8. ARIES
8
ARIES
I wake unusually early, memories of my dreams about Mr Hawkston falling apart like pieces of a jigsaw. They play on repeat every night, fading with the sunrise. It’s driving me slightly insane.
I haven’t encountered him in person since I found him playing Daddy Monster with Lucie, the morning after the bed-wetting incident, a week ago now. But he has absolutely plagued my subconscious since then. Who am I kidding? He’s plagued my conscious mind too . I’ve been wandering around the house, heart thudding, hoping to catch a glimpse of him like a teenage groupie desperate to see their favourite popstar. Absolutely ridiculous. I bet he hasn’t thought of me at all.
Milky light filters through the windows in my bedroom. I briefly wonder what the time is, but as soon as the thought passes through my mind, hunger hits me, gnawing at the lining of my stomach. Breakfast time. If I haul my arse out of bed now, I can eat quickly before my working day starts. It’s bound to be a full-on Sunday, same as last week. But damn, this bed is comfy. I don’t want to get out from under the covers. It’s better than my one at home, although I haven’t told Mum that.
I count to five and jump out of bed. Ready .
And then I remember I finished off the contents of the upstairs fridge last night. Damn it. I need to get better at stocking up. If I want to eat, I’ll have to creep to the basement for food. It’s so early that I’m pretty sure I’ll be safe, and it’s a Sunday. No one else is going to be up now, are they?
I take the stairs, all four flights, in the semi-darkness. The plush carpet is soft against my bare feet and I relish the feeling of squishing my toes into it with each step.
When I reach the basement, it’s quiet, but the air is thick with the distinctive smell of a hot sauna. Does no one ever turn it off? The energy bills in this house must be huge.
I’d really love to nip in there. But, no. That would be really foolish, wouldn’t it?
But the lure of the freshwater pool is too much. Maybe I can just take a peek . Calming spa music filters out into the hall, tempting me like a siren call. Don’t they ever turn that off, either? Perhaps they keep it running because Mr Hawkston is a vampire who stays up all night.
I laugh at this idea. I’ve seen so little of him, he could well be locked in a coffin somewhere. I’m not even sure he’s in the house at all. He could have gone away on business for all I know. He’s under no obligation to tell me about his comings and goings.
I figure that, even if he is in the house, it’s so early he won’t be up. I’m safe. I take the turn to the pool, and as soon as I enter the room, seeing the water calms me. Ripples reflect across the ceiling, giving it a silvery sheen. It’s like I’m standing in a mermaid’s lagoon.
I allow myself a few moments to absorb the energy. It’s pure luxury. Completely breathtaking. I’d have no idea people lived like this if I hadn’t seen it myself. I stay close to the walls, as if moving closer to the water poses a danger to my safety. I might not be able to resist jumping in.
A yawn blossoms, and I stretch my arms as my eyes close. Maybe I should have stayed in bed after all. This first week has been grueling; running after a four-year-old has been exhausting. She goes to a local nursery on Mondays and Tuesday though, so those are my days off.
I turn, smacking right into a huge wall of muscle. A burning hot, sweaty wall.
“Fuck,” Mr Hawkston growls.
My mind is a flurry of activity; a swirling mess of thoughts I can’t cling to. All I know is he’s half-naked yet again, and his hands are on my skin, and my pyjama top is now covered in his sweat.
I push away from him, or he pushes me off. I can’t tell because there’s a whole lot of skin-to-skin contact going on, and it’s impacting my brain’s ability to function.
His face is red, like he’s hot. Sauna. He’s obviously been in the sauna. There’s a white towel wrapped around his hips, but otherwise he’s all muscle. Hot, sweaty muscle . His breaths are coming fast. Is that because of the sauna too?
“What are you doing?” he says, his voice sharp, making my own anger spike. My response spills from my lips before I can stop it.
“Don’t you ever wear a shirt?”
There’s so much accusation in the question, it’s as if I’m blaming him for removing his clothes in his own home. I want to stuff my words back down my throat, but they’re long gone now. I can’t get them back.
His face is carved in stone. “Not in the sauna.”
Guilt spears me. All the times I’ve seen him shirtless it’s been in reasonable scenarios. It’s me that’s been in all the wrong places, creeping around the house when I shouldn’t be. I’m so flustered, it takes me a moment to gather myself enough to speak. “No. Of course not. Why would you? It’s hot in there. Sweaty.” Sweaty ? Oh, my God. I can’t even talk to this man, and saying the word sweaty out loud has my gaze crawling all over his chest again. I blink to refocus. “Sorry. What time is it?”
