rush to my side? I’m off the sofa and make the door in three strides. When I wrench it open, Marcus is standing there.
‘I have chocolates,’ he says. ‘I have champagne. I have a cuddly toy.’
In fact, he has a large, fluffy polar bear snuggled beneath his arm.
‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you,’ he continues before I have a chance to speak. ‘So I dropped by on the off-chance to wish you a Merry Christmas. If you want to tell me to fuck off, then I’ll go.’
Marcus looks gorgeous and not a little drunk. His blond hair is all messed up and he’s looking very boyish. He makes the polar bear wave a paw at me. It’s very cute. Whether it’s because I’m experiencing a feeling of goodwill to all mankind after spending the afternoon in the soup kitchen or whether it’s because my only other option is a thirty-year-old episode of
The Best of Morecambe and Wise
, I sigh and say, ‘How can I tell you to fuck off – it’s Christmas?’
I open the door wide and Marcus lurches into the lounge. ‘Are you alone?’ he says. ‘I hoped you would be.’
‘I’ve just got back from seeing friends.’ It’s not strictly a lie as Clive was at the drop-in centre too.
‘Where’s Lover Boy then?’
‘Lover Boy is in Australia.’ Marcus needs to know no more. ‘Do you want coffee?’ I ask. ‘You look like you could do with it.’
‘That would be great.’ My ex-fiancé sinks onto my sofa and makes himself comfortable.
In the kitchen I bang about with coffee cups and stuff while my mind whirls in turmoil. If I was a hard-hearted and sensible individual, I’d show Marcus the door. But I’m not. I’m a pushover and I’m lonely. Would it be so wrong to spend the rest of the evening with him? I need some company, Marcus is here and available – so who’s using who this time round? I’ll make him play Pictionary with me and then just when he thinks it’s too late to go home and is eyeing my sofa – or my bed – wistfully, I’ll call him a cab.
I take the coffee through to the lounge and put the cups on the table. Marcus has slipped off his jacket and his shoes. I’m not sure where to sit. Shall I casually slip down next to Marcus, or plump for the armchair out of harm’s way? But while I’m in the process of making this crucial decision, Marcus’s arms snake round my thighs and he pulls me down on top of him.
‘Marcus!’ I thump him in the chest and try to extricate myself from his clutches. His arms are strong and solid around me and, I shouldn’t be thinking this, but it feels oh, so good to be locked in his embrace.
He grins at me. ‘God, I’ve missed you.’ Then he kisses me deep and hard. His hands are on my face, in my hair, on my breasts, bum, everywhere. I can’t breathe, I can’t say no. His lips are hot and feverish and it reminds me of the first time Marcus and I ever slept together – it was wild, passionate and I loved him from that very minute. We tumble to the floor, the coffee-table gets knocked over, the cups go for a burton. That’s my carpet stained.
‘I love you,’ Marcus is saying over and over. ‘I love you so much.’ He tugs my T-shirt off and then makes short work of my trousers. His mouth never leaves mine and, I don’t know how it happens, but minutes later we’re both naked, a trail of discarded clothes on the floor. We’re lying beneath the Christmas tree and I’ve got carpet burns everywhere. I should say no. I
definitely
should say no. But I can’t. I’m alone and Marcus needs me, wants me, loves me. There are pine needles sticking in my bottom, but there’s a strange comfort from knowing every inch of this man as he eases himself inside me. Marcus has always been a fantastic lover and sometimes I might hate him for it, but I can never deny it. My ex-fiancé is moving above me. There’s love and lust in his eyes. He holds me tight. ‘Lucy,’ he gasps as he comes inside me. ‘I love you.’
‘Oh, Marcus,’ I say. But I don’t know
‘I have chocolates,’ he says. ‘I have champagne. I have a cuddly toy.’
In fact, he has a large, fluffy polar bear snuggled beneath his arm.
‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you,’ he continues before I have a chance to speak. ‘So I dropped by on the off-chance to wish you a Merry Christmas. If you want to tell me to fuck off, then I’ll go.’
Marcus looks gorgeous and not a little drunk. His blond hair is all messed up and he’s looking very boyish. He makes the polar bear wave a paw at me. It’s very cute. Whether it’s because I’m experiencing a feeling of goodwill to all mankind after spending the afternoon in the soup kitchen or whether it’s because my only other option is a thirty-year-old episode of
The Best of Morecambe and Wise
, I sigh and say, ‘How can I tell you to fuck off – it’s Christmas?’
I open the door wide and Marcus lurches into the lounge. ‘Are you alone?’ he says. ‘I hoped you would be.’
‘I’ve just got back from seeing friends.’ It’s not strictly a lie as Clive was at the drop-in centre too.
‘Where’s Lover Boy then?’
‘Lover Boy is in Australia.’ Marcus needs to know no more. ‘Do you want coffee?’ I ask. ‘You look like you could do with it.’
‘That would be great.’ My ex-fiancé sinks onto my sofa and makes himself comfortable.
In the kitchen I bang about with coffee cups and stuff while my mind whirls in turmoil. If I was a hard-hearted and sensible individual, I’d show Marcus the door. But I’m not. I’m a pushover and I’m lonely. Would it be so wrong to spend the rest of the evening with him? I need some company, Marcus is here and available – so who’s using who this time round? I’ll make him play Pictionary with me and then just when he thinks it’s too late to go home and is eyeing my sofa – or my bed – wistfully, I’ll call him a cab.
I take the coffee through to the lounge and put the cups on the table. Marcus has slipped off his jacket and his shoes. I’m not sure where to sit. Shall I casually slip down next to Marcus, or plump for the armchair out of harm’s way? But while I’m in the process of making this crucial decision, Marcus’s arms snake round my thighs and he pulls me down on top of him.
‘Marcus!’ I thump him in the chest and try to extricate myself from his clutches. His arms are strong and solid around me and, I shouldn’t be thinking this, but it feels oh, so good to be locked in his embrace.
He grins at me. ‘God, I’ve missed you.’ Then he kisses me deep and hard. His hands are on my face, in my hair, on my breasts, bum, everywhere. I can’t breathe, I can’t say no. His lips are hot and feverish and it reminds me of the first time Marcus and I ever slept together – it was wild, passionate and I loved him from that very minute. We tumble to the floor, the coffee-table gets knocked over, the cups go for a burton. That’s my carpet stained.
‘I love you,’ Marcus is saying over and over. ‘I love you so much.’ He tugs my T-shirt off and then makes short work of my trousers. His mouth never leaves mine and, I don’t know how it happens, but minutes later we’re both naked, a trail of discarded clothes on the floor. We’re lying beneath the Christmas tree and I’ve got carpet burns everywhere. I should say no. I
definitely
should say no. But I can’t. I’m alone and Marcus needs me, wants me, loves me. There are pine needles sticking in my bottom, but there’s a strange comfort from knowing every inch of this man as he eases himself inside me. Marcus has always been a fantastic lover and sometimes I might hate him for it, but I can never deny it. My ex-fiancé is moving above me. There’s love and lust in his eyes. He holds me tight. ‘Lucy,’ he gasps as he comes inside me. ‘I love you.’
‘Oh, Marcus,’ I say. But I don’t know
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