He pulls me on top of him and slips into me. I let him hold my breasts tight as I use him like my plaything, for once.
Chapter Fifteen
I wake up to him stroking his hands over my skin. I’ve slept curled against the side of his body, my chin on his shoulder, my nose inhaling the scent of his neck. My hand’s resting over his heart and his hands are sliding up and down my arms, my back, my bum. I lean up a little and kiss the corner of his mouth.
He looks sideways, stunned to see I’m awake. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay.”
He pulls me closer and brushes his mouth across mine, plunging his tongue ever so softly and briefly into my mouth, then pulling away.
He lies back once more and stares up at the ceiling. Something’s on his mind.
“Have you been awake for a while?” I play with his chest hair, curling it around my fingers.
“Thinking about Dad,” he says. “My mum, my brothers.”
I plant a kiss on his throat and murmur, “I’ll come with you.”
He turns onto his side and pulls me against him, his hand on my waist, his other in my hair. He has that look in his eye I love, where he seems content but also surprised to see me.
He strokes his fingertips over my face, kisses my nose, then my mouth, softly, barely at all.
“You’re even more beautiful in the morning,” he whispers.
I shake with emotion; it’s the first morning we’ve woken up together and he hasn’t had to rush off or leave without saying goodbye.
Paul covers my body with his and kisses my throat, my breasts, my shoulders. He’s so thick-set and heavy and strong. I get wet just looking at the hair on his chest and how it thins out towards his stomach before that line of fur leads to his pubic hair and his thick, always-hard cock.
I snake my hand down and hold my palm out to rub his balls and his cock together. God, I love his body, almost as much as I love him. Paul moves into position and kisses my mouth, teasing gently, tender and careful. I feel the St Christopher around his neck dangle against my chest, cold and ticklish. He’s never worn anything like this before. He also got a tattoo when he was out in Japan – a beautiful blossom tree on his right shoulder blade. I move the necklace around so the pendant falls down his back. Paul kisses my cheeks, then below my ear, even straying into my hair.
“I love you,” I murmur.
“God, I love you.”
I wriggle around and his cock finds my wetness, gently nudging through my folds, his length soon slick and finding a home, buried deep inside me.
His arms are beneath me, holding me, and he rocks into me with slow, deep drives, his kisses mirroring his passionate, hungry plunges. I can’t get enough of scratching my nails down his back and he doesn’t say anything, only maintaining his rhythm, his groans sexy as hell as he nips my nipples, his body and mine rocking the bed.
My insides pulse with lust and he increases his drives, rhythmically circling and plunging until the very tip of my pelvic bone burns and explodes with desire, that ripple effect rendering me silent as I shake, drenching him, his seed following my cum, that beautiful mixture inside me so hot, wet and sweet.
He lies on my chest, heavy and breathless. I tug his hair between my fingers and grin from ear to ear. He’s quiet and says nothing but I hear a great deal in that silence.
What we’re doing isn’t normal for him but it’s better than he remembers.
“I love your body, almost as much as I love you,” he says.
“Ditto.”
If I wasn’t sure before, I am now – we’re two halves, now whole, or two sides of the same coin, absolutely matched, perfect for one another.
“Do you want some bacon?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Thought you might.”
“Wait, let me get up and make the bacon. You go and clean up. I’ve made a right mess of you.”
While he gets out of bed and pulls his joggers back on, I lie in bed naked, legs spread.
“You mean this?” I swipe some juice from between my legs and lick it.
“Dirty bitch,” he growls. “That’s given me an idea for later.”
In the hospital, we find everyone waiting outside the operating rooms, heads down, tension palpable. The first thing I notice is his brothers John and Dave, who start to come barrelling at him with angry faces. I put myself in the way and stress, “He’s here now, lads. Calm it.”
His younger brothers, twins, are mental. They used to get into all kinds of trouble at school and Paul would always get them out of it, too. Lydia, their mother, pushes between them and greets me.
“Lily? What are you doing here?”
Okay, no beating about the bush.
“We’re together.” Paul puts his arm around my shoulder, glaring at his brothers.
Lydia looks between us and throws her arms around me, crying into a handkerchief at the same time. I get the feeling this woman’s been to hell and back.
Hugging her tight, I whisper, “It’s alright now. It’s alright.”
She nods against my midriff, bearing in mind she’s tiny and I’m tall. Poor lady, giving birth to these three louts.
Paul and I sit either side of his mother, holding her hands.
The brothers sit opposite, red-eyed and angry, arms folded and tattooed. John and David aren’t identical but they may as well be; their temperaments are exactly the same.
“Are you dressed for work?” Lydia asks.
“Yeah, I’ve told them I’ll be in late, a family emergency. I’ll pop upstairs in a little while.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want you in trouble,” she says. “Paul told me you’ve only just started this new job.”
Before yesterday, Paul and I hadn’t spoken in months and I haven’t been back on Facebook in yonks. Anyway, it means Paul has been keeping abreast of what’s been going on in my life, either through Adam or Theo. It’s quite sweet and also quite cowardly, not contacting me himself, but I guess I have to get past that now, for Paul’s sake, during this difficult time.
