Chapter 7 Amber
Amber
He lives in a windmill. A bloody windmill. It’s beautiful, so so beautiful. I had no idea people actually lived in them. Except in that old British TV show ‘Jonathan Creek’.
The windmill is huge, and it’s white—I think—with what looks like a one-story home attached to the side of it built out of beautiful, old-looking grey flagstone bricks.
The sails are ginormous, so much bigger than I ever imagined they’d be, not that I spent too much time thinking about windmills.
The grounds surrounding his home look breathtaking, well, what I could see of them anyway.
When we pulled up here after dropping off his truck at the depot and getting into his car, I was awestruck.
I could just make out a lake of some kind, with a little dock, but with it being past midnight here, I only had the moonlight to see by.
The sky is so clear with hundreds of stars.
It’s otherworldly. I can’t wait until the morning so I can see everything clearly.
It almost makes me forget everything that’s happening, but not quite.
Bas lets us into a mudroom of sorts; it’s full of boots, shoes, and trainers all neatly on racks, and fishing rods and tackle boxes on the opposite side of the room.
It’s pretty big in here, but everything has its place, which is surprising considering he’s a guy.
Maybe he’s one of those rare species of men who are tidy.
It wouldn’t surprise me; everything about him is perfect.
I slip off my boots and scrunch my feet into the rug in the hallway.
It's so nice to have my boots off after all those hours. I can’t help but look around at everything.
Framed pictures line the hall of Abel, Bas, others I assume, are family, and a beautiful dark-haired woman I know is Marieke.
She is stunning. You know those women who are naturally beautiful, and you can tell just by looking at her that she’s kind.
That’s her. We couldn’t look any more different.
I’m blonde to her brunette, curly to her straight hair, pale to her olive skin, plus she is so elegant, and I’m…
well, I’m not. It makes me feel terrible comparing myself to her, but I just can't help it. I think it’s a woman thing, we can’t help but torture ourselves, and it just shows how I’m truly not Bas’ type, not that it matters.
“Tea?” Bas calls from somewhere deeper in the house. Sorry, windmill. Eeek. I’m in a windmill.
I continue my exploration, wanting to see everything all at once.
I love all the pictures he has up, showing fun memories and good times.
He’s a good dad, I know I haven’t ever seen him with his son, but I can just tell.
He really cares about him, and from the pictures, you can tell they are tight.
Abel is the spitting image of Bas. Another heartbreaker will be loose in the world one day.
He’s got Bas’s dimple, his hair, and his smile.
That smile that always looks like he’s laughing at an inside joke that no one else has any idea about.
As I get to the doorway to the kitchen, I halt, unable to move as I watch Bas moving around his kitchen, making tea, and humming to himself.
His kitchen is beautiful. It’s very Norwegian—strange given that we are in Holland.
The kitchen features all pale wood, gleaming stainless-steel appliances, and white marble countertops.
But the showstopper, besides its very handsome owner, will surely be the huge window behind the butler sink, which I think will look out over the lake.
As I hold onto the doorframe, I feel texture under my fingers and look to see notches with Abel’s growing height.
My God, this man just makes me fall for him more and more.
My grandmother had all her grandkids’ height notched into the kitchen doorframe too, and I used to love seeing if I’d grown every morning, which of course I hadn’t, but it made her laugh.
“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” I say quietly, mesmerised by him. “Is it okay if I call my dad?”
“Of course, you don’t need to ask permission, Bell.”
I jog back to the mud room and grab my bag with all the burner phones.
My heart is pounding in my throat as I make my way back to the kitchen.
I can’t wait to speak to Dad, Andrea, and Jess.
I dump the phones on the big kitchen island and grab a random one, instantly dialling Dad’s number.
I get impatient immediately as I listen to the strange dial tone, the one when you get when you’re abroad.
“Yeah?”
“Dad, it’s me.”
“Thank fuck, babygirl, I was worried sick,” his voice is gruff, like he’s swallowed gravel.
“I’ve made it, I’m away and safe,” I say, making eye contact with Bastiaan and giving him a small, grateful smile.
“Okay, good. Let me call you back so I know we can talk freely.” Dad ends the call abruptly, which makes me smile. That’s so typical Dad.
“What did he say?” Bas asks, looking confused, but also totally sexy as he leans against the island in front of me, arms out wide, big hands splayed on the countertop behind him, showing off his impressive forearms and tattoos.
I had no idea he had so many. Both arms are covered in ink, and it disappears up his sleeves. I wonder where else he has tattoos.
“Amber?” Bas calls.
Fuck, I completely spaced out while I was ogling him.
“Oh, erm… he’s going to call me back on a safe line, or something.”
With my face red hot, the phone in my hands starts ringing.
“Dad?”
“Where are you? You’ve left the fuckin’ country?”
“How do you know that?”
“The dial tone is different. Where are you?”
“Oh, I’m in Holland with Bas.”
“Who the fuck is Bas? What kind of name is that?” Dad sounds pissed.
“He’s the flower delivery guy that comes over from Holland. It’s a Dutch name, short for Bastiaan.”
“You left the country with a fuckin’ stranger? Amber, I thought you were smarter than that!”
“He’s not a stranger, Dad. He’s a good friend. I’ve known him for a few years now.”
“What type of friend?”
“A friend. But anyway, even if it were more, it wouldn’t be any of your business.
