“Oh, God, Sinclair!” I fuss, leaping up.
“I thought it was OK for us to come over,” says Dearbhla dubiously.
“Well, it probably is, but I didn’t mention it to him, so….”
“The office awaits you!” chortles Emily gleefully as I push her out of the door. The pair of them scamper upwards to the second floor landing, intending to lurk there until Sinclair is safely inside the flat. I plump cushions frantically and launch myself full-length on to the sofa just as the door clicks.
“How did it go?” I ask with studied insouciance as he walks into the room, shrugging off his jacket as he approaches. He stops and frowns slightly, sniffing at the air.
“Have you had people round?”
Jesus H Christ! How would he know that?
“Erm…some friends called round. Is that a problem?”
He stares at me, clenching and unclenching his fists for a few seconds until he says, “No, I suppose it shouldn’t be. I’d appreciate it if you could mention it in future though. I don’t like the idea of strangers in my space without my knowledge or consent.”
“Oh, no, I suppose
that’s fair. I’m sorry.” I can see that Sinclair is making a massive effort to let go of that tiny area of control in his life, and I’m touched by it. “So anyway…?”
I sit up and he comes to sit beside me, pulling me over so that I lie with my head in his lap. He strokes my hair as he speaks.
“The Vice Chancellor wants me to get rid of you. I said no. He tried to make a deal but I stood firm. He caved in.”
“Really?” I am overawed that Sinclair would put his job on the line for me. I imagine a showdown between the VC and him, both in cowboy hats, blowing smoke from the ends of their pistols. How completely thrilling. “You constantly amaze me.”
“I amaze myself,” he concedes, preening a little. “Then I saw the BBC. They will keep me on; the programme is not aimed at a family or young audience, though they were concerned that some female viewers might turn off. We shall have to wait for tonight’s figures and see. I’ve made a deal with my publishers for a book for the Christmas market; they are offering a very substantial advance.”
“Did anyone recognise you?”
“I did attract a modicum of attention,” he says, half-smirking. “But in general, I found that people got out of my way in a most gratifying manner.”
“I’ll bet they did. Wincing as they scurried off. Everyone’s seen that tape.”
“Well, what’s done is done. The important thing to remember is that it has not resulted in anything disastrous.”
“I’d wait until tomorrow before you committed to that statement.”
“Oh?” He frowns down, tugging at a strand of hair.
“I don’t think mum and dad are going to welcome you with open arms,” I confide.
He resumes the stroking. Aaah. “They’ll come round,” he says. Sinclair. The Voice of God. He makes one believe everything he says somehow; it’s a neat trick to have. His thumb moves down to my lips, stroking along the line until I kiss it, try to nip at it, then he adjusts himself into a horizontal position, cradling me on the sofa, and lures me into a long and thorough kiss.
Oh, the reassurance of his embrace, like being folded in a huge blanket of erotic comfort. I feel safety and belonging, even as his hands slip under my skirt and my top, finding their targets without too much fumbling. One hand cups the smooth curve of my bottom, stroking and kneading it, sometimes moving down to my thigh; while the other has yanked down the cups of my bra so he can press his flat palm against the nipples, bringing them to painful hardness with expert ease. He encourages one of my legs over his hip so I am spread, then his fingers stroll down leisurely into the heated crack they find newly-opened. Mmm, I nuzzle into him, pushing and grinding against his hands, bumping up against the hard swell in his trousers.
He lets me out of the kiss just long enough to murmur, “The VC must have been mad to think I could let you go. I could never let you go.”
Blissfully I offer my stinging lips to him again, full of swirly whirly emotion, imagining my insides like one of those big funfair lollipops with different coloured whorls and loops – lust, love, happiness, lust, love, happiness. I flood his probing fingers with my juices and he is unbuckling his belt one-handedly, preparing to roll me over and pounce on top of me when I say, “I trust you, Sinclair.”
He stops for a second, hand clenched over the tooled leather and raises an eyebrow. “Good,” he says. “It’s mutual. Did you want a discussion now or can I resume my original plan to fuck you until you can’t stand?”
“No, what I meant was….” I am overcome with coyness for a few seconds and have to force the words out, “…that thing you wanted me to do….before….well, if you still want it…”
Sinclair frowns intently for a while, then his brow straightens. “That thing?” he says teasingly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more explicit than that, Beth. I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”
He bloody has, the swine! “You know!” I persist. “Don’t make me say it!”