Strength

by Daws, Amy

  Smack.

  Her lips part with a mighty groan as my palm connects with her arse, proving she was made for a rude rabbit like me. Growing impatient myself, I continue my nibble down her body until I reach her centre. She continues to squirm and writhe on the bed as I blow cool air all around her. I take my hand and push aside the strip of blue fabric that covers her. I exhale my hot breath right on her slickened nub. She moans out my name loudly. A deep throaty sound. I snap the thin strips of her thong on her hips before sliding them down her legs and tossing them on the floor.

  I drop down onto my knees and grab her by her hips, yanking her to the edge of the bed so her thighs rest on my shoulders and her arse is suspended in the air for my greedy hands to fondle. Fuck, her arse, I think with a throaty growl. It’s the most magnificent arse I’ve ever seen. I inhale deeply before pressing my mouth happily to her vertical lips.

  A frenzy takes over as I taste her. Never in my life has a woman’s scent called to me like such a siren before. Her scent was fucking made for me. Like a starving man, I devour her with all the passion I feel for this sexy, beautiful, understanding, and surprising woman.

  Any time her hands stray from the blindfold, I give her pert bottom a punishing slap. I’m beginning to think she likes it based on the frequency of her disobedience. In a shorter amount of time than I anticipated, her body hardens like a bullet as she hits her climax at an alarming velocity. She screams out my name and, just as quickly, her legs sag with relief.

  After a moment, she props herself up on her elbows, and I chuckle proudly as she tosses the scarf at my face. My cock strains against my briefs as I take in her messy blonde hair that makes her look properly fucked. The pink of her cheeks glows rosy and healthy. Her lazy smile, the perfect expression a man wants to see after he’s just properly serviced his most prized possession.

  “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” I ask, my smirk turning into a lustful gaze as I fantasise about how good it’s going to feel when I push myself inside of her.

  She smiles broadly. “If fighting with you gets me that, remind me to do it more often.”

  “We’re just getting started.” I tenderly kiss the inside of her thigh and surprise her with a playful nip.

  Her giggles set the mood for our rousing round two in her shower that ended happily for both of us this time. It was the kind of fuck that would put even the sexiest pornos to shame. But it was better because it was Vi. There are no rules with her. Sexy and silly moments ebb and flow seamlessly, never once pulling us from the glorious moment.

  Now I lay, once again, entangled in crushed velvet with a stunning Vi draped across my chest. I alternate twining the blonde strands of her hair between my fingers and trailing my fingertips up her bare spine while she plays with the cuff on my wrist—a custom I’ve noticed she enjoys doing. It took a great deal of effort on my part to allow her to do so at first, but now I can rest into it.

  “How do you see me so differently, Vi?” I ask, quietly staring up at the chandelier above her bed. At times, I still can’t wrap my brain around how normal she makes me feel. How normal she looks at me despite my past.

  “What do you mean?” Her voice is soft and sleepy as she continues picking at the seam of my cuff without looking up at me.

  I squint my eyes and elaborate. “I look in the mirror and I see a broken, suicidal screw-up with a laundry list of vices all working against him,” I quietly admit. “What do you see?”

  Her hand stills on my cuff and she turns to look up at me, propping her arms and head on my chest. Her blue eyes lock on mine for a long, painfully quiet moment. I stroke my fingers down her cheek as I wait on bated breath for her answer.

  Finally, she tilts her head and replies with a sigh, “I just see My Hayden.”

  “I THINK I’M READY,” I say to Bruce as I walk out of my en suite bathroom. My jittery nerves could pipe down any time now. I smooth down my black cotton dress that’s smart and hopefully good enough for what Hayden and I are about to go do. After the family flick night drama, our reconnection the last few days has been pretty mind-blowing. It’s a new level of intimacy that causes me to daydream about him all day at work. The only thing that’s bothered me is his continual insistence on stepping outside at 11:11 every night. I’ve given him his space to do so, but I have something planned for tomorrow that I hope he’ll be open-minded about and not take offence to. But I’m too scared to tell him what it is quite yet.

