“What?”
“Hmm, I see we’re going to have to spend a lot of time practicing.” He squeezed the curve of my hip, his hand sliding down to hook my thigh over his, and he rolled on top, kissing me into submission.
Chapter 20
You’re an accountant. You want to go to my room, add the bed, subtract your clothes, divide your legs, and multiply?
I blinked slowly into awareness, tunnelling my way out of my duvet cocoon. I nuzzled against the pillow, hanging on to the last vestiges of sleep.
Hmm, it smelt nice.
It smelt of… dark, piney yumminess, of… Mark.
Awareness hit with the force of a freezing tsunami. Yelping, eyes wide, I frantically searched the bed.
He was gone.
What did that mean?
How did I feel about it? Was I was pleased to avoid an awkward morning-after scene, or upset that he’d run out on me as soon as he woke up and realised he’d slept with me?
A noise had me looking up. Mark leant against the doorjamb, watching me, dressed only in boxer shorts; his gorgeous chest and eight-pack stomach still bore the faint red lines of my nails. Oh, God. Was he working up to reminding me that I wasn’t his type? That it was just practice sex and I shouldn’t get clingy and start trying on wedding dresses?
He took a breath.
I spoke quickly, before he could say something I’d never recover from, saying the first thing that came into my mind: “What, no flowers or breakfast in bed?”
His face blanked, before taking on a look of oh shit. “Ah! Shit… Ah, you, ah–” He raked a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
Why did I say that? I sat up, pulling the covers up over my chest, clamping them under my armpits and making sure nothing was exposed. “There’s no need to panic.” Now he thought I wanted flowers and breakfast in bed like some clingy girlfriend. Why hadn’t I kept my mouth shut? I knew I wasn’t his type (not being oversensitive; I am no Barbie). It was just two healthy adults doing what adults do…
It was just practice sex… for me, anyway. For the record, Mark did not need practice. He was already good. Gold-medal good. “Just because I had sex with you doesn’t mean I want to marry you. I’m just doing what Mum said, kissing frogs and getting in some practice for when my prince comes along.”
Good. Good. That sounded casual, relaxed.
He pushed away from the door. “Your pillow talk sucks even worse this morning than it did last night.”
“You know what they say – if you can’t handle the heat, get out of the bedroom,” I countered. Moronically. Oh my God… I’d slept with Mark and now I was saying stupid things and trying to argue with him. I had to get things back on their usual footing before I did something stupid and confused sex with… something else… something emotional. I couldn’t get clingy and desperate with Mark.
Mark had seen me naked!
My heart stopped and my stomach plunged.
It was awful.
Horrific.
Mark, who’d teased me for as long as I could remember, who never let me forget an embarrassing childhood mistake, had seen me naked and hot. I’d begged, for him. It was only a matter of time before he said something and I had to kill him. Or myself.
Under the blanket, I was still naked!
I started to hyperventilate.
“That’s the kitchen. If you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen, and I didn’t say I couldn’t deal with it.” He crawled over my (naked under the blanket) body, pinning me in place. “Besides, you can use all the practice you can get, and I’m nothing if not thorough when I commit to doing something, or someone.”
* * * * *
On my hands and knees, I ran a sanding block up and down the wooden hallway floor. It was exhausting, painful, and tedious. Mark had already done the other rooms. I thought he was getting the best side of our “no rent in exchange for being a handyman” deal until I started this. An hour in, my back was killing me, my hands were blistered, and I was starving. Forget the latest celeb fitness DVD. DIY should be the new fitness craze.
“It’s nice to hear you singing. You must be happy.”
I hadn’t realised I was singing until Mark spoke, but I was belting out an old Carrie Underwood song, “Jesus, Take the Wheel.”
I stopped singing and sanding and started to get up. “Shit. Owww.” Groaning and wincing, I used the wall to crawl my way up from kneeling to half standing. Mark hauled me the rest of the way. I sagged against him, whimpering.
