Chapter 14
Rachel’s fingers rest on my jaw, but she isn’t pulling me closer, simply studying me. She smells of flowers, a sweetness overlaid with smoke, like the fire burning between us has singed the very air.
I’ve spent years treating sex like an encore, a bright, breath-stealing number that told everyone, me included, the show was already ending.
I’ve fought that habit for days, determined not to fall back into my old pattern, but Rachel’s chipped away at me until my resolve cracked.
So I came up here tonight—her room, her terms—because I crave the possibility of her in my life beyond this week.
I know she’d ruled me out for anything like a relationship; her words the other night were clear: short-term fun with the safety of an end-date.
But tonight, her quiet admission that she sees more of me than the ‘don’t care’ playboy I show the world makes me think this might be the opening number.
Maybe what I overheard isn’t where she is anymore.
It gives me permission to reach for her slowly, gently, like we’ve got all the time in the world, not just a few days.
I skim the pad of my thumb along her lower lip, tracing the shape of the invitation.
Her smile is small, a little unsure. I catch a flicker of hesitation—surprising, but telling.
She knows I can read the bruise under the bravado, that what she really hungers for is tenderness, no matter how casually she frames it as just heat.
She wants to be seen—properly seen—even as every instinct in her screams to pull the mask back on.
“I wasn’t fishing for praise, you know.” My voice is too low, my words almost lost in the thudding of my heart. “But I’ll take every syllable if it comes from you.”
I lean in, soft, deliberate, and press my mouth to hers.
“Good,” she breathes into the kiss. “…because I’m not finished talking…or anything else.”
She takes my hand, moves it to her waist. The other finds its way to her arse, and I cup it, lowering her onto the bed. Her hands twine around my neck, fingers buried in my hair, insistent for more.
Her sharp gasp as I snake one hand beneath her jumper sends a current skimming through me.
There’s nothing underneath, bare heated skin, so smooth across her belly.
A mewl as I find a perfectly formed nipple growing erect under the lazy arc of my thumb.
She draws back a moment, sits up, eyes determined.
With one decisive tug, her jumper’s over her head, and off.
She’s half-naked in front of me, the lamplight gilding her skin.
I sit back on my heels, mapping every inch of her. Slight rounded breasts, rosy-tipped. A tiny gem embedded in her bellybutton flashes summer-sky blue, the colour of her eyes. The sweet curve of her stomach begs the shape of my hand.
Rachel’s eyes flick away from my face to the bedside lamp. One arm drifts across her body, sheltering herself from my gaze. The line between her brows creases; her shoulders rise a fraction as though she’s bracing for a verdict.
“Let me look at you, Rachel.” I gently take her hand, move her arm away.
She tips her head back to me, a flicker of doubt in her eyes. It isn’t me; it’s doubt in how she thinks I’ll see her.
I lean in, drop my head to the space just above her jeans, dotting little kisses across the soft expanse of skin. The heady fragrance of flowers fills my nose as I work my way up.
“This—” I press a kiss to the skin below her breast, flicker my tongue across a nipple. “...is perfect.”
“You—” I whisper, pressing kisses along the scattering of sunlit freckles on her neck, tiny timestamps of the summers she’s lived, “...are perfect. All of you. Exactly as you are. Even the parts you think you have to hide.” With each brush of my mouth, I feel the tension in her ribs ease.
Her breath hitches a little again as I move my hands to the button of her jeans.
“Is this okay? Can I see more of you?”
She nods, the small motion carrying a world of trust. I ease the button open, slide the zip down a breath—just enough. My fingers slip beneath the waistband, meeting the faint rasp of lace before finding the silk-soft heat of skin.
One slow stroke west, then south. Her stomach flutters beneath my knuckles like the final shimmer of a cymbal singing in the air. I draw another lazy line, and her ribs expand on a soundless inhale, hips tilting in quiet permission.
I test a quicker pulse—two light passes, then a pause. She follows, breath hitching in the same staccato, nails tightening on my shoulder as though keeping time.
Settling into a languid rhythm, I trace small circles just inside the denim edge. Every circle earns a softer body, a deeper exhale, until her whole frame moves in sync with the pattern I set: touch, breath, lift; touch, breath, lift.
When I still my hand, she stills too, eyes half-lidded, waiting for the next cue—proof she’s allowing me to set the tempo without a word.
“Lie back for me.” The words come out rougher than I intend, reverence tangled with hunger to taste her. She obeys without question, spine curving into the pillows like an Egyptian queen reclining on her chaise.
I trail kisses down the valley of her ribs, over the soft give of her stomach, stopping where denim meets flesh. Instead of peeling the jeans away, I press my mouth to the taut fabric, letting heat and breath seep through. She shivers—surprised, intrigued.
“Tell me if you want more,” I murmur, fingers slipping beneath the waistband, not to strip but to part it, granting me a whisper of space. My knuckles brush lace; her pulse leaps under my palm.
God, she’s exquisite. I bury a kiss just inside that vee of denim and satin. Another, lower. Her thigh muscles tense, then melt.
“Teddy…” The plea is soft, half-caught between permission and disbelief.
“I’ve got you.” I hook her knee over my shoulder, kneeling at the foot of the bed like a man about to worship at an altar.
I ease the zipper right down, exposing a flash of white satin and lace, delicate as frost and clearly the good stuff.
With slow certainty, I shift the crotch of her panties to one side—nothing more—and taste the very centre of her, slow and unhurried.
She arches, a soft cry breaking free, hands buried in my hair, tugging hard. I smile against her, savouring every tremor, every shaky breath, determined to prove there’s no rush, no finale looming. Only this—her pleasure, my devotion.
She props herself on her elbows, letting her thighs fall wider, watching me, eyes hazy, lips parted in a little ‘o’. I drink in the sight of her for a moment, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and then return to the task of undoing her.
My tongue settles back to her swollen clit, a gentle swirl, then a quicker flick, the scent of her arousal rising, her breaths more ragged, quickening.
When she unravels, in a ragged, shuddering, half-caught moan, I smile against her pulsing centre, pressing delicate teasing kisses, until she pants, “Enough—please.”
I drag myself up the bed, lay myself over her sweat-slick body and kiss her.
“Taste yourself on me,” I murmur. “So sweet.”
“I want to taste you.” She slides a hand between us, palming my erection, stealing my breath. I’m so hard, the tiniest friction and I’ll come in my jeans like a sixth-former in the back seat of his mum’s Fiesta.
I catch her wrist, gentle but firm, and bring it to my lips. “Not tonight.”
“Why not?” she whispers, half challenge, half wonder.
“Because this wasn’t a contract,” I say, brushing a damp corkscrew back from her temple. “It’s a gift. I need you to know I’ll give you things without expectation of anything in return.”
Her eyes search mine, hazy in the gloom. “But I—”
I kiss her knuckles. “All I want is for you to let me hold you like this. Let me listen to your heartbeat slow.” I roll onto the bed alongside her, tucking her into my chest. My fingertips trace the rise and fall of her ribs.
“We have time, Rachel.”
Her breaths lengthen, settling into a slow pulse, and she drifts off. Reluctantly, I ease away, smooth the quilt, draw a blanket over her. One last look—her face smooth and peaceful—and I force myself to the door.
The house is silent. I pass Liv in the hallway, dressing gown pulled tight, glass of water in hand.
She lifts an eyebrow. “Night, Teddy.” She offers a half-smile that suggests approval.
“Night, Liv.” I give her a quiet grin, humming to myself all the way to my room.