by Smart, Kit
He looked at me finally; in his eyes cautious hope warring with wary uncertainty. “You’re not just doing this because you feel like you have to? Because—”
I laughed as the ground solidified beneath me. “Because of my Girl Friday tendencies?” I dropped my chin to the side, and grinned at him. “You’ve been taking care of me all week Hadrian. Longer actually, if I’m honest. You’ve been trying to snap me out of my bad habits for years now?” It wasn’t really a question but he nodded anyway. “Have you been Girl Fridaying me?”
“No.” He said seriously, not quite believing me.
“Somehow,” I began, seeing he needed an explanation. “You’ve become my favorite person.” I told him. “The person I most want to spend time with.” I paused, searched for the right words to express a complicated idea that I had barely seized a hold on. “And I care for you; want to care for you when you need it. Just as you have been caring for me when I need it. So, no this isn’t about my Girl Fridaying. This is just regular relationship stuff.”
“Regular relationship stuff.” He repeated, and stared at me silently for such a long time that I felt the ground start to shift underneath my proverbial feet with the worry that I had misread him. “Do you have any idea what a bloody miracle you are Pippa Sinclair?” He asked gruffly and I shall treasure forever the look he gave me.
* * * * *
“The seizures affect the part of my brain that controls mood.” Hadrian told me, sometime later, after we were once more tucked up in bed together.
On the verge of falling asleep, Hadrian a comforting warmth along my side, I rubbed my cheek against his shoulder to indicate that I had heard him. Sliding my hand down from where it rested on his chest to the hand he had resting on his stomach, I tangled my fingers with his. “I read about that.” I murmured, and then as I felt his heart begin to pound beneath my ear, I rubbed my thumb along the back of his hand. “Is that why—” I hesitated not certain how to phrase what I wanted to ask.
“I’m such a mess?” He finished self-deprecatingly.
“You’re not a mess.” That much I am certain of. “You’re a little—” I felt his heart stutter as I tried to put my finger on what he was. “Anxious?” I made it a question. Tell me Hadrian.
“Yeah.” He confirmed. “Anxious and depressed.” He brushed his thumb across mine. His heartbeat began to level out. “It usually lasts about a week.”
“Okay.” I kept it casual hoping that was the right thing to do. “What do you need?”
He was silent for a long moment. “I—just don’t take it personally.”
14
When the alarm beeped its deplorable merciless beep at me the next morning at 5am, I quickly shut it off, and with equal parts determination and reluctance, I extracted myself from Hadrian and slid out of bed. Fairly impressed with my stealthiness, I made my way into the bathroom where I showered, brushed my teeth and, did all the other civilized morning things before pulling on a pair of yoga pants and a slouchy tunic top.
Exiting into the hallway through my room, I stopped in the kitchen briefly to put together a giant pot of tea and a collection of snacks, all of which I deposited on a tray and took with me through to my office.
Sliding the tray onto the desk, I flipped my laptop open, hit the power button and, tucking one leg underneath me climbed into my chair. Letting the possibilities of the scene before me flow through my mind, I grabbed the black three-cornered hat from where it perched on the printer and slipped it on. By the time I had poured my first cup of tea, the computer had powered up and opened my project file and it was merely a matter of putting my fingers to the keyboard and letting my imagination run wild in the direction of all the things I would do to Hadrian’s body should he ever give me the chance to have my wicked way with him.
* * * * *
“So,” Hadrian said as he sliced a potato with steadfast precision that evening. “What’s the plan Pippa?”
“The plan?” I glanced up from his hands, and dragged myself resolutely from a fantasy in which those hands caressed my breasts. Focus on your dinner Pippa.
“For this place?” Apparently unaware of where my thoughts had gone, he gifted me with an inquiring eyebrow. Focus Pippa.
