“Ugh,” I grumble.
I flush and wipe my mouth and he creeps in and rubs my back, handing me a cup of mouthwash to swill around my mouth.
“You just haven’t grown your sea legs, yet?”
“Something like that,” I mumble.
He directs me back to bed and holds me. I feel really ill and try to determine whether it might be something I ate or drank. I am shaking all over. He drags his duvet down too and covers us both with double the comfort.
“Talk to me, it will take my mind off it.”
With the boat still swaying like it might turn upside down at any moment, I feel rotten to the core, and not even his body right beneath mine is helping.
“You really did look beautiful yesterday. I had a lot of fun chasing around Bruges with you.”
“I loved it too,” I say, and start crying.
I just don’t care at that moment. I cry and cry.
“I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“Being me, I guess. Being a First Class bitch.”
“You’re not,” he insists, kissing my head again.
“I had an awful dream last week,” I begin.
It wasn’t awful. It was just telling. I just need to say something to him.
“What dream?”
“I don’t know, you were just being nice to me. I don’t think I can reciprocate that.”
“Okay…”
“I don’t know what I’m saying.”
He stays still but I sense his worry.
“Best thing is, if you probably don’t say anything more because you’re unwell and emotional and at times like this, we sometimes say things we really don’t mean.”
“You’re right.”
“At least I know you dream about me though, eh?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, and then thump him.
“Oww! Wench!”
“I thought you looked good too, today. I prefer your old clothes back.”
“Shucks, you honour me wiz your compliments,” he jokes in a bad Russian accent.
I want to kiss him so badly but a) I probably have vom breath and b) there’s little space in here to hide if we discover there’s nothing between us after all. We could kiss and there be no chemistry and then it’d be awkward. Wouldn’t it?
“Sometimes going away just makes you realise how lovely back home is, don’t you think?”
“Yep. It does,” I agree.
“You know, I wasn’t going to tell you but I had a right nightmare on my hands this week…”
“Oh…?”
“When I checked my passport, I realised it was out of date so I had to drive to Liverpool and get one there and then. Had an interview and everything! I called in sick that day but someone dobbed me in because they’d seen me on the motorway! How unlucky. Then I faced the boss and made up some story about taking my dying friend to Bruges as her last wish!”
“No!”
“Yeah, I am surprised my nose can fit through the door right now! I should have been dragged down to hell too for all the underhanded things I have had to do this week!”
“Shit, I am so sorry, Rick!”
“It’s okay. It’s my fault for not renewing it. Not keeping on top of things. Plus, well, I work hard enough to deserve a slip now and again.”
“I appreciate the effort though! Bloody hell.”
“Yeah, it was a bit trying to be honest. Then when I picked you up on Friday I wondered why I’d bothered because of that face you had on… However, this morning at the top of the belfry, I believe the view and your smile made up for all that.”
“Shucks, you honour me!”
We laugh. I realise the boat has settled and the captain announces we should arrive home only two hours later than expected.
We get to the Mini with such relief and stack the car to the rafters. We pile all our purchases on my living-room floor and then we get in my bed and sleep properly for the rest of the day, exhausted from our little trip. I have no marking to do that day, no worries, nowhere to be, and neither does he. We sleep in harmony, rolling and holding each other.
When I wake in the evening and lazily stroke my hands across his chest, I decide to leave him there for a moment because I have an idea.
I go to the living room and pick up my bag of goodies from the handmade bathing shop and run a bath, using everything I can. Salts, bubbles, bombs. I light some candles and I go back to where he is in bed. I sit down beside him to stroke his hair, and he wakes.
“I ran you a bath. To make up for the stress you’ve had this week.”
“You’ve what…?”
I glare and he holds his hands up.
“Okay, I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth!”
I watch him launch himself up and walk to the bathroom. All I hear is splashing and sloshing and groaning and growling.
“Oh yeah!”
I walk to the door and spy on him. He’s got his eyes shut and yes, he’s buried beneath bubbles.
“You’ll mop that floor after,” I instruct.
“Yes Miss,” he groans.
I smile and leave him to it, pulling the door to. There are some chocolates with my name on them in the living room, not to mention all the stuff I recorded off TV last night.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jules
When he emerges from the bath sometime later, I am almost done with my programmes and all the chocolate is nearly finished too!
“I knew you were up to something!”
He tosses the empty bags around and scowls but I giggle mischievously.
He sits on the end of the sofa I am laid out on and lifts my feet to his lap to start massaging my toes. I throw my head back and moan.
“That’s so good. Don’t stop!”
I am as creaky as an old staircase after walking around in the cold all day yesterday and sleeping on a crappy bed last night. Rigor mortis was about to set in before we got back into my warm bed this morning!
He’s in a clean pair of jeans and t-shirt and he sighs, lying back in the cushions of the sofa while he watches the fire. I switch the TV off now Strictly has finished and we listen to the crack and pop of the logs burning away.
“Will you stay tonight?”
“I have work in the morning,” he mumbles.
