Chapter Twenty-eight – Andie
Chapter Twenty-eight
ANDIE
‘Y our hospital corners are making me horny,’ Jack says, grinning at me as he fluffs a pillow.
Typically, the word ‘horny’ would have the opposite effect on me, but right now it’s making me wonder if there’s any time to spare before these guests return.
Holiday hook-up rule number three: Have sex in all the places at all the times.
Heat rises in my cheeks at the daring thought.
‘Where did you pick up those skills?’ Jack continues, his tone playful.
And with that one question, all salacious thoughts dissipate.
I move to the other side of the bed, take the excess sheet fabric hanging from the corner and fold it diagonally across the mattress until it forms a sharp triangular shape.
‘I’ve made a lot of hospital beds in my time,’ I answer vaguely, as I tuck the folded sheet under the mattress to form the crisp corner.
‘Oh?’ Jack’s brow furrows as he begins fashioning the doona cover with two flat sheets.
The room is dimly lit with the gentle glow of two iridescent pink clam-shell lamps. I don’t want to ruin the intense sexual tension that’s simmered between us since dinner as we knocked feet under the table. I’m still amazed that I had the nerve to make the first move, but I’m glad I did.
‘My parents,’ I offer. ‘My mum was quite sick for a while – she passed away a couple of years ago – and I think I mentioned my dad has dementia, he’s in a home now, but unfortunately I’ve had plenty of nursing experience.’ I say it quickly, eager to move on.
Jack’s concerned gaze flickers over me as he draws the quilt corners together with practised ease. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Andie.’
A sharp pain shoots behind my ribs.
Please, I don’t want to get into this now . In fact, I’ve been very much enjoying not thinking about it. Jack is like a built-in thought blocker.
He grins and a cool wave of ease envelops me.
‘So a hospital regular, huh? That must be the secret behind your world-class first aid too. I had no idea the adhesive side of the bandaid is meant to go on the skin.’
I pull a face at him, my insides fizzing with delight.
It’s like he can sense what I need. Even the lilies he gave me as we left Moorings came just as I was starting to worry that I’d been too forward and that I was reading the situation all wrong. But before I could get lost in my doubts, there was the sweet posy of flowers. Jack couldn’t have known about the significance of lilies or the emotions they stirred in me, but his constant, thoughtful gestures remind me of how desperately lonely I have been, and how I’d forgotten that desire like this even exists.
‘Due credit must also go to Snoopy and the Little Mermaid,’ I say wryly.
‘Absolutely.’ His green eyes brim with adoration.
Though the mood has shifted slightly, tension still lingers heavily in the air.
‘Can you help me with this?’ he asks, gesturing to the doona.
Our hands brush as Jack passes the length to me, sending a jolt of electricity down my arms. Once the bedspread is in place, he produces a box of loose red rose petals.
‘Honeymooners?’ I ask.
‘Ha, close to. I’m helping the guy who’s staying here win back his ex.’
‘Well, that’s a bit romantic.’
I follow Jack’s lead, taking a fistful of delicate petals and scattering them across the freshly made bed. My heart quickens with each petal that lands onto the crisp white sheets, their soft fragrance filling the room.
‘Are you going to make some of those towel swans now?’ I tease.
‘As a matter of fact –’
‘Oh my God. You are!’
Jack’s skilled hands twist and fold two bath towels into a pair of kissing swans. I can’t help but imagine those confident hands on my body, my blood whooshing loudly in my ears as I replay this morning’s steamy shower kiss.
‘What do you think those swans will be witnessing later tonight?’ I ask innocently, as Jack arranges the origami animals on the bed amid the sea of rose petals, adjusting their necks to form a perfect heart shape.
‘I’m sure it will be positively X-rated. My poor sweet friends,’ he coos, affectionately patting the birds nestled in the centre of the bed.
‘Should we rescue them?’ I suggest.
‘And take them where, exactly?’ A long pause stretches between us, a coy smile playing on Jack’s lips.
‘Mm, I’m not sure . . .’
Holiday hook-up rule number four: Have fun.
