10. Angelica
10
ANGELICA
“ I ’ll put dinner on while you’re in the shower.” I flick my damp hair over my shoulder and roll up my pyjama sleeves.
“You’re going to cook?” He raises an eyebrow.
I swat his belly. “I’m more than capable of cooking. Besides, anyone can heat up a Tesco ready meal.” Opening the fridge, I slide out two portions of Tesco’s finest lamb hotpot. “What is it with you and ready meals, anyway? You bought enough here to see you through to New Years.”
He scratches the back of his neck, his checked shirt riding up to reveal the trail of hair below his belly. “They had an offer on. Thought I’d stock up and it’s a good job I did, or we’d be on rations now I’m having to share with you.”
I nod, my eyes fixed on the hair that disappears under his jeans.
He clears his throat, drawing my attention back to his face. “What was the shower like? The boiler was making a racket.”
“The water was hot, but the pipes were groaning some.” I spin around and turn the oven on as Sawyer climbs the stairs.
The ceiling creaks as he shuffles around upstairs. “Arggh. Angelica,” he groans from the top of the stairs. “Did you use all the clean towels?”
My nose scrunches. “Sorry,” I holler.
“Would it hurt to clean up after using the bathroom?” He shouts but there’s a hint of smile in his voice.
I grimace, remembering I left my clothes on the bathroom floor. “Sorry. Towels are in the dryer. I’ll pop some outside the bathroom for you.”
“Thanks.” He clicks the bathroom door and then the shower turns on.
I meander into the utility and open the dryer, the boiler clanking from behind a cupboard. There’s a strange pumping sound, then pipes clink together. Something is definitely not right with the heating system.
After bundling the dry towels into my arms, I carry them into the kitchen to the worktop where I fold them. The aroma from the lamb hotpot fills the room.
Before Sawyer gets out of the shower, I pad up the stairs in my slippers and bend to place the pile of freshly laundered towels outside the bathroom door. As I straighten my body, a growl sounds from the other side of the door.
I suck in a breath and hold it there while I train my ear to the sounds coming from the bathroom. My palms rest against the wooden door, the side of my face pressed against the grain.
Tapping of water droplets against the shower floor is soothing, like rain on a windowpane. “Mmmm. Fuck. Just like that, baby girl.”
His words have me in a chokehold. I lean against the door, needing to hear more. It clicks open. Causing me to jerk myself backwards.
He groans again, oblivious the door is now ajar.
I peer through the small gap, sliding to the floor until I’m on my knees. Steam billows around the room, fogging the shower screen, but I can see his silhouette behind the glass. One hand on the tiled wall and the other beating his erection as if he’s whipping up a bowl of cream.
“Angel,” he groans, tilting his head back under the spray of the shower head.
My eyes widen. I slip my hand into my pyjama shorts and touch my aching centre. My breaths come out in short bursts as my hand trembles and my heart races with all the naughty thoughts rushing through my head.
“Fuck. You feel so good, angel.” His hand jerks slow as his hips take over, thrusting into his palm, bracing himself against the wall with the other. He groans out in pleasure, then places both hands on the tiles as he drops his head low, letting the water hit his back.
I’m wet. Drenched, as my fingers slip between my folds. I’ve never seen a man do that before. He wants me. I rub circles around my little bundle of nerves, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. I need more. I need him inside of me. I need to know what it will feel like to have a man inside of me.
After today, I realise he’ll never settle down. He’s not the marrying type. But that’s okay. I just need him to fuck me. They say you always remember your firsts and I want it to be him.
The shower turns off, but the pipes don’t stop banging. I whip my hand out of my pyjamas before I’m caught red-handed again. And I’m left on the cusp of orgasm. Again.
He steps out from behind the glass cubicle, still hard. He’s a big boy in more ways than one, with some serious muscles underneath his chunk.
I gulp at the size of his erection, my mouth watering, wishing it was me gripping him like he imagined. I’m mesmerised by it as I follow the blue vein all the way to the glistening tip.
