Page 32 of Then Came You

The ride back to his is almost unbearable, with the atmosphere inside the car crackling with anticipation. The air is thick with an undeniable hunger that I can't wait to satiate.

"Uh, sir?" the driver says in a thick accent as he slows down to a crawl sometime later, slicing the irresistible force between us. I glance outside to see what's got his attention, and I know immediately I've never been in this neck of the woods before.

"Just go straight to the top until you reach a cul-de-sac," Blade replies smoothly.

Each house we pass sits on its own block and would take a good ten minutes to walk from one end of the property to the other. Of course, you can't even see the sprawling homes because they're out of view, blocked by either building-tall trees or gigantic gates with huge numbers or names. They sit so far up the driveway that just walking up them would count for at least half your daily exercise.

Even the sidewalk looks like you could eat off them; they're that clean.

I'm definitely not in western Sydney anymore.

Actually, am I still even in Sydney? It looks like I've landed in Beverly Hills.

A nervousness takes root in my belly, making me lethargic and antsy.

"I can't go much further," the driver explains, obstructed by a towering iron gate that you couldn't attempt to scale even if you tried. Blade fiddles with his phone, and a few seconds later, the gate parts, and a row of palm trees light up the long and winding driveway.

"Just at the end, please," Blade asks kindly.

I gawk at the spaceship-like property as the driver hunches over, focusing on going five kilometres. It honestly looks as if it was built for the year 3000. I've never seen anything so sleek or elaborate. It's shades of gunmetal grey and rich cedar wood, and the glass looks like it's some sort of black diamond.

When the car comes to a complete stop on the expansive concrete driveway, Blade thanks the driver, opens his door, and scoots out, offering his hand to me. I hesitantly place my palm in his for him to pull me up, feeling inadequate to even be in his presence.

Noticing I'm rooted in my spot gaping at the mammoth mansion, he loops his arm around my waist and walks me to the entrance. "It's just a house, Row," he says.

I can't make sense of his words. "Our definitions of a house are very different," I mutter, looking at my shoes, feeling embarrassed over the scum I live in. "This is so far from my reality... I'm pretty sure your door costs more than my whole house."

"It's just a house, you'll see," he insists, squeezing my waist.

I'm gobsmacked when he uses a retina scanner to open the door. I guess door handles are so 2022. When I hear a beep confirming his identity, a click unlocks and automatically opens the door.

I quickly bend and untie my shoes, leaving them at the door. I'd hate to get skid marks on the shiny white tiles that look like they've been waxed as recently as this morning.

It takes exactly 42 steps to get to the main living area, which encompasses an open kitchen, living space, and dining room, all of which overlook the spectacular water views of Sydney Harbour. Beyond the window of walls is a vast outdoor area that finishes with an infinity pool. It's hard to believe I've never even been in a pool. No swimming lessons. Nothing. The closest I've come to water is the beach or the splash parks out west. As I peruse around, I can only make the inference the rooms are in a completely different part of the house.

Am I Alice? Because I feel like I've tumbled down the rabbit hole.

"Your home is gorgeous, Blade," I murmur, almost speechless, doing a full 360 turn. I'm scared to touch anything, so I stand as still as I can in one marble square.

"Thanks. Water?" He asks, making his way to a door and sliding it open to reveal a walk-in fridge. Nope. This is like Richie Rich's house. Chewing my lip, I wait for him to reappear with a glass bottle of water. Glass. Not plastic. Not a cup. A full-blown glass bottle.

Despite looking like his home could grace the pages of Vogue Interior, it has a homely feel to it - something mine never had. There are colourful magnets stuck to the bottom of the fridge, which spell out Haven's name, and a photo frame made of dried pasta with Blade and his daughter's photo in it. My eyes dart to the oven where Mickey Mouse tea towels are draped, and then toward the wall where a whiteboard hangs that feature all of Haven's appointments and whereabouts.

"Here you go." Blade hands me the bottle. He’s so close that I’m actually having trouble remembering the basic task of how to drink water. His scent is intoxicating. It's a heady mix of sex and minty gum, which tantalises my senses.

After shakily bringing the bottle to my lips and taking a sip, I place it back on the counter, only to see him watching me with the same unrestrained lust that's been in his eyes all night. The air sizzles, making me forget about the disparity of wealth between us.

He rounds the benchtop to where I'm standing, links his fingers with mine, and drags me along a wide hallway. My heart is galloping like a racehorse in anticipation of what's to come.

"I can't wait anymore," he rasps as we reach what I'm assuming is his room at the very end of the corridor.

With an eager push, the double doors slam open, and within seconds, his lips crash onto mine. There's no chance to even glance around the room, but I'm more than okay with that. With a guttural growl that I feel all the way in my toes, he backs me up against the door, cups my face, and deepens the already possessive kiss.

I'm left breathless.

Scooping me up with ease, I wrap my legs around him like a vine, clinging to him like he's my life raft.

He stumbles forward toward the bed, mumbling gruffly in between our pants and kisses. "You've been killing me all night in these little shorts, Tink." All I can do is hum in pleasure. I wind my arms around his head, pulling his mouth toward my neck, so I can feel the scratch of his stubble. If I don't feel it about 70 centimetres south between my legs in two minutes, I'm going to cry in agony.

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