I take a pew at the back, partially obscured by an ornate pillar. Mourners trickle past me, some familiar. It’s the first time I’ve been home in a decade and everyone looks kind of weathered. Except him, that is.

Josh turns around as the church organ roars into life and catches my eye, then presses his lips into a tiny smile of acknowledgement, of gratitude. I feel overwhelmed by sadness.

His Facebook photos don’t do him justice, I think to myself, studying him in profile as he comforts his father. At thirty-eight, he looks better than ever.

There’s a large photo of his mother, Susan, on an easel and I barely take my eyes off it during the service, thinking how odd it is that the woman pictured, tanned and on holidays in Spain, is now in the box in front of me. Goosebumps cover my skin, despite the muggy summer weather.

When the ceremony’s over, he’s quick to find me outside. He wraps me in a friendly bear hug, but for a second too long, and I notice his wife watching us from the other side of the churchyard. Her eyes flick to us every few seconds. A knot of delicious heat forms between my legs.

“Thank you,” he says, a little bit breathless, “thanks for coming. It means a lot.”

“She was like a mum to me growing up,” I say and my voice cracks a little.

Josh and I were together for six years, throughout university and our early twenties. 

“You look wonderful,” he says, stepping back to admire me. “You’ve done so well for yourself. I follow you online, you know.”

I suppose it’s true; my paintings are on display in some of the world’s finest galleries, but being back home strips that layer of my life away, and suddenly I feel like a teenager again.

“I keep an eye on you too,” I say, smiling and pulling shawl around my shoulders and across my chest, suddenly conscious that maybe my dress is too low cut. “Your business is doing well.”

His eyes are locked on mine. “Will you come for tea and sandwiches? It’s up at Glen hotel.”

He’s referring to the only hotel in the small village of Glen Marrick. Every wedding and funeral is hosted there.

“I’m staying there.”

--

The function room is packed and I stand near the back, nursing a coffee and making awkward conversation with old classmates who never made it out of Glen and somehow turned into their parents.

I make excuses and wander into the lobby, planning to go back to my room. The combination of the stifling heat, old faces and the circumstances surrounding my return have sapped my energy.

“Laura.”

It’s Josh. His tie is slack now and the first few buttons on his white shirt are open.

“Hey. Just taking a breather.” I hover at the bottom of the staircase that leads to the rooms.

“Can I join you?”

The lobby is empty. “Sure,” I say, fishing the key out of my bag.

--

The room is tiny and dated, with a hideous floral bedspread and a plastic kettle that has yellowed with age. He sits at the desk chair and I perch on the end of the bed. I try to ignore the ache between my legs; my pussy is drooling for him. Nothing has ever compared to the sex we had as eighteen-year-olds; the crazy lustful nights of experimentation.

He must be reading my mind, because he flashes a little smile and his eyes sweep down to the patterned carpet.

“I doubt I’ll ever come back to Glen Marrick again after this,” I say, lying back against the pillows and staring at the ceiling fan.

He moves to the bed and lies next to me, like we did when we were kids. There’ll never be awkwardness with him; he knows me inside out. We turn to face each other and our eyes have a silent conversation. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

He brushes his fingers over my face and I’m an iron filing to a magnet. I unbuckle him and stroke his erection. He moves down the bed and lifts my dress up, spreading my legs as his face fills the space. And just like that, we’re teenagers again and he’s eating me, plunging his tongue into me then swirling it over my clit and sliding his fingers over my lips. He drinks me down hungrily.

I come in minutes. He hasn’t forgotten what I like. I tug his pants down and his cock springs free. I know he likes to fuck from behind, so I get onto all fours and arch my back for him. The groan he makes as he enters me makes my heart soar. He’s had a hard day and it’s the least I can do.

Gripping my hips, he thrusts against me roughly, grinding his cock into me until there’s no space between us.

“Wait,” I whisper a moment later, leaning forward so that he slips out.

I remember how much he loves anal and I want this to be his parting memory.

“I haven’t forgotten,” I say, pulling the cheeks open for him. “Do whatever you want.”

He plunges in, gasping with pleasure as my tight arse surrounds him.

“Do the things you can’t do to your wife,” I say, enjoying the idea of being used by him.

We’re two pieces of a puzzle, back together.

When Josh comes, he clenches against my backside, like he’s squeezing every last drop out and I squirm against him, eagerly accepting it, enjoying the thought of his warm cum slathering my arse and pussy.

The tension in him has evaporated. He dresses quickly, smoothing down his shirt, then kisses me gently on the mouth. He must go back down; I understand. He knows he doesn’t have to swear me to secrecy. After all, what’s a fuck between old friends?