A Home Like Ours Fiona Lowe (good novels to read .txt) 📖

Normally she loved this focused and dedicated warm-up—a delicious prelude. But she’d spent the day fantasising about this moment and been on high alert, wet and aroused since breakfast. She was about to combust.

Shut up. Be mindful. Enjoy it.

His hands played lightly in her hair, scattering pins and releasing her up-do. Then his lips trailed along her neck and his fingers tugged gently on the zipper of the dress. Cool air danced along her spine and she shivered more in delight than from cold.

Watching his face, she dropped her arms and the dress fell to her hips.

He groaned.

She smiled. ‘It gets better.’ She wriggled her hips and the material fell, pooling at her feet.

The light in his eyes was familiar and welcome. ‘Christ, T.’

‘Not bad for a mother of two, right.’

‘Not bad at all.’

And then they were on the bed. He was kissing her breasts and her belly, and then his tongue was flicking and darting in and out of her. She was dancing on the edge of a cliff, pirouetting along the sheer drop, wanting to leap but still connected to earth by the tips of her toes. She heard herself moan, tormented by the promise of release and ravaged by layer upon layer of sensation. Her head thrashed, her belly clenched, and her hands, despite not wanting to hold onto anything, closed around the edge of the mattress.

And then she was crying out and free-falling, tumbling over and over into a maelstrom of bliss.

When her breathing finally slowed and the silver spots behind her eyelids faded to black, her vagina twitched, wet and ready to close around Jon and welcome him in.

She opened her eyes to the warm yellow glow of the bedside lamps. It took her a moment to realise Jon had rolled away from her and she was looking at his back. Snuggling in, she kissed his shoulder, then dropped her hand to his hip and finger-walked towards his penis.

He moved his thigh, bringing his knee up towards his chest, blocking her touch. ‘It’s been a huge night, T.’

Her body jolted as if shocked by electricity and her mind grappled with his words. ‘But we’re only halfway.’

‘That’s okay.’

Frustration and fury demolished her post-orgasmic glow. ‘It’s not okay! We haven’t had sex in weeks.’

He rolled over to face her, his mouth unusually hard. ‘What the hell do you call what just happened? It sounded like I just gave you a mind-blowing orgasm.’

‘Yes …’ But she craved the intimacy of having Jon deep inside her, feeling him shudder against her as he came.

She wanted him to hunger for that intimacy too. She needed it to silence the critical thoughts in her head. To prove without a shadow of a doubt that the reason for his distraction over the previous months was connected to his drive to win the award. That it had nothing to do with him not finding her attractive or—

Her mind swerved away from the horror that he might be getting his sexual gratification elsewhere.

She needed concrete proof that the last few months were an aberration and now he’d won, everything would return to normal. But nothing about the tension tightening his cheeks or the shadows under his eyes reassured her.

Despite her disappointment, she remembered something she’d read about not having difficult discussions in bed and naked. Now’s not the time, Tara.

She reluctantly heeded the warning. ‘Thank you.’

His mouth tweaked into a tired smile and he dropped a perfunctory kiss on her cheek. ‘You’re welcome. It was a great night.’ He rolled away.

She blinked away tears until she could trust her voice not to waver. ‘I’m so proud of you winning best business.’

A gentle snore was his only reply.

CHAPTER

2

Helen hung up her apron now the moderately busy lunchtime rush at Boolanga’s Acropolis Café was over. She was looking forward to spending the afternoon in the community garden, despite the prospect of a committee meeting.

‘Helen, you want that expired pita bread?’

‘Thanks, Con. That’d be great.’

This hospitable version of Con Papadakos was a far cry from the man she’d met on a warm winter’s afternoon three and a half years earlier. Faint from exhaustion and with five dollars in her wallet plus the fifteen cents she’d found scouring all the crevices in her car, Helen had gone directly from Riverbend picnic ground to the community noticeboard outside the supermarket. There’d been buy, sell and swap notices, information about courses run by the Neighbourhood House, advertisements for local businesses and a note from a backpacker seeking a ride to Melbourne, but no jobs.

Light-headed and dispirited, she’d walked towards the library to lodge her JobSeeker form. Helen loved libraries. They were a source of free wifi, newspapers, magazines and books, as well as a haven from the heat, the cold and the rain. Each time she visited a library and handed over her City of Melbourne library card, the staff assumed she was travelling and enjoying early retirement. She’d never disabused them.

On her way down the main street she passed a fish and chip shop. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, savouring the tempting aroma of hot salty oil. She’d taken to luxuriating in the scents of foods she’d once taken for granted. Now those not-so-special treats were as out of reach as a Prada handbag.

‘You okay?’ a woman asked. ‘You need water?’

Helen opened her eyes. An elderly woman of indeterminate age, dressed head to toe in black, stood in the doorway of the shop.

‘I’m …’ But even people she’d once thought of as friends considered the truth to be inconvenient, let alone strangers. ‘A glass of water would be great, thanks.’

‘Come.’ The woman disappeared through the PVC insect curtain.

Helen followed and noticed a handwritten sign on the window: Help Wanted. She didn’t believe in signs—not any more—but she’d be foolish to ignore this one. Years earlier, when she’d met Theo, his parents had owned a fish and chip shop. Despite being an electrician with his own business, he’d worked in the shop on Friday nights to