Omega

She just shrugged and kept on eating, looking at the TV, some sketch show. As if it didn’t matter. As if all that mattered was the here and now.

“You’ve had a drink,” Marisa said, a half-question that contained both surprise and amusement.

“It was my birthday,” Owain replied.

She looked puzzled. “Really, Owain?”

“No. I just fell into bad company.”

She passed him a cup of coffee, replenished her own and sat down on the sofa, tucking her bare feet underneath her. Her boots were outside in the hallway. How effortlessly she d made herself at home.

“One of the night patrols,” Owain said. “They gave me a slug of engine fuel.”

Plainly perplexed by his levity, she said, “Aren’t you going to take your jacket off?”

He’d flung himself into the armchair on entering, was sitting facing her.

“In a minute,” he said. “I thought you were on holiday.”

“We came back early. It was as I said it would be. Two days in Lisbon. Carl was in meetings. Always there was something pressing.”

“I saw him on TV. Peace talks, was it?”

“I’ve never known him so severe. I think perhaps this time it is serious. He only said that all leave is being cancelled. Do you know what is happening, Owain?”

It was finally dawning. How subtle she was. And what a fool he had been.

“Perhaps there’s going to be a big parade,” he said.

Her quizzical look became a frown. “Is something wrong?”

“That’s just what I was wondering. How long have you been waiting for me?”

“A few hours. Giselle did not know your whereabouts. So I thought I would wait.”

“Won’t Carl be worried?”

“He told me not to expect to see him tonight.”

“Very convenient.” Owain swallowed a belch and loosened his jacket. “In that case you’re free to spend the night here, aren’t you?”

The frown was now serious. “Something is wrong, Owain. What is it?”

“You tell me.”

He saw her afresh, as someone whose innocent veneer was the perfect cover for something more sinister and predatory. Legister’s whore, sent by him for the purpose of extracting information. The insight was oddly liberating.

“Has something happened?” Marisa asked anxiously.

“How would I know?” he replied. “I’m just an aide.”

“Now you’re frightening me,” she said. “Something has happened. Is that why you are drunk?”

“Not drunk. Loose. Chasing phantoms.”

She didn’t pick up on this. “What is it? Tell me.”

“Nothing to tell.” He shrugged off his jacket and sat down beside her on the sofa.

“More wine?” Tanya asked, waving the bottle.

“I haven’t finished this one.”

“Lost your appetite?”

“Not for some things.”

I picked up the trays and took them out to the kitchen. When I returned Tanya was using the remote to channel-hop. Finally she blanked the screen.

The half-light accentuated her beauty. As I knelt down in front of her to retrieve the lid from one of the cartons, I could see one of her breasts pouched in the folds of her gown. I brought my head up. She was smiling at me. I pushed my mouth on hers.

Marisa drew back as Owain pressed himself against her but she didn’t try to wriggle away. He began kissing her on the lips, his hands on her bare upper arms as he insinuated his legs between hers. Tanya responded without inhibition, pulling me on to her. I lost myself in our kissing, forcing her mouth open, forcing my tongue between her teeth, feeling her beginning to twist, to move around and give me a better position.

“Owain,” I could hear her say breathlessly as I dragged the shoulder straps right down her arms, feeling them tighten. “Owain, please!”

I freed one hand to get my trousers open, tugging them down to my knees. Then up underneath her skirt to grasp her tights, pulling at them while she pleaded and twisted, allowing me to free them, to peel them away. I crushed my mouth on hers again, shifting my weight forward, pressing my erection between her legs, already full to bursting.

“Take it easy,” I heard Tanya say. “Slow down!”

She wasn’t ready. I had a partial recovery of my senses. I used my tongue to lubricate my fingers, began stroking her. She writhed beneath me, playing the game of subdue and conquer to the hilt. I pushed my face into the crook of her neck, feeding on it, fumbling between her legs. I found a slickness there, exploited it instantly, surging in.

Marisa beneath me, slim and olive-skinned, head twisted back, the skirt of her dress thrust up to her wast, its straps pinioning her at the elbows. Tanya more ample, her gown a pool of cream at her midriff. I had my hands on her shoulders, pressing down as I thrusted, looming over her. She was squashed into a corner, uncomfortably twisted. A voice was repeating my name in feverish entreaty, but I couldn’t stop myself. Within a matter of seconds I was lost, jetting a few instants of my entire consciousness into them.

A long silence. No movement apart from the pulse of my heart and the diminuendo of my breathing. Finally I raised my head.

Marisa continued to lie absolutely still. She was gazing at the ceiling.