Page 85 of The Twelve Days of Christian
We collected Kona this morning, and already another unfortunate wee soul has taken his place at Lilian’s. The Trust’s kennel facilities are full to bursting and the worst is yet to come. I feel almost guilty here enjoying my break. At least the injection of cash from the Holt Foundation has pushed back the spectre of closure for now. And I’ll have my job for as long as I need it, until, without even leaving Camden, I join the Royal Veterinary College intake next autumn.
There’s no dog noise to disturb me. After a brief flurry of activity, sniffing every corner of the bedroom, the girls demanded out once more and are back in the garden, staking out a potential squirrel-bearing tree in the far corner. Kona, flipping from exuberant to exhausted again, in the way puppies do, sought the sanctuary of his crate. I draped it with a blanket, cocooning him in darkness. Now he’s sleeping soundly, with only the faintest whisper of his breathing.
Joining him in a nap seems like a good option. After drawing the heavy brocade curtains on a sickly winter sun, I dive into my suitcase, seeking my new set of pyjamas. I saw them in a shop window on my way from the tube the other night and, unable to resist the wide-eyed dog in a Christmas hat on the front that looked so like Tully (or Christian when he’s trying to tug at my heartstrings), I had to have them.
Christian will give me a hard time about them, I’m sure. He comments almost daily on my extensive pyjama wardrobe, usually when he’s busy removing them from me. With a smile at the thoughtof him, knowing he’s on his way right this moment, on the road somewhere between here and Cheshire where he’s spent the last couple of days with his family, I slip between the covers.
Ear buds in place, I’m floating on the sound of Christian’s voice, the strum of his guitar and the words of ‘Untouchable’, as he draws me into sleep.
My eyes flutter open at the brush of lips on my forehead, as cool fingers nudge their way along my collarbone.
“God, I’ve missed you,” Christian mumbles against my mouth and my willing lips part in welcome.
“Missed you more,” I say, in between his hungry kisses. “Even if your hands are freezing.”
“Sorry,” he says, dragging himself away with one last reluctant kiss. He sits on the side of the bed, unzipping his boots and tossing them aside with a thud.
“Fuck, it’s mayhem out there,” he says as his fingers work quickly at the buttons of his shirt.
“Really? I thought they’d be done by now. What time is it?”
“Almost three,” he says with a glance at the chunky watch on his wrist. “No, apparently they’ve decided the ballroom is too big. Not enough ‘ambience’ and so we’re going to be in the library. Ewan’s running around like a headless chicken, and the crew are stomping around all pissed off. Believe me, in here is the best place to be forthe next couple of hours. Especially given the plans I’ve got for you, sweetheart.”
He tosses me a panty-melting wink, and stands, unzipping his jeans. I allow my eyes to rove over the strong thighs, the solid lines of those muscular arms and the trails of ink blooming there in all their wild beauty. I could look at him all day. The jeans fall to the floor with the clatter of a belt buckle.
“So, you think I’m going to let you hide out in bed with me? Just so you can avoid Ewan?” I prop myself up on one elbow, watching him strip off his underwear as he grins across at me.
“That’s the plan. Plus, there are some new pyjamas that need removing, I see?” One dark brow quirks up, and he tosses me a sexy half-smirk
“Remove away,” I say, sitting up, raising my hands towards the ceiling. He needs no further invitation. He whisks the top over my head, tossing it aside with a flourish. His look is molten as his eyes rove appreciatively across my naked breasts.
“You have the most stunning tits,” he says. “Really, you’re fucking exquisite, Haley.”
I don’t need the words to know he thinks I’m beautiful; there’s no doubting the message in his smouldering eyes, but it still sends an electric thrill through me hearing him say it, how desirable I am to him, how much he wants me, hearing the neediness in his voice. After the hurt of rejection, the betrayal that shredded my self-confidence, Christian has built me up again, restored my belief that I am desirable, I am loveable. He’s given me so much, and I want to give all of myself to him.
He sinks onto the bed, folding me in his arms, skin to skin.
“I’ve missed you, missed this.”
His voice is gravel, low and raspy with possibility. I’m wrapped so tightly, my breasts crushed against his broad chest; I can feel the thud of his heart. I always feel so small and precious inside the safety of his arms.
“I missed you too. Two days felt like forever.”
I wonder how I’ll survive when it’s two weeks. Or when the band goes on tour and it’s two months. I push the thought aside. That’s one of many things we still have to work out, as we weave his life and mine into one. But I’ve vowed to deal with them as we need to, not let anxiety over future challenges tarnish the wonder of the present.
For a moment we pause, float in this moment, breathing in each other’s presence. Then, he leans me back a little, dropping his head reverently to each erect nipple in turn, swirling one, then the other in his mouth, his tongue flickering, teeth grazing, lighting me up with the sensation.
I cradle my head on his shoulder, inhaling his woodsy scent, so familiar and inviting, tasting his skin as I whimper against him, the heat in my centre rising with each insistent tug of his mouth.
After even this small separation, my need for him is urgent, as is his for me. I shuffle across, arranging myself on his lap, legs wrapped around his hips, grinding shamelessly against him, eager for the contact; the friction, even through the fabric of my pyjama bottoms, feeds my growing arousal.
He shoves me back gently, large hands firmly grasping the waistband, shimmying the pants down, his mouth trailing over each new piece of exposed skin, dotting small nips along my stomach, my hips, thighs, and then his deft tongue lapping at the wet heat at my core. I inhale sharply, encouraging him with the feral sounds that spill unbidden from deep in my throat, and my hands laced in his hair.
“God, the sound of you,” he whispers from between my legs, his breath heavy against my thigh. “I love that sound.”
“Come inside me,” I invite, “if you really want to make me scream.” I’m suddenly desperate for the weight of him upon me, the hard length of him driving deep.
“Oh, I promise I will, sweetheart,” he says, sliding up my body, the eager thrust of his erection making me gasp. We come together greedily, each hungry to find the perfect rhythm that’s already become like a familiar song, needing no thought, only feeling to take us where we want to go.
