Page 36 of Something Borrowed

He pats my head, his expression gentle and soft. “You’re pretty but not awfully bright, Rafferty Kendrick.”

Chapter

Five

Stan

I sit backin my desk chair and try to focus. There’s an estate sale I’m interested in and my screen-reading software is reeling off a list of album titles. I’ll be bidding on the lot in a few days, so the details are important.

But I can’t stop thinking about Raff. It had been torture last night to be close to him and yet not touch him. We’ve sat together on a sofa, talking and laughing hundreds of times over the years, but those innocent days are clouded by new memories of what it’s like to touch him, what it feels like to slide into his body and hear his moans.

I knew what we were doing when we started sleeping together. I knew it was dangerous to my heart, but I couldn’t stop, and the reason for that was simple. I’ve been in love with Raff for most of my life. I don’t know when or how it started. It was as simple as breathing to me, and one day I looked at him, and I knew he had the whole of my heart, and that would never change.

There’s nobody like him. He’s funny, kind, and the best kind of wild, but equally, he’s my safe place—the one person I turn to when I need comfort.

When he kissed me for the first time, it was game over. I couldn’t have resisted him if my life depended on it, and the sex had been so good. The kind of sex that changeseverything.

Sighing, I shut off the software and I take the path where my brain is determined to take me. One of those times when Raff and I were together…

Raff is laughingas we enter our flat. The February night is cold, the air tasting of snow, and I’m warmed by the cosy lounge and the tale Raff’s telling.

“So, my bride asked the registry office if she could walk up the aisle to some music that had a bit of tension to reflect her ambivalent attitude towards matrimony. She expected something by Massive Attack, but do you know what they played? TheMission Impossibletheme tune.”

As we take off our coats, I savour the feeling of lightness between us. Since that night on the sofa a few days ago, there’s been a funny distance. Nothing terrible—it’s like we’re cautiously settling into a new dynamic. Tonight was just what we needed. We’d gone to a local club and spent the evening dancing and laughing like fools. Now, my limbs feel like jelly, and I’m completely relaxed.

Hump comes out to investigate us, and I pet him, stroking his ears and telling him that he’s a good boy. I hear the patter of claws as he moves away.

“He’s gone back to bed,” Raff says. “Reminds me of your dad when he used to wait up for us.”

“You lie. His nose was never that wet.”

He laughs, and I pull at my scarf irritably. I hate anything confining, so god knowswhy I put it on—probably a lifetime of my mum pressing it into my hand.

“Here, let me.” Raff’s voice is full of warm laughter, and I inhale the scent of his cologne as he comes nearer. Gentle hands unwind the scarf from my neck. There’s a soft thwomp as it falls to the floor, and then I gulp as his hands run down my T-shirt and over my arms. The touch is gentle yet knowing, and I stifle a groan at the feel of his skin on mine. It’s a painful relief, like I’m a neglected plant being given water again.

“Raff?” I say hoarsely.

His body jumps as if he wasn’t aware he was touching me. There’s a pause, and then he sighs.

“Should I say sorry?”

I swallow hard. “Do you want to?”

Silence descends as his hands move, smoothing up my chest before they twine around my neck, pulling me down to him. “No,” he whispers and kisses me. His lips are full and soft, and before I know it, I’ve pushed my tongue past his lips, seeking his own tongue to suck on before the kiss deepens and becomes wetter, filled with sighs and groans.

His hands move again, pulling me tighter against his body, and his scent makes my head spin. Then he tugs me with him as he moves backwards, and I follow him the way I always have because he promises mischief, mayhem and so much fun. This is a huge step up from our usual brand of trouble though.

When he comes to a stop, I explore with my hands and discover he’s leaning against the back of the sofa.

“Support,” he mutters.

“Ah, the scene of our last cataclysmic decision.”

He pulls my T-shirt over my head and discards it. “So gorgeous,” he murmurs, running his fingers over my shoulders and chest.

I shudder as his sexy voice tugs at my balls.

Not to be outdone and dying to touch him, I push up his T-shirt, following the cotton with my fingers and mapping out his torso. His skin feels like silk under my rough fingertips. He’s thinner and less hairy than me, with long muscles and a lithe energy I can feel even when he’s still. The desire to see him is a deep ache, but I have loads of practice in ignoring it. I twist the pebbled nubs of his nipples and smile when he gasps.

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