Part 20

Catherine's bedroom is still dark when I wake up. I pull the rumpled duvet a bit closer around myself and look sleepily at the space she's left in the bed, running my fingers over where she's been lying. The sheet has gone quickly cold, but it's nice to think about her body having been there, with me, not long before. I listen for a moment and can just about hear her in the kitchen, and I imagine her pottering about looking sexy in her short dressing gown. I stretch my body and legs under the duvet and enjoy the feeling of tired satisfaction in my muscles: Catherine and I had a lot of sex last night, and now I have that lovely sort of happy-tired feeling of the morning after.

I raise my head and strain to see the time on her clock-radio: 07.37. Quite early for a Sunday, especially as I don't think we even went to sleep until about half two. I wonder if it's even light beyond the curtains. I yawn and stretch again, then get up and root about in my bag for my pyjama shorts and vest top. I came prepared to stay the night, this time. There is a nice smell of real coffee beginning to fill the flat. I take my toothbrush with me to the bathroom.

It's just starting to think about getting light, I notice, as I find Catherine in the kitchen area. I yawn again and take a moment to admire her long bare legs below her dressing gown. My fingers and lips know every inch of those legs now, but they still excite me. Her dressing gown is quite loose on her, and I think about her body – the shape of her breasts and hips and thighs, the smell of her skin, the movement of her toned muscles under the smooth skin as she was on top of me, her soft slipperiness under my lips and hands – and I hope she's naked underneath.

She turns when she hears me, and pads towards me. She is naked underneath, and I enjoy my arousal at the thought. Her gaze runs up my legs and body, lingering for a while on the shape of my breasts in my vest top. I can feel that my nipples are erect again, I can feel them pushing at the material, and I like the way she licks her lips as she notices. I love the expression of hunger on her face, similar to the hunger with which she looked at me in the dress, but different too now. Different now we have made love, been naked together; now that it's afterwards, and we are covered up again but still achy and sticky from sex, under our thin clothing, and that thought makes us both hungry for more. It feels like she wants me all over again, wants to start again from the beginning, and I feel my insides begin to melt again at the prospect.

She reaches up and brushes a thick strand of hair from my face as her other hand goes to my hip to pull our bodies together. I close my eyes and enjoy the hot softness of our kiss. I was right. There is hunger there, in the way she breathes out quickly against my cheek and gently encourages my lips apart with her tongue. There's a simple physical desire in the way her knee brushes my thighs and her breasts slide against mine lightly. I murmur into the kiss at the lovely way the movement stimulates my sensitive nipples through my top. Her hand tightens on my hip and I feel her fingers touch my neck under my hair. I slide my hands up her back and hold her to me.

Her tongue pushes more confidently into my mouth, and I welcome her, sliding my tongue around hers to coax her further in. It feels almost like she's using her tongue in my mouth like she wants to use it elsewhere, and I love it. I slide one hand down her back and fondle the soft tightness of her bum, wanting to feel her heat against mine. She grunts into the kiss, sending a thrill of desire though me. I love feeling her get so turned on, and I want her inside me again. Her hand moves from my hip over my tummy, pushing my top up so her fingers can brush my navel.

Keeping the kiss, I move backwards a step or two, and am glad when she stumbles with me. The kiss starts to break as our bodies separate, but our hands find each other and we link fingers. Her other hand trails over my neck, through my hair and along my cheek as our heads move apart. She runs a finger over my swollen lips . 'Fi...' Her voice is hoarse with lust.

I smile and tug at her hand, as I start to walk backwards out of the living area. She glances towards the coffee stewing in the cafetière, then back at me. Watching her lovely, flushed face, I run my free hand over the shape of my breast in my top, cupping one and running my thumb over the prominent little bump of my straining nipple. She licks her lips and swallows. I walk back another couple of steps, letting go of her hand so I can stroke my tummy instead, pushing my top up with my wrist. I like the way her eyes linger on my bare navel, then flick back to where I'm stroking my nipple.

'It's fine, Catherine. I like it strong.' My throat is dry, I'm so aroused. 'Coffee, I mean.' I slide my hand down my tummy again and push it into my pj shorts. I know I am more than ready for her, but I want to emphasise the point (and give her something to think about.) I gasp even so, as I push a finger into my wet heat, surprised at how urgently I suddenly need her on me. In me. 'Coffee can wait. I can't.'

She runs a hand through her hair. 'Fuck...'

'Yes please.' I grin and make it to the bedroom door. I feel the wood of the jamb on my shoulders.

