Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Horatio is a lot more relaxed on the drive home, but somehow, despite the fact we’ve left his parents far behind and he no longer requires emotional support, we’re holding hands again, which is sending little darts of electricity shooting up my arm and low into my belly.
“So, how did you find it?” I ask him, rubbing my thighs together and trying to think unsexy thoughts like hairy nostrils, clogged up plug-holes and smelly dog farts.
“Actually, it was okay. It was fine. I’m just glad you were there.” He pauses. “How did you find it, Molly?”
“I enjoyed myself. Your parents are nice. Both of them are nice.” His gaze leaves the road and finds mine. “Your stepdad really cares about you, Horatio.”
He snorts. “He does?”
“It’s obvious.”
I shift round on the seat, running my thumb over his knuckles. “Can I say something?”
“Shit, I don’t like the sound of that,” he says. “Is it another one of your insults?”
“No,” I say, “but it’s a hard truth.” He groans. “You can take it.”
He puffs out his chest. “Give it to me, then.”
“I think you’re suffering from First Impressions Syndrome too.
I think you’re still stuck in the way you felt about Alan when you first met him all those years ago.
When you were still reeling from your parents’ divorce.
When you’d just moved to the other side of the world.
When everything was a mess. And maybe… maybe you’re still stuck in those emotions, and it’s stopping you from seeing how much the man really does care about you. ”
“Are we talking about the same man here, Molly? Didn’t you meet him? He’s grouchy. Regimented. Unflinching. I don’t think he’s ever said anything about loving me the whole time I’ve known him.”
“That’s because he’s British, Horatio. And of a certain age. He’s got that whole stiff upper lip thing going on.”
“But he was always getting at me, Molly. He’s still getting at me. You heard what he said about the car.”
“Because he cares about you, Horatio. And he doesn’t know how to tell you or how to show you. The only way he knows is to try to help you. But that help, I guess, comes out as–”
“–nagging,” Horatio says.
“Well, yes,” I tell him. “Not everyone’s great at emotions and feelings and expressing them. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it inside.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for that,” he says, a little grumpily.
I squeeze his fingers. “Just think about it. Maybe, you know, consider it.”
I swivel back in my chair, facing the front again. I could be wrong – I’ve not always been the best at reading people in the past – but I think in this case, I am right. I think Alan is similar to my own mum in that way. It’s their way of showing that they care.
That thought sparks another idea in my head and I frown.
Someone else in my life who liked to complain about things, who liked to nag me for not putting the bins out properly, or not turning off the communal hall light, or leaving muddy footprints on the carpet. Is Horatio more like his stepdad than he realises?
“They liked you,” Horatio says.
“Of course they liked me,” I say. “Everyone likes me. Unless I’m, you know, destroying their birthday cakes in dramatic fashion.”
“I think that was one of the best moments of my life.” He cackles.
“Well, it was one of the most embarrassing of mine.”
“Do you want to know what else has been one of the best moments of my life?” he asks.
“Let me think. Winning all those sports awards at school?”
“I told you. I never won any sports awards at school.”
“Buying your two Ferraris?”
“Meh,” he says.
“Being made… what are you exactly? President of the bank?”
“I’m an Executive Director,” he tells me.
“Hmm,” I say. “I’m all out of ideas. Tell me.”
He brings our joined hands over to my lap and rests his palm on my thigh.
“Being between your legs, Molly Eccleston. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop remembering how good you tasted. How amazing you sounded.”
“Oh jeez,” I say, sinking low in the car seat and bringing my hands to my burning cheeks. “I have to confess, it was probably one of the best moments of my life too.”
His head snaps my way and the car nearly swerves right out of the lane.
“Shit,” he says, snapping his hand back up to the steering wheel – much to my disgust. “Are you serious?”
“Horatio Shaw, you made me magically orgasm so violently we got inspected by the Witching Authority.”
I laugh, but he doesn’t join me. Instead, he’s gazing at me again, with an intensity that has me squirming in my seat.
“Yeah, but was it special, Molly?”
I gaze back at him and those beautiful blue eyes of his.
I want to tell him that every moment with him has been special.
That it’s been so completely unexpected.
I hadn’t been looking for love, and then it exploded into my kitchen.
And every moment I’ve spent with him since, I feel myself falling a little deeper.
