07 April 2010

A good day to bury bad news

The duvet lay straggled somewhere across the top of her thighs, one of them had made an attempt to cover up after the last bout of sex. He lay spooned behind her, his arm cradled under her breasts, hers resting over his. She felt cherished, again.

The first time it had stunned her, to lie with him in between the breathless explorations, to simply lie in his arms and be cared for. The heady rush of sex with someone she trusted, someone she wanted to please and oh, she was so thrilled that he seemed to be pleased by her. The cocktail of chatting all day about minutiae, of flirting and teasing, the feeling that she could say anything to him, and vice versa had opened her heart. The way to a mans heart may be through his stomach, but he had reached hers from between her legs.

Waking slowly, later in the morning, dazed with lack of sleep and still a bit drunk, there was a knock at the door. The maid, she supposed.

He yawned and stretched, "What time is it?"

"Nearly half ten," she said, reading it off her phone by the bed. One new message. No harm in looking at it, she supposed; as he got up to go to the bathroom she clicked into it, an anonymous number? The trickling noise as he pissed into the toilet seemed to go on forever as she read the message, when he came back into the room she was sitting up with the phone at arms length like she had never seen it before in her life.

"The message is for you," she said, and pulled the duvet up around her in a protective cocoon.

He read the message, "Tell that husband of mine I have news for him"

Posted at ThinkingTen in response to the Word inc Wednesday challenge:  news, spoon
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