then they met. He was in her hotel lobby, apparently questioning the receptionist, when she came back on the final day, ready to drop into bed and sleep through. She felt a frisson of excitement, but crept past him, despite Melanie’s voice whispering, ‘Go, girl,’ in her head.
‘Ms Parker,’ the receptionist’s voice called her. ‘Ms Parker. I have Mr Jones here for you. He says he has an appointment.’
Suzanna raised her eyebrows. An appointment?
‘Hey, Suzanna, you’re still here. I was hoping you’d call.’
This was the first time a fuck partner had tracked her down again. It had all been down to chance in the past.
‘You know,’ she shrugged. ‘Busy, busy, busy.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘How was the keynote speech?’ She thought it only polite to ask.
‘Nerve-wracking. But apparently well received, if the bastards aren’t lying to me and sniggering behind my back.’
‘I guess you’ll never know that.’
‘They will be. It’s a dead cert. Either through professional envy, because it was good, or because it was crap after all.’
They both smiled.
‘Goodbye drink?’ His voice was hopeful.
She hesitated, then nodded.
‘Come up to my room.’ She’d made her mind up. It wouldn’t hurt, would it, to fuck him properly this time? Still no commitments. Just a goodbye, we won’t see each other again, fuck. Like all the rest.
He followed her. Their lift journey was silent. They stood well apart. In her room, he stood by the window overlooking the bay while she found two small, cold bottles of champagne.
‘Can I kiss you?’
She nearly giggled at his formal, old-fashioned tone.
‘If you must.’
His kiss was light at first. He cupped her chin, just touched his lips on hers. Then they lingered, and parted hers, his tongue pushing inside, suddenly more insistent, far less formal. He began to unbutton her blouse, slip his fingers into her bra, twist her nipples, making her groan.
Now she wanted him. Really fucking wanted him. The tiredness had oozed from her.
‘Go, girl.’ Melanie’s voice again. She could hear it because he was the first person since Melanie to have really touched her. And she knew Melanie would have been OK once she’d left. She’d have ditched Jake, moved on to someone new, but stayed where she was, physically. Melanie was rooted. Solid, beautiful and happy in her skin.
They fell onto the bed, tearing off clothes, discarding them in a molten pile on the floor.
The first fuck was quick, routine, urgent. He was already rock-hard. She parted her thighs and welcomed him. He thrust into her, she pushed against him. He came quickly then withdrew.
For a fleeting moment she feared disappointment. She closed her eyes, unable to believe she was trying to suppress tears. But then she felt his fingers run down her sides, circle her flat belly, dip between her thighs. And then he flipped her over. Things were looking increasing promising. She felt the woosh of air as his hand flew down to slap her arse. Her cunt tingled with desire. This was more like it.
‘That’s for not calling me.,’ His voice was curt.
Another woosh. Another slap.
‘And that’s for trying to creep past me in Reception.’
She took the punishment, almost coming from the slaps alone, burying her head in the soft, plump pillows, crying out with pleasure. Her arse was stinging, and she hoped his hands were too.
‘And this is for saying yes to that drink.’ His voice was soft now. He was stroking her arse, down the back of her thighs. She shuddered with pleasure. His hands moved between her arse cheeks, tracing a line down to her cunt, forward to her clit. She raised her arse to welcome his touch. She felt his lips on the curve of her back, his cock, hard again now, pressed against her side.
‘Fuck me,’ she whispered.
And he did, raising her arse and pounding into her, gripping her hips. Her fingers strayed to her clit, and she began touching. His hand pushed hers away, and he touched her instead. Gentle circles. Round and round. Her arse writhed against him, matching his rhythm, and this time they came together.
Her orgasm was delicious, waves of frenzied spasms rolled through as he groaned and thrust until he was spent.
They fell back on the bed, hot and satiated.
The night ended how it had started, with them entangled on the bed, whispering to one another, sharing. And it felt good. Like the sex. Then morning came, and time for them to part.
‘See you again?’ he’d asked. She hadn’t replied.
And now she was here, waiting for her plane. He had returned to Australia, on a lecture tour. She took her phone from her bag and turned it around in her hands. Did she want to be tied down, not literally – she always wanted that – but metaphorically? Did she want to feel rooted? She thought that, at last, she might. She’d never stop travelling. That was in her soul. And she doubted she’d stop adventuring in the near future, at least. She wasn’t ready, yet, to be exclusive.
She began texting.
‘Yeah, see you again Simon, Suzanna x.’
And this time she was quite sure she would.
Holiday Showmance
Viva Jones
As the sun set over the Mykonos coastline, Vicky sipped her chilled margarita and snuggled up to her boyfriend, Stuart. She could hardly believe they were there. Just four days ago they’d decided to find a last-minute, end-of-season holiday, and, after an evening of trawling the internet for bargains, had chosen pretty much the first one they’d come across: seven nights on the Greek island of Mykonos, breakfast and dinner included. For two years they’d each been so engrossed in their new ventures – Vicky with an upmarket high-street gift store, Stuart with his painting and decorating business – that they hadn’t enjoyed any kind of break at all. Sex was their de-stress activity, it was their indulgence.
Vicky’s passion was neither shoes nor lipstick; it was sex toys, outfits and delighting Stuart with her never-ending imagination. Already, sitting at the table watching the sun dip below the sea, she was scanning the place for hideaways where she could pleasure him: the cluster of olive trees on the hills, perhaps, behind the little chapel to the west, and why not deep in that warm blue sea itself?
She had another sip of her margarita as Stuart, unshaven and relaxed, enjoyed his beer over the tourist brochure.
‘How about a day trip?’ he suggested. ‘It says here there are cruises to a deserted beach, lunch included. What do you think?’
‘Yes,