  As I walk out of my bedroom, I find Hayden stretched out on the sofa in my dark living room, staring up at the ceiling as if deep in thought. He looks like a damn model lying on a beach, except for the clothes part. Thankfully, I have a very good memory of what he looks like naked, so my imagination can fill in the blanks.

  “You ready?” I ask as Sleeping at Last’s cover song “500 Miles” swells in the overhead sound system.

  He turns his head toward me, and the look in his eyes makes me stumble. The grey irises swirling around his pupils heat with a longing that causes my smile to fall. The city lights streaming in the windows reveal a tenderness in his expression that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. He stands up slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, surprised by the trembling in my voice.

  “Dance with me,” he says, moving closer to me with his hand outstretched.

  “What? Here?” I look around stupidly like there are people here to feel embarrassed by.

  He nods. “Right here. Right now. I want a living room dance, Bunny.”

  A fleeting look of sadness streaks across his face, but it’s replaced by a half-smile before I can be sure I even saw it. I swallow nervously as he twines his fingers through mine. His other hand slides gently around my waist, stopping at the small of my back. I place my free hand on his shoulder and he pulls me against him so our bodies are flush with each other.

  With the perfect measured strum of the acoustic guitar riff in the song, he begins moving us in a slow, gentle dance. We are barely rotating, but we’re swaying just enough to swirl the emotion of the music straight into my heart. The familiar scent of sawdust and Hayden invades my nostrils. I tuck my face into his chest, relishing in his entire aura that feels custom-created just for me. The song fills the room and our souls, touching us in every crease and crevice hidden to the rest of the world. In this moment, we are one.

  After a few more sways, he crouches over enough to press his cheek to mine. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers. His voice catches just as he tucks our clasped hands between our chests.

  My eyes prick with tears from the blatant display of vulnerability in his voice. “You, too,” I reply because I am too electrified by him to think of anything more original. We’re shrouded in our own little cocoon of affection, and everything he says and does is unexpected in the most magical way.

  “You are a dream, Vi.” He nuzzles into my ear, inhaling deeply as he smells my hair and the spot just below my ear. He drops a soft kiss right there and says, “Every part of you feels like a dream.”

  I suck in a shaky breath, remaining silent as he continues to move us in calming sways. I swear I can feel his chest shuddering beneath mine, but I’m frozen in silence, my voice refusing to speak. I have no words because this moment isn’t meant for filling with obligatory exchanged words. This moment is for listening and accepting whatever grey storm he’s got brewing in his stunning, cloudy eyes. He needs me right now, and it makes my heart split down the centre completely. I pray to God that Hayden Clarke will be the man to give me his other half. Two halves, making one whole.

  When the song ends, his hands are in my hair and his lips are pressed to mine, soft and sweet, passionate and meaningful. His demanding tongue caresses my own as his fingers rub along the back of my neck. Just when I think my legs are going to give out, he pulls away. My eyes flutter open with slow blinks. I feel lightheaded and dizzy as he rests his forehead against mine and says, “I’m ready.”

  Thirty minu
tes later, we’re standing in front of Welly’s Pub. I’m grateful for the quick walk over because I needed the fresh air to gain some of my senses back. Hayden’s expression is pensive. His introspective mood from earlier is somewhat lifted, but there’s still something happening beyond his eyes that puzzles me.

  “You sure you’re ready for this?” I ask, glancing over at Hayden nervously.

  “I’m not afraid of your brothers, Vi.” He furrows his brows and pins me with a sobering look. “I’m afraid of you.”

  My face falls. “Hayden—” I start, but he pulls me through the door before I can finish.

  A familiar voice calls out, ripping my attention from my Hayden bubble.

  “Vi!” Tanner jogs over with a pint in hand. He tosses his head back to flick his shaggy blonde locks out of his eyes. He passes his pint off to an unsuspecting Hayden so he can yank me into his arms for a brotherly hug. “Who’s this wanker?” he asks, laughing and snatching the pint back from Hayden.

  “Just kidding, mate. This one’s yours.” He tries to pass it back.

  I roll my eyes. “Hayden doesn’t drink, Tanner. I told you.”

