Ethans Fal (27 page)

“I don’t like you sleeping in your bed when I’m here.” God, that feels good. “I don’t like you sleeping in your bed when I’m
not
here.” I groan and reach to thread my hand into the back of her hair and grip tightly. “Before you think of a smart remark, I have a much better use of that mouth.” She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes darken, and she lets out a sensual sigh that kisses just where I want her mouth. A rapid sequence of movement ensue highlighting my urgency. I strip my jeans, straddle her shoulders and place the tip of my cock against her tightly closed lips. Her lids are heavy and she is drawing in deep sensual breaths through her nose. She wriggles against her restraint but the fire and lust in her eyes are pure sin. “Angel, I don’t have time to torture you. I want you to be a good girl and open those sweet lips. I am going to fuck your mouth, come down your throat, and leave you begging for my return.” Her eyes widen with lust but quickly narrow with understanding. This morning is for me.

I pinch her nose and she gasps, enough for me to slide right in. Her lips and tongue aren’t getting the message that she is pissed with me because they are working just fine, swirling, and sucking drawing me all the way in. Her hands grab around the backs of my thighs, massaging the muscles that drive me deeper into her throat. I lace my hands through her hair and support her neck, fistfuls of thick locks secure her to my pace. I push deep and hold, she relaxes her throat and I sink a little deeper. Then she swallows and fuck my release hits me like a freight train. “Ahhhh, fuck!’ I let go of her hair with one hand and slap it hard against the wall to prevent me collapsing on her. My hips jerk uncontrollably and I am in a daze, euphoric exhaustion sweeps my body, and all I want to do is curl up with her in my arms. She continues to lick me clean, her talented tongue flicking along my stiffness as I slip from her. Sitting back on my haunches, I look at the most beautiful sight before me. Her dark hair is in disarray, a mass of curls and tangles. Her eyes a watery and crinkled with a tentative smile. Her cheeks are flushed and breathless little pants escape her swollen lips.

“I’ll be gone a week and I’m taking the key to the play chest with me.” I move off the bed and put my jeans back on tucking my still hard cock in my pants.

“What?” She sits up, instant outrage on her face. Adorable.

“You heard, you don’t get to play with the toys unless I’m here. I didn’t make that clear last time I went away. I won’t make that mistake again.” I lean down and cup her chin. “Mine, Ada. All your pleasure is mine.” Her eyes are black with my words and as much as she might feel indignant about it…she is also really turned on. I follow my words with a kiss, deep and possessive. She is the reason I didn’t stay for the whole week last time, with Luca’s blessing and the work Dad needed me to do, I could’ve easily stayed longer but I crammed it all into three days. She snuggles back down into my bed, shifting restlessly, wet and aching for me–perfect. I just know I am going to do the same this trip.

It doesn’t matter how early I hit the road when I reach the M25, it’s a car park. My phone pings with a message, it’s just after nine and I have been driving for five hours. I smile because I know Ada would have just finished her session with Sheila and I like that her first thought is me. I flick the message open while the car is parked.

I’d like to cook a meal for you when you get back but I need to know the day. I mean the actual day. Oh and what you like?

The traffic starts to move and it’s another thirty minutes before it grinds to a halt again. There are several messages when I look.

Only if that’s ok with you? It’s fine if you don’t want me to. It’s just you always cook breakfast and I thought it might be nice.

Ten minutes later:

I’m not a bad cook. It’s been a while since I did a proper meal but I won’t poison you…probably ;)

You think it’s a bad idea don’t you?

Actually don’t worry…forget it, it is probably way too domesticated for people who just fuck.

That message pisses me off more than I care to admit. Five minutes ago.

I’m sorry if I have made you feel awkward. I didn’t mean anything by the offer. You’re freaking out now aren’t you? Shall I pack?

I hit the dial button; the traffic is moving again and I hate to think how her line of thinking is going to deteriorate further given any more time to fester.

“Ethan, I’m in the library…Look I’m sorry–” Her attempts at a whisper are ridiculous, and I laugh out loud.

“You might want to take this outside then because you are doing a piss poor job of whispering.” I hear a chair scrape, a door close, and the distant screech of a seagull confirming she has left the building. She draws in a breath but I interrupt.

“Ada, stop…just stop. I am driving that’s why I haven’t answered your text. I think it’s a really sweet offer. I don’t get to have home cooking very often, so there is no way you are backing out now. And I won’t dignify the other messages with an answer.” My tone is stern to prevent any back tracking. She is quiet and I wish I could see her face, the little wrinkle between her brow when she’s thinking, the way she worries her lip holding back, always holding something back.

“Okay…what would you like?” I get a warm surge in my chest because her soft voice is tinged with a secret smile that I put there.

“You’ve seen what I eat; do I come across as a fussy eater?” She scoffs and snorts a little.

“No, Ethan, you are most definitely not a fussy eater. More a ‘if it stands still long enough it’s getting eaten…don’t bother to cook it. I’ll even take the horns ’, kind of eater.” She giggles and I think maybe I should bring her with me next time then I wouldn’t have to do this crap over the phone. I want to stroke her cheek when she laughs like that. I want her to melt into my touch, which she does like it’s the only thing to do.

“But if I had to pick a favourite I would say roast. It doesn’t much matter what type as long as it’s not a Nut Roast. I need my meat.”

“As do I,” she purrs and I harden painfully in the cramped seated position.

“Fuck, Ada, can you not do that when there is fuck all I can do about it?” I growl and try to tug some comfort in my groin area.

