I cringed as she pulled me into a hug. ‘I guess.’
If this book award wasn’t so important, I would have ditched it due to the video requirement. At least an afternoon of wincingas I struggled through the short script I’d written would distract me from wondering if Lucas was thinking of me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LUCAS
Ilaid flat on the grass at the edge of a cliff and thought of nothing but the here and now.
A pygmy goat snoozed on my back. They’d been friendly when I’d wandered the mountains with Callum, but with my guide absent they’d become intensely interested in me. I didn’t know if it was the encouraging vibe I gave to most animals or the fact that Aster had been feeding the wild goats of the island every time he ate his lunch outside.
A pack of them had shadowed me from the moment I left the village. When I laid down at the edge of the cliff, they joined me. Small horns dug into my thighs and teeny legs kicked out as the goats surrounding me slept.
The bravest of the bunch, a kid with black fur apart from a white tuft at the top of his head, had climbed over my shoulder and settled down for a nap on my spine.
I wasn’t bothered by my impromptu goat blanket. Although it was the tail end of summer, Doughnut had none of the muggy heat London would be drowning in. The grass beneath me was springy and dry, but the coolness of the earth would have made me shiver without the gang of clingy goats.
Binoculars held to my eyes, I observed the seals spread out on the beach below. The island boasted a healthy colony of harbour seals. Their speckled coats shone in the bright sunlight, both nursing mothers and the larger males enjoying a peaceful afternoon spread across the rock-strewn sand.
I wondered if Kit had ever come up here. He’d think the seal’s puppy-like faces were cute.
‘Shit.’ I lowered my binoculars and thumped my forehead into the grass. There would be a green stain on my face at the end of the day if I couldn’t keep my mind on the task at hand.
I hadn’t changed my plans today to engineer hours spent far away from people, but relief had washed over me as I’d left the road behind and struck out across the hills. I needed space with nothing but undemanding animals to cobble myself back into some semblance of calm.
I should have known things were about to implode spectacularly. For the past week, time with Kit had fallen into two categories; either everything was totally fine or I was freaking out. He’d do something ordinary like pull a pasta bake from the oven or pass me the last piece of a puzzle, and bam. My heart would race and my palms would sweat and my face would flame.
I didn’t know what my problem was. At first, I’d tried to ignore it. Kit was fast becoming a close friend and I didn’t want to mess that up. I loved the smiles that made his dimples dip into his smooth cheeks, the way he wasn’t scared to pull me closer on the sofa, his enthusiasm about his bookshop, and how he talked to me more than anyone else. I didn’t want to lose any of that because my body had decided to go haywire in his presence.
Last night, I’d had to endure hours of weird stomach swoops and sparks racing under my skin each time Kit leant his hand on my arm or laughed. I’d tried to behave normally, but I caught Kitwatching me a couple of times. His narrowed eyes suggested I wasn’t putting on a good act.
I’d gone to bed early. My heart rate calmed once I was in my room, my back pressed against the door. I scrubbed hard at my face with my hands. I didn’t know what was going on, but it needed to stop. I loved spending time with Kit as much as I did with Aster, and I’d never had strange sensations clogging up my brain when I hung out with my best friend.
I went to bed an hour before I usually would, but my weary brain clocked off before I could spiral about what the hell was going on.
Things had seemed better this morning. Since I’d gone to sleep early, I’d woken with ages before I had to haul myself out of bed. I’d snuggled into a blanket cocoon, the sweet pea scent of the fabric softener Kit used lulling me into a state of half-awakeness.
I didn’t make a conscious decision to touch myself. Everything felt so nice and warm that it made sense to keep the good times rolling.
I didn’t wank as much as most men my age, if Aster’s stories were anything to go by. During periods when he’d not had someone willing to achieve mutual orgasms with him, he’d masturbated at least once a day. Despite my attempts to cover my ears and hum loudly, the knowledge that my best friend pleasured himself in the shower most mornings was branded into my brain.
It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy it – orgasms had always felt good even in the presence of my few unsatisfactory sexual partners – but I didn’t feel the urge to jerk off more than a couple of times a week.
This morning, my fingers had wrapped around my heated skin and I’d gasped. Tingles shot up through my stomach andacross my thighs. I built to a quick rhythm. My hand tightened, my heart racing.
Just as I was about to come, Kit popped into my head. Not naked, not doing anything sexual. I thought of his soft lips on my cheek, his gentle smile, his hand on my wrist.
I’d had to turn my head into my pillow to supress a loud groan as the most intense orgasm I’d ever experienced crashed through me. Cum coated my hand inside my pyjama bottoms, pleasure blasting across my dick and legs and chest.
I’d panted through the aftershocks, my arm stilling and fingers loosening.
Suddenly, the blankets around me were stifling. I threw them away and wiped my hand on my pyjamas. I didn’t look at them before I shucked them off in the bathroom and hopped in the shower. I refused to think, refused to focus on anything other than getting out of the cottage as quickly as possible. Once dressed, I hurried downstairs, grabbed bread and an apple, then rushed for the second set of stairs.
I’d paused at the top, listening. There was no sound from above, so I scribbled a note before fleeing.
Hours later, I hadn’t been able to get through more than five minutes without thinking of Kit, which lead inevitably to thinking about what I’d done.
I didn’t feel ashamed, but a hot lick of something traced from my lower belly to my neck each time I remembered powering through an orgasm with Kit at the forefront of my mind. Aster had been unwelcomely open about his masturbatory habits so I knew brains did weird things as we pleasured ourselves. He’d told me one Christmas morning that he’d imagined being spanked by Santa the night before, which had put a dampener on re-watchingElfwith my mum. He’d assured me that he had no consciously lustful feelings towards Santa or a desire to be rough in bed, but still the image had cropped up.
