“And I’ll have you now,” he said quietly, his words full of intention. “If you’ll have me.”
I couldn’t move. My brain told my body what to do, but it wouldn’t do it. Finally, after a lifetime, I felt my head bob up and down on my neck. Yes, I nodded.
Tom’s eyes didn’t leave mine. He took three purposeful steps toward me, then his lips were on my lips. His skin was so hot, and it augmented my own heat. Fuel on a fire. He kissed me hard, showing me how much he meant it, but his lips were soft and lush. My nuclear-powered brain perceived every nuance of every flick of his tongue, every note of his scent, every scratch of the hint of his beard on my cheek. My arms rose up of their own volition and I took hold of the muscles of his shoulders and pulled myself up to standing. The bare skin of his broad shoulders was slick with sweat. He grabbed me by the waist and pulled my body flat against his, never ending the kiss. His hardness pressed against my belly. I opened my mouth wider to receive more of his tongue. His hands dropped to my bottom and pressed my hips close. I heard myself moan.
Standing up straight to his full height, his lips left mine, and he looked me in the eye. “Alright?”
“No,” I answered honestly. “I’m not going to be alright until you’re inside me.” I took his hand and went before him up the stairs. I couldn’t stand to look at him. I was terrified the spell would be broken; that if he got a good look at me, he might come to his senses. I didn’t care if I was staying or leaving, or if he hated me or loved me. I just knew that I’d die then and there if he refused to make love to me. I steered him into the first bedroom I’d tested out back on the day of our cooking lesson. The other bed was nicer, but I remembered the condoms in the drawer. ‘Dear God, please let them still be there.’ I prayed, perhaps inappropriately.
The minute we reached the bed, my time of being in charge ended. Tom spun me around and lay me backwards before I could think. With a combination of his strong arms and a belly-melting pelvic thrust, he pushed me up so my head rested on the pillows. If the kitchen was hot, the upstairs was scorching. As he kneeled between my legs and pushed up my shirt to kiss his way up my stomach, sweat dripped from his damp hair onto my slippery skin. Still, I willed him not to get up to open the window. If he broke contact, even for a second, I’d surely go into hysteria. I could feel a scream rising up in me at the thought of it. Instead, he pulled my shirt over my head. My nipples stood like bullets underneath the lace of my bra cups. “Please,” I begged. I wanted to say, “Put your lips there,” but he was already undoing the button on my pants, sliding them down and off. I spread my legs to welcome him back on top of me. I’d sent shame packing. I needed Tom. Truth.
Kneeling at attention in the vee of my legs, Tom peeled his undershirt over his head. I watched like it was a show, unapologetically fixated. His shoulders were muscled and broad, and his biceps were solid and defined without that cartoonish look of a body builder. He’d come by his physique through the hard work of the farm and the kitchen. Lifting, hauling, beating. I could not take my eyes off of him, and my own hand wandered to where my panties were dampening. He wanted honesty. Here I was, exposed. I honestly wanted him more than I wanted to breathe. I propped myself up on an elbow and unhooked my bra. Tom took the straps and pulled it off as I slipped my arms free. Feeling his eyes on my naked breasts inflamed me. I lifted my hips off of the bed, signaling for him to take off my underwear. He answered my call and I lay naked before him.
It was at this point he slowed down. He’d stripped down to his boxer briefs, but stopped there. He slid up the bed, laying his body against the length of mine. I strained to make more contact with him but the only places he touched were my cheeks, my neck, my hair. He kissed me till I was drugged. The yearning to have him inside me was a distant, dream-like ache as I drowsed beneath his lips, his tongue, his taste.
“I’ve waited for this,” he whispered between long, deep kisses. “So long.”
His mouth was my mouth. I was sure he was breathing for me.
“Do you want me?” he asked, then plunged me back beneath the surface with more kissing.
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
“Tom, I want you. Nothing else matters.”
Keeping me suspended with his kisses, in a world between here and there, he managed to strip himself naked, and find the condom I had fished from the drawer without breaking the delicious contact of our lips and skin. He ran his hands all over me. His toes sought my toes; the hair on his legs tickled my legs. My eyes stayed closed. Every cell in my body hummed.