I swallow, throat dry. ‘Maybe into animal witness protection . . . back at yours?’ I finish.
Oh God, oh God.
Jack’s eyes flash. ‘What makes you think they’ll be any safer there?’
There’s a sourdough starter on Jack’s bench top.
We’ve left the swans to fend for themselves when the suite’s occupants inevitably reach the ‘make-up sex’ phase of their evening. During our short walk back to his cabin, Jack floated the idea of a late-night snack since we missed dinner, and my tummy grumbled unsexily in agreement.
‘So, you’re roommates with a parasite?’ I rest my lilies on the counter next to the beige mixture bubbling away in the glass container. It’s thick like pancake batter.
Jack ignites the hob. ‘He pays his way in delicious bread.’
The cabin smells of oranges, the same scent that covered his skin, and I notice the peels in the sink.
‘Sorry. I should have cleaned up,’ he says. ‘I told you it’s the only thing that gets the fish stink out.’
Jack uncovers a loaf of sourdough, identical to the one he used for his bruschetta, and proceeds to cut thick slabs of bread with a serrated knife.
‘Are you making me a grilled cheese?’ I ask.
‘A grilled cheese?’
‘You know, like a melted cheese sandwich.’
‘So, a jaffle?’
‘Mm, not really. You use an iron skillet, not a sandwich press. It’s what every guy in every cheesy American rom-com makes for the girl when he invites her back to his place. Usually with a tea towel casually flung over a shoulder like he’s a Michelin-starred chef.’
‘Like this?’ Jack plucks the tea towel that was covering the bread and throws it over his broad shoulder.
‘Exactly.’ I beam.
‘And then what happens?’ he prompts.
Why does this feel like phone sex, but in real life?
‘Wellll,’ I purr. ‘Often, the cheese is still too hot, so the sandwich is dropped mid-bite and famished mouths find each other instead. Other times, things heat up in the kitchen before the grilled cheese does . . .’
Jack holds my gaze, knife still in hand.
‘Too bad I’m not making a grilled cheese, then.’
His cheeky smile tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing. Our little cat-and-mouse routine is starting to feel like torture.
‘I’m making you my take on the bacon-and-egg bap. Make sure you tell Charlie it’s superior.’
‘No promises,’ I say. ‘I’ve grown quite fond of the bap.’
More accurately, the dog-door delivery of said bap , I think to myself.
‘Take a seat please, Ms Alcott. You’re well aware by now that I deliver,’ Jack instructs.
I leave him to his culinary pursuits in the kitchen and settle onto the well-worn sofa. The cabin is so small that I’m only a few steps away from where Jack is cooking. The heat from the stove warms my back as my gaze drifts around the room. In the corner, the desk with the orange tackle box is overrun with more oyster shells. Adjacent to it, a sturdy wooden table is pushed up against the wall and surrounded by three mismatched chairs. On the table’s scarred surface, marked by coffee rings, sits a fruit bowl. Propped up next to the door is a collection of fishing rods and reels. I enjoy collecting the individual pixels that make up the picture of who Jack is: rustic, wholesome, uncomplicated.
Jack joins me on the sofa, presenting me with a hefty plate holding a mouth-watering bacon-and-egg sandwich. The bread is a perfect golden-brown colour and glistens with a buttery sheen. A sweet micro-herb garnish has been added to the side.
‘Yum. Thank you.’
Jack’s eyes are on me as I take my first bite.
‘Fuck – I mean, ah! It’s so hot!’ I feel like I’m breathing fire.
‘Oh, yes, should’ve warned you about that,’ he quips, his eyes betraying a teasing grin as his own plate remains untouched.
My scorching mouthful has barely dropped onto the plate when he whisks it out of my hands and places it on the coffee table. A beat later his famished mouth finds mine.
At first, I’m worried that I taste like egg, but it soon becomes impossible to hold any thought that’s not directly related to what’s happening in my body, to my body, right now. The world narrows as his tongue deepens our kisses and every nerve ending from my neck down to my little toes springs to life.
