Exploits (33 page)

"Maybe I want to get to know you before I suck your face off."

"Crap. You've wanted to talk to me for two years. That means you want to kiss me."

"Yeah? So how do I know you want to kiss me?"

"Because I haven't stopped thinking about you for five weeks. I thought I'd scared you away for good."

Now that's the smile I'm talking about. I'm melting faster than an icicle in a sauna. And the bugger still has to think about it. Standing up so that we're closer to each other's head level, I push between his legs and kiss him myself, holding onto his legs for support. Oh lordy. His lips just depress. They're so soft and warm. I don't think my knees are going to keep holding me up. He just sucked my bottom lip into his mouth. This is better than hot chocolate on a drizzly day. Well thank you. He just seated me on his leg, wrapping those yummy arms around me.

"There you are!"

Fuck off Tom!
I ignore him by wrapping both hands around Richard's face for seclusion, and continue kissing him.

"Stefanie! Come on, we're going for burgers."

Inside sigh. Slowly I disengage my lips from Mr Smooshy, and smile, staring into his mesmerising eyes while my hair still gives us privacy. "Would you and your friends like to join us for burgers?"

He leans in, nips my neck between his teeth before speaking softly into my ear, "I'm happy to go wherever you're going."

Straight to hell darling, but at least we'll enjoy the ride. I finally turn my head to grin at Tom, who's giving me the 'guess who's getting laid soon' smirk, "We're coming."

He laughs, shaking his head, "Too much information."

For the first time Richard loosens up around Tom, when we all burst out laughing.

Tonight has been the best night in living memory. Zeke has left us alone by staying over at Selene's tonight. We've had coffee, we've kissed so much I look like I've had silicone injections in both lips, and we're now snuggled up under a blanket, on a rock, watching the sun come up. This is a memory I'm going to cherish for a long time. It's unadulterated romance. The birds are serenading us, and I've found myself a keeper. Smooshy is my word for someone who seems tough on the outside, but is a soft marshmallow on the inside. He's definitely Mr Smooshy.

Chapter 42

Welcome to Your Life

I know you're curious, so was I. Richard isn't a player. He really is completely clueless he's a catch. It took another four weeks of dinners, movies, clubbing and hiking, before I finally got a fix of lust-dust. We'd been to the movies and he invited me home for coffee.

So here I am, in Richard's modest home on the outskirts of Durbanville, when he kicks into routine mode. We've had coffee, and he disappears, coming back with obviously brushed teeth. I follow him like a lost toddler, into his navy bedroom. Oh God! Holy crap! He just yanked his shirt off. Do you know this is the first time I've seen him without his shirt on?

"Fancy cuddling?"

Suuuuurrrre thing! This is strange foreplay, but I don't think I need any. This boy is chiselled perfection. And no, I am not exaggerating. He seriously is unbelievably breath stealing. The playgirl mansion is missing a bunny. He has this V coming out of his jeans straight to hip bones. Two veins run right from his jeans up to his navel, which is so deeply depressed because of the ravine in the middle of his six-pack. Perfect blocks step the way to smooth tight pecs with the Grand Canyon hiding between them. His shoulders are a mass of muscles and tendons, with more veins standing out in stark relief down both sides of cut biceps into ripply forearms, ending with long elegant fingers. All wrapped up tightly in smooth creamy skin. All it's missing is my tongue. Is this how Gary felt about me? If the world knew what you hid under your clothes, and it looked like the demi-god before me, you wouldn't want any of them knowing, would you?

Maybe, for just half a second, I can fool myself into believing Gary was this insecure. Holy guacamole, Richard is phenomenal man bling! His arms. How does he manage to look so insignificant in build when he's wearing clothes? There are deep shadows between his triceps and biceps, and they're utterly lickable. And the way his muscles bunch when he bends his arms. He's angelically beautiful. This is how we procreate. Good luck saying no to this guy.

"Anyone home? You haven't answered me."