I heard the foil of the condom rip, and felt Tom position his weight on top of me. His skin was searing hot and I pulled him toward me, my arms circled around his waist.
“Please,” I whispered. “Now.”
I opened my eyes. His blue eyes were fixed on mine, deadly serious. There was a flash of fear there, but then he kissed me. He entered me hard, with no teasing. Groaning, he took me, there’s no other way to say it. Claimed me. Let me know that I was wanted. All I ever wanted was for someone to want me this way. All I ever wanted was this kind of precise attention, whole and encompassing.
I breathed in Tom’s hot breath through parted lips. Moaning and crying out, and rolled on the waves of our bodies’ motion. I didn’t bother to be coy. This was the truth. I tilted my hips and used my hands to pull Tom into me. I ground against the delicious bone above his hardness, pushing myself toward pleasure, letting him see my hunger.
I came first and I did it raw and real. I cried out, I panted like an animal. I moved him where I needed him to be and held him there tightly. I kept going until every twitch and thrust of my body stopped on its own. I kept going until my muscles shook with fatigue.
“Good girl,” Tom growled, his eyes locked on mine. “Gorgeous.”
We had almost ceased rolling together, but slowly, slowly, he picked the pace up again. Chin on my shoulder, mouth by my ear, Tom uttered noises of appreciation. He hummed low and sustained moans, punctuated by catches of his breath. “Oh, God, so sexy,” he grunted. He lured me back to his heights with his thrusts, and his unedited lust. Before I knew it, I was bucking with a desperation to quench my need. We fell into a rhythm. It heightened, growing wilder and wilder. He stopped breathing. His body rocked, but he fell silent. Then the dam burst. His animal cry against my ear ramped me up, and I held stock-still, receiving his pulses, listening to him come.
I felt it when he finished. His breathing went back to heavy and steady, and he slipped himself out of me. He clamped his lips over mine and reached for my aching sex. Using his broad fingertips, he expertly worked to help me find relief while using his full, sexy lips to tease and pull my stiff nipples. I came again in minutes, groaning loudly, ending in a scream that faded to a laugh. I laughed and laughed, feeling all the tension and worry evaporate from my muscles. He stretched out on top of me and kissed me, and began to laugh, lips against mine. The shaking of my naked belly against his, made him start to chuckle, and soon we were both roaring and crying. Every time our laughter died down, one of us would start again. I don’t know how long it went on, but it felt like hours. At the end, we were well and truly spent. We fell asleep on top of the covers, arms and legs entwined.
“’Morning,” Tom whispered in my ear, his voice ragged and husky. I awoke with alarm bells in my chest, with the sensation of being late for something. Tom pulled me in close and kissed my forehead. I breathed out.
“Is it?” Shadows danced in the room. I squinted at the blinds, trying to gauge where the sun was or wasn’t.
He checked his watch. “No, it’s just after lunch time.”
“I guess you should be getting back to the kitchen.”
“I suppose I should,” he said, looking down at me. My heart swooped into a free fall. I shouldn’t have expected more than a one-off, but it still stung.
Tom propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at me seriously. “But I’ll skive off if you’ll stay here with me.”
&nbs
p; I wrapped my arms around his neck and reached up to kiss him. He rolled over, pulling me on top of him. Our hands and mouths were everywhere, taking possession without the urgency of the early morning. We spent the next hour or so slowly touching, tasting, learning the curves and angles of one another.
Finally, languid and sedated, Tom said, “I could drink water for Ireland. Will you excuse me?” He pulled on his boxer briefs and headed down the stairs. I wrapped the sheet around myself and took advantage of the break to use the bathroom, rinse my mouth, and splash water on my face. One advantage to not wearing makeup is that you don’t wind up with post-coital raccoon eyes, but to be honest, had I known I’d wind up in bed with Tom I’d have at least slapped on some concealer and mascara. I smiled at my own blotchy, beard-burned face in the mirror. On the plus side, if my bare face and unstyled hair could provoke Tom to take me with such desire, maybe I’d never need to break the bank at MAC again.
I turned on the hot water and stepped into the shower. Face to the spray, I felt a pair of arms encircle my waist, pressing a bar of soap to my skin. Before long, the bar of soap wound up melting in the drain, as Tom used his hands to wrest yet another climax out of me. He used his farm-boy strength to hold me upright as my knees buckled. “That was lovely, Sheila,” he declared, mouth against my ear. “Now dry yourself off. There’s a bottle of water for you on the vanity.”