“Oh.” Shifting in my seat, I attempted to shove my libido back into its cage so that I could focus. You can’t just climb over the table and haul him off to bed without so much as a by your leave. I told myself firmly. Just because you’re into piracy, doesn’t mean he is. It would be assault. “I am going to turn it into an equine therapy center.”
“For equines or…?”
“Both. Both horses and humans.” I clarified feeling unaccountably shy all of a sudden.
“I see.” He studied me for a long moment. “So, what’s the urgency?”
“The horses are arriving next week.” I refused to let myself feel sheepish about it. Shit happens. “Somewhat earlier than expected.” I elaborated so that it would make more sense.
That earned me two raised eyebrows. “How many horses?”
“Fifty-eight.” I raised my eyebrows back at him like the damned pirate I was. I dare you to comment.
“Fifty-eight horses.” He dared to comment, because of course he did. “Dare I ask how that happened?”
“The rescue organization I work with shut down a breeding operation and they have nowhere to put the surviving horses.” I narrowed my eyes at him daring him to lecture me. “I have the space and I need the horses.”
“Surviving horses?” He regarded me thoughtfully. “What happened to them?”
“They were bred for racing.” I clenched my jaw against the emotion that threatened to burst forth at the thought of what my horses had endured. “Starved and, mistreated when they weren’t fast enough.” I said finally, unable to go into the details. “They need to be rehabilitated and retrained.” I paused to force back the emotion. “I have the facilities and the rescue organization will provide volunteer trainers and care-takers until I can hire my own.” When no lecture was forthcoming, I continued. “I have funding for this operation from several organizations including Courage After Fire; an organization that offers services and programs for wounded veterans, including equine therapy. The funding was scheduled to go into effect six months from now. Through the sheer fortitude, and bureaucratic genius of these organizations, and the people who run them, the funding has shifted forward to take effect two months from now, so with the rescue organization providing volunteers until then, we are covered.” I shrugged. “Except—”
“Except that you weren’t expecting to have to leave your job for another six months.” He finished for me.
“Yes.”
“Ah.”
“Ah?”
“Ah, it all makes sense now.” He clarified. “Logistically.”
“Logistically but not in any other sense?”
“No. That’s not what I meant.” He pulled his wine glass forward, and stared down into it. “I suppose I just want to know more.”
“More?” Something inside me, some part of myself that didn’t want him to accuse me of being everyone’s fetch and carry girl refused to furnish him with the details he was after. This is mine. This is not that. This is a bad ass pirate project; not a Girl Friday thing.
“Sinclair—” He tilted his head slightly to look at me. “I’m not criticizing you. I’m just asking.”
I took that in. Picked up my own wine glass; forced myself to take a deep breath and, leaned back in my chair, took a sip. “What do you want to know?”
It was his turn to lean back. “How did you come to possess this place?” He swirled the wine round in his glass. “And why horses?”
That’s easy enough. “I won this place in an essay contest and I’ve always loved horses.”
“Sinclair—” He growled at me.
“Hastings—” I growled back; treated him to a version of his eyebrow waggling. “Not everything has to be so complicated.” I swirled my own wine in a deliberate paro
dy of him. “I entered the contest on a whim, and then when I won, realized that I wouldn’t be able to keep this place without some kind of—” I waved my hand searching for the right word. “Scheme.” Slightly more nefarious sounding than was absolutely necessary, but largely appropriate. “So I did some research, and discovered that marrying equine rescue with equine therapy would result in the most good, and allow for this place’s continued existence.”
“You could have sold it to a developer, made a fortune, and established a place of your own somewhere else?” A question that isn’t a question.
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I turned this place into condos, cafes and pubs.” I raised my glass in the direction of the window. “Would you?”
That earned me a smile that softened the strained lines of his face and all but vanquished the dark circles under his eyes. “No.”
* * * * *
Not so much as a glance up. Not even a damn squirm to indicate that he is any sort of effected. I watched Hadrian read my pages as covertly as I could manage over the top of the book I had been pretending to read for the last two hours.
