Ch. 5 Bed & Breakfast

At some point during the night I woke with a start. My eyes adjusted to the gloom and I took in the scene. With a sickening sense of horror I made out the dishevelled clothing, the empty bottle, the half full glasses. I saw my phone lying there, out of juice, a stark reminder of the life that I had carelessly discarded a few hours earlier. The room was dark but a finger of dawn was poking through the heavy velvet curtains. There was the outline of my pretty bedfellow, breathing softly, on his side away from me, the curve of his long brown back exposed, the sheet covering his hips.

I experienced such yoyo-ing guilt, delight and utter disbelief at that moment my head started to spin and I groaned, the red wine jabbing at my head, judging me. He turned over and reached out, pulling me toward him. Part of me resisted, sobering up, remembering more and more of my irresponsible actions with every passing second.  Then I looked up at Liam Gallagher, eyes closed, his arm stretching out for me under my shoulders and pulling me on top of him, his hands on my hips, warm lips finding mine. I am ashamed to admit, not for the first time that night I just melted.   And my other problems melted as well.

My legs parted and he found his way inside me easily. He was absolutely rock hard and I gasped at the sensation, was wet almost immediately, his musky smell overpowering my senses, my hands in his hair, his tongue finding mine, his hips rising to meet me. We moved together silently at first, sleepy little movements, a thrust here, a groan there, his hands crawling all over my back, my hips, my ass, pushing himself inside me. I pushed his hands away and pulled myself up to look at him properly, my hips moving steadily, his blue eyes half lidded, staring up at me intently. I leaned forward, let my nipples graze his face. His mouth nipped at them one at a time sending shockwaves through me. I bent my head to kiss him again, tug on his lip with my teeth, feel his stubble burn my face, and his hands clasped my face, his hips moving faster, breathing heavily. I sat upright, ran my hands through the dark hair on his chest and closed my eyes, feeling his hands run down to my breasts, rubbing, twirling, squeezing my nipples, feeling him in me, imagining him there. I cried out with pleasure and my body tensed and deep inside me I could feel the rising tide yet again, the pulsing, throbbing and my head fell back, letting it overwhelm me, riding him, crying out for what seemed like quite a while, and then his hips thrust me upward and he let go deep inside me, groaning loudly. I fell on top of him, sweating, breathless, spent. Hungover.

I tell you what Carolyn, you are some woman, Liam was saying some minutes later, his arm across his face, obscuring his eyes, his long muscular neck exposed, looking just jaw-droppingly beautiful. Men have an infuriating habit of looking better first thing in the morning, even after a skinful of alcohol and little sleep, while women need to work quite hard just to look like they did before they were tumbled into bed. I was sitting up next to him, body tingling, head spinning, smoothing my hair, wiping the smudges from under my eyes, wondering where my clothes were.

The strangest shift was taking place inside me and I was actually overcome with the urge to flee and get back to my family, my life, normality. But we were nearly 100 miles from London and I knew I had to bring him back with me, after all, I was driving his car. What’s wrong with this picture? What kind of seductor coerces the seductee into driving herself to her own seduction? Even if it is Liam Gallagher, that still bothered me especially as it now was down to me to return both of us to real life again down the A41.

Even though I was dreading facing the music at the other end, and part of me didn’t want this adventure to end, the urge to escape was overwhelming. I just wanted to go home. It was only 7am but we were wide awake thanks to the alcohol and very little sleep. The thrilling apprehension of the night before had given way to conflicted emotions, fearful reality and a terrible heaviness in my chest.

Fortunately Liam was in no mood to hang around either and I was relieved when he shook his head at the offer of the included breakfast. “Can’t stomach food first thing man,” he said, rubbing his stubble and looking for his other shoe. “Over there, by the curtains,” I pointed, remembering some joke about Adidas Gazelles we were sharing before he tore them off and threw them across the room amid gales of drunken laughter. Had all of this actually happened?

As another notch on the bedpost for this rock star I somehow doubt my lover was experiencing anything like the same inner turmoil.  Tugging on my tights I cast my mind back a few hours earlier; Liam chasing me up the stairs, kissing me at the top, smacking my bottom as I ran away from him, pulling me inside the hotel room in the dark, pushing me against the wall and kissing me, hands somehow both up my sweater and down my skirt before scooping me up entirely and depositing me several feet away on my back on the large four poster bed. At that point he removed all my clothes very slowly and expertly kissed and licked every part of me before touching my most sensitive area of all. And spent some considerable time down there too; I never realised the other benefits several days’ stubble could offer; in spite of the shame and the battle I was losing with my conscience I had to admit Liam seduced me with total class and sophistication. I made the seduction all the more straightforward by offering absolutely no resistance whatsoever. I was probably overly willing looking back on it but 4.5m Twitter followers can’t all be wrong, can they. I was a lucky girl on some level, and my seesawing stomach remembering it all obviously agreed.

Once in the car the atmosphere was friendly, convivial, but obviously a bit awkward. Two banging hangovers and not even a coffee between us didn’t help matters. We listened to the AM radio when the reception permitted and Liam surprised me by finding Radio 4 and got all involved in an old Just A Minute programme from the 90s. He dropped a few names and I was amazed to hear he’d spent time with some of the clever Footlights types like John Sessions and Josie Lawrence; but then the Groucho Club is a tiny place and cocaine is a very friendly drug, he explained with a wink. My head was pounding and every mile we ate up made my stomach clench more in fear of what lay ahead of me. Not only did I have to navigate the North Circular and the tangle of traffic in Highgate to drop Liam off and his car, I then had a nightmare journey by tube on a Saturday back to South London. If it was a match day in North London I knew I got what I deserved.

Sensing this in some way Liam offered to let me use the car to get home and I told him we’d decide what to do when we got back to Highgate. An hour later we were parked outside the Prince of Wales again, indicator flashing, staring at each other.  Where our adventure began, with my massive bag and bad intentions.

 On either side of the road were red and white and blue and white football colours; not only was it a match day, it was a North London derby, Spurs v Arsenal. I told you I deserved this.  My phone was still not charged and I had no idea what was waiting for me at home, but I couldn’t get there quickly enough to find out.

“Well, I loved every minute of that,” Liam said, leaning forward, cupping my face with his hands and kissing me again. One more smacker and he insisted then I take the car.

“Come on backstreet girl, you can navigate back twice as fast this time of day in that. Keep it for now. We’ll work out how to get it back once you’ve got home. Might soften the blow for your other half as well,” he added, admiring his own classic car with a nod. He had a point.

“I should take your number,” I mumbled, wishing he’d thought of asking first but the practical female in me had to get this sorted, I was not about to spend a further afternoon stalking his local pub in order to return this incredible car. God only knows where that would lead.

“Good fuckin’ shout man,” and did the modern version of swapping cards and called my mobile, even though it was dead.

“You know where you’re going, yeah?” he asked me through the open passenger window.

“Can you direct me if I don’t?” I answered.

“Get to fuck,” he smiled.

“Thought not,” I replied, blew him a kiss and pulled away.