My reflection in the mirror on the hallway wall was not pretty. No makeup, shiny face, limp hair scraped back into a ponytail (without the use of a brush). Plus, I was wearing a pink My Little Pony t-shirt I’d grown out of in the early nineties, which was so tight it was cutting off the circulation to my breasts. And here he was bare-footed, wearing a black Levellers t-shirt and loose-fit grey tracksuit bottoms and still looking H.O.T.
He slowly smiled, a smug smile of satisfaction. “A little stiff this morning, KT?”
I was feeling a little stiff and shy. We hadn’t made it out of the bedroom at all yesterday, except for food and bathroom breaks. I now knew what Mark liked so much about Kama Sutra positions number six, sixteen, and twenty-three. We’d also enjoyed sexual positions one, five, forty, and many, many more. I hadn’t even had to google them. Mark had spent hours giving me practical demonstrations.
I’d snuck out of bed this morning (leaving Mark asleep) feeling… well, maybe a little… unsure… awkward about this whole practice thing? My stomach rumbled loudly.
“Have you been doing something to work up an appetite?” His eyebrows waggled suggestively.
I ignored his innuendo and hint for a morning-after compliment. I’d begged and cried and praised him almost ceaselessly for the last thirty hours. I needed to pull back now. The last thing I needed was him getting too full of himself outside of the bedroom. Pushing stiffly back out of his arms, I made a grand, sweeping gesture at the hallway floor. “Yes, look at that.”
Tanned arms folded across his chest. A frown wrinkled his brow. “Is that the only thing you’ve done?”
“Only? It’s practically smooth enough to slide on.”
“I thought you may be feeling a bit of morning-after tension from our practice session. Guess I was wrong.” He sounded pissed. I turned. He snagged my arms, dragging me against his chest, capturing my mouth with his. His large, rough palms slid down my arms, the backs of his fingers brushing the side of my breasts. Liquid heat rippled and shivered across my body.
“So, what are your plans for today?”
“I, ah…” Was hot and flustered.
He wasn’t.
What was the question again?
Oh, yeah. “I thought I’d show you my renovation skills.” Two could play the I’m cool and relaxed about no-strings sex with my former (maybe current) nemesis and not feeling in the least bit awkward, even though I slept with him last night (and all of the night and day before) and just groped you this morning game. Wiggling against him for release, I picked up a new sheet of sandpaper, wrapped it around my sanding block, and set back to smoothing the floorboards. I was fine when we were in bed having sex; it was only now we were outside of the bedroom that I wasn’t sure what we were or how to act. The only thing I knew for sure was that I agreed with Mark for once: we were nothing like brother and sister. “I’d kill for a coffee.”
“Change killing for kissing and I’ll see what I can do.” His voice cracked.
Ah, he wasn’t as cool as he looked. “Deal.”
Mark swallowed audibly, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and stared. I stared back over my shoulder… Time stretched. My breath grew short. My heart pounded. This wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I turned back to sanding. I was the one who’d jumped out of bed this morning and set about sanding the sodding hallway. I could hardly complain if he played grab-and-grope then wasn’t sure whether to follow through. Putting extra effort behind a stubborn, paint-covered rough spot, I trie
d to ignore the heat of his eyes on my backside.
And failed.
“Coffee?” I didn’t look, continuing to scratch and sing, hoping he’d give up and go away so I could think.
I was sooooo confused.
Yes, I’d started the just for practice crap, but he’d agreed… Then again, he was a guy; he’d probably have given me his PIN and the limb of my choice if he’d thought it would get me into bed faster, but still men were supposed to want no-strings “just for practice” sex. Now that we’d done it, I was feeling, well… I was the one who’d set casual parameters on our relationship.
No, not relationship.
Agreement.
It was just practice sex.
No strings.
No emotions.
God, I was a clingy loser. Why was I getting all worked up about the fact he was acting like it was normal, like nothing had changed?
