CHAPTER NINETEEN

Drake

The light in Ainsley's bedroom was dim as she turned back to me from drawing the curtains. I smiled at her.

“You look amazing,” I whispered. She did. Her shirt was a white one with little patterns on it, loose but with a low “v” neckline that suited her. She had dark-brown slacks on that were slightly stained on one knee and the trouser-legs clung to her shapely figure. I went over and pushed my body to hers. Her lips parted under mine and I plundered her mouth with my tongue.

“You too,” she said. Her hands slid down my back and I tensed with amazed surprise as she clenched my butt. She'd never done that before. I shivered at the touch.

She laughed. “Come on,” she whispered. She moved to the bed and I followed. There, I kissed her again and pushed her back toward the mattress. She laughed and reached up to start unbuttoning the shirt I wore.

I loved the fact that she was taking more if the initiative and it surprised me. She'd never done that before. It was almost as if, by being vulnerable with her, I'd allowed her to trust me, too. The thought surprised me.

“I never was good with buttons,” she said, apologetic, as she reached the last one and then slid the shirt off, running her hands down my chest in a way that set a fire in my already over-aroused loins.

I chuckled. “Well, you did those ones fine,” I said. “Now I want to do these ones.”

“Mm,” she murmured as I reached over and began, slowly, to unfasten the buttons. My fingers were trembling so that I fumbled them a little and she laughed, low and throaty, as I undid the last one and then reached up to touch her breasts. She smiled at me and slid one strap down and then the other.

“Mm,” I murmured, already reaching behind her to unfasten the clasp. I took her nipples into my mouth and sucked – first one, then the other. They stiffened as my lips fastened round them and I felt my loins harden tightly.

“Well,” she murmured as I sucked one and kneaded the other. “I do like that. You know that, don't you?”

I nodded. “I'm glad,” I managed. My throat was tight with longing.

She lay down, those sweet breasts pointing at the ceiling, and reached down to unfasten her pants. I wanted to help with that but she pushed me away.

“You undo yours,” she whispered. “I need you to be naked for what comes next.

I stared at her, surprised and aroused. Then I complied. When we were both naked she pushed me back down onto the bed. Then she straddled me.

I gasped as she found my erection and lowered herself over it. The way she took me into her, inch by slow inch, was easily the most amazing thing I'd ever experienced. Her wetness lowered over me, engulfing me all slowly.

When she was seated she moved about and each movement made me gasp with wonder. She rocked back, almost letting me slide out again, and then took me back in. I lay back and closed my eyes, fighting to delay the massive climax that was rising in me.

She was moving and sighing as she did so, her own climax clearly coming closer. I risked a peep and seeing her moving like that, her body folding back and forward, breasts rising, waist contracting, almost sent me over the edge. I growled and fought to stop myself from letting loose my climax until she had.

She was panting now and I could see she was close, and could feel it too, feel the growing warmth and wetness of her. Then, suddenly, abruptly, she cried out.

She collapsed on top of me, panting and sobbing, and my body let loose. I moved inside her, my hips thrusting into her as my body shook and then, abruptly, released itself into her.

I cried out and then lay still as the last of my climax raced through me.

We lay still like that for a long while. I wrapped her in my arms and held her close.

When I woke up, she was still there, asleep on me. I looked at her and kissed her and she woke.

“You'll get cold,” I murmured. She nodded.

She rolled off me and we lay under the covers.

Later, we talked. We talked about a lot of things. How I loved her and I always had. How she loved me and she always had too. Our new trust. How it made things different. The fact that I was unemployed.

“Don't care,” she said softly. “Why would I care?”

I chuckled. “It means a lot to me that you'd say that,” I said sincerely. “But I don't want to burden you with someone who has no stable income.”

She shifted so she could see me. Opened one eye. Glared blearily at me. “You're no burden, sweetness.”

I smiled at her. Closed my eyes again and held her tight. “You're very sweet,” I said.

We lay there like that until she remembered, and I remembered at almost the same time, that it was nine o' clock and we hadn't made dinner yet.

***

I felt as if I was dreaming. I was in my own kitchen at home wearing some mismatched outside jersey and slacks and I was cooking lasagna. Drake, the man I had always loved, was helping me.

Put it this way – he was giving helpful advice from the door while I did my best to try and remember how to make a sauce.

“I think you're meant to put the flour in,” he said, looking at the melted butter. I sighed.

“You're right. Raymond Blanc,” I added, using the famous French chef's name.

