Chapter Twenty-Two
Twenty-Two
I fidget in the darkness of the basement.
I remember the sketches I’d seen before, and wonder if I should tell him about the one I found of me.
Instead, I decide to goad him about sketching in the first place.
I have no idea why he’s so embarrassed about it.
Not only is he gifted; it’s something I know and love.
There’s no need to hide that from me. “I was hoping you’d say drawing. ”
I wish I could see his face. “I’m not an artist,” he grumbles.
“You’re good, though.”
He laughs, frustrated. “Hattie, I don’t draw properly. I’m not an artist like you. I just doodle.”
“You doodle masterpieces. Got it.”
“I’ve never even finished a sketch.”
“Because you don’t want to.”
He scoffs. “Precisely.” He moves away from me, his hand dropping from my hip. I hate it. I pounce clumsily, in search of him. In doing so, it turns out he hadn’t moved far at all. Our heads collide and my hand practically stabs him in the chest.
He grunts as I duck down, crouching on the floor.
“What on earth…” he mutters, as his fingers land on my head like they were searching the air for me. “What you doing down there?”
“Hurting,” I croak. “You have a really hard head.”
Freddie seems to find this funny, which… What the hell? “You’re so unpredictable,” he says. “Honestly. I can never get a grasp on what you’re going to do or say next.”
“What? You weren’t expecting me to give you concussion?”
“I’m fine. Are you?”
“Mmm,” I mumble as he helps me back to my feet.
“Why you so interested in me all of a sudden anyway?” he asks. “You’ve never liked me before.”
“Ha!”
“Oh, now I’m funny?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t know I’ve fancied you forever.”
It’s killing me that I can’t see his face.
“Whaaat?” he says but I can tell by his tone and the slight pitch to his voice that he definitely knew.
“Oh, shut up,” I laugh. “Just because you’ve always thought I was the biggest dork.”
“You still are,” he says, and I swear his voice is closer. I wonder how far I’d need to lean forward to find his lips.
Best not. I might actually knock him unconscious.
“Now who’s the bully?” I say.
“You know the moment I saw you in a different light,” he says. It’s not a question. It’s a statement. He really believes I know. But I don’t.
“Do I?”
“You don’t?”
“No. I didn’t know you did now.”
“Please…”
“You rejected me twenty-two hours, fifteen minutes and eighteen seconds ago,” I remind him.
He chuckles heartily. “Is that exact?”
“Close enough.”
“Maybe I didn’t like your proposition.”
“Ha. Was I supposed to ask you to fuck me in a different way?”
This earns me his other hand which lands on my waist, squeezing. I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. My head is entirely untrustworthy right now.
Bend me over the pool table.
Spin me and hold me against the wall.
Collapse to the floor with me.
“Maybe that’s just it, though… What if I don’t just want to fuck you?”
“Mmm, you have kinks. I didn’t think about that.”
I feel his smirk through the dark. It’s like I have a sixth sense. And he doesn’t even deny his quirks. I’m half-tempted to push him on it. Find out whether it’s feet or armpits or something more extreme.
But he distracts me by dropping his head and pressing the stubble on his chin against the soft part of my cheek. I swear I gasp from the sensation of it.
How dumb. I shouldn’t be like this.
Clearly, I’m still coming down from a minor adrenaline rush.
These actions are almost primal. Or, at least, that’s my excuse.
Freddie’s hands grasp handfuls of my sweatshirt as if to keep himself grounded. His breathing quickens as I run my hands forward, over his cheeks and chin, letting my thumb trace his bottom lip daringly. He groans and I feel the vibrations through his chest.
I whisper, “Does it count if we can’t see it happening?”
“God, I hope not,” he says, his voice thick with yearning. Before I can say anything more, he presses his lips against mine, almost roughly. I haven’t even removed my thumb. It’s clumsy but hot. I feel like an idiot for not expecting it but he’s unfazed.
He lifts his hands, swiping my thumb away before cradling my face, his fingers roaming from the tips of my ears to the slope of my chin. I can’t help tipping my head back before realising this is exactly what Freddie wants as he takes my lips again.
He kisses slow and deep, taking his time, adjusting me carefully to get the best angle. His lips taste like coffee and mint. A delicious flavour on him.
He tilts my head just enough to run his tongue along my bottom lip; something about the action feels sort of filthy. I gasp against his mouth. Again, it’s exactly what he was after. I swear I feel his lips curve into a smile as he seizes the chance to slide his tongue against mine.
I’m entirely at his mercy.
