Carla stormed out of the Rovers and marched down the cobbles in a rage, blind to everything, hearing and seeing nothing, completely engrossed with the thoughts swirling around inside her head.
She longed for the safety of home; her new Victoria Court flat. It was a haven for her, a refuge from the nightmare that had become her life ever since that fateful night; the night of Rob and Tracy's engagement party. That was the night her whole world had imploded; one by one, the foundations that she'd built her life on had crumbed. Everything she had held dear she had lost: her lover, her best friend, her baby. For a while she'd lost all hope as well.
Her life with Peter, no matter how much of a roller coaster it was at times, a house of cards she'd once called it, had always made sense; she'd always felt like she was home when she was with him. But without Peter by her side, Carla felt adrift, as if she'd lost her anchor.
But it was his actions and his alone that had forced her to move on. Her new flat wasn't just a new place to live; it gave her that peace of mind, that psychological break from the constant reminders of her husband's betrayal and infidelity. The images that would run through her mind as she looked around their marital home had been pure torture for her; the constant wondering "did they do it here?" guaranteed her not one moment of tranquillity.
How dare Peter think she would ever take him back after everything that had happened. Everything that he had done. It wasn't just about Tina, it was their baby girl. She still couldn't think of that precious baby without falling apart. She couldn't. She wouldn't.
Carla stopped for a moment; she stood frozen in the middle of the dark street, breathing in and out, trying to calm herself, trying to dispel all of those maternal dreams that had sprung up inside her from what seemed like nowhere. She had to compose herself; all that was over now. It was all gone.
She started walking again, working up the hatred inside herself of her husband, desperate to banish all thoughts of her dead daughter from her mind. How could he think she could still love him? Carla could feel the anger rise within her; she couldn't believe he had the gall to declare that they were meant to be together.
Carla was disgusted.
But the thing that disgusted Carla the most was the realisation that he was right. She did still love him. She doubted her ability to ever stop loving him. But she also hated him. The thought that she hated him more than she loved him right now was the only thing that was keeping her going; the only thing that had stopped her giving into him tonight.
And now he was out of prison. The thought of having to see him every day made her feel sick. And frightened. No matter what had happened in the past, she had always had a weak spot when it came to Peter. As much as she hated him, she didn't trust herself not to love him.
Carla felt a momentary calmness as she passed through the front entrance of Victoria Court. She was almost home; almost safe.
Almost.
As the secure door was about to click shut, Peter held it to; he pushed it open and followed Carla inside.
"Carla."
Carla ignored him. She stared straight ahead as she began to climb the stairs.
"Carla! We can't leave things like this."
But still Carla walked on, without a word, without a sign that she'd even registered Peter's presence.
And Peter? Peter could do little else but follow his wife to her new flat; her new life without him.
Carla unlocked the door to her flat and pushed it open. She entered; Peter followed closely behind.
Carla turned around and, in one smooth motion, took Peter's face in her hands and kissed him.
She kissed him with a primal desire. This wasn't a pretty kiss that you'd see in a Hollywood movie; this was a purely carnal kiss; animalistic. It was pure desire; pure passion; pure anger.
Peter was shocked. What was happening? It took him a few moments for his mind to catch up with what his body, her body was doing. What her lips were doing. What her tongue was doing.
But then he caught up; he kissed her back with the same passion she was kissing him. His hands in her hair, down her back, circling back around to her front. He began to push her top up, to expose the skin of her tummy, but she caught his hand. Not yet.
She pulled away from his embrace and looked at him; really looked at him. Peter looked back at Carla, his wife. Her eyes looked like they were on fire, she was staring at him with such intensity.
Without breaking eye contact, Carla stepped close to Peter. She unbuckled his belt and ripped it from his jeans. She reached around him and pulled on the hem of his t-shirt. Her hands slipped underneath the fabric; her fingers stroked his bare skin; he shivered involuntarily as her nails gently glided up his back. Gripping the fabric, she pulled the t-shirt up and over his head; his arms he held aloft while she removed the garment and tossed it aside.
For a moment Carla paused; she reached out and touched Peter's tattooed skin; this skin that was at once so familiar and yet so alien to her.
She unbuttoned his jeans, pulled the zip down and peeled the denim from his legs. He lifted each foot – right foot, left foot – in turn so Carla could rid him of his sartorial encumbrance.
His boxers came next.
And then Peter was naked.
Carla stepped back to admire her handiwork.
Peter stepped forward; he reached out with one hand and cupped her face, his thumb gently stroked her cheek. With the other hand he reached up inside her top and cupped her breast in his palm. But Carla pulled away. More than that, she stepped away.
Eyes locked on Peter's the whole time, Carla stripped for him; for her husband. But this was no seductive manoeuvre on Carla's part. Carla wanted Peter to know that, right here, right now, she was in charge.
Finally, they were both naked; stood face-to-face; stripped bare.
Carla took Peter's hand and led him to the sofa. She pushed him down; he happily fell back onto the soft cushions as he gazed up at the woman he adored.
Carla climbed on top of Peter, straddling him, her knees either side of his hips, her pussy spread open above Peter's, unsurprisingly erect, cock. Carla's hair hung either side of her face, tendrils gently brushed against Peter's chest, driving him wild with desire.
Peter reached out his hands and gripped Carla's hips. Carla reached her hands back and took hold of Peter's hands; she pulled them off her hips and placed them by his side on the sofa.
