Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MAISIE
Iain shut the bathroom door which gave Maisie more privacy than he’d given himself this morning. Her shivers and the heavy feeling that another cold could start any second reminded her, while she peeled off her soaked t-shirt, of how stupid she’d been. Chasing Ted through the forest in the pouring rain. Huh. What kind of idiot did that?
This idiot, apparently.
Seeing the man on the other side of that door naked really had clouded Maisie’s brain. She’d been toppling sideways and landing on her arse before she’d known it.
She changed into the cream fleece Iain had given her, hissing when she shifted to pull her wet leggings down her legs. She gritted her teeth and bit back fruity language just from getting the damn material to her thighs. It all bunched around her knees, and she couldn’t reach …
Her knee yelled in pain.
“Damn it,” she cursed under her breath. There was no way that she could do this on her own, which of course just had to mean …
“Ugh,” Maisie groaned. “Okay.” She covered her lap with a pillow. “Iain!”
The door whipped open like he’d been waiting for her call.
She gestured at the knee she’d fallen on. “It’s sore. And I can’t reach to …”
Iain’s attention fell to the leggings squeezing around her knees, but he didn’t make a move, his expression turning sheepish as his gaze moved up her legs to the pillow in her lap.
Shitting hell.
Maisie didn’t need him to be a gentleman right now.
“You’ve already seen my underwear once, Iain,” she lamented, “I don’t think this will phase you.”
That appeared to do the trick.
In a dry pair of jeans, Iain swept to her, crouched, and carefully rolled the leggings down to her ankles before taking her feet out. Maisie felt like an idiot. An idiot whose stomach clenched and breath hitched with every feather of calloused skin against her calves.
Iain tossed the leggings aside – she wasn’t sad to watch them go – and examined her knee.
“It’s not swelling,” he said as he tenderly probed the skin. Maisie gulped and forgot to listen. “Just some bruising probably.”
Turning his back on her when he stood and stepped over to where he’d left his bag of clothes on the settee was a mistake, because it meant Maisie could watch his every single movement without feeling guilty for the heat that took over her. It rose up to the surface of her skin, abandoning her need for a towel.
“Does it ache?”
Which part of her was he referring to exactly? “A little less than before,” Maisie managed.
“You should be fine in a few hours.” Iain lifted the hem of his wet t-shirt, the solid muscles of his back stretching as he pulled it up and off. Her eyes bounced across the lightly tanned skin, from the low indent of his spine to the butterfly-shaped muscles popping between his shoulder blades.
Sienna was right – she needed to remember how to breathe.
Maisie hadn’t noticed the towel appear in his hands, but Iain rubbed his body over with it as he said, “You might be sore tomorrow.”
Her lower lip rolled between her teeth. “Mm-hmm.” In a perfect world, she’d hope to be sore for an entirely different reason than the one she had.
Iain turned with a fresh shirt in his hands, and Maisie dropped her gaze, still sitting with the pillow in her lap and the pair of jogging bottoms by her side that Iain went straight for. Fully clothed, he didn’t give her much chance to save herself from more embarrassment when he grabbed them and fell to his knees.
“Lift your feet.”
What was he doing?
He held her jogging bottoms just off of the floor for her to place her feet into and Maisie did without a single inhale, watching his focussed brow as he rolled them up to her knees. But then her view got even better. The slow motion of Iain’s face as he turned it up to her, his lips slightly parted, made between her thighs throb. They locked eyes, and Maisie had not one single thought; only instinct to take his face in her hands, scratch her fingers through his beard. None of which she did, but she clutched down on the pillow as her heart travelled up into her throat instead.
“Hold,” he rasped.
Her delicate gasp wasn’t meant to escape. This height that she had over him was too vulnerable, too exposing, and the intensity of his eyes – no man’s gaze could ever stir her inside again like his did.
Unsure of what was happening, Maisie curled her fingers into the grey waistband bunched above her knees. “Why?”
“So I can hold you up.” Iain didn’t give her time to process what that meant before he levered to his feet.
He wasn’t going to hold her – he couldn’t, not like this. She wasn’t some delicate flower that could blow away on a breeze. Being lifted was the only insecurity Maisie had about her body. If Iain couldn’t manage her weight and she fell, it wouldn’t be the first time. That embarrassment … it wasn’t worth it.
Worry joined in the chorus of fleeting feelings in her chest. “Iain, I’ve been dropped before.”
His eyes pinched but never left hers as they searched for something deep within them. “I lift in a lineout, Daffy,” he said, “do you know what that means?”
Maisie shook her head; rugby wasn’t exactly her forte .
