Page 111 of Touch in the Dark

“Yours,” I agree mindless as the pressure inside me builds.

“That’s it. Oh fuck, yes, you’re mine sweet girl. You own me. This cock belongs to you. Only you.”

I open my eyes and look at him. He stares into me, like he’s seeing right inside of me, slowing only for a moment before a wildness enters his eyes. He leans forward and I tumble slightly but he doesn’t let me go. I’m on my knees now and he straightens up as he pounds into me. He lifts my chin so I can see what he is doing to me, and it pushes me over the edge. I scream. The neighbours more than likely hear it, but I don’t care. I try to keep my eyes open to watch him as his head tips back, as he comes hard inside of me. His chest is heaving, he’s staring at the ceiling, his hands gripping my hips so tight it hurts, but I love it.

When he finally straightens up, his eyes go to the window and something possessive comes over him. He gets up, helps me up first, shielding me. I don’t see anyone out there, but he goes over and draws the curtains. I look at him questioningly.

“No one there, I just don’t want to take the chance of any fucker looking at you.”

“Including Pearl and Gladys?” I laugh as he stalks back over, he grips the back of my head and kisses me. His other hand snakes between my legs, swirling around the mess we both made. I gasp as he pushes his finger inside.

“Especially Pearl and Gladys,” he bites my lip. “Come on let’s go clean up.”

“What about John McClane?” I ask, looking at the screen as Bruce Willis’s character runs around Nakatomi Tower, trying to rescue the hostages.

“He’s busy.” He flicks off the TV.

Nick leads me upstairs to the shower where his attempts at cleaning me don’t go according to plan, but I do my best at making sure he’s all clean when I drop to my knees, watching him as he watches me, gently holding my cheek as I make him lose his mind all over again.

I run back downstairs before we go to bed and grab the small gift I brought. Nick is brushing his teeth when I come back in and stand in the doorway. He looks at the box with the bright red bow and pauses.

“Wass tha?”

I laugh. “A gift.”

He spits out and sets the brush down. “For me?”

“No, for Gladys and Pearl.”

He lunges at me, and I squeal putting the present behind my back. We tussle across to the bed and I drop back, holding the box above my head. Nick kisses me, drawing me in, making me drop my defences, then snatches the box.

“I was going to give it to you, you know,” I hook my leg around the back of his knees so he can’t go anywhere.

He does a one-armed push up, hovering over me, holding the box up to examine it. “It’s not Christmas yet.”

I shrug, then release him and shuffle back. He’s given me one of his old t-shirts to wear. It’s a BreakNeck one, with an image of their four faces. He frowned initially, muttering something about his bandmates being too near to my boobs. Nick sits cross legged. He’s wearing boxers, not those pants that could easily get him arrested.

He unwraps the ribbon and opens the small box. It is slightly bigger than a ring box. But it’s not jewellery. Nick takes out the carved wooden guitar pick and turns it over. The writing is small to fit it all on, but the pick is bigger than normal size, it’s not actually usable as a pick. I remember him telling me his grandfather’s favourite song of all time was The Man Who Sold The World by David Bowie. The first verse of the song is engraved on the back of the pick.

Nick looks up at me, his mouth open. Surprise, shock, happiness, sadness. All of those emotions cross his face, until a smile breaks through. I’m about to ask if he likes it when he leans forward and takes my face in his hands, the pick is still between his fingers as he kisses me. He leans back and lifts the pick again, reading the lyrics out softly.

“I don’t deserve you,” he shakes his head.

“Nick,” I take his hand and curl our fingers together. “A few weeks ago, you said you were going to prove to me that you deserved a second chance.”

“That rings a bell,” he tries to laugh but he doesn’t pull it off. His look is earnest, but cautious.

God, this man is so afraid I’m going to pull away from him. After everything he has been through these past few days, I don’t want him to ever think I will do that to him. I sit up on my knees and shuffle closer. His fingers squeeze mine tighter, to the point of pain but I don’t say anything as I move over and sit myself in his lap, wrapping my legs around behind him. He releases my hand and puts his arms loosely around my waist, our faces are so close now.

“You have it,” I tell him.

He swallows. Clears his throat. “Yeah?”

“Don’t fuck it up.”

He lets out a strangled laugh. Then his face straightens. “I don’t intend to. Ever. Believe me?”

“I do.”

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