by A. T. Smith
“What are you looking at?” he asks me, seeing my distraction.
“That,” I reply, pointing to the ruby red apple in his clasp; I want nothing more than to have a taste, of him that was.
“You aren’t having any, it’s mine.” He tells me as he takes an extra-large bite, the crunch of the fruit echoing in the large kitchen. He is clearly trying to wind me up further.
I pout my lip at him, batting my eyelashes and forcing fake tears to surface. That’s right I could be a fucking drama queen, and what?
“Don’t even try that shit with me Abbi, I have a little sister. She has tried to pull that since she was a kid, doesn’t work with me sweetheart.” I continue to pout and even manage to force a tear to fall, sniffling exaggeratingly. “It’s not going to work, stop with the tears.” He tells me, trying his hardest to consume his apple, taking gargantuan bites, chewing quickly and then swallowing.
I try to stop myself from falling on the floor laughing, as he begins to choke on the huge mouthful. His face turns red as he pounds his chest, trying to dislodge the piece caught in his throat.
I move across the room giggling as I move behind him. I slap between his shoulder blades as hard as my laughing body will allow. “Cough hard you plank.” I continue to thump him as he coughs hard, a piece of apple eventually flying across the room.
“That’s what you get for being a greedy arse.” I tell him, poking my tongue out at him as I move past. “Next time you’ll know to share won’t you, Mr. Leighton.” I look at him in mock seriousness, “You say, Yes Miss Adams, next time I will share”
He looks at me, raising his eyebrow as if to say ‘You seem to think’.
“Say it, or I will dispose of every apple you have just paid for, we share in this household now, Mr. Leighton”.
“Not the apples.” He begs me, pointing to bowl of shiny red fruit, his lips quivering a little.
“Then say it or the fruit gets it.” I begin to walk towards the bowl, reaching my hands to take it from the side.
“Fine, stop, stop, I’ll say it.” he says, his hand grasps my wrist to stop me. I want to laugh, laugh really hard at how serious he was taking it. For someone to love apples so much they were willing to beg, now that was a serious mental problem.
I gesture for him to continue, rolling my hand in the air, “I’m waiting Leighton.” I am literally biting my tongue to control the impending giggle fit.
“I will share my apples from now on.” He announces sulkily, no enthusiasm what so ever.
“Oh come on Leigh, you can give more enthusiasm than that.” I scold him for his lack of life.
“I WILL share MY APPLES from now on Abbi.” He says faking a big smile.
“That’s better, but there’s only one problem.” I tell him, tapping my chin.
“Yeah, and what’s that Abigail?” he asks me his lips in a straight hard line. He isn’t impressed with my scolding approach.
“Well, the thing is, I, well I don’t like apples.” I burst out laughing as his face changes to a horrible shade.
I jump as he bolts across the room, grabbing me, digging his fingers into my sides, tickling me with a serious amount of revenge. God it hurt too much. I can’t stop laughing as I struggle to get myself from his embrace.
“Now it’s your turn to say what I want you to say.” He tells me, lifting me from the floor and taking me through the house to the lounge. Placing me on the sofa he climbs atop me pinning my arms and legs down with his thighs. I’m not complaining on the view to be honest because his jean clad crutch is in my direct view.
“Yeah, and what’s that sir.” I mock him, not the best thing to do because his fingers really go to town on my hips and tummy. It makes tears spring into my eyes, as the torturous pain hit every nerve in my body.
“Say, ‘Leighton is the best; I will obey his every order and kiss his feet for the rest of my life’” I laugh aloud, his requests making a smile frame my face. He is so laid back and relaxed it does nothing but sooth my soul, even with the pain of his fingers tickling me.
“Yeah, because that’s going to happen.” He tickles harder making me squirm and almost cry.
“Say it.” he commands me, his deep pine tree eyes staring at me intently.
I am compelled straight away; from the moment I look into those irises I am gone. “Leighton is the best; I will obey his every order and kiss his feet for the rest of my life”.
“Good girl.” He reply’s as he climbs from the sofa, but not before leaning down, his face in line with mine, his lips within reaching distance. I pout my lips out preparing for his attack.
