Take My Breath Away by Ali Ryecart
Chapter Twenty-Six
PERRY
“Bloody nightmare of a journey. So glad we’re home.” James pushes the door closed with a hard thud. “Come on, let’s get something to eat,” he says, as he picks up the post scattered on the mat before heading to the kitchen, with me in his wake.
It’s taken an extra couple of hours to get back from Devon, and we’re hungry and tired. Well, I am. I’m hungry for James, and exhausted, even though we’ve spent most of our stay in Love’s Harbour not exploring the beautiful countryside or the stunning coastline but in bed, where we’ve been exploring each other.
In the kitchen James leans against the sink, legs crossed at the ankles, as he scrolls through his phone.
He’s wearing old and faded jeans, and a moss green shirt, the same colour as his eyes. Like the jeans, it’s loose and well worn, the cuffs a little frayed, the antithesis of the sharp suited, urbane man he shows to the world. It’s yet another layer of who he is. It’s not just what he’s wearing that’s so different, but him. His hair, always groomed and immaculate, is messy and mussed. My stomach floods with warmth, as my dick begins to stir. I’ve spent the weekend running my hands through it, sometimes slowly and gently but mostly I’ve grabbed at it, scrunching it in my fists as he’s—
“Perry? What one do you want?”
“Sorry? What do I…?
He’s staring at me, one brow arched, a knowing smile on his face.
“Do you want it hot and meaty?”
“Ehhrr…?”
“The pizza? The Hot and Meaty?” The smile’s turned into a shit eating grin.
“Oh, yes. Of course. Please.”
James throws me a wink, and finishes off the food order, and I sink down into a chair, my legs weak and wobbly all of a sudden.
“You open up a couple of beers, and I’ll take the luggage up.” He pushes his mobile into his pocket, and disappears out of the kitchen.
I do as he asks. The kitchen, the heart of the house, is silent, except for the gurgle of the fridge. Pizza and beer. We’ve sat here in the kitchen many times sharing both, but this time is different. In the course of a couple of days everything has changed between us. I scrape my nail down the label on the bottle, soggy with condensation, leaving a little shredded pile of paper on the table.
But, has anything really, truly, and fundamentally changed? It’s a question I need to ask myself and answer with honesty.
James’ kisses, his touch, the feel of his body, warm and naked and entwined with mine, it thrilled every part of me, but most of all it thrilled my heart. But now we’re back, to our day-to-day lives, and the bubble of the weekend has burst.
Hands fall to my shoulders and I jump, before my body does exactly what it wants, which is to lean back into James’ touch.
“You’ll wear a groove in that bottle if you dig away at it any harder.”
James’ voice is deep and soothing, as his fingers begin to knead and massage, smoothing out all those knots that have tied up my muscles in just a couple of minutes. A soft kiss lands on top of my head, but James lingers and I sigh as he nuzzles into my hair.
“What’s the matter, Perry, because something is. You going to tell me, hmm?”
Another nuzzle before he pulls back, but his hands are still working their magic on me.
“We’re back, to our normal lives. To how it was before.”
His hands still, just for a beat, before they resume their firm work.
“Not quite as it was before, wouldn’t you say?” His hands slip from my shoulders and he sits down opposite me. Leaning back in his seat, his eyes narrow as he studies me before he sighs, long and deep. “What’s wrong?” His eyes, always so clear and confident, cloud with uncertainty. “You regret it.”
It’s not a question but a statement.
“No, but…” My nervous fingers gather up the paper I’ve shredded from the beer bottle, rolling and rolling and rolling it into a smaller and smaller ball. “I know you can’t offer me any kind of… anything long term. I know it’s not what you want. I realise that, and accept your life is how you want it…”
No commitment, no strings, no entanglement, all the things I want and he runs from. My words have dried up on my tongue. I swallow hard, because I owe it to myself to say them.
“I don’t want to just be a notch on a bedpost. I’ve been that, too many times. Somebody to fuck and forget.”
James’ brow scrunches into a hard frown, so hard it’s as though he’s fighting a real and physical pain.
“I’d never treat you like that. Ever.” His tone’s quiet yet hard, and brimming with vehemence. He drags his hands down his face, and when they drop away, his expression’s softer, and his wry smile’s back in place. “So many have been notches. I won’t deny it because I can’t lie to you. But not you, Perry. You could never be that. But what you say, about long term…”
He shakes his head slowly, and his gaze shifts, but not before I see something in his eyes that if I let myself I could call regret, or sadness. But he’s told me the kind of man he is, he’s never lied to me, just as he says.
“Can’t we just enjoy each other, for now?” he says, bringing his focus back to me. “And I’m not just talking about sex. It’s you I enjoy, Perry. You. Your company. Spending time here, or meeting up after work, I’ve loved every moment of it. And I think you have, too.”
