my earlobe as he bites.
‘Hmm, earwax,’ he murmurs.
‘Shut up,’ I whisper.
I put a finger to his lips. He makes his eyes wide. The rim of dark lashes look like eyeliner. His warm sigh over my neck gives me goosebumps. I move my head away.
‘Why don’t you let me fuck you in here?’ he says softly. There is a rustle of clothing from next door.
I hold his hairy face in my two hands. ‘Stop. It,’ I whisper. ‘I’m the best woman.’
‘Oh, you are, you are.’ He smiles, stroking my bottom.
‘Behave yourself!’ I hiss.
He shakes his head. I put a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing as he struggles down to the floor in front of me.
‘What are you doing?’ I whisper half-heartedly.
Max lifts the tutu skirt over his head and I’m pushed forward with my hands against the door for balance as he slides a finger into my pants and pulls them to one side. I look at the ceiling as I feel his tongue. Next door, the toilet flushes and the heels clip-clop to the sink. I look down at the shadow of the tiger tattoo showing through Max’s white shirt and notice that his feet are half underneath the door. Whoever it is will see he’s down there. Then I feel his beard tickling the tops of my thighs, his tongue and fingers on me and I don’t care anymore, even when another set of footsteps tip-taps in.
‘I think there’s someone shagging in there,’ says a Birmingham accent.
There’s shuffling and silence, and then the door bangs closed.
Max appears from the froth of the tutu skirt. He stands up, flashes a smile. ‘There’s about to be someone shagging in here,’ he growls. ‘Come here.’
L ater , we rejoin the reception. I look at his tanned hand in mine, feeling naughty and cool and happy, and I think I look good in this new green dress that I treated myself to. It’s one of those wraparound numbers, low cut but flattering.
As we pass through the tables, I catch a snatch of conversation in a Birmingham accent. ‘It was those two in the toilets.’
I look down into the face of Leather Dress. She turns round to watch us walk by. I point at Max and give her the thumbs-up.
Things are looking and sounding a lot more raucous. A fat man in pinstripes is wearing a pair of edible pants on his head. The vodka luge has worked its magic. We manage to slip past it without participating and take our place at Lucy’s round table, in the middle of the room. Platters of tapas are being served and I’m starving.
‘There you are! Have you been shagging in the toilets?’ asks Lucy, as we settle into our chairs. ‘You’ve been ages.’
‘There’s your proof we haven’t, then: I’m lightning fast, aren’t I, Viv?’ Max starts peeling a prawn.
‘He’s known as “the Under-a-Minute Wonder”.’ I smile lovingly. ‘I was getting changed,’ I explain.
‘Don’t you think all weddings should have at least one incident? Either people shagging in the toilets or maybe a fight,’ says Lucy. ‘Champagne here!’ she calls to a passing waiter.
‘I hope I didn’t ruin your duet,’ I say, stroking her back.
She laughs. ‘It was great, Viv, if a bit random.’
‘I thought I was rescuing you. I thought . . . Oh, never mind.’ I can’t say I thought she was humiliated – she obviously wasn’t. I was.
‘Here, have some champagne.’ She passes me a glass. ‘The thing about Reuben is, to him sex is just a natural part of life.’
‘Of course it is.’
And now tell her you’re pregnant.
‘We do want to be pregnant, and that’s what he was sharing with everyone.’
‘Good, then. Wish I was going to Ibiza in the morning,’ I say to distract her, and she turns and looks seriously at my face.
‘Thanks for everything, Viv,’ she says with tears in her eyes. I decide to leave breaking my news until after the honeymoon. It’s not all about me, as she often reminds me.
‘You’re welcome.’
We look at each other in an uncharacteristically sentimental way until we come over all
‘Hmm, earwax,’ he murmurs.
‘Shut up,’ I whisper.
I put a finger to his lips. He makes his eyes wide. The rim of dark lashes look like eyeliner. His warm sigh over my neck gives me goosebumps. I move my head away.
‘Why don’t you let me fuck you in here?’ he says softly. There is a rustle of clothing from next door.
I hold his hairy face in my two hands. ‘Stop. It,’ I whisper. ‘I’m the best woman.’
‘Oh, you are, you are.’ He smiles, stroking my bottom.
‘Behave yourself!’ I hiss.
He shakes his head. I put a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing as he struggles down to the floor in front of me.
‘What are you doing?’ I whisper half-heartedly.
Max lifts the tutu skirt over his head and I’m pushed forward with my hands against the door for balance as he slides a finger into my pants and pulls them to one side. I look at the ceiling as I feel his tongue. Next door, the toilet flushes and the heels clip-clop to the sink. I look down at the shadow of the tiger tattoo showing through Max’s white shirt and notice that his feet are half underneath the door. Whoever it is will see he’s down there. Then I feel his beard tickling the tops of my thighs, his tongue and fingers on me and I don’t care anymore, even when another set of footsteps tip-taps in.
‘I think there’s someone shagging in there,’ says a Birmingham accent.
There’s shuffling and silence, and then the door bangs closed.
Max appears from the froth of the tutu skirt. He stands up, flashes a smile. ‘There’s about to be someone shagging in here,’ he growls. ‘Come here.’
L ater , we rejoin the reception. I look at his tanned hand in mine, feeling naughty and cool and happy, and I think I look good in this new green dress that I treated myself to. It’s one of those wraparound numbers, low cut but flattering.
As we pass through the tables, I catch a snatch of conversation in a Birmingham accent. ‘It was those two in the toilets.’
I look down into the face of Leather Dress. She turns round to watch us walk by. I point at Max and give her the thumbs-up.
Things are looking and sounding a lot more raucous. A fat man in pinstripes is wearing a pair of edible pants on his head. The vodka luge has worked its magic. We manage to slip past it without participating and take our place at Lucy’s round table, in the middle of the room. Platters of tapas are being served and I’m starving.
‘There you are! Have you been shagging in the toilets?’ asks Lucy, as we settle into our chairs. ‘You’ve been ages.’
‘There’s your proof we haven’t, then: I’m lightning fast, aren’t I, Viv?’ Max starts peeling a prawn.
‘He’s known as “the Under-a-Minute Wonder”.’ I smile lovingly. ‘I was getting changed,’ I explain.
‘Don’t you think all weddings should have at least one incident? Either people shagging in the toilets or maybe a fight,’ says Lucy. ‘Champagne here!’ she calls to a passing waiter.
‘I hope I didn’t ruin your duet,’ I say, stroking her back.
She laughs. ‘It was great, Viv, if a bit random.’
‘I thought I was rescuing you. I thought . . . Oh, never mind.’ I can’t say I thought she was humiliated – she obviously wasn’t. I was.
‘Here, have some champagne.’ She passes me a glass. ‘The thing about Reuben is, to him sex is just a natural part of life.’
‘Of course it is.’
And now tell her you’re pregnant.
‘We do want to be pregnant, and that’s what he was sharing with everyone.’
‘Good, then. Wish I was going to Ibiza in the morning,’ I say to distract her, and she turns and looks seriously at my face.
‘Thanks for everything, Viv,’ she says with tears in her eyes. I decide to leave breaking my news until after the honeymoon. It’s not all about me, as she often reminds me.
‘You’re welcome.’
We look at each other in an uncharacteristically sentimental way until we come over all
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