Chapter 23
A PLACE IN THE SUN
MICK
Waiting on the street near Michael’s estate, with a suitcase by my feet (not mine–I couldn’t stand to look at the bloody thing–but one of Michael’s, which was much nicer) my belly was swarming with butterflies. Big ones in hobnail boots. We were about to go away for the weekend, just the two of us.
I’d never been on holiday with a fella before.
Unless you counted the summer before last when Tommy and I rented a caravan by the seaside and got beaten up by a gang of rockers, which I did not.
It felt very grown up and serious to be spending the weekend together, and I loved it.
Maybe I should have been nervous, or worried that things were moving so quickly between us–whatever “things” were because we hadn’t actually talked about it at all.
We’d sort of fallen into whatever this was after we shagged again. It was another belter of a night, and the next morning when I woke up with him in my arms, it felt right. Not just the sex. Holding him, waking up with him, making him toast, and smiling across the breakfast table at him.
After that, it was just the new normal for us, and it was so good.
There was sex–oh so much sex–and it never stopped being fucking fantastic.
And there was the other stuff too. Coming back to the house around the same time, me after hours of fruitless job searching, him after cutting hair all day.
Whoever got in first put the kettle on, but Michael made dinner every night because I didn’t even know how to boil an egg.
Maybe he’d teach me? Then we’d watch television, or listen to music, or sit together reading.
It was… everything.
Everything I’d wanted since my best friend shacked up with his man was right here, with Michael.
I couldn’t believe it’d taken me so long to see how brilliant he was.
We’d always got on, had a laugh, flirted a bit.
I’d always thought he was handsome, but I’d never thought about him as someone I wanted to be with.
Until now. Now I really bloody did see him like that.
And it seemed–touch wood–like he saw me that way too.
When I thought about it, Michael made a lot of sense as my…
boyfriend? Partner? Other half? Hell, the word didn’t matter, but Michael was it.
If I’d thought about it, he always had been a great choice.
Older fellas were already my preference; they knew what they were doing–in life and in bed.
They’d lived a bit more and had stuff to talk about and share with you, and they were–usually–more secure in themselves.
It wasn’t just his age that made Michael right for me, now I considered it.
He dressed immaculately, in a relaxed, comfortable way that the younger mods couldn’t manage.
He was taller than me but lighter and thinner, which was the perfect combination.
He had excellent taste in music. He was funny, clever, liked a drink but didn’t depend on it for a good time.
If you’d have put everything about him down on paper, I would have jumped at the chance of being something serious with him.
For some reason though, I’d never looked at him that way.
Not until that first night together. Not until we kissed.
Everything changed when we kissed, even if I hadn’t realised it right away.
A loud, reverberating sound filled the air and snapped me out of my daydream.
Now, I wasn’t much of a car lover. I enjoyed walking and I’d probably never be able to afford a decent one, so I didn’t pay them much attention.
Plus Davey chewing your ear off for hours at a time about his Ford fucking Cortina was enough to put you off for life.
I could tinker with the engines in the vans but didn’t know anything about cars.
However, the one that pulled up in front of me was a fucking beauty. Green-grey paintwork shone in the early morning sunlight, and the chrome actually dazzled me a bit. Even I recognised the silver coloured statuette pouncing off the bonnet–this car was a Jaguar.
Fucking Hell. Michael told me Seb was going to lend us his fancy car to drive to the Cotswolds, but I had no idea it would be this fancy.
The roof of the convertible car was down, and you could see how supple and soft the crimson leather seats were even before you touched them. The whole thing was a wonder to behold, all smooth curves and sleek lines.
On top of that, and the best thing about the vision in front of me, was how fucking beautiful Michael looked in the driver’s seat.
He wore a green suede jacket that complemented the colour of the car so well I wondered if he’d planned it.
His crisp white shirt glowed in the sunshine and the silver cravat with details picked out in dark red was perfect.
On his hands, he wore tan leather driving gloves that, for some reason, sent all the blood to my dick.
Who knew driving gloves were sexy? Not me, but I knew I’d beg him to keep them on when we got to the cottage.
