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A Grand Night In

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It was a dark and stormy night. As the thought passed through her head, she actually laughed out loud: How cliché! But the darkness and the storm had made her want to snuggle up under a blanket next to a fireplace that was roaring with flame and light and warmth. Which was where she was now with a half a glass of wine remaining.

She had been reading a book, which was a luxury these days, but now she was flipping through photos on her mobile that she'd just received from one of her best friends. His little boy playing with her own; her son's first sleepover away from home. She smiled, feeling somehow happy and sad at the same time. She missed him even though she had only just seen him this morning.

There was someone else she missed, someone for whom she was waiting. He'd be here soon. He'd promised as much, and since they'd gotten back together, he had been very good at keeping his promise.

Especially since they had the place to themselves for the first time in a while.

She heard the key in the lock. She clicked the button on the side of her phone to put it to sleep, then set it down on the table beside her, next to the glass of red wine that she had waiting for him. She turned in her seat to watch him enter the room.

"It's pitch black in here, Bridget; why are all the lights off?" was how he greeted her. Of course it wasn't; his eyes were just taking a little time to adjust. Old age, she thought with amusement. He smiled when he saw her. "Ah, there you are."

"In front of the fire. The bright, warm fire. Which is bright." She patted the seat beside her.

"I'd love nothing more, darling," he said, loosening his tie. "Let me—oh. I see I have a drink. Let me get out of this suit, then, at least."

"Make it snappy, mister," she said teasingly.

He left and was back in a ridiculously short amount of time, now dressed in his comfy brown robe, pyjama bottoms, and slippers. She chuckled, imagining him stripping out of his suit jacket, trousers, socks, pants, running around at top speed in the bedroom, clothes everywhere… except she knew that he had probably folded every last item.

"Much better," he said, dropping down to sit beside her. She draped her blanket so that it covered his lap, too. He reached for the wineglass, took a sip, then sighed as he sat back against the sofa. "I had been thinking of having a scotch, but this… this is nice."

"This is very nice," she said, leaning into him, bringing her face within a few millimetres of his own. "I have been looking forward to this all day long."

"Mm," he said, low in his throat. "Same."

"Finished with the wine?" she asked.

He turned his head, downed the rest of the glass of wine, then leaned to set the glass down. "Yes," he said, before he leaned forward to kiss her with a passion that his voice had not betrayed.

She returned the kiss with equal passion. Could it be that she had only just seen him this morning? She snaked her arms around his neck; he wrapped his arms around her, too, and pulled her across his lap. He leaned over her as he continued to kiss her; his hand moved down her side to her hip before searching for the edge of the pyjama top she was wearing.

Never fails, she thought as she sighed into his kiss, arching into him as his fingers drew over her skin and moved closer to cup her breast. As his thumb brushed across her nipple, she sucked in a quick breath as a jolt of electricity coursed through her.

The sofa was cosy and rather accommodating, but she was starting to wonder if they might not want to move up to their bedroom. The fireplace, though; the flickering light, the ambience. Perfect. But upstairs—

Her thoughts were interrupted when he pulled off her top; the sudden relative chill in the air made bumps rise over her skin. He then leaned forward and nuzzled into her neck, her collarbone, drifting further down to take the hardened bud of her nipple into his mouth, just as his hand drifted down to the waistband of her bottoms. Her own hand pushed at the edges of his robe to expose his skin as much as she could, given his focused intention.

She gasped to feel his fingers touch between her legs, stroking with maddening slowness as he kissed her mouth again. She managed to moan his name in an attempt to get him to stop long enough for them to go upstairs, but with every stroke against her, she found that she quickly did not care that he was bringing her to climax right there on the sofa.

As she writhed under his touch, it did not escape her attention that he was growing very hard against her thigh. What he was doing felt so very, very good; she also wanted to make him feel good, too.

Her hand was flat against his thigh, and she moved it until her hand touched that hardness. He groaned. "Hold on, love," he managed, kissing along her jawline. "Come for me first."

His thumb brushed along the tender nexus of nerves with the next few strokes, and that was all she needed to feel wave after wave of pure bliss; she bit her lower lip to stifle her cry before she realised there was no reason to worry about it with no baby at home. With each new wave, she moaned aloud and at length until she touched his hand to signal he should stop.

He only grasped her hip to pull down the pyjama bottoms. She helped to shimmy out of them before she lifted herself up to straddle his lap.