Nothing had changed. Right? I was still on an enforced two-month date-a-thon.
I had to snap out of this. I wasn’t going to turn into one of those women who equated sex with love. I curved my back then stretched upward, working out the kinks. Mark growled. He was still there, watching me?
“Why are you staring at me?”
“I’m not.” His eyes wandered around the room like there was something else worth looking at.
“You were. Oh, no you don’t!” I held up a hand, fending him off when he pushed off the wall. “I’m not going to let you distract me.” I needed space to think through what the hell was happening.
“Me, distract you?”
I smirked at his petulant tone. Mark stalked out the room.
* * * * *
“I’ve brought you a present.” Forty minutes later, Mark walked back into the hall freshly showered and dressed, hands hidden behind his back.
“A present? For me?” Happiness and wonder blossomed in my chest. “What is it?” I love presents! I settled back on my haunches to watch. Unfortunately, this put my eyes on a level with his crotch.
Awkwardness still lingered, but I’d spent the last forty minutes sanding and working my way through it. If Mark could be cool with it, so could I. I just needed to stick with the whole practice makes perfect crap until this emotional neediness bubble I was stuck in burst.
Mark wasn’t the commitment type. It was like he’d said to Barbie, “We’re just dating and should both continue to see other people” – only replace “dating” with “having sex”. Nothing could have made his disinterest clearer then the fact he’d spent the last seven weeks fixing me up with half the males in London.
Which was why I was still bent over a piece of sandpaper, trying not to get splinters in my hand and breaking my back, proving to him that I was totally cool with what we’d done and didn’t need to rehash or psychoanalyse it. I was just going to enjoy it whilst it lasted. I’m a big girl. I could cope with a purely sexual relationship.
I could.
So why was I feeling so… vulnerable and needy? A throat being cleared loudly brought me out of my musing. Oh! I’d been lost in thought and staring at Mark’s crotch. Slowly, I dragged my gaze up from just below his belt buckle. He was silently laughing at me.
“See anything you like the look of?” He enjoyed my flush of embarrassment. Hmm. Yes, I did. “It’s something that you always wanted.”
What?
Oh, the gift.
Something I’d always wanted… “You got me a puppy?”
“Nope. It’s even better.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Guess again.”
Better than a puppy… That was tough. “A spa holiday?” Not better than a puppy under normal circumstances, but right now…
He huffed out a laugh. “You’re getting warm.”
“Give me a clue.” Excitement bubbled in my chest.
“Since you’re beautiful and I’m feeling generous, I’ll give you three clues.” I rolled my eyes. “Number one, it’s something that you really need.” Hmm. “Two, something that will help you finish here before you get arthritis.” Ooooh. “And three, it’s something that will ensure you don’t ache too much for tonight.”
“Oh?” There was promise in him not wanting me to ache too much for tonight. Then again, Mark was notoriously bad at picking presents: for my twenty-first, he sent me a “tank-driving experience”. I’d written my mother’s car off two weeks before. He thought it was funny. “It’s not a new piece of sandpaper, is it?”
“Nope.” He sounded smug.
“Or a sex toy?”
Interest lit his eyes. “I thought we did all right without any aids, but if a little kink is what you’re into…” He shrugged. “You should have said. I’m sure we could improvise something. I’ll keep it in mind for later.” My temperature spiked. “So, guesses.”
Huh? Oh. “I’m bored of guessing. Just give it to me.” I rose on my knees, pulling at his arm, trying to see what he’d hidden behind his back.
“As impatient as ever.” He laughed. “Okay. Okay, but first you have to promise me three things.”
“What?”
“First, that you’ll stay and finish what you’re doing. I hate people leaving a job half done.” I gave a wary nod. “Second, you won’t be angry.” I frowned. People only told you not to be angry when they were about to do something that would make you legitimately angry. I didn’t respond. He continued anyway, taking my agreement for granted. “And third, whatever else you do, even if you don’t stick to the first and second promises, you’ll still practice with me tonight.”