As he walks towards the door, I don’t have time to get to my feet, so I lift the towels to hide the flush in my cheeks.
The door creaks farther open. “For fuck’s sake.” He steps behind the door, with just his head peering round the wood.
“Towels,” I squeak out.
“Thanks.” He grabs one from the top of the pile, then closes the door.
I want to tell him everyone masturbates for a joke, but I gingerly creep down the stairs, too much of a coward to let him know I watched. Half of me is afraid of the embarrassment and the other half is afraid of what he might do if he knew I liked it.
Back in the kitchen, I check on dinner. The boiler is now completely silent, and I wonder if it’s sorted itself out.
Sawyer appears in the kitchen, rubbing his damp hair with a towel. “Smells good.” He walks past me into the utility to the washing machine. “Fuck.”
I turn the oven off and follow him. “What is it?”
He’s staring at the boiler, holding the cupboard door open. “It’s completely knackered.” He clicks a switch on and off, and nothing happens.
“Could it be a fuse?” I tug on the sleeve of my pyjamas, part of me worried I’m going to freeze to death, the other part of me—the bottom half—hoping I can snuggle in Sawyer’s bed.
“Serve dinner. I’ll test the fuse.” He brushes past me in the doorway and my nipples pebble under my top. Maybe it’s not just my bottom half that’s glad the boiler has given up. It’s definitely two-thirds of my body.
With no heating to keep the rooms warm upstairs, the temperature dropped dramatically after dinner. Sawyer positions the double mattress from the guest bedroom onto the rug in the living room in front of the fire.
“It’s like we’re having a sleepover,” I say as I place my duvet on the sofa.
“You can take the mattress. I’ll take the coach.” Sawyer arranges the pillows on the mattress, making it look inviting.
“Why don’t we both sleep on the mattress? There’s plenty of room.”
He scratches his beard as if thinking about it.
“We can keep each other warm.” I bite my lip, looking around at the tiny sofa. “Besides, you won’t fit on there.”
“All right.”
My stomach flutters at the thought of being wrapped up in his arms all night.
Sawyer stokes the fire and throws another log onto the embers. When he looks back at me as I climb into bed, I swear the flames are still dancing in his eyes. “I don’t own any night clothes.” He stands awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.
I pull the duvet over my chest and make myself comfortable in front of the fire. “What do you usually wear for bed?”
“Nothing. Sometimes my boxer shorts.”
“I learned from Twilight that it’s better to be naked to keep each other warm.”
“Is that right? What else did you learn from Twilight ?” He pulls the snaps on his shirt, popping the buttons in one full sweep like Superman when he changes into his costume, only instead of an S on his chest, Sawyer has a serpent, wrapped around a wilting rose.
A smile curves my lips and I turn onto my side, watching him strip down to his boxers. The hairs on his chest remind me of a grizzly bear, and Mr. Snuggles pops into my head. “I forgot to get Mr. Snuggles.” I rarely sleep without it.
“You won’t be needing your teddy tonight. You have me.”
My eyes widen as I gaze into his.
“Fuck. I mean…for snuggles.” He discards his jeans onto the chair, and crawls onto the mattress, pulling the duvet over him. “Unless you want to ride my beard like a saddle.” He chuckles, scratching the bristles on his chin and making my centre pulse.
I swat his chest, but my hand lingers, feeling the carpet of soft hair that tickles my palm.
He said it in a joking way, but I’d love to see his reaction if I took off my knickers and straddled his face. I chew on my nail, thinking of doing just that, but I could never. No man’s ever touched me down there with their fingers, let alone their mouth.
After a beat too long, he peels my hand away from his skin and holds it in his large mitt. “Get some sleep, angel. I’ll walk to town tomorrow and get a part for the boiler.”
I nod and turn away from him, still holding his hand and pulling his arm over me. As I snuggle into him, my back to his warm chest, I hope the snow keeps falling so we can spend every night like this together.