I stepped out, leaving him to it. I drained the bottle of water in one go. I doubted I had a drop of water left in my body. Tom had done a round of the house, opening the windows, and I breathed in deeply, welcoming the fresh air. I pulled on my bra, t-shirt and underpants, and left it at that. The doorbell rang. I froze.
“Don’t answer that!” Tom called over the running water. I sat down on the edge of the bed, nervous, like Goldilocks about to be caught in the bears’ house. Tom walked out with a thick, white towel wrapped around his waist, drying his darkened blonde curls.
“I called in sick.” He smiled at me. “I’ve not taken a sick day since I came to Castle Stone and opened The Grange Hall.” I opened my mouth to protest. “Shh, you’re worth it. I’d have just said I won’t be in, I’m the boss after all,” he flashed me a wicked grin. “But it was easier this way. Now no one will come looking for me.”
“Who’s downstairs?” I whispered.
“I called catering services. Told them there was royalty in from England, and they weren’t to breathe a word as the Duke and Duchess wanted their privacy.” He winked. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat,” I smiled. My stomach growled in the most unladylike way imaginable, and Tom stifled a laugh. He pushed me down onto the bed and kissed me sweetly on the mouth. “If you can’t think of anything better to do.”
“Oh, I can, but I have to keep my strength up. You can’t expect a man to do this kind of work without sustenance.”
“Work?” I bit his lip.
“Ouch! Yes, it’s work. But as the old Irish blessing begins, ‘May you always have work for your hands to do…’” He slid his hand under my shirt. “Amen.”
That made me giggle. We kissed and laughed for a minute or two, then I looked him in the eye. “How did you know there were condoms in the bedside table?”
After a pause, he said, “I put them there.”
I braced myself. I knew this was too good to be true.
“For Catherine?”
“Who? What, the girl at the front desk. Never! Where did you get that idea?” From her, I thought. She’d surely love it. “For Tabitha, then?”
“No, not for Tabitha.” A dark cloud rolled over his face. He laughed a mirthless laugh. “No.”
“Are you dating lots of girls, then?” I heard glasses clinking, and the oven door slamming shut downstairs. How many girls had received the Duke and Duchess treatment in this cottage?
“Hang on, let me do the maths. Carry the one…divided by three…Let’s see, I’m dating exactly…zero girls.” He stood up and pulled on his underpants, then sat down on the bed next to me. I sat up and looked him in the eye. “Tell me the truth. Who are the condoms for?”
I could see him deciding something. His eyes were on my face, but they darted back and forth, processing something. “Are we telling the truth, Sheila?” His calling me Sheila sent a pang of regret through me. How much truth could I tell him? I nodded.
“I put the condoms there for you. Are you angry?” I was not. I was elated. “Before the night I planned to cook a meal for you. But you have to understand something. I’m not some animal. And I didn’t imagine you’d fall right into bed with me, honestly. I just refuse to leave something like that to chance.” He stared at the wall behind me, his breath coming fast. “I’ll never do that again.”
I sat still, like a rabbit before a dog. I gleaned that this was a bigger story than ‘Tom behaves sensibly.’ I looked down at my own hand and steadied my breathing.
“You see,” he said, “Tabitha left me, shortly before we were to be married.” I knew this. I waited. “We’d bought a house in London, and everything. A large house, four bedrooms.” He stopped talking.
“Four bedrooms?” I prompted.
“Four bedrooms, near good schools. She told me she wanted children, early on. Turns out, she didn’t.”
“So, she admitted that and called off the wedding?”
“Hardly,” he snorted. “She wouldn’t have. She’d have married me, lying to me all the way up the aisle. It’s worse than that. She was pregnant.” The angry expression on his face frightened me. “She took care of it.” He shook his head. I noticed his hand was gripping his thigh, hard.
“She told you she had an abortion?”