"Such the gentleman," she purred close to his ear as she pressed against him. She felt that hardness against her inner thigh, and reached down. He had already pulled his own bottoms down enough for what she wanted to do next.

He groaned as she wrapped her fingers along the stiffened shaft and began to pull then push; slowly at first, then a little more quickly. His breath came in brief, stuttering pants, and after a few more repetitions, with his hips arching up into her, she knew he was close to coming.

She lifted herself up onto her knees, then guided him between her legs. The feel of him pushing up into her made her moan again, but this was about making him feel good this time, so she lifted up again, then lowered herself down again. Lifted. Lowered. She rode his lap faster and faster, his hands on her hips pulling her hard against him when suddenly he tensed, holding her firmly against him. She fell against him, plying him with kiss after kiss as he found his release, pulsing again and again up into her.

He sighed as she laid her cheek against his, as they both took in long breaths to calm their racing hearts. "Bridget," he said quietly.

"Yes, Mark," she said, combing her nails lazily through his short wavy hair.

"Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?"

"You might have done," she purred.

"And how much I love when we—oh, shit," he said, his tone changing suddenly. She suspected she knew why. She was not on the Pill, and they had not been within reach of a condom.

"Fuck it," said Bridget nonchalantly. How long had it taken her to get pregnant after they'd tried for so long? And if they managed to strike gold twice, was that so bad? She didn't think it was.

She felt him laugh beneath her; clearly, he felt the same way. "If you say so, darling," he murmured, then turned to nuzzle into her neck again, open-mouthed kisses; she could feel the rasp of his nimble tongue against her throat.

"My, my, old man," she joked. "Twice in a night?"

"You seem to bring out the best in me," he said, bringing his hands around to cup her bottom. "Make me young again. My own personal fountain of youth."

She giggled, but not for long, because his hands on her arse were becoming impossible to ignore. "Oh, Mark," she managed. "Should we go upstairs?"

"No point now," he said. He shifted, turning so that her back rested on the cushions again. His weight was heavy atop her as he began to ravish her with kisses again. In very short order he was very obviously hard again, thrusting into her with grunts and groans. She slipped her hands under the waistband of the bottoms that still covered his backside, pushed his bottoms down, then raked her nails over his arse, his hips, to just under where their bodies joined to cup and tease him.

"Oh God, Bridget," he managed, shuddering mid-thrust. "I'm… I'm…"

He didn't need to say; she felt it, felt him come again. When he was spent he rolled slightly to the side, to rest against the back of the sofa, and pulled her close to him.

"Oh, love," he said quietly, stroking her face with trembling fingers before he planted a kiss on her lips.

She smiled at him, tracing a line along his cheek and chin. "My pleasure," she said.

"Give me a few to catch my breath," he said.

"For what?"

"For you, darling," he said.

She smiled lovingly at him. Sweet, lovely man. He was going to fall asleep. He always did.

Within a few minutes, he was in fact asleep. She could only laugh lightly to herself. She extricated herself from his embrace then dressed in her pyjamas and padded over to the loo. When she was finished, she joined him again, covering the both of them with the blanket, snuggling up to spoon against him. Reflexively, his arm came over her and pulled her close, and before she knew it, she too was dozing off.

Sometime later, she was awakened by the feel of his lips upon her temple and his hand skimming down under the pyjama's waistband and over the skin of her abdomen. Groggily she asked, "What are you doing?"

"You," he said. "Unfinished business."

"Oh, Mark, I'm not keeping score—Oh."

His fingers teased between her legs. "Shh."

He nuzzled into her neck as she shifted to allow him better access; she gasped as his fingers found the tender nerves there. After a few moments of this, he withdrew his hand in order to tug down on her waistband. As he bared her backside, he ran his hand over the curve there, then teased where her arse met her thigh. She parted her legs and as she did, he brought his hand down to continue stroking.

She turned slightly, her bottom arched up; he turned so that he was between her thighs. With his fingers guiding his way, he thrust into her from behind, groaning as he did. He caressed her breast as he kissed and lightly nipped at her shoulder, slowly thrusting forward. Each push forward caused her to cry out in pleasure; his hand moved down from her breast to between her legs and began to stroke in time with his thrusts.

At this, she was undone; with a final loud cry she came. As he continued to move within her, she came again and again. Her voice cracked as she cried one last time and fell limp against the sofa cushions. He, too, went still, kissing her shoulder and stroking her skin. She pulled away from him so that she could turn over and face him, kiss him properly on the mouth, and hold him close to her.