Dragging my eyes back up his torso to his face, I catch his worried expression. Forcing myself to swallow, I hope my voice doesn't come out as a squeak. "Affirmative." I joke, "Work out much?"

He's in a serious mood. "No, not much."

Liar!

"Oh really? You just look like you fell off your cloud, and you say not much?"

Aw! How cute is he? He's going a deep magenta in the bottom half of his cheeks, getting all shy and trying to peek at me behind eyelashes.

"If you call rock climbing working out, then yes, whenever I can."

Yes I've cuddled him, and yes he felt lean and toned, but nothing prepared me for this. I feel unworthy. How can he feel threatened by the goon squad when he looks like this? I don't understand men. If anyone has a reason to be vain and prone to flashing muscles, it should be Richard.

Silently I'm thanking my angels for giving me a man who could vaporise a volcano, but is so shy and unaware of it that he'd never use it as bait. My eyes are melting. He just removed his jeans. What is his definition of cuddling exactly? And thank you very much, but would you please observe specimen A and notice the fabulous CK underwear. Holy cow. He really does rock climb. I have never seen a man with legs that defined and perfectly in proportion. He should be in a museum. They need to put him in Madame Taussards as the most perfect male specimen in living history.

"You're making me feel self-conscious."

How do you think I feel? I'm wearing nothing more than a dress, sandals and knickers. When I take my clothes off, it's going to be – right – here it is. That will teach me to wear a strappy sun-dress that's tight enough to get away with not wearing a bra.

"Sorry." I drop my eyes, not knowing what the hell's really going on.

Then he flicks back the duvet, climbs in with his CK's on, and opens the duvet like a cave door, "Come on then."

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath for the grand opening moment. Here goes nothing.

I step out of my shoes, simultaneously pulling off my dress, and climb between his arms, laying down, hoping that was fast enough for me not to feel examined. I was hoping for romantic. A candlelit evening with seduction on the cards, working up to this moment. I wonder when he last had a girlfriend? Maybe he's just seriously out of practice.

I've been really good. I've been used to being led around by my collar for so long that I've pretty much lost the art of making the first move. Richard is so unlike everyone else I know. He hasn't been after sex. He really meant it when he said he wanted to get to know me first. Thus, despite finding him adorable and infinitely attractive, I've waited for this moment to arrive on his terms. Yep, and all we're doing is talking, and talking, and talking. It's very hard to think straight with a virtually naked god lying pressed up against me, and helloooo, he's turned on, I can feel it, but he's still not making a move.

When I eventually notice the time is three o'clock in the morning, I take the plunge.

"What are we doing?"

"Talking."

You don't say.

"Were you planning on having sex with me tonight or are we just cuddling?"

Silence.

I wait. Staring at a moonlit face next to me from the gap left in the curtain.

"Do you want to?"

DO I WANT TO? Understatement of the century. "Yes."

He really isn't confident, is he? Oh what the hell, here goes nothing, again. Rolling, I pull off my knickers, before excavating his body out of his. And like a porn star in her big moment I take the lead by sitting on top of him, staring down at the crevices created by the shadows over white-washed moonbeam skin. He's so warm and smooth. Tracing his chest with my fingertips I could have been transported to faery, the king of the Sidhe so ethereal and out of my league, laying at my mercy. Holy cow, I can't believe I got this lucky.

… Pause...

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Play …

Did I mention, "Holy cow, I can't believe I got this lucky?" How many times can I say that before you want to behead me? It's not possible, but I've found perfection. He's sweet, thoughtful, a gentleman, and a sex god! I've known him for exactly nine weeks and I want to marry him! I'd be brain dead to let this one get away.

He's so humble, completely contradicting the package he's in and his talent. He's a closet artist. His art is phenomenal. He also has a hidden passion, he's an adrenalin junkie. He sky-dives, rock climbs up sheer cliffs, skateboards down steep roads, and does the whole mountain biking thing with his two man-friends.

