Surprise Package

by Donna Alam

  Chapter 21

  IZZY

  Without another word spoken, Greg takes my hand in his, the stairs lighting our way to the bedroom. Between the tumult of emotion triggered by my earlier outburst and the fervency in his dark gaze, I almost dare not look at him. But my resolve doesn’t last long, not as we reach the top of the stairs and the natural magnetic pull brings our bodies together, the fine hairs on the back of my neck standing like pins.

  ‘Any man would be lucky to have you,’ he whispers in the dark as he reaches for me, pulling my hips into his. Hard where I am soft. ‘But I can’t keep you.’ His fingers reach to twirl a lock of my hair, his words stark and bare in the darkness.

  ‘We could—’

  ‘Shush.’ His finger covers my lips oh, so gently. ‘Darlin’, I’ve been here before. I can’t do it again.’ He presses his mouth to my head almost as though it’s not already dark, but I don’t need to see his expression to understand this hurt. Because I hurt, too. ‘It’s thawing outside,’ he whispers. ‘The snow will be gone tomorrow. Tonight, just let me love you.’ And with that, he covers his mouth with mine.

  We kiss, and we kiss. Oh, how we kiss. Soft lips and swirling tongue, hands holding onto the other as though we might disappear. His hands curl around my shoulders, backing me farther into the room. The curtains are open and the night sky clear, the brightness of an almost full moon illuminating the space with a glow that’s almost ethereal.

  ‘Isobel.’ My name is a plea on his lips—a benediction—as our kisses deepen become nipping teeth and sliding hands. Greg trails his mouth across my neck, licking and sucking, each press a deeper caress than the one before. ‘You’re so fucking perfect.’

  I can’t answer, tears stinging my eyes as I try to so hard to keep a hold of my emotions, to compose myself. Trying to stop my body from trembling. But that would be like asking the sun not to rise. Or for Greg to keep me. To make me his.

  The hot press of his lips makes my skin fevered and my mind delirious, his skimming hands avoiding those places I need him most. His fingers trail my arms, play across my ribs, ghosting my breasts as my nipples ache for his touch.

  My fingers are uncooperative, my hands shaking with desperation as I attempt to loosen the buttons of his shirt without much success.

  ‘Here.’ Greg places his hands over mine, sliding them away before he loosens one, two, then a third button, the cotton rustling as he pulls it up and over his head. My hand finds his solid chest, his skin so warm; the beat of his heart solid beneath my fingertips.

  As though anticipating my brimming tears, Greg slips his hand into the waistband of my jeans and yanks me closer to him. It’s an aggressive move, one I feel viscerally, everything inside me drawing tight at the motion—at the determined set of his jaw and the way his dark liquid gaze bores down on me. Without another word spoken between us, he flips open the button at my waistband and pulls the denim over my hips. His rough touch belies his desire, the jagged motion just what I need to be pulled from my head. As the material moves with a stiff kind of reluctance, Greg’s impatience is clear. He wins out in the end, travelling with them until he’s in front of me on his knees, and I’m left just in my underwear.

  His skin is hot as he bands his arms around my thighs, his face pressing into the lace of my knickers as he inhales a deep, hot breath. My whole body trembles at the contact, but I don’t have time to react as he pushes me down onto the bed behind me. I bounce a little against the soft mattress, my knees wide, my legs hanging over the edge. My ragged moan hits the air as he tongues a path between the inside of my knee and my underwear.

  ‘You’re not wearing matching underwear today.’ His voice is rough and rasping as he stretches, taking my breasts full in his big hands. He teases the material of my knickers with his teeth before he begins his tongue over my slit as I exhale a soft curse. ‘That wasn’t an answer,’ he says, his dark tone heavy with tease.

  ‘Tongue . . . pussy,’ I pant out, not able to form full sentences.

  ‘You like that, do you?’

  ‘Yes! So much.’

  His hands move along with his lustful laughter, his fingers toying with my tightening nipples as he teases the hard peaks. ‘Though I kind of like this look. The angel and the sinner suits you.’

  This time, I don’t speak. In fact, I can barely process the possibility that my white bra represents the angel in me and my knickers, my sinning side?

