‘Which star’s your favourite?’
‘Oh, the brightest,’ I said dreamily. ‘First one I ever learned: Venus.’
‘Is that a star?’
‘No. But when I was little Dad used to tell me the brightest star was Venus. Maybe he thought it sounded poetic – the goddess of love.’ I laughed. ‘Or maybe he just picked a random planet because he didn’t want to admit to not knowing the names.’
Stewart’s fingers were playing in my hair. I could feel his heart throbbing hard against my cheek.
‘You’re remarkable, you know,’ he murmured.
‘Thanks,’ I said with a little blush. ‘Most people go with “strange”.’
‘Can I have my Christmas kiss now, Lana?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘You know you can.’
He took my cheek in his palm and touched his lips to mine. His other hand slid down my back, pressing me closer, but he kept the kiss gentle. It felt like he was waiting. Waiting for me to show him what I wanted.
I parted my lips a little. The next second his tongue was in my mouth and all at once the kiss became hungry and intense, our long-suppressed feelings shooting out in a frenzy.
‘Oh, Lana, Lana,’ Stew breathed as he peppered kisses into my neck. ‘Is it happening?’
‘God, yes,’ I murmured, tilting my head so his eager lips could find as much flesh as possible under the collar of the fleece. ‘Yes, it’s happening.’
‘You’ll come home with me?’
I hesitated, then gasped as his mouth found its way to my earlobe. ‘Well, it is Christmas.’
***
I think we might’ve set a new land-speed record for tandem, getting the thing back to McLean’s Machines. When we got there, Stew practically dragged me to his bedroom, slamming the door behind us.
We fumbled off our helmets and he pulled me on to his lips, wasting no time picking up where we’d left off. I shivered as he feverishly stripped me of the chunky fleece.
‘You ok?’ he panted, calming his passion a little when he felt me tremble.
‘I’m ok.’ I smiled bashfully. ‘Cold.’
‘Course you are. You’re wet through.’ He nodded to the bed. ‘Get your clothes off and get in.’
I laughed. ‘You old romantic.’
‘All right, get your clothes off romantically,’ he said with a grin. ‘You need to warm up.’
I kicked off my soaked pumps and crawled into his bed.
‘Not undressing?’ he asked.
‘Under the covers. I don’t want you to see.’
‘Right.’ He frowned. ‘Why not? Unless I’ve seriously misread the signals, I had assumed we were about to have sex.’
‘Yeah, in the dark.’
He laughed. ‘Is this Lana Donati speaking? Siren-like star of nude calendars and my more erotic dreams?’
‘This is different,’ I said, thrashing the duvet as I struggled out of my damp blazer. ‘Please, Stew, look the other way. I’m shy.’
‘If it makes you feel more comfortable.’ He turned to face the door.
‘Do you really dream about me?’ I asked, sliding out of my trousers.
‘Sometimes. Don’t you?’
I blushed. ‘Sometimes.’
I could only see the back of his head, but I could tell he was smiling.
‘I’ll put on some music,’ he said at last.
While I was unfettering my overly ample bosom, Stew plonked his phone into a speaker dock on the chest of drawers.
‘Kirsty MacColl, right?’ he said as Fairytale of New York started up. ‘Something seasonal for you.’
I smiled as I removed my last item of clothing. ‘How’d you know that?’
‘You told me. One year and – ’ he counted on his fingers, ‘ – six months ago.’ He glanced at the little pile of clothes by the bed. ‘Did you just take your knickers off?’
‘Yup.’
He rubbed his hands. ‘Right. Budge up.’
‘Not until you strip off. You might catch cold or whatever made-up thing you just said.’
‘What, I’m not allowed to do it under the covers? I might be shy.’
‘The hell you are. Go on, McLean, get it off.’
He shook his head. ‘First time I’ve stripteased to Fairytale of New York.’
He pulled off his chunky aran jumper to reveal the toned stomach I remembered from the calendar, then his shoes, socks and jeans.
‘Your legs are ridiculous,’ I said, running my gaze over them. ‘They look like boiled eggs in a sock.’
