She Said Stay the Night

The rain had already won by the time Simon found her under the station awning.

Eve was thirty-eight and furious with a cancelled train, a dead phone, and the fact that the man offering his umbrella was the one she had been not-texting for six months. He was forty-one. Same mouth. Same stupid calm. He held the umbrella like it was not a question.

"I've got the car," he said. "Or you can wait for a replacement that is not coming."

"If I get in, I'm not being polite about why I left."

"Good. I'm tired of polite."

His flat was warm and too familiar. She stood in his kitchen in wet tights and told him the leaving had not been about not wanting him. It had been about wanting him in a way that made her careless. Simon listened. Then he kissed her, and the kiss was not a reunion in a film. It was six months of almost.

"Stay," he said.

"I'm staying. Don't make it soft unless I ask."

He walked her backward to the bedroom. The wet tights came down. His mouth followed, slow and then not, tongue on her clit until she swore and held his hair. Eve came with her heel on his shoulder and his name in her mouth. He stood, got his cock out, and pushed into her before either of them had a speech left.

"Look at me," she said.

He did. He fucked her deep, one hand on her throat, not tight, the other pinning her wrist. She told him harder. He gave it. The bed knocked. She came again around him, and he followed, buried, shaking, forehead on hers.

After, she stole his shirt and his toast. He watched her eat and did not ask her to define it.

"I'm still angry," she said.

"Stay angry. Stay the night anyway."

They did not sleep for a while. Eve made him tell her what he had wanted on the nights he had not texted. Simon said her mouth, her cunt, the way she argued. She laughed and pushed him onto his back and rode him, shirt open, hands on his chest. He held her hips and fucked up into her until she came again, head tipped, and he followed with her name like an apology and a claim.

In the kitchen at one she ate his toast and let him stand behind her and slide back in, slow, a hand on her belly. She told him she was still angry and still staying. He kissed her neck and came inside her for the second time, and she clenched around him like she meant the staying.

Morning was rain again. She rode him once more and made him say he had missed her cunt, not just the idea of her. He said it against her mouth. She came and kissed him after, which was the brave part.

She did. In the morning she rode him with the shirt open and made him say he had missed her cunt, not just her. He said it. She came on his cock and kissed him after, which was the part neither of them had been brave about.

Eve did not let the first fuck become the whole story. She pushed Simon onto his back and rode him with his shirt open on her, rain still in her hair. He held her hips and watched her face. She told him to say what he had missed. He said her mouth, her argument, her cunt. She clenched when he said cunt and came with her hands on his chest. He followed, spilling deep, and she stayed on him until the shake left her legs.

Later she ate his toast at the counter and let him fuck her from behind, slow, a hand on her belly. "Still angry," she said. "Still here." He kissed her shoulder and came again. They slept badly and well. In the morning she made him say it against her mouth while she rode him, and she kissed him after she came, which was the part she had been afraid of. He made coffee. She stole another shirt. The train could wait.

They talked in the dark with his hand still between her legs, not to be decent, to be exact. Eve said she had left because wanting him made her sloppy at work and soft in the middle of arguments. Simon said he had driven past her street twice and not stopped. She rolled onto him and put his cock in her and stayed still until he swore. Then she moved. Slow. Mean. He rubbed her clit and she came with her mouth on his, and he came because she told him to stay inside.

The rain was still going at dawn. She stole his toast and his shirt and let him fuck her against the counter while the kettle boiled. He held her throat the way she liked, not tight, and she came standing, one foot lifted. He spilled on her thigh because she wanted to see it. They missed the first train on purpose. She kissed him at the door like a woman who was coming back, not a woman who was being rescued.

Eve came back on Thursday without a cancelled train as an excuse. Simon opened the door and she kissed him before hello, then put his hand under her skirt so he could feel she had planned it. He fucked her on the hallway floor, hard, her tights ripped, her mouth on his shoulder to stay quiet. She came fast. He came inside her and laughed into her hair. They ordered noodles and ate them in bed, and she rode him again with the carton still on the side table. She told him she was keeping a toothbrush. He said the drawer was already clear. She came with her forehead on his and stayed the night without being asked.

She left a toothbrush and a pair of knickers in the drawer and did not call it moving in. Simon fucked her against the sink that night, slow, and came on her stomach because she wanted the mess and the morning. She stayed. The train ran without her. She did not mind.

On Sunday she cooked badly and he fucked her on the table after, laughing, and she came with a fork still in her hand. They called that domestic. She stayed.

They did it again before they slept, slower and filthier, and neither of them pretended the night had been an accident. The door stayed locked. The want did not. She kissed him once more and kept him there.