  “Oh yes, that’s right. Vi hardly drinks either. One pint and she’s pissed. I don’t know what’s with people like you.”

  I reach out to give him a shove and he dodges me easily. Hayden laughs good-naturedly, but I’m cringing inside.

  “Hey, Booker!” I exclaim and smile sheepishly as he walks over. I swear his tall, muscular frame seems to grow every time I see him. “This is Hayden.”

  Booker shakes Hayden’s hand, his eyes narrow as he scans him up and down. He looks downright impolite, which shocks me. This whole brotherly meet-and-greet was his idea. His demand, really. I had made the mistake of telling Booker that I was seeing Hayden, and he sussed it out that Hayden was the same guy I’d told him called me a “blonde distraction.” He said the only way he could be convinced Hayden isn’t a prat was to meet him. And there’s no such thing as one Harris Brother. One goes, they all go.

  Hayden and I make our way over to the booth where Camden and Gareth are seated, while Booker heads to the bar for more drinks. Gareth is properly moody toward Hayden, which doesn’t surprise me. I’d warned Hayden about that. Camden is indifferent, and Tanner is Tanner. Nothing fazes him. Booker rejoins us and passes a beer to me and a water to Hayden.

  “Tell us how you two lovebirds met,” Tanner sings in a high-pitched feminine voice.

  Camden picks up where he left off with a flick of his wrists and a happy clap. “Yes, and don’t leave out a single scrumpet of detail!”

  Hayden laughs and looks to me for an answer.

  “Well—” I start, but he cuts me off.

  “Her dog attacked me.” The pleased grin on his face as he eyes me with contempt makes me giggle.

  “That a boy, Bruce,” Gareth mumbles and takes a drink.

  “Bruce didn’t attack him…More like his lead attacked you,” I add, shoving Hayden in the side playfully. “We were going to a pub opening and sort of smacked into each other. The pub owners are friends with my coworker, Leslie. You guys know Leslie.”

  “Leslie is marrying my brother,” Hayden adds helpfully, and I briefly realise the wedding is next weekend and we haven’t discussed whether or not we’re going together.

  “Sounds like destiny,” Tanner sighs dramatically and flutters his lashes. We all laugh. Tanner’s always the clown.

  “And just like that, smooth sailing love story,” Booker states with an edge to his voice. “So, Hayden. What do you do? Like, for a living?”

  Hayden’s brows lift and a small smile plays on the corners of his mouth at Booker’s blatant challenge. Built-wise, Booker is maybe a touch larger than Hayden, but they are very nearly evenly matched.

  “I am a partial owner of a custom furniture business with my brother. C. Designs? Theo’s the designer and creator. He’s got a pretty large following. I’m the bookkeeper.”

  I frown. “Hayden’s very talented as well. He’s got a great eye for designing smaller detailed pieces.”

  Hayden pulls a face at my defensive addition to his story. “None of that is making me money yet. I just do it as a hobby for friends. For now, my brother’s business keeps us very busy.”

  “And that earns you a proper living?” Camden barks, taking a large swig of his beer, all evidence of playing vanished. I down a gulp of mine as well.

  Hayden nods. “Yeah, I’m living with my brother right now, but not because of financial reasons.”

  “His brother just had a baby,” I interject. “She’s four months old and beautiful. Hayden is great with her.”

  Hayden frowns at me again. “She’s a great niece. I’m very attached.”

  “So you’re close to your family then?” Tanner asks kindly.

  His question makes me nervous. Diving into family details so quickly wasn’t expected. I thought they’d start talking football to be honest.

  Hayden swallows but keeps his tone light. “My family is great. My parents and youngest sister live in Essex. I live with my brother not far from here, and I had an older sister who passed away four years ago.”

  My brothers all look at him in stony silence.

  “Fuck,” Camden says first, his face paling slightly as he looks at me with a renewed sense of appreciation.

  Gareth’s moody expression turns cold and bleak. Tortured. I lean forward when his eyes start to look glossy, but Booker’s comment distracts me.

  “Is that why you don’t drink?” Booker’s prying voice is challenging and cocky, clearly not worrying over any ounce of decorum.