‘Er, thanks. Not sure you’ve quite got the hang of sexy small talk.’ He nodded to the bed. ‘Can I get in?’
‘You’ve still got your boxers on.’
He slid under the covers. ‘Got to save you one Christmas present to unwrap.’
‘You didn’t just say that.’
‘Let’s pretend I didn’t. Then maybe it’ll never have happened.’
He pulled me close, close enough to smell him. Then he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with one finger. It was a tiny gesture but so light, so intimate, it thrilled me. His hot, short breaths were against my neck; the solid mass of his erection on my hip.
‘Let me look at you,’ he whispered.
‘But – ’
‘Let me look at you, Lana.’
He tweaked the duvet so he could dip his head underneath. For a minute, he didn’t say a word.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he murmured at last. ‘How can you not know?’
‘No one ever told me before.’
‘Then they didn’t deserve to touch you.’
He rolled on top of me and kissed softly along my neck. If he’d seemed frantic out in the snow, he was taking it slow now, and I was glad. I needed this to last.
‘Stew?’ I whispered as he drew tender fingertips over the curve of my waist. ‘Have you – have you been with lots of girls?’
‘Is it important?’
‘It’s just… I haven’t…’ I gasped as his other hand glided to my breast. ‘It’s been a while.’
I sucked in my breath as he ran his tongue-tip around an erect nipple. My whole nervous system was blossoming into flame for him, like a – what was that flower? A poinsettia. Although that could be the Christmas talking.
‘You trust me, don’t you?’ Stew whispered.
‘Course I do. I – ’ I bit my lip. ‘I’m just scared of getting it wrong.’
‘There is no wrong, Lana. Just us.’ He moved his hot mouth to my other nipple, and I gave a little moan as he lapped at it with his rough, wet tongue. My hips had started to rise and fall under him, my body instinctively seeking his.
‘You know how I feel about you, don’t you?’ he murmured between licks.
‘Tell me.’
He smiled. ‘You’re really going to make me go first?’
‘I… need you to. Ah!’ I flinched with pleasure as he took my nipple between his teeth and bit lightly, pushing under my shoulder blades to bring me closer to his mouth.
‘I love you,’ he whispered against my breast. ‘Come on, you know that. Everyone else seems to. We’re even less of a secret than Tom and Cam.’
‘Stew… you mean it?’
‘I do. There’s no one like you, Lana Donati.’ He looked up into my face. ‘You know, politeness dictates you really should say it back now you’ve got your hands in my pants. I wouldn’t want to feel cheap.’
He was right, my hands seemed to have their own sweet agenda. They’d slipped into his boxers and were having a grand time caressing the sleek, enticing muscles of his buttocks.
‘You know I do,’ I murmured.
‘Say it for me.’
‘I love you, Stew.’
He shuddered. ‘Now say it in Italian.’
�
��Ti amo. What for?’
‘Dunno, it’s kind of sexy.’
I sucked at my lip as he slipped one finger inside me, his thumbtip gliding around the wet heat between my legs. He groaned into my skin at the touch.
‘Ah! Stew?’
‘Chatty, aren’t you?’
‘There’s just… what we said, just now. Need you to know. I never said it before, not in – God! – not in English or Italian. You’re the first.’
He stopped the delicious movement of his hand for a second and blinked up at me.
‘You’re serious?’
‘Yes. There were boyfriends, but… well, I never felt it so I never said it. It seemed too important to chuck about.’
He reached up to stroke my face. ‘Then I’m honoured,’ he said softly. ‘Relax now, Lana.’
Relax. He wanted me to relax. Those adventurous fingers were dipping rhythmically between my legs as his mouth played around the full, plump flesh of my breasts. Relaxed was the last thing I felt.
I could feel my sex-starved body getting more and more turned on at the noises we made while we explored each other – as much from the whispered, needy sounds escaping my own lips as Stew’s throaty groans. I tried to keep quiet at first, embarrassed by my own arousal, but Stew murmured to go on and I could tell it was getting him excited, so I gave in and was just as loud as came naturally.