“It means I’m responsible for lifting a hundred and ten kilo lock into the air by his arse and getting him back down safely.” His forefinger touched her forehead so gently she barely felt it as he swept away a loose curl, voice softening down into its comfortable, riveting depth. “Trust my body, Daffy.”
She took a breath. In through her nose, slowly, and exhaling past her lips.
Trust his body.
Trust his body.
Trust him .
“Okay.” Her voice came out scratchy, but she did – she trusted him. He hadn’t ever given her reason not to, and twice now in their weeks of getting to know one another he had held her up. She’d seen his body, felt the strength of his arms taking her weight. She worried for nothing.
Iain hovered his hands between her waist and her elbows, his body lowering down until they were face to face. Maisie couldn’t exactly look at him when she could feel his breaths upon her cheek, so she watched the fabric of his jeans strain over his primed thighs, the ones she never should have doubted.
He counted down and in two seconds had her on her feet easily, no insulting sound from his mouth to make her feel bad. It all happened too swiftly for Maisie to catch her bearings; her system overloaded from the arms around her, palms pressing into her back, her soft chest fully pressed to the firmness of his.
With her weight slowly shifting to both legs, she worked the jogging bottoms up over her hips, and it became abundantly clear that she didn’t need Iain’s help – she could stand on her own. But Maisie couldn’t tell him to let her go, either.
The sounds of his steady breathing were right by her ear, the breaths themselves tickling the wetness of rain still left on her neck. Her eyes rolled closed, and she shuddered, feeling the flex of strong arms tightening around her. Iain didn’t even support her anymore but just clung to her instead.
Swallowing, Maisie moved her hands between them, finding the cords to tighten and tie in a bow. She took her time. Rather torturously, her knuckles brushed the front of Iain’s jeans, and his face fell to her shoulder with a guttural groan.
Her thoughts became a scattered mess.
Maisie let loose some of her hold on her desire, letting her back bend and push her breasts into Iain’s chest. She’d think that it wouldn’t be possible for their bodies to fit, but it was like they’d been made to go together.
The chilly tip of his nose brushed up her neck and he murmured, “You’re cold.”
She didn’t feel cold; she felt on fire as her hands found his waist.
“Iain …” Maisie didn’t know what she was doing. Touching him, holding him – the lines they’d set out weren’t just being blurred but thrown outside where they could shut them out and toss away the key.
His beard scratched along her neck to behind her ear where his mouth lingered. “Don’t scare me like that again,” Iain pleaded, that firm rasp in his command going straight to the pulse beating faster towards the only place of Maisie where they didn’t touch.
She wet her lips. “You were scared?” A part of her shouldn’t have been so thrilled that he was worried about her.
Iain lifted his head and met her eyes. Emotion that she’d never seen in him before shone there, in the green around the heaviness that invaded them. “Scared enough to want to ruin our agreement.”
“Which one?” she asked breathily.
The tip of his nose dusted across hers. “On when there’s no one around.”
“If the need arises, and only when the group is around, you can kiss me.”
Well no one was here. It was just the two of them, completely alone. So close that the lightness of Iain’s breaths touched her lips.
Maisie’s fists curled into his shirt as she let herself lean into him. “Perhaps … you could pretend like there is.” Each of her heartbeats slammed against the walls of her chest at the risky line she danced along. “There’s a whole crowd of people watching us.”
Her signal that this was what she wanted blared bright-green.
Iain began to shake his head. “You drive me mad, Daffy,” he said roughly, one thick forearm nestled in the low of her back, pulling her up into his body. “What I want to do with you shouldn’t be done with people watching.” But then his mouth was on hers and his hand was in her hair, holding her to him.
Too many reactions happened inside Maisie all at once. Her eyes slammed shut, her mouth moaned, her body tightened and sought the firmness of Iain’s. The way he kissed was devouring. It was every part rough and passionate that Maisie had craved. His fingers dug into her damp hair from the base of her head like she was a lost treasure he’d found again and never wanted to let go of, while her hands slid over the muscles of his back she’d been mesmerised by and her nails dragged down his spine.
Iain groaned as their mouths found a rhythm, and the sound drove her aching hips to punch forwards and roll the bulge in his jeans against her stomach. She stood up on her toes, ignoring the protest her knee gave, to feel that solid mass lower – closer to where she urged to be touched. And Iain dipped to give it to her. Her arm slung around his neck as she whimpered, feeling the restrained curve of him slide over the seam between her thighs.
All of the friction between them was like a hundred bolts of lightning charging all at once. Both of them were out of practice, their kisses messy and ragged as they shaped into the next, or maybe just too damn desperate to finally be giving in.
They’d danced around one another for weeks, been gentle with one another for days – a little passion-fuelled roughness was what they’d both been restraining.