“Argh, you disgusting man” I shout as his tongue swipes the length of my face, licking me, a wet trail left in its wake.
“Payback’s a bitch. Don’t touch my apples.” He warns me, as he jumps from me and runs from the room.
I sit up and rearrange my messy hair, tucking bits back into a hairband. I can’t stop smiling; my cheeks are hurting as the muscles stretch in my face.
“Abigail!” I hear Leighton shout from the kitchen, I sit up and walk through the house to him.
“Yes sir, what can one assist one with?” I ask him, mocking his need for me to kiss his feet for eternity.
“Where the hell did you put my scotch, I can’t find it,” he looks sad at the loss, making me chuckle hard.
“Aww poor baby. I put it in the drinks cabinet there.” I point across the kitchen to the glass and oak piece of furniture that is laden with bottles of expensive looking alcohol.
“Good. I was worried then. The guys would kill me if I didn’t have anything to give them.” he physically relaxes.
“Oh no, nothing to drink. Not like you don’t have another ten bottles of drink in that cabinet.”
“Yes, but they are not 15 year old Talisker single malt scotch whiskey are they. No they are not. You will learn pretty soon what I like and I pay high for what I like.” He winks at me as he moves across the room, grabbing a glass from the cupboard before opening the drinks cabinet up and removing the scotch.
He pours a little slosh into the glass before swirling it around and then swallowing the lot.
“That is good. And that is why I do not buy scotch as Tesco’s.” he smiles.
“Where did you buy it then because you got it today?” I ask him, intrigued to how he managed to swing that one by me.
“When we stopped at that shop on the way home, it’s a specialist. It’s the only place I will go.” I shake my head at him.
“Sorry Mr. Alcohol Snob.” I laugh at him. “So tell me, why does a rich fellow like yourself, with a lot of money, shop at somewhere like Tesco’s, surely you’re a Waitrose or Mark’s kind of guy.”
“Because, Abigail, there is no point in wasting good money, that could be used for this beautiful stuff,” he points to the glass, “on groceries that taste the same in all supermarkets.” He smiles widely at me.
“Okay.” I answer simply before turning and leaving the room. A huge smile on my face.
“Where you going Abbi?” he asks me in that well-spoken British voice, the angry or horny one, and it makes me tingle all over.
“I’m going to swim Sir, do you mind if I use your facilities?” I ask him sarcastically, smiling wide as I do.
“Not at all, sweetheart. You enjoy yourself. The guys will be here in about two hours so do what you want to for the evening and don’t mind their loud voices.” He tells me, pouring himself another small glass of scotch and downing it.
“See you later, Leighton. Thanks again for everything.” I turn and walk from the room, going to my bedroom to collect a bikini and towel.
I arrive back downstairs and search the perimeters of the hallways trying to find where this pool and spa are. I don’t want to look like an idiot asking, so I just kept wandering until I smell the chlorine.
Pushing open a wooden door and then a set of glass frosted doors, I arrive at the side of a beautiful walk in swimming pool. I can feel the heat of the water b
efore even getting in. I breathe in the steamy air, my lungs feeling clear and refreshed.
I look to the other side of the large space, seeing a few doored cubicles. I open one and enter. I change into my bikini quickly, leaving my clothes inside the little room. I take my towel with me and leave it by the pool.
If there is one thing in this world I am good at, it was swimming. I can go for hours, any stroke you ask me to do I can do. I can dive perfectly, slicing the water without as much as a drop of water disturbed. Call me Tom Daley if you must, but I am damn good at it.
I stretch my arms above my head, inhaling deep before bending my knees and then stretching my legs to pushing myself from the edge of the water. I fly through the air quickly, my fingertips grazing the water surface as they slice through the barrier.
I feel the warm liquid mold around my body as I penetrate it, my tiny frame spearing through the torrent around me. The tiny bubbles fizz around me like a mini Jacuzzi. I kick my legs bringing me to the surface to collect some air into my relaxed lungs.