This is your doing, you know–your club. I’ve had to shut my shop for God knows how long, go on the bloody run, put my life on hold, and all because a rival club is going after family members, and you are giving me a hard time?
This isn’t my lifestyle; it's not easy for me. In fact, I ended up in a fucking panic attack earlier. So, thanks a lot, Dad. I’ll call again tomorrow to check in. ”
“Amber…” Dad tries to interrupt me.
“Goodnight,” I manage to say before my chin starts to wobble and I end the call.
I breathe in deeply as I blink quickly, trying to force away the tears I know are coming.
“Please may I take a shower?” I don’t make eye contact with Bas as I clear away the other phones, shoving them back into my bag, but make sure to leave the phone I’m currently using on the island.
“Sure, follow me,” Bas says, not pressing me; I think he can tell I’m on the edge.
One look at this bathtub and I couldn’t resist. This bath is heaven.
Pure heaven on earth. It’s enormous, and when I say huge, I mean I can lie with my legs out straight.
Being as tall as I am, I haven’t been able to do that since I was younger.
Plus, I swear there’s room for at least two more people.
I only showered this morning, but travelling makes you feel so grimy and gross.
The feeling of being clean after hours of travelling is severely underrated.
I left voicemails for both Andrea and Jess, and with it being past one a.m., I’m hoping they are asleep.
This bathroom has that Nordic feel, which I’m noticing is a theme in Bas’s home.
Lots of pale wood, stainless steel, either wooden floors or pale tiles, and lots of plants.
It gives the house a masculine feel, but with a homey edge.
I really like it. This is Bas’s en suite bathroom, which is bigger than my main one.
Alongside this huge bath is a massive walk-in shower with two showerheads and a bench, which I can’t help but envisage Bas in, soaping up his impressive body.
Just knowing he’s laid naked in this tub, all hot and wet, like I am, is making my pussy begin to throb.
I close my eyes and imagine him in here with me, behind me, so that I can feel his dick hard against my back.
I cup my breasts and pinch my nipples lightly, imagining it's his big hands squeezing my flesh as he nibbles on my neck. I have to suppress a moan as I clench my thighs together to try and appease the incessant throb between my legs, but it's not enough. I start to smooth my right hand over my stomach toward the source of the demands, but I stop; I can’t do this here, can I? I look over toward the door, and I’m sure I’m far enough away that he won’t hear me.
Fuck, I should have taken a shower. Next time.
I bite my lip as I grin and slide my fingers over my slippery clit, which makes me silently gasp.
Knowing I am in Bas’s space is making me so hot.
I think about how he crowded me earlier at my flower shop as I slowly swirl my finger back and forth over my tight bud, how he moved me where he wanted me, how he always does that when we are in the back of his flower truck.
I’m holding in groans now, knowing if I were alone, I would be chanting his name.
All I can think about is him being here with me, telling me what to do with that voice; the voice I always hear whenever I get myself off.
Fuck. My fingers slide lower, and I gently push one inside, making my head tip right back as I take in a massive gulp of air.
My nipples poke out of the water as I lie back; they are dying for some attention, to feel his mouth and beard all over them.
I work my fingers faster and faster, my breaths coming quicker as I open my legs as far as the bath will let me.
I add a second finger and up my pace, plunging it in and out of my wetness, imagining just how much his big fingers would stretch me.
And that’s what tips me over the edge, what makes me start to climax so hard as I begin to lift my other hand to my mouth.
“Bas,” I groan before my hand reaches my mouth.
I squeeze my thighs around my hand as I rock my hips and ride out my orgasm, not caring that the water is sloshing all around me.
Pulling my hands away from my mouth and out from between my thighs, I slump back, very unladylike, with my legs open and my head almost sideways in the water.
I swear that made me see stars. I feel like over-cooked spaghetti now, like all my energy has left, and I just don’t have it in me to care that he might have heard. Now all I can think about is sleep.
I drag my exhausted but satisfied self out of the bath and into Bas’s enormous slate grey bathrobe that he laid out for me.
Oh, it’s soft. I do kind of look like a child wearing their parent’s robe though.
The thought makes me laugh. I drain the bath and use the shower head to swish water around the sides to get rid of any bath scum; that’s just good bathroom etiquette.
I make my way into his bedroom and just stare at his huge bed.
There’s a theme here: everything he has is ginormous.
That makes me giggle like a naughty child. Grow up, Amber.
“Bath okay?” Bas appears from nowhere and makes me leap out of my skin.
“Bloody hell!” I huff at him as I make sure I didn’t flash him when he scared me half to death.
“Sorry,” he says guiltily, with an odd look on his face.
“That’s okay. How a guy your size can sneak up on someone is a miracle.”
“I suppose. Was your bath pleasurable?”
“Erm… yes. It was lovely, thank you.”
“Ready for bed?”
“Yes, but I can sleep in Abel’s bed, I’m much smaller than you. I really don’t want to put you out any more than I already have.”
“Amber,” he says, getting closer. “For the last time, you aren’t putting me out, now get into bed,” he gets closer until I back up into his dresser.
I just stare up at him. My God, if he spoke like that to me in bed, I would be like putty in his hands.
“Sorry, yes. Time for bed,” I say as I fall into his pale blue eyes.
He bends down and, for a brief second, I think he’s going to kiss me, but he changes course and kisses my cheek.
He gives me a parting smile and closes the bedroom door behind him before I even have a chance to breathe.