by Amy Muscat
“Thank you.” He holds his hand out to me, but I didn’t want to take it, so I shake my head at his proffered hand and wrap my arms around my middle.
“I'm gonna go with Blake, guys,” I tell Keller and Peyton, who were waiting in the cab.
“You gonna be okay?” Peyton asks me, but then she shoots a dirty look behind me to Blake.
If looks could kill…
“Yeah, I'll be fine. I'll text you in the morning, Hun, okay?” I bend and kiss both hers and Keller's cheeks.
“Okay. Don’t forget to text me.”
“I won't, see ya’s later,” I wave at them, as the cab pulls away from the kerb.
I don’t know how long I stand there watching the yellow cab drive away, it was only when I felt a hand touch the small of my back that I jump, startled.
“You ready to go Beauty?” Blake asks.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I say with a nod, and watch as he hails our cab. We jump in, and Blake tells the driver his address, and we drive back to his in a tense silence.
“DO YOU WANT A DRINK; tea, coffee, water, vodka?” Blake asks as we walk into his condo.
“Tea, please,” I tell him.
He nods and leads me over to one of the large brown sofas in the living room before he walks into the kitchen and gets the drinks.
I had been here a couple of times before, but every time I had been here, Blake and I had been too preoccupied with ripping each other’s clothes off. So I had never really paid that much attention to how it looked.
His living room was painted in warm tones of browns and creams. He had two sofas; one two-seater, and a three-seater. There is cream scatter cushions on both, and a furry cream blanket slung over the back of the sofa I was currently sitting on. He had a coffee table on top of a big brown rug in the middle of the room, a TV mounted on the wall, and next to it was a shelf full of DVD’s and books.
Curious about what he liked to read; I walked over to the shelf and inspected the books.
There were some mystery books, ones my dad would read, but then there was some old classics; Frankenstein, Deliverance, The Professional, 50 Shades Of Grey?
What the Hell?!
I started laughing at the image of Blake sitting on his bed reading the trilogy that blew the book world up in 2012. I loved the books myself, but I just couldn’t imagine Blake, my hard, ex-soldier, alpha-male boyfriend, reading them.
I pick the first book up and see that the spine, along with the rest of the book was well read, and couldn’t help but grin.
“What’s funny?” Blake asks from behind me.
I spin around with the book still in my hand and watch as he places my cup of tea on a coaster on the coffee table. He straightens up and looks over to me, awaiting my answer.
“Oh, nothing…” I say coyly. “I was just wondering why I never knew that my boyfriend liked to read the 50 Shades trilogy.”
He stills, but his eyes move down to the book in my hands. He darts his eyes back up to me and says in horror, “that’s not mine.”
“Uh-huh.” I nod doubtfully.
“It’s not, it’s Melody’s.” When I raise my eyebrows at him, he says, “I swear; she left it here when she stayed around here last.” I laughed and told him I believed him. I watched as he blew out a relieved breath, and gesture to the sofa for me to sit down.
I grab my tea, flick my heels off, and sit on the sofa. I pull the blanket down with one hand and lift my feet up, facing Blake as he sits and place my feet in his lap.
“So…”
“So…” I repeat.
“That wasn’t how I planned for my birthday to go,” he says letting go of my feet and running a hand through his inky-black hair.
“No,” I whisper. “That wasn’t how I envisioned it either.”
I take a sip of my hot tea and wait for him to start speaking again. But he doesn’t, he just sits there, going back to rubbing my feet, looking at a loss.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“About Sarah?” He guesses, looking up at me and piercing me with eyes that remind me of the ocean.
“Yeah.”
“I-I don’t…” He blows out a frustrated breath, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It never came up? I didn’t think it was necessary? I don’t know Lott's: maybe I didn’t want you to know because I knew there would be an awkwardness between everyone if you knew.”
“Did Jason know? Before tonight, that is.” I ask him.
I hope he says yes because Sarah and Jason were married, and I would hate for him to have found out like that. I mean it was horrible for me to find out like that… but for Jason…
“Yes, Jason knew before tonight. We told him when they started to get serious when they had been dating.”
