The Comfort Food Café

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

‘I feel a bit seedy,’ I say, gazing out of the hotel room window and out across the moonlit sea. ‘But in a good way, you know?’

‘I do. I kind of wished we’d checked in as Mr and Mrs Smith, just for laughs.’

‘Exactly! It’s so boring that we’re actually allowed to do this kind of thing now!’

‘What kind of thing did you have in mind?’ he says, walking towards me. He has that look in his dark eyes, the one that makes me want to squeak. The one that says he has plans for me, and that I will enjoy every single second of those plans. The one I still find a tiny bit frightening, because I know that it means I will be completely out of control within minutes.

Since Gabriel and I decided to have fun together, I’ve had to adjust to a few things. Firstly, the sneaking around. Sophie has her suspicions, but I’m not ready to talk to her about it. Mainly because I don’t really know what ‘it’ is. It’s not been easy carving out alone time while also sharing our lives with a teenager, a belligerent donkey, and a whole village full of nosy neighbours who would be delighted by our news.

I’ve also had to get used to that feeling of being out of control, because it is a big factor in my life now, and something I never expected.

The delights of spending time in the bedroom with this man—and on a couple of occasions in the living room, and on one amusing time in the woods at the back of the house—are not getting old. In fact it’s all just getting better and better. As we learn the landscape of each other’s bodies, and discover what we like, I have a genuine sense of astonishment. It’s like someone has turned the lights on, and I suddenly understand why people are so obsessed with sex.

In truth, once I was past the age of youthful exuberance, I sometimes found myself wondering what all the fuss was about, because in my experience, sex was never like it is in the books and movies. There were no kisses that made my knees buckle, and I suspected most men couldn’t find a G-spot with Google Maps and a Sherpa guide. I love watching romcoms, and I’m a sucker for a love story, but the sex part … well, it’s only like that in fiction, right?

Now, though, I get it. Gabriel can literally look at me a certain way, in fact the way he is looking at me right now, and make me tremble. Because I know that the look will be followed by a touch, and the touch will be followed by fireworks. It’s a revelation, and I suspect I have become an overnight nymphomaniac. Luckily he seems to feel the same way, and we can barely keep our hands off each other.

Today, we have snuck away, pretending we are attending an antiques auction in Cornwall when in fact we are actually in Devon for a day and night of illicit bonking. Well, not illicit I don’t suppose—just secret. Just yummy. Just … perfect.

We’ve had dinner and drinks, and walked on the beach, and enjoyed the freedom to hold hands and kiss in public. And now we are back here, and he has that look in his eyes. I feel my heart rate speed up, and for a second I feel like a trapped animal as he closes the distance between us.

He is there, right in front of me, his body inches from mine but not quite touching. I look up, meet his gaze, and sigh as he runs his fingers down the side of my face. It’s a gentle caress, a flutter of contact, but then his hand is on my neck, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my collarbone. He lifts my hair, pulling my head back slightly, then leans forward and kisses his way from my throat to the side of my neck, to a tender spot just beneath my ears that I never knew existed.

I murmur out loud, and feel his lips curve into a smile against my skin. Even this, I think—even this lightest of touches—is enough to make me crumble. I let my hand graze the side of his jean-clad hip, tug him even closer. It’s my turn to smile when I feel him hard against me. At least the feeling is mutual.

He whispers into my ear: ‘Want to try something new?’

‘Maybe. What do we have left? Is it illegal?’

He laughs, and takes me by the hand, leading me away from the window and around the bed. Which is weird, because I thought we’d be going to bed. Instead, he takes us through into our huge en suite bathroom, and the massive walk-in shower. The shower that is easily big enough for two.

I feel a flicker of nerves, because my confidence levels still haven’t quite caught up with events. Obviously Gabriel has seen me naked before, but this feels different. Being naked and rolling around in bed, with covers that can be used to disguise the bits I don’t like, is one thing. Being this exposed is another.

He places his hands on my shoulders, and pushes me gently back against the tile wall. He smiles at me, that half-quirk of his lips that has always melted me, and says: ‘You’re beautiful, Max. Every inch of you is beautiful to me. There isn’t a single part of you and your body that I don’t find attractive. I can tell you’ve just tensed up…’

‘I have. I’m sorry. I just feel a bit, um, well?—’

‘Worried that if I see you standing upright, naked, with the lights on, that I’ll suddenly run screaming from the room?’

‘Yes, something like that. Look, I never claimed to be sane!’

He laughs, and strokes my hair back from my face, and looks at me intently.

‘Can you feel my body against yours?’ he says, leaning into me. Oh. I really, really can. I nod, and possibly purr a little.

‘Does that feel like the body of a man who is going to run screaming from the room, or the body of a man who wants you?’

His hands go to my shoulders, and then to the front of my blouse. Slowly, steadily, in no hurry at all, he starts to unbutton my top, dropping light kisses on every bit of flesh he exposes.

I sigh, and bury my hands in the thick silk of his hair, and reply: ‘It feels like the body of a man who wants me.’

He finishes on the buttons, and comes back up to eye level.

‘Exactly,’ he says, easing my top away from my body, and unhooking my bra strap with ease. ‘Just trust me, okay? Relax. If you just relax, you will enjoy this.’

I let him undress me one item at a time, and the urge to hide or to cover myself up with my arms decreases with every second. His hands move deftly, confidently, stripping me of jeans, socks, underwear, all the time stroking and caressing whatever he reveals. I am a quivering mess by the time I am naked, and realise that I really don’t care anymore, because this man—this glorious, sexy man—clearly wants me as much as I want him.

‘Go and get the temperature right,’ he says, his voice deep and husky. ‘I’ll be right there.’

I do as I am told, not even flummoxed by the usual battle with an unfamiliar shower, and look on as he tears off his clothes and leaves them in a heap by mine. He is gorgeous, long, lean, lined with muscle. There’s a scar on his right side that he doesn’t talk about, and his chest hair runs in a dark plume down to his groin. He is not pretty, he is not manicured or overly groomed—but in his own way, he is beautiful too.

He closes the door behind him, and the steam starts to build in all kinds of ways. He leans me against the wall, and kisses me with his usual skill. I feel his hands slide along my skin, and his lips on mine, and when I open my eyes I see the water hitting his shoulders, rippling down his arms and torso. He grins at me, obviously knowing that I like what I see, and then inch by inch he works his way down my body.

He kisses my breasts and takes my nipples into his mouth, making me sigh as he exerts just the right amount of pressure. Then he trails his way even further down, his lips soft but demanding against my skin, until he is on his knees. His hands stroke my inner thighs, and he is a glorious sight before me, the water flowing over his back as he spreads my legs and continues with his kiss.

He was right, I think, as the heat starts to pulsate through me and my knees start to tremble. I just needed to relax.