The Tenant

Chapter Eight

Rousing from what had been an entirely dreamless sleep, I rub my eyes and delve further into the silk sheets. Sunlight pours through the blinds in harsh, jagged lines, spilling over the bed and the hardwood floor. I squint against it, the bright light only intensifying the nausea that wraps itself vice-like around my insides.

The fragrant smell of coffee and bacon drifts through the ajar door, together with the sound of the extractor fan and pans crashing. Christopher's voice carries a tune I don't recognise, the words obscured by the noise of his cooking.

With slow and careful deliberation, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and ready myself to face him. Cold air washes over my half-naked body, raising goose-pimples in waves over every inch of my skin. I hurriedly wash and dress into an unflattering baggy shirt and tracksuit bottoms, scraping my hair back into a messy bun.

"Good morning beautiful," Christopher greets me, voice as smooth as the silkiest caramel as I sit at the kitchen island. "Feeling any better this morning?"

"I'm feeling a little sensitive," I say with a dry laugh. "How did you sleep?"

"Amazingly, thanks," he says, his eyes roaming my body. "This is a different look for you... I like it."

"I look like s**t," I say nonchalantly, "but I smelled bacon and the rest is history."

"Ah, you're in for a treat. I made us breakfast."

Christopher passes me a coffee from the other side of the island. I reach for it gladly, the mug kissing my fingers with warmth. Slightly giddy from the dazzling grin he gives me as he watches me drink, I smile at him over the mug's rim. Steam bats against my upper lip and floods my nostrils with the coffee's bitter fragrance.

"So is this how you treat all of your one night stands?"

Despite the obvious jovial tone of my question, his shoulders and arms stiffen. His green eyes narrow as he pushes my plate towards me, offering up a bacon and egg muffin that looks as incredible as it smells.

"On the contrary. I've only cooked for two other women: my mother, and my ex," Christopher says, turning his back to me to place the pans in the dishwasher. He pauses momentarily, his hands clutching at the countertop and his head hanging downward. "Tobias didn't paint me in the best light, but I'm not like that. I don't have one night stands."

"Then what do you call yesterday?" I ask, washing down a mouthful of the muffin with my coffee. "Entertaining the landlady?"

"Takes two to tango, love," he says bitterly, turning to face me with a look of fury. "You're so quick to downplay the chemistry between us. Why? Are you scared?"

"Scared of what?" I ask with an audible gulp.

"Scared to admit that you find your tenant attractive, or that you want me just as much as I want you," he says, rounding the island to stand squarely in front of me. "Maybe you're even scared that you're not going to be able to stay away from me now that you know what I can do to you."

"Pfft, that's all a load of s**t," I lie, crossing my arms tight across my chest.

Bad move. My arms mould the shirt to my body, the material clinging to my otherwise bare breasts, leaving nothing to his imagination as my n*****s harden with the cold and mutual lust.

Closing the short distance between us, his hands sweep the length of my sides to settle on my hips. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, nose grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear as I crane my head to give him better access. I melt under his touch, turning to pure liquid as I loop my arms around his shoulders.

"Tell me the thought of me inside you doesn't make you wet, and I'll back off," he whispers in my ear.

"I can't," I say barely audible, "because I want you, Chris."

Any semblance of control that Chris has is lost at my confession, a low grunt escaping his lips as his presses them against my neck. I fumble with his zipper, fingers shaking with anticipation as his jeans fall to the floor.

Before I can begin to second guess what I'm doing, I kneel before him, eye level with the f*****g huge bulge in his black boxers. Chris's fingers weave in my hair, spurring me on as I pull down the only barrier between his c**k and my mouth. I take him in greedily, my tongue caressing the head, down the shaft, licking every vein and dimple.

"Oh s**t, Ash. That feels so good."

Grabbing the back of my head, Chris draws me further onto him and thrusts to meet the back of my throat. The taste of his precum floods my mouth, salty but sweet and leaving me wanting even more of him.

"Stop," he says on a sharp exhale, his grip tightening, "or I'm going to blow in your mouth."

The raspy, begging tone of his voice makes me want to carry on; to worship him with my mouth until he can't contain himself anymore. But Chris doesn't give me much choice. He pulls back from me with a feral groan, his fingers still roughly entwined in my hair.

"I told you to stop, and you didn't. Bad girl."

"You told me to stop or you'd blow in my mouth," I say, looking up at him through thick lashes as my nails skim his thighs. "I thought I had an option."

"You're going to be the death of me," he seethes, picking me up to throw me over his shoulder caveman-style and drag me to his room.

After placing me gently on the bed, Chris silently strips me of every item of clothing, drinking in every inch of my body. Deft fingers tweak one n****e whilst his mouth concentrates on the other, his tongue swirling around it as he sucks attentively. His other hand works tirelessly on my c**t in smooth, circular motions, sending bolts of electricity through my limbs.

