Chapter 16 Garrett
Chapter sixteen
Garrett
I’m having a fantastic fucking dream. In it, there’s a warm body pressed to me, a smooth hand circling my cock, while I kiss lips that taste like vanilla biscuits.
Something tickles my nose and I’m aware of a warmth spreading through my lower belly – the kind I can only associate with an impending orgasm.
My eyes shoot open and I find myself peering into rich browns that sparkle like moonlight off a lake on a clear summer night.
“You’re awake,” Roman remarks. We’re lying on our sides, face to face.
His hair is mussed and there are sheet lines imprinted on his cheek.
One of his hands is wrapped around my erection – not just a good dream, a great reality too – while he traces the curve of my ear with a finger on his other hand.
“What are you doing, trouble?” My heart taps a beat against my ribcage and I shift a little closer, chasing his lips.
“We missed dinner. I’m hungry.”
Roman’s hand twists, his thumb gliding over my slit on his upstroke. I can’t concentrate on his words when every cell in my body is alight with pleasure, my sole focus on the sensations coursing through me.
“I can…can…fuck…” I close my eyes and tip my head back.
“You can what?” he asks, all mock innocence, as though he’s not trying to have a conversation while also milking my cock.
“Cook. I can cook,” I blurt out, my voice breathless.
Roman’s grip tightens. “What are you going to make?” I open my eyes and he’s still watching me, a smile playing on his lips.
“Bloody hell,” I mutter, leaning into him as my orgasm crests, my release spilling over his hand.
My breathing is heavy and I open my eyes to his gorgeous face, bathed in the glow from the side lamp. Behind him, the curtains are still open and it’s dark out so I can’t tell if the snow materialised or not, but there’s a chill in the air that makes me think it has.
Roman’s stomach grumbles and he laughs, which sets me off too, and I do the only thing I really want at this moment. I roll on top of him, pinning him to the bed and then I kiss him.
I kiss him with everything I have.
When we break apart, his lips are swollen and his smile is bigger than any I’ve seen on him before.
“Steak and chips or Bangers and Mash?” I ask.
“Can you make cheesy mash?”
I kiss his nose and then each of his flushed cheeks.
“Of course.”
“Have you never peeled potatoes before?” I close the oven door, having checked on the apple sausages I popped in earlier, and look over to where Roman is fighting with a potato peeler. A deep gouge taken out of one and streaks of peel still sticking to others.
“No. I buy it frozen. Sometimes the powdered variety.” The look I give him must reveal my utter horror at his confession, because he chuckles and shakes his head.
“You’re wearing your handsome judgmental face,” Roman remarks, pointing the potato peeler at me.
“I’m not. I’m just surprised, is all. How do you get to twenty-three and not know how to peel potatoes? I guess I presumed it’s something everyone knew how to do.”
He shrugs, the smile falling from his face. He looks down at the haphazardly dissected starchy veg in front of him.
“A lifetime of eating ready meals or whatever my aunt left out for me. No one ever taught me. There was no one to teach me.”
His words twist at my heart. How can no one have loved this man the way he deserves? With his cheeky sense of humour, his larger-than-life personality and his warm, comforting presence, Roman Otley is a man that I would be honoured to have at my side.
I shake away the silly thought. He’s a young, famous guy with the world at his feet. He doesn’t need some old, homebody author mooning over him. That’s not what any of this is, even if I wish it was.
“Well, you’re in luck because I happen to be a pro at it.”
He raises an eyebrow, a little sparkle back in his eyes.
“Is it something you can be a pro at?”
“Sure.” I move to stand behind him, pressing my chest to his back. With my hands on his wrists, I show him how to hold the peeler, slicing it smoothly around the vegetable.
“You’re a surprise,” he muses, his head turning to the side to look at me.
“In what way?”
“You’re quiet and reserved – but in a focused kind of way.
But in the bedroom? Total badass.” He laughs, and it’s such a pretty sound I have no choice but to deliver a quick kiss to his lips and taste his happiness.
“Not that I don’t think you’re a badass writer.
You probably are, but it’s like that saying ‘author in the streets, sex God in the sheets.’” It’s my turn to laugh.
“You’re ridiculous,” I say playfully, taking a step back to leave him to the rest while I slice and dice carrots and courgettes.
“What I don’t get is why your ex would call you boring.”
I cut the stalk off the two deep green vegetables, then slice them horizontally. The scent of the sausages as the apple in them caramelises fills the small kitchen and I note how hungry I am, having not eaten since breakfast.
