Chapter 13
GREG
I wake the following morning aching in places I’d forgotten I had muscles. My abs ache, my thighs are stiff, and I’m pretty sure I grazed my left knee during last night’s fuckfest.What a night it was. We’d moved from the living room floor up to the bedroom where she’s straddled my legs and, before I could speak or even sigh, bent at the waist, one hand steadying herself on my thighs. My abs tighten with a twinge as I recall the soft brush of her hair as, in the darkness, she’d taken me into her mouth, making those sweet, sweet noises while she tongued me like my cock was the best tasting dessert there is. The throb in my balls is like hot pins as I close my eyes and remember her hot lips and her warm grip, and how her tongue had worked the tip. And then, when I could stand it no more, I’d pulled her onto my lap, and in the darkness, she’d rode me to heaven and back.
Fucking perfect.Perfect fucking.
We hadn’t closed the drapes last night, which allowed me to study her this morning in the grey morning light. The splay of her dark hair across the pillows, her pink painted fingernails clutching the duvet just under her chin. Her head is almost submerged between a gap in the pillows, her body curled in a ball in the centre of the bed. Meanwhile, I lie almost on the right-hand edge. I’m not complaining because she’d spent half the night with her head nestled between my shoulder and chest, and the other half with my big spoon junk pressed into her little spoon backside, her ample tits held tight in my hands. She’s a snuggler, this one, much like myself. Though I expect I must’ve rolled off to the edge of the mattress overheated at some point. I slept as well in a long time as I have with this woman in my arms.
When was the last time I actually slept with a woman? I can remember the last time I fucked one before Isobel, casual relationships having become my forte.
But slept? Maybe the last time was with my ex.
Has it really been that long?
I stretch out a little, scratching my heavily bristled cheek as I slide my other arm under my head, not yet ready to relinquish my view of her. I read somewhere once that sex and sleep are two opposing passions. I don’t remember the exact quote, but it was something along the lines of love and sex being mutually exclusive, yet the desire to share a bed with someone is undoubtedly linked to love.
But I’m pretty certain you can’t fall in love with a woman in two nights. Maybe it’s more the idea of falling in love with love again. Being with someone. Loving the effect of waking in the dark and knowing you’re not alone. Because for three years, I’ve slept alone without thinking about it. Sleep is sleep. So long as I’m getting enough, I’m not dying, and I’m not murdering anyone. But for two nights, I’ve had this woman in my bed, and now I’m projecting how strange it’ll feel when she’s no longer here. When the snow has gone and we’ve each returned to our regular lives, and she’s no longer here to climb into bed with, pressing her frozen feet around mine. When she’s no longer whispering silly things in the darkness right before we fall asleep.
I’ll miss her purrs of sleepy contentment, for sure.
The thought is like a heavy ache in my gut, an ache distracted only by the warm ball of woman beside me.She hasn’t gone yet. But she will be soon.She releases a cute snuffling snore, then stretches, brushing the dark strands from her cheeks with the backs of her hands. An angel between my sheets. A fairy brought by the snow.
I’d best make the most of her while I can.
‘Morning.’ My voice is hoarse with disuse, not emotion. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Beside me, Isobel blinks slowly, her lashes still drugged with sleep, her still kiss-swollen lips not yet ready to speak. But she smiles, and that’s enough for me, even as she burrows deeper into the duvet until only her blue eyes are visible. Her lashes cast shadows against her cheeks, her dark hair stark against the pillows.
‘Fancy some breakfast?’ She shakes her head. ‘You can answer, you know?’
From beneath the covers comes the mumbled answer of, ‘Morning breath.’ Then, ‘Why aren’t I wearing any clothes?’ Her eyes twinkle, those delphiniums blues brimming with mischief.
‘ ’Cause I burned them all. You don’t need them anymore.’
‘Because who needs clothes in the depths of winter.’ She rolls her eyes so hard, I’m surprised they don’t roll out of her head.
‘Exactly.’
Her hand stretches out from the covers and draws her fingers down the side of my face. ‘You do the mountain man look well.’
‘You like that, do you?’ I lean into her touch, allowing her to stroke me like a cat.
‘It looks good on you. All manly and rugged.’
‘It looks good onyou,’ I return. ‘Especially when framed by your gorgeous thighs.’
‘We’re turning into a couple of sycophants.’
‘Pretty sure I haven’t shown you my sicko pants yet.’
‘I’m not sure I want to know.’
‘Don’t worry. The spiky fuckers are in the cupboard along with my sex swing.’
‘A man of hidden depths?’
‘And creepy fantasies. Each one of them, including you. I’ll have to tell you about them sometime. Maybe over a beer and another game of Scrabble.’