“What? And I'm not important enough to know? Are we not in a serious relationship, or is this still a bit of fucking fun for you Blake?” I hiss the multiple questions at him. I snatch my feet back, place my cup of tea on the coffee table, and stand up fuming at him.
How fucking dare he?
I register the shocked expression on his face before he stands up and takes the three steps to me, until we are chest to chest and he is looking down at me.
“Don’t.” Now it's his turn to hiss. “Don’t cheapen our relationship just because you can't handle the fact that I slept with my friend years ago. It was before I fucking met you, Lottie!”
“Don’t fucking shout and swear at me, you fucking wanker!” I shout and swear at him.
Hypocrite, a voice whispers.
Fuck off, I silently say back to it.
“God you're frustrating!” His face was becoming redder and redder by the second. “Why do you feel the need to cause an argument over something so stupid?”
“Stupid? Stupid?! I don’t think that my boyfriend not telling me about fucking his best friend is stupid, you arsehole.”
“Oh my God! Didn’t we just establish that I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to deal with this?”
“Deal with what?”
“This!” He shouts. “This right here! Us. Fucking arguing about it. Yes, I slept with Sarah, yes I didn’t tell you, and yes I should’ve done. But I don’t like to think of that; to think of that time in my life. Jesus, the last time I thought about it was when we told Jason. We both regret it. Both of us do. I don’t like thinking of those times, Lottie. It makes me think of how my parents lied to me my whole life. It makes me question whether or not I was a bad boyfriend for my girlfriend of three years to cheat on me.”
“You're not a bad boyfriend,” I mumble.
A small smile tips his lips up. “Thank you. But ever since then, I've shied away from relationships because I didn’t want to get hurt again. I didn’t want to go back to that place where all I did was drink. God Lott's, I beat the fuck out of that man in the bar, put him in the fucking hospital… and all because I was drunk, angry, and hurting. An innocent man. I don’t like to think about the person I was back then. Going into the Army was the best thing that happened to me until–” He stops suddenly, looking lost.
“Until what?” I ask him.
“Until you.” He whispers back.
I feel the wind get knocked out of me, and I gasp. “What?”
“You heard me, Beauty. Until you, I was a walking, talking playboy. I didn’t do commitments, didn’t do anyone or anything more than once. Then you came storming in, this beautiful, sarcastic, takes-no-shit, woman. You walked into my life like a massive explosion of color and sass, with your funny as fuck Britishisms. Your kindness, your loving personality, your fierce loyalty… just about everything, Lottie. You made me think differently.” He chuckles all of a sudden, clearly thinking of something humorous.
“What?” Jesus, was ‘what’ the only fucking word in my vocabulary? “What is funny?” That’s better, well sort of.
“I was just remembering when I first met you; it was Ivy's birthday party. You were standing in the kitchen when I walked in, you smiled this bea
utiful smile at me, and I remember thinking that you looked like an angel– hence the reason I call youAngel. But I also remember saying some stupid chat-up line, and you just laughed in my face, tapped it, and said ‘I've heard better lines from a ten-year-old, better luck next time, love.’” He tries to mimic my accent, but he sounds terrible, and I tell him as much.
“You’d make a bad Brit,” I grin at him, remembering saying that to him, and watching the shocked expression fall on his face; like he couldn’t believe that I had just basically rejected him. “Was you honestly shocked that I didn’t fall for your charms?” I ask curiously.
“Yep, totally shocked: no one had ever said ‘no’ to me before, as arrogant as that sounds, it’s true,” he shrugs and blinks down at me.