If my hands weren’t already full of his t-shirt, I would drop to the ground in a horny puddle.
Freddie backs me up without even coming up for air and I become flush with the wall, the cold surface seeping through my jumper.
It doesn’t matter though because he’s so hot on my front, I’m at risk of working up a sweat.
He uses one arm to balance himself on the wall above my head, whilst his other hand stays firmly on my face, holding me, turning me, squeezing me in a way that feels close to desperation.
I’ve never enjoyed the darkness more than right now.
And something about realising I’ve never been kissed like this makes me want to weep. I feel vulnerable and powerful and fucking hot. I have no tools to manage these emotions.
“You’ve got… no idea… how long… I’ve wanted this,” he says against my lips, his body enclosing around me. I free one of my hands from his t-shirt to explore his arm above me, feel the softness of the hairs there.
I hold onto him like he’s my own personal scaffolding.
“Tell me,” I demand, desperate to know when I finally caught Freddie Harrison’s attention.
“The night you stole my wine.”
“Borrowed.”
“Thief,” he whispers, leaning in again. His hand drops from my cheek, his knuckles dragging gently down my neck and over my sternum.
There must be something about being touched in the dark that heightens the sensitivity of it because I feel like my body is about to burst into flames.
And then his lips brush over the bare skin above my sweatshirt, along my collarbone.
When he licks me there, I feel it reverberate in the places it shouldn’t.
This is just a kiss. In the dark. It doesn’t count.
It. Doesn’t. Count.
I promise myself this to avoid the guilt. But I’d be lying if I said the thought of kissing Freddie, when I really shouldn’t, doesn’t stoke the flame.
A laugh bubbles up in my throat when I think about how long I’ve fancied him. Before he even knew I existed. I rest my head against the wall behind me and bite my lip to prevent the thought whilst simultaneously giving him more space to explore.
His spare hand skirts below my sweatshirt, sneaking up and splaying over my warm skin. But his hands are huge, and his finger is practically grazing the underside of my comfy bra. Which reminds me.
Fuck.
I am not dressed for this to go further. The bra I’m wearing is elasticated and practical. Yes, it makes me significantly happier in my day-to-day life, but it does not look sexy. Or in this case feel sexy.
He figures it out fast, pausing. I can’t see him and yet I know he’s looking up at me with those dangerously sharp eyes. “What is it?” he says.
I huff, feeling completely unserious. “I have a shit bra on. I didn’t know this was going to happen.”
Freddie finds this enticing, his finger reaching up even further. He tests the feel of the stretchy material. “You actually think I’d care what you were wearing?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, my heart beating slower and yet louder. I can hear it as if it’s in my throat. “You forget, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Freddie makes a throaty, disapproving sound. “You know what you’re doing, Hattie. I don’t know how to prove that to you without being crass.”
I bark out a laugh as a thrill runs right through me. I search for his head in the dark and once I find his hair, smooth and thick, I tangle my fingers in it and pull him back to me.
Our tongues collide as he presses me against the wall again, his hand flat on my skin between us.
I get the urge to push his hand lower; I just know he’d know exactly what to do to unravel me.
I suck his tongue into my mouth, tasting his bitten-off groan, and the feral part of me wants to take it further.
I can imagine it. Imagine him hard and hot between my fingers.
But then the lights come back on and I’m bereft.
He pulls away.
I bite my lip and turn, using my hands to reorganise my unruly hair. It takes a good few seconds for my eyes to adjust again and for the stars to fade. There are footsteps on the stairs. When I look for him, Freddie is behind the pool table picking up a stick, acting like nothing’s happened.
The door opens and I turn to Sam, who’s surprised to find us there.
“Oh. You’re both here.” He gives Freddie a strange look, who now apparently can’t make eye contact with either of us.
“I found the switchboard. All good. Thought it was the storm for a minute.” He gives me a guilty look. “You ok? You look flushed.”
This probably makes it worse. “Oh, yeah. Just a bit startled.” I run a hand through my hair, hoping it isn’t obviously messy.
“Well, I saved the day,” he jokes.
I force a smile. “You have no idea.”
“Hey, look. I’m sorry about the Dylan thing.”
I wave him off. “It’s ok. I’m glad he’s here.”
I follow him back upstairs where the smoke is still clearing from the kitchen and Priya is now making pasta, having binned the blackened pizzas.
Freddie doesn’t come back up for five minutes and when he does, he heads straight for the shower. Not longer after, I copy.
I make mine as cold as the snow outside.