Pillow Talk by Freya North Page A

humiliating her yet also to want to impress him, seduce him, enamour him of her – so that perhaps he wouldn't do it again. When she sobered up, no doubt she would wonder why on earth she hadn't just said, Rob, you sod, please shut up – it's private and you're embarrassing me. But she was a little drunk and her heels throbbed and she'd knocked her knee on the side of Rob's chair and it was the same chair she'd once wet in her sleep. And suddenly she loved him for having not humiliated her by revealing that episode to his colleagues. And foremost in her conscience was that she'd pissed Rob off the night before and so now she ought to make it up to him because she didn't like upsetting people and she didn't like arguments and she didn't like conflict and she wanted to remind Rob that there was more to her than Snoopy T-shirts and calls from the police. And it would be so very nice if this relationship could last beyond a year.
Before he had time to pour himself a whisky, Petra was behind him, encircling her arms around him. She kissed him between his shoulder blades, huffing hot breath through his shirt while she travelled her hands down his stomach and unzipped his trousers.
‘What's all this?’ he murmured though he took her hand and thrust it down his boxers. He turned and kissed her hungrily. He tasted slightly rancid, of too much beer and champagne on top of a liquid lunch, but Petra told herself to block it out. She kissed him back thoughtfully, taking care to skip her tongue around his mouth, her teeth grazing his lips. She looked into his eyes which were a little bloodshot but no doubt hers were too. She didn't really like his face so much when he was drunk – it was what Eric would term ‘leery’ and Eric had seen Rob pissed once before. But leery was fine for now because sex was on the agenda. He squeezed her breasts and bucked his groin against hers. She swept her hand downwards and thrilled at the feel of his erection holding the fine wool of his suit trousers aloft. He fumbled with his belt and pushed his trousers and underpants down. His hands at her shoulders urged Petra to squat down though she stifled the wince of pain as her knee objected.
‘Suck my cock,’ he panted and Petra obliged, though she didn't need his hands guiding her head and she wished he wouldn't because it made her gag. ‘God, I'm horny,’ he murmured, pulling her up to standing, which again sent waves of pain through her knee as it was straightened. ‘Got to fuck you now,’ he said, groping and pulling her trousers as he backed her towards the sofa. His desire for her was what turned Petra on most about Rob. He could be arrogant, he could be moody. They hadn't that much in common, really. He wasn't what she'd term tender, which was a quality she rated, and he was attentive really because he could afford to be – flowers and gifts and nice dinners in upmarket restaurants. But he was very good at sex, and it was obvious that he thought Petra was very good at sex. He liked sex a lot and he liked lots of it and it flattered Petra that she appeared to turn him on so much and it was a thrill for her to take credit for his libido and his satisfaction.
So he fucked her rudely and quickly on his sofa and she thought to herself that, though her knee was being scuffled painfully against the fabric because he was taking her from behind, if they had been in missionary then both her sore heels would have suffered anyway. So it was OK. It was good, wasn't it, as he humped into her, his hand between her legs fiddling around for her clitoris. As he came, his mouth was at her ear and his gasps and groaning turned her on more than his cock or his hands and she moved herself urgently so that she came too.
They lay in a post-orgasmic, drunken slump.
‘Nice fuck,’ Rob said at length, easing himself off her. ‘Petra,’ he said sternly, ‘ pop socks ?’
‘You weren't meant to see,’ she said with a coy smile, ‘but you were in a rush to have