Finally, I ran my fingertips along his rippling back to the waistband of his boxers and peeled them off.
‘Oh God,’ I whispered as my fingers found their way to his erection. He gasped as I massaged both hands along its length. ‘Oh God, Stew, you feel… I’m ready now, love.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes. Get on with it.’
He looked up from my breasts to grin. ‘You know what it does to me when you go all schoolmistressy.’
‘Have you got protection?’
‘Somewhere.’ He leaned over me to his bedside cabinet and fumbled in the drawer for a condom packet. ‘Er, cinnamon flavour,’ he said, squinting at it. ‘Hope that’s ok with you.’
I laughed breathlessly. ‘Cinnamon?’
‘It’s not been all that recent for me either,’ he said with an embarrassed smile. ‘Might’ve had this a while.’
‘And there I was thinking you were such a sex god.’
‘Oh, I am. But only on special occasions.’ He rolled on top of me. ‘And since it’s Christmas and there’s a gorgeous woman naked in my bed…’
He ripped open the foil, filling the air with a sweet scent almost entirely unlike cinnamon, and reached down to roll on the condom. The noise he made when our bodies joined was choked, like a sob.
‘Oh Lana,’ he breathed as he thrust gently into me. He nuzzled into my hair, dropping hot kisses against any bit of skin he could find. ‘Oh God, Lana…’
I loved the way he said my name, sliding each syllable over his tongue like melting ice cream. It sounded like he was claiming me, every time a new declaration of love.
‘Does it hurt?’ Stew whispered when he heard me suck in my breath.
It did feel slightly uncomfortable as my body adjusted to his. After three years, it was almost like my first time all over again.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Just… long time. Don’t stop, Stew, please.’
‘Want to swap round? Then you can be in control.’
‘Will you turn the light out?’
‘I will not. You’re beautiful and I want to see you.’ He drew the back of his fingernail gently along my cheek. ‘No need to be nervous, Lana. It’s only me.’
I flushed. ‘Well… ok.’
He guided me round so I was straddling him, shuffled into a sitting position and eased himself inside me again.
‘Lean back,’ he murmured. ‘Trust me.’
I did as he said, flexing against the strong hands holding my shoulder blades. God, it felt incredible in that position; every pulse so deep and thrilling. I clutched his thick thighs and pushed him into me, over and over, discomfort evaporating as my body moulded itself naturally to his.
Stewart buried his head between my breasts, plunging kisses into them and groaning something that might’ve been my name. He met me greedily, thrust for delicious thrust, and my senses responded like they never had to anyone else. And I didn’t care, by then, what parts of me he saw, because I felt beautiful and sexy and in love, and I didn’t even care how much we punished his headboard, which was banging the wall alarmingly. I only cared that I loved him, and I loved his relentless body snug and firm inside mine, and I was about to have the most shattering orgasm of my life.
And then I did, the whole thing catching me by surprise. Stew sucked hard at my nipple, and I pushed myself against him and I moaned, and then I really moaned as something broke and my body shot into a sudden fever of trembling. My hips stilled while the unfamiliar throbs paralysed me, Stew bucking under me the only motion I was aware of. A second later he let out a long, low groan, clasping me tightly, and he whispered I love you, I love you until it was over for him too and we fell back against the bed, panting.
‘That was… different,’ he said breathlessly.
I nodded. ‘Cinnamony.’
‘Can you stay over? Don’t want you to leave me.’
‘I can stay. Tom knows where I am.’ I snuggled against him, wrapping both my legs around one of his, and planted a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. ‘Did I tell you already that I love you?’
‘You might’ve mentioned it in passing.’ His fingers traced the waves of my hair, so gently I was only barely aware he was touching me.
‘I’m so happy, Stew,’ I mumbled as my eyes grew heavy. ‘Everything’s… ok now.’
‘Me too. I’m happy too,’ were the last words I heard before I drifted into sleep.
Chapter 43
‘Come on, red or blue?’ I demanded, holding two cocktail dresses up for Tom to examine.
