Page 39 of Oz
Silas grins. “He’s like the Sid Vicious of the riding fraternity.” I laugh and he turns to me. “Want to take a walk?” he asks in a low voice and I swallow hard before following him out of the arena.
As if by mutual consent, we turn to our right and amble aimlessly along. The late afternoon sun beams down on us. His arm brushes me, and I fancy I can feel the heat from his skin. Occasionally his hand brushes mine, and although we’re walking amongst a crowd, it feels like we’re in a bubble of our own, full of warmth and light. I feel as aware of his body in this minute as I’ve ever felt while someone fucks me. It’s just one more example of how he fucks up my status quo.
We wander along, talking in low voices with frequent pauses as our tongues still and our eyes tangle. He buys me a tub of strawberries and cream and we amble along eating them and sipping cider as the crowd thins and the stalls start to pack away. For the first time I don’t want a time with a man to stop. Usually I’m eager to leave, my feet itching to move and go. But now itfeels like I’m in one of the legends that talk of humans walking into fairy rings and being caught.
I slow, and it happens quickly. He stops to say something, but he must catch something on my face because he raises his hand and grabs my arm gently. For a second we lock gazes and then he moves fast, pulling me off the path and round the back of an empty stall. We’re in a tiny corner boxed in by the back of a tent and surrounded by empty boxes, and I stare at him in the dim light.
I take a long shuddering breath at the look of incinerating heat on his face and he gasps before grabbing my head and pulling my face to his. At the first touch of his lips my eyes slide closed and I melt into him as he groans under his breath.
His hands slide down and he cups my arse, lifting me and pushing me into the back of the stall. I moan low in my throat and wrap my legs around him, feeling the heft and steely hardness of his cock as he starts to grind at me.
He tightens his grip and we eat at each other’s mouths, rubbing our tongues together and suckling on lips. I gasp as he pulls away and then give a much too loud cry as he lowers his face and I feel his mouth run along the sensitive tendons of my neck. He rubs his beard there and finding my pulse he sucks gently, wringing another cry from me.
“Fuck!” I whisper. “Oh fuck, I need you inside me.” I reach down and fumble with his belt buckle, but still in surprise as his large hand stops me.
“Wait,” he mutters. “Wait, Oz.”
I look up and groan. “Are you having second thoughts?”
I’m gratified to see the speed at which he shakes his head. “No, of course I’m bloody not. Jesus, can’t you feel how fucking hard I am?”
I wriggle and we both groan, but then I pull back and try to regulate my breathing and get some control. To do that Ifall back on my default setting of flippancy. “Then what’s the problem?” I look around. “Is it the slight tackiness of the area in which we’re going to consummate our passion?”
He snorts and starts to laugh. “It might be.” His face turns serious and I swallow hard, my flippancy falling to pieces like an old tissue. “I don’t want to do it this way with you.” He breathes in. “I’ve had sex in many places and with many people, but I’ve never met anyone like you and–”
He pauses, and I shake my head fondly. “What are you trying to say?”
He bites his lip. “I want to take you out on a date. I want to get to know you.”
I run my hand through his wavy hair and watch as his eyes lower sexily. “Why?”
“Because you’re different. Nothing I’ve done before has ever led to anything good and I don’t want that to happen with you. I want to try something new. I want to take you out.”
I lower my face into his neck, feeling him sigh as I inhale the scent of him. “Have we got time for a date?” I ask. “There’s so much still to do and I made you a promise that it would get done.” I pause. “And aren’t you still my boss?”
I feel his chuckle as I rub my face into his neck. “I think that ship has sailed. I don’t care anymore.” He pauses. “Do you?” A faint thread of worry seeps into his voice and I immediately raise my head.
“No, of course I bloody don’t,” I say sharply. “I went into the thing with my old boss on a whim and because I was bored. It got shitty, not because he cheated, but because he was a wanker. I don’t think you are. Anyway, this isn’t a Catherine Cookson novel where you’re an evil mill owner seducing and abandoning your innocent worker. I’m well aware of what I’m doing and in full control. I never do anything I don’t want to.”
A wry look crosses his face. “I think I’m well aware of that fact,” he says tartly. An amused look crosses his face. “ACatherine Cooksonnovel? Oz, you’re so full of surprises you should have been a cracker.”
I laugh, feeling my cheeks heat. “My mum liked them and I used to get bored when she was on nights.”
“Okay,” he mutters. He pauses. “So, if I were to say something in a Yorkshire accent you’d melt?”
“Try it.”
“Eeh, by gum, missus,” he starts, and I break into peals of laughter.
“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Yorkshire people donotsound like that. Please don’t consider a career on the stage.”
His laughter dies and he rubs his hand gently through my hair, watching his fingers move through the strands as if fascinated. “So, a date? How about tomorrow?”
I swallow and nod. “Okay. I haven’t been on many,” I confess. “So, don’t worry because I’ll never spot it if you’ve got it wrong.”
“Thank you,” he says seriously. “That’s made me feel so much better.”
“You’re welcome,” I say demurely and he laughs. “Where are we going and when?”
