Blood RED. Paul Kane

together. Perhaps the other Tony, the one who’d taken their relationship for granted as soon as that band of gold had slid onto her finger, had been the stranger, not this man. The Tony who’d been content to watch the news or football—he’d kept that particular interest well under wraps when they initially started seeing each other—of an evening instead of going out, or even coming to bed, definitely wasn’t the man she’d walked up that aisle for. Nor was this Tony too busy with work, too obsessed with getting a promotion to take her away—in spite of her heavy-handed hints, leaving brochures scattered about the place.

      “If you want to go, love, you go,” he’d say. But she’d done all the travelling alone she wanted to do. Now she wanted someone to share it with.

      It wasn’t that Tony had been nasty or anything to her; far from it. Sometimes she wished he’d take enough interest to get drawn into a row. At least then she might get a little passion from him, something that was sadly lacking in their life at the moment. He’d still buy her things, or more often than not let her buy things on his card. But money, as all those wise philosophisers were so fond of stating, wasn’t everything. Besides which, she still had a job at the local infant school in the admin department—there was money of her own coming in.

      (That was another area where Michelle was unable to get through to Tony. Seeing all those little faces made her think more and more about her biological clock, but as far as her husband was concerned, kids were something to ‘think about’ in the future. If only they’d talked about it before getting hitched, sounded each other out about their feelings ...)

      As the couple grew more distant, and the life Michelle thought she’d be leading slipped gradually away from her, she began to think that her father had been right all along. They hadn’t known each other five minutes before committing, and that one simple mistake was going to cost her a lifetime of happiness—while the inches between them increased in the matrimonial bed, neither one even touching the other any more.

      But they were touching each other now, weren’t they? Tony’s hand across the table, holding hers so tightly. Their feet finding each other’s legs under the tablecloth. Michelle took a swig of the freshly-poured wine, the perfect accompaniment to the stuffed peppers they’d had for starters, the spaghetti carbonara for main, and for dessert ... Ah, well, she thought impishly, we may not even have that here at all!

      She’d thought everything was lost when Tony had announced he was going away Friday night to Sunday morning on business—the latest in a long line of trips. If she’d been the jealous type, she might have suspected he was up to something behind her back. But Tony couldn’t even be bothered with the one woman he had, let alone complicating things with a mistress. Anyway, she’d followed him—twice—just to make sure. It was exactly as he’d said: business, strictly business, meeting middle-aged men in hotel lounges and bars to talk about the prospect of making money from the fear of death. That’s when he wasn’t spending hours in the car travelling to such obscure locations.

      And she might have been worried again about the Tony that returned early Saturday to surprise her with dinner booked for two at a cosy Italian on the outskirts of town, a reminder of a time long ago. “Client backed out at the last minute, so I drove home,” he told her. But far from seeming disappointed by this, Tony was positively chipper. “Means I get to spend the weekend with my lovely wife,” he’d said before presenting her with a big bunch of roses.

      Michelle looked at him sideways. Was this to make up for something he’d done? Yet the more he talked, the more she realised it was to make up for something he hadn’t. “I know I’ve been neglecting you lately,” Tony said, “but all that’s going to change from now on. I’m going to pay you more attention—starting right now!”

      And he did—beginning in the bedroom, then moving on to the bathroom, in the shower, and finally once more in the kitchen. He was like a force of nature that afternoon, as they’d made love again and again. Not even when they were enjoying the ‘honeymoon’ period had they carried on like this; not even when they’d risked doing it in public, on that hillside after a picnic, or in that alleyway when they couldn’t wait to get home one night. Tony had ground away inside her relentlessly, her moans of pleasure encouraging him still further, it seemed. She’d barely had time to recover before they’d had to get ready and leave for the restaurant; eight o’clock sharp he’d told her the table was booked for.

      Now, satisfied in more ways than one, Michelle took in the features of her husband by candlelight as if seeing him for the first time. Had her prayers truly been answered? Had she—after all that worrying—been right to marry Tony all along? It would seem so, because there was no mistaking the love in those eyes tonight. No mistaking that selfsame feeling within her, too. It was as though the last few years had never even happened and they were back in Venice again; young, giddy lovers with their whole lives ahead of them.

      She’d only gotten halfway down the glass—her third of the evening—when it became clear that the drink was having an effect on more than just her inhibitions. “Tony,” she whispered. “I have to go to the little girls’ room.”

      He nodded and grinned as she attempted to get up from the table—almost bumping into the corner as she walked away. She looked around to see if any of the other diners had seen her, then realised there were only a handful left. Had they been here so long? He blew a kiss as she went down the corridor.

      Michelle found the door with the ‘Ladies’ symbol on it and pushed. It opened into a room with sinks on the left and two cubicles on the right.

      She paused for a moment to admire herself in the mirrors above the sinks, brushing her long brown hair back over her shoulders. She adjusted the top of the velvet halter-neck dress, the one she saved only for very special occasions (it hadn’t been used in a while), smoothing down the material over her stomach and legs and brushing off any lint that had stuck to it from the tablecloth. Then she entered the cubicle and emptied her bladder.

      While she was in there she heard the main door go again. She thought nothing of it at first, assuming it was one of the other female diners in the restaurant.

      Until there was a knock at the door.

      Michelle frowned. “Er ... H-Hello?”

      There was no answer, but the knocking came again—a gentle rapping on the door. Maybe there was no loo paper in the other cubicle and someone wanted to borrow a few sheets from her, she thought. But then a voice at the door whispered her name: “Michelle.”

      It was Tony, the silly devil—what was he doing in here? She rose, making herself decent, then went to the door and undid the lock. There he was, grinning that same grin he had done when she got up.

      “Tony?” she started, but he placed a finger on her lips. She opened her eyes in puzzlement, then his hand moved down from her face. He cupped her breast through the velvet of the dress, flicking at the nipple that was hardening beneath his expert touch.

      She let out a breath. “We can’t ...” she protested. “What if someone comes in?” But even as she was saying it, her heart was pounding inside her chest. This was just like the picnic, just like the alleyway. This was what had been missing for so long, even that afternoon.

      The excitement of getting caught.

      His hand moved further down and brushed the front of her dress, sliding in and rubbing the space between her legs. At the same time, his tongue worked on her lips, her neck. She fought the urge to cry out at his actions.

      Tony bent lower, guiding one of her straps down with his other hand, freeing a breast, which he massaged vigorously. Then he brought that hand down to meet the other, lifting her dress until he’d pushed it back over her thighs and revealed the tops of her black stockings—also items reserved for a special occasion like this. In seconds, he’d pulled down her panties and shoved his head between her legs, hands gripping her as she quivered, each fresh lap of his tongue sending her into convulsions of delight.

      “Oh God,” she groaned heavily. “Oh God, Tony, eat me ... eat me all up.”

      Michelle cocked back her head, hands