She breathed in deeply as she slid the keycard into the slot of the hotel door, trying to regain some composure. She had checked her reflection in the lift up, fixing her smudged, tear-damaged mascara. It wouldn’t help if he knew she’d been crying, standing alone on a windy beach, thinking about the mess her life had become.
She opened the door to the sound of the TV on and entered the room to see Aidan lying on the bed watching it. He glanced over at her briefly, “Good walk?” She nodded, not trusting her voice not to break if she spoke, and unwrapped her scarf and coat, hanging them in the wardrobe.
“So, what do you want to do about dinner then?” he asked, “Downstairs or across the road?”
She sighed, thinking to herself, “Not even a suggestion of room service and staying in bed together…” but replied, “You choose, whatever you like love”.
“Downstairs then, can’t be arsed making a fuss,” he yawned.
She wondered how he could be tired when all he has done was lie on the bed all day watching TV, feeling irritated at him, perhaps unfairly.
Deciding to give it another try, she walked over to sit at the edge of the bed beside him, “I’m going to take a shower honey, I want to look nice for you this evening,” and she kissed his cheek. A faint look of surprise flitted across his face and he frowned slightly, looking unsure of what to say back. She rose and went to have her shower.
She turned on the shower and undressed in front of the mirror. She missed the feeling of being touched so badly. Looking at her body’s reflection, she traced her hands over her skin, caressing her breasts and stomach. She felt the familiar heat flare up between her legs and stepped under the spray of hot water. Soaping up, she glided her hands over her breasts, pulling on her nipples and enjoying the building throbbing between her thighs. With a handful of suds she lowered her hand and rubbed her clitoris in slow, sensual circles. She imagined him coming into the bathroom and watching her. She imagined the desire on his face as he looked at her naked body under the water, her fingers buried deep inside herself. In her mind, she pictured him opening his trousers and taking out his erect penis, stroking it as he watched her. She started to tremble and could feel the growing pleasure her hand was giving her. Sinking to her knees in the shower, she sat down and spread her legs wide, allowing her easier access to stroke and rub herself. Thinking of him coming in under the spray with her, still dressed and lowering his mouth between her legs to lick where her fingers worked, she threw her head back, eyes squeezed shut as the surge of her orgasm ripped through her body. Breathless and dazed, she opened her eyes to find herself alone in the bathroom, no Aidan watching her.
They sat across from each other reading menus, the buzz of conversations and the clattering of the chefs from the open kitchen emphasizing the silence between them, making it almost deafening.
“Good evening, have you decided what you would like or do you need more time?” the perky young waitress stirs them from their musings.
“Oh! Yes another minute please,” Emma said, at exactly the same moment as he replied, “Yes I’m ready,” and the waitresses eyes flicked between them, unsure.
“Oh no, it’s fine really, I’ll choose, you go first,” she said as Aidan began to open his mouth.
He nodded and ordered his meal and Emma scanned speedily and made her choice. The waitress smiles and leaves them looking at each other.
She reached out for her wine glass and raised it, “To… us! Getting away from real life for a few days,” she smiled as he clinked his glass against hers, returning her smile.
She glanced around the room, watching the other couples and groups talking animatedly and laughing, feeling sad and jealous that Aidan and her were not the same.
She leaned in towards him and whispered, “Let’s pretend this is a first date! So… tell me, what do you Aidan?” she giggled, this was a game she has always tried to make him play.
His eyes rolled skywards and he sighed, “Really Em? Again? You know I fucking hate that shit…” and she cast her eyes down to her place setting in disappointment, trying to stop the tears from coming.
He reached his hand across the table taking hers, “I’m sorry love, I shouldn’t have snapped, I’m just so fucking tired these days and I haven’t the energy for that stuff. Can we just eat?”
“Ok, I’m sorry, it’s fine…” she whispered as the food arrived.
They began to eat, murmuring little sounds of appreciation.
“Here, try some,” he startled her by offering a forkful of his risotto to her and she smiled as she accepted it, grateful that he was trying to make an effort o make up.
“Hmmmm… that’s good! Try mine?” she asked, and made up a forkful from her plate. He reached out for the fork and she stopped him with her free hand, “Nope! Open wide!” she grinned and was pleasantly surprised when he smiled and opened his mouth for her.
“Good! Bit jealous of yours now!” he laughed.
Pouring more wine for them both, she relaxed into her seat, hope once again springing in her heart that maybe, just maybe, they could fix this.
Her eyes watched him eat, taking in his face and body, rounder and fuller than when they first met, but still attractive to her. She loved his humour, when he wasn’t stressed, loved his mind and his knowledge about things she knew little of. They complemented each other well in that regard. She had taught him an appreciation of art, poetry and film over the years and he had imparted his knowledge of geography and history to her. She recalled the late night, wine fuelled discussions and debates they used to enjoy in years gone by and, once again, felt a sadness that these days, although they still drank at night, it was in silence, watching endless TV rather than talking.
Shaking her head to clear it, she looked up at him, smiled and decided that perhaps they should just get drunk and see where the evening ended up.
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