“Our sex life was never the problem. Well, not the sex itself, that is. We matched on a physical level even towards the end – when we actually made time for each other. But at some point, we both became versions of people who no longer fit together. Two souls who didn’t complement each other.
And then the things I wanted from life no longer matched what he wanted. ”
Roman mulls that over for a moment, a comfortable silence falling between us while we both work to get our meal prepared.
“How do you know if people fit?” he asks, rounding the counter and coming to stand next to me.
“I’m the wrong person to ask, if I’m being honest. I don’t fit anywhere. Not even in my own family.” Thinking of my parents makes my stomach clench uncomfortably, that ever-present reminder of how alone I am, tugging at my insides.
Roman strokes my arm, conveying so much compassion in his gentle touch that I lean into it.
“But if I look at all the things that went wrong in my past relationships,” I continue.
“I’d narrow it down to an instinctual feeling.
Wanting to be in that person’s presence.
Missing them when they’re gone. Being able to sit with them but not need to talk or do anything.
When sharing the same space is enough to fill the gaps in your cracks. ”
Roman grins. “I keep saying you should write romance.”
I bop him on the nose, then sprinkle the dish of vegetables with oil and seasoning, before sliding it into the oven beneath the sausages.
“I’d be hopeless at it,” I admit.
“Agree to disagree.” He shoots a lopsided grin my way, then pulls out the stool from beneath the kitchen counter and climbs up onto it. He’s dressed in his reindeer print pyjamas again, his socked feet brushing the tiled floor.
With the potatoes set to boil, I lean on the counter opposite him, my elbows resting on the smooth, rustic wood.
“What about you, Supernova? What’s your big take on romance?”
Roman plays with the glass in front of him, tipping it left and right, watching the water inside slosh up the edges.
“I don’t have one. I’ve never been in love. The thought of it scares me as much as I know I want it.”
“You’re scared of falling in love?”
He shakes his head.
“I’m afraid of being left behind. People always leave, you know? That must suck so much more if you’re in love with the person.”
God, my heart aches for this sweet man.
“Liam is in love,” he continues. “He gets this goofy grin on his face every time she walks into the room. Even if she was only gone for five minutes. Can you imagine how bad it will hurt if she leaves him?”
I drum my fingers on the counter.
“But it will have been worth it, don’t you think?”
Roman’s eyes meet mine, and he nods.
“Yeah, maybe. I bet he’d say it was.”
Leaning in, I press my lips to his, our tongues tangling as he presses closer. When the kiss ends, my mouth lingers against his.
“You’re brave, Supernova. Bravest blue-haired troublemaker I’ve ever met. And one day, you’ll fit with someone in a way only soulmates can. And it will all be worth it. Even if it’s scary.”
The next time our mouths meet, it’s more smile than kiss.
“On another note – on a scale of ‘hell no’ to ‘best thing ever’, how do you feel about surprises?” I move from the counter to check on the boiling water and make sure the sausages are not burning. Roman stands and fills his glass, then hops onto the counter next to me.
“Umm…I would be a ‘hell to the fuck yes’ on that scale,” he replies.
“Good.” Closing the oven, happy nothing is burning, I move to stand between his legs. His eyes meet mine. “Because tomorrow afternoon, I have a surprise for you that I think you’re going to like.”
“Can I get a clue?” Roman flutters his eyelashes playfully.
“Nope.” I pop my lips on the p while shaking my head. “Not even those pouty lips will get it from me.” His bottom lip sticks out even further and I reach forward and bite it, eliciting the sweetest growl from him.
“Little hint?” His hands rub circles over my chest before settling around my neck.
“It’s Christmas related. That’s all I’m giving you.” Roman opens his mouth to say something, but I halt him by scooping him off the counter and depositing him on his feet.
“No. No more talking. Dance with me, Supernova.”
Roman’s smile reaches his eyes, the tiniest crow’s feet spreading on each side.
“Can’t think of anything I’d rather do right now,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his head over my rapidly beating heart.
I sway us towards the far counter where I hit play on the ancient-looking boom box. The sounds of Frank Sinatra singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas flow from the speakers.
Lifting Roman’s arms, I place them around my neck, then wrap my arms around his lower back and pull him impossibly closer.
We stay like that, our feet moving patterns across the kitchen floor as one song fades and another starts.
Nuzzling my cheek to his, I chase his lips and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, until my lungs beg me to stop and my heart begs me to never let go.