“5.15.”
“5.15. Wow. You’re an early riser.”
“So are you, apparently.” His gaze is unforgiving, but I don’t miss the dart of his eyes towards my breasts, lingering over the damp fabric. My nipples tighten. If he doesn’t look away soon, they’re going to start winking at him. He might as well be tweaking them with his fingers. He drags his gaze back to my face. “I don’t believe in wasting time.”
“Oh.” That sounded way too breathless. A bit like a noise a porn star might make. Not one in the full swing, but maybe one who was revving the engine. Shit . My nipples are definitely hard now.
“But sleep isn’t wasted time,” I say, inwardly congratulating myself on managing to form a coherent sentence. I inhale fast, words flooding my mind, desperate to spill out; anything to distract myself from what’s going on in my body and the arousal that’s blossoming without my permission. “It’s essential to human survival. You know, like food and sex.” Sex ? Dear Lord, I’m a mess. His eyebrow arches and heat rages up my neck and across my face. I force myself to continue, “I ran out of food upstairs. That’s why I’m down here. And then I could smell the sauna and I couldn’t resist coming in here. The pool is so beautiful. And the music… it’s so relaxing. I couldn’t resist.” Damn. I already said that. He’ll think I have no self-control.
His features are still hard. “I see that.”
I can’t stop staring. Shit . I haven’t seen him for days and this is how I see him? All sweaty and half-naked? I need to say something quickly. My thoughts skirt back to the other times I’ve seen him shirtless.
“I’m so sorry about last week,” I blurt. “About bringing Lucie to your room after she wet the bed. I thought she was going to scream the house down if I didn’t, and I didn’t have clean sheets and I wasn’t sure if you would like it if she slept in my bed.”
If he thinks it’s weird that I’m mentioning this a week later, he doesn’t show it because he responds calmly. “Mrs Minter said she left you a note with the details about sheets. She’s very thorough. Didn’t you read it?”
I wince. Yes, I read it after the bed-wetting incident. Well, I read the first half when I arrived, but I got distracted right around the part where I was supposed to make a shopping list of food to stock my fridge. Clearly, I’m failing on that front too. “I found the sheets in the morning.”
This seems to satisfy him. “Good. And, so we’re clear, Lucie doesn’t sleep in my room. Ever. Can you make sure she knows that? If it happens again, I want you to deal with it. Tell her she cannot sleep in my room and hold that line, so I don’t have to do it in the middle of the night. That’s your job. Please make sure you’re doing it.”
“Even if she’s upset? And only wants Daddy?”
“Yes. I’m busy. My work is demanding. And like you said, sleep is essential. I like mine to be undisturbed.”
Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. I find myself longing for the version of this man who ran up the stairs pretending to be a monster. Why can’t I get him instead of this icy version? “Sure. I can do that.”
He holds my gaze for a moment, and the air fills with static that raises the hairs on my arms. Something is going on here. Mum would say it’s the energetic charge of our thoughts clashing together in mid-air. What the hell is he thinking right now?
“I should go,” I say, and I skip past him. I aim for a jolly, carefree movement, my knee raised high. But the moment my foot strikes the floor, I know I’ve made a mistake. The tiles are wet and my heel slides out from under me.
I reach out for something to grab… anything to steady me before my bum hits the floor. And my fingers find… towel. Thick, plush, luxurious towel.
Suffice to say, the towel offers no resistance and I plummet towards the floor in a heap of Egyptian cotton. I brace for the jarring of my coccyx on the tile, but a hand grips my elbow, taking all of my weight before I land.
My bare feet are tangled in the towel. I kick at it to free them, but they only end up further ensnared. Another hand comes around my waist, raising me gently to my feet, which are now half-wrapped in the towel.
The towel!
Oh, shit.
If I have his towel, then what is he wearing? The breath halts in my chest and a surge of panic rips through me so strong that my knees weaken. He must feel it because his hold on me tightens. My heart starts to race, and I keep my gaze very deliberately on the towel at my feet, but he’s right behind me, his hand still on my waist. His fingers are on the skin between my top and the stupidly short pyjama shorts I wear to bed. Why isn’t he moving them away? My skin pulses beneath his hand, like the creature from Alien is about to break out from inside my body.
“You okay?” he asks, sounding concerned.
I scrunch my eyes closed, shifting the towel with my toes. “Uh-huh.”
His hand leaves my waist and I bend to pick up the towel, patting the ground with my fingers to find it.