“I’ve got a quiet morning,” I explain, “my boss is at some meeting so I was just going to be reading through cases, nothing I can’t do at home later.”
She squeezes my hand. “I always knew you’d do well, didn’t I, Paul? And she’s getting prettier, isn’t she, Paul?”
“She is, Mum,” he groans.
The two boys opposite guffaw into their hands and look at me with laughter in their eyes.
“One more from you two and I’ll deck the pair of you,” Paul growls.
The lads accept the challenge and in a hospital corridor, I watch, in shock, as my brand-new boyfriend (we didn’t discuss that, but okay) takes down both his brothers. First, John gets his eye flicked, then David has his arm wrapped behind his back until he gives in. I’m ashamed to admit, even to myself, but I’m a little impressed. Paul knows how to handle his brothers, who clearly need their big brother more than they’d admit.
They all return to their seats gingerly, and thankfully, no hospital security was required.
“Every time,” Paul laughs, “you don’t learn.”
The younger boys, a full four years Paul’s junior, shake off their embarrassment and sit back in their seats.
David looks hurt and chews on his lip for a while before finally admitting, “We’ve been here all night, where’ve you been?”
Paul goes red in the face. “I’ve been with Lily. She’s my girlfriend and she’s going to be my wife so don’t you dare start, Dave. Don’t you dare. Not when that fuck in there hasn’t done anything for any of us in years, so don’t you dare start.”
A deathly silence descends and I watch with horror as David wipes hot tears which spill down his cheeks unchecked. David leaves his chair and props his head against the wall, hiding from everyone else.
“He’s our dad,” John mumbles, “he’s our dad.”
“Yeah, and I’m here now, aren’t I?”
; Lydia says nothing. She’s inert, not getting involved in male business. I expect that’s the stance she’s had to adopt to survive.
“You’re not the one—” Paul cuts himself off before saying anymore. He looks sideways at his mum and she’s still got her head down.
More than anything, I want to know what he was going to say, but I can guess.
“Not the one, what?” John eventually demands, unshed tears balancing on his lashes.
Paul groans and leaves his chair, pacing the floor. He looks at John, straight in the eye. “You’re not the one who had to clean glass out of Mum’s face. You’re not the one who had to drag him home legless. You’re not the one he tried to force into being his drinking buddy. You’re not the one who got hit when I told him straight. You’re not the one who’s carried all this.”
Paul’s shaking and I’m crying and his mum’s still numb, silent, as the brothers all come together, the younger ones rushing at Paul to hug him in a group. They cry together and tears pour down my cheeks watching it.
I put my arm around Lydia and pull her into me. “You’ve got some good boys, Lydia. You should be proud.”
“Proud? I’m more than proud,” she says, “and that’s all Paul. It’s all him. He brought those two up when I couldn’t.”
I hold her to me as the lads continue to cry and shake each other about, angry at themselves and each other, but resolved to get through this.
When I catch Paul’s eyes I mouth, “I love you.”
He smiles sadly and mouths, “I know.”
I decide to leave them all to it and hug each of them, one at a time. The younger lads cry into my hair and add “welcome to the family” and “take care of our brother”. It’s sweet.
I hug Paul last, tight and secure, whispering in his ear, “Take your mother for something to eat. She’s probably not eaten in days, bless her. And I’m just upstairs. Call me when he gets out, whatever time that is. Okay? I’ll be here.”
Paul kisses me passionately and I leave him, bruised and punctured, his heart in tatters as he tries to console his family. I’ll be there for him later, come what may – I’ll sew him back together.
Chapter Sixteen
Something disturbs me from sleep… a shuffling noise. “It’s just me,” he whispers into the dark.
Pulling the blanket up around my ears, I half-sleep, half-dream, because this still doesn’t seem real. It must be pretty late because I feel myself almost go blank instantly, my heavy body falling back into the chasm of nothingness.
He climbs in beside me and while not even daring to touch me, I still know he’s freezing cold and shivering – it’s coming off him in waves, disturbing my warm bed.
Now I’m awake.
“It’s the middle of the night,” I whisper.
“He pulled through; he’s recovering. Still gotta wait and see… fingers crossed,” he whispers.
Some dark part of me is relieved because I know it wouldn’t have been good for us to begin this love affair with a funeral to look forward to.
“I’m glad.”
“God, I’m freezing. Had to walk from the hospital.”
“Come and get warm.” I reach behind me, encouraging him close.
He’s only wearing his underpants, I realise.
Paul scoots up behind me, face buried in my hair, his arms looping around my body. A few tense minutes pass before our heat exchange is complete and the bed is toasty warm again.
“I’m never leaving you again,” he tells me, shaking. “I don’t ever want to be apart, ever again.”
“Me too.”
He kisses me repeatedly, along my throat, my cheek, then he turns my head and leans over me, kissing my mouth. It happens so fast, his breathing becoming heavy, sweat breaking out on his chest. He slides his hand under my nightshirt and cups my breast, squeezing gently. Then he’s pushing his boxers down and rubbing his erect cock against my bum.