The distance between us obscured any of the more subtle indicators of arousal and, as per bloody usual, my editor had the pages propped on the pillow covering his lap, meaning that I couldn’t even check to see if he had an erection. Maybe you just suck Pippa. The sex scene you spent all day obsessing over, is so dull that it has failed to move its intended target. Face it, it just sucks.
Forcing myself to turn the page of the book, so as to keep up the ruse that I was reading; I stared blankly at the text before me, and contemplated the probability of staying up all night to rewrite the sex scene. It’s the only way to stay on track at this point. I reminded myself as dread curled through me at the thought of being the only one awake in the cold dead hours of early morning. There isn’t enough tea in the world to take the edge off the loneliness of that. With a sigh, I turned the page, and contemplated getting a cat. A cat would be just the thing for late night rewrites. I frowned, as I recalled that most pirates had parrots and not cats.
As I was trying to work out whether or not a parrot would do as well as a cat in this situation; parrots lacking the furry purriness of cats and being foul-mouthed by reputation; I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye, and glanced up in time to catch Hadrian close his eyes, and tilt his head back against the back of the sofa.
A parrot just isn’t the same as a cat. My addled brain concluded as I stared at my editor. Surely a cat is a sufficiently badass familiar for a pirate? I shook my head in exasperation as tried to focus on my editor. Is he sleeping? Witches have familiars Pippa. I set the book aside. Pirates have, I drew my feet up, and rested my chin on my knees as I cast around for the appropriate name for a pirate’s animal companion. Well, not familiars. I concluded when I was unable to find the answer. Also, they probably don’t talk to themselves. Rolling my eyes at this reminder of how far I had to go on my piratical journey, I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to ask the question I didn’t want to ask. I so do not want to have to stay up all night doing a rewrite.
15
“Pippa.” Hadrian spoke before I could say anything. A shiver ran through me in response to the depth of his voice. Growl. Definitely a growl.
“That bad?” I braced myself for his reply.
He didn’t open his eyes. “Yes.”
“Shit.” So much for getting to bed before midnight. Despite my effort to brace myself, my heart sank, and it was with effort that I forced myself to my feet. “Guess I’ll put the kettle on.”
His eyes snapped open. “Why?” His eyes, and voice were a study in confusion.
I shrugged at him. “I’m going to need the caffeine for the rewrites.”
“Rewrites?”
I nodded at the pages in his lap. “For the crappy sex scene.” I frowned at him. “You really should get some more sleep; you’re not tracking very well at the moment.”
He blinked. “Not tracking—” He shook his head as though to clear it. “Pippa, there’s nothing wrong with your sex scene.” He told me.
It was my turn to blink. “You said it was bad.”
“Wicked bad.” He clarified in that growly voice that was doing funny things to my insides. “Sexy bad. I want to pull you over here, and let you do those wicked things to me bad.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “In other words, it’s quite good.”
It took a moment for that to sink it and when it did the pleasure that suffused me was tinged with equal parts exasperation and arousal. “Why don’t you then?” I challenged him.
* * * * *
Hadrian stared at me long enough that I had already begun to berate myself for being pushing when he pulled his right arm off the back of the sofa and extended it in my direction. “Pippa—”
I was up out of my chair, and across the room before he could complete the sentence; only to stop short as the fear that I might have misunderstood hit me.
Apparently, now able to read me very well, Hadrian laughed and reaching for my hand, pulled me forward, and down into a kiss. “Easy.” He murmured against my lips as he used his left hand to pull the evening’s pages from his lap, and his right hand to guide me onto his lap. “I don’t want to knee you in the groin.”
Taking his meaning about muscle spasms, I sucked gently at his lower lip, and keeping the balance of my weight on my knees, followed the guidance of his hands as he showed me where to settle against him.
As close as I was to him, I saw his face slacken with pleasure when he was finally nestled against me. As quickly as it had come the pleasure hardened into an annoyed grimace when his right leg jerked in protest at the additional pressure on it.
