shove her off a cliff and make her pee herself at one and the same time.

He groaned as if he were dying, his face pressed into her hair. ‘Oh, fuck, yes, yes, I’m coming.’

His thick cock grew even bigger, then jerked in her hand, splattering something warm against her belly where he’d wrenched up her skirt.

His body softened, but those magic fingers never faltered, still rubbing, circling, caressing. She widened her legs, rocked her hips to increase the pressure, and the coil yanked tighter, tighter …

‘Hurry up, Hal, go for it.’

‘Oh, yes … That’s …’

His hand slapped over her mouth, just in time to silence her sobbing cry, as blue ribbons of fire blasted through her torso. White light shot in a glittering arc right out the top of her head, sensation cascading through her body like a Roman candle.

The thunder of applause sounded over the hammering of her pulse, her body’s own standing ovation. But as she floated back to earth and saw Luke scrambling to stuff himself and his shirt tails back into his trousers, the enthusiastic clapping became real.

‘Oh, bloody buggering hell, Molly’s finished,’ she whispered, shocked into full consciousness. Of where they were, and what they’d just done. Together.