Never Have Sex With Your Ex (Regular Sex #2) Read Free

waist and fit myself against the warm,
familiar wall of his chest.
    Oh dear god,
this is how it felt, this is how he felt, I remember, I remember, I remember.
I’ve done this countless times before, slipped back into bed with him at the
weekend and curled myself into the warmth of his body beneath the sheets.
    This is insane.
I can barely breathe, and from nowhere, unexpected tears thicken my throat. My
head lies against his heart, and I can feel it racing every bit as fast as my
own. Faster, even. I need to get out of this bed and off this stage, but my
legs won’t listen to orders.
    And then Reuben
slowly slides his arm down from over his head, his palm slipping flat over the
crown of my head, my hair, his fingers cradling my skull as his other arm slips
around my shoulders to gather me close.
    I hate him. I
tell myself I hate him, but in that moment, I don’t hate him. I love him just
as I loved him back then as if the years and the problems and the heartache have
never happened and I am waking up with him in our bedroom as before.
    His arms hold me
in the way only his arms can. It’s such a rush, such a blessed relief as if
I’ve been waiting for this since the day he left and I didn’t even know it.
    What happens
next? If you were to consult the script, you’d see that it says that our
characters ‘make slow, tender love.’ That’s it, that's all it says. No ‘he does
this, she does this, his hand goes there, her leg goes there.’ We just have to
make slow, tender love, any which way we choose. We used to do that sometimes,
the slow and tender thing. Granted, a lot of the time our sex wasn’t tender so
much as it was hard, fast and even borderline violent, but when it was tender,
it was heart-achingly so.
    He’s cupping my
neck now, and he’s dipped his face to press his lips against the top of my
head, as if waking slowly, pleasurably from his slumber.
    I squeeze my
eyes tight shut, and my lashes brush over the fine layer of downy hair on his
chest.
    Reuben shifts
slightly, lifting the sheet a little to move me beneath it with him from the
waist down, and a sudden wash of clammy panic coats my skin because unlike
Stanley and me, Reuben has opted to comply with Art’s preferences and is
totally stark bollock naked. Oh, fuck.
    His cock is nestled
against my crotch, and he’s iron hard.
    His mouth moves
down my hair until his lips are close to my ear.
    ‘Long time, no
see, Lizzie.'
    I can hear the
suppressed humour behind his tone, and his words are so banal that I half gasp,
half laugh, and all in relative silence because the scene is supposed to be
loving and gentle.
    ‘Is that a gun
in your pocket?’ I murmur. ‘Because if it is I’m going to shoot you stone dead
for this.’
    I stroke his
back, sticking rigidly to the moves Stanley and I practised.
    ‘No pockets, no
gun,’ he says. ‘I’m just very, very pleased to see you again. And to feel you
again.’
    ‘You need to
kiss me now,’ I say, doggedly faithful to the script, and he groans small but
audible against my hair.
    ‘Christ, I like
it when you’re dominant,’ he murmurs, then unexpectedly, he tips me on my back on
the bed and half pins me beneath his chest.
    Off script! Off
script! I want to shout it at the top of my lungs, but if I do, we’ll have to
stop and start again… and I don’t want to stop.
    I open my eyes
and look up into his dark, suddenly serious ones hovering inches above mine.
    ‘I’ve thought
about kissing you every damn day for the last six years,’ he says, and then he
lowers his head and his mouth is on mine. 'I've grown up, Lizzie,' he whispers
between kisses. 'I've grown into my stupid heart, and I know how to not break
yours this time.'
    I’d made myself
forget Reuben so I could sleep at night, but the second he starts to kiss me I
remember everything and I yield, opening my mouth to invite his tongue in.
    Oh. My. God. He starts
out tender, but it is as if my lips are laced with lust because I sense