He chuckled. “You're the one who remembered the first step. Right. Now, after we add the flour, what do we do?”

“The milk,” I said succinctly. “We can ask Google if we forget,” I added.

He chuckled. “Techno brat.”

I pulled a tongue and he laughed and then we were having a play-fight in the kitchen, arms wrapped round each other as I pretended to try and do a wrestling throw and he pretended to stop me.

We both ended up against the counter-top, my tongue in his mouth and his arms around me.

“Right,” I said later when I'd made a passable sauce and he was making himself useful frying onions. “Now what?”

“Well, I guess we start layering things,” he said. “Onions and other vegetables, then sauce, then the sheet of lasagna, and so on.”

I shrugged. “I guess,” I said. “Hang on. What if we put the sauce in a separate layer?”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You mean like, vegetables. Layer. Sauce. Layer. Right?”

“Uh huh?” I murmured, greasing a Pyrex container while I was at it.

“Wouldn't work,” he said confidently. “Need to mix the sauce and the vegetables. Or they'll overdo.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Alright, Mr. Deductive Logic,” I said. “You can use the law-school skills here too, I see.”

“Whatever you say, Madame,” he quipped, giving me my French title. I rolled my eyes and he laughed.

“You see?” I sighed. “Can't agree on anything.”

“You know what?” he said.

“What?”

“I love it.”

I felt a lump in my throat. This was one of the things I loved about him most. Yes, we argued. Yes, we fought. But we could argue, and we could fight. And nothing bad came of it. Like my mom always used to say, it wasn't not having arguments that made a relationship. It was about what happened when you had arguments, and what sort of arguments they were.

I never felt like I couldn't argue with Drake. I knew he'd listen and take me seriously. Not necessarily agree, but he never shouted me down or walked away.

“I do, too,” I said. It was true. I did.

We made it the way he suggested and slid it into the oven, topped with Parmesan cheese since I didn't have anything else in the house. While we waited, I kissed him.

He sighed. “No, we don't,” he said. “If we do that again, then we'll end up in bed. And then I won't get out and we'll leave that in the oven too long.”

I laughed. “You know what, you're right. Let's not.”

“Okay,” he said.

We stood side by side, not looking at each other. Then I glanced at him and saw him glance at me and we both laughed.

It was such a wonderful feeling – such a wonderful closeness.

We distracted ourselves by doing the washing up. The lasanga was only in the oven for twenty minutes and then it was ready, filling the kitchen with delicious-scented vapor.

“Mm,” he nodded as we sat at my kitchen table, “this is great.”

I blushed. “You did more of it than I did,” I commented.

“No I didn't.”

“Yes you did.”

We were laughing again. I felt his leg brush against mine and went stiff where I sat.

My eyes met his and held.

“Come on,” I whispered.

“I agree,” he said. We had both finished supper and he collected the plates and put them heavily in the sink. Then he came to me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Let's go.”

We went through to the bedroom and he lifted me onto the bed and then undressed me. I was starting to feel sleepy and I lay back and let him stroke his hands down my body, easing the tension. Then, when his hands moved to the place between my thighs, I gasped and let them part to allow his fingers to push inside.

I felt my body start to heat as he touched me there, using his hands in a way he never had before but which left me crying out for him. He was removed his pants and I gasped out in fulfilled need as he entered me.

I gasped and I could feel myself start to throb as he plunged into me again and again. I felt a new sort of abandonment, a freedom to truly feel him inside me, a freedom to move beneath him and to try new things, rubbing my body against him, drawing him down onto me with arms and legs so that he was held firmly against me, those narrow hips and waist thrusting at first slowly and then faster and faster...

He was gritting his teeth and I knew he was holding back and I felt my own body start to tingle and throb and heat as his smooth, hard cock slid back and forth over that special place inside me and back and forth...

I cried out loudly as the climax ripped through me with the force of a tidal-wave. He was crying out too, his body twitching spasmodically as he pumped into me.

Then he collapsed in my arms and I held him. I felt a new tenderness for him as he lay there on my chest, half-asleep on me. I kissed his hair. He looked so vulnerable, with his massive strong shoulders and well-made cheekbones and his eyes closed.

When he rolled off me he lay beside me and we drew the coverlet over ourselves and went to sleep.

I closed my eyes and realized that I had never felt this close to anyone before. This safe when I lay in someone's arms.

We said our goodnights and then I collapsed into a complete and healing sleep.