He shrugged. ‘What am I, Gok Wan?’
‘Ugh. You are so useless.’ I shoved both dresses back in the cupboard. ‘On second thoughts, think I’ll try the silver again. Chuck it me, will you?’
Tom grabbed the dress from my bed and threw it to me. I held it up, eyeing it critically in the mirror.
‘Nope. Too cleavagey.’
‘Just relax, it’s only Stew,’ Tom said. ‘We’re having a couple of New Year’s Eve drinks in front of the telly, he’s not taking you to the Savoy.’
‘But it’s our first proper, official date since, you know, the very first one. I want it to be perfect.’ I looked round to smile at him. ‘Never thought this time last year we’d be double-dating on New Year’s Eve. It seemed pretty unlikely this time two weeks ago, to be honest.’
‘And yet it was there in your tarot cards as far back as Halloween,’ Tom said with a grin.
‘Right.’ I reached into the cupboard for the red and blue dresses. ‘Sorry, Tommy, but I need some advice from a man who’s heterosexual and unrelated. See you in a bit.’
We weren’t open, but Deano, who refused to go out on the 31st due to his oft-stated belief that New Year was ‘the bastard that kills Christmas’, had asked if he could borrow the kitchen to test a few dishes for our 2014 menu. When I got there, he was squinting at some sort of omelette.
‘Quails’ eggs,’ he was muttering to himself. ‘Why didn’t I get the bloody quails’ eggs? Hi, Lana.’
How did he do that? He hadn’t even looked round.
‘I can smell you,’ he said, once again demonstrating an uncanny ability to read my mind. ‘Tom never smells of kiwi fruit.’
‘Er, all right. That’s not creepy.’ I held up the two dresses. ‘Deano, what’s a sexy thing to wear for a date?’
‘Man’s shirt, no knickers,’ he answered instantly, not looking up from his pan.
I tutted. ‘Not that sexy, it’s a dou
ble date. Look at these.’
He gave whatever was in the pan a last jab and turned around.
‘Both look good to me,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I’m sure Stew’ll think you look humpworthy whatever.’
‘Go on, pick. I’m running out of time.’
‘The red pencil thing then,’ he said. ‘It’ll make you look all hourglassy. Plus it matches my hair.’
I punched his arm. ‘Thanks. So you coming up for a drink later?’
‘All right. But you’re not making me sing Auld Lang Syne.’
***
I needn’t have worried about running out of time. Half an hour after Stew was due, there was still no sign of him.
‘Where the hell is he?’ I demanded of Tom and Cameron, who were snuggled with Flash between them, supping prosecco and watching telly. ‘He’s only coming from across the road.’
‘Calm down, sis. Stop pacing,’ Tom said impatiently. ‘He’s probably just trying to decide between the red and the blue boxers.’
‘You’re not still paranoid about what happened last year, are you?’ Cameron asked.
I glared at Tom. ‘Have you been telling your boyfriend about my lovelife failures?’
He shrugged. ‘Whiles away the hours.’
‘Are you though, Lana?’ Cam said.
‘Listen, mate. Just because my dog thinks you’re his long-lost bollocks, don’t think I’m up for sharing my most intimate humiliating secrets.’
‘Definitely paranoid,’ Tom said to Cam.
‘All right, so I am.’ I threw myself down in the armchair. ‘I just can’t help remembering that he disappeared out of my life once before.’
‘Under very specific circumstances.’
‘I worry about losing him, that’s all.’ I sighed. ‘Chuck us my phone, Tom.’
There was no text, and no answer to my call when I rang. I stood to look out of the window.
‘Hmm. All dark over there.’
‘Gone out for a bottle maybe,’ Tom said.
‘Maybe.’
An hour later, it was nearly nine. Deano had joined us, bearing assorted plates of medieval tapas, but there was still no sign of Stew. No lights on in the flat, no answer to my calls…
A Bicycle Made For Two: Badly behaved, bawdy romance in the Yorkshire Dales (Love in the Dales Book 1) Page 32
