by J Wells
“The job itself sounds great, it’s full-time hours and the money’s good; it even comes with the bonus of its own flat. It’s got everything I want.” I feel my face drop. “But…”
“But?” he quizzes.
“For starters, I can’t take Larry, and to be honest, I can’t imagine moving that far away from my family.”
He plays around with the wiry stubble on his chin. “That’s rich coming from you. Weren’t you considering moving to Florida with Josh? That’s a bloody damn sight further.”
“Yes, but things change, I’ve changed. You can only ever really depend on your family, and that’s something I’ve learnt at a cost. I was with Josh for ten years, I thought I knew him inside out, but without any consideration for me or my feelings he let me down. What’s in Manchester for me apart from a job? Nothing, nothing at all.”
“So where does that leave us? You moving to London with me?”
I laugh. “Gabriel, you live in Matlock, not London.”
“Like you’ve just said, I’ve got no family there, just an aunt who pops in to see me a couple of times a week. Apart from four walls, my cat and the odd client, if I’m lucky.”
I slouch back in the deckchair, allowing the stripy canvas to take my weight. Is he really asking me what I think he is?
I open my mouth to reply, but then lose my train of thought.
“So…” I tilt my head slightly. “How did your consultation go?”
“Is that your answer, to change the subject?”
“Well?”
He doesn’t utter a word, but instead sits quietly and plays with his fingers. I watch him for a while, his head facing the bandstand.
“Hey, how’d you fancy a dance?” he asks.
“Guess that’s your way of changing the subject,” I mumble.
The silence between us continues, but his lips crease into a cheeky kind of grin. I hadn’t noticed until now that people are already on their feet, dancing. The majority are on the grass and dancing around the outside of the bandstand, though a few couples are actually in there with the band; but these are clearly trained dancers. I find myself looking round for Patrick Swayze to jump out and rescue Baby from her chair in the corner. What I see instead is a little old couple; I presume they’re hard of hearing, as they couldn’t possibly sit any closer to the musicians if they tried. They’re bobbing up and down to the beat, though neither of their heads move in time. Then the old fella gets to his feet, lifts a lightweight cardigan from the back of his wife’s deckchair and wraps it round her shoulders as she stands. It’s like a replay of myself as a little girl, watching her nan and granddad; most people wouldn’t notice the nice gestures that old people make, but then I’m not most people and I do notice. One day I’ll be that little old lady getting up from a chair; I can’t help but wonder who my little old man will be.
“Hello, Natasha…”
Gabriel’s standing with his hand held out towards me and I’m sitting here oblivious, totally lost in my thoughts.
“How about getting up off your arse?”
The soft twang of Spanish guitars accompanies his voice.
“You’re asking me to dance?” I pull my hands away and in one swift movement sit on them. “I can’t dance.”
I gaze towards the bandstand and the dancers with their sleek Latin-American moves.
“Well, not like that. I just flap my arms about and prat around to the music. I used to find it quite amusing when people stared over; I always thought it was me who was having a good time and they were just boring onlookers who didn’t know how to have fun, but the truth is, I was just acting like an overgrown kid… Maybe playing the fool was my way of not growing up.”
“Don’t worry about it, I had dance lessons as a kid so I’ll take the lead. All you have to do is hold on tight and follow me.”
When I do finally take his hand, he doesn’t lead me towards the bandstand but away from the crowd and down towards the lake, until we’re standing face-to-face by the water’s edge.
Somehow dancing doesn’t seem quite as bad as I remember, with Gabriel’s hands slowly running up and down my back and dusk closing in around us. I slip my feet out of my strappy sandals, and standing up on the tips of my toes he spins me towards him so quickly that I lose my balance. In the next moment he’s scooped me into his arms. I gaze up into his light-blue eyes for just a moment, then lean in closer, resting my head against his chest and breathing in the musky scent of his aftershave. Feeling more at ease than I have for a long time, I gaze out across the inky lake as we turn round and round. It looks as if the silvery solar lights are playing chase with the long tendrils of the weeping willows. For a split second I’m no longer Natasha with the heady Spanish music behind me; I’m an elegant ballerina on top of a musical box; I hear the turn of a small golden key and begin to dance.
