Then he did. Hard and fast, where I clung to the kitchen sink, my forehead pressed against cool metal, and his breaths mingled with my roars.
Then he came inside of me, with a low growl that prickled my skin. My hand slapping against my thigh as I got myself off. My seed all over the floor. The cupboard door. My hand.
His mouth against my back.
“Stay,” he begged.
I wanted to say yes. But I couldn’t. So I said nothing. And that was the worst part of this.
Knowing I couldn’t do just that.
Chapter 22
Fox
Monday seemed like a blur, where I tried to behave normally when all I wanted to do was cry. My bed was still a tangled mess of sheets, a pillow still on the floor. It was far too obvious, the way he’d left my life in disarray. The living room, the one I always kept in a pristine state? Everything was in the wrong place, the cushions stacked on a chair, next to where we’d snuggled on the sofa. Even the cups he’d left in the sink had made me choke up.
He’d left me on Sunday, before lunch, walked out the door and refused to let me take him down to his rental car. Goodbyes didn’t work for either of us, so…he’d kissed me without any words and left, and I’d been numb ever since. Hence I’d fled to my office, hoping today would miraculously be Thursday when the cleaners would come and turn the place back into something I recognised.
I didn’t voice that out loud, instead tapped away at my computer, hoping Mr Terrence could leave me be for a while and busy himself with the exam schedules and ringing the school nurse for Mr Odesango, who once again had managed to get an allergic reaction to the school washing powder.
And I had phone calls to make.
And a shopping trip to plan. And all I wanted to do was get in my car and drive to the airport and go to some village near Brighton and find Noah Fairweather and drag him back here.
“We’ve got an issue.” Mr Terrence. Solid bloke. Fixer of…issues.
“Yes?” I said, hoping my voice sounded light and breezy. I felt like I was choking on stupid tears. On the verge of an inevitable breakdown.
“Butcher damaged his door. Removed his name plaque with a screwdriver, and replaced it with…marker pen.”
“What?” I said. I wasn’t quite following.
“He removed the plaque and scribbled on the door. Gave himself a new name.”
Okay. I could see what was coming here.
“And that is?”
“He wants to be known as Bailey Fairweather. Not sure of the connection there.”
Okay. Time to be honest. Rein things in.
Oh fuck. Fucking hell on a motorbike or whatever.
“Mr Fairweather is my current partner. Bailey met him over the weekend when we walked the dogs.” Half-truths. Enough of them. “He must have made an impression.”
“Well.” Terrence smiled. “Not quite the story Butcher went with, but whatever. I think words might have to be had.”
“I’m on it, Terrence. Trust me.”
“The board has requested a meeting this week. Thursday morning.”
“I’m aware.” I was. And I was still putting off ringing Aberdeen Social Services because,What the actual fuck, Bailey Butcher?
Also, I needed to get a grip. And a cup of tea. And stop this ridiculous pining.
I was pining. There was no denying it. I needed him and wanted him, and he wasn’t here and it hurt my head more than I wanted to admit. And here was Emma bringing me a fresh cup of tea and with a side of demands.
