Page 41 of Strawberry Moon
He starts brushing again. “Unlikely,” he says thickly through a mouthful of foam. “I like it.”
“Say it, don’t spray it.” He pinches me, and I dance out of the way, laughing. “Pack it in, you knob.”
He gargles, sets his toothbrush away, and then drops a kiss on my nose. His breath smells sweet and minty. “Make sure you hit all the major areas when you shower. I’m in the mood to get creative.”
I swallow hard, my smile drifting away as the familiar heat rolls in. I sometimes wonder if we’ll ever lose this spark that keeps us as passionate lovers, but then I discount that thought, because the answer is never. “Ungh,” I say.
His eyes crinkle as he laughs. “I love it when you’re speechless.”
“You lie.”
“True. Don’t be long. It’s our first night in our home.”
I eagerly jump into the shower. However, after I’m clean and dry, I don’t race into the bedroom. Instead, I tie a towel around my hips and wander back downstairs. There’s a big picture window in the lounge, and I open it to look down on the moonlit high street. The flat offers views of the estuary if you lean out and crane your neck like something fromAlien, but it’s this view I like best. I can sit here in the summer with the window open and listen to the voices and laughter of the tourists drifting up. And in the winter I can see the elegant lines of the old buildings softened by snow and rain. I was born in Fowey but found my home in my gentle bookseller.
I look around the flat. I’ve always loved it here, because it’s so very Harry—elegant lines, and warmth and comfort, along with walls full of bookshelves containing the stock he can’t bear to sell. The furniture is comfortable, inviting you to curl up with a book and relax. I eye the white walls thoughtfully. They couldprobably do with a bit of colour. I think of the wallpaper samples in my messenger bag and smile in anticipation.
After closing the window, I make my way back upstairs and into the bedroom. The curtains are drawn, and the lamps are a warm glow in the room, but my attention is all on Harry. He’s lying with the sheets pulled down to his waist—a position that shows off his hairy chest. If he were any other man, I’d think he was deliberately posing, but this is my Harry, and he’s looking at a book as usual.
I can’t help my smile, and I crane to see what he’s reading, but the book’s cover is tilted away.
“What’s the book?” I ask.
He startles. “Oh nothing. Just something I found on a shelf.” He shuts the book and sets it cover down on his bedside table.
“Are you reading the stock again, Harry?”
“I told you. All booksellers do that.”
“Well, next time you do it, don’t leave your shopping receipt as a bookmark. It leads to funny comments.”
He groans. “I still can’t believe I did that.”
“Neither could Mr. Kernick. I don’t know whether he was more stunned that you’d purchased a dildo, or by the cost of the thing.”
He gives me a crooked smile that, as usual, has the power to make my heart go pitter pat. “I would have paid the world just to see the look on your face when I slid it into you.”
I shift from one foot to the other. “Is it wrong that I have a hard-on?”
He throws the sheet back, his own dick already hard and damp with seed. “Depends if you’re thinking about Mr. Kernick or me.”
“Definitely you. His eyebrows are rather alarming.” I lose the towel and jump onto the bed, making him bark with laughter. “Anyway, Grandad says he’s a freak between the sheets.”
“Do I even want to know how he knows that fact?” His eyes brim with amusement.
I lie on him, hissing in pleasure as his cock rubs against mine. His body feels as if it was made to cradle mine, and I’ve found his hairy chest is the best resting place in the whole world. “Apparently Mr. Kernick is the talk of my grandma’s knitting circle.” I rest my hands on his chest, thumbing a nipple absently and then watching with interest as it pebbles. “Enough of the OAPs. I just want you to know that I might have mislaid several cases of clothes.”
“That is adeepmisfortune,” he says solemnly. “However will the wardrobe cope?”
I lean closer and whisper, “But I knowexactlywhere my lube is.” He swallows hard and I kiss him lustily before pulling back and saying, “Our first night. How should we celebrate it?”
His big hands cup my face, a wolfish smile on his lips. “Oh, I have a few ideas.”
I come awake slowly.The room is chilly, but I’m warm in our bed, snuggled into sheets that smell of Harry’s cologne and sex. When I shift, there’s a lovely tenderness in my arse, and I clench my bum feeling a tingle run through me.
Harry’s body is warm against my back. I’d learnt when we started seeing each other, that he’s a man who hates waking up. He ekes out the process in slow stages, accompanied by lots of tea and bleary objections to daylight. It’s very cute.
He’s a snorer, which I never thought I’d find endearing, but it turns out if it’s Harry doing it, then it is. Today, however, he’s quiet and not wrapped around me like usual.
