The Tenant

Chapter Six

"Oh s**t," Christopher curses, jumping up from beside me to check himself. "We forgot to use a condom."

"Are you f*****g kidding?!" I shout, looking around desperately for something – anything – to remove the remnants of our sordid affair.

"What about contraception? Do you take the pill?"

"No, I stopped it a few months ago--"

"f**k!" Christopher bellows, eyes wide as his threads his fingers through his hair. "f**k, f**k, fuck."

"Is this what you meant when you said you'd make me yours? Were you trying to get me..?"

"What? No!" He says, his frantic gaze sweeping my face for any signs of humour. "You really think I'm that sort of guy? We've known each other for a couple days."

"I don't know what sort of guy you are Christopher. Oh god, I don't know anything about you and you've just jizzed inside me."

Forehead pressed against my knees, I curl my arms around my legs and bring them into my chest. I've never felt more stripped bare, more vulnerable, and it's in front of my tenant-come-f**k-buddy. If Tobias finds out about this, he'll kill me and bury Christopher alive.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Christopher says, placing a warm hand on my shoulder. "I should have been more prepared. I'm sorry. You just drive me f*****g crazy."

"We need to get this sorted. There's got to be a pharmacy open somewhere; I can buy the morning after pill."

"There's a Boots Chemist not far from here that's open on a saturday. Get dressed and I'll drive you."

And like that, I'm left naked on my tenant's bed, my clothes tossed gingerly in my direction as he leaves the room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"£30!" Christopher splutters as we get back to his apartment. "If I ever need motivation to remember a condom, that's it."

"You pay me 3K a month in rent... £30 is that shocking to you?" I ask incredulously.

I'd paid for it, something he hadn't been particularly happy about as he'd tried to insist on covering it. Still, the price had shocked him. Nevermind the money - the disapproving look from the pharmacist was enough to motivate me to fit a chastity belt, or at least get myself back on some form of contraception.

"It's less than a quid for a condom. That would've bought you more than 30 nights worth of pleasure instead of one tiny pill."

"Yes, well if only we'd had that kind of foresight," I say sarcastically. "Besides, I don't know about you, but £30 is more than OK with me if it stops your seed from sowing itself inside me."

Placing my bag on the island, I fill up a glass of water and pop the pill in my mouth. It seems ridiculous that such a small pill can wipe the slate clean, so to speak. The pharmacist had gone over the risks of pregnancy, a word that makes me body shudder, and that it wasn't failsafe, but it was the best we had.

Christopher sits on the opposite side of the island, watching me warily as I swallow the pill and silently pray to God that is works.

"Just so you know, I didn't plan that," he says, green eyes focussed fiercely on mine. "I don't know what I meant by what I said, but it wasn't that. I'm not father material."

"What do you mean, not father material?" I ask, furrowing my brow.

"Never had a Father, he ran out before I was born. Maybe it runs in the genes. I wouldn't ever want to walk out on my kids, so I figure it's best not to have them."

"That's ludicrous."

"You can't tell someone that their innermost thoughts are ludicrous," Christopher says with a pointed look.

"I can, because it is ludicrous," I say. "My mother left us when I was young. Yet I still have every faith that I'll be a good mum when it's my time."

"It's good you have that confidence in yourself, but I simply don't feel the same."

"I just think you shouldn't discount it," I say with a shrug, "especially if you're going to spread your seed around with gay abandon like tonight."

"Trust me, it's a first and last," he says, exhaling sharply with a laugh as he mops dramatically at his brow. "So it's just you and Tobias now?"

"Yep, just the two of us," I say, forcing a smile. "To be honest, it's pretty much always been that way. Dad was great with us, but he was away on business a lot."

"You're lucky that you had him. Seems like the two of you are pretty close."

"What gave it away? His fierce over-protection?" I say, laughing heartily. The brief look of fear on Christopher's face says it all. "Do you have any siblings?"

"No, it was just me and mum, until she passed away when I was 16."

The air grows thick with mutual understanding of different kinds of grief. If I'd been told I'd be sat here with my tenant, having a conversation about things I'm hesitant to speak to friends about, shortly after we'd slept together, I'd have laughed them out the room.

