Chapter 71 Rush

I was half-drunk with lack of sleep, standing in the hot white buzz of Central Station while hordes of commuters bumped past me with their sharp suits and shoulder pads and brief cases. I stood there blinking and yawning. What the hell was I doing up at this hour? The answer, of course, was Sam. I growled at the thought of his stubbornness, at the selfish way he’d announced he was leaving to make his fortune. Hotfooting it to London like a carefree bird. Not for a second had he stopped to think of how it would screw up our relationship – four hundred miles between us was a serious blow. The salvation of our bickering, up-and-down love affair was the Olympic sex we indulged in most mornings, afternoons and evenings. We could hammer away for hours, and he took me places I’d never thought possible, body twisted into breathtaking positions, him so deep inside me it felt like blasphemy. After he left, my sex life became a sudden blank. I was left gasping with shock, reeling from the terrible aching loss of his body. I missed the bastard. Despite my rage at his pig-headed arrogance, I couldn’t resist his sneaky allure. One twitch of his eyebrows and I was hot to trot. I spent my nights dreaming of his hot and swollen cock, of his roving hands. Our late night phone calls left me wound up like a clockwork toy. I’d woken at the crack of dawn because I couldn’t stand another day in the desert of celibacy. Almost against my will I found myself in the station, ready to travel all the way across the country for a good fuck. The train finally boarded at six a.m. and I settled in for the long journey. The only upside to the hours sitting on a bristly nylon seat was the anticipation of seeing Sam. My body was so sensitized that even the feel of my clothes against my skin made my heart do a drum roll. I had butterflies about turning up unannounced on his doorstep, but half of them were excitement at the thought of holding him again, feeling his body against mine. How I’d melt when he touched me. I’d dressed with that in mind: my kinkiest underwear, the extreme cleavage bra, and the split-crotch panties. They cut into me, cantilevered my tits and exposed my ass when I bent over; when I wore that get-up I felt like a concubine primed to fuck. The outfit was horny as hell, but definitely impractical for traveling. The clever little slit up the front of the panties left my softest skin exposed, and the rough denim of my jeans rubbed against me. I wriggled in my seat. I had another four hours before I’d arrive in Euston, and more hours after that before I’d get to take them off. Outside, the countryside rolled past in a green blur. I looked round the carriage. Most of the other passengers were businessmen. The man across the aisle, a fat, gristly guy in shiny shoes, was clattering away on his laptop, taking big gulps from a tiny plastic coffee cup. Our eyes met. His were pink-rimmed and baggy, hard little eyes like a bully’s. I caught the leer as he looked me over, that licking-the-lips sleaze that makes me squirm. Nothing for it but to turn my back on him and try to lose myself in sleep. I half-woke with the noise of the train still humming around me, warm sun on my face. The carriage was now the temperature of a hot oven; I felt parched with thirst and cramped from sleeping in the hard, upright seat. When I tried to stretch out, I found my legs trapped. I struggled to open my eyes. Across from me was a young couple. They must have got on at Newcastle while I was asleep. The man, tall and blonde, was stretched out lazily in his seat, his long legs on either side of mine. I’d obviously just kicked him, but he gave me a wide smile. “Sorry,” I muttered, still fuzzy with sleep. “S’okay,” he replied, in a deep American drawl. “We’re kinda crammed in here, aren’t we?” His mouth curled in another lopsided grin, and I saw a flash of square white teeth. The girl watched the countryside pass by with a bored look on her face. Also tall and long-limbed, she had the dark complexion that seemed southern European. She curled like a cat across her boyfriend, long brown hair spilling over her shoulders and a thin cotton summer dress barely covering her figure. From the corner of my eye I could see the top of her tanned breasts, full and heavy against the gauzy flowered fabric of the dress. Her nipples were darker shadows through the patterned cloth.