"No one was hurt then?"
"No. All out-the family, the pets and the fire crew. It's thankfully rare for anyone to die in a fire."
"I guess; that's why you're there, to get everyone out." She smiles at me and she runs her hand over my chest as if she can't help herself touching me.
Her touch goes right to my cock. I look down at her fingers and she pulls her hand away as if she shouldn't have done that.
"It's okay." I reach out and grab her hand and kiss her fingers. "There was just one hairy moment in the blaze when I realized that it's not just me anymore. It's not just my own life I'm putting on the line. If I don't get out alive, Lucy has no one! That made me think."
"I'm glad you got out, not just for Lucy."
I kiss her on the nose. Why can't I stay away? "Thanks. I'm pleased you'd miss me too."
"I made beef in red wine."
"It smells good. Hey, you didn't use that vintage wine on the counter, did you?"
Her eyes widen. "You said to use anything."
"Just kidding. The vintage was Supermarket 2017."
"Oh, you." She taps me on the arm and I grab her hand again and pull her to me and kiss her like I wanted to kiss her as soon as I saw her. I swear baby Lucy starts banging the high chair tray harder than ever with her spoon as if applauding my moves.
CHAPTER 17
Melissa
We eat together like a real family in the kitchen but with a super-charged atmosphere, an undercurrent of unfulfilled need and desire over the meat and potatoes along with a mega-dose of uncertainty on my part. Nothing can ever come of this. It's not like we have long-a few weeks and I'll be gone and Andrew and Lucy will get on with their lives as if I've never been here. Lucy won't even remember I looked after her. Will Andrew ever think of me once I leave?
We eat the beef casserole and drink the rest of the wine. I spoon mashed veggies into Lucy. And when we're done, I take her out of the chair and give her a bath removing all traces of vegetable from her hair and face while Andrew clears up the kitchen and heats up a bottle of milk.
"I'll feed her," he says. "You must be tired after your first full day with her."
"I had a nap when Lucy did but I think I'm still catching up with the time difference. I'll take a bath if that's okay."
Lying in the bathtub, the steam circulating around that little bathroom, I try to calm myself down.
There's a guy just a few yards from me out in the living room sitting on the couch feeding a baby. A guy who makes me feel alive in a way no guy ever has, a guy I'll probably never see again in less than six weeks.
My heart is thudding just at the thought of him, of what I want to do with him. I've been thinking about him all day. I couldn't help chewing everything over in my mind, thinking about him, and about the situation. I was wondering if I could be wrong about him, whether he's as hot as I'm imagining him to be. Whether he doesn't really want me and I'm just convenient because I'm here within arm's reach.
But as soon as he arrived home I knew I wasn't imagining anything. He is way hotter than he was in my mind. And now I know him just a little bit, every look, every word is making my knees weak with desire. I'm going to get hurt if we take this further but somehow, I don't care. I want him enough to ignore everything that's wrong about this. I'll worry about being hurt later. So, I have my bath and put on my nicest underwear under my sweatpants and T-shirt and go out there to him.
Andrew is asleep with baby Lucy sleeping in his arms and the heat in my heart is incredible. I know it's wrong to take pictures when people don't know but I fetch my phone and take a picture because I want something to remember how this looks when I go, something I can get out of my purse and look at when I have nothing else left of my time here.
Andrew stirs and catches me taking a picture. He raises his eyebrows and I know I am redder than the wine we had with dinner.
"Sorry, I couldn't resist, the two of you looked so peaceful. I thought you might like to see."
He doesn't challenge me on my little white lie.
"Just going to put her to bed," he says.
When he comes back, he whispers in my ear. "I'd like to take pictures of you, too. Like the ones going around in my head since yesterday." And I blush for an entirely different reason.
"In those," he says, "you have far fewer clothes on than I have in the ones you took of me."
He pulls at the hem of my T-shirt, pulling me closer and then I'm wrapped in his arms where I've wanted to be since he came home and he kisses me like he never wants to stop.
"You smell gorgeous," he says, nuzzling into my neck. "I could eat you up." He pulls my T-shirt up, over my head, revealing my pink lacy bra.
