Chapter Twenty-Four
Fin
It’searly morning and still dark as I wake, struck by a strange sense of longing yet a hazy sense of fulfilment. I’m warm, snuggled up in a comfortable bed and feeling pleasantly tangled, both in the physical and mental sense. It’s another day, but as I stir awake, it feels different somehow. I can’t recall the last time I’ve woken feeling so... content. As I stretch out, the sleepy haze covering me clears and a sense ofwhat the fuckprevails, because it’s not only the bedding that moves with me, but also an arm settles solidly around my waist. A moment later the arm hauls me—and there’s no other word for it—against a warm, solid chest.
And I suddenly remember I’m not alone in this bed.
Oh, fuck. I’m not even in my own bed; the comfort factor should’ve been my first clue.
Rory.Hell’s bells. Do I have no restraint when it comes to this man?
The man in question rolls us both, pulling me until almost the entirety of my body is either against his chest or between his legs. And I’m not the only one that’s rigid, though in my case, I literally can’t move. Shocked, yes, but I couldn’t move if I tried, squashed tightly against an expanse of muscle and rock hard morning wood. Then wrapped like a mummy in strong arms, though barely any sheet.
Echoes of yesterday begin to flit through my mind. And in between my legs. In the kitchen of the big house; here in this bed.I’m surprised I’m not in bits.But thewhole situation is disturbing in so many other ways.
Firstly, I’ve slept right through the night. Something I’m still only managing with the aid of sedatives. And I’ve slept a whole night without registering his presence—and I’m the lightest of sleepers, usually. And third, I’m not a cuddler, so why is it I’m wrapped around him like a pastry blanket around a pig?
God, the situation is so surreal.
Yes, so the minute I saw him on the beach, it probably meant I was going to fuck him. Again. I hadn’t meant to. Okay, I probably had, but I hadn’t planned on staying, going as far as to plan my exit around the early morning tide times, even if this meant I’d sort of be leaving him in my place.Wouldn’t I?
Stupid waking fail.
Tentatively, I move my arms slowly, pushing up onto one palm and one forearm either side of his waist. The bed dips a little and I freeze. Not that I’m trying to creep out—I don’t think—especially as it looks like I’ll be seeing him again.
Okay, so maybe I won’t be seeing as much of him as I am right now.
What I mean is, I guess I’ll be seeing more of him fully clothed.
Working.
Not that seeing him right now isn’t good.
In fact, there’s an awful lot of goodness to see.
From my precarious position, my eyes track up his body, not quite reaching as far as planned. Blame his stomach, not mine; the fact that he’s all hard ridges and muscles, and that his chest is impossibly firm. I know I shouldn’t let my gaze venture further down...
None of these observations are new, all being discovered by both sight and clutching fingertips, but seeing the splendour all over again is a bit like Christmas in July.A wonderfully abundant second chance.
He has a total gym god bod. As well as the appropriate muscle mass, he has that light golden tan those gym worshippers all seem to sport, only his body has more colour by way of a tattoo gun. Black and red images swirl up both arms and one shoulder; a great deal of itDía de Muertosdesigns; skulls and luxurious haired women, swirling ribbon and flowers, from what I can tell. It’s sort of mad, yet beautiful at the same time.
My original intention sidelined, my gaze makes a snail’s progression to his face as I take mental snapshots of this canvas, while delighting in sensory memories of last night.Of he and I.
Cursive script curls around his neck and shoulder, winding around to his back. Even craning my neck, his position is such that I can’t quite tell what it says.Though I’m more than curious.His hair is dishevelled just enough for a photo shoot, his sharp jaw covered in a sandy stubble heavier than last night, and his cool grey eyes are open—open!
‘Oh, f—fudge.’
He doesn’t look fully awake, now rubbing the back of one hand across his brow while his other grabs a handful of the ass that it’s resting on.That would be my ass. His mouth opens suddenly, flashing a set of white teeth as he makes a noise someplace between a growl and a yawn as his lower body pushes upwards against me.
‘Mornin’, titch.’ His voice, thick with sleep and disuse, rumbles against me; warm morning wood twitching against my skin.Maybe less like a pig in blanket and more like a baseball bat.
And, holy shit, fully hard, I mean, awake now.
‘Going somewhere?’ I’m reminded of my position; I may be plastered against him, but I’m also in a sort of half push-up position. ‘Or are you thinking of getting on again?’
‘Getting it on again?’ I repeat, engaging in a brain-to-mouth function fail.
‘Getting onit.’ His gaze flicks down, my own following, my next words addressed to his dick.
