I grin. ‘Well, if the cap fits.’ I turn my back on him to continue washing up, thinking that’s the end of it, but his arms go round me in a bear hug.
He mock growls in my ear, ‘Don’t call me that!’
I choke back a laugh, saying, ‘But you are, Dain!’ which seems to rile him up even more. His grip tightens, and I wiggle my butt against his hips, half-heartedly trying to escape. I’m thrilled to feel he’s hard. Maybe I need to call him Mr Vicar more often!
He groans softly and leans into me so I’m bent forward over the washing-up sink.Oh yeah, this is more like it.I reach behind and touch his cock briefly, and he jerks back from me like he’s been electrocuted. ‘Sorry!’ he exclaims.
I’m not sure why he’s apologising when I’m the one who was fondling him.
I right myself and turn to face him, discovering the front of my T-shirt is wet through from where he’s dipped me into the washing-up water. I pluck the sodden material away from my breasts, and it makes a suggestive sucking noise.
Dain averts his eyes like he is indeed an abashed vicar.
‘It’s OK, we were fooling around.’
‘I-I’m sorry,’ he repeats.
‘Seriously, Dain ...’
But he’s gone, disappearing as stealthily as a shadow.
I throw the sponge into the water in frustration. That was fun! We were actually having fun! And it could have led to more ... namely Dain stripping off my wet T-shirt and bra, laying me over the kitchen table and ... My nipples perk like soldiers on high alert as I play out the scene in my mind.
What is his actual problem?
My body is crying out for him to the point I feel like screaming. And he’s not unaffected. His cock was as hard as steel—he wants me, I know it, as much as I want him.
Fuck this! Fuck him!
***
After storming around my bedroom, feeling like I want to punch a hole in the wall, I swap my wet T-shirt for a dry one, turn out my kerosene lamp, and crawl into bed, emotionally drained.
Why is he doing this? Why won’t he let himself touch me?
I ask the question over and over, and eventually, there’s only one abysmal conclusion:he doesn’t want to get involved because I’m not good enough for him.
That’s the truth, as I know it, laid out plain and simple. Pain lances my heart; and I curl into a ball, sobbing in the darkness, as the wind rattles the windowpane.Oh, why did I move in here? I’m trapped in an unbearable situation!
A flickering orange light appears on the wall and steadily grows larger. Great. That’s all I need, a fire in my room. I bury my face into my sodden pillow.I don’t care. Let me burn.
‘Lizzy? Are you OK?’
Wiping my watery eyes, I roll over and see Dain outlined in the doorway, peering at me in a concerned manner. He’s wearing a pair of blue-and-white-striped pyjama bottoms and grasping a metal holder with a guttering candle.
The sight of his bare chest and sexily mussed hair makes me angry again, like he’s deliberately tempting me. I turn my head back and mumble ‘Mmhmm’ into the pillow.
He pads over and kneels by the bedside, placing the candleholder on the bedside table. Lifting my matted hair away from my wet cheek, he feels my forehead.
‘Are you ill?’
‘No,’ I grunt as fresh tears well.Only lovesick for you.
‘It feels like you have a fever.’
I huff and shift position irritably. ‘I’m not ill. I’m upset. I think I should move out.’
He sighs disconsolately. ‘But why, Lizzy?’
