French and the third as dully as he could. Then in an imitation of Fred’s plaintiveness, ‘Jules! Jules! What an ugly diminutive.’ He was a poor mimic and sounded like a boy trying to amuse and impress other boys.
‘You can be really quite unpleasant,’ she said and meant it, but did not feel it.
She lay on her front and Jacob pressed himself down onto her back and then was inside her. The shock of pleasure was so strong that she lifted herself up to encourage him to push deeper. Jacob tilted his body to one side and as he pushed again – once, slow – he touched the centre of her pain so exactly that she cried out. She waited for Jacob to move, but he didn’t. He took his weight off her but stayed where he was, a containing pressure. He laid his head next to hers, one hand on her shoulder.
When the pain passed, Juliet shifted onto one side and began to speak. No one could have listened to her more carefully than Jacob did then, his head against hers. Juliet told him about the glass and stones and fire, and then, when he showed no sign of distaste, the blood and vomit and brown water. With these details he began to stroke her breasts, belly and thighs so lightly that her body, used to retreating at the first sign of pain, had to travel back towards him in order to make sense of his touch.
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