I flinch as his rough stubble digs into my left cheek, though the discomfort is brief. He kisses me, his warm full lips pressing against mine. I gasp, trying to take in the breath he’s just taken; then, closing my eyes, I kiss him back, surrounded by the balmy summer evening, the serenade of Spanish guitars and the woody scent of BBQs. If anyone were to come over and ask me if I could choose anywhere in the world I’d like to be, my answer without a second thought would be right here, wrapped up in the arms of someone who is slowly becoming a very important part of my life.
He pulls a few inches away, then lifts his chin and kisses my forehead. His tongue trails down the bridge of my nose, making me giggle.
“Natasha,” he murmurs, “now you kiss me.”
I smile against his mouth and my lips part. I can feel him, taste him; I close my eyes and breathe him in.
“How about we finish this dance, then take a slow walk back to Tiffany?”
I don’t answer, though I’m sure my smile says it all.
I edge along the padded seat to sit closer to the boat window. Pulling back the heavily patterned curtains, I gaze out into dark waters and the night sky, which is only interrupted by the occasional star.
“God knows what wine Jase keeps here; my bloody eyes, all these bottles look exactly the same,” Gabriel hollers from the small galley kitchen.
Cupboards bang as they open and close, followed by the clattering of cutlery and chinking of glasses.
“Well, I’m not exactly a connoisseur where wine is concerned!” I shout back. “But Mum always says keep red at room temperature and everything else shove in the fridge. Anything cold is fine by me.”
He returns a few minutes later with what looks like a large bottle of rosé and two not particularly clean glasses.
“Is this your way of getting me drunk and in the mood?”
I lift my eyes from the table as he unscrews the lid and passes me the bottle to pour. He sits at my side, squeezing my thigh between his fingers.
“You telling me I need to get you drunk to get you in the mood?” he whispers.
I giggle as he squeezes just that little bit tighter.
“Maybe it’s you who needs the drink to get you in the mood,” I add, gazing up at him under my eyes.
Now my hands are under the table and I’m squeezing the inside of his thigh; he doesn’t flinch in the way I did but takes my hand, very slowly running my fingers up the leg of his denim jeans. Then quite suddenly our hands stop. I can feel his hardness beneath my palm; I can feel as it grows. I gasp, holding my breath. I’m tingling inside. Surely he must be able to feel my hand trembling as he inches his pelvis up into my tightening grasp.
“Now,” he murmurs, leaning closer to me, so close that his lips rest softly against my ear. “Tell me I need a drink to get in the mood,” he says, circling his fingers around my wrist, then very slowly moving my arm backwards and forwards.
I open my mouth to answer his question, though he lifts his finger to silence me.
“How about we skip the talking for a couple of hours? I’ll grab the bottle and you get your arse into that bedroom.”
He gets t
o his feet, taking a sideward step along the table allowing me to pass. I peer up as he does, playfully biting down on my lip, then reach forward and grab the waistband of his jeans and lead him the entire length of the narrowboat into the double bedroom. I turn on the dim wall light, and he closes the door.
“Come here,” he beckons, lowering himself onto the bed.
I kick off my sandals and step close enough to enable him to wrap his arms around my waist.
“I want you, you’ve no idea how much.”
“Tell me,” I say, tracing the outline of his face with my fingers.
“Ever since the day you walked into my studio.” He smiles.
“Yeah, as if. I insulted you and you kicked me out, remember?”
His smile widens. “I knew all along what an oxymoron was, I just chose not to let you know.”
I screw up my face. “Seriously! You knew?”
He grins, but doesn’t answer.
“I thought after your performance that you were the biggest arse going.”
“Charming, thanks for that. The truth was, I couldn’t control myself or how I felt. Believe me, it was hard, you there standing in front of me knowing you were somebody else’s… So I guess me being an arse was my way of getting you out of the house.” His lips straighten. “But you couldn’t resist my charm and came back.”