“That’s okay, unless you don’t… I mean, stay if you want. I am not at work all week, so I’ll be here everyday. I’ll be marking and doing lesson plans etcetera but I will be here.”
I realise I sound overly enthusiastic and it shouldn’t be awkward, but it is.
“Jules, are we seeing each other, or what?”
“What,” I respond, biting my thumb and smiling.
He turns his head and there’s something in his eyes that makes me desperately want to kiss him. I want to be enough for him. I want to satisfy him. His gaze makes me feel brave so I disengage my feet from his hands and whisper, “Wait here, will you? Just a minute.”
I dash into the bedroom and rummage in the shopping bags I brought home from town the other day, when I went looking for my new jeans for the mini cruise. For some reason, a lingerie set in a department store also caught my eye that day.
What am I doing? I almost despair of myself, laughing inwardly.
I don’t know much, only that I love him. I know now, after his words just then, he wants to be with me too.
I find said lingerie and slip out of my scruffy pyjamas and into the cerise, French lace set – simple coordinating pieces that are well-made and beautiful. Looking down at myself, everything that counts is strategically covered and the lace hugs me more comfortably than any other underwear I’ve ever worn. I check in the mirror and fancy I do look pretty so I release my hair from its tie and shake it out, letting it fall over my shoulders and over my chest slightly.
I lie on the bed, trying to find my confidence. I raise one knee slightly and plump up the cushions behind me to get comfortable. I throw my arms behind me and take some deep breaths. I’
m about to shout for him to come join me when he arrives at the door anyway.
“Oh, Christ, I–”
His eyes dart in a million directions and I press my lips together to stop myself laughing. He turns around and apologises. “I didn’t… I wondered… I thought you’d come in here and fallen asleep, you were taking so long.”
“Warrick,” I call gently, “come to bed.”
He’s so beautifully sweet and I know why. He was hurt too and turned off his true self, something I can empathise with entirely.
“What? What are you… I don’t…”
He’s frightened, I know. I am too.
“Come to bed. I love you,” I tell him.
I’m tired of waiting for him to make the first move.
He keeps staring the opposite way, his back to me, his eyes facing the corridor outside my bedroom.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jules.”
He actually starts walking away. What is this?
Chicken?
I’m not having this!
I get off the bed quickly and chase him. He’s not going, not if I can help it.
I stand in the hallway and shout at his back, “Rick! What the bloody hell… don’t go!”
He’s getting his stuff from the living room. I feel suddenly cold and afraid and I cover myself with my hands.
“Gotta get to this thing I forgot about… sorry!” his voice echoes as he packs and does whatever he needs to do in the living room so he can make his escape.
I just feel wretched, I feel mistaken.
If he wants to go, then fine. I tried. I really tried.
I step back into my bedroom, draw the bedcovers back and get in bed. When he’s gone, I can have a good cry, forget he ever existed and move on. It’ll all be fine after that.
I pull the covers up around my ears but I hear his voice.
“Did you say you love me?”
“NO!”
“You did… I… I didn’t imagine it. Did you say it?”
“Go! Just go!”
“Do you love me?”
Even though his voice is muffled through my bedcovers, I can tell he’s by the door, still waiting for me to put my clothes back on so it’s safe for him to come inside.
I try to focus on lesson plans, shopping lists, just anything, while I wait for him to finally go away.
“Jules, I asked you, do you love me?” he repeats annoyingly, and I shoot up in bed to scream, “Yes, I bloody love you!”
Our eyes meet across the room and he must see it in my gaze. I love him. He starts walking and on the way, pulls his shirt over his head.
By the side of the bed, he unbuttons his jeans. When he’s only in his boxers, I open the covers and he slides inside.
He scoots over and pulls me beneath him, our skin touching, so many square inches of skin finally meeting. There is light and energy in his brown eyes finally and he purses his lips, his blush cheeks evocative of lust. He runs his thumb over my bottom lip and reciprocates, “I love you, too.”
I gasp with happiness. I can’t stop the smile breaking out over my face! I push my hands into his soft hair and pull him closer. He presses his lips together and smiles, adding, “Am I the thickest shit on the planet?”
“Just kiss me.” My heart is pounding. My legs are shaking as are my hands.
“Jules,” he says pushing his hand through my hair, his eyes roaming over my skin, “can I kiss these beautiful lips?”
“You can have me… I’m yours. I’m so yours,” I say breathing deeply, “I’m in love with you.”
He kisses me. His feathery touch is the greeting I have needed for so long, the welcome I wanted, the confirmation of the man he really is. Electricity flies from our lips to my groin. With one gentle kiss, I know him infinitely better.
“Ah, Jules,” he says, his eyes closed, all that we feared now gone.
We have love and more. I want him so badly.
He presses his lips to my mouth again and I invite him deeper, my mouth opening for his. His tongue caresses mine and I groan, my legs shifting around his body to cradle him to me. His hand holds my cheek and he angles my face so he can run his lips over mine and kiss me deeply, our tongues colliding and generating an enormous amount of energy in our bodies.