She swallows hard and moves quickly towards me. With a rush of excitement, I hold my breath as she takes me in her arms and kisses me hard and quick, before pushing me into the room and back onto the bed. She shrugs her already loosened dressing gown off her body and stands, naked, to look at me for a second. I bite my lip and drink in her gorgeousness. She is as eager and flushed and aroused as I am.

I push my shorts off my hips and bum, then gasp in pleasure as I feel her hands on my legs. She takes the shorts and pulls them off my feet, then runs her hands sensuously back up my legs. Her hands are warm, firm but loving as she strokes my thighs, pushing them apart a little. I lean up slightly and pull my top over my head. She moves one hand to take that from me too, and drops it on the floor with her gown and my shorts.

She moves to kneel on the foot of the bed and I wriggle back until I feel the pillows behind me. Still stroking my legs, she starts to kiss my calves, then my knees, then the insides of my thighs. I hold my breath and enjoy the anticipation of her mouth on me.

But she surprises me, teasing me by kissing right to the top of my legs, then moving to kiss my tummy. But before I can react properly, suddenly she moves her whole body, positioning herself between my open legs and running a hand up the inside of my thighs. Her mouth searches out mine for a hard, deep kiss as her hand presses against me, almost hesitant about asking to go further. I stroke her back and bum and whisper her name, I tell her I need her inside me. Her mouth moves down and she takes one of my solid nipples in her mouth, rolling her tongue around it to make me groan with lust. I feel my hips come up automatically to meet her hand as she presses a thumb on to my clit and I sigh with such deep pleasure as she enters me with her fingers.

***

We were good together the first time, months before, when neither of us had known we'd meet; it is even better this time, knowing a little more about what the other likes. I'm very pleased that Catherine wanted to see me again and spend time with me, wanted to make love to me again.

I cuddle her during a lull, as she dozes. She's lying half on top of me, one arm over me just under my breasts, her face buried in my hair. The taste of her is still strong in my mouth. I sigh with pleasure and allow myself to imagine just for a few moments that we will do this again, lots, as part of being together as a couple. I look at her flushed face and want to be with her as her breath tickles my cheek. I suppose it was easier to think of her as a nice one-off weekend last time, because that's what it was. Having been together a second time now, I know it will be just that little bit harder to go. I think this time, I might leave a tiny part of me behind with her.

***

Catherine has food in this time, so we make breakfast in her kitchen and eat it at the breakfast bar. The coffee she'd been making before we went back to her bed has long gone cold, so she makes another pot. After breakfast, we shower and dress and go for a walk in the park near her flat, and spend the afternoon lounging about on her sofa. We talk a lot, about life and work, but also about relationships and sex, about how it wouldn't be fair on either of us to be together as a couple because of her inhumane work schedule, about how we should keep what we have had as something beautiful that can't happen again.

'I could love you, I think,' I tell her. 'Fall in love with you, I mean.'

She looks grave. 'I could love you too, Fi. Far too easily.' She turns my hand over in hers and traces my fingers. 'That's why I think we should stop now. Before it's too late.'

Part of me wants to disagree, to offer to take the chance of being hurt. But I realise she is probably right, on balance; that she is being cruel now to avoid more hurt later. It's still not very nice to think that we've already had whatever we could ever have, though.

***

She walks with me to the station, and we hug on the platform. I suddenly feel the sadness prick my eyes and tell myself not to be so stupid. But her eyes look a tiny bit moist too, I notice. We kiss goodbye quickly, and she waves me off.

***

After a month or so I learn not to hope for a text or call from Catherine. I also realise that texting her my love, drunkenly, late at night, is not a good idea – but, to be fair, I only do that once anyway and she very sensibly ignores me completely.

I throw myself into baking.

Petra and I go out together quite a lot, and become pretty good friends now we no longer feel any pressure to sleep with each other.

Michelle emails me at some point in early March, and we meet outside, as normal. She commissions a birthday cake from me for Toby, but she leaves it up to me to decide what sort of cake to make.

'Incidentally, what with all this cake,' I say, 'I'm going to have to start doing some exercise.'

She laughs. 'If you say so. You get a discount off that place up the road here, you know? Just show them a recent payslip to prove you work here.' She waves her cigarette around and brushes stray ash off her skirt.

I mull that over. I don't really want to join a gym, but I was slightly shocked to find a pair of trusty old jeans were too tight for me, the last time I tried them on. 'OK, thanks for the tip.'

***

I make three different cakes for Michelle to try: a coffee and walnut sponge with mocha icing, a fruit loaf, and a Guinness and chocolate cake with a naughtily rich buttercream icing. I do them three weeks in a row, and leave them with Michelle and the rest of her department to judge and decide which they think I should do for Toby. I'm secretly quite pleased with them all, and want someone else to make the decision for me.

