‘We both know how vocal you can be.’
Jesus God, the man’s low rumble has me wet at the crotch. How can something so combative—so provocative—sound so sexual?
‘In the tin behind you.’ More terse words, though I’m not trying to be ballsy; it’s just been a hard few days and I don’t trust myself to know what this is. Am I projecting my lust onto him?
‘We both know I’m not really interested in tea.’
The kettle starts to boil, the steam misting the wall before petering out in tiny puffs as he’s suddenly behind me, one long finger flicking off the switch. His hands come to rest either side of my hips.
‘We’re supposed to be working.’ I whisper the unnecessary words to the kettle, the heat of his presence prickling my skin. ‘W—we really shouldn’t. We don’t even know each other.’
‘Are you asking or telling? You don’t sound overly sure,Fin.’ I feel myself redden, partly the usage of my name—of being caught lying—but mainly the result of his breath, hot against the bared skin of my neck. ‘I think what’s between us is more than one night.’
The shock of this revelation gives me a physical start, my mind racing through the memories of my very first night with him. Does he remember before, when we were younger? When did it all come back to him? As my mind scans the moments we’ve spent together, I realise what I’ve actually heard; he doesn’t know. Doesn’t remember that summer evening.
‘Or maybe you’re good at lying to yourself.’ His tone is soft and pondering, his fingers brushing my shoulder as he reaches to twirl a lock of my hair. ‘I wonder what else you’re lying about.’ My stomach plummets even as my fingers tighten against the elderly frame. ‘I know your reactions, at least, were genuine. Some things you just can’t fake.’
‘Are those your professional observations?’ The words sound cool—cooler than I feel.
‘If by professional, you mean skilled.’ Loosening my hair from his fingers, he trails the back of them lightly down my arm. ‘Like I know you tremble in your wanting. Like how your pussy is wet and aching right now.’
‘I—if you touch me, I’ll scream.’ The words sound more like a soft invitation, all husky and sexual, like my brain has detached itself from my vocal cords.
‘Oh, titch.’ His chuckle is soft and almost admonishing; a low, gravelly sound that causes a clench between my thighs. ‘I know you will.’
I want to be strong—to pull away. Tell him he’s arrogant and presumptuous and way off the mark.
But I can’t. I can’t make myself.
And I really don’t want to lie again.
‘You say we don’t know each other. What you’re really thinking is, we know each other better than we should.’
I shiver because I know the memory of him, perhaps the feel of him; the light touch of his fingers and the thick drag of him between my legs. And this—this is how I want to know him again.
‘But I promise,’ he continues, ‘we don’t know each other nearly as well as we will by the end of today.’ His fingers find me at both chin and hip, at the latter squeezing tightly, the former turning my face gently to his. His lips touch mine; just one delicate kiss. Delicate but not at all tentative. ‘And now you’re thinking.’ Grey eyes stare down at me, the heat of his words whispered against my lips, air kisses that make me long to swallow his breath. ‘Shut the fuck up, Rory, and make me scream.’
‘You’re pretty full of yourself.’
His smile is wide and unashamed. ‘You really should stop setting these up for me.’