Fortunately for me, I was already situated against him, and thus did not receive the kick to the groin that he’d forewarned me about. Lifting myself up and centering my lady-bits over his left leg for their own protection, I continued to nibble at his lips as I braced my hands against the top of the sofa on either side of his head. Silently, I willed him not to spook, and call a halt to our impromptu make out session.
I felt him shift below me, and afraid that he was going to push me off of him, I poured everything I had into kissing him; breathing a sigh of relief when he responded enthusiastically only to succumb to worry once again when he pulled back from me. “Pippa,” He panted laughing a little. “Can you pass me one of those cushions please?” He nodded at the pile of throw pillows stacked at the end of the sofa.
Not entirely sure what was going on, but not wanting to quit contact with him, I shifted my weight onto my left leg, and bracing my right hand on his shoulder, stretched until I was able to snag one of the corners of a cushion. Dragging it back toward me. I felt Hadrian tilt his head forward and press a kiss against my shoulder. “Nice work Sinclair.” He leaned forward and began working his way along my shoulder to my neck. “Put.” Kiss. “It.” Kiss. “Behind.” Kiss. “My.” Kiss. “Back.” Finished with his instructions he took my earlobe into my mouth and gave it a gentle suck that had my nipples and clit throbbing in sympathetic pleasure.
Forcing myself to focus through the pulses of pleasure that throbbed through me at each suck of my earlobe, I put the cushion between his back and sofa. It was getting harder and harder to support myself as my legs were apparently determined to turn into jello.
“Lower.” Hadrian murmured against my ear, and the sensation of his breath along the sensitive passage had me wet and throbbing.
“Lower?” I repeated inanely.
“The cushion.” I could hear the satisfied amusement in his tone as it vibrated through me. “Put it against my lower back.”
“Fuck.” I muttered helplessly as he traced the rim of my ear with his tongue.
“Not yet.” He rumbled. “Pippa the cushion.”
“The cushion—” Memory faint and indistinct hit me, and I gathered some semblance of myself and managed to push the cushion down against his lower back. “Here?”
&
nbsp; “Yes.” Dropping his hands to his sides, he shifted forward slightly before leaning back against the sofa. Shifting his weight from his legs to his hips and lower back.
Looking up at me from under hooded eyes he smiled a wry smile. “I don’t want to be forward, but it would be easier if I could undo my pants now before we… resume.”
Despite the way my body throbbed with readiness, that threw me.
His smile faded slightly. “Not moving around reduces the risk of muscle spasms.” He told me levelly.
The levelness in his tone was reminiscent of the more clinical discussions we’d had about disability, and I immediately felt like an asshole. What’s wrong with you?! You’re finally getting what you want; what you’ve been, for intents and purposes, begging for for the past several days and now you’re going to ruin it by being stupid?
“Ah.” I refocussed on my arousal as I lowered my hands to his belt. “In that case, I suppose I should count myself fortunate that I am wearing a skirt then.”
“Fortunate my ass—” He groaned as my fingers brushed against his rigid length through his trousers. “You planned this.”
Shooting him a wicked look, I used my thumbs to trace him from base to tip before I set to work on the button to his fly. “Did I now?”
His head lolled back as he sucked in a deep breath that had his chest expanding sensuously. “You know you did.” Reaching down he grabbed my right hand and pressed it against him hard enough that I could feel him expand as blood rushed into his erect cock. Using my hand he drew my palm up and down his length until I got the rhythm and pressure he wanted. A kind of reverse grinding. I thought watching as he drew his hand up along his abdomen to rub at his chest; beautiful in his pleasure. So he doesn’t have to thrust.
I continued to work my hand over his rigid cock for several minutes as I enjoyed the way the man in front of me shifted and sucked in his breath and groaned with aching responsiveness to each touch of my hand. Eventually though, the need to have him inside me became too much, and I stopped massaging him in order to finish undoing his pants.