Free A Twist of Fate by Demelza Hart

whine, which I muffled against his neck.
    At last I had it. His hand slid down and those knowing fingers rubbed between my legs. My skirt had ridden up but I was still frustratingly concealed from him by my knickers and leggings. It was me who fixed that. I scooched my bottom off the seat and wriggled the impeding garments down. Reason vanished. I wanted to feel him again. I wanted him to make me come again, for what could be the last time.
    Paul gave one of his gorgeous moans as his fingers made contact with my wet heat. How could I not be wet when he was so close? He drew desire from me just by breathing.
    I didn’t open my eyes. In my mind, we were back on our island, back in our perfect, undisturbed world, where nothing mattered but us. He stroked down through me, gliding a long finger along until it found the opening and pressed. My right hand, seemingly possessed of its own will, darted over and gripped his wrist firmly, holding him there. Two fingers were inside me and I ground onto them, working his hand myself, making him fuck me with it. His fingers were rich with my juice as I at last let him pull them out to return to my clit, which he now rubbed in rhythmic circles, massaging the flesh around it over and over.
    â€˜Come on, Callie, come on,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘My girl, come for me.’
    I placed my palm over the back of his hand as it moved, wanting to feel the power which would bring me such pleasure. It built fast and suddenly, shifting from that warm, relaxed shimmer into the coiling, twisting rise to inevitable rapture.
    When his middle finger compressed my clit, I caught my breath, clenched my fingers on his hand, and came. I tried to cling onto that first moment when you feel an orgasm. You want it to last forever, you want to freeze time, but it is as elusive as a butterfly’s spirit. And it was again. After that fragile moment of wonder, it changed to grow and billow out until it overwhelmed me completely and I bucked in my seat, my back arching forward in a spasm, my neck straining. I managed to remain silent, and let the heavy seep of satisfaction eke its way into my bones.
    â€˜Shhh,’ hushed Paul. And with that I drifted into sleep.

Eight
    I awoke to whispering voices, the sort of whisper that gave a nod to your continuing sleep, but really wanted you to wake up. A stage whisper.
    Emma was talking to Paul. ‘We should probably wake her now. We’ll be landing in about half an hour.’
    â€˜Hmm?’ I queried, sitting up quickly as consciousness returned with a rush. Paul’s hand was immediately on my arm, pulling me back carefully.
    â€˜It’s all right. There’s no hurry,’ he soothed.
    Emma qualified by saying, ‘Well, I want to give her time to sort her head out.’
    â€˜She’s fine.’ His tone was emphatic.
    I slumped back, eyes still closed.
    Emma continued, her voice softer now. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you two an item?’
    I held my breath but didn’t open my eyes. What would he say? He mustn’t say yes, that would mean all sorts of horrific complications.
    It seemed an age before he answered.
    â€˜No. But when you’ve been through something like that, it can be comforting to know the other person’s around. Nothing more than that.’
    Nothing more than that. Now he’d said it, I was disappointed. God, it was all too confusing. I wanted him. I didn’t want to want him. I knew I shouldn’t want him and I still wanted him. His concern and affection for me was clear, so it was best to retreat. That’s what I did best, after all. When the going gets tough, Callie Frobisher pulls down the shutters in good family tradition.
    I inhaled deeply and pulled myself off his shoulder.
    â€˜Slept like a baby, you did,’ smiled Paul.
    â€˜Did I?’ I replied, looking not at him but at Emma. ‘I feel OK now. Thanks for everything.’ I