I wade around, using both hands to sweep my wet hair, that had somehow broke free of the hair band that held it from my face, my blonde locks clinging to my back. I pull the elastic free and then retie my hair back up tighter and neater.
I breast stroke to the nearest end of the pool and line myself up close to the wall. I take a deep breath, holding onto the wall bringing my legs up like a frog. I kick off, bringing my arms out in front of me like I was horizontally diving. I slice through the water and then bring one arm over my head, bringing it down into the water, and then the next arm.
I swim the length of the pool, rolling and kicking back off the wall at the other end. I swim six lengths of the sauna like pool, rolling and kicking at the end of each one.
After completing the six front crawl length I switch to back stroke, turning onto my back and rotating my arms above my head and bringing them through the water.
I feel so at peace and relaxed doing this. It was one of the only things in my life that I was good at, one of the only things that made me feel so calm and collected. When I lived with Lisa, I used to swim on a daily basis, one of the reasons my body was so toned.
After finishing six length of backstroke I switch to breast stroke, literally looking like a frog this time, bringing my head up out of the water, with every stroke to collect air.
Eighteen lengths later I only have six of the hardest to do. Well hard for someone who couldn’t swim well. Butterfly is without a doubt my favorite stroke, the one I used to swim in competitions and galas.
I switch over to my front, both of my arms parallel to one another as they simultaneously slice through the warm water. I can feel the lactic acid in my legs and arms building, my muscles beginning to ache as I push them further than I have pushed them in years.
Reaching the sixth length of my butterfly stroke and twenty four lengths of the pool, I cling onto the wall, breathing deeply, struggling to get my lungs full again.
“Wow, you can really swim.” I hear the beautiful Essex tinged voice echo in the room.
I turn my head quickly searching for him.
I pull my hair from the band again and lower myself under the water, soaking my head down smooth. Standing up on tip-toes I retie my hair inside the elastic so its stowed neatly away.
“You swim so beautifully, so fluid and free.” I feel his warmth beside me as he kneels down by the pool.
“Thank you.” I reply, my skin blushing. I’m not used to people complementing me, making me feel good.
“Anyway sweetheart, I just came to tell you that a few of the lads have turned up, so just a warning. They know you’re here so they may come sneak a view.” He tells me standing back up.
I use my arms to pull myself up on the edge of the pool, my bum sitting on the tiles my feet dangling in the water. “It’s cool; I’m all finished for today. I’ll take myself upstairs to shower and change. I’ll come help get some bits ready after if you like.”
“No need Abbi, I can handle it. You go relax for the evening and I’ll see you sometime later.” Leighton explains to me, his shoes squeaking as he walks from the room.
I lean back on my hands, taking deep breaths to collect myself. Why on earth have I found the most perfect man there could possibly on this earth but he has no interest in me at all? Just my damn luck.
Chapter Eight
All I can hear from the relaxing depths of my bubbling spa bath are loud deep laughs, cheering and the occasional heavy swearing.
I am trying my hardest to enjoy the frothing water, but I can’t stop myself from laughing with them when I hear the foul mouthed lads, who are congregated somewhere in the house.
I decide I have soaked for long enough and get myself out from the bath to dry and dress. Using a fluffy towel I get rid of the drips and then I put some comfy jeggings and a t-shirt on.
I make my way downstairs to find where the noise is coming from.
“Leigh, I’m so glad she’s here, she listened to me.” I recognise the voice as Scott, with that American accent that is so god damn panty combusting; it makes me nervous to see a group of seven men together.
I have no doubt the other three men he is yet to introduce me to are going to be just as beautiful as the rest of them.
“Shut it you prick, she had nothing to do with it. She didn’t even know where I had bought it from. This is all me boys, so shut up and drink up before I throw you all out and have the bottle to myself.” I hear the clinking of glasses and then the cheering of the men.
“Boys wait till you see her, how Leigh hasn’t tapped her yet I have no clue.” I recognise it to once again be Scott. I shake my head at his typical male antics.
“Scott, shut up mate. Leave her alone for at least a day please.” That is Leighton’s sexy voice, and if it doesn’t just make me melt.
