Cause Celeb

Cause Celeb by Helen Fielding Read Free Book Online Page A

Book: Cause Celeb by Helen Fielding Read Free Book Online
Authors: Helen Fielding
perfume on key areas. I brushed my teeth. I realized my powder-blue wrap was in the wash, wrapped a towel round me, put my head—only—round the door, saw him, gorgeous in my living room, smoking, in my chair.
    â€œReady,” I said, beaming excitedly. He looked up. I dived into the bedroom, put the bedside lamp on the floor, and got into bed with the covers up to my chin because I was shy.
    He came in, stumbling slightly, carrying the ashtray, put it down on my dressing table. He stubbed out his cigarette and sat down. He was turned away from me, bending to unlace his shoes, like a husband. It seemed rather unromantic not to acknowledge me, but still . . . He stood up and took off his shirt, lifting it over his back without undoing the buttons. I watched the line of muscle which ran from his arm to his waist. I was watching him bit by bit, not taking in the whole. He undid his trousers and stepped out of them, with his back to me. He folded the trousers, and put them on the chair. Then he folded the underpants, which alarmed me momentarily, placed them neatly on top of the trousers and climbed under the duvet.
    I turned to face him and we kissed and it was fantastic to be naked against him. He moved down and kissed my breasts. I gasped, ecstatic. Then he rested his head on me and I stroked his hair and he lay quite still on top of me with his arms on either side.
    After a few moments I became puzzled as to what was going on. I shifted position slightly and he lifted his head and moved up to my mouth and started kissing me again. His breathing was very heavy. He heaved himself over, easing my legs apart with his knee, kneeling between my thighs. He put his hand down and then he slipped himself inside me, straight in. I was longing for him so much, beside myself, arching my back, crying out, writhing with pleasure. But slowly, in the midst of the excitement I began to realize that Oliver was not moving at all. He was resting his weight onmy body and his head in my neck, completely motionless. Gradually I stopped moving so that I was lying quite still too. And then he began to snore.
    Once I had got over the shock, I laughed. I thought of the people downstairs listening. “Oh, oh, oh, oh, HGNUURGH, oh oh, HGNUUURGH. Oh.” I had to wake him to move after a while. I thought I was going to be asphyxiated. His mood was very black now, his brow furrowed. He got up and went into the bathroom and I heard him go into the living room. After a while he came back in and started getting dressed.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I said.
    â€œI’m going home. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
    A set of kitchen knives fell down through me from my throat.
    â€œDon’t even think about it,” I said. “Get back in the bed.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œBut nothing. First, you just don’t do that, second, you are beyond drunk and if you go anywhere near your car I shall ring the police, third, you have just fallen asleep on top of me at the start of what was meant to be a first night of passion. And you snored. Now get back in this bed.”
    This was before Oliver had broken my spirit and turned my sexual confidence into a wizened little pea. His mouth tightened. He was staring at me oddly, then he started nodding, as if agreeing with one of his own thoughts. He moved the duvet and looked at me. Then he undressed again to reveal, astonishingly, a new erection, and climbed back onto the bed beside me. And when it was over I was full of pride and joy because I, Rosie Richardson, had made Oliver Marchant come.
    Some time later, when he had fallen asleep, I lay awake looking at him, with his long dark eyelashes resting against his cheeks like two furry caterpillars. I was happy now, all misgivings pushed to the back of my mind. I couldn’t believe that Oliver Marchant was actually in my bed. I knew instinctively that he was one of those men who was disproportionately protective

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