Steadying herself, Carla gripped Peter's cock in one hand; with the other she penetrated her pussy with her fingers and retrieved her own juices. Rubbing herself onto the tip of Peter's cock, she leaned forward and kissed Peter; softly, tenderly, her tongue softly running along the seam of his lips. As he parted his lips, her tongue entered his mouth, his entered hers. The sweetest of licks, sucks, kisses. Tender, loving, fleeting.
Carla sank down onto Peter's cock; all the way in until Peter was deep inside her. He gasped. Carla ground her pelvis into Peter's, around and down, side to side, back and forth. Peter groaned with ecstasy.
Carla rose a few inches, balancing her body above Peter's before sinking back down. Grinding down, and around. And up, and down. And pausing there, she thrust her pelvis back and forth, forcing Peter's cock against her clit, the friction almost causing her to scream. But she held it in, she wasn't ready for that yet.
Rising up, she released Peter's cock from her vagina; before Peter could express any disappointment, Carla kneeled on the ground in front of the sofa and took Peter's cock in her mouth. No holding back, she took him in deep, his cock, hard, hot and wet from being inside Carla's pussy, was now slamming against the back of her throat. She held his hips down as her mouth did all the work; she wanted to be in control. She moved her head back and forth as her mouth glided over his shaft; licking, kissing sucking.
With one smooth movement, Carla rose to her feet and straddled Peter, engulfing his cock once more deep inside her pussy.
She kissed him, her tongue was inside his mouth, exploring each corner, desperate to be as one with him.
Carla clenched her pelvic muscles around Peter's cock as she bounced up and down, taking him in and out, in and out. Clenching, a steady rhythm, every faster, she worked him into a state of pure ecstasy.
He was about to come.
She rose up and off him again; his cock flying free in the air.
She went down on him again; his cock in her mouth. Sucking, her tongue swirling around the tip of his cock; her hand gripped around the base of his shaft.
She worked him up once again into a state of near orgasm when, yet again, she freed his cock from her mouth and, not giving him a moment of respite, she straddled him, sinking down onto him again, sinking deep onto his hard dick. Rising up and sinking back down. Again and again.
Carla thighs, either side of Peter's hips, worked their power. She moved her pelvis in a steady rhythm; his cock slid in and out of her pussy. Her vagina walls gripped onto his cock, tight as his member penetrated her to her very core.
Carla never once stopped looking Peter in the eye. Peter stared back at her in awe; into these eyes that mesmerised him; eyes that were on fire; eyes that would burn right through him.
As Carla rode Peter's cock, she leaned forward and kissed him; a slow, wet, kiss. As she pulled away from the kiss and her tongue left Peter's mouth, she transferred some of Peter's wet kiss onto her fingers. Her fingers reached down to her clit; she rubbed Peter's kiss over her clit; around her throbbing bud, she massaged herself, frigged herself, pleasured herself as Peter's cock continued to slide in and out of her pussy.
She decided the time was now. Her pelvic thrusts reached an almost feverish pace; her fingers rubbed her clit with an intense pressure, an intense pleasure. She'd found that sweet spot. She punished that spot, she clenched her pussy around Peter, she bounced up and down on his shaft.
She had been worried, given the hatred in her heart for this man, that she wouldn't be able to reach orgasm with him.
She was wrong.
She reached orgasm.
They both did.
Carla's vaginal walls spasmed around Peter's cock as he shot his load of cum deep inside of her; deep inside of his wife who he loved.
Carla let her head fall back in sated ecstasy.
As she lowered her head to look down into Peter's eyes, Peter raised his hand and pulled Carla's head gently towards his. Carla let him, for now.
She kissed him tenderly, passionately, as if the world was about to end. Because, the truth was, the world was ending. Their world. Carla and Peter. Mr and Mrs Barlow. This was it. This was the end.
Carla pulled away from Peter's kiss, but he wasn't ready to let go.
"Carla, baby, that was –"
But Carla placed a finger over his mouth.
"Don't speak. Just go."
"Carla."
Peter was begging yet again; he couldn't let go.
Carla stood up and looked down on Peter, the love of her life. There were tears in her eyes, but her mind was made up.
"Carla, please."
Carla walked to the door of her new flat, her new life, and waited.
Peter silently gathered his clothes and re-dressed himself.
All the while, Carla stood, naked yet powerful, by her front door.
Fully dressed now, Peter walked to the door before pausing. He turned to look Carla in the eye; he wasn't ready to accept it was over.
"Carla."
Carla walked away; she walked into her bedroom, leaving Peter standing, confused, by her front door.
But, barely a minute later, Carla had returned. She reached down for his hand; into it she placed a perfect circle of silver – her wedding ring – and closed his hand gently around it.
Peter looked once more into Carla's eyes, desperately searching for a sign of hope; any glimmer that they might have a chance. He didn't find it.
Resigned to his fate, Peter kissed Carla gently on the cheek and walked out of her front door.
She shut the door gently behind him. As the lock clicked shut, she finally melted. She leaned against the door that she had just shut on her marriage, on the only man she would ever truly love, and let the tears fall unrestrained down her cheeks as she slid onto the floor in a sobbing heap.
Lying there, naked, she felt both weak and strong. She knew that, from now on, she couldn't give into that weakness again; she had to stay strong. She had to make sure that this never happened again. She had to protect herself.