I walk into the kitchen, clearing my voice as I walk to the fridge to take a bottle of water out. Uncapping the lid I take a drink from it. I look to the group of seven men standing there staring. I recognise Scott, Leigh, Antonio and Thomas straight away. Standing with them is three very blonde and very blue eyed men. As predicted they are just as stunning as the other four men.
“Evening, Abigail. Enjoy your relaxing?” Leigh asks me.
“Very much, thank you for letting me use the pool. You have a beautiful home.” I express to him, taking more of the water in my mouth.
“That’s perfectly fine Abbi; you use it whenever you want to.” Leighton replies, standing nonchalantly against his kitchen counter.
“Well, you boys enjoy your evening. Leigh do you want me to order your pizza for you?” I ask him, wanting to feel at least a little useful.
“Already done, hope you like meat?” he asks me winking my way. His green eyes are dark and sexy tonight, the lightness of the kitchen doing nothing.
“Meats good, can’t get enough of meat Leighton.” I answer him, winking back his way.
“Abbi, I’d like you to meet my other friends. This is Nate,” he points to older looking of the three blonde haired, blue eyed men, “And Brad and Luke, as you can see they are twins.”
“Hey, nice to meet you.” I say reaching my hand out to shake theirs. All three take it in turn to clasp my hand, pull it to their lips and kiss it.
“Jesus fucking Christ guys. What is it with all the hand kissing lately?” I hear Leighton say. “Sorry Abbi, I’m sure you have enough male DNA on your skin from the group of us to last you a lifetime, maybe even to clone one or two of us.”
I chuckle at him. I’m not bothered by the gentlemanly approach his friends take on. “Not a problem Leigh, I don’t see the problem with cloning you lot though. Wouldn’t be a bad thing” I reply, trying to control the burning inside as the seven of them stand and stare at me. “Anyways, I’ll leave you boys to it, enjoy your evening.” I walk from the kitchen, hearing footsteps following me.
Outside in the hallway, I feel my body being turned around, my cheeks flush and my sk
in overheats. Leighton’s bright green globes catch mine as he looks at me with severe intent.
“As I said earlier Abbi, don’t mind us if it gets a little too rowdy, I’ll try and keep them under control so you can sleep. Goodnight sweetheart.” My body pulses to life the second those perfect lips press against my forehead. Lingering just a little too long, I can feel the heat, searing and potent within my veins. Every nerve ending is alive, begging for just a second longer. When he removes his lips from my skin I feel a little of me leave the hallway and enter back through the kitchen door with him. I collapse against the hallway wall, sighing like a love sick teenager as I try to arrange myself enough so that I can possibly walk to my room.
“Come on Abs, let’s get to bed and read about some sexy man who sweeps some fucked up girl off her feet.” Yes, it was common for me to talk to myself, like you’d probably already guessed, and yes I do wish that someone would sweep me off my useless, emotionally scarred feet.
I manage to drag myself through the hallways toward the library Leighton had shown me earlier. When he had asked me, whilst we were out shopping, what I enjoyed doing, I told him reading classic literature was a love of mine, once we returned home, after the apple fiasco, he dragged my scrawny arse through the corridor, and into the most beautiful room I think I had ever seen. All dark wood, shelves upon shelves, metres high with beautiful hard back, leather bound books. Everything from Dickens, to Defoe, to Austin, to an incredible first edition complete works of Shakespeare. I know from my college English Lit course that it is worth a fortune, more than I would ever be able to afford for sure, even if I saved every last penny for my entire life I wouldn’t be able to possess such an incredible piece of history.
As I stand at the bottom of the ladder that you could push around the surrounding book cases, I look up at the endless shelves. I wonder to myself over and over what I will read. I want something romantic, beautiful and poetic, something that will make the shitty life I have been living disappear and allow me to enjoy this new life, a life with no worry or danger, a life in this incredible home and maybe one day, a life with Leighton, because I am pretty sure no matter how many times I try to convince myself I’m not, I am falling hard for him, and if I’m not careful I’m going to end up face planting a nasty piece of rejection.