AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A low voice, gentle and surprised, sounds behind me, and I whip around like I was just caught stealing spaghetti. His usually stern expression looks a little calmer right now, perhaps because he’s not currently managing a site full of grown men operating dangerous machinery.
I realise that this is the first time that I’ve seen Mitch off-site. Seeing him here in the middle of the food aisle, his uniform darkened with little speckles of rain, my own clothing so wet that it’s literally see-through, is so out of the ordinary that I grab my basket just for something to do with my hands. Something that doesn’t involverubbing them all over him.
“Mitchell, hi,” I say with a smile. Getting to peek a look at him before he heads home this Thursday evening is such an unexpected secret treat that I almost don’t care about the fact that I’m going to go back to my bungalow empty-handed.
Re-remembering my transparent shirt situation I casually fold my right arm around my chest. Rainwater trickles down my legs as my bra cups squeeze and release. Mitch’s eyes flick down for a beat, he realises what I’m doing, and then his gaze is back on mine, more heated than before.
I throw out a pleasantry to tamper the sizzle in the air.
“Small world,” I say lightly. If he notices that I’m breathless he does a good job at hiding it.
“Small town,” he corrects me, putting his own basket on the floor and gripping his hands around the belt that’s keeping his cargo trousers in place. I quickly scan his basket, mentally calculating how heavy that many bottles would weigh. Little shivers tingle in the peaks of my chest.
“I didn’t know you lived near the site,” I say, as if I’m not about to now spend my evening logging into my mom’s Pine Hills reno folder and stalk her documents until I find out exactly where he lives.
I’m feeling naughty – maybe it’s because of the sound of the rain thudding hard and repetitively against the roof, or maybe it’s because he smells so good that I can taste him down my throat – so I give him a shimmery smile and say, “Lucky me catching you doing your weekly shop.”
His muscles swell and flex but he watches me, unblinking. “This isn’t my weekly. This’ll only last me a few days.”
I look back down at the crammed basket and then up at him again. His cheeks are starting to flush and he’s avoiding my eyes. Is he… self-conscious? About how much he has to eat to keep his giant body going? My eyelashes flutter as I contemplate our size difference. My mind whips up an image of him sat down at a table, legs spread wide, ready to feast.
Why is it so sexy to think of him refuelling?
I go a little lightheaded thinking about all of the ways he could use up that energy.
He swallows and continues, “I, uh, I live in Phoenix Falls. Usually. But it’s a bit farther out so…” He scrapes his perfect white teeth over his bottom lip, as if he’s unsure about whether or not he should say what he’s about to. I keep my eyes on his but in my peripheral vision I can see the fast rise and fall of his broad chest. I wonder what that would feel like moving hard and fast up against my back. “I’m living closer to the site for a while. For convenience purposes,” he adds quickly.
I’ve forgotten what we were talking about and my pupils have dialled out.
Mitch’s eyes rake me up and down and in that deep voice of his he states, “You haven’t called since I gave you my number.”
But holy fuck have I thought about it. Mostly at night, when my body is burned red-raw fresh from the shower, and a cotton tee is rubbing over my sensitised skin. My fingers drift over to my phone and I contemplate calling him. Texting him. Sending him awish you were herephoto taken in the steamed-up mirror.
Instead I give him another little smile, a dimple popping in my left cheek.
“He didn’t come back,” I clarify.
He blinks as if confused. “Who?”
I laugh. “The guy? With the white construction van?”
It takes him a moment but then he remembers. “Oh. Oh yeah, that’s why… that’s why you’d be calling.” He swallows. “No other reason.”
I tilt my head, watching him curiously. Wait: did he want me to call him for a different reason? Does he… does he feel this too?
He rocks on the heels of his large workingman’s boots, tongue poking at his cheek, unable to keep still. It takes me back to the morning in my bedroom, his thickly-muscled thigh bouncing fast and frenzied. He’s restless. And I can think of a great way for him to expend all of that pent-up power.
Over and over and over again.
“I like your uniform,” I say without thinking, my voice a little hoarse. “The navy. It looks good against your skin.”
He scratches roughly at the back of his head, eyes on the tiny space between our boots. “Uh, thanks. We were… we were gonna go with khaki, but the website didn’t stock them.”
“You mean that they were all out of 2XL?” I say teasingly, giving him a small wily smile. But when the tips of his ears begin to turn crimson I realise that I’ve literally just hit the nail on the head.
Oh myGod.Of course normal websites wouldn’t stock clothes that fit him.
He looks nervously up at me and his cheeks are a little ruddy. I give him another encouraging smile and after a moment his eyes crinkle in response, his shoulders rolling back as if he’s finally relaxing.