His large hand rests on my stomach over my thick flannel pyjamas. I’ve never shared a bed with a man before, not even a boy. For once, I just want to feel what it’s like to have a man’s hands on my skin.
The last time I was groped was at the party when I was sixteen and it gave me the ick. Some random boy feeling me up. Probably the same boy who spiked my drink. I’ve never trusted anyone since to let them get close. But the truth is, I’ve never wanted to get close to anyone until now.
Probably why my dad thinks I’m gay. The thought has crossed my mind too, but the way my centre aches now for Sawyer, I’m definitely into guys, or maybe it’s just big, bearded papa bears I’m attracted to.
His minty breath fans the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. A gentle snore vibrates his lips and rattles his chest. It always amazes me how he can fall asleep so quickly. My dad is the same. After a day on the building site, he would often fall asleep in the chair after dinner.
I stare at the logs on the fire, glowing red and orange. The ornate black guard surrounding the hearth casts a shadow around the room. Patterns dance on the wall, mimicking how my heart flutters.
Lifting my pyjama top, I place my hand over Sawyer’s and hold his palm against the skin on my stomach. My breathing speeds up as my mind races. I shouldn’t be doing this to him while he sleeps. I violated Mr. Snuggles and now I’m taking advantage of Sawyer.
Even though I know this is so wrong, I still slide his hand up my pyjama top until his thumb grazes my underboob. My breath halts. Blood rushes to my centre. I’m still on edge from the other night when I was caught with Mr. Snuggles.
Maybe now Sawyer’s asleep, I can slip upstairs and finish the job, but I don’t want to move. Instead, I slide Sawyer’s hand over my breast. Tingles flutter over my skin where his calloused fingers graze my nipple.
The pulse in my neck throbs. My centre weeps, as if crying out for attention. My body thrums and vibrates with all the heat of an inferno, like I’m about to combust.
His thumb twitches, then moves of its own accord, grazing my pebbled nipple again.
I hold my breath. My hand freezes over his. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pretend I’m asleep, hoping he’s dreaming as he moves his thumb back and forth.
Then his large palm covers my full breast and squeezes gently.
I let out the breath I was holding, along with a hum of pleasure.
He pauses.
I coax his hand gently, squeezing over his, encouraging him to massage my breast again.
But he whips his hand away as if he’s just burned himself on a hot stove. “Angel, what are you doing?”
I curl up into a ball, not ready to face him, but it’s no use with him. There’s no hiding or shying away.
He rolls me onto my back and hovers above me, the rough pads of his fingers sweeping the hair from my face. “I’m sorry. I never meant to touch you like that. I was asleep and then?—”
I press my finger to his lips to silence him. “Touch me again,” I beg, my body desperate for more of him. “Please, Sawyer.”
“Angel, I—” He gulps, causing the apple in his throat to bob as he gazes into my eyes. “I can’t cross that line with you. I’m so fucking sorry I touched you like that.”
My entire body deflates as if the balloon of hope that’s been growing for the last few days has been popped. “You did nothing wrong. It was me. I moved your hand to my breast. I’m sorry. I just wanted to feel your hands on me.”
His eyes widen as he gazes down at me. “But your father…he would?—”
I silence his lips again with my finger. “He would never need to know.”
His dark eyes turn to molten and he hovers above me, inches from my lips. “Angel,” he whispers, before his lips crash to mine and it’s everything I’ve craved.
I open my mouth, letting in his warm tongue as it tentatively strokes its way between my parted lips. My entire body tingles with pleasure when his hand makes contact with my stomach and slips under my pyjama shirt.
He deepens the kiss as if he can’t get enough of me and I arch my back, offering myself up for him to take whatever he wants. If tonight is all we have, then I want this to be memorable. My father may never know, but I’ll have these memories for a lifetime. Only, I’m not sure once with this man will be enough.