“God, baby. Baby,” he groans, as I try to ignore the faint hint of alcohol on his breath.
I don’t have anything in the house like spirits, which is what he smells like, so he and his brothers must have gone somewhere after the hospital or else he went somewhere and drank alone and that’s why he’s not quite managed to mask the smell.
For the first time, he comes up against resistance as he fucks me. I try to tell myself it’s because we haven’t done much foreplay, and maybe he’s telling himself the same, but in reality, we both know I’m not dripping wet because he’s woken me in the middle of the night for a quick, drunken fumble, at least on his part.
Paul isn’t so gone he forgets to work his finger around my clit and I gradually enable him to push deeper, the gentle throb of lust making it all more pleasurable.
Just as I’m starting to enjoy myself, he finishes with a half-hearted lunge and barely spurts into me, falling asleep almost as soon as he’s slipped out. I consider reaching down to finger myself, finish the job so to speak, but I can’t be arsed and I don’t want to deal with the reality of this crap shag, not right now.
I also don’t want to… but I can’t help comparing this to my relationship with Ian. This is how it started with Ian… half-hearted shags, and eventually, I just wasn’t interested anymore, and neither was he.
I tell myself it’s just this once… and it’ll all look different in the morning.
Letting the water of the shower stream down my body, I tell myself we had our time – and now we’re done. I woke this morning and he’d gone. We should never have expected anything more than that night we had at Christmas, over a year ago. If Ian hadn’t have come home early and caught us, I probably would’ve stayed with him and maybe we’d have got married… or, I don’t know, at least parted on better terms. I should’ve realised that Paul and me was a one-night thing, never meant to be anything more, because that’s who he is: a one-night man. A complex man. A man who hasn’t always treated me well.
So I’m shocked when I hear the shower door open and close behind me. He takes hold of my waist gently, slides his hands up and around, cupping my breasts, his thumbs stroking my nipples.
“You had nothing in for breakfast so I went out,” he murmurs, his beard brushing against my shoulder as he kisses my skin.
For a moment I let myself believe he’s a stranger, someone new, but someone I want. My spine elongates as I press myself back into him, my lover already hard – ready just for me.
He French kisses my throat, his rough beard hair grazing and caressing, his hands plumping and massaging my breasts, the tips hard and puckered, pressing against his palms.
“Tell me you love me,” he groans.
“You know I do.”
“Tell me anyway.”
I lean back into him, turn my head and reach my arm back, gripping his hair. Looking into his eyes, I promise, “I love you.”
I pull him towards me and our lips meet, brushing softly into one another, then tongues licking, meeting fully. I open wide for him and his grip on my body strengthens. He rocks his hips against my buttocks, grinding his thick erection against my sensitive skin, warm and tender from the spray of the shower.
“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” He slides his hand over my belly, stroking the slight curve where my womb lies beneath. “I love you.”
He knocks the showerhead to the side so it’s not spraying directly at us, drags his fingers gently through my trimmed patch of pubic hair, kissing my throat again as I pant, my core pounding with expectation.
He slips his fingers into my folds and teases my clit, circling and brushing, electrifying what he’s already ignited with his kiss, touch and hold. He bites my earlobe and slides two fingers deep into me, pressing up hard against my g-spot. When I’m feeling the urge to bear down, he moves his fingers to my clit and mashes my flesh with so much urgency, my knees almost buckle as I come against nothing, my walls tightening against one another, the pressure too much as my empty pussy aches to grind against his stem.
He
’s not done with me yet. He turns me to face him and we kiss madly, possessed. Our embrace is a mess of limbs and fingers entwined; his erection urgent, hard against my belly.
“Your tits are the most gorgeous, beautiful… I want to come on them,” he groans, taking my hand and putting it on his dick.
I take the soap and work his dick up into a lather, creating some lubrication so I can pump his cock hard. I watch, fascinated, as his head whips about on his neck, juices gathering and rising into his tip, precum flowing out and adding to his wetness.
“Oh, god, yeah,” he groans, as I take to my knees, pointing him at my tits.
I use two hands and pump hard, staring as his balls dance around, his thighs so stiff, his stomach muscles tense.
He lunges forward and comes against my breasts, the heat of him intense and surprising. I keep tugging him off until he’s done, the last of him spurting against my nipple, one then the other. I look down at myself and could cream, all over again.
He brings me back to my feet and we hold one another, kissing gently, his fingers stroking my forehead and cheek.
“Sorry about last night,” he murmurs, “it was one of those days.”
As we canoodle in the shower, finally getting down to the business of cleaning up, I feel my heart begin to refill and wonder what I was ever worried about. This is exactly what I need.
In fact, a bit of playful shower time every day… with him… might be all I ever need.
Chapter Seventeen
Two weeks have passed since his father’s operation and Brendan is coming home today. Since our sexy shower, I have to say it’s just been getting better and better between me and Paul.
I’m going with him to visit his dad this evening but even though it’s morning now, I can already see he’s nervous, twitchy and biting his nails.
I’m ready for work and drinking my tea as he’s there, flicking through the morning news shows like he’s looking for something entirely different.
Bad Friends Page 10
