Page 66 of The Worst Guy Ever
Her question brings to mind a day from my childhood. The summer Luke, Heather, and I were old enough to disappear for the day without raising alarm bells. Beyond Luke’s granny’s meadow was a hayfield, and our quest was clear. Stacked like giant Lego bricks, we knew we needed to build a house with the freshly baled harvest.
I stroke through her hair, down her back, and tell her everything. The details are fresh; the heat, the scent of summer, the scratches that covered my arms and legs the next day.
Our house had bedrooms, a kitchen, an enormous living room with, somehow, its very own window. We’d run home for blankets to use as a roof, and nabbed Granny Annie’s best cushions to sit on. Heather had even drawn pictures to tuck into the twine, turning our bare walls into a gallery of sorts.
I tell her how the hay house had a second story, with a lookout tower, and underneath it a space for a bathroom, a real feat of engineering. Though we all agreed peeing in the house was strictly forbidden, we’d stick to the hedgerow instead.
In my memory, it was a palace. We’d grafted through lunch and dinner, existing on the boundless energy and determination of youth. By dusk, we were all set to camp out in our new home, but the farmer had other plans. Riding in on his quad bike, we were ordered to put it all back in piles of eight and clear the field.
We never played in that field again. At least, I never did. And though things didn’t go our way that night, I’ll never forget how good it felt to build something that was just ours.
Hattie’s eyes are closed, the only sound is her gentle breathing and the sweep of my fingers through her hair. It’s dark outside, and with only a side lamp on, I’ve lost all sense of time in our cosy cocoon. I’m content though, here with my hand underneath her robe, stroking lazy circles over her hip.
If she asked me the same question on my deathbed, about a time I was happy, I think this is the moment I’d come back to. I want to ask about her memories, but a small part of me is terrified she wouldn’t hold this,us, in such high regard. Will she even remember it, the day she fell asleep in my arms?
“Mmm, you’re so soft,” I whisper. There is so much I want to say to her, but it never seems to be the right time.
“That doesn’t sound like a compliment,” she murmurs against my chest, and I try not to shake her while a laugh rumbles out of me.
“Oh, it is. I just thought you’d be firm everywhere.”
“Well, I’m super relaxed right now. I’m firm when I tense up.” I can’t tell you what it does to my ego to know I’m the one who got her feeling this way. My well fucked, well fed girl.
“Tense up here,” I open her robe, spread my palm across her stomach and when she does, I move to the smooth insides of her thigh. “Now here.”
I need more of her. All of her. When my hand slips up between her legs, I find her soaked again. My fingers slide underneath her, gripping her ass, taking her with me as I stand to carry her back to bed.
“Now here.”
Chapter 28
Hattie
Hewasn’tlying.RobIncredible Penis Morgan is the complete opposite of a shit lay.
I have no idea what time it is when I wake up, heavy curtains shielding us from the outside world. All I know is I’m naked, he’s still asleep, and we’re far too close to each other in a bed this enormous. I look down to find his warm hand against the curve of my stomach, his arm fitting snugly around mine. I’m not a hugger, and there’s no explanation for how good it feels, but damn if I didn’t sleep long and well.
The empty champagne bottle on my nightstand triggers a memory of him pouring it down my spine, lapping up the bubbles before they could pop, and more visions come with it. Rob washing me in the shower, his big hands taking their time to massage every inch of me, the look on his face when he filled me up for the first time.
Behind me Rob stirs softly in his sleep, and I stay deathly still, not ready to wake him and face the reality of what we’ve done. This feels so warm and nice, but it’s also something else. Claustrophobic.
“Stop thinking so loudly,” he says, pulling me closer. His arm wraps around my chest, his hand finding a home on my shoulder.
I want to escape, but all I can do is soften into his hold. “See, you’re already obsessed with me. This is why I don’t do sleepovers.”
“I’m obsessed with this,” he cups me between the legs and my head tilts back against his shoulder instinctively. He nuzzles into my neck, the scruff of his stubble dragging back and forth sending sparks zipping through me.
Oh God no, please don’t want this.
“Coffee?” he mumbles somewhere beneath my earlobe.
“Yes, please.”
He climbs over me, pressing a kiss to my cheek as he goes, and walks through to the lounge naked and brazen. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Those wide shoulders, every muscle working exactly as it should do. I roll onto my back and cover my face with a pillow.
I want to scream into it, but I also don’t want to appear any more insane than I’m sure I already do. Last night was not normal. I don’t recognise the woman who cried when he touched her, who pleaded with him to make her come, who curled up in his arms afterwards.
Rob hums his way around the kitchenette so I sneak into the bathroom, grabbing my phone from my bag on the way.