Jack pauses to tuck a strand of poodle hair behind my ear. Cupping my chin, he pulls my face closer to his, our lips tantalisingly close. ‘Is that how they do it in your movies?’ he whispers, his words a breathy murmur against my skin.
I meet his gaze, a surge of longing coursing through me. I nod slowly, reaching for the tea towel still draped over his shoulder and tossing it aside. ‘We won’t be needing this,’ I say hungrily.
He watches me, his teeth grazing his lower lip as his eyes darken. He leans back in, his lips bypassing mine and instead trailing tiny, sweet kisses down my jawline before he buries his face into the softness between my neck and collarbone, his mouth latching onto my skin.
I moan and push my fingers into his hair. I don’t care if he leaves a mark.
When he finally pulls away, my entire body is ablaze.
His ravenous eyes meet mine, as he guides me down onto my back.
‘We won’t be needing this.’ Jack echoes my earlier words, gesturing for me to lift my arms.
He pulls my tank top over my head, then runs a flattened palm from the nape of my neck down to my breasts. Bending his head, he covers my cleavage in more of those sweet kisses.
My back arches as his hands slide over my nipples, his touch sending electric pulses through me. A deep throbbing knocks between my legs as Jack swaps his fingers for his mouth, taking my thin bra fabric and nipple between his teeth.
I gasp as he clamps down, the thrilling blend of pleasure and pain reignited as he delicately bites and twists.
‘How did you like my nibble?’ he growls, hair rumpled, as he comes up for air.
‘No fair,’ I breathe, giddy. ‘Self-defence on the defenceless.’ I’d gladly welcome a million more nibbles.
I hurriedly slide a hand under my shoulder blades to unclasp my bra. Jack yanks it out from underneath my body and tosses it over the back of the couch with the tea towel. His tongue swirls over my nipples, eliciting moans from somewhere deep inside me.
I’m so completely engulfed in a tidal wave of pleasure that I groan, frustrated, when he removes his mouth. My protests are silenced as Jack’s thumb and forefinger return to gently pinch my sensitive skin. His other hand trails down the length of my torso, flicking up my skirt to reveal my underwear.
‘Is this okay?’ he asks, tender, his fingers still working my left nipple while his right hand rests on my thigh.
‘Mm,’ I murmur, anticipation building as I prepare for his touch.
I can feel him pressing into me, which only intensifies my need.
Jack’s head follows his hands down my body, but he overshoots, stopping at my calf. My hips writhe with impatience.
No! What is he doing? Pain. It’s definitely pain I’m in now.
‘And how is this feeling?’ he teases, tracing the faint mark from the jellyfish sting.
‘It’s fine!’
‘Are you sure?’ he persists, continuing to circle my calf with his fingers as the rest of me aches.
‘Please, Jack,’ I rasp, grabbing his hand and guiding him back up.
A delicious liquid heat ripples through my body as he finds me. His weighty hand rests on top of the damp cotton, cupping me, before two fingers begin to stroke. Short and sharp at first, then becoming longer and more drawn out.
When he finally moves his head between my legs, I know that I don’t have long. He pulls my undies down over my ankles, then buries his face. It’s warm and wet and wonderful.
I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands as Jack angles himself up to look at me, eyes glazed with desire.
‘I want you up here with me,’ I manage before I explode.
His wild eyes lock onto mine, sending another zip of adrenaline through me. Then he quickly shuffles back up to my end of the couch, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that’s as passionate as it is feral.
Before shucking off his shorts, Jack pulls his wallet from his pocket and retrieves a foil square.
Holiday hook-up rule number five: Use protection.
‘Compliments of Clam Cove Resort honeymoon suite,’ he says, jaw flexing.
I whimper as he parts my legs with his knee and finally moves on top of me, his weight a comforting anchor as he pushes inside me.
I cling to his muscular back, lost in the rhythm of his steady thrusts, my fingernails digging into his flesh, until our bodies curl with a fire-hot intensity that makes us both cry out. It’s like the monochrome monotony of the last few years has suddenly burst into vibrant, pulsating colours.
‘How was that?’ Jack pants, breathless in my ear.
But I have no words left to answer him.