  ‘Oh!’ Molten hot liquid fills my veins as the lacy edge of my bra drags across my hardened nipples, moving further still as he pulls the material under my breasts before framing the soft mounds with his large hands.

  ‘I’m so fucking hard I can barely think,’ he rasps, squeezing my flesh as he buries himself deeper between my legs. ‘I can smell you. Smell your sweet cunt.’

  It’s too much yet not enough. His dirty whisperings, his touch causing my body to jerk against the bed as though struck by lightning. My knees widen, and my cries are hoarse as he reaches down, curling his fingers into the strip of fabric between my legs.

  ‘Open your legs wider, darlin’.’ He blows a hot breath against my over-sensitised centre. ‘Show me what you’re offering.’

  And I do as I open myself to him, bringing my heels to the edge of the mattress, fully exposing myself to him.

  ‘Please touch me,’ I beg. ‘I need to feel you.’

  Without answering, Greg begins to pull the scrap of black fabric down my legs.

  ‘You’re so wet. So wet for me.’

  The cool air in the room caresses my clit as Greg slides his fingers into me, parting my flesh.

  ‘Look at you.’ His words ache with wonderment. ‘Just look at your sweet pussy, all delicious and shiny. Are you ready for me, darlin’? I just bet you are.’

  He doesn’t need an answer, but I give him on anyway, lifting my hips from the bed as a dark, captivating ache courses through my insides. And I couldn’t hold back the sounds of my pleasure even if I wanted to as his finger slides along my length, gathering my wetness to paint it against the swollen nub.

  ‘Please, Greg, please.’ My breath is short, and my throat is hoarse, my hands scrabbling against the bedding as my hips chase his touch.

  ‘You taste so good.’ Good slides into a growl, and I lift my head from the mattress to look down at him, watching as he pulls his finger from his sinful mouth. ‘So good.’

  The realisation that he’s tasting and touching sets off a series of tiny explosions, my insides desperate and greedy for him.

  ‘I want to touch you.’

  ‘Soon, darlin’. Soon.’

  ‘I want you in my mouth.’

  A groaning expletive bursts free from my chest as his mouth finds my centre, the heat from his tongue causing me to writhe and gasp. My breath comes out in sharp, choppy sounds as he just buries himself there—buries himself between my legs. His tongue strokes and flicks, the full flat of his tongue lapping at my clit. His whole mouth sucking greedily as his fingers spread me wide.

  ‘I’m fucking mad for you.’ The sensation of his growling words against my heated centre ricochets right through me, the sensation like nothing else. It drives me to the kind of mindless place where I’d let him eat me inside and out—where I’d let him devour me, if he could, leaving behind only my dust and bones. It’s a heady place, a startling headspace. A place so needful and blind, it’s almost frightening to feel myself give in.

  But give in I do.

  His hair tangled between my fingertips, I rock against him. The sounds of my pleasure so wild and so feral, I don’t recognise my own voice. As I reach my peak—no, my breaking point— Greg thrusts his fingers deep inside, his mouth fully enveloping my clit.

  Sucking. Licking. Lapping.

  I buck against the weight of his body as he pins me, forcing me to closer and closer to that edge. I’m gasping, chanting his name, and coming hard, my hands balled into the duvet, my hips levitating from the bed. I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want him
inside me right now. He climbs up my body, then hesitates for a moment, his face shadowed as moonlight plays across his skin of his chest.

  I think I could love him.

  ‘I need to grab a condom.’ As he makes to move, I catch his wrist. Wrap my legs around him.

  ‘I want to feel you. Nothing between us, skin to skin.’

  And without a word or a quip or a question, he dips and, with a single thrust, pushes the breath from my body as he seats himself deep inside.

  Everything outside of this moment ceases to exist. There is nothing else but the feel of him filling me and the rhythm of his thrusts. I moan and buck wildly against him as the intensity builds. I can’t think. About anything. Not about tomorrow or about leaving him. Not as my mind and body explodes. I arch my back, grinding up into him and crying out my desperation and need. Everything dies around me, covered in white as I give into the most intense, writhing kind of pleasure. Above me, Greg whispers how good this feels. How beautiful I am. How I’ll be the end of him. He pulses once, twice. And the sound he makes? Like a lament as he whispers I’m not his to keep.