“When I first met you, I thought you were far too handsome for your own good. I thought you were a cocky prick when you gave me that stupid line– something about angels falling from heaven, or something like that, I just remember it being really, really bad. But I did find myself become attracted to you, but I told myself not to go there; that I could spot a player a mile away, and I would only end up getting hurt. Then I just thought maybe if we shagged, I'd be able to get you out of my system,” I looked up at him apoplectically, but he just nodded like he understood. “Then on Keller's birthday, you rejected me– left me wet, naked, and wanting you. I became pissed when I realised that you were ignoring me. You have to understand Blake; I've never had a serious relationship before you. I’ve had dates, sometimes more than one with a bloke, but back in England I was too young for that. I didn’t want a relationship so young, and then when I moved here all the men, I met were dicks, only after one thing or thought I was some bimbo. Idiots. Then I met Peyton, and I saw what being so in love with someone could do to a person, and I never wanted to experience that first hand. But you’ve come along and changed all that, and I'm scared that you’ll end up hurting me. I think that’s why I went off on one tonight; I didn’t want you to look at Lucy and see what you had with her before, without her cheating. Then I find out you had slept with Sarah; your best friend, my friend, and I became scared and jealous.” Taking a deep breath, I say the one thing that is one out of two of the hardest things to say to another.
“I'm sorry.” I exhale. “I'm sorry I was a raving bitch tonight. I was just scared you’d dump me,” I say to his chest, as I can't bring myself to look into his eyes.
I feel the tip of his finger on my chin and he tilts my head back and peers into my eyes with a look of happiness. “Lottie, I will never dump you. You weren't a raving bitch tonight, and there is no reason for you to be jealous, none what so ever.” He leans down and places a soft, closed-mouth kiss on my lips. “I'm sorry, too.”
“I suppose I could forgive you,” I shrug at him.
“You suppose?” He asks, laughing and wrapping me up in his big, strong arms.
“Yeah.” Again, I shrug and grin up at him.
“Well, it looks like I'm having to persuade you too forgive me totally,” he grins devilishly. “What are your thoughts on make-up sex?”
“I never had make up sex, before. Though I have had heard it’s bloody awesome.”
That does sound awesome now that I'm thinking about it.
“Oh, it will be,” he tells me before he grabs my hips and yanks my body into his. I place my hands into his hair and pull him down to kiss me.
He growls on my lips as I, bite, lick, and suck on his bottom lip. His hands move from my hips and land on my arse and he gives the cheeks a squeeze before he grabs a good hold of them and lifts me up, and my legs wrap around him. I drive my pelvis into his and we moan.
“Bedroom, now.” I pant as I rip my mouth from his.
“Ohhh… demanding, I like,” he grins.
“Blake, please, I need you to fuck me.”
With another growl, he walks to his bedroom where he proceeds to fuck the life outta me and confirms that make up sex is one of the best there is.
I WAKE UP WITH him sprawled out on top of me, sound asleep.
I look to my left and see that the clock says it’s nine in the morning. Blake didn’t have to leave for work until twelve, so at least I had a couple of hours left to spend with him.
I look back down to my chest where he is nuzzling my left boob, and I smile.
Last night had been bliss, well after the club and our argument that is.
Blake had brought me to his room. We had great make up sex, and when we were showering, I gave him a blowjob and he licked me out until I screamed his name at least three times. Then when we got back into bed, he made love to me. It was slow, soft, gentle, and so sweet that it brought tears to my eyes even now.
The way he had looked down at me as he slowly thrust into me, the way he kissed and caressed every part of my body that he could reach. The murmurs that spilled from his mouth as we came together, and the way he held me after.
It had been pure bliss.
Perfect.
I lift my hand up and stroke his cheek, feeling slight stubble graze my palm. He stirs but doesn’t wake up, and for a second I consider letting him sleep for a while longer. But as my stomach rumbles and my bladder decides that I have to pee, I decide that he should get up, too.
Well, that and I can't move with his dead weight on me.
“Blake,” I whisper. I wanted to wake him, but I didn’t want to startle him. See? I could be a good girlfriend when I wanted to be. “Blake,” I lightly tap his cheek. “Baby wake up; I have to pee.”
I watch as he groans and his eyelids flutter open, his sleepy eyes landing on the breast he's still nuzzling, and he grins a tired grin.
Pervert.
He flicks his eyes up to me and a soft smile replaces the naughty grin.
“Mornin’, Beauty.”
