How wrong I was, on both counts.
By the time we reach the cottage, I’m cold to my bones. We didn’t speak much as we walked, and it felt like Bram neededthat, perhaps to recharge his emotional batteries. But once the door to the annexe closes, I see all the tension drain out of him at once.
We kick off our shoes and hang our coats up, and then he guides me to the sofa and goes to put the kettle on.
‘There’s a blanket in that basket at the side of the sofa,’ he says from the kitchen, and I find it quickly and wrap it around myself, the warm scratch of the wool easing my shivering just a little.
After a few minutes, Bram comes back over with two steaming mugs. He sets them on the coffee table before scooping me up, blanket and all, and plopping me into his lap, humming with satisfaction when I nuzzle down against his chest.
He smells amazing, the familiar woodsiness of his shower gel combining with the faint tang of sea salt like he’s the hero in a romance novel who is somehow both a sea captain and a lumberjack at the same time. I inhale it shamelessly, painfully aware that this could be our last night together.
It’s a possibility neither of us has voiced.
The louder, more hopeful part of myself– Glass Half Full Lucy– is telling me that there’s every possibility we could get our happily ever after. But then there’s another side, the side which can’t be sure this isn’t our last chance– the side which makes me want to make every second of this night count in case the fairytale ends the second I get on that train tomorrow.
‘Stay with me tonight,’ I say, tracing my finger along his collarbone, and I feel him sit up taller on the sofa.
‘Lucy,’ he starts. I can hear the hesitancy in his voice. I hope he’s pulling back because he doesn’t want to push me, not because he’s not up for it, but Last Chance Lucy’s in charge now, and she’s not afraid of what she wants.
‘I know what I’m asking,’ I say, my hand tracing the hollow at the base of his neck. I can feel the flex of this throat beneath my fingertips as he swallows.
‘What are you asking?’
I slowly untangle myself from the blanket, hitching my skirt higher so that I can swing my leg over to straddle him, just like I did in my bed this morning. ‘I want you to… wait, what were your exact words?’ I put on my best Bram voice. ‘Rock my world.’
He smiles at that, bright and wide. He must have taken his fangs out at some point, because there’s no sign of them now, just those prominent canines that press into the skin of his lower lip. Tattooed hands settle on my thighs, fingertips sneaking under the hem of my skirt.
‘Are you sure?’ he asks, the grit in his voice making liquid heat pool in my belly, and when I hum my reply, his green eyes fix on me, pupils dilating.
‘I’m gonna need you to say it,’ he mutters, and I can’t help my giggle.
‘You need an invitation?’ I ask, thinking back to the previous night. I mean it as a joke, really, but he is deadly serious as he nods slowly, not taking his eyes off me even for a second.
‘Ok,’ I say, finding my confidence as I shrug off the blanket and reach for the hem of his T-shirt. ‘This is me formally inviting you into my bed.’ I pull the shirt up and over his head in one swift move. ‘And this is me formally inviting you into my body.’
He laughs at that, a rough rasp that tips his head back a moment before he straightens, eyes burning into me. ‘Is that so?’
‘Yes,’ I say steadily, like I’m not on the precipice of something monumental. ‘I feel like I might die if I can’t have sex with you tonight.’
‘No need to be dramatic, Lucy,’ he says through a grin, the smallest of tremors in his voice. ‘We’re not in a graveyard now.’
It’s a moment or two before either of us moves, the tension between us pulling tighter and tighter as we smile at each other, before all of a sudden it snaps.
And then everything changes in a split second.
I’m not sure who closes the gap first, but suddenly his mouth is on mine, the fingers of one hand raking into my hair as the other slides to my hip, pulling me so close that I can feel the vibration of his growl through his body. He’s a ball of tension underneath me, sprung tight, his hips moving just a little against mine, just enough to wind me up too.
It’s different from before. Deliberate and irresistible, like a riptide sweeping me away from the shore. His kisses are slow at first– deep, drugging grazes of his tongue against mine, which send ripples of feeling though me, gathering momentum slowly but surely until they become crashing waves of need. My hands grasp for him greedily, exploring the scratch of stubble under his jaw, the bob of his Adam’s apple in his throat, the smooth skin at his sides.
I feel different when I’m with him– not like myself at all. In Bram’s arms I feel wild and unrestrained– giddy with feeling and with pleasure. I want him like I’ve never wanted anything else in my life. Like he’s something I need to survive.
He breathes a satisfied sigh into my mouth as my hands trip down the planes of his body. I feel him smile against my lips when my thumbs find the bars through his nipples, testing them, relishing in the rumble of his groan when I lightly tug on them.
When he pulls my jumper over my head, followed by the thin vest I’m wearing underneath, he stills. For a moment I worry that something’s wrong, but when I open my eyes, there’s a look of such desire– such wonder– on his face that it almost takes my breath away.
‘Beautiful,’ he murmurs, thumbs skating down my skin, his eyes tracking the course of his hands as he trails them acrossmy curves, like he’s learning them. Like he’s going to replay this moment in his head over and over again.
When he kisses me again, there’s a new urgency to it. It’s needy and raw, punctuated by small rolls of his hips underneath me, a growl deep down in his throat. His hands move to my legs, slipping up higher underneath my skirt, his skin cool through the thin fabric of my tights.