Oh, dear Lord, this is messy. I have Mr Hawkston’s towel in my hands. The towel that was wrapped around his hips only seconds ago.
My heart stutters as my brain tries to gear up through the fog of panic. I can’t move, and I don’t dare open my eyes. “Are you naked right now?”
A silence passes that could fill an eternity. “Yes.”
His voice is completely calm, with not even the faintest tremor of shame or embarrassment.
“Oh, fuck. I mean… Oh. Shit. Fuck.”
Well, that was eloquent. But holy hell, Mr Hawkston is absolutely 100%, hot, sweaty, and naked, standing right behind me. An unmistakable pressure surges to the apex of my thighs. Even if he’s not turned on, I definitely am.
Realising I won’t see him if he’s behind me, I pop open my eyes, only to be greeted by the sight of our reflection in the mirrored wall that lines the room. I can see everything .
My mouth falls open and a wave of heat so intense I feel like I’m the one who’s been in the sauna douses me. His cock is… huge. Jesus . That thing is a weapon. If I reached out with my left hand, I could pull the fucking trigger. Even soft, it’s enormous.
Wait, is it soft? Or is it… semi ?
Is this turning him on too?
As if reacting to my attention, his dick hardens before my eyes. Hello, penis . This is nightmarish and ridiculously hot, all at once. I think I’m about to implode. I’m struggling to breathe.
My gaze lifts, snapping to his in the mirror. His expression is so ferocious that my heart misses a whole beat.
“Give me the towel, Aries.”
God, that voice. So low, so commanding. Is this how he talks in the bedroom? I’ve lost it. My imagination is running riot, while my body is frozen.
“The towel, Aries,” he repeats.
My heart gives a shuddering thump, like water finally making its way through an air-filled pipe. “Here.” The word croaks out from a dry mouth, my tongue feeling thick and uncoordinated.
I dangle the towel out to the side, and he snatches it and wraps it around his waist. Then he steps around me. As he walks past, his right arm brushes against mine. The contact is like a lightning strike. There’s a falter in his step, the slightest pause, before he proceeds to the exit without another word.
This job has definitely taken a bizarre turn. If I had any alcohol, I’d pour myself a shot to calm my nerves.
I just got a full frontal view of Mr Hawkston, entirely bollock naked. And his dick… that’s not something I’ll be able to forget.
If I had a smartphone, I’d be googling whether men get situational erections. If I had been Mrs Minter, would he have got hard? Was it to do with me, or was it to do with the fact he was naked with a woman? Not me woman. Just generic female with breasts. Maybe it was the cold air after the sauna? But wouldn’t that have the opposite effect?
I’d really like to know for sure if it means he’s attracted to me, Aries, rather than me, the stand-in for any female human being at that particular moment. Because for me, it’s all about him. Mr Hawkston. My hot, grumpy boss who rarely smiles and hates to let his kids sleep in his bed. But has the face and body of an A-list movie star.
I must have made my way upstairs in a daze, because I don’t remember how I got here. I’m walking into the upstairs kitchen, and there, pinned to the empty fridge, is Mrs Minter’s note. Small curling script curves over two sides of A4. No wonder I zoned out while reading it. I pull it off the fridge and read the whole thing again, in case there’s anything else I’ve missed.
At the very bottom of the list it says, Mr Hawkston plays golf every third Sunday of the month .
So that’s where he’s going today.
I read the line again, and as I sound out his name, an image pops into my mind, crystal clear. It’s his reflection in the mirror, and his huge, veined cock, standing to attention. A sudden gush of moisture between my legs leaks onto the gusset of my pyjama shorts and my core throbs. I think my clit is actually swollen.
How am I ever going to be able to look him in the eye again?
I’ll think about that later.
Right now, I’m exquisitely aroused and I’m going to have to do something about it. My pussy is aching to be filled, and the penis downstairs is very much not available to me. I’ll have to sort myself out. Maybe I can orgasm Mr Hawkston out of my system and move on.
Fat chance . But worth a shot, right?
I head to my bedroom and unzip the pocket in my suitcase, pulling out my dildo. Bright pink, eight inches, and all mine. I feel a little safer holding it in my hand, knowing I can fix this situation. I can make this uncomfortable attraction to this man go away using this lifeless piece of plastic.
I head into my en suite and lock the door. A session with the pink beast in the shower never fails.
But there’s a first time for everything.
Ten minutes later, dripping wet and exhausted, I arrive like a fricking freight train. I come so hard that I know this attraction isn’t going anywhere.
At least not until I get the real man between my thighs and fuck it out of me.