Page 31 of A Clean Sweep

E mily was floating in a most delicious way.

Suspended between sleep and wakefulness, reluctant to open her eyes and discover it had all been a figment of her imagination.

Which, if it had been, showed her imagination was capable of positions and strange noises her real self would struggle to conjure up.

She stretched out an arm, made contact with something warm and breathing.

Another person was in the bed with her. And had just rolled over and pulled her into an embrace that told her she wasn't dreaming, that all her torrid thoughts had been grounded in reality. Joe. She raised herself up on an elbow and dared to look at the man she'd spent the night with. And not the first night by any means. Since Bibgate, as they’d dubbed it, they’d seen each other many times, each one as wonderful and memorable as the one before.

Which didn’t stop her from continuing to marvel at waking up next to him.She prayed she didn't have a serious case of pillow face and cursed the fact she hadn't taken her make-up off. She’d been otherwise occupied, but smeared mascara and eyeliner did not bode well for morning seduction skills.

She hadn't even combed her hair before they'd tumbled into bed.

Emily was normally a stickler for pre-bed routines, and knew she'd failed spectacularly.

Ah well, maybe his eyesight was a bit dodgy too.

Doubtful though, given his youth and vigour.

Maybe she could sprint – or at least shuffle – to the bathroom for a quick repair job and…

'Good morning, beautiful. How are you today?

' Joe kissed the tip of her nose, hands sliding through her hair which probably had more knots than a macramé basket.

Ouch! She wiggled away a little, still keeping her torso as close to his as possible.

It was like a magnet, her bits drawn to his bits and quite unable to break the attraction.

She'd thought last night's multiple couplings would have satisfied her for at least a decade, given the drought of recent years. She'd been wrong.

'We've been looking to expand the business. Cleaning chimneys brings in a decent income but it's not exactly sexy, is it?'

You certainly are, thought Emily dreamily as he ran a finger along her collarbone, sending shockwaves through her body.

'So, me and my dad – his name's Steve, by the way – did some research and found a great opportunity to expand.

We've taken over a place called Where the Hearth Is – OK, another naff name – but it's working out well so far.

They design and install really cool fireplaces.

Even in homes where they don't think they've the space for one.

Honest, Emily, you have to come and see for yourself.

Meet my dad – I know he'll love you – and Adam.

He manages the place and has a real talent for matching people with their needs and wishes.

' By this point Joe was tracing butterfly kisses down her torso.

She could barely recall her own name, never mind anyone else's.

Right now she didn't want to think about life outside these four walls.

Joe was now gently parting her thighs and, if she died right now, she'd be the happiest dead person on earth.

Although the undertakers might need to manipulate her rictus grin into something more decorous.

Some twenty minutes later and Emily was lying back replete, Joe next to her with one arm coiled round her waist, the other smoothing her hair back from her face.

She really should get up and get on with things.

Like paying bills, doing the laundry and tackling a weightier than usual manuscript that had landed in her inbox.

Strangely, she couldn't give a rat's arse about any of it.

She was under no illusions that this was a long-term thing, but right here and right now was precisely where she wanted to be.

'Big plans for the day?' asked Joe. He was now nibbling her right ear in a provocative fashion.

If she replied she'd be quite content to stay under the duvet for several repeat performances he might think she was a nymphomaniac.

Or someone with nothing better to do with her life than experience multiple orgasms. Not that that sounded so awful, compared with tackling the ironing mountain or giving the toilet bowls a scrub.

Neither of which had ever made her moan out loud with pleasure.

'Nothing exciting, just boring chores. What about you, don't you have lots of jobs to get to?' She fervently prayed that the answer was no, that every chimney in the vicinity was immaculately swept or that his dad was dealing with today's rota.

Joe leaned over her and looked at the bedside clock.

'I'm afraid I've got to get going soon. I've a few calls to make then I'll be working with Dad and Adam in the afternoon.

There's a new consignment of fireplaces arriving and we need to figure out the showroom layout.

But I've got time for a quick nibble … breakfast, I mean!

' He planted a smacker on her lips before clambering out of bed and heading off to retrieve the trail of clothes they'd discarded last night.

Emily watched his de parting bottom with unbridled lust. She pinched herself hard in the thigh – ouch!

– just in case she was in the middle of yet another torrid dream.

It was all too much to take in. And she was about to wake up to discover she was alone and had been sucking at the pillow all night.

Nope, Joe was back – now fully dressed – and holding out a hand to her.

'Come on, lazy bones. After all that exercise, I'm starving ! '

In the kitchen, Emily happily whipped up scrambled eggs while Joe sizzled some rashers of back bacon on the hob.

A pot of coffee was on the table, along with glasses of juice and doorsteps of bread that Joe had sliced.

They ate together contentedly, both hungry because of the calories they'd burned.

When they'd finished, Joe patted his stomach – a six-pack for sure – and insisted on cleaning up.

Duly done, he pulled Emily into his arms and kissed her until her head spun.

'So, I could well be working a bit late tonight.

But could I see you tomorrow night? We could eat out again.

Maybe not steak this time! Or … you could come to my place and I'll make something?

I'm no Masterchef but nobody's ever been rushed to casualty because of my cooking!

' His eyes were twinkling with mischief and Emily felt another rush of desire.

'If you can rustle up something smooth and not life-threatening then I'm in.

Baby mush?' Oh help. Why did she always come out with the most ridiculous things?

Mentioning babies was absolutely not a good idea.

Her reproductive system had most certainly called it a day, whereas Joe was in his prime for being a doting daddy.

Not a subject they'd discussed, or – she reasoned – were ever likely to.

But she didn't want to scare him off just yet.

'I'm sure I can come up with something more appetising than pureed carrots, thank you!

' Joe showed no sign of mentally calculating the likelihood of them becoming parents and coming up with the obvious answer.

No chance. Unless they adopted some poor little waif or spent a fortune on IVF treatment.

Which would probably be ruled out on the grounds of her being the wrong side of fifty.

And would she even want to be a mother again?

Waving her child off to university in her seventies?

Thankfully Joe was a sex bomb as opposed to a mind reader. With a promise to text her later and pick her up the following evening for dinner à deux at his bachelor pad, he was gone.

Jim had always been more of an Oral B than an oral sex man.

The few times she'd tried to initiate it he'd been very reluctant, preferring just to climb on board – so to speak –and thrust away until he was satisfied.

Looking back, Emily had rarely been satisfied herself.

Had lain there thinking, ‘is that it?’ as Jim descended into a coma.

He'd been massively into dental hygiene, brushing and flossing and rinsing for several minutes morning and night.

Guess he didn't consider getting his teeth entangled with her privates as effective as a good going over with waxed string.

Crikey, she was getting crude in her old age, she thought with a chuckle.

That's what happens when you get hot and horny with a fine young specimen.

Speaking of hot and horny, it was probably time she got on with some work editing the latest racy saga that had arrived the day before.

It was far bigger than the usual short stories or multi-part series' that she normally edited.

The covering note from the magazine explained it was on the short list for a competition they'd run.

Before making their final choice, they were sending out the frontrunners to various editors to give their expert feedback.

Along with correcting the usual grammar, punctuation and presentation issues.

Fifty pages in and Emily was quite engrossed.

Yes, it was pretty overblown, the writer clearly having spent too much of her life immersed in books featuring stallion-like heroes and swooning heroines.

She'd had an amazingly orgasmic evening herself, but these characters took it to a whole new level.

She felt exhausted, although that could also be to do with her nocturnal activities.

Time for a long, restoring shower, she decided, then she'd get back to her editing.