Chapter 21 Alexander #2
“Need a hand?” I ask, as Daniel heads out of the room.
“Looks like you’re the one who needs a hand,” he says, his head turning back toward me like an owl.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you alone with Daniel,” Kelly says, adjusting her dress.
“It’ll give you both a chance to catch up,” I say as I head toward Daniel, who has stopped in the doorway. “And that way, I can get to know my future brother-in-law better.” I pat Daniel’s back with my good hand, the corner of my mouth rising.
I catch the look on Kelly’s face, her eyes widening as they dart from me to Christopher, and I know the seed has been planted. That it will give them something to talk about in my absence.
Christopher’s been pacing up and down the kitchen for the last fifteen minutes, talking on his phone. His half eaten burger is going cold on the plate beside me.
“Do you think everything’s okay?” I ask Kelly.
“I’m sure it’s nothing too bad. He’s prone to overreacting.” She takes another bite of her burger.
I hope she’s right, but from the way he’s moving, I get the sense that something bad has happened. I turning back to face the window, watching as he hangs up the phone and steps back out onto the deck, Corona in hand. He takes a swig and lets out a deep sigh as he sits back down next to me.
“Everything okay?” I ask, passing him his plate.
“Not really. My boss just went to town on me. I missed an important meeting with one of our clients earlier.”
“But you’re on holiday?” Kelly’s forehead crinkles as she lowers her burger back onto her plate.
“I know, but Pietro insisted on putting in a meeting today. He wanted to lock in this campaign and I agreed to make myself available. But then Alex fell at the skate park, and I completely forgot.” He reaches for the burger and takes a bite.
An elixir of guilt and shame swirls in my chest.
I feel awful. If I hadn’t fallen, hadn’t needed to go to hospital, Christopher wouldn’t have been distracted. He would have made that call. Wouldn’t be in this mess right now.
I’m such a fuckup.
The sight of his Corona as he reaches for it and takes a swig is so tempting.
“I’m sure it will all work out.”
“Easy for you to say,” he snaps back. “If I lose this job, I need to find a new job within six weeks, or I can kiss goodbye to my visa and to Los Angeles.” Christopher chucks the paper plate down on the brick wall, gets up and heads back inside through the window.
I start to speak, but Kelly shakes her head and raises her hand to stop me.
“He just needs a few minutes to cool off. You couldn’t have known this would happen. It’ll all sort itself out.” She grabs Daniel’s empty plate and slides it under hers.
But what if it doesn’t?
What if he does lose his job because of me?
My chest tightens with every subsequent thought.
“Surely there’s something I can do to fix it. Ring his boss maybe? Tell him it was all my fault?”
I’m desperate to right this wrong.
To make it all okay.
“Sometimes you’ve just got to let things fix themselves,” Kelly says. Her gaze drifts to my wrist.
Christopher eventually comes back out to join me, his energy calmer, as the stars twinkle above us. Kelly and Daniel cleared away the food and brought out a blanket and some pillows, and then tactfully gave us some space, closing the window.
“I bet Tony’s sitting there smug as can be right now. Coming in on his horse, the knight in shining armor who saves the day.” Christopher shuffles around, getting set up with a pillow under his head.
“Tony sounds like a right dick,” I say. I turn on my side, using my elbow and hand to prop up my head, to watch Christopher’s chest rise and fall.
“He is. He’s a smug little prick who thinks he knows everything. Clarissa from the New York team even filed a complaint about him after he tried to take one of her clients behind her back.” His nostrils flare as his mouth fights against the bitterness of his words.
“I can set Rob on him. Have him taken out.” This prompts a smile, followed by a laugh from Christopher.
His laugh is like music to my ears. And that smile is everything I’ve longed for all evening.
“In-laws,” he says, lifting himself up, before matching my posture on the blanket.
“Between fun fling and future therapy session,” I counter.
The silence continues for three beats, matching the avoidance of what we’re both not saying.
“So, what happens between a fun fling and a future therapy session?” I finally ask, caving to the discomfort.
“I don’t know. What do you want to happen between the two?” His eyes narrow.
It feels like a game of chicken.
Who’s going to break first. Who’s going to ask the question that’s been circling in my mind for the last two days.
I take a deep breath and exhale before continuing.
“Well, some would say a relationship.”
“Do you want to be in a relationship?” His eyes widen.
“Do you?” I start to fidget, moving my legs restlessly to fight off the butterflies forming in my stomach.
“Well, I wouldn’t not want to be in a relationship with you,” he says, skirting the question.
One of us has to jump in the deep end, and my anxiety is getting the better of me.
“So does that mean you want to be my boyfriend?” I push myself upright to stop my legs from fidgeting and swing around to face him, crossing my legs.
“Do you want to be mine?” he asks, lifting himself upright.
The tension bubbles up in my chest.
Just jump in.
Just.
Jump.
In.
I take another deep breath, and blurt out the words.
“I do.”
The smile across his face as he pulls at my hoodie, drawing me over to him, sets off a confetti cannon inside. Pure euphoria floods my body as he says I do too, before pulling me on top of his chest to kiss me.
There’s a softness to him that I haven’t experienced before as he removes his hands from my hips and pulls up the hoodie. I extend my hands upward as he flings it off, back toward the window.
The lust and intensity of our usual encounters is replaced by a tenderness. He gently lays me down on my back and lowers himself down across my body. His mouth skips across my chest and abs as he pulls down my shorts and briefs, and his tongue greets the tip of my cock.
My whole body tingles in pleasure as he circles the tip, while the palm of his hand cups my balls and he stimulates my hole with his finger. His tongue is the ultimate weapon to disarm me, rendering me completely useless.