If I say no, he’ll accept it, the same as if I’d said no when he first took me to bed… and just like then, I can’t shake my head and walk away. I know exactly what it is he’s offering me, which isn’t any kind of forever. It’s the here and now, it’s for the next few days, weeks, maybe a month or two. It’s until I go and never look back. It’s everything I don’t want, everything I’ve become determined to avoid because it’s everything that will break my heart when it’s been broken too many times before.
But this isn’t any man. This is James. The man who rescued me, the man who’s cared for me, the man’s who’s treated me with more respect than I’ve ever been treated with before. If I can have that, if only for a short time more, I’ll take it.
“I think we can be those things. For now, until I go.”
He nods and smiles, though his jaw tightens. Just a tiny, minuscule fraction.
“As you say,” he says quietly, “until you move away to fulfil your dream.”
All those complications I’ve told myself I have to avoid, they’ve wound themselves around me and tightened their hold.
I don’t know if I’ve made the best decision in the world, or the worst; all I know is that I’ve made the only one I can.
* * *
On the surface, life carries on much as before. I go to work. I meet James for a drink or a meal, or I cook when I get home. We watch the TV together, or stream films or box sets. He goes running, I — don’t. None of that has changed, but unlike before I’m woken up each morning not by the cheery chat of the radio show presenter, but by a long and leisurely blow job.
“Oh God, James, o-hhhh…”
My post-release slump back into the mattress is accompanied by a salacious smack of a pair of wet lips and a throaty laugh.
“So much more satisfying than a cup of tea first thing, don’t you think?”
James inches up my body, his face hovering over mine so close our noses brush against each other’s.
“Get off me. You’ve got cum breath.” I do my best to look fierce, but as I’m still in an early morning post-climax fog, I very much doubt I’m succeeding.
“Hmm.” James doesn’t attempt to move as he runs his tongue around his mouth. “I’ve also got a few pubes caught between my teeth.”
“Well, I’ll book in for a wax, shall I? In the meantime, you can take your teeth out so you can properly unpick them. And give a better BJ.”
I give him a hard shove and he topples off the edge, saved from totally crumpling onto the rug by one leg clinging to the bed — which I push off so the errant limb can join the rest of him. I peek over the side and look down at a very naked James, partially tangled in the duvet which went overboard with him.
“I do not have false teeth.” He sticks his bottom lip out in a sulky pout. “I can’t believe this is the thanks I get for lovingly relieving you of—”
“An extra few minutes of blissful sleep?” I’m grinning now because there’s no way I can’t. I’d give up minutes, hours, days and nights for James’ mouth on me. The horizontal workout he’s given me has left me both more relaxed and refreshed than the best night’s sleep ever could — but it’s also put me off my guard as James’ sudden, out of the blue move has me tumbling out of bed. My breath’s knocked from me as I land on top of him.
His arms tighten around me, their grip steel hard. I’ve no way out of his embrace even if I wanted it. James wraps his legs around my waist, his solid shaft pressing hard against my belly, and I suck in a sharp breath as he rolls his hips up into me and, even though I’ve just emptied myself down his throat, my cock’s already thickening.
James kisses me hard, the taste of my release on his tongue thrilling through me as he rocks harder. The drag on my cock, trapped between our sweat-slicked bodies, is exquisite, mouth-watering agony. Messy kisses, spit smearing our lips, our breaths heavy and ragged, and hitching as our cocks slide across each other, slippery from our combined juice. But I need more.
I pull back, and James’ arms around me loosen. Spitting into my palm I lock my gaze onto the dark and inky depths that have become James’ eyes. He’s breathing hard, and his lips curve up into a wicked grin as I wrap my hand around our—
James’ mobile rings, slicing through the heated, lust-fogged air.
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” James’ roar of anger and frustration fills every corner of the bedroom. I let us go, and climb off him, leaving him to leap to his feet, grab the phone from the bedside cabinet, and stomp off to his office.
I want to scream at him to leave it, to flush it down the toilet or throw it out the window, but I recognise the ring tone and it’s one he can ignore. Work, but not just work. It’s his boss, although James having a boss is almost an anathema, but a call at 6.30am can’t be ignored. I pick myself and the duvet up from the floor and sigh as I look down at my now flagging cock.
James comes back into the bedroom. “I have to go in. Now. Christ, but they demand their pound of flesh.” He’s scowling and grumpy, his dick as deflated as mine. He doesn’t say who exactly they are and I don’t ask.
He throws the phone on the bed and mutters about a shower.
“Good job it wasn’t a video call.” I lie back on the bed and prop my head in my hand and watch him.
James snorts, but his eyes narrow and there it is again, that dark smile that sends a shiver across my skin and blood to my dick.
“Maybe she can wait five minutes.”
“Five minutes?” I do my best to sound outraged. “Although it’s probably all you can manage at your age.”
James’ eyes narrow some more, and wicked turns to pure evil.
