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Most boyfriends wouldn’t sit and eat egg and bacon with their girlfriend at the breakfast bar, chatting away about how she just hid in a fake abductor’s house for the evening, and got ploughed by his dick while she begged for it. They wouldn’t laugh at the suggestion that he gets some steel-toed boots to re-enact a scene of the abductor grinding their dirty heel against his girlfriend’s pussy until she came.
He wouldn’t admire the view the abductor had left behind, then help his girlfriend wash herself clean in a steaming hot shower with a well done, baby. He wouldn’t tend her bramble lashed wounds with cream, and smile at her like she was a holy goddess all the way through.
Josh didn’t treat me like a goddess when we got into bed after, though.
He wanted to hear about it again. Every. Sordid. Detail. And then he fucked me like a demon himself, pinning me down a lot harder than User 706 had as he took his place in my asshole.
I’m still admiring Josh’s sexy long eyelashes when his eyes open and focus on mine. He smiles and squeezes me tighter.
“Morning, baby. How are the bramble scratches?”
“I haven’t even thought about them,” I tell him. “I was too busy thinking about you.”
“Well, let’s check them out. I want to make sure I patched you up well enough.”
I adore the care in his expression as he pulls back the covers and looks over my wounds. They are barely anything now, just some scratches, but Josh gives me such attention, determined to make sure I’m ok.
“Did I pass the medical?” I ask when he pulls me back into his arms.
“We’ll keep you under observation.” He slides his hand between my legs. “And I’ll be doing further investigations concerning any additional injuries that may have occurred.”
I grin. “I added the steel toed boots to my shopping basket last night. Just need to know what size.”
He grins right back. “No need. I already ordered them.”
“You did?”
He laughs. “Of course. Who would turn that opportunity down?”
“Um, probably most of the population.”
“Nah, I think you’d be surprised.”
I brush a thumb across his cheek. “We should do an online survey.”
“Or a door-to-door one around the towers. Excuse me, madam, would you take a boot in the cunt?”
We’re giggling like a pair of teenagers in love for the first time. He seems calm, relaxed. Happy. Just like I am. Like there’s nothing to be scared of – no demons of the past lurking under the surface, out to get us. But is that truly the case? I look him right in his stunning green eyes, wondering if he’s been thinking about my session last night. It’s been so easy to enjoy the fun with me, but is he really feeling ok under the surface? Are the wounds of Amy truly healed and gone now that I’m by his side?
Does he trust me?
I hope so, because I trust him. I may have been curled up in a ball sobbing, damaged to hell at Connor’s betrayal just a few months ago, but there’s something different about Josh. He could live a life of arrogance if he wanted to, the centre piece of so many women’s worlds, but he’s anything but a stuck-up asshole. He’s the very opposite.
He’s selfless. Loyal. Down to earth under the fantasy figure of Weston.
It would be so easy to whisper the fatal three words right now, just like that.
I love you.
They’re right there on my tongue, but it’s too much, too soon. A voice tuts inside my head, telling me I’m crazy for feeling like this, but I can’t help it. It’s not about how hot Josh is, or how insanely skilled he is in bed, or how well he can cook me breakfast in the morning.
It’s about the shared glances between us, and his gorgeous laugh, and his quirky expressions. The easiness between us, and the stream of chatter that flows like a river, with no inhibitions or awkward silences.
Jeez, I sound like I’m living in a romance novel. Instalove at its finest. But is this instalove, really? We’ve been talking for months on messenger, and have been glued at the hip since the restaurant. Every single part of it has felt so right, just like being here does. Being with him is so right, it’s insane. I get a glow. Then one of those rushes of butterflies. And my mind is churning, churning, churning. Churning through life, and Josh, with butterflies.
He strokes my hair, giving me a half smile as he stares right back at me.
“What are you thinking about?” he says.
