Chapter Seventeen

Izzy

I pour an inch of wine and drink it hurriedly, hoping to stop my hand shaking. Hal didn’t mean ten minutes, I’m sure. The game’s not even halfway through and our disappearance would be noticed.

But even as I swallow the wine, I see him standing on the other side of the room, watching me. He taps his watch, and I feel a delicious shiver run through me.

I put down the glass and wend my way over to Nix, who’s sitting with Albie and Leon, watching the game. I bend and whisper to her, “I’m off with Hal. I’ll make my own way home.”

She glances up at me, sees my flushed face, and raises her eyebrows. “You okay?”

“Fine. We’re going out for a drink. He wants to talk.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t push it. “I’ll see you later.”

I nod and slip back through the crowd. Hal’s told his dad we’re leaving, and Brock raises a hand, but nobody else notices us as we leave the room and head outside.

It’s started to rain. The storm that’s been threatening is on its way. Fat drops splash on the pavement, and there’s a rumble of thunder, way off in the distance. Hal clicks the button on his key ring to unlock the car and we run across to it.

Once we’re in, he shakes his head like a dog, and raindrops fly off in all directions. “Jesus,” he says. “That came down quick.”

I shiver, even though it’s humid as hell and not at all cold. He glances at me, and I follow his gaze to my breasts and see my nipples standing out through the wet tee like buttons. He doesn’t smile, though. He starts the engine and heads the car out onto the road.

This is the first time he’s been like this since we started dating. Up until now, he’s been fun, occasionally naughty and mischievous, and always full of energy and life. We’ve had some great kissing sessions, and I’ve felt his erection enough times to know he wants me. But this is the first time I’ve felt desire in the air around him like aftershave.

I’ve been thinking of him as the boy I knew, or the young man, anyway, the lanky teen who’s into gaming and girls, who gets drunk with his mates and throws up on the lawn, who smokes a joint and then laughs uncontrollably. He was the same at uni—he worked hard but he partied even harder, and he’s always been the life and soul of any gathering. He’s a bit of a Peter Pan; he has a youthful face and a young energy I don’t think he’ll ever lose.

But tonight, he’s all man. His humor’s vanished, and his eyes are black discs that study me with hungry need. His wet arms shine in the light of the street lamps, dark and muscular, and his jaw bears the hair of a man. He’s wearing his spicy aftershave, his nighttime scent, the one he likes to wear when he’s seeing me.

In the tiny bathroom, I could no more have said no to him than flown out of the window. His passion set me alight, and it’s going to be no different tonight.

We drive in silence to his new house, just outside Paihia, on the road to Opua. It’s up on a hill, a large modern place, all chrome and glass. The rent must be extortionate, but of course it doesn’t bother Mr. Moneybags. He parks outside and gets out into the rain without saying anything.

I follow him, my heart fluttering, and run up the path to the front door. It’s pouring now, and by the time we get inside we’re both soaked. He flicks on the hall light and runs a hand through his hair, and his biceps gleam.

“Towel?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I like you wet.”

“I bet you do.” I try to be sassy, but it just comes out breathless.

He smirks. “Drink?”

I nod, and he goes into the kitchen. I follow him and watch him retrieve two tumblers from a cupboard, add a couple of cubes of ice into each, and then choose one of the seven or eight bottles of whisky standing in the corner. Knowing Hal, it’ll be an expensive Scotch. The bottle says it’s a thirty-six-year-old Tomatin.

“Nearly eight hundred bucks a bottle,” he says, undoing the top. “Worth saving for a special occasion.” He sends me an amused glance, then pours it into the glasses.

I take one of the tumblers. I guess I’m staying the night, then? Unless he plans to call me a cab. I sniff the glass and take a sip. It heats me right through, and I inhale and then blow out a long breath as it sears right down to my toes.

Hal also has a large mouthful, and I watch him swallow it down. He leans against the kitchen counter, and I lean opposite him. He hasn’t turned on the kitchen light, and the only glow is from the light in the hallway.

I think he’s enjoying the anticipation. His gaze roams over me, maybe picturing how he’s going to undress me, what he’s going to do me. I’m so nervous I’m shaking again, and I have another large mouthful of the whisky, and it makes me cough.

His lips curve up a little, but he doesn’t say anything. The Hal I’m used to would be talking to me, making jokes, putting me at ease. He’d be Dog Whispering, gentle and kind. I don’t know this man, with his dark gaze and his serious eyes. He could power the whole of Paihia with his sexual energy. He’s the saber-toothed tiger again, stalking me. I don’t think I’m going to make it out of here without being devoured.

