The wind picks up, the already grey sky grows darker and grumbles, followed by a big clap of thunder.
She flinches. Raindrops fall, hitting my cheek, her nose, and before we can move, it has turned into a heavy downpour. Her mouth opens from the onslaught of droplets, and she blinks up at me. My stomach tightens.
I squeeze her hips, leaning down as she’s reaching up, and our mouths collide. I reach around, cup her arse, and then pull her up; she wraps her legs around me. Without breaking the kiss, I walk us back into the kitchen, sitting her on top of the counter.
And then I allow myself to get lost in her taste.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
RACHEL
It takes me two trips from the car to get all my new art supplies into my flat. I’m desperate to paint—it’s therapy for me, and it’s been too long. A sketch pad will scratch the itch, but not numb it.
Olly was the perfect gentleman last weekend. He held me in his bed all night, even after what happened with Marcus. I didn’t have my class with him Wednesday. Everything has been full-on between our shifts and Molly. But she’s with Marcus this weekend, so we have a date later. Sophie couldn’t believe it when I told her what happened, and to be honest, neither can I. It’s a lot to try to process.
I set up my easel, not even bothering to change before unscrewing the cap of the oil paint on an inhale. Instant relaxation. Grabbing my palette, I dollop on a pea-size amount and add all the colours I need before reaching for my brush.
The colours come alive before me. Every stroke relieves some of the stress I’ve been under the past couple of days, weeks.
A buzzing catches my attention, and I startle before jumping up and jogging out to the intercom. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Shit!” Olly.
“Everything okay?”
I shake my head. “Sorry, I’ll buzz you up.”
I unlatch the door and wait as Olly comes into view. He looks strapping in his tight fitted jeans and shirt rolled up to the elbows. I let out a contented sigh, and he looks up, smiling when he sees me, cocking an eyebrow.
“I’m so sorry. I was painting and lost track of time.” I wave over my dishevelled appearance with my paintbrush in hand.
He approaches me, though it’s more like a strut, and stops barely an inch from my chest. I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. “Don’t apologise,” he says, leaning in for a kiss, which quickly becomes more than a hello kiss. When he pulls back, I blink a few times and bite my lip.
“Come in, let me quickly go get ready,” I say as he steps into the hallway.
“What are you working on?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.
I wave my hand about, forgetting I have the paintbrush in my hand, and swipe him across the chest with it, covering him with a line of oil paint.
“Oh, fuck, shit damn!”
I quickly rush around him and drop the damned brush on top of my palette, then dash back to unbutton his shirt.
His eyes skirt to mine, his hands covering my trembling fingers. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he says, finishing unbuttoning his shirt before slipping it over his shoulders.
I can hardly swallow as he stands before me bare-chested. I’ve seen him like this before, but back then, my mind wasn’t consumed with lustful thoughts. My cheeks heat, probably giving me away. I rip the shirt from his fingers, then jog into the kitchen for a bottle of rubbing alcohol. I rub it into the stain before shoving it into the washing machine and switching it on.
Strong, bare arms wrap around me from behind. My heart beats wildly. “I’ve never been stripped of my clothes so fast before,” he says, chuckling into my ear. His lips skim down my throat and a whimper escapes me.
“I’m sorry,” I reply, but there is no remorse in my words with his lips caressing my skin.
I feel his hardness and push myself back, into him. He groans, and I turn in his arms. He lowers his head, captures my mouth with his, and I am lost. When he lifts me, I wrap my legs around his waist. He sets me on the counter, but I grip him tighter, not wanting to lose the friction between us.
“Ahh, Olly,” I sigh into his mouth as he grinds into the exact spot I want him the most.
I don’t know if he’s getting harder or I’m becoming more sensitive, but with every movement, my body is building into a climax, and I know it’s coming. Still, I can’t seem to stop myself as I rock into him, desperate for there to be no clothes between us. “Don’t stop,” I say on a sigh as he continues to devour my mouth and rock into me.
