Then orgasm obliterates every coherent thought. There’s only Ava’s arms around her, Ava’s lips brushing against her ear as she whispers: ‘You’re so perfect when you lose control.’
Ava doesn’t let up even as Jean shudders; forehead shining with effort, she draws out Jean’s climax with every stroke. Ava bites her lip until blood beads on the skin, a tremor running through her shoulders. Still she maintains that perfect rhythm, driving into Jean to the very hilt.
Only as her thigh twitches beneath Ava’s grasp does Jean understand that she’s coming again, coming apart at the very seams. And this time she is taking Ava with her. Those dark eyes roll back in her head until Jean glimpses the whites, a spasm running through her spine. And in that moment Jean can’t tell where her own body ends, where Ava’s begins.
Even through her own orgasm, Ava’s control is masterful. She braces herself against the mattress, breath coming hot and fast against Jean’s neck. And when she recovers, her first thought is tending to Jean.
‘There.’ Ava kisses her parted lips. ‘Wasn’t that divine?’
Jean nods, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
‘What’s wrong?’ Ava’s thumb wipes across her cheek. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘No! No.’ Jean traces the line of Ava’s collarbone, slippery with sweat. ‘You were so incredibly gentle. And nobody’s ever – I haven’t… It’s never been quite like this for me. None of it.’
Ava ducks her head to kiss Jean. ‘Me neither.’
She eases out from between Jean’s legs then, missing the look of surprise that Jean’s altogether too raw to disguise, Ava unbuckles the straps, dropping harness and dildo over the side of the bed, and pulls Jean into her arms.
It’s dark when Jean wakes, sticky thighed and supple boned. Ava’s arms are wrapped around her, mouth still pressed to Jean’s temple as if she’d dropped a kiss there in the moments sleep took hold. And Jean wishes that she could stay here in this bed, in this woman’s arms, for all eternity. But even now the clock is ticking. Another night and they’ll be boarding the train back to London, back to busy lives and expectations.
She could propose a third week – the Bairds are still in New York, and Ava would certainly say yes, though surely there’s work she ought to be doing. But even if she agreed, what after that? It would only be delaying the inevitable. A return to Jean’s quiet home, her empty bed, with only stolen nights to look forward to. A life where she and Ava make no sense by day.
Jean’s lungs pull tight. Though the window’s open, there’s not enough air lying among the shadows. She rolls from the bed, retrieving her coverup shirt from the chair, and pads through the darkened house. Opens the patio doors to the tiny back garden, where she had sipped champagne while Ava repainted her toes, taking exquisite care.
She lowers herself into the chair, gulping at the cool night air. But even then, there isn’t enough of it. Hot tears spill down Jean’s cheeks to splash against the glass table. She presses a hand to her mouth, not wanting to risk disturbing Ava.
Still, minutes or hours later, she appears – wrapped in a jumper and still yawning. ‘Hey. I woke up and you weren’t there – is everything okay?’
‘Fine,’ Jean says, though it’s a transparent lie.
‘Your legs are freezing.’ Ava disappears back inside and returns with a woollen blanket from the sofa, tucking it round Jean’s bare thighs. The tenderness of it pierces Jean’s heart. ‘What’s the matter?’
Jean blinks, gazing up at the sky. The moon blurs as a tear rolls down her cheek. ‘Do you ever think about all those infinite galaxies out there? About how there could be countless parallel worlds in them, each with some version of you?’
‘Not really. I was never good at science.’
‘I wasn’t either, but it keeps coming back to me.’ Jean folds both arms around herself, hugging the blanket. ‘What if there’s a world where my parents never died, and Bridget went off to fashion school to live her dream? Or a world where I hadn’t betrayed Marianne.’
‘Jean…’ There’s a pleading in her voice, but Jean ignores it, staring at the pinpricks of glimmering light piercing through the inky darkness. The stars are so much brighter here, without London’s light pollution.
‘Maybe Bridget would be the next Vivienne Westwood. Maybe Mari would have my job, and we’d still be friends. Maybe I wouldn’t even have gone into law in the first place.’ Jean laughs, fresh tears brimming. ‘Perhaps in another world you and I could have…’
‘What?’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid, and it doesn’t fit into this one.’
‘What, Jean?’ Ava’s voice is ragged, the words tearing from her. A warm hand covers Jean’s, squeezing tight. ‘Tell me.’
‘Maybe you and I could have been like this on ordinary days too. Maybe we could have more than nights and holidays and stolen moments.’ Jean’s cheek itches with the salt, and she scrubs the back of her hand across it. All the while Ava stares at her, dumbfounded. ‘Never mind – I’m being stupid. It’s all the sun, or maybe I didn’t drink enough water. Forget it.’
‘Why is that stupid?’ Ava’s very still then, only her curls rippling in the breeze.
‘Because my life, my career, everything that I’ve worked for… I became the person that I needed to be to get this far.’
‘None of that stops being possible just because you’re with a woman. Discrimination’s illegal, and we have rights enshrined in law.’
‘You and I both know that social norms take years to catch up. It would still mark me out as… as… different.’ Jean shakes her head, adamant. ‘No. You’ll find a connection like this with someone else. Someone who’s out, someone closer to your own age.’