He pushes off the counter and, his whisky in one hand, holds out the other. I slip mine into it, and without another word he leads me through the kitchen and along the corridor to the bedroom.

The rain is now thundering on the roof and lashing against the windows. He doesn’t pull the curtains, though, and I think maybe he likes the natural force of it all. It’s one reason why he’s running hot tonight, like when you’re at a concert or a football match, and you’re buoyed up by the energy of the crowd.

Still holding my hand, he leads me into the room. The bed faces sliding glass doors, and there’s a skylight that will be lovely on a sunny day, but it currently looks like shining black jet. Suddenly, lightning forks the sky and lights up the room, making me jump. Hal’s eyes flash briefly, and then we plunge into almost-darkness again, with just a touch of light from the hall in the distance.

He finishes off his glass and puts it down. He waits for me to have another mouthful of the whisky, and then I put the glass down too. Finally, he moves up to me, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me.

No starting off with soft pecks tonight. He slants his mouth across mine, taking, not asking, demanding, not requesting. He delves his tongue inside, and I shiver as he moves his hands to my butt and pulls me to him. Tightening his fingers, he lifts me a little, nestling his erection against my mound, and I groan as I clench deep inside.

“Izzy,” he says huskily, and he takes my T-shirt in his hands. He lifts his head and looks at me, waiting for permission.

I put my hands on his. I’m so nervous I can barely stop my teeth from chattering. I don’t trust myself to speak, so I just shake my head.

He frowns. But he says, “All right, I’ll start.” He takes a handful of his T-shirt at the back of his neck, pulls it over his head, and throws it to the floor.

I stare at the wide expanse of his chest, the defined muscles, the scattering of dark hair, the curling tattoo on his biceps. Holy shit, he’s a hunk, there’s no doubt about it. I place my hands on his ribs and skim my fingers over his wet skin. I’m allowed to touch him—he’s mine now. The realization is a thrill that threads through me, firing me up.

I lean close to him, dip my head, and touch my lips to the hollow of his throat. His breath hitches, and I feel a swell of exultation that I can have a physical effect on him, too. I skate my hands around his ribcage to his back, and lean in close as we kiss again, our tongues tangling, exchanging the ha, the breath of life.

He flips the button open at the top of my pants, and I kick off my sandals and let the pants slip down my legs. Hal does the same with his shorts, and now he’s wearing only black boxer-briefs. I stare at the erection jutting through them, so long and thick, and my heart pounds its fists on my ribs.

He hooks his fingers in the elastic of my panties, slides them down, and I step out of them.

Once more, he takes my T-shirt in his hands. “Please,” he murmurs.

“Hal…” I rest my hands on his again. “I’d feel better if I kept it on.”

His eyes meet mine and I can see I’ve disappointed him, and my gut twists, but he just releases the shirt and says, “I can see through it anyway.” In one smooth move, he lifts me up and tosses me onto the bed as if I weigh no more than a pillow.

I bounce and gasp, but before I can move he’s on top of me, and he crushes his lips to mine. His body is heavy, pinning me to the bed, and I can only lie there and let him kiss me, as my body stirs beneath his touch. He presses his lips down my neck, then over my top to my breasts, and I groan as he closes his lips over a nipple. The cloth is already like a second skin, and he treats it as if it’s not there, licking and sucking one nipple and then the other, until my breaths are coming fast and I’m wriggling beneath him.

“Stop squirming,” he says, moving off me a little.

“You’re making me ache,” I whisper, trying to push him away.

He takes both of my hands in his and lifts them above my head, not holding me down, just showing me that he wants me to do as he says. He slides a hand down over my tummy and in between my legs, and immediately he’s stroking me, the ease with which his fingers slide through my flesh telling me how wet I am.

“You’re ready for me, Izzy,” he says, his lips just above mine. “I don’t think I can wait any longer. I want you. I need you.”

“Have me, then.” There’s no humor in my words. I can’t wait any longer either.

He rises from the bed, shucks his briefs, and retrieves a condom from the wallet on the bedside table. Then he comes back onto the bed and kneels between my legs. I try not to stare at his erection—I’m no expert, but it looks fucking huge. Holy shit. He strokes himself a couple of times, seemingly unconcerned by my wide-eyed gaze, rolls the condom on, and leans over me.

His eyes are full of passion. He guides the tip of his erection into my folds and settles on top of me. “Ah, Izzy.” He kisses me. “I’ve waited so long for this.” Without any further warning, he pushes his hips forward.