“You’re going to be the death of me,” he growls, and it gives me shivers, like someone just walked over my grave.
The death of me.
It’s raw. Everything about death makes life so raw.
I’m glad I’m grunting. Relieved I’m gasping and moaning through the urge to tell him he’s been the life of me.
He thrusts back at me, flesh slapping flesh, and I fold forward, my hands balancing on his knees as he takes my weight.
“Give it to me,” I hiss. “Please, Alexander, give it to me.”
His arms wrap around my waist as he rises to his feet, his cock buried deep in my ass as he moves us to the bed.
I fall forward onto soft bedsheets, and his grip is on the back of my neck, pinning me down as he fucks me. Hard.
I cry out, my ass on beautiful fire as he thrusts.
“Don’t come…” I moan. “Please don’t come… not yet…”
“I won’t,” he grunts.
And he doesn’t.
He fucks me until I’m a sweaty mess. Until my ass is slack and aching.
He fucks me until I don’t know my own name anymore. I couldn’t even tell him if I wanted to.
And finally, when he does fill me up with the perfect seed of him, my lips swollen from his kisses and my clit so tender it hurts, it’s all I can do to get to my feet when he’s done.
He reaches for his jacket and shrugs it on, and I have no idea what he’s doing until he’s eased my arms into his discarded shirt and buttoned me up.
He moves to the window and pulls back the drapes, swings it open wide on its hinges before he grabs a miniature whisky from the minibar.
He pours one for himself and opens another for me.
My nose wrinkles as I take a sniff.
“A routine of mine,” he tells me. “A whisky before bed.”
I smile. “I can do that.”
My heart flutters as he pulls out his Insignia cigarette packet. My stomach tickles as he offers me one.
He flicks the lighter and holds the flame for me, and I hope I don’t cough and splutter since it’s been so long.
“Whisky and a cigarette,” he says before lighting his own. “Two little vices before bedtime.”
We stare at each other in silence, blowing smoke out through the open window as the first hint of dawn bleeds onto the horizon.
And then we go to bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MELISSA
I’M ON BORROWED TIME, playing this crazy game with an even crazier prize at the end of it.
Double or bust.
I’m dancing with disaster with every lie I tell, digging myself deeper with every step I take.
Turning up at his house to meet Sonnie without my uniform on Thursday morning, bed-headed and bleary-eyed as she grilled me on who I’d spent my night with.
She told me she wouldn’t snitch to Janet Yorkley about my non-standard work attire, and I know she wouldn’t.
It pained me to shrug off her questions about my mystery man, made me feel queasy when we reached Mr Henley’s bedroom and found his bed still perfectly made from the day before.
How she’d grinned.
“Seems Mr Henley got himself lucky last night, too. I wonder who the lucky cow was.”
I could’ve told her and I know it.
I could have confessed it all and trusted her to keep my secrets.
But I didn’t.
Because as fucked up as it seems, I don’t want to betray him any more than I already have by telling someone else before him.
And so here I am, heading across to Brickwood with another working week completed. Ready to serve up soup and sandwiches and looking forward to my Saturday with Joe and Dean.
Maybe he won’t even be there. I don’t know for sure Alexander turns up here every week, but my question is answered the moment I step in through the door and find him already at work at their industrial hob, a dark cap pulled down over his forehead.
I’d recognise him a mile off, even in crappy denim.
It takes every scrap of nerves not to bail and run, but I couldn’t anyway. Frank is already heading in my direction, already calling out my name and telling me how pleased he is I could make it.
He wraps his arm around my shoulder as though we’re old friends, and leads me through the kitchen introducing me to strangers.
Annabel, Mary, Christine. All nice. All smiling. All welcoming and happy to have me here.
And then, finally, he introduces me to Ted.
Ted turns to face me so slowly, as though being social is nothing but a headache.
He holds out a hand before he’s even seen my face, and he tenses as I take it, his eyes shooting to mine in a heartbeat.
“Ted, this is Amy,” Frank says. “Amy, this is Ted.”
This was a mistake. I see it in his eyes.
They burn dark. His jaw fierce.
“Amy,” he says and I burn up so hot I feel faint.
“Ted,” I say and the word feels like glass in my throat.
Frank whisks me away to the vegetable station, and it’s all I can do to stare back over my shoulder as Alexander’s eyes eat me up.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth, but he looks away.
ALEXANDER
MY MIND SPINS. Slurps around in a fucking mess as I stir the shit out of the soup pot.
I have no fucking idea why she’s here, so far away from her fucking house.
I hand the stirrer to Annabel and stalk Frank right out into the storeroom, and I’ve grabbed his arm before I can stop myself. His eyes widen as he spins to face me.
“Amy,” I say. “How do you know her? What’s she doing here?”
He looks so fucking shocked, his mouth flapping like I’m a fucking lunatic.
And I am.
I am a fucking lunatic.
“Eastspring,” he says. “She volunteers at Eastspring.”
“Eastspring?”
He nods. “Yeah, Eastspring. But she couldn’t make Wednesday night, said something came up. I suggested she come here instead.” He pauses. “You know her?”
I’m out of control.
My paranoia tumbles down as I realise what a fucking fuckup I am.
“We’ve crossed paths.”
He smiles. Poor sod has no fucking idea. “Ah yes, the volunteering circuit is a small place. She’s been a godsend at Eastspring, works like a trooper.”
It’s innocent.
Frank’s easy to read, an open book if ever there fucking was one.
A ridiculous coincidence, but one that has my heart racing.
“It’s nice of her to change venues,” I say.
“She’s a good one,” he tells me. “Sweet girl, very kind.”
“Yes,” I agree. “Very kind.”
He slaps my arm. “Maybe she’ll do both venues, we can hope, right?”
But she won’t be doing both venues, even if our anonymous donor has to cough up the cash for a paid member of staff in her stead.
Her Wednesday nights belong to me now, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
I feel like an asshole as I head back through to the kitchen. Amy looks terrified, staring over with scared eyes as I resume my station at the hob.
“I’m sorry,” she mouths again and I feel like such a cunt.
I shrug, and then I smile.
She breathes in relief and pretends to wipe her brow, and she’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful in her dress-down clothes. A pair of jeans and a t-shirt under a fitted jacket.
“We’ll talk later,” I mouth and she nods.
I stir the fucking soup with a hard on until it’s time to fucking go.
MELISSA
HE’S good on the streets.
He doesn’t say much, but he’s genuine.
There isn’t a hint of snobbery as he hands out hot meals. There isn’t any smug self-satisfaction in the way he works so hard.
I feel humbled.
I feel a fraud.
But I’m n
ot a fraud, not entirely. I really do like it here.
I love the way the people are so kind. I love the way the people on the streets communicate from the heart, without any stupid sense of importance. I love the way it feels to help people and have them appreciate it, genuinely appreciate it.
It’s late by the time we wipe down the counters back at the kitchen, stacking up all the trays ready for next week.
I get ready to leave with no assumptions, ready to make a sharp exit if Alexander seems uncomfortable.
He takes my arm as we get outside, angling me in a different direction to the others as we all say our goodbyes.
I wait until they’re out of earshot before I speak, and I can’t help myself, the apologies come tumbling out of my mouth before I’ve even properly said hello.
“I’m so sorry! I had no idea! Frank said come, because of Wednesday… and I wouldn’t have thought…”
He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’m sorry. My work makes me suspicious. It was unexpected, it’s as simple as that.”