Despite sounding strange on paper, the direction of conversation feels natural. It doesn't feel too deep, or like we're probing each other simply to kill silence.

"I'm sorry to hear that. That must have been really difficult for you."

"It was s**t, but she's the reason I am who I am today. Couldn't be more thankful for the years I did get to spend with her."

There's nothing more manly than the ability to show emotion. Right now, Christopher displays his like a war wound, plastered so obviously on his beautiful features that it's painful to see. He swats clumsily at a stray tear, turning his head away from me just enough to gain a little privacy.

Without thinking, my body gravitates around the counter and towards him. Enveloping my arms around his shoulders, the padding of his jacket gives way as I draw him into me. His head lays idly on my chest as I nestle my face into his hair, the intoxicating smell of his shampoo sifting through my nostrils.

"Why don't we go out like you suggested earlier?" I say, my numb fingers stroking at the hair at the nape of his neck. "We need to eat, and the apartment is even colder than last night."

Christopher peels himself from me to shoot me an appreciative look at the change of subject. He takes both my hands in his, placing a kiss on each knuckle, the feeling sending waves of electricity through my veins.

"Only if you let me pick the restaurant."

"Fine. But it better not be anything pompous or opulent."

"In Mayfair? Never," Christopher says, the warmth returning to his eyes as he smiles boldly at me.

In truth, I don't think I'll take any great notice in where we go – not when this man is in front of me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"What do you think of it here?" Christopher asks, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin.

"The food is wonderful, and the atmosphere is something else."

Christopher's restaurant of choice was The Dorchester. When he'd told me he'd reserved us a table there, I'd mistakenly thought that it would be a small homey pub, and that he'd taken notice of my request. At arrival, it was painfully obvious that wasn't the case, and he'd chosen possibly one of the most ostentatious restaurants he could have. With a team headed by Alain Ducasse, and 3 Michelin stars under its belt, it was far from the quaint setting I'd been picturing.

Walking into the restaurant arm-in-arm with Christopher, who was dressed to the nines in a crisp Armani suit, it felt like I'd been transported into another world. Even though my family have always been well off, this wasn't how we spent our money. We poured it into properties, art and stocks investments. This was all new to me, mostly out of choice. But with Christopher guiding me through, I didn't feel like a complete novice.

"It's my favourite restaurant," he says, a pearly smile etched on his full lips. "You said not anything too pompous, but it's perfect for a first date."

Eyes widened in shock, I choke on my glass of red, trying to swallow it down and breathe. The warmth of the wine spreads through my chest, along with a burning need for air as I cough into my napkin.

"Date?!" I splutter, regaining myself as he pats my back attentively.

"That's what this is, right?" He asks rhetorically. As soon as he's sure I'm over my little episode, he returns to his seat with a renewed smug smile.

It's becoming plainly obvious that Christopher is a sadist, taking great pleasure in my discomfort and in the effect he has on me.

"I don't know if this is a good idea, Christopher--"

"Please, call me Chris. Christopher is too formal."

"Perhaps that's what we need," I say, sitting a little straighter and coating my features with an indifferent mask. "We barely know one another. A date, really?"

"It's one of many ways to get to know one another," Chris says, unaffected. "I'd like to learn as much about your mind as I have about your body."

I down my glass of wine, knowing I'll need a little liquid luck to get through this dinner with him. 3 courses into the 7 course taster menu, he has plenty of time to revel in my discomfort.

"I'd like that too," I say earnestly, matching his intense gaze.

Skirting my foot up the length of his leg, ending just short of his crotch, I smile devilishly at him. When his smug grin dissipates, I realise I can give as good as I get. If he wants to play with me, to mess with my head, I can do much the same to him.

"Don't start something you can't finish," he says, devoid of anything other than lust. "How am I going to concentrate on getting to know you Ashleigh, if you insist on making things s****l?"

"If you really want to get to know me, I'm sure you'll manage."

"...going to be the death of me," he blurts under his breath, exhaling sharply and moving his chair a little further from me.

Regaining some semblance of composure, Chris calls a waiter over to clear the plates without drawing his eyes from mine.

"So Ashleigh... tell me about yourself."

Fuck.