That didn’t sound good. Not the practice bit. I already knew that was better than good. The promise before the present bit… did not bode well. “I’m not sure that I still want whatever it is, and I know I can’t trust you enough to make those promises without knowing what it is.”
“No promise, no present.”
“Whatever. Just get on with it.”
“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”
Eyes closed, I held out hands pink and sore from hard work.
Hmm. Yummy. Mark leant in to steal a quick, hard kiss.
A rustle and a couple bangs later, I nearly peeked. Another stolen kiss and… “Open up!”
I blinked away the haze of desire, not even trying to drag my eyes above his belt buckle this time. I smiled as he shifted uncomfortably. Finally, I looked down… at the electric plug in my hands. A plug? Frowning, I followed the cable down to some sort of machine tool thing. It looked a bit like an industrial floor polisher. I flicked a questioning glance back up at him. “Ah, thanks?” I sounded as confused and disappointed as I felt. “What is it?”
“An electric sander,” he said in an obviously tone.
“An electric… You had this the entire time and you let me ruin a perfectly good manicure?” Okay, that was a slight exaggeration, but that wasn’t the point. “I lost the top layer of skin off my hands and have probably damaged my back for life… All the time you stood there and watched me struggle and you had an electric sander?” My voice rose on the last words. Dropping the plug, I slapped at his legs.
“Come on now.” He failed to keep the laughter out of his voice. “You were just saying how you wanted to do more exercise.”
“Now you’re saying I’m fat?”
It dawned on him that I really wasn’t happy. “No! No. You are not fat.”
I rubbed my forehead. “I can feel a headache coming on to go with my backache.”
His eyes narrowed, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Uh-uh. You promised.”
Not really. “That was before I knew you’d watched me work my bum off when all the time you had an electr–”
“A mighty fine ass it is,” he said. “Definitely worth watching.” I hissed. “How about I promise to kiss it all better?” He captured my hands, stopping me slapping at his legs, and tugged, pulling me up to lean against him.
I groaned, arching my back. Oww.
His hands slipped to my lower spine, massaging. Oh, that was goo
d. I sagged against him, eyes closing to savour the sensation. Mark’s lips brushed my ear as he said, “I could start now.”
I clutched his biceps, humming my pleasure. He pressed kisses to my forehead, eyelids, and nose, then strung light, nipping kisses along my jaw. My head fell back, exposing my neck to his yummy ministrations. His hands slipped under my t-shirt, his thumbs pressing into the small of my back, kneading aching muscles, long, strong fingers sneaking under the silk and lace of my knickers, teasing the curve of my bottom. My stomach dipped, liquefied.
“You’re insatiable,” I said.
“Hmm, but you love me for it.”
We both froze at the L-bomb.
I stared at Mark. He looked everywhere but at me – obviously terrified I’d get the wrong idea from his choice of words – checking for the emergency exits.
It was just a figure of speech. Right?
Neither of us were ready to go there yet.
Ever.
His phone rang, and he ran like he was expecting a call from Camelot telling him he’d won the lottery.
Chapter 21
If you’ve lost your virginity, can I have the box it came in?
“What are you watching?”
“Ice Age
.” I grunted the response from my place stretched on my stomach across the couch, eyes glued to the TV as an animated Sid sloth woke up, realised his friends and family had left him behind, and begun migrating.
“Cool,” he said. I groaned at Mark’s awful joke. “Move over.” He nudged me with his hip.
“No. I’m comfy. I want to stretch out and relax. All that sanding has made my body seize up and my back ache.” I hoped my sulky tone reminded him of what I’d thought of his sander joke. “Can’t you sit on the floor?”
“I’m not sitting on the floor, KT. I’ve spent all afternoon on the floor, tiling the bathroom.” I ignored him. “I… Fine!” He scooped me up, grunting under my weight.
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