“I can’t believe I’m starving again. Seems all we’ve done is eat.”
He grins. “It’s definitely not all we’ve done.”
My cheeks flush, and I stifle a yawn. This has been the sexiest date of my life, no-holds-barred. It feels like one of the longest nights of my life, and yet I still don’t want it to end.
He opens the door that leads us to the back of the house, and from here, I get a clear glimpse of the little chalets, twinkling under a night sky. I sigh with contentment.
“This is mine,” he says with a note of pride. “Come this way.”
A stone pathway to the left leads us down to one of the small houses, but when we approach it seems much larger than I anticipated.
“It’s adorable,” I breathe. “Like a fairy cottage or something.”
He smiles. “Thanks. Adorable fairy cottage definitely wasn’t what I was going for, but I’ll take it.”
I smile bashfully and take his proffered hand.
It’s dark and cool when he opens the door. He flicks a light switch, and overhead lights blink on. I yawn widely, but don’t want to pause even for a second, because I want to take in every single detail of his home.
It’s a bit messier than his flat in the city, making me wonder how much time he spends in either and if he has paid staff to clean for him. A few pairs of shoes are kicked off by the door, a haphazard pile of boots and leather, and there’s a small entryway withhooks for coats and hats. A carpet runner leads to the main room.
There’s a fireplace and built-in shelving around it with books on either side. The mantle houses an assortment of candles and a few picture frames, though I can’t see the pictures from where I stand. There’s a living room with comfortable-looking, rustic furniture, a farm-style kitchen, and to the right, an open door that I assume is his bedroom.
I yawn again, suddenly completely exhausted.
“Alright, love,” he says, holding my hand. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Never in my life has anyone cared for me like this. And I have to admit… it feels nice.
I nod. “This has been a really amazing night, Mac,” I say on another yawn. “But I’m shattered.”
I’m nervous about what the morning will bring, if I’m honest. I don’t know what will happen next.
Will his family know who I am? Will they have grievances against my father, or my brother? I feel I’m woefully unprepared to avoid the job my father commissioned me with. I don't know what they know about me, or what their prejudices may be against my family. Or really anything about them.
I’m tired, though. So tired. I’ve eaten delicious, rich food, climaxed so many times I’ve lost count, and I was up early this morning getting ready for the day.
So I take the things he gives me, and go to the bathroom to prepare for bed. A little thrill of excitement runs through me when I flick on the overhead light. Everything about this place is perfectly well-appointed. The bathroom is large and spacious,with a circular whirlpool tub, a small standing shower, and a huge mirror and vanity. It's immaculately clean, though a little untidy with a few towels here and there, and Mac’s toiletries on the counter.
There's a razor, toothbrush, some cologne, and deodorant, all black and manly and faintly scented like him. I like looking at them, as if it’s somehow intimate.
There isn't a feminine touch in this entire place, and I like it. I wash my face in the sink, using a bar of soap. It’s so nice being away from home, I don’t even miss my own toiletries and little bottles of face wash and moisturizer.
I hate my home. I hate living there. And this is the first time in my life I’ve gotten a night away.
I brush my teeth, exhaustion suffusing my limbs, as I hear Mac getting ready behind me. I turn to see his bare back, all muscled and inked, flexing as he takes off his shoes. Something stirs low in my belly, something like arousal but not quite, more like desire muted by exhaustion. Still, my heart thumps a little faster.
I suppose I get to sleep beside him tonight, and that will hardly be a hardship.
When I’ve cleaned up, I run my fingers through my hair and dress in one of his t-shirts. I don’t miss the way he eyes me, the way he stifles a groan when I shimmy out of my knickers.
“I’m too tired for any funny business,” I say, wagging my finger at him.
He grins. “Darlin’, you wouldn’t have to actually doanything.”
As eager as I am to please him, I like the sound of… not doing anything.
“You mean like submitting…?”