On the third Friday, I'm more or less the only person left in the department by four o'clock, as usual. I quite like this time, because I can actually get some uninterrupted work done. Two of the clerks make their way out at about quarter-past, bidding me goodnight on their way to the pub, and I stand up quickly to look over the partitions. I am actually the only person left. I lock my PC and bend down to my bottom drawer to get a teabag: just enough time for a last cuppa, before home time, and I could do with it to keep me company for the next forty minutes.

A noise makes me look up sharply. Diana is smiling at me – a little uncertainly, perhaps – over the top of the partition. 'Fiona, hello. I hope I didn't shock you.'

'Um, no.' I straighten up and automatically touch a hand to my hair. It probably looks a mess, and I tuck a loose strand behind my ear. Then I straighten my skirt, even though I probably don't need to. 'No, it's fine. I just thought I was alone, that's all.'

'Ah yes. Sorry.' She hesitates, looking at my mug. 'Were you, er...?'

'Yes. Do you want a coffee? It's only instant, I'm afraid.'

'Instant's fine. Thanks, Fiona.'

I nod and head for the kettle. It occurs to me for the first time that Diana is practically the only person I know in adult life who still calls me by my full name after more than one conversation. I normally don't like my full name and insist on “Fi”, but on Diana's lips, “Fiona” somehow sounds better. Actually, it reminds me of a teacher at school I had a massive crush on for a while when I was fourteen, and that makes me smile.

When I return to my desk, she's sitting on a spare chair, gazing into space. I put our two mugs down carefully, and she looks up. 'Ah, Fiona. Thanks.' I can't help smiling again, and she frowns. 'What's so funny?'

I grin a bit more. She sounds so very much like a teacher just then. 'Nothing. It's just you always use my full name.'

'Don't you like it?'

'Not usually. But I don't mind it from you. It's just...' I tail off and sit down. I don't want to offend her.

'What? You'll have to tell me, now you've started.' There is a hint of mischief in her eyes. Maybe even amusement.

'I'm sorry.' I cross my legs and settle my skirt around my thighs. I don't check to see if she watches, but I suspect she probably can't help herself. That thought pleases me too. 'It's just, the last time someone insisted on calling me “Fiona”, it was a teacher at school.'

There's an slightly awkward pause.'I can't call you “Fi”, I'm sorry. “Fiona” is such a nice name, in full. And I suppose I am easily old enough to have been your teacher.'

She's serious, but not cross. I realise that she has come to make peace, and it's nice to be on speaking terms with her again. Also, I rather like it that she likes my name. I smile at her and hold her gaze. 'It's fine, I quite like it. I liked it from her, because I had the biggest crush on her anyway. And I don't mind it from you, and it doesn't matter how old you are because now I'm an adult too.'

There's another little pause. Diana glances down then back up. She drinks coffee. 'I've very much been enjoying your cake, these last couple of weeks.'

'Thanks.' I drink tea and look at her. She's being serious. I can't believe we're talking like civilised humans again. 'Which did you prefer?'

She smiles. 'Well, the walnut and coffee one appealed very much, for obvious reasons. The sponge was beautifully soft. You do a good sponge, Fiona.' She ticks points off on her fingers. 'There was a good balance in that one. The fruit loaf, well, not my kind of thing, but I did enjoy it more than I expected. Normally they're too heavy for me, but yours had a generous dash of brandy, which helped.' Her smile briefly flits into a full-blown cheeky grin, before she goes back to looking serious. 'The Guinness cake, this week. Now that, Fiona...ahh.' She points at me. 'That was a triumph. Perfect in every way.' She sits back.

I'm glowing with pleasure, and I blush. 'Umm, thanks. Thank you. That actually means quite a lot.' I don't think I've ever heard Diana giving anyone anything but the most perfunctory praise, so to have my cake described as “perfect” by her almost makes me want to squeal with delight. I can't help grinning, and I try to hide it by drinking more tea.

When I look again, Diana seems slightly surprised at how pleased I am. She opens her mouth to say something, then pauses and obviously decides on another tack. 'You should have more confidence in yourself, Fiona. It was lovely.' She glances down and there's a short silence between us. I feel she has more to say, so I sit quietly and sip tea. She starts to fidget, fiddling with a paperclip on my desk. Then she realises and stops herself. 'There was a lovely aftertaste of Guinness to it,' she adds finally. 'Which brings me to why I'm here.'

Oh my God, I think, randomly. How odd would it be if she asked me out for a drink?

She glances at me, then away, then back again. If I didn't know she was a well-respected, formidable and generally feared lawyer, I'd say she was nervous. 'When you've finished up here, would you like to go for a drink?'

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