“Ha, funny!” I laugh. My face straightens. “But why me?” I ask. “You’ve painted so many women and probably many beautiful ones.”
“Why not you?” he mutters, pulling my T-shirt above my waist.
He lifts my arms, holding them over my head, and then slips the soft material over my shoulders.
Unfastening my bra, he continues. “You don’t get to choose the person who intrigues you, and you were that person I couldn’t get out of my mind.”
His arms take me with him as he lies back on the bed. I close my eyes, breathing in and out steadily as his warm fingers move in small circles over my neck and then down over my breasts. Without warning, he rolls us over so that I’m lying beneath him. He lowers his head and I reach up, dragging my hand through his short spiky hair. I feel him tense beneath my fingers as my manicured nails dig their way through his white cotton shirt. I open my palms very slowly, massaging his tight muscles loose. Then, bringing my fingers together, they snake a zigzag pathway down the length of his spine.
“I can’t see you as well as I’d like,” he murmurs into the nape of my neck, “but you feel fucking amazing.”
He flicks the button on my linen trousers and lowers the narrow metal zip. Squeezing his hand beneath me, he lifts my hips.
“Help me,” he whispers. “Help me get them off.”
I shimmy my ass from side to side, trembling as I feel him pulling the cool material over my thighs, past my knees. Then I do my part and kick them off the end of my feet. His chin settles comfortably between my breasts. He slips his tongue between his lips and grins. I pull my knees to my chest, rocking as he places moist kisses in a line around my waist. He grabs me by the legs, dragging me further beneath him.
“I want you, now.”
He lifts himself off me and sits on the side of the bed, takes off his jeans, then unbuttons and removes his shirt. I turn on my side and can’t help but admire his ripped torso, broad shoulders and the deep-brown tone of his skin. The bed lifts as he gets to his feet and my eyes wander over his growing outline, which stands proud beneath his jersey boxers.
“Natasha, I’ve waited so long for you, for this moment.”
My cheeks redden and my legs shake in anticipation as I slip out of my black lacy panties. He leans over me, feeling for the top drawer of Jase’s cupboard. After fumbling around, he rips open a small packet and slips a condom into place. Smiling, he takes himself in hand, leans towards me and nudges my legs apart.
“Not so fast,” I joke.
He releases his penis and now his hands are reaching out towards me. I’m feeling the fingers of an artist explore me much like I imagine his brush explores paper, though he’s not feeling textures or colours but skin, my skin, soft and warm. I let out a long breathy sigh and drink in his touch; my lashes lower. It’s as though the wings of a butterfly flutter around my heart as he traces my cheekbones, my nose, my temples and up into my hair, where he pauses and plays with my loose curls for a moment.
Turning my head, I moan into his coarse stubble.
Tingles shoot up my spine as his tongue begins to lap its way down my neck, every nerve in my body popping with excitement; it’s a feeling of ecstasy I’ve never experienced before as he continues to lap his way over my breasts.
“Fuck me, Gabriel!” I cry out, grinding my knuckles over his scalp.
His fingers drag down my sides and he cups my ass, manoeuvring me onto my stomach. With my face buried in the covers, he grabs me round the waist and lifts my hips. I shimmy up the bed, burying my face into the soft pillow, and groan in anticipation as I open myself up to him. My sweet, wonderful Gabriel; my heart is taken over by a sudden urge, a sudden need as very slowly he manoeuvres his growing manhood inside me. I gasp. He feels wonderful, but it’s not just Gabriel or what we’re doing, it’s the closeness we have, how my heart beats that little bit faster when he holds me in his arms, the strange feeling that gallops around my stomach whenever he’s near me. I’m scared to shout out to the world that I love him, but what other word is there to describe my feelings for this wonderful man? I push my hips up to meet his thrusts.
“Harder!” I shout.
The bed screeches in reply, rocking back and forth with us. I scrunch up my shoulders as Gabriel nuzzles his lips into my neck, his tongue wandering to my ear, which he nibbles and pulls with his teeth.