"Nice!" He makes as if to nibble at my breasts, giving soft kisses along the top of my bra, pulling down the cups and taking me in his hot mouth.
"These can go, too." He pulls down my sweatpants and we end up on the couch. I'm wearing pink lacy boy shorts that match my bra. "Sweet," he says. "I like! Fucking hot!" and he bends his head and licks me through them, long slow licks so I feel the heat and action of his tongue through the lacy fabric. He tastes me like some kind of delicacy he wants to make last as long as possible.
I can hardly believe the sounds coming out of my mouth, urging him on.
"Yes, baby," he says, pulling the crotch of my panties to one side and breathing hot air all over my wetness. "You want more?"
"Fuck yes. Andrew."
He laughs. "I love your potty mouth and the taste of you."
He plunges in with his tongue over and over and works me with his fingers, his mouth, his teeth, licking and sucking and gently nibbling until I'm grasping his hair. I call out, my thighs shuddering around his face, the scruff on his face gently grazing my sensitive skin.
He looks up, a smile on his lips as if pleased with himself. "I haven't even got you naked yet. Fucking sexy undies but they have to come off." He pulls at my boy shorts and unfastens my bra, throwing them off the couch.
"That was ... that was ... nice." I can hardly speak.
"Nice? Just nice? I'll have to do better than that." He laughs and kisses my stomach. He knows damn well I can hardly move with the power of that orgasm.
"Well, awesome then." I smile at him and blush, suddenly aware I'm naked on his couch and he's fully dressed. I reach for his shirt. "I want to take this off."
"Anytime, baby, anytime you want me naked, I'm yours." He helps me with the buttons and I start to unbuckle his belt. I can't wait to see his body again; the one I saw on the bed as he lay sleeping the first morning. He doesn't disappoint again.
"Beautiful," I say.
"Hey," he says. "That's my line."
"No, your line is 'fucking beautiful'." I laugh. I trace a line down the center of his chest, down his abs to his hard cock. And I look up at him as I take hold of it in two hands. "And my line is 'fucking impressive'."
"We aim to please."
"Don't worry, you're pleasing." I bend my head and lick the tip.
He groans. "I should have thought this through. Condoms. In my wallet. In my coat."
"I'll wait."
He pads off to the hall and I sit up to get a back view that would make a maiden tremble, no hands required.
"Where were we?" he says, as he sits down beside me on the couch, a bunch of condoms in his hand. I raise my eyebrows.
He laughs. "Overkill, I expect, but I didn't want to have to make a second trip. I felt you looking at me."
"My eyes were closed the whole time."
"Liar."
"Right," I laugh. He kisses that laugh clean away until we are lying back and I am panting beneath him once more, raising my hips, urging him on with my body, with the moans from my mouth, with my hands.
He rolls one of the condoms on, and eases between my legs, pushing into me slowly as he allows me to adjust to his size, filling me inch by inch, his eyes never leaving mine as if he doesn't want to leave any doubt what he's doing to me or who is doing it. I feel him deep inside, stretching me, his skin against mine, the man smell of him all around filling my nostrils. And then there's no time to think, as he pulls out and rams into me over and over again, harder and deeper and faster each time, his body spreading my thighs wide so he can plow into me, every thrust pummeling my body against his.
"Come for me," he says. "I want to see you come again." And he varies the angle of his pounding until I don't know which way is up anymore, whether it's night or day or which country I am in.
And it feels so good, so wonderful, so delicious that I come for him, and he comes right after me, just as we roll off the couch onto the floor and I land on top of him so that when we come down from that, we can't stop laughing.
"I want you in my bed," he says, "not just on the couch or off the couch. I want to wake up with you and go to sleep with you. I'm not always here because of my shifts but when I am ..."
I nod. I want that too. "But Lucy ..." I don't know why it feels wrong with the baby there. Parents must do this all the time. Maybe because we are not her parents, it feels different.
"We could put her bed in your room," he says. "Would that make you more comfortable with the idea?"
Comfortable is not a word I associate with Andrew. Not since I landed at Heathrow. Hot. Disturbing. Exciting. More man than I ever had in my life. Not comfortable, anything but, but I nod anyway. I might be on a collision course to misery when my time in England is up but for now, I want nothing else.