  Hayden cuts his eyes to Booker and I see Booker actually shrink in his seat.

  “Partially. It’s complicated,” Hayden replies, sipping his water. “So, what about you lot? Can I ask you questions, or am I the only one under fire here?”

  Tanner laughs and they eagerly start discussing football. This feels better. Talk of emotions at a table full of British lads is never top on anyone’s list of hot things to do in London. Gareth remains eerily silent the entire time, though, staring at his glass with morbid intent.

  “Wanker,” I hear Booker mumble as Hayden answers Camden’s question about who his favourite footballer is.

  “Booker, a word,” I hiss, knowing I can’t take another second of his pouty teenager act. I pop out of the booth, motioning with my head like a maniac. “Can I trust you guys not to be arses while I’m gone?”

  “Probably not,” Camden replies, taking a swig. “But it’s worth a shot.”

  I roll my eyes and Booker follows me to the loo hallway. I stop and turn a murderous gaze on him. “What the hell, Booker?” I seethe, barely able to contain my temper.

  “What?” he barks back defensively.

  “What are you trying to do? Win the award for the biggest arse of a brother? Christ! I expect it from them, but not you. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “He’s not good enough, Vi,” he snaps back, shoving a hand through his short brown hair.

  “You’ve barely spoken to him!”

  “I don’t have to. I can tell. He doesn’t drink at all,” he growls. “What is he? A recovering alcoholic? Boy, you really picked a winner.”

  I shove him hard and catch him off guard enough that he stumbles back into the wall. “You listen here, baby brother. I’m still your big sister. I practically raised you. If I tell you someone’s important, they’re bloody important. End of.”

  “Everything okay?” Hayden asks, coming around the corner. He narrows his eyes knowingly.

  I cut one more withering glance at Booker. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Okay, well a pack of fans have descended and Gareth told me you’d know what to do?” Hayden looks at me and shrugs his shoulders.

  I nod and sigh. Welly’s is supposed to be sacred. The pub owner loves the guys and keeps a lid on the fact that they stop in regularly. Most pubs broadcast it for business, so I suppose it was bound to happen eventually. />
  “All right, just hang back here with Booker. It’ll be easier for us to get out that way.” I throw a warning look at Booker, and he nods subtly knowing that Hayden is not to be messed with right now.

  I pull off my denim jacket and toss it haphazardly at Booker. Hayden eyes me in confusion as I crack my neck and put on my own game face. I stroll over to our booth and blanch at the larger than expected crowd swarming the table. There are at least six middle-aged blokes decked out in football fan gear. Super fans to be sure. Two have slid into the vacated side where Hayden and I were seated. Gareth seems to be blocking anyone from sitting down next to him.

  I clear my throat loudly as I approach and poke one gentleman on the shoulder. “Oi! Pardon me, but I need to talk to that bloke right fucking there.” I hitch up my accent to sound thicker and more Manchester by dropping off the ends of most of my words.

  The heavier-set man of the bunch turns on me with his nose wrinkled. He reeks of alcohol and fish n’ chips. “Get stuffed.” He turns back to the table like I don’t even exist.

  I could be offended by his cheek. However, I’m a Harris, so I’m not easily derailed. I tap the man next to him. This guy has to be pushing fifty and idolising Gareth like he’s fucking royalty. “That fucking footballer has loads of explaining to do, so I fucking need to get in there. Get out of my way!” I exclaim, ramping up my performance to be a bit more dramatic.

  Several of the guys turn to look at me, clearing a path for me to slide through. Gareth’s eyes land on me with a silent cheer of appreciation. Then he realises he’s on, so he’s got to react.

  “Freya! What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Don’t you Freya me. Your arse is coming with me, mate. You haven’t rang me in weeks!” I crow out in my best jilted female voice. “And bring those worthless brothers of yours. All of you are about to get it good from me and me flatmates.”

  “Oi, shove off ya bird,” one bloke croaks from a few bodies over.

  I frown and motion for Gareth to come along. He attempts to slide out, but the older man steps in front of him. “You don’t have to shove off just ‘cause of this fucking jersey chasing slag!”