He cooks, he's got great dress sense; honestly, I can't wrap my head around this either. He's so opposite to everything I've known. On the bright side, if I hadn't met a jerk like Gary, I wouldn't appreciate Richard the way I do. He holds my hand in public, he kisses me in public too, opens doors, pulls out chairs, walks arm in arm, and he dances with me! I've bagged the only living Woman Whisperer. Who, by the way, tells me all the time how he can't believe how lucky
he
is, and that I'm the most gorgeous woman he's ever laid eyes on. Feel free to slap me if I'm wearing my silly-stupid grin again.

He's letting me watch him climb a cliff today. Just my delicious luck, (I now live on the wheel of fortune. Location, location, location!). Richard also owns a motorbike. I miss the motorbike experience I had with Gary, so I'm super-chuffed that Mr Smooshy has one too. His reason though is practical, unlike Gary's which was purely poser inspired. Richard says it reaches the obscure locations a lot easier than a car, which is essential when rock climbing. I now have my own helmet and biker's jacket. I'm living in bliss. My life is so awesome, I'm finally happy to be alive. I have a decent pay-cheque, I live with a guy who could snap Gary in half if he ever showed up, and I'm dating the best secret on planet Earth.

Four hours later, after watching him climb up the mountain, I'm now watching him abseil down it. And I now understand how he's so lean and carved. He manages to pull his entire body up with three fingers and two toes. Those muscles were straining; all of them! At times he lifts his body sideways the way a gymnast can, flexing his back and stomach, gripping with fingertips while he locates a new foot hold, over there next to his shoulder! If you have never witnessed such a sight you can't imagine how intoxicating it is. The next best kept secret in Cape Town, rock climbers, er, rock.

He's also balanced mentally. He likes quiet time. He's not brash, and he doesn't need outside validation encouraging him the way my ex did. He loves rock climbing because it's solitary, just him and nature. And I'm a living victim of heart-punch since that first succulent kiss.

You know that overpowering sensation when your heart feels like it's going to burst with love, and your chest aches? Every breath feels tight and my chest cavity feels too small, as if my heart has turned into a rapidly multiplying amoeba and is now pressing against my sternum, making it warp. The pressure is building, and I swear at any moment I'm going to have a heart attack. My breath is constantly shallow, hormones leaping like fleas, and every heartbeat throbs – yes THROBS!

Gahdoof, gahdoof, gahdoof – it's so powerful it steals my breath. Feeling dizzy as if it's cutting off the oxygen to my brain – the veins in my neck are pumping gallons a second. I can feel them taut and uncomfortable and stretching out my skin – whoosh, the blood hurtles through with more throbbing. And yet despite being in the process of death by heart-throb – my body feels light – my feet aren't touching the ground – I'm half human and half spectre – gliding over the earth with my chest hurting like someone bashed it with a Samurai punch.

It's so bruised my lungs can't even function normally and I'm forced to keep my lips parted just to draw enough breath to stay alive in this insane existence of encompassing love.

And when I'm not with him, my fingers itch to email –  to dial – to text – to drive – to hold. I am overcome with a euphoric heartache, which I'm calling heart-punch. And that hottie, glistening from exercise, did this to me.

I think it's official, I am finally drowning in love. Not lust, (okay, maybe both,) but this doesn't come anywhere near close to anything I thought was love before. This is quantum compared to a one dimensional ball of dung.

Hmmmm! See that? The first thing he does is smile his sensitive man smile at me, happy eyes caressing me, and he kisses me hello before saying a word. And that magic hand is trailing down my spine, which if this continues to be a daily occurrence is going to make me knocked kneed, it's the only way I can remain standing.

Then he kisses my neck, giving me a squeeze before saying, "Let's go home, shower, and then I'll take you out for a late lunch."

Thank you God!

Oh! I also finally discovered why he called me Marmalade. Because it was his dream to spread me. Men!