Page 123 of You Float My Boat

Brooks:

Hey, get home will you? We need to call a house intervention.

21. Violet:

(Shakespeare was right, the course of true love never did run smooth)

I’m not sure I would ever get used to waking up early, even with Charlie as my alarm clock.

I cracked one eye. Christ, it was barely light.

‘What time is it?’ I croaked.

‘Just gone six,’ he grinned as his mouth continued its trail over my shoulder.

On the other hand, I could probably get on board with kisses as an alarm clock. And whatever he was doing with his tongue right now.

‘We’re going to need to discuss this insistence you have with waking up before the sun. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a morning person.’

‘Funny you should say that,’ he murmured, reaching my neck, ‘I’m not either. Or I never used to be, but since I met you I kind of like the idea of being awake early if it means I get to see you for more minutes of the day.’

‘God,’ I groaned, ‘why d’you have to say stuff like that. Makes it so much harder to be mad at you for waking me up.’

He rolled on top of me, his mouth breaking contact with my skin for the first time, smiling down, making me think I was looking at a Colgate advert.

‘You can still be mad at me. In fact, why don’t you show me how mad you are before I have to leave for training.’

My thighs flopped to the side.

I couldn’t even stop them, I was so pathetic. I only had to feel the nudge of his dick at the apex of my core, and I’d give in. I didn’t try to put up any kind of fight. No protest, no objection, and barely any complaint even at the crack of dawn.

Charlie Masterson had all of me.

‘Why couldn’t you play a more sociable sport. One that meets at a more reasonable hour?’ I managed to breathe out, my neck craning back as he slid inside me. ‘Like rugby.’

The rumbling of a groan rolling through his chest set a wave of goosebumps shooting over my skin. On instinct my body arched into him for more.

‘You want me to play rugby?’

‘Yeah, they don’t get up so early.’

‘I could play rugby,’ he muttered, his tongue tracing the outline of my mouth, ‘I definitely could. But …’ he rolled his hips slowly against mine, too slowly almost. Frustratingly slowly, barely ghosting over the spot where I really needed the pressure, ‘the thing about rowers …’ one more roll, ‘they have stamina …’ roll, ‘they have endurance …’

The last rock of his hips ground so deep into my pelvis that I prayed these walls at St Anne’s were sound-proofed, because the groan I just let out could have been heard across the city. In my next breath I found myself flipped over so quickly, it was only his fingertipsdigging into my hips that stopped me from toppling off him, and the bed.

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