Chapter 24
GREG
I lower my head, my mind whispering her name. How can this be so difficult? It’s only been a few days. I’ve had longer holiday relationships than this—women I’d barely thought of once I’d left the hotel. So why is every molecule of my being screaming to take her in my arms?
I can’t help wanting her, but it is wrong to keep her. But maybe, just maybe, we can do this one more time. Get lost in each other for a little longer. Prolong the pain of our parting.
One more kiss.
One more fuck.
One more time.
Turning in her arms, I slide my hands down her back, pushing our inevitable parting away for a little longer as she returns my embrace. I want to say that I’ll miss her, but what I should offer her are reassurances that she’ll be fine.
That this is for the best.
For both of us.
Instead, I do neither of those things as I slant my mouth over hers. It’s barely a whisper of a kiss, but no accident, her body roused by touch. One kiss becomes two, two becoming and endless stream as she opens her mouth, accepting my tongue and offering me her own. She whimpers as I band my arms tightly around her and back her away from the car, slamming the door closed by some form of automated action.The car isn’t in the scope of my focus now.
The soles of her boots shuffle and hiss with resistance against the snowy ground, if there is such a thing, a path of compacted earth which is now just wet and muddy. My own steps are more solid, more purposeful, as I take us in the direction of the front door. I groan as her cold hands slip under my shirt, my abs contracting with need as much as the shock of her touch.
We stumble at the doorstep, her back hitting the blue painted wood as I realise the thing has swung shut.
‘Turn the knob,’ I growl into her neck, pressuring the soft patch of skin with my teeth. One hand slips from my abdomen to grab the denim over my stiff cock. My growl turns in part to an indulgent chuckle. ‘The wrong knob, Isobel.’
‘It’s the one I want.’ Her hand presses my length, teasing with more than just her words. The sweet vapour of her breath is like a cloud between us.
‘And I’m gonnae give it to you.’ I drag my hands up her body, cupping her breasts as I coerce her nipples to hard points beneath her fluffy sweater. I’m mad for her—I won’t ever be able to touch enough of her to satisfy my hunger. ‘But not here, out in the cold.’
‘Tell me you’ll see me again,’ she coaxes, her words husky with desire.
‘Blackmailing wench.’
‘I prefer master negotiator.’
‘My God, what flavour of torture are you?’
‘The rewarding, persistent kind.’
‘I’ll give you persistent.’ With very little thought, I bring my thigh tight between her legs in an echo of that first morning in the kitchen.
‘Just think of all the good things, Greg. All the good times you’ll be missing.We’llbe missing.’
‘Why are you such a pain in my arse?’ The noise that sounds from the back of my throat is part plea, part frustrated growl as I feed my hands under her sweater, my fingers spanning her ribs.
As she rocks her hot centre over me, her eyes are glazed, and her breath is ragged. I feed my thumbs into the cups of her bra, releasing her nipples to the frigid air. Her tits are high and tight as I lick the hard buds each in turn, my desire hot against the cold air.
Her body shakes, though with cold or desire, it’s hard to tell, as I rub my thigh against her pussy, and she moans like she’s already on the brink of climax.
‘Open the door, Isobel. Open the door before I—’
‘Unhand that women!’ From behind me, a strident yet theatrical voice calls.
‘Mo... ?’ Isobel’s gaze immediately moves from languid and lust filled as she rides my thigh to suddenly a little stupefied.
‘I always wanted to say that,’ the voice adds a little more excitedly. ‘I think I came over all Noël Coward there for a minute.’
