Night Over Water - Ken Follett [42]
“I don’t touch myself,” she lied.
“Well ... when you were a girl, before you were married—you must have done it then—everyone does. Show me what you used to do.”
She was about to refuse; then she realized how sexy it would be. “You want me to stimulate myself—down there—while you watch?” she said, and her voice was thick with desire.
He grinned wickedly and nodded.
“You mean... all the way?”
“All the way.”
“I couldn’t,” she said; but she did.
Now his fingertips touched her knowingly, in exactly the right places, with the same familiar motion and just the right pressure; and she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sensation.
After a while she began to moan softly and raise and lower her hips rhythmically. She felt his warm breath on her face as he leaned closer to her. Then, just as she was losing control, he said urgently: “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes. He continued to caress her in exactly the same way, just a little faster. “Don’t close your eyes,” he said. Looking into his eyes while he did that was shockingly intimate, a kind of hypernakedness. It was as if he could see everything and know everything about her, and she felt an exhilarating freedom because she had nothing left to hide. The climax came, and she forced herself to hold his gaze while her hips jerked and she grimaced and gasped with the spasms of pleasure that shook her body; and he smiled down at her all the while and said: “I love you, Diana. I love you so much.”
When it was over, she grabbed him and held him, panting and shaking with emotion, feeling that she never wanted to let go. She would have wept, but she had no tears left.
She never did tell Mervyn.
Mark’s inventive mind came up with the solution, and she rehearsed it as she drove home, calm and collected and quietly determined.
Mervyn was in his pajamas and dressing gown, smoking a cigarette and listening to music on the wireless. “That were a bloody long visit,” he said mildly.
Only a little nervous, Diana said: “I had to drive terribly slowly.” She swallowed, took a deep breath and said: “I’m going away tomorrow.”
He was faintly surprised. “Where to?”
“I’d like to visit Thea and see the twins. I want to make sure she’s all right, and there’s no telling when I’ll get another chance: the trains are already becoming irregular and petrol rationing starts next week.”
He nodded assent. “Aye, you’re right. Better go now while you can.”
“I’ll go up and pack a case.”
“Pack one for me, will you?”
For an awful moment she thought he wanted to go with her. “What for?” she said, aghast.
“I’ll not sleep in an empty house,” he said. “I’ll stop at the Reform Club tomorrow night. You’ll be back Wednesday?”
“Yes, Wednesday,” she lied.
“All right.”
She went upstairs. As she put his underwear and socks into a small suitcase, she thought: It’s the last time I’ll ever do this for him. She folded a white shirt and picked out a silver-gray tie: somber colors suited his dark hair and brown eyes. She was relieved that he had accepted her story, but she also felt frustrated, as if there were something she had left undone. She realized that although she was terrified of confronting him, she also wanted to explain why she was leaving him. She needed to tell him that he had let her down, he had become overbearing and thoughtless, he no longer cherished her as he once had. But now she never would say those things to him, and she felt oddly disappointed.
She closed his case and began to put makeup and toiletries into her sponge bag. It seemed a funny way to end five years of marriage, packing socks and toothpaste and cold cream.
After a while Mervyn came upstairs. The packing was all done and she was in her least attractive nightdress, sitting in front of her dressing table mirror, taking off her makeup. He came up behind her and grasped her breasts.
Oh, no, she thought, not tonight, please!
Although she was horrified, her body responded immediately, and she blushed guiltily. Mervyn’s fingers squeezed her swelling