“This isn’t—this isn’t a part of the plan,” Maisie exhaled when she had the tiniest opening to do so, her mouth still pressed open to Iain’s as they breathed each other. She licked her lips and inadvertently his too.
Iain’s forehead rolled against her own like he was on the brink of diving forwards and claiming her again. “Plans change.” His voice was just as coarse as hers, as out of breath as she was.
The large hand on her waist holding so much of her tightly brought emotions – happy ones that portrayed as sadness and prickling eyes – barging into Maisie’s desires. Her body softened. The fabric of her fleece against her bare breasts made her nipples tightly aware of every time Iain’s chest expanded against hers. He smelled so much like rain, and the vision of him running through the forest, appearing between the trees to get to her, resurfaced.
“What plan do you have for us?” she asked.
“That wholly depends on you.” Beard brushed against her jaw, Iain’s mouth making its way along in peppered kisses that left her core all wobbly. “You set the speed here, Maisie. Just tell me what to do.”
“It’s on both of us.” How Maisie had such a coherent thought, she didn’t know – but this would never just be about her; she’d never take his own needs away. Her palm slid up his nape to twist her fingertips into the curls at the crown of his head. “What do you want to happen?”
“Me?” Iain rasped, “I want to strip you down and take our time until there’s absolutely nothing left to give. Until you never want to leave my arms.” His words were a warm shock laid out along her neck. Her skin rose in goosebumps all over.
The declaration that this wasn’t just about kissing or releasing some pent-up frustration this weekend had caused made Maisie sink into Iain’s arms and come back feeling more empowered as a woman than she ever had done before. She hadn’t just heard it but felt it – the vibrations of his chest as he’d spoken.
He wanted her undressed.
He wanted her spent.
Wanted all of her, as she was. Wet and damp and a bit of a mess.
The rise and fall of her chest was still too quick.
Both of Iain’s hands came to cradle her head, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. Maisie finally opened her eyes and saw how serious he was; his eyes played no games.
“You said you can’t rush,” Iain recalled, “so how about this: we build something else. Campfires might take longer to light, but they burn far longer than a firework.”
Maisie’s heart ached, because he’d understood what she’d said to him last night. With little explanation, Iain had understood. He’d sacrificed for someone else what he’d wanted once before, and here she was asking him to do it again. He was everything – she couldn’t be this fortunate to be listened to entirely before they’d even begun.
“Why would you do that?” Iain hadn’t been with a woman in over a year, Maisie wouldn’t blame him if he had urges.
“Because if you haven’t noticed,” he said, “I can’t stay away from you, Daffy. My world was fucking black and grey until you came and painted all of your colours across it. You only look at me sometimes and I feel like I want to burst.”
The confession went straight to Maisie’s pounding heart.
He’d said he could only be her friend and yet here they were. She hadn’t wanted to catch feelings for anyone right now, and yet she had.
Their bodies shifted. Feet shuffled and brought them together from the inch that they’d drifted apart. Maisie slid her hand from the back of his head to feel the bristles of his beard under her palm, stroking a line across his uneven skin with her thumb. The texture meant that he was alive – he was someone real.
“I’m not pretending anymore, Iain,” she uttered with all her heart.
The fake dating plan? Poof. Gone.
He shook his head once more. “I don’t know when I stopped.”
They both moved at the same time. Maisie tugged his face back to hers. Crashed her mouth to his lips. All of her kiss in appreciation and awe of this man in front of her.
She’d worried last night that her feelings for him weren’t reciprocated, but none of that was true.
Her hands roamed his arms, over dips and ridges of his strong biceps to peel his hands from either side of her neck. When she pulled back from their kiss, Iain’s gaze held a question she shortly gave an answer to when she lowered on her good leg to sit on the bed.
Excitement that she’d never thought she’d see on his face flashed in Iain’s eyes as she tugged on his hands to join her. He sat by her side, sweeping hair from her shoulder closest to him.
“Campfire?” she said. He hummed, pressing his lips to the crook of her neck to make Maisie’s head tip back in pleasure. “This makes no sense. It’s always been too much to ask for someone to respect what I want.”
“You’ve had my respect, Maisie, since the day you looked at that cliff in Borth and decided not to back down from it.”
A chuckle puffed through her lips. “You pretty much had to drag me up it.”
Iain turned her hand that he still held and brought it into his lap, overlaying their palms. “I only had to encourage you,” he said, “that was all.”
Her gaze dipped to their hands on his thigh, initially, then drifted to the tented evidence that he was just as turned on as she was. Maisie couldn’t quite believe it. There were people who would say that they didn’t fit aesthetically. That someone like him couldn’t be turned on by someone like her.
Well fuck those people.
