Killing Me Softly Read Online Free Page B

shivering slightly.
    ‘Alice,’ he said, in a kind of groan. Then, ‘Oh, God, you’re lovely, Alice.’
    I took off his jacket. His arms were strong and brown, and there was another long, puckered scar running from the elbow to the wrist. I copied him and knelt at his feet to pull off his shoes and socks. On his right foot, he had only three toes, and I bent down and kissed the place where the other two had been. He sighed softly. I tugged his shirt free of his jeans and he raised his arms like a little boy while I pulled it over his head. He had a flat stomach with a line of hair running down it. I unzipped his jeans and eased them carefully down over his buttocks. His legs were knotty, quite tanned. I took off his underpants and dropped them on to the floor. Someone moaned, but I don’t know if it was him or me. He lifted one hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, then traced my lips with a forefinger, very slowly. I closed my eyes.
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘Look at me.’
    ‘Please,’ I said. ‘Please.’
    He unhooked my earrings and let them fall. I heard them clink on the wooden boards.
    ‘Kiss me, Alice,’ he said.
    Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. Sex had never been like this. There had been indifferent sex, embarrassing sex, nasty sex, good sex, great sex. This was more like obliterating sex. We crashed together, trying to get past the barrier of skin and flesh. We held each other as if we were drowning. We tasted each other as if we were starving. And all the time he looked at me. He looked at me as if I were the loveliest thing he had ever seen, and as I lay on the hard dusty floor I felt lovely, shameless, quite done for.
    Afterwards, he lifted me to my feet and took me into the shower and washed me down. He soaped my breasts and between my legs. He washed my feet and thighs. He even washed my hair, expertly massaging shampoo into it, tilting my head back so soap wouldn’t run into my eyes. Then he dried me, making sure I was dry under my arms, between my toes, and as he dried me he examined me. I felt like a work of art, and like a prostitute.
    ‘I must go back to work,’ I said at last. He dressed me, picking up my clothes from the floor, threading my earrings through my lobes, brushing my wet hair back from my face.
    ‘When do you finish work?’ he asked. I thought of Jake waiting at home.
    ‘Six.’
    ‘I’ll be there,’ he said. I should have told him then that I had a partner, a home, a whole other life. Instead I pulled his face towards mine and kissed his bruised lips. I could hardly bring myself to pull my body away from his.
    In the taxi, alone, I pictured him, remembered his touch, his taste, his smell. I didn’t know his name.

Three
    I arrived back at my office out of breath. I grabbed some messages from Claudia’s outstretched hand and went into my office. I flicked through them. Nothing that couldn’t be put off. It was already twilight outside and I tried to catch my reflection in the window. I felt self-conscious about my clothes. They seemed strange on me because they had been taken off and put back on again by a stranger. I worried that it would seem as obvious to other people as it seemed to me. Had he fastened some button wrongly? Or maybe some bit of clothing had been put on over some other bit. It all seemed fine, but I wasn’t sure enough. I rushed to the lavatory with some makeup. In the unforgiving bright light I checked in the mirror for puffy lips or visible bruises. I did some remedial work with lipstick and eye-liner. My hand was trembling. I had to bang it against a sink to steady it.
    I rang Jake’s mobile. He sounded as if he was in the middle of something. I said that I had a meeting and I might be late home. How late? I didn’t know, it was completely unpredictable. Would I be back for supper? I told him to go ahead without me. I replaced the phone, telling myself that I was just trying to make things neat. I would probably be home