Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
L evi
The new year brings bitterly cold weather. How can it be so cold? I’m sure it’s not like this in the city. I’m grateful for the hoodie Marina knitted, and I take to wearing it most of the time.
I also start my course. I attend once a fortnight on campus, and the rest of the time I work remotely and submit my assignments. So far it’s been fairly straightforward. I’m glad of it, because if I was finding it difficult at this stage my chances of progressing to the next levels and getting a diploma would be remote. I change some of my working hours to fit my studies in, and don’t do as many long shifts, but instead work an additional evening shift which gives me only one evening off a week. I don’t mind. I don’t have anything else to do with my evenings, and that’s the way it is in hospitality—you’re working when everyone else is socialising.
Of Mac I see and hear nothing. He hasn’t been to dinner since Christmas, though with me being out most evenings I wouldn’t know, but I do know Marina’s been to his house at least once. I don’t know whether I really expected to hear from him or not—he made his stance pretty clear, and I’m not sure if what I did was the best thing I’ve done or the worst. I don’t regret it, though. If it was my one chance, then I made the most of it. I think I made my intentions just as clear.
My days fall into a routine. I get up when I wake up—I’m not the best early riser, especially after working late—and after I’ve showered I walk round to Perks and Pastries to say hello to Josh and Alex. I grab myself a coffee, and bring it back to have while I start my studies for the morning, and I usually grab a late lunch. Then if I can, I pack in another hour of study before heading out to work for the rest of the afternoon and evening. I like routine, it settles me, and work and my course stops my mind dwelling on Mac too much.
Marina gives me a lift to the coffee shop this morning, despite it being easily walkable.
“I’m off to Oxford to grab some shopping and more wool. I think a cappuccino for the journey would be welcome,” she tells me as I climb into the car next to her. I also know she’ll offer to pay for mine, and I know better than to argue with her. Afterwards, I walk back to the cottage and open my laptop ready to start when I’m disturbed by a knock on the door.
I consider not answering it, it could be a cold caller, but if they knock again it’ll be even more annoying and I’ll still have to go and answer. I run lightly down the stairs and open the door.
“Mac?” I’m shocked and the look on his face does nothing to alleviate it. He steps into the hallway, making me step back, and shuts the door behind him. Then his face relaxes a little.
“Marina’s not in. She’s gone to Oxford,” I say.
“I know where she is,” he growls in a way that makes my stomach flip.
Oh! My head starts to tumble with thoughts, and the training instilled in me over the last few months by Marina kicks in. I walk the short distance to the kitchen, trying to buy myself some time to think clearly, which I can’t do with Mac in my face.
“Well then, can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee?” I turn and face him. He’s still too close and I step back, finding myself up against the kitchen table.
“I don’t want a drink,” he says, his voice low and husky.
“Then what do you want?”
In answer he steps right into my space, reaches up with his hand to the back of my head, and draws me to him, his lips covering mine. The kiss is rough and needy, bruising my lips with the pressure, and I match it right back, needing it just as much as him. I grab his hips, mostly to give me something to cling to so my knees don’t give way. I allow his tongue to possess me, chasing it with mine when he withdraws, not wanting it to stop.
He still has hold of my head when we finally part and he rests his forehead against mine, both of us panting heavily. After a couple of breaths he rasps, “I’ll give you a choice. We can go upstairs or I can fuck you right here on the kitchen table.”
I have no intention of breaking off what we’re doing here. I rap my knuckles on the wooden surface. “Seems sturdy enough.” His response is another searing kiss.
Without losing contact with his mouth, I pull his jacket over his shoulders and he shrugs it off, letting it fall to the floor. I go to work on the buttons of his shirt, fumbling in my haste. As soon as I have the first few undone, he breaks off the kiss and pulls his shirt over his head, throwing it on top of his jacket. I lift my T-shirt up and he tugs it further, speeding up the process. His eyes look heavy with lust when he sees my chest. He reaches out and cups my face, his thumb caressing my jaw and easing my head to the side as he kisses down my throat and across my shoulder.
“One day I’m gonna kiss every inch of the patterns on your body, but that’ll have to wait for another time.”
He pulls a condom out of his pocket and starts unbuckling his belt. I reach to help him, wanting to see his cock again. It’s still as beautiful as the last time, and I can’t help touching him, running my fingers over the end, lifting some of the precum gathering on the tip and sucking it off my fingers.