“When did you get so lippy?” He takes slow steps towards me, making me think of a cat stalking a mouse. I edge further into the bed, as I watch every step that brings him closer. My dick’s on high alert, too, as it bobs against my stomach. “I can do more to you in five minutes than—”
His phone rings again. It’s next to me on the bed, and I toss it over to him. He listens, barely even grunts a response, his brow puckered into a hard frown. Whatever’s happening, he’s needed. We’ll just have to bank those five minutes.
“Get ready and go. Something’s obviously up, even if it’s not us.” I nod to our dicks, flagging for the second time in a handful of minutes. “I’ll see you later.”
“Sorry, but, yes I really do have to get a move on.” With an apologetic smile, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to my lips.
Less than twenty minutes later the door slams closed leaving me alone in the bed where I breathe in deep, catching the fading aroma of his citrus cologne as I drift back to sleep.
* * *
I put aside the book I’ve been reading and stretch out on the comfy sofa in the living room. On the coffee table next to me is a cup of tea and a small slice of chocolate cake. It’s only the second piece I’ve had, as James has snaffled most of it. It was definitely his favourite, he’d said. I can’t help smiling, because he’d said exactly the same thing about the carrot cake, the lemon drizzle and the Victoria sponge.
Snuggling deeper into the cushions, I’m feeling lazy. I’ve a day off work and it’d be easy to lounge about doing nothing in this beautiful house where I feel so comfortable. And that’s a problem.
I’m too comfortable, here in this house and with James, when I can’t afford to be. I’m not staying here, and I have to keep reminding myself of that but it’s getting harder. Whatever I might want to believe, this isn’t my home. My stomach twinges hard, and I try to tell myself it’s just indigestion.
“Come on, get moving,” I say to nobody but myself. Yes, that’s exactly what I need to do in all sorts of ways.
We haven’t talked about my proposed move to Brighton since we got back from the cottage, almost a month ago, when we agreed to be whatever it is we are. It’s the elephant in the room. We both know it’s there but when we’re together we ignore it. But I can’t afford to, and I’ve been quietly looking, every single day.
I’ve lost count of how many places I’ve viewed online, along with the countless conversations with estate agents, who assure me they have just the right property on their books — and then email details of tiny studio flats. To be honest, it’s all getting a bit depressing. Nothing new seems to be coming up, just the same old places. If they’re not selling it’s for a reason. Perhaps I really should leave it all until after Christmas, just a couple of months away. But I have to keep looking, just in case that perfect gem turns up. Thing is, it already has. It’s called James’ house.
My phone pings. Stuffed deep into my pocket, I fish it out, in the hope it’ll be James. It isn’t.
“No thank you.” I delete the recorded message offering me the opportunity to make sexy times with beautiful Russian ladies.
I finish off the cake, slug back the rest of my drink and take the stuff out to the kitchen. My laptop’s on the table, and I wake it up.
I’ve set up email alerts with a number of estate agents in and around Brighton. Not that it’s really been worth it. There’s a new one come through, and I open it up, always hopeful. Yes, the brightly painted beach hut looks lovely and it’s only—
“Fucking hell.” How can a glorified garden shed cost as much as I earn in a whole year?
I type in my requirements again: house, potential to extend, fifteen miles from Brighton city centre, preferably close to the seafront — no, close to the sea front, I’m not going to compromise on that. At least not yet.
And… lift off.
The screen fills up with dozens of properties, showing nothing I’ve not seen before. I scroll through fast, and then scroll back. Something new, something that looks kind of okay, something that could be in my price range, with the promised help from my parents. I click on for the virtual tour.
A bungalow, in need of some updating. That’s something of an understatement as it looks like the place was all the business — in the late ‘70s. I’m surprised the estate agent hasn’t called it retro. A coat of paint and some new wallpaper would work wonders. Or that’s what I think until I take a closer look at the bathroom.
“Awww…”
An avocado suite and baby pink tiling. If I look at it for too long, I’ll get a headache.
Landing on the photo of the kitchen, I lean in closer, peering at the screen. “‘Large kitchen, extended by a previous owner,’” I read aloud. It looks big, but so would a shoe cupboard, if a fish eye lens were used to take the shot, but the dimensions sound interesting. There’s an old wooden twelve inch ruler, a relic of James’ school days, in what he calls The Man Drawer. I root around for it, and start to measure, using mugs to mark each corner.
A tremor of excitement dances through me. Not as big as James’ and full of ugly dark pine instead of beautiful sage green and blond wood, but still… It’s the first, and only place, I’ve seen that’s shown any kind of real promise. Taking a deep breath, I type a message to the estate agent to book a proper viewing, and I get a response within seconds of hitting send.
Today… one o’clock… agent will meet at the property… new on the market…
Slumping back in the chair, I have to make a decision. I’ve got the day off with nothing particular to do. I can’t dither, I can’t take my time. I bash out a quick reply and minutes later I’m out the door, and heading to Victoria station to catch the train to Brighton.