I watch as this beautiful man works my body until I'm shaking, his dark hair slightly damp with sweat as he squeezes his eyes shut and dedicates himself to making me feel.

When I feel myself at the edge of a precipice, ready to throw myself off in pursuit of overwhelming pleasure, Chris pulls away. Cool air hits me in his absence, making it all the more painful.

"Chris-"

My protests are lost on my tongue as he bends down to kiss me, his lips soft and sweet like marshmallow against mine. He draws away to take a foil packet from the bedstand, a smug smile playing across his lips as he angles his sheathed c**k on my core. Just as I'm ready to beg and plead for him to fill me completely, he edges in so slowly it's painful, his eyes fixed on mine.

Thrusting deep but measuredly, he breaks eye contact only to kiss every visible bit of skin on my upper half. His lips pepper soft kisses along my jaw, neck, decolletage, breasts... It's all too much.

"Come for me, baby," Christopher drawls, his breath hot on my ear.

And just like that, the knot in my gut uncoils, the walls of my core clenching around him as I moan his name with quiet passion. My orgasm soon melts into his as he releases into the latex.

Our laboured breathing sounds throughout the room, making the space feel infinitely smaller. Chris lays on the bed, his hand against the small of my back as he pulls me forward. With little hesitation, I curl on his chest, face buried in the nook of his arm.

"You're an incredible woman," he says, placing a short kiss on my forehead. "Your ex was an i***t to let you go."

"He didn't have much choice," I say, basking in his musky, post-s*x scent. "I dumped him after he cheated on me."

"f*****g i***t," Chris hisses under his breath, wrapping his arms tighter around me.

It's strange the comfort that his touch brings. In a s****l sense, it makes sense – the man is a God on Earth. But touches like this, ones meant to reassure me instead of turn me on, spark a reaction that is both surprising and completely out of my control. I want to be closer to him, to relish in the feeling of his arms around me, to try to quash the electricity that pulses through my every vein.

"If I were Henry-"

"Ben," I correct.

"Ben," he says with an enthusiastic eye roll, "I wouldn't have dreamed of cheating on you. How he could look at another woman after being with you is beyond me."

"She was a size 6 and had t**s the size of watermelons."

"I wouldn't care if the b***h was Carmen Electra, there's no excuse," Chris says, playing absentmindedly with my hair. "There's something about you, Ashleigh. You're enchanting."

"I'm nothing special," I say,

Growing more uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation by the second, I pull away from him. He turns to face me, his hand caressing my bare side as his eyes burn into mine. I could spend forever studying the contours of his face and committing them to memory.

"I think you're pretty special," he says, his fingers dancing along my collar bone and travelling down my shoulder and arm. "You've made me feel more than I have in a long time."

I jump back as though his words were a physical blow to the face. This is all too much too soon, and it serves as a painful wake up call. What the f**k did I think I was doing?

"You've known me for 2 days, Chris. This-" I gesture between us flippantly with my hand "-is just sex."

"That's bullshit and you know it. Casual s*x doesn't involve intimacy."

"Intimacy has no place in whatever the hell this is," I say, sitting up to cradle my head in my hands. "I let this go too far. I knew this was a bad idea."

"There's something between us, Ash."

An arm hooks around my stomach, strong and reassuring. Stubble grates on my upper back and shoulders as Chris kisses them, his lips leaving a burning trail on the skin they've touched. I shake my head clear, willing my hormones to shut the f**k up for a minute and let me think.

"I've got to go."

With newfound determination, I pick up my clothes and dash to the guest room. Most of what I'd brought still laid in my suitcase, ready for a quick departure at the end of the weekend. I hadn't known just how that was going to come in handy. Fully dressed and hauling my suitcase behind me, I make my way to the lounge, hoping confrontation isn't awaiting me.

Sure enough, Chris stands waiting at the door, his eyes focussed steadily on my face as though he's bored. But as our eyes meet, a brief sorrow flashes across his features, his mouth downturned. His sadness calls me to me, begging me to banish it with my touch, but I deny it.

"So this is it, huh? You're really just going to walk out on me."

"You win," I say resignedly. "I'll send a plumber round in the next few days to sort the boiler out, and I'll pay for the lot."

And before he can say anything to sway me, before I can hear that sweet voice of his say my name once more, I take my leave. The sound of the door slamming behind me resounds within me, and I'm glad for the much needed space between myself and Chris. But a part of me – a small part, I'd like to think – cries out for me to rethink this; to turn back, apologise, and see where this could go.

No. This is the way things have to be. I'm doing the right thing, aren't I?