  Chapter 22

  GREG

  Everyone loves Sunday.

  Sleepy mornings. Bacon and eggs for breakfast. Kirk or church for some, for other’s a boozy brunch. Long walks with the dog in the park. Football on the TV in the afternoon. Sunday roasts of beef and veg. Afternoon tipples. Beers down the pub.

  Everyone loves Sunday because Sunday is nothing but good.

  Except this Sunday.

  The Sunday Isobel and I part for good.

  ‘Maybe I don’t have to go.’

  If only.

  Her words are as soft as the skin against my hands. Her back to my front, my body curls around hers as though I’d climb into her skin if it were at all possible.

  ‘You have a flight booked for this afternoon. A life to return to. And we’ve both got work on Monday.’ I sigh, not because she’s asking this question again but because we must do what we must. ‘And be honest, darlin’, long-drawn-out goodbyes won’t do either of us any good.’

  Then it’s her turn to sigh as she tightens her fingers around mine.

  ‘Being a grown-up sucks,’ she complains. ‘But why does it have to be goodbye? We could meet up again at Christmas. I have a few days off, and you’re closed for a couple of weeks. We could plan—’

  ‘Isobel.’ Her name sounds like a plea, though not the midnight kind whispered against silken skin. Not the kind cast to the heavens while sunk deep in her heat as though it could stave off the morning light. ‘Darlin’, saying yes to seeing you again, to being with you again, would be the easiest yes I’d ever have to utter.’

  ‘So just say it then. Say yes,’ she answers simply. ‘Don’t make things difficult before they’re even—’

  ‘No, hen. We’d only be kidding ourselves. I just can’t.’

  ‘We could try,’ she says once more, so softly. So softly I don’t anticipate the strength in her movements as she turns in the bed. We’ve been lying like this since the blue light of dawn crept across the room. And I’ve been holding her face away from mine to aid in my resolve. The sight of her all mussed up and loved is enough to make me want her again. Make me want her for always. ‘Greg, I know I said—’

  I halt her words with a soft kiss. At least, that’s how it starts. Soft lips and teasing tongue, presses getting deeper and harder as though we could punish the other with our lips and tongue. But it can’t go on. And it doesn’t as, with her cheeks in my palms, I pull my head from hers with a reluctance I feel deep in my bones.

  ‘Isobel. I can’t do this. I just can’t.’

  ‘It’s early days,’ she says, covering my hands with hers. Sliding them from my face, she pulls our joined fingers between us under the covers. ‘You don’t know what might happen. I might not like you outside these four walls, and you might think I’m a colossal bitch.’ Her eyes are bright, her words even more so, but I can tell the effort it takes for her to carry on with her campaign. Her campaign to champion the chance of a relationship. ‘We might decide we’re too different—that we live too far apart.’

  ‘And what happens if we don’t? What happens if this miracle few days we’ve had grows? Turns into love? What then for you?’

  ‘Well, I get you, I suppose.’ She smiles a quizzical smile, but it’s disingenuous. This isn’t the first time in the last few hours we’ve had this conversation. The conversation where I told her about my past and the circumstances surrounding the failure of my marriage.

  My failure.

  ‘You get me, and I’ll get you, and it’ll be fantastic for a while. But then, one day, I’ll see you glance at a woman with a pregnant belly. I’ll see the hurt. Then maybe we’ll be out for a coffee another day, and you’ll roll your eyes at the noise the family at the next table are making. You’ll make some joke about how we’re at least able to drink our coffee in peace. Tell me you’re pleased we don’t ever have our dinner plans spoiled. You’ll say kids are more trouble than they’re worth and that you really didn’t want them, anyway. And I’ll watch that lie grow and grow. Until, one day, you decide you can’t do it anymore.’

  ‘You don’t know that will happen. Just because it’s happened before doesn’t mean it’ll happen again. I’m not her.’

