The Lie

We never got a chance to date before. We worked together and it became something more – briefly – before it was taken away. But we were never able to get to know each other freely, in the ways that we wanted to.

After we slept together – in his office, in his flat – we spent the week together in each other’s arms. Every chance I got I was over there. Sometimes we went for dinner or the pub, but most of the time he was fucking me senseless, sometimes in his bed, sometimes in the living room. Pretty much anywhere that the dog wasn’t. I know we’re making up for years of lost time and I don’t have any complaints, even though I’m pretty raw at times and walking around like I’ve just gotten off a horse. In a way I have. The man is massive and I’m still getting used to his size. I’m pretty lucky that he can get me wet just by gazing at me with those carnal eyes.

Naturally he’s clouding my thoughts when we’re not tangled together with raw lust and sweat-soaked skin. He’s all I’m thinking about and I’m falling back into the rabbit hole, lost in this discovery of a new us, the feeling of finally moving forward. In fact, we aren’t just moving, it feels like we’re galloping and I can’t hold on tight enough.

Melissa has been suspicious and I honestly don’t know why. Maybe it’s that she sense I’m lying about Bradley, I don’t know. She’s told me she wants to meet him but I keep making up excuses and I know I can’t keep it up forever. Really, I shouldn’t be afraid but I have this niggling feeling at the back of mind that I need to keep my cards close to my chest for now.

That said, I still went lingerie shopping with her. I don’t need Sponge Bob anymore – he’s been regulated to comfy days – and I definitely need a set of bra and knickers that will set Brigs’ heart on fire.

Of course, I know he’d rather have me naked all the time and barely notices what I’m wearing, but still. This is one of the sweetest parts of dating – getting yourself all gussied up for someone day in and day out. I love getting to pick out red silk and black lace undergarments, I love getting special exfoliants and body lotions to make every part of me touchably soft, I love putting on the right outfits, the right makeup, doing everything I can to be as attractive to Brigs as possible. I know none of it is needed – he never looks at me so adoringly as when I don’t have makeup on and my hair is a mess – but the process makes life so much sweeter.

And to be honest, it makes it all that much more real. Sometimes it still feels like a dream and I have to pinch myself during class when my mind starts to wander. My classes are getting harder to concentrate on and my thesis is totally out the window because my brain just wants to focus on him and my body craves his touch no differently than it craves the air I breathe.

On Friday he texts me during class and tells me to come over at three, that he’s whisking me away somewhere for a few hours. There’s barely enough time to rush home and slip on my new bra and underwear, even though the elastic band of my hiphuggers dig into my skin too much, causing a muffin top. I sigh, making a note to start working out more, then the other part of my brain kicks into gear and tells me not to worry about it. If Brigs doesn’t care, neither should I.

Luckily Melissa isn’t home to bug me about where I’m going, so I’m in and out of the flat in a dash and hoping on the train to Brigs’ flat.

I buzz the intercom and Brigs tells me to stay put, that he’ll be right down.

I wait by the entrance to his building, my eyes drawn to the tourists lining up to get into the Sherlock Holmes Museum. Then his front door swings open and he comes out with Winter on a leash, the pooch’s coat looking sparkling white in the autumn sunshine.

Brigs grins at me, eyes bluer than the sky, looking positively dashing in his dark jeans, T-shirt and charcoal waxed cotton jacket. A grey scarf sits around his neck. “There’s my woman,” he says to me, kissing me quickly. Winter, as usual, shoves his nose into my crotch. Like father like son.

“Are we going for a walk?” I ask happily, feeling so much lighter, brighter, when he’s around.

“Going for a drive,” he says, slipping on aviator shades. “I even have a cigar. Do you have a light?”

I quickly pull one out of my purse and wave it at him. “Of course I do. Just in case Professor Blue Eyes wants to smoke a cigar with me.”

He gives me a wolfish smile. “And what if Professor Blue Eyes wants to fuck you silly?”

I raise my finger to make him pause and then bring out a stack of condoms. “He can fuck me silly as many times as he wants.”

“Thatta girl,” he says and we round the corner of the building to the back where his Aston Martin is parked.

“I can’t believe you still have it,” I say, running my hand over the black hood, the finish like new even though it was made in 1978.