When the car stopped, he pulled his dark glasses down and peered over them with a greedy look, as though I was the one that looked like a bloody film star.
Leaping over the door without opening it–because he wasn’t driving me wild enough as it was–he hopped onto the pavement, picked up our bag, and put it in the boot of the car.
Then the considerate, sexy arsehole opened the car door for me.
That was it. I was gone for this man. I loved how he treated me like someone important and special without making me feel like a kid.
He opened my door because he cared for me and respected me.
It made me feel like an equal. Like a partner.
When he got back in the car, he opened his door this time and I felt a little disappointed.
“Oh,” I said with a frown. “I liked it when you jumped over the door. It was sexy.” I spoke quietly, even though it was early and there was nobody around to hear us.
He chuckled. “That’s exactly why I did it. Unfortunately, I felt something twinge a little, and I thought it would be better if I didn’t put my back out before our dirty weekend away.” He winked at me over his sunglasses, and I laughed.
“Yes, you’re right. Poor old man, damaging yourself to impress me.”
“Oi!” He slapped me on the thigh, which only made my dick twitch. “Less of the old. I can still keep up with you. All night, if you like.”
The engine purred to life, covering the sound of my moan.
“How long to the cottage?” I whined.
“A little over three hours.”
“Drive quickly. Three hours with a hard-on is going to kill me.”
I didn’t die, but it was touch and go for a minute there.
Michael spent the whole drive teasing me to the edge of my sanity.
Groping me whenever there was a long, straight stretch of road and he didn’t need to change gear.
Telling me about how secluded the house was, how big the bed was, and how there was a stream that we could skinny dip in.
Simply existing in all his magnificent glory, gripping the steering wheel with those sexy driving gloves–making me wish he was gripping something else.
When we stopped at a service station to use the loos, it took all of my self-control–and the fear of getting arrested–not to haul him into a cubicle and have my wicked way with him.
Nearly four hours after we set off, we were driving down a dirt track towards our home for the weekend. Navigating with the road atlas and the instructions Seb had written had calmed my throbbing dick for the last twenty minutes of the journey. Even I didn’t get turned on by the A to Z.
His arse in tight beige slacks as he bent to get the bags out of the boot perked it right up. Smacking him on the bum, I leaned my head on his shoulder.
“Get in the house now, so I can do very dirty things to you.”
Retrieving the key from his inside pocket, he opened the door, and I was just about to start ripping his clothes off when I heard a feminine voice say, “Good morning gentlemen, you must be Mr Prentiss and Mr MacDonald?”
A short, plump woman with white hair pulled back into a tight bun stood in the entrance smiling widely.
“What the–” I started to say, but Michael cut me off.
“Hello, you must be Mrs Tarfel, the housekeeper?”
Oh must she? He might have bloody warned me. She very nearly got an X-rated live show. Thank heavens I hadn’t actually started mauling him. I did not want to spend this holiday in the jail cell of a rural police station.
“That’s right,” she beamed. “I’ve just finished getting the place ready for you. I hope everything’s to your liking. I’ve made up the beds in the big bedroom and the guest bedroom. It is just the two of you, yes?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Michael nodded.
“That’s what I thought. There’s wood in the basket by the fire, and more in the shed in the garden.
You’ll be fine in the daytime, but it gets cold at night, even at this time of year.
There’s milk, cheese, butter, and some other bits in the pantry.
I’m afraid we don’t have a refrigerator, but the larder stays nice and cold.
I’ve baked you a loaf of bread as well. I’ll bring more milk and bread tomorrow evening.
If you run out of anything, the village shop is two miles away in Bicklesworth. ”
“Thank you, Mrs Tarfel, that all sounds wonderful.”
“You’re very welcome. Mr Hankley is a good employer, and he’s not here a lot, so I’m more than happy to look after his friends once in a while. I’ll not bother you again, except to bring the milk tomorrow.”
She took off her apron and picked up an enormous handbag. “Have a nice weekend, gentlemen.” She smiled at us and let herself out.
“You could have warned me we’d have company,” I groaned once she’d gone. “Especially as I just told you I was about to do very bad things to you.” Remembering that I had been about to pin his hands above his head and–