Chapter 23 #2
“I didn’t bloody know she was going to be here! Sebastian told me that there was a housekeeper called Mrs Tarfel but that we wouldn’t see her, because she cleans on Fridays and Mondays. She clearly wanted to make sure the house was perfect for us.”
For the first time, I looked around the quaint house.
Flagstone floors were covered in thick rugs and curtains just as heavy adorned the windows.
One wall had a large fireplace built into it, and the beautiful tawny-coloured Cotswold stones were left bare.
The other walls were plastered and painted in a faint peach colour.
The furniture was mismatched, but each piece was luxurious and expensive. Appraising them with my professional eye, I judged most of them as antiques. An overstuffed sofa faced the fire, flanked by two huge armchairs that looked big enough for two–I’d have to test that theory later.
“It is perfect, Michael.” I strolled over to him and held his hands.
“Thank you for bringing me here.” Leaning forward, I placed a soft kiss on his lips.
Intent on returning to the mood in the car, I dragged his body towards me, slid my hands over his narrow hips, and rested them in my new favourite spot–Michael’s pert arse.
His little squeak became a moan as I kneaded his bum.
Scuppering my plans entirely, my stomach rumbled loud enough to wake the dead. We both laughed, then he wriggled out of my grip.
“I’ll make some lunch while you take the bags into the bedroom and unpack.”
Attempting to ignore my hunger, I wrapped my arms around him from behind and put my head on his shoulder.
“I’m not hungry.” It came out whinier than I’d meant, so I tried to sexy it up a bit by nibbling on his ear. “For food,” I whispered in my most seductive rasp. My stomach objected strongly and growled loudly again. Bloody traitor.
“Oh yes, very believable, darling.” He squirmed out of my grasp, twisted around, and patted my cheek. “Now be a good boy and hang up our things so they don’t get wrinkled while I find us something to eat.”
Stretching my hands out I tried to grab him again, but he hurried off to the kitchen. “Then you can have me for afters.” He blew me a kiss and pulled the bread onto a board and started slicing it.
“That’s not fair. I’m going to have a hard-on while I unpack the clothes,” I groaned. He didn’t answer but just laughed. Taking the suitcase and smaller bag up the narrow stairs, I smiled the biggest smile to myself. It was going to be one hell of a weekend.
After doorstop sandwiches filled with delicious cheese, ham, and Branston pickle, Michael declared that we ought to go for a walk.
He claimed that we should at least take a look at the beautiful countryside as we’d come all this way.
I was convinced he was a sadist and just enjoyed prolonging my torture of not being able to have him.
“I’ll admit it,” I said as we strolled down a lane with trees on either side that met above us in a leafy canopy. “This is lovely.”
“I told you. Aren’t you glad we’re enjoying the clean country air and not just spending the entire time holed up in the bedroom.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Staying in the bedroom for the whole weekend sounds bloody brilliant to me. There’s a four poster bed in there. Do you know all the trouble we could get up to in a four poster bed?”
His cheeks flushed.
“What’s got you all hot under the collar?” I asked. “Are you embarrassed or are you horny?” I kept my voice low–mostly in case anyone overheard us, but also because I knew he liked my husky voice.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” His cheeks got even darker.
“You’ve gone bright pink, dear.” I said with a wicked smile on my face.
“I’m sure I have not.”
“You have! You’re the same colour as those flowers.” I pointed to some flowers growing in the hedgerows along the side of the road.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He giggled. “Those are purple. There’s no possible way my cheeks are the colour of corncockles.”
“Corn what?” I snorted loudly.
“Corncockles! They’re wild flowers.” He giggled, too. Bending over, I plucked one of the pretty blooms and held it up to his cheek.
“Yes. You’re exactly the same colour as these corn cocks,” I announced.
“Corncockles!” he corrected and batted my hand away. “You’re as daft as a brush, you know that?”
“Yes, I’m well aware. How do you put up with me?”
“It’s never been a question of putting up with you, darling. I lo–” He stopped talking abruptly.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Erm, nothing. I thought I heard someone.”
“Oh? I didn’t hear anything, but maybe we should get off the beaten track, just in case?”
Before he could object, I grabbed his hands and hauled him off the road and into the woods.
Pulling us through the trees, I kept going until I thought we were far enough away from the road.