“Fuck,” he groans and pushes me hard up against the table.
He goes to work undoing my jeans, pulling them down over my hips.
He wraps a hand round my cock and I thrust into his touch, but all too soon it’s gone.
Tearing the condom open, he swiftly sheaths his cock and then casts around, his gaze roving over the kitchen. He grins as he spies a covered dish on the countertop, and he reaches for it.
“You’re gonna use butter?”
“You have lube handy?” He raises an eyebrow at me.
I just shake my head and he laughs. Then he steps back close and kisses me again, biting my bottom lip and tugging on it until I moan my desire for him.
“Turn around,” he orders, and I comply as he dips his fingers into the butter.
I gasp as he slips his fingers between the cheeks of my arse, the slippery grease feels surprisingly good.
His buttered finger breaches me and I push back against him, desperate to feel him deeper.
“Needy are we?”
“Just give me more,” I almost whine, and he gives a low chuckle. “I mean it, Mac,” I growl, relieved when he adds another finger.
I get that he doesn’t want to cause me any pain or discomfort, and I melt a little that he’s so thoughtful, but I need him so much right now I doubt I would feel it, and others haven’t ever afforded me such a courtesy.
Thankfully he doesn’t take too much time, quickly adding a third finger for a couple of thrusts before withdrawing them.
He takes some more butter, and a few seconds later I feel his rock-hard tip nudging against my hole. I brace my hands on the table and thrust back as he pushes forward, causing him to bottom out in one go.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sputters like he’s got no breath left, and I take a moment to enjoy how much he fills me.
“You good?” he whispers.
“Peachy,” I croak, and he half laughs, half growls.
He starts moving his hips—hard, powerful thrusts that shove me firmly against the table. I lean into it, loving every second as he relentlessly powers into me.
My head starts to drift away with each drive forward, and I can’t even remember my own name.
His fingers digging hard into the flesh at my hips is the only thing stopping me from losing my grip on reality.
“Fuck it, Levi, you feel so fucking good,” he moans.
My cock aches and I’m desperate to gain some relief, but I can’t let go of the table. I need some sort of friction and shift slightly trying to find some. The change in angle brings a range of expletives from Mac, good ones I hope as they don’t register. He releases my hips and I nearly cry out at the loss of grounding, but the next minute he’s got one arm around my chest and I can breathe again. That is until his other hand encircles my cock.
“Unnnghh.” Was that from my mouth?
“Come for me,” he croons, his breath warm across my skin and his hand making long strokes of my cock in time with his thrusts. “Good boy,” he whispers and his soft praise pushes me over the edge. I cry out as my orgasm rips out of me, spilling cum all over the table, and I drop my head, seeing only stars.
Giving a couple more hard thrusts, he comes, spent and gasping, and his head rests against my back. I don’t care; I can’t move right now either.
After a minute he lifts off me, his hands softly caressing my back. I prise my fingers from the edge of the table, opening and closing my fists to work out the stiffness as I turn around. He sees, and catches my hands in his own, pressing a tender kiss to each palm where the edges have left red indentations. This small act of recognition and care catches in my throat and I must make a sound as his eyes flick to mine.
“They’re fine,” I whisper, though I would welcome a thousand such kisses. I look down between us and notice what a mess I am. Mac isn’t too bad, and he starts removing the condom and pulling his trousers back up.
A beeping comes from among the discarded clothes on the floor and he curses, then he grabs his jacket and pulls out his phone. He answers it, his face turning into his customary scowl.
“I’ll be there in twenty,” he says and rings off, and then turns to me with a bleak look on his face. “I’m so sorry, I have to go. There’s been an incident in High Wycombe.”
“You’ll never make it in twenty minutes in your boring car,” I quip, because what else can I say. I can’t beg him to stay—not that I want to. I don’t even know what I want right now. I have no idea what this is, or was, and I’m not going to get a chance to ask him now.
He’s already pulling his shirt on.
He looks down at the mess I’m in and grimaces.
“Sorry.” He winces.
“I’ll clean up; you just go,” I say and wave him away. He dons his jacket and walks to the door, but he pauses and then strides back. He puts his hands on my face, giving me a look that’s a thousand fathoms deep, and kisses me hard before turning and leaving. I don’t move until I hear the front door shut. I need a shower. I should also scrub the table clean with bleach, and perhaps I should replace the butter. I peer into the dish. Yes, definitely replace the butter.