She drew her lower lip between her teeth, inhaling. “I wasn’t just talking about general courtesy.” Iain tipped his chin for her to continue as they slipped into a very necessary conversation. “I told you that I can’t be spontaneous. I want this, us . I want to do this.” She really, really did. “But I need … preparation.”
The cocky idiot smirked. “It’d be my pleasure.”
Another wave of heat spread through Maisie at the thought of his hands on her, or his mouth, rolling her eyes away as a smile broke through her seriousness. “No, I need …”
He tucked her hair behind her ear. “You can tell me anything, Maise.”
And she wanted to.
“I have endometriosis.” Maisie realised she hadn’t outright told him that. “Sex is sometimes … painful.”
Mostly it was due to her condition; she had scarring in various places around her uterus making things not move around as they should to let her feel pleasure; but more often than not it was the cycle of worry her head put her into. Sex had always been painful so sex would always be painful – that’s how it was in her mind at least, which is why she couldn’t rush into bed.
She needed longer than other women maybe did to be ready. Plus, it didn’t entirely help when hindsight said the men she’d been with before had been too impatient to give her that. She was too needy if she complained, too distant if she kept her mouth shut. So, there her mind was; stuck going round and round with worry and that old familiar phrase that she was too much ‘work’.
What a way to kill the mood.
“What do you like?” Iain took her news in his stride like she always should’ve known he would. Blushing furiously, she reached for his hand and played with two of his fingers. They were long and thick, covered in tiny little old scratches and scars. “Well that I don’t mind at all,” he said with a glint in his eyes.
Maisie dipped her gaze to hide her face in his shoulder, and he let her. She hated the awkwardness of saying these things, but if they wanted to be together then he needed to know them. “Sometimes it’s fine,” she managed, and swallowed at how personal this had gotten when all they’d done was kiss. “Shallowness is better but … it won’t feel fair to you.”
“Why not?” Iain sounded genuinely affronted.
“Because you’re only getting … half of the experience.” Assuming that half of him still wasn’t too much for her. Maisie didn’t even know what he looked like, really, but it was safe to assume that he was as big downstairs as the rest of him.
Iain’s hand was gentle as he stroked along her arm, his voice softening. “I want whatever you’ll let me have of you.”
That was the sweetest thing that could have come from his lips.
Feeling fuzzy, Maisie nodded her understanding. It was so nice to rest her cheek on his shoulder, nudge her nose to the warm skin of his neck. It was so comfortable just to exist with him like this.
“And, you know …” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and left his mouth there. “There are other ways that we can enjoy one another.”
Even though a thrill worked its way through Maisie at the possibility of those other ways, she couldn’t help but say, “You’ll get bored.” They always did.
Iain let out a quiet sigh as if he was fed up of her pushing back at him. Maisie couldn’t help it – it was self-preservation.
He cupped her head in his hands and coaxed her off his shoulder, dipping his face to pull her focus to his. “If I did, that’d be my problem to deal with,” he promised. “But it won’t happen. You could never bore me, Daffy. You’ve kept me on my toes for weeks.”
“I can’t believe you’d want to have sex with me anyways.”
“Why not?”
Maisie didn’t answer. It wasn’t as though she’d put her best foot forward the entire time that she’d known him. Too much falling had been involved … literally . They wouldn’t even be here right now if it weren’t for her grandma and her meddling friends.
Iain swept his thumb across her cheek. “I’ve been thinking about you for weeks.” His voice was like her cosiest jumper. “I’m a patient man, and if you’ll let me learn how to make you happy then I will. Whenever you’re ready.”
Maisie set her hand gently on his thigh, sorry that they hadn’t done anything about his aroused state. “It could take weeks.”
His lips flashed a smile. “I don’t mind.”
“Maybe months.”
“Doesn’t matter to me.”
“You say that – others have said that, but?—”
Iain moved two fingers over her mouth and pressed her lips shut. “Daffy, I am not whatever boy you’ve dated before. You don’t need to try and convince me to wait for you. Let me show that to you?”
He didn’t need to convince her either; he was the first man who Maisie believed when he told her that he would wait for her to be ready.
She leaned in to kiss him, their lips barely touching before Ted started scratching at the bathroom door. Sighing, Iain rolled his forehead against hers.
“The interruption would almost be funny if he was a sausage dog,” Maisie said in the quiet space between them.
“Why?”
“Cock-blocked by a wiener.”
Iain stared at her for a second, then his expression flattened into resigned amusement. Their hands fell away from each other.
“I’ll see to him.” He stood and shifted the front of his jeans that Maisie still felt sorry they hadn’t relieved. “Probably thinks we left him.”
“Poor baby boy.” Maisie pouted.
“He’s five.”
So? “He’s just a baby.”
Iain rolled his eyes.