Crowding into his space, I pushed him up against a huge tree trunk.
He might have been a bit taller than me, but he was much lighter and very easy to manhandle.
He also tended to sink a little whenever I loomed over him like this, as though he enjoyed feeling smaller than me.
Gazing into his eyes, I saw more than lust. Losing myself in the deep oceans of his irises, I saw everything I felt, but couldn’t put into words, reflected back at me.
Cupping his cheek, I brushed my thumb under his sharp cheekbone, still smooth from this morning’s shave.
He nuzzled into my hand, and the simple affection overjoyed me.
Suddenly, it was too much. I couldn’t contain my feelings inside myself.
They were too big, too important, just too much.
It scared me, how quickly Michael had burrowed into my heart and my soul–but not because I didn’t want it–because I was terrified it would get taken away from me.
If I learned anything from life recently, it was that happiness was fleeting and the people who you thought cared for you without question could strip their love away in an instant.
What if he didn’t feel these massive, consuming feelings like I did?
What if he did care about me, but not enough.
Not enough to keep me. It had been so easy for my parents to cast me out, and they’d claimed to love me for twenty-six years.
Whatever this was between Michael and me was only a few weeks old, and there was no telling how long it would last. I knew I was a lot to take.
Thanks to my parents, I now also knew I was easy to discard.
My heart couldn’t take being abandoned again, not by him.
Breathing heavily, I could feel my pulse pounding in my chest. I needed to shut off these thoughts and feelings.
They were too fucking much. Deciding to resort to a tried and tested method of not speaking, I slammed my lips down on his and kissed him hard.
Pouring all my passion and love–yes love–into the kiss, so I didn’t have to think or speak or feel anything but his body and mine.
Breathy moans came from both of us as our mouths clashed together in a heated frenzy. His hands were on me and mine were all over him. I needed to touch him and to not bloody think.
Sinking to my knees, I clawed at his fly and nearly ripped the button off his trousers I was in such a rush to get them off.
Without gentleness or finesse, I yanked his dick out of his briefs and sucked him like my life depended on it.
Shoving my hands down the back of his trousers, I grabbed handfuls of his arse and pulled him further into my mouth.
The head of his dick pushed deep into the back of my throat, choking me.
Good. If I was choking, I couldn’t think of anything except the here and now.
All that mattered was our bodies coming together and being as close as possible.
Sloppily, I sucked the length and swallowed around the head, letting myself take tiny gasps of air every few seconds.
His grunts were muffled, and when I looked up, I saw he had his fist in his mouth to stop from screaming out.
His other hand was pawing at the tree; he’d cut himself if he wasn’t careful.
I snatched his hand away from the bark and put it in my hair, pushing down on my head with it to let him know what I wanted.
Curling his long fingers tightly in my curls, he thrust his dick further into my mouth.
My eyes were streaming, and it was fucking glorious.
I’d always taken the lead in our sexual encounters, and I supposed I still was.
Sometimes I liked to be used, hurt a little.
It got me out of my head, stopped me from replaying things in my mind, from worrying.
That was what I needed; I needed him to abuse my throat so badly I couldn’t talk afterwards.
Understanding what I asked for without a word from me, he gave me what I needed.
Fucking my mouth hard until I felt his dick throb, and then shoot thick come onto my tongue.
There was no thought of getting myself off, despite my own dick being hard enough to hammer nails.
It hadn’t been about release; it had been about escape, and I’d managed that.
Not letting it go completely, I let his softening dick fall away from my airway so I could take in air through my nose but kept it in my lips.
Still in my hair, but stroking softly, his fingers created sparks on my scalp everywhere they touched.
A little whimper came from him, and I could tell it was one of discomfort, so I stopped suckling his dick and let it fall from my mouth. I felt the loss immediately.
Carefully, I tucked him back into his underwear, laying a soft kiss on him before I fastened his trousers.
“That was…” he panted. “That was… fucking incredible.” Guiding me onto my feet, he pulled me into a tight embrace. His hands stroked and patted my back gently, and the motion was so soothing, I almost felt like crying again.
No. That’s not right.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. What I just did was supposed to make the feelings go away. It normally made my brain quiet for hours.
I supposed these feelings were just too loud to be silenced.