Love Letters by Katie Fforde Page A

stumbled slightly and he took her arm. Should I tell him I’m a virgin, she wondered, and then decided not to. It might stop him. It would make it far too big a deal. I want to have sex with him for all the right and all the wrong reasons, she reminded herself. I don’t want to make him feel bad about it.
    She was barely aware of the short journey to his house. He strode purposefully up the path, opened the front door and pushed her gently inside. Before she had time to take anything in he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He was an expert, she decided, her knees almost buckling as whiskey and desire hit them at the same time. I have made exactly the right decision, she thought: my virginity is safe in this man’s hands! Is that what I mean? Her brain seemed to be twirling away on its own, disconnected from anything that made sense. She decided to put all thinking on hold until later; just now, she wanted to relish every moment.
    Without letting go he manoeuvred her into a bedroom and carried on kissing her. He held her very tightly, pressing her to him. His hand moved from the back of her waist to her bottom and she realised she had never wanted any body else’s hand to go there – how strange it was that an intimate touch could be so horrible from the wrong person and so wonderful from the right one.
    ‘Do you need to use the bathroom?’ he murmured into her hair that he was now curling his fingers into.
    ‘No thank you,’ she murmured back, knowing that if she stopped she might lose her nerve. It wasn’t her nerve she was intent on losing. Tenderly he undid the buttons of her jacket and took it off. Underneath she was wearing one of her collection of black V-neck sweaters. This was lifted and pulled over her head. Now she stood before him in a strappy top and a pair of black trousers. A part of her registered that they were the same clothes she wore for work and felt that was a bit odd. But Dermot didn’t seem to care what she was wearing; he was only intent on getting it off. He found the hook at the waistband of her trousers, and the zip and then they fell off her hips. He pushed her gently back on to the bed and laughed.
    ‘You’re wearing socks!’
    ‘Of course I am,’ she said hazily. ‘What’s wrong with wearing socks? I expect you’re wearing them too.’
    He unzipped her short boots and they joined her other clothes on the floor. It ought to have felt odd being with a man she didn’t know in just her underwear, but it felt right, nice. Sexy.
    He stood looking down at her as she lay there in her bra and pants. He was still fully clothed.
    ‘You’re beautiful, you know that?’
    Laura chuckled gently. He probably said that to everyone. She didn’t mind. She wanted him to treat her just as he’d treat any of his previous girlfriends.
    ‘Get under the duvet, you’re shivering,’ he said, tenderly amused as he started to strip off his own clothes.
    From under the duvet, Laura watched him. His body was fit and well muscled. He may have been a writer but he obviously didn’t spend all day sitting at a desk. As his boxer shorts dropped she closed her eyes. The room swung round as if she was on a carousel and she quickly opened them again.
    He switched off the main light and replaced it with the bedside one. Then he took Laura into his arms.
    The feeling of his skin against hers was like silk. She closed her eyes again, in spite of the spinning room, and let herself enjoy the sensation of lying in his arms as he got rid of her bra and pants. Miraculously any nerves she might have felt seemed to have fled with her inhibitions. He pulled her towards him and began to stroke her back. And all the time he breathed endearments in his deep, sexy voice. He raised himself on his elbow and kissed her face, lightly, more a breath than a kiss, all over her eyes, her lips, her cheeks and then he moved down to her neck, just under her ear.
    She sighed deeply and snuggled closer. Only then did he touch