I feel a beating heat in my groin I have never encountered before. I can barely think straight. It’s the man I have laid in bed with so many nights, just not like this. When his hand moves to my breast to squeeze my flesh, my heart begins pounding so fiercely, I can hardly breathe.
He kisses my throat and I sense the briefest pulse of an orgasm. “Tell me again, Jules.”
“I love you. I want you.”
He wriggles his boxers down between us and that first whiff of his scent spiralling up into my nostrils is something I know I will never forget.
“Touch me Jules, see what you do to me.”
He lifts up onto his knees so I can see him naked. “Oh, Warrick.”
I reach out for him immediately and stroke his satin skin, wrapping my fingers around his erection. When I rise to my knees in front of him, his hand strokes up my back until finding the clasp of my bra.
The lace falls and his face fills with happiness. “So beautiful.”
I feel shy and begin to lift my arm but he takes my hand and kisses it. “Don’t hide from me.” With his other hand, he gently sweeps his fingers down from my throat, between my breasts and over my belly.
Feeling deliriously happy, I stroke my hands over his chest and reach forward to kiss his heart. I wrap my arms around him and he brings me back beneath him on the bed, my knickers the only thing separating us.
When our chests meet and press together tightly, he trembles and moans, “I was such a bad man before.”
His eyebrows knitted, eyes worried, I sense the anxiety rolling from him. I want him to feel free to love me, to let himself go, to take me.
I stroke his arms and kiss his lips. “I don’t care. I love you. I need you. You make me better. You’re the only man I want.”
He takes my lips when I am least expecting and drags me into him, his arms wrapping beneath my bottom and my back to pull me close. I link my legs over his bare arse and hold on. While we’re kissing, I open my eyes occasionally, and we smile each time we find we’re staring at one another.
“I love it when you do that,” he says, running his lips over my cheeks.
“What?”
He continues foraging for more skin, more contact. “When you stroke my sides. I love that. Don’t stop.”
I didn’t even realise what I was doing and even though I feel conscious of it now, I continue stroking him and move my hands to his shoulders to map his body. He groans more and pulls back to study my face.
Suddenly, I see a different man. His eyes are wide and no longer anxious. Something has snapped in him.
He ducks down and licks my breasts, squeezing them in his fists. He mauls them. I throw my head back and scream, “YES!”
He reaches for my mouth again, we two sinking together so easily, my lips opening up for his tongue. I’m lost, inebriated on love. His arms wrap so tight around me, smothering me with his larger, commanding body. There’s so much in our kiss, so many emotions battling to break free. Our breathing’s heavy, our hands are pulling and tugging, my nipples are brushing his.
“You’re mine.”
“I am,” I tell him trembling, tears almost choking me.
We’re madly kissing and pulling each other’s bodies tight to the other’s. His erection pushes against my wet knickers and I’m drowning in lust, and in need.
I’m about to beg for more when he shifts so he can kiss my body instead. He closes his mouth around my nipple and gently kneads it, and when I almost reach down to touch myself to relieve the terrible ache, he must sense my desperation because he rolls away from me and tugs my knickers to the side, pushing his finger straight into me.
“Warrick!” I yell and cling to his shoulders. I pant erratically, his f
acial hair grazing my super sensitive skin as he licks a nipple.
I throw my head back and when he finds my nub, I urge, “Yes, yes! Don’t stop.”
He kisses my mouth, drawing my tongue into his, murmuring, “I’m going to make you come.”
“Oh, ooh, ohhh!” He makes me come, sucking my neck, my hands digging into his hair. I’m dying for a moment’s reprieve but in the next breath, he’s dragging my knickers down, sliding them off my legs.
He continues kissing my body, hungrily tasting me, his lips everywhere. He spreads my legs and leans down to slide his tongue through my centre.
“Oh. Hmm. Ohhh. Rick, please.”
“Please, what?” he growls.
“Please come inside me,” I moan, trembling from head to toe.
“Nah, you need to experience how real men make love.”
I pinch his shoulders, trying to cajole him to return to me. I’m self-conscious and moan again, “Please just come inside me.”
“No. You’ll come again. I want you really wet for me. I’m not small, Jules.”
I try to relax, even though I’m not sure I can come a second time, not just like that.
When he adds his finger inside me too, I writhe and all my tension evaporates, my body enduring so many sensations. My walls cling to his digit and the pleasure intensifies to a level I didn’t know existed. I’ve never let anyone lick me before and now I’m feeling truly uninhibited. I’ve never wanted a man as much as I want Warrick. More importantly, I’ve never trusted anyone as much as I trust him.
He gently sweeps his tongue through my wetness, generating the onset of another climax. While he plays with my breasts, he grins against my nub, drawing such easy pleasure from me, my hands in his soft, gloriously thick hair. I circle my hips onto his tongue and he groans as he tastes me. I don’t know why I was ever worried.
I come again.
My head is thrown back.
My jaw locked, my mouth open.
I sound not of myself.
“God almighty,” I say trying to regain myself, my whole body screaming with pleasure.
Angel Avenue Page 15