His husky, sleep-riddled voice sends shivers through my body. He notices, and he gets a playful look in his now, twinkling eyes.
“Good morning, handsome,” I reply back to him.
He starts to nuzzle my boob again, but I say, “Oh no, Bucko. I have to pee, don’t even think about going back to sleep.” I try to be stern, but his hand starts moving over my hips and he traces along my outer thigh. My breathing deepens as he runs a fingertip around until he is a hairs breath away from my aching pussy.
“No Blake, I have to pee,” I whine, but tilt my hips into his wondering fingers.
“Didn’t I tell you once that you cum harder when you have to pee?”
“You did, but it’s not going to happen.” I buck my hips into his, taking him off-guard and he falls back on the bed.
I jump up and dash towards to toilet before he can grab me and prove his statement.
AFTER I'VE DONE what needed to be done in the toilet: pee, wash hands, brush through my hair with a comb, and scrub my teeth with Blake's toothbrush, I walk back into the bedroom and spot the bed empty. Then I smell the scent of bacon and sausage wafting through the open doorway, and I hear the telltale sign off sizzling coming from the kitchen, along with a humming Blake.
Hmmm… Blake singing does wonders to me.
I grab a t-shirt and a pair of black boxer shorts from his dresser and walk out of the room and into the kitchen. The sight that greets me makes my breath catch in my throat, my heart beat double time, and my lady parts sing a song of longing.
He’s standing there, in the middle of his kitchen, in front of his silver stove, in just his black Calvin Klein boxers-shorts. Boxer shorts that hug his sexy arse to perfection. His bare back calls out to me; I want to run my tongue down the column of his spine and bite at the dimple at the bottom of his spine. His back muscles are bunched up along with his biceps, as he flips pancakes in one saucepan and moves bacon and sausages in the other.
I pad my way over to him place my hands on either side of his shoulder blades, and lightly scratch my nails down his back. I watched as his whole body shudders and goosebumps travel their way over his skin.
“Hi handsome. Now this is a sight I like to s
ee in the morning,” I purr in his ear.
“And what sight is that, Beauty?” he asks, his tone gravelly.
“You, almost naked, and in a kitchen.” I grin as I place a kiss on his shoulder.
He chuckles as he turns his head to face me, and places a kiss on my lips, before going back to cooking our breakfast.
I move over to the other side of the kitchen where his coffee maker sits, and pour us both a coffee: adding one sugar and a dash of milk for Blake, and two sugars and more milk for me. I like both my coffee and tea milky.
I walk to the kitchen island and put down the cups on either side. I take a sip of the hot liquid, just as Blake places my plate down in front of me, and I almost choke on the coffee.
I look down at the plate that is filled to the brim with food. Now, I know I like to eat, but Jesus, not that much. Okay, that’s a lie: I could probably eat every last bit if I were suffering from a hangover. But I wasn’t hung-over and I didn’t want to hurt Blake's feelings by not eating it.
“Sorry, there's so much.” Blake's voice makes me lift my eyes and I see him smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t know what you wanted so I just did a little of everything,” he shrugs.
“It's fine,” I tell him. “It is a lot of food, but I'll try my best.” I pick up the bottle of brown sauce and squirt a large dollop on the edge of the plate, before I pick up my knife and fork, cutting into a sausage.
But just as I'm about to eat I see Blake tilt his head and look curiously at my hands.
“What?” I ask looking down and seeing nothing unusual.
“Nothing, I just noticed that you hold your knife and fork differently, is all.”
“What?” I look back down and see how I'm holding my utensils; I don’t see anything strange– “Oh! I'm left-handed.”
“What?” I watch as his brow crinkles.
I repeat my statement. “I'm left-handed. We hold things differently, apparently. My mum used to moan at how I hold things wrong all the time. When I was younger, it used to drive her mad, but then I pointed out that maybe she is the one who holds things wrong.” I say grinning as I start to remember how it used to grate on my mother’s last nerve how I ate and held my fork– don’t even get me started on how I hold a pen.