"Oh, Mark, fuck me, that was good."

"No comment," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Did you…?" she began.

"Mm-hmm," he affirmed. "So if you were keeping score I'd still owe you one."

She laughed. "I'd call us even," she said in a rasp, her voice shot from her cries of passion. "At least for tonight."

The need for a drink of water drove the two of them off of the sofa and upstairs into their bedroom; she decided to wash up a bit after cleaning her teeth and when she returned to the bed Mark was already in bed, and apparently was already asleep. She set her glass of water down on the nightstand and then slipped in beside him. She reached up to switch off the lamp.

As she did, she felt a hand grasp her hip. She gasped in surprise. "I thought you were asleep," she whispered.

"You don't have to whisper," he said, though his voice was still quiet. He shifted towards her, running his hand over her stomach again.

"Mark, it's getting late," she said.

"We don't get to do this often," he said. "We don't have to be up at dawn because of the baby. He's not going to be back until tomorrow afternoon. We can sleep in. I can ravish you as many times as you'll let me."

She laughed lightly. "You're such the gentleman," she said, turning towards him, looking up into his eyes, those beautiful warm, brown eyes, in the low light of the moon that came in through the window. "How can I possibly resist?"

"Mmm," he said. "Good. May I make a small suggestion?"


"Lose the pyjamas."

With a giggle, she pushed back the sheets again, then stood to strip off her pyjama top then bottoms. As she rose to her full height again to toss the pyjamas on to a nearby chair, she felt his hands upon her hips, and lips upon her backside. Those delicious, open-mouthed kisses, his tongue swirling around on her skin.

"Mark," she said, her legs feeling weak under his ministrations. "Let me sit down."

He guided her to sit on the bed; she climbed back in properly, turned to him, and studied on his face, wondering exactly what he had in mind.

"Lie back," he said. "I haven't forgotten about owing you."

"I told you—" she began with a laugh.

"I know what you said," Mark interrupted. "It's what I want to do."

Her brows lifted in her surprise, and without another word she rested back on the pillows.

He brought himself up alongside her; one hand came up to caress one breast while he lavished the other with more of those maddening kisses, his tongue looping around the hardening nipple. His hand came down from her breast to her hip as he kissed a trail down to the opposite hip.

She knew then what he meant to do.

He moved then so that he was between her legs; she lifted her knees, which he then leant over to kiss one at a time before kissing a trail up her inner thigh. Her lids felt heavy with desire. She felt his teeth raking gently before his tongue was on her skin again, and after a brief pause she felt the tender kiss between her legs. Then his tongue. The delightful velvet of his dextrous tongue as it worked its magic over her.

She arched up into him; he held her hips as if to both steady her and pull her into him. Lost in bliss, she moaned out with every stroke; she was just on the cusp of climax, and she managed to say between breaths, "More."

Did he ever deliver. Without missing a beat, he withdrew his right hand from her hip, and put it to better use, pressing fingers inside of her. It was the extra push she needed. She cried out with each climax until she collapsed in a heap of euphoria.

All of these years, all of this time, and he could still curl her toes like this.

She felt his fingers brushing fronds of hair away from her forehead, then felt tender kisses along her hairline.

"I think," she said, "we're more than even."

Mark planted one more kiss onto her lips, then slipped out of bed to visit the en suite. She was still floating on a cloud of pure nirvana when he returned; he slipped into the bed, switched off the bedside lamp then gathered her up into his arms. Now it was her turn to drift off to sleep, the reassuring rise and fall of his breathing, the beat of his heart just beneath her.



Bloody doorbell. Who rings the doorbell at this time of the night?

Bridget lifted her head and realised very quickly that it was not night, given the sunlight blasting through the crack in the drapes. In fact, it was past ten in the morning. Mark appeared to still be sleeping, too. When was the last time they had slept in that long? She couldn't remember.

But it also meant that at the door was probably Tom returning with her toddler son.

"Do you think we could pay him to keep Billy for just a few more hours?" murmured Mark, before opening his eyes. His lips quirked in a slight smile. "Come on," he said with resignation. "We'd better return to reality."

She leaned over to kiss him, and he returned that kiss in full, at least until the doorbell rang again. She started to giggle. Too difficult these days to pull off an all-day shagathon, but it was nice to know they still technically could.

The end.