And that it’s dangerous and difficult and deadly.
And because of that, I can’t tell him any of this.
I have to keep everything tight inside me and hope that when all this is over, he won’t hate me. Because I think that would completely break my heart.
Sadness settles in my stomach, but I suppress it, calling on all my limited acting skills to force a teasing smile onto my face.
“How could it not be?” I say, lightly. He can tell I’m not being serious and he turns his head back to the road. “When all this is over, and you’re cured of your affliction, and back to dating supermodels–”
“I’ve never dated a model.”
“Sure. But, anyway, when all this is over, you can rest assured that all my future romantic partners are going to have a lot to live up to in the cunnilingus department. No wonder so many of the women leaving your flat look a little cross-eyed.”
“I want to assure you, Molly, that I’ve never been as enthusiastic about cunnilingus as I have been with you.”
“Probably the effects of the potion.”
Disappointment seems to flicker momentarily in his eyes and he returns his attention back to the road. “Yeah, the potion,” he says.
We’re quiet as we arrive back in Hampstead and he descends into the underground car park and parks up the car. We take the stairs up into Heatherley Court and to our hallway, our hands hanging by our sides the whole way, me itching for him to touch me, for his skin to brush against mine.
Outside my door, we hesitate.
“Thank you again for coming tonight, Molly,” he says, his eyes such a deeply blue colour I won’t ever be able to look up at the sky again and not think of him.
“What are friends for,” I say.
He nods and for a moment I think he’ll say something more.
He doesn’t, he turns away and disappears inside his own flat.
I linger in the hallway, leaning back against my door and closing my eyes.
“We’ll always have the games room,” I mumble to myself and then I open the door and slip inside, quiet not to wake my sleeping dog.
I’ve been inside barely a minute when there’s a light knock. It isn’t very loud, but it’s enough to have me jumping and yelping, which sets McGruff off.
“Go back to sleep,” I tell him.
He looks at me, yawns, and settles back down in his basket, and I turn around and tiptoe back to the door. Sliding back all the locks and bolts, I open it just a crack.
It’s Horatio. Who else?
His hair’s all messed up, as if he’s scrubbed his hand back and forth through it, and his eyes are wild.
“Molly, I–” he begins.
But he doesn’t finish, as I fling the door open and jump straight up into his arms. He catches me deftly, without even a grunt, and I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.
His hands are on my bum, and I can already feel him hardening through the front of his trousers, pressed up against me.
“You didn’t let me finish,” he points out.
“I apologise. What was it you wanted to say?”
“That I want you, Molly Eccleston,” he growls.
“Are you sure?”
“Damn sure!”
“But the potion and–”
“Screw the potion. Screw everything else. Molly, I have to have you.”
It’s exceedingly cheesy, but the way he says it sets everything pulsing between my legs.
“Then what are you waiting for?” I tell him.
He steps inside my flat and kicks the door shut with his foot, which has me whimpering because it’s so seriously hot. Then he’s striding through my flat towards my bedroom.
McGruff lifts his head from his paws and yaps again.
“Go to sleep,” I tell him. “This does not concern you.”
I’m sure my dog is judging my choices and my morals, but right now, I don’t care about any of those things.
Not when Horatio’s mouth is on my throat and he’s kissing and sucking, nibbling and biting, and I’m so desperate for him that I’m already grinding my hips against him, wanting some kind of friction, some kind of release.
He lowers me down onto the mattress, and I thank all my lucky stars I had the good sense to tidy my bedroom today and make the damn bed.
“Will you let me fuck you in your boots?” he says, towering over me and holding my foot in his hand.
“Absolutely not,” I tell him.
He groans, then slowly undoes my laces. Such a trivial thing, and yet the way he does it – his eyes dark with lust, his fingers taking their time, seductively loosening each lace and then carefully sliding my boot from my foot – has me literally shivering with desire.
He does the same with the other boot, then toes off his own shoes and climbs onto the bed with me.
“Oh, Dragon’s fiery breath!” I tell him. “Please take your clothes off.”
“I’d rather you took them off, Molly.”
He doesn’t need to ask me twice. My hot little hands are scrabbling at the buttons of his shirt, ripping it open, and tugging it down his arms. I sigh at the spectacular chest and that solid abdomen on show, my hands swimming over every groove and bulge of muscle as I satisfy myself exploring him.