“No, she didn’t even have the decency to tell me the truth after the fact. Her PA from the show took her to do it. Some bastard from one of the London rags offered the girl a sack of money for the story and she caved. The producers were on it in a heartbeat, and they killed the story but then I knew. We had it out on the street in front of the house. The producers couldn’t kill that story. It was all “Famous Chef and TV personality Tom O’Grady’s temper is as hot as his food,” and “Domestic violence on the menu for TV’s top power couple,” and other lies.”
“But you didn’t hit her, right?” Tom gave me a withering look. “I mean of course you didn’t hit her, so it wasn’t the truth.”
“Since when does truth matter in London, or on television, or in the papers?” Tom stood up, and began pacing the room. “Then she was off on a plane to America with some man I’d never met. She said he was a friend, but for all I know he’d been her lover all along. I’ll never know the truth, and I’m beyond caring now. But that came at a cost.” He sighed hard and massaged one of his shoulders, stretching his neck. “So, that’s why I had the condoms. I hope you understand.”
I nodded.
“Now tell me the truth, Sheila. Did you give it to Burton?”
“No!”
His eyes searched mine. “OK, did you sleep with that boy in the dorms?”
“Des? No.” I watched Tom watching me. “I mean yes, I did.” I reached my hand out. Tom looked at it. “But not then. Please, come sit down.” He sat on the bed without touching me.
“I slept with Des the first night I was in Ireland. And I’m glad I did.” Tom winced. “Because before that, I hadn’t had sex for a very long time. If I hadn’t had that fling, I might not have been brave enough to make love with you this morning.”
He leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips. “Thanks for being honest.” He put his arms around me. “The condoms,” he began, stroking my hair, looking over my shoulder. “That was a big deal for me. I haven’t been to bed with a woman since Tabitha.”
I stayed in our embrace, saying nothing. It had been a very long time. I felt honored.
Finally, Tom broke the silence. “Right. I don’t know about you, babe, but I could eat a horse.” He waggled his eyebrows and leered comically. It was clear he’d had enough heavy talk for the moment. “You’ve unleashed a
mighty hunger in me.” He pinned me to the bed and I pretended to struggle.
“No, Your Lordship! I’m spent. ‘Tis only right to feed a lady before another round in the royal chamber. I demand jellied eels and beef in aspic!”
He stood up and pulled me to my feet. “Works out then. That’s what I’ve ordered.” He shrugged into one of the bathrobes from the closet and held another out to me. “Care to dress for dinner?”
As I sat at the table in luxury accommodations, drinking excellent cold, white wine and dining on pasta with fresh scallops, clams, and mussels, I gazed across the table at Tom. Gorgeous, sexy, manly Tom, who by a miracle from heaven seemed to want me as much as I wanted him. Our dining-table conversation twinkled with trivial topics and time melted away as we laughed and chatted. We found out that we had nearly everything in common, the way you do when you’re first dating. You like pizza? I like pizza! We agreed on deal breakers: Elvis Costello? Love! Horror movies? No thanks. Traveling to Tokyo? Meh. Traveling to Vienna? Yes, please. When did you lose your virginity? Both late bloomers: 18.
After we ate, we took our wine into the lounge and curled up on the plush sofa. It was still warm, so we didn’t light a fire, but Tom did light a few of the votive and taper candles scattered around the various tables. I heard his phone vibrate and felt disappointed when he pulled it out and checked it. I didn’t want to let him go.
“That’s just my mother. Hope you don’t mind if I take it?” I gestured for him to go ahead and he stepped into the kitchen.
“I’m fine, Mam. Just a head cold. Nah, if I need anything I’ll have the kitchen bring it.” I strained to hear. I heard him open the fridge and the sound of bottles clinking. Yay! If he was opening a second bottle, it meant we were staying. “Ah, yes, Sheila. As a matter of fact, I sent her to Swords, uh, Screen, on the train. She’s going to talk to a farmer there for me, and um, pick up some cheese.” I heard a cork pop. Hooray! “I’ll let Mary know. She should be back on the grounds tomorrow, maybe. Maybe the day after. He was short of breath? Ring the doctor, Mam! Oh, he’s called in already?” Tom walked into the room and set the bottle down on the table. “Well, that’s certainly a relief. Thank God. No, I’m not cross anymore that he’s there.” Tom smiled at me and topped up my wine. “I’m glad he’s not alone.”
Summer at Castle Stone Page 27