“Oh, I am so
not
sorry after how you left me this morning.” She snickers and I can’t argue with that. “Okay, well my budget will stretch to chicken so prepare to be underwhelmed.”

“Chicken is my favourite, actually. My Mum used to cook it a lot, it is my Dad’s favourite too.” She is silent. I am more than happy to talk about my past, my life; she knows why I do it but it still won’t get her to reciprocate.

“Chicken it is then. So Sunday roast but call me if you get stuck in traffic. I don’t want my first meal to be cremated because of roadwork delays.”

“Make that a Wednesday roast.” It’s Monday now, that will give me nearly two full days to work with Daniel’s head of security. I suggested working together on this in person, but now whatever we can’t find out, we will work out with Skype calls and emails.

“It is odd, Patrick didn’t find any family. She can’t have come from nowhere?” Daniel pours the last of the red wine and we go over what I have found out while Bethany is settling Luca back to sleep.

“She has come from somewhere special too…privileged I mean. Her mannerisms, the way she carries herself. I know she must have taken some debilitating hits to want to hide like she does, but underneath the layers of camouflage she is pure class. Besides I can sniff out a product of a private education a mile away, school at the weekends is a dead giveaway. She doesn’t hide what she
is
just
who
she is.”

“So, what do you know?” Daniel nods toward the lounge and we take our drinks and sit in the corner near the fireplace. Me in the arm chair, Daniel sprawled on the corner sofa, no doubt waiting for Bethany to take up the extra space.

“Her last name isn’t Burrows and she’s not related to Dr. Burrows, the lady whose house she lives in throughout the winter. That connection seems to be our strongest lead but I know the good doctor has disappeared or changed her name. It’s possible she is overseas; Patrick is checking on that and he is going to do a history search to try and identify where they might have met and why. It just gets really difficult if Ada was a patient. I have to say I’ve got alarm bells ringing like Big Ben after we found out the doctor’s specialty was in Psychoanalysis.” I sip my drink and hate the unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Daniel, the last thing I need is another crazy–”

“Ethan.” Daniel warns and his eyes flick to the shadow behind me. Bethany walks past and slaps the back of my head.

“Honestly, Ethan, I am done pussy footing around you about my sister. Yes, Kit was all the things you think she was, more than a little crazy, and she lied to you. She was all kinds of messed up.” Oh shit, this is not good, Daniel is rigid next to his wife. His face is pure rage and I wonder how she ever manages to calm that storm. She places her soft hand on his leg and it helps. His jaw is still ticking, but he doesn’t look like he needs to kill someone–me I mean, for bringing this subject up. Bethany continues, “But she did
love
you. People don’t always start a relationship in a conventional way, but that doesn’t make it any less real or unsustainable. Kit was mean to me my whole life, but she had her reasons. If we’d have talked at all maybe she would have been more like a sister and less like an arch nemesis. I truly believe she had real feelings for you. So what if Ada has seen a psychoanalyst? You obviously care about her enough to be here; you need to stop looking for reasons to keep your distance and step up. Anything worth having is worth the risk, Ethan.” She turns to look at Daniel and that look is exactly what made me try something more with Kit in the first place. To have someone, devoted, totally and utterly in love with you. Who wouldn’t want that?
I want that, dammit.
“Besides you do know the meaning of the word Psychoanalysis is ‘liberate the butterfly’, maybe Ada just needed to let hers fly and the good doctor helped.” Daniel scoops Bethany onto his lap and I begin to feel like the third wheel.

“Ethan, you need to get her to talk to you.” Daniel adds. “Disclose some personal shit and I bet she will do the same.”

“Tried that and nada. Even tried the reciprocal question thing but she just stopped asking questions. I mean we talk but it’s all surface shit: favourite ice cream, drink, position.” I wiggle my brows and Bethany giggles and squirms in Daniels lap.
Yep, I’m done here.
I neck the last of the wine and go to stand. “But anything remotely personal and she is tighter than a clam in a kitchen.”

“Hmmm, I know someone like that but I also know an extremely effective way to get her to both ask and answer questions.”
Oh, Christ, could this get any more awkward?

“I could try drink. I’ve never actually gotten her drunk.” I muse. “Hmm, that could work. Would that work, Bets?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe I–”

“My way of extracting information didn’t require alcohol and was one hundred percent effective.” Daniels voice is low and ominous.

“Yeah, I’m outta here.” I grab my jacket from the back of the dining chair and wave my goodbyes. I see myself out and don’t risk a glance back. It’s rude to leave mid performance and from the sudden rise in room temperature that show was just beginning.

The smells that assault me when I open my front door are more than delicious; they evoke nostalgic images of my childhood that hit me like an iron hard punch to the chest. It’s not just the aroma of the roast cooking, but the soft folksy tunes filtering in from the balcony. My earliest memories are of Mum cooking, Dad reading the paper in the kitchen just to keep her company or he maybe would be peeling some veg by her side. I would be playing on the floor by her feet driving my trucks in the grooves of the cold slate floor, and her soft voice singing or humming a tune I don’t recall. I don’t recognise the music this is playing, it must be one of Ada’s playlists she made on my Spotify account. I glance around the living room, I hardly recognise this space. Ada has put new throws and cushions on the sofas. I know I bought them when I decorated the place but they have remained packed away since. There are numerous vases dotted around, some with delicate flowers that look like those found on the coastal path, and some more traditional blooms from the florist. The soft light filters in through the wooden blinds and muslin curtains, and with the home cooked smell of my favourite meal, this feels very much like home. It feels very good indeed.