He slips a hand between my thighs, his fingers slick through my readiness. Satisfied, he raises his hips and slides into me in one slow, deliberate move.
A moment of true, honest, unadulterated ignorance of everything but the pleasure of him making me feel whole.
Whether he can say it or not. Whether he even realises it or not. Gregory James Ryans makes love to me the way every woman dreams of being made love to: slowly, savoured, cherished.
We pant through our shared climax then he rests his weight on my chest and nuzzles his head into my neck. ‘Lift up,’ he says, taking my hands and guiding me to stand.
I mumble as he peels his warmth away from my skin. He shuffles a faux fur cushion to the arm of the leather sofa and lies back, patting the space between his legs for me to fill.
When my back meets his chest, he nuzzles into my neck and whispers, ‘Aurora.’ His light. His freedom. I will be that again.
I’ll be strong for him.
5
‘Whoa, sorry! I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
Jackson rouses me from the comfort of Gregory’s tight embrace on the sofa as he stomps his crutch through the lounge. The sun hasn’t yet come up.
‘Don’t worry, I haven’t perfected my aim over distance,’ I grumble.
I can’t see the smirk on his face but I feel the chug of laughter in Gregory’s chest. He squeezes his arms more tightly around me and kisses my temple. I could fool myself into thinking this is a normal day.
‘Pasop Boet,’ he says playfully.
‘I’ll look out, brother. Control your woman,’ Jackson boyishly banters back.
Both men laugh when I sit up, pouting. ‘Check the date, guys; misogyny is out.’
‘Gym, kid. You don’t get a day off just because my leg doesn’t work. Let’s go.’
Gregory pushes me up with his palms under my arms andplaces me on my feet. He trails a finger up my arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake, and turns on his knowing half-smile as he slides the rogue strap of my nightdress back up to my collarbone. ‘Better.’
I can’t resist smiling back at him.
‘Aurora,’ he whispers, before planting a kiss on my brow.
‘Let’s go! Let’s go!’ Jackson shouts, making his way to the gym.
‘Ja, ja!’ Gregory shouts back in reply, darting up the staircase, three steps per stride. I watch the gym door close behind Jackson and shudder. Out of Gregory’s hold, the apartment feels dark and cold. Day two: one day closer to finding out whether Gregory will be charged.
As I fumble around, trying to fathom the coffee machine, a knock on the apartment door makes me jump. The lock clinks and the door begins to open.
I slide open a drawer and reach for the first knife I see, my knuckles white around the handle.
A middle-aged woman steps into the lounge wearing a silver bubble coat and carrying two large bags for life.
‘Good morning!’ Her voice almost sings from her petite body.
I loosen my grip on the knife and quickly push the drawer closed as she bumps the door shut with her hip, her mousey-blonde hair swinging from her high ponytail as she moves.
‘Hi,’ I manage, suddenly very aware of the inappropriateness of my skimpy nightdress.
‘You must be Scarlett,’ she says through a smile. ‘Oh my, and as pretty as I imagined.’
My cheeks flush as I fold my arms around my body. ‘Erm, thank you, ah… Amy?’
‘Oh, silly me!’ She lifts her bags with anumphand plantsthem on the granite worktop. ‘Yes, I’m Amy. I cook, clean, whatever.’ She waves a hand flippantly through the air.