His tongue makes its way down from my cock to my hole as he lifts my legs upward. He makes me moan as he circles my hole in clockwise movements, before spitting on it and thrusting his tongue in and out. He buries his mouth deep, his five-o-clock shadow rubbing up against my ass cheeks.
“I want you inside of me,” I say, unable to take any more teasing.
His head comes up between my legs as he rests them on his shoulders.
“I don’t have lube with me,” he says.
“Just spit on your cock and go slow,” I say, eager to feel him inside me.
My eyes widen as he follows my command. He grabs both my legs as he spits on his hand, rubbing his right hand over his cock and then slowly guiding himself inside.
I push against his leg to slow him down as I adjust to the pain and allow my ass to loosen up.
By the time he’s fully inside me, his right hand has returned to my legs, pulling them apart more, and I can see his face.
Pleasure is etched all over it as he starts to build up a rhythm.
He lowers himself down to kiss me. Gone is the tenderness; it’s replaced with more intensity, more passion as he begins to thrust more deeply.
I claw at his back and down his ass, pulling him in more tightly, wanting to feel every inch of his thick throbbing cock obliterate me.
His thrusts gain momentum, as if he’s shifting through the gears. His tongue is more forceful in my mouth, engulfing me with a passion. I move my hand from his ass and begin stroking my cock with the same intensity as his thrusts.
“Don’t come before me,” I say, and his head nods. He spits in his hand and brushes mine away, picking up my strokes with the same intensity.
He stares down at me with his hazel eyes as he glides in and out of me, like waves on an ocean shore. His rhythm is better than any bass guitarist. My balls begin to swell as I feel myself getting close. His eyes widen as my hips lift upward.
“Who’s a bad boy,” he asks, biting his lip as he picks up the rhythm.
He leans back down into me, refusing to slow down his hand movements as my head lifts up to meet his lips. His tongue barrels into my mouth as his cock does the same to my ass.
My back arches upward as I feel myself getting close.
I nod at him, and his eyes fill with passion as his hips thrust even faster.
His thick cock bounces in and out of my hole, rearranging my insides with each thrust, and as he pounds down one more time, his load explodes deep inside me, just as mine shoots out of my cock.
The warmth of his cum inside me matches the warmth in my chest as my load shoots up on his chin, his T-shirt, and over my vest.
Christopher sighs and pulls out, rolling over as we begin to breath in unison. I reach for his chin, wiping the cum off it before shoving my fingers in my mouth and swallowing it.
“I didn’t have you down as a cannibal.” His hand wipes the sweat from his brow.
“Well, I want your babies and my babies to meet inside of me,” I say, smirking.
“Save some for me,” he says, wiping up the cum from my vest and licking his fingers like a KFC advert.
The light from the moon and stars shines down on us as we take each other in. He pulls me in tightly, his leg sliding over mine. Two people intertwined in this perfect moment. A smile rises on my face.
“What are you smiling at?”
“At the fact that this time a week ago, I was jerking off to you in the shower, and now I’m jerking off over your body, while you blow your load inside me.” My smile turns into a laugh.
“Well, now that I’m your boyfriend, I can help you with that more regularly,” he says, winking as he leans in to kiss me.
My heart skips a beat at the mere mention of the word boyfriend.
I want to shout it from the rooftop.
“Christopher Foster is my boyfriend!”
Christopher’s hand immediately shoots across to cover my mouth.
“Shush.” But he’s smiling, and he removes his hand and kisses me again.
I catch a person in a window opposite twitching their curtains, but they’re unable to see us from this angle. They pull their window down and draw the fabric across the glass.
No one else seems to hear, and for now, it’s only the moon, the stars, and the nosy neighbor that know I’m in a relationship. Not with Rita Watson, but Christopher Foster.
Friday
Paul woke me up an hour ago, his call pulling me from a deep sleep snuggled in Christopher’s arms, pissed that I left the hotel without him knowing. I can only imagine how much shit Rob got in when Paul found out.
I don’t dare let him know what happened to my wrist, only that I’m safe and that no one has spotted me—the most I could get out between the barrage of words hurled at me.
He asked that I do a live stream to promote the album this morning, but instructed me specifically not to address the Rita news. Christopher leaves me on the roof, heading inside to shower now that Kelly and Daniel have left. They’ve headed to the hotel to check in for their wedding.
“What’s up, Marianne?”
I acknowledge a few fans who are leaving comments, but the messages are flowing so rapidly that I can barely keep up with them. I’ve set myself up so my bandaged hand is holding the phone, to hide the injury, and my other hand pulls at my hood to hide my bed hair.
“I’m so excited for you guys to hear the live album that’s now available on Spotify, Apple, , or wherever you listen to your music.”
My gaze drifts down to the building opposite me, where the same person who looked out the window overnight pulls open the curtain. I step back, just in case they’re watching the livestream too.
Will you be playing Stolen Moments at the O2 again tonight? Cat123 asks.
“Yes, I’ll be playing Stolen Moments in the set tonight and tomorrow night for my last show on the tour.”
Is Stolen Moments about Rita?
Rita Watson’s a bitch.
Rita is a cradle snatcher.
I lift my hand to rub away the aggravation in my chest caused by the influx of Rita comments.
I’ve not been online since yesterday morning, and I sense that the internet has gone into overdrive speculating about our alleged affair. The comments continue to come in thick and fast between questions.
“I’ve just put the kettle on, do you want a cuppa?” I crane my neck back to see Christopher’s head sticking out the window.
“I’m good, thanks.” I turn my head back to my phone and the live stream.
Who’s that?
Is that one of the dancers?
Who is that guy?
My aggravation is immediately replaced by dread as a text message from Paul pops up on the top of my screen.
Paul
End the live stream. NOW.