“I love you,” I hear him whisper, and feel his mouth against the side of my face.
I love you too… But the words never leave my lips. My reply is to turn towards him and leave a soft kiss on his cheek. Knotted up in the covers, we fumble around, giggling. We manage to roll over, and I’m lying staring up into those soft blue eyes, gasping as he inches himself back inside me. His thrusts are becoming deeper and faster, and he is panting now. His skin is damp, glistening. I can feel the heat from his arms as they glide over me. Again Gabriel searches for my lips; my breaths are erratic, slipping out in short pants.
“Come for me, Natasha, come for me,” he growls.
He lifts my legs, pressing my knees into his sides. I manage to hold onto my composure a few seconds longer before his constant rhythm tips me over the edge and my whole body is wracked by an all-consuming orgasm. It’s as though sharp charges of electricity are let loose, shooting from my stomach through to the tips of my fingers and toes, my whole being taken over by the intensity of this emotion. My breaths slow and my ecstasy subsides. I can feel the edges of his nails tracing their way to my wrists. There’s an intensity in his thrusts. Dragging me from the bed, he slams me back against the wardrobe doors. I let out a high-pitched squeal; the glass mirror is bloody freezing.
“Shit, sorry.” He pulls away slightly.
What’s he apologising for? This is fucking amazing!
Our rhythmical movements slow, and with my legs clasped around his waist he stands still.
Gabriel dips his head into my neck and I peer over his shoulder into the free-standing oval mirror. My breaths are erratic as he bounces me up and down. Condensation mists my features in the mirror, and in no time at all our reflections disappear…
Faster and faster, groans rush out between my lips. I feel his legs stiffen, his body jerk, and I feel his release. He lifts my hand to his lips, where he places the softest of kisses, then he lies me back onto the bed and rolls so that he’s lying next to me. There’s a kind of intensity in the air; it isn’t something I can see, but I can feel it all around us. Something beautiful that’s sitting here beside us as we lie together in a rather wonderful silence.
I think it’s the sun’s rays finding their way through a small gap in the curtains that wakes me. I stretch my arms
above my head, thinking of Gabriel and last night. Wondering how he’s feeling, I roll over to see if he’s awake, but he’s still sleeping peacefully. About to roll back, I cringe as I catch sight of my reflection in the wardrobe mirror. He can’t see me like this; it really is one of those mornings I need my make-up. So as not to wake him, I quietly slip out of bed and into the small en suite at the far end of the equally small bedroom.
I brush my teeth, and then throw warm water over my face to get rid of last night’s panda eyes. I reach up to the glass shelf above the sink for my denim make-up bag. I clench my teeth to stop myself crying out in pain and fall back onto the wooden toilet seat, holding my side. I’m in agony, and I think my back has gone into some kind of spasm. I’ve felt the odd twinge for the last couple of days but put it down to decorating the house; the pain was nothing like this, though. I can’t get up straight away, and so decide to check my phone for missed calls or messages. I’ve had a smiley face off Adrianna; the little yellow emoji is winking at me. I laugh to myself. Bugger off, I send back. I click onto Facebook and scroll down, stopping at a collection of holiday photos that my cousin Darcy has uploaded. Your cruise looks amazing, jealous!!! I comment. She replies within minutes that Steiner are on the lookout for beauticians, and she sends me a link for the jobs. I can honestly say that looking at the colour of the ocean and the amazing cuisine, if it wasn’t for Gabriel and Larry I’d be tempted.
Feeling my back beginning to ease, I straighten up in front of the mirror. What the hell am I doing? I’m rushing to make myself look nice when he can’t bloody see me anyway. So with just a touch of mascara on my lashes, I amble back into the bedroom.
Gabriel’s awake. He pushes himself up into a sitting position and leans back against the soft feather pillow.
“Went to put my arm around you but you’d gone; thought you were having second thoughts and had done a runner.”
“No, afraid not; looks like you’re stuck with me for the rest of the weekend.”
Grinning, he rubs his hands together.
