Chapter Forty-Two
I bury my head under the pillow, the dawn call to prayer interrupting my subliminal ramblings.So much for it becoming a background noise.Taking a peek at my alarm, I can’t believe the time; I’ve been out almost eleven hours!
Sliding my hand across the mattress, I find only cold where another lay. In the dark, he’d slipped from the bed murmuring softly spoken words I wasn’t quite conscious enough to grasp. Rolling over, I clutch the pillow that had earlier held his head, recalling his touch on my skin, his whispered words as elusive as summer mist.
Outside, the prayers melismas draw out, the light growing stronger in my room. I take my hat off to the pious of the neighbourhood, for sure. I can’t imagine anyone encouraging me out of bed at this hour with the wordsprayer is better than sleep, no matter how beautifully it’s sung. I love my sleep, can’t imagine anything better. Though that’s not quite true lately. Sex is certainly better than sleep, or at least it is with Kai.
Stretching out across the bed, each vertebra unlocks and presses into the mattress, the embers of Kai’s touch flaring and igniting a blaze of pleasure across my skin. It’s so much more than just sex with him. His commanding words pull me into deeper realms, my body responding to his call. Something so seductive that, just reflecting on it, renders me into a boneless mass.
Here, in the warmth of my bed, I know I want more. And that’s a thought as scary as all hell.
A faint scent of coffee in the air catches my attention, and I pull myself up against the pillows. On the nightstand is a small, brown take-away bag with the words ‘Eat Me’ jotted on the front in a masculine hand. The bag contains a pastry and a note, the writing indented on the thin napkin and showing through from the other side.
Habibti,
Do you live in some kind of kitchen commune or is there a food thief in your building? Are you even aware your kitchen is bereft of food?
There is, now, coffee in the kitchen. You may thank Rashid for braving the drive-through at 4am, though the idea was mine. My choice of beverage reflected how I felt this morning, leaving your bed. Dark and bitter. Yours, on the other hand, should be sweet, hot and creamy, and a bit like yourself. Hopefully, it will still be palatable by the time you leave your state of hibernation.
Sweetheart, you are exquisite and my day will be consumed by images of last night. Your body’s soft curves and stretches, your sweet skin and lips. As I watched your back arch, your hands grasping for purchase against the wood, my heart twisted into impossible shapes.
You will be my undoing, of that I’m sure.
K
P.S. The croissant is a sweet for my sweet and the key is also for you.
P.P.S. I’ve booked a table for this evening. Rashid will collect you at 8.
Sure enough, on the nightstand is a key-card, his hotel’s logo emblazoned across the front. It may not be the key to his heart, but it’s definitely a commitment.Of sorts.Tearing into the end of the croissant, I smile. If I’ll be his undoing, maybe it’s time to tell him I’m already undone.
I drag myself out of bed eventually, popping the remainder of the cold croissant into the microwave, the almondy aroma making my mouth water before the thirty seconds are up. My coffee is cold, but that’s no surprise. I can heat that, too, because, yes, I am a philistine.I flick idly through my phone as the cup revolves on the glass plate. I have a text from Shane’s number, which I delete without a second glance, secure in the knowledge he’s out of my life for good. I also have one from Niamh; an opportunity to tease me about our not so subtle exit yesterday. I find I don’t care what was said for a change. It’s almost liberating.
I have a pastry from an absolute dish and don’t need other’s opinions.Too lame? I thought it was puntastic myself.
I text Niamh back and mention the possibility of Kai tagging along tonight. Some would say cowardice, but I’ll be sure to call her later and tell her we’re meeting somewhere else now. Fun.
Adding a further splash of milk to my coffee, I’m still smiling over Kai’s note as I take a sip. Though palatable, I’m inclined to think I prefer my men like my coffee: strong, dark and with a fine grind.
I spend the remainder of the day working on the coming week’s school prep, before heading to the bathroom for the equally important primping and preening prep. Never mind the old adagewear clean knickers in case you get run over. I’ve learned a girl needs to be prepared for all eventualities. Including sleepovers.