  ‘No, but you’re a woman. A woman I want the best for.’

  ‘But just because—’

  ‘Unexplained infertility isn’t pretend infertility. It doesn’t change anything, and it doesn’t go away. I had the tests and jumped through the hoops but still got my heart ripped out in the end.’

  ‘But you’re killing something that hasn’t even lived. We might be a perfect for each other, or we might just never, ever want to see each other again. Or we might decide we’re only ever compatible in bed. Don’t you want to find out which it is?’

  ‘Do you really think you only want that last one to be true?’ She shrugs lightly, and I know she’s kidding herself again. ‘I hear you, and I know what you’re saying. What if we’re only ever meant for each other now? You’re right. We might not be able to stand the sight of each other outside of this, but you need to remember, you came in here, grabbed my package, and then shortly following, you told me you wanted to settle down. To have a family. And you deserve it; you deserve it all. And that includes the things I can’t give you.’ She opens her mouth to speak, but I carry on. ‘I just can’t, love. I can’t bear the thought of not being able to give you everything. And the bottom line is, I just can’t take that risk.’

  ‘Am I not worth the risk?’

  ‘You’re worth everything. And that’s why I have to let you go.’

  Chapter 23

  IZZY

  Coffee is brewed. My bags are packed. I’ve retrieved my phone charger from my rental car, and it’s currently on charge. The roads outside are . . . well, they aren’t exactly clear, but they are manageable. Greg seems to think that if I have any issues, it’ll be on the local roads. I’ve no idea myself. They all seemed like treacherous, narrow little things most of the way here. Which seems like an age ago, not days. Anyway, Greg has offered to follow me in his truck. Maybe just to actually make sure I go. His truck that was parked alongside the cottage. Due to the stormy conditions and the direction of the wind, it became covered in even more snow than my little thing.

  We’ve puttered about all morning, preparing the house and ourselves to leave, and all the while I’ve argued, though good naturedly, until I’m all out of breath. He just doesn’t see it. He thinks he’s protecting me by closing the door on this thing—this possibility between us. But I’m not a child. I can see this for what it is. He doesn’t want to get hurt. But who does? Well, apart for masochists, and I think they’re only interested in the sexual kind of agony, not the heart-hurting kind.

  But I don’t want to miss this opportunity that’s been laid in front of me. What happens if he’s the one? What happens if he’s my chance at happiness? I might be knocked down by a bu
s tomorrow or find the next man I get involved with can’t have children, either. Or maybe I’ll find out that this next mythical man is like all the other men I’ve been involved with and only good for one thing. No, not sex. At least, not until Greg. I mean for the purpose of being my car companion, for which I’ll need to murder him and have the man subsequent stuffed. A car companion, you know, like those inflatable men women use? No, not that kind of inflatable. I mean the kind that could potentially stop a single woman driver from being a target. Or allow her to use the high-occupancy vehicle lane . . .

  But I digress.

  ‘Your phone has charge.’

  I turn from the window to where Greg stands, the hem of one side of his flannel shirt tucked haphazardly into his jeans. And yep, I was right; along with flannel shirts and button fly jeans, he’s also a fan of the rugged boot. Let’s face it, there’s nothing this man could wear that would make him look unattractive. Casual, suits, striped pyjama pants—he looks divine in them all. I can’t wait to see him in a kilt and I refuse to believe that won’t happen sometime soon. I didn’t get to be in the job I’m in today without learning a few things about myself. I’m like a dog with a bone, even if I’m hiding said bone beneath my figurative little dog bed right now. As they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and Greg isn’t about to be persuaded in a day, either. I’ll need to think about my next step because I don’t think I can afford to annoy him anymore today. Not if I want to see him again. And I do.

  ‘It’s like banging my head off a brick wall,’ he’d grumbled earlier when I’d tried to make him see sense again. Or as he pronounced it, bangin’ ma heid offa brick wall.

  ‘That’s me. I’m tenacious,’ I’d responded with a smile.

  ‘Trying to get you to listen makes me think I know what that Greek bloke felt like,’ he’d semi-ranted, ‘spending eternity pushing that boulder up a hill.’