Barely Yours (13 page)

I open my eyes, gazing up at him, those big black eyes of his burning back down at me, and then I give a final flick of my tongue against the head of his cock and he cries out, fingers tightening in my hair and eyes closing in pleasure as he explodes powerfully in my mouth, flooding my throat with heat, and I gulp him back, my own body flashing with pleasure too, like he’s the one that’s been teasing
me
this whole time.

A moment later, he draws me back to my feet, cupping my face tenderly in his hands.

“That was incredible,” he murmurs, his voice shaking a little.

And then he kisses me with such force, such passion, it takes me completely by surprise. A moment ago, I was the one in charge, but in that single kiss I feel myself surrendering to him, falling limp in his arms, overwhelmed by the sudden force of his desire.

“And now please,” he grins, “allow me to return the favour.”

He sweeps me from my feet so easily, carrying me over to the large bed and laying me down on the sheets, as if I were the most precious thing in the world. I lie back happily, giving myself to him, my whole body shivering with pent up desire and expectation, the taste of him still strong in my mouth, as he positions himself between my legs, pushing my dress up around my hips, his thumb hooking my panties to one side, and then, a moment later, his lips enclosing my clit.

The pleasure crashes through me, and I let out an involuntary moan as he begins to flick and tease me with his tongue, drawing delicious slow circles around my clit, then sucking it hard between his lips, each time causing me to cry out from the sheer force of my pleasure.

And just as I was doing a little while ago, he seems to be enjoying
teasing
me too – working me right to the edge of desire, then changing his technique, stopping or slowing or focussing on a different part of my aching sex, each time bringing me right to the edge until I’m a totally writhing sighing mess beneath him, totally and utterly lost in a maze of electric pleasure.

And then finally, just at the point when it feels like I can take it no more, he starts to slowly but steadily circle my clit with his tongue, in the exact way that
always
gets me off hard. I moan and writhe, my hands in his hair now, relishing its silky thickness as his tongue draws me nearer and nearer to the edge.

With a final cry, the pleasure explodes inside me and I clamp my thighs together, pinning his head in place, his tongue still dancing on my sex as I come so hard, shivering and moaning, body bucking, my whole being flashing with white hot pleasure.

“Wow,” I gasp with a grin, once I’ve come back to my senses enough to form words again. “That was ... just amazing.”

“I’m glad,” he grins, standing up to take off the rest of his clothes, once again uncovering that amazing body that still takes my breath away whenever I set eyes on it.

And as I start undressing too, pulling off my dress and underwear, until we’re both naked in this amazing hotel room, our eyes again flashing with desire, it becomes totally clear that sleep is the last thing on our minds right now ...

§

We wake up late - no surprise – and spend a perfect, lazy Parisian morning in bed together. Room service and cuddles, followed by a stroll along the Left Bank, and then, just like he promised, he takes me to Shakespeare & Co., which is the most
amazing
bookstore; absolutely crammed with thousands and thousands of books. It’s like an Aladdin’s cave of literature. I could spend a whole week in this place.

But of course, reality rears its ugly head again and soon we have to leave – our plane awaits.

Back at the airport, the last two days now seem like the most incredible dream, and I find myself talking in another one of my crazy rushes of thought to Will, as I attempt to remember everything we’ve done. I don’t want to forget a single second of this totally perfect weekend. “Oh Will, I think my favourite bit must have been the picnic. No, wait, the roast partridge at dinner on the first night! I’ve never had roast partridge before. Heck, I didn’t even know roast partridge was missing from my life. But it was just amazing. Oh how am I ever going to live without roast partridge. Do they sell it in London? Is it, like, a thing there too? Because I’ll go to the butchers and cook us some if it is, because that was just
gorgeous
...”

“Yes, Chrissie,” he laughs. “They sell partridge in London. There’s an excellent butcher on the high street, in fact. I’ll take you there next weekend.”

On and on I ramble, chattering away about all the wonderful things we’ve seen, as we’re discreetly rushed through security. And it’s not until I’m sitting on the plane once again, about to tuck my passport back into my purse that it hits me in a dizzy wallop.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the small flap of paper, sticking slightly out of my passport. My visa. Oh god. My visa. My
twelve month
working visa. The twelve-month working visa that I got in October, which was a whole
nine months
ago. Meaning ... Meaning that I’ve only got three months here before I have to go back home again.

Things have been such a crazy rush over the last month, I never even stopped to think that I’m only supposed to be staying in England for a year.

When Will asked me to come and work for him, it wasn’t exactly a conventional application process. I didn’t fill out any forms, and he certainly didn’t ask about my current employment status. And all the while, I guess I just haven’t had the time to really think about it. Classic ditzy Chrissie. All of the things that Will talked about in the restaurant, about how happy he is, how he wants to see how life works out with just me and him and Tabby, about the future. How the hell am I going to tell him that after everything, I can’t be with him after all? That as hard as I fought for him, I can’t fight the law?

I sink into my seat, the worry gnawing at me, as the plane begins to take off, whisking us back to London, and now back to uncertainty.

“Now don’t be alarmed, Chrissie,” I say, “but I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Go on,” she says slowly, eyes narrowing.

We’re back in the UK, as my limo speeds us back towards the house in Chelsea.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” I say, “because I didn’t want to alarm you unnecessarily, but when we get back, you’re going to meet my parents.”

“I see,” she says. “Well, thanks for giving me a heads up now, I guess. Better late than never, right?”

I suppose part of the reason I didn’t mention it to Chrissie before now is because I didn’t want to think about it, either. I haven’t exactly told my parents about her yet. As far as they know, I’m single. In fact, mother is still emailing me news of eligible debutants every other week, the kinds of girls
she
thinks I ought to be going out with. I’ve tried to ignore her emails. I suppose the best I can do is hope they don’t ask any questions when Chrissie and I walk in together.

But I haven’t kept my parents
completely
in the dark. I have told them that I’ve finally found the perfect nanny for Tabitha. I just hope they don’t put two and two together. Because if it’s possible, they’re even more protective of their only grandchild than I am, and would be most seriously displeased if they thought that I had introduced somebody as a live in nanny and girlfriend so quickly, and without consultation.

I look over at Chrissie, who is now sitting upright in the limo, fiddling with her hair in the way that means she’s nervous. By now I’m attuned to her signals; I can tell that she’s on edge, and to be honest I don’t blame her. Having it sprung on her like that can’t have been particularly relaxing, and meeting somebody’s parents is a big deal, particularly
my
parents. I’ve been open enough with Chrissie to tell her a few things about my upbringing, so I think she already knows the kind of people she’s about to meet.

I reach over and grasp her hand in an attempt to reassure her.

“Don’t worry,” I say, squeezing her fingers. “They won’t give you a grilling. I haven’t told them about you, and they’ll be too polite to ask. The whole English reserved thing is going to do you a favour this evening, trust me.”

I just hope to God that’s true. We’ve had the most perfect weekend and I would hate for it to end on a sour note.

In no time at all, we’re back at the house, stepping out of the limo and up the drive.

Here goes nothing
, I think as we walk the stairs and push open the heavy front door. Tabby must have been eagerly awaiting my arrival because no sooner have I set foot inside the hall than she comes rushing up towards me.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy!” she says, leaping into my arms.

I’ve had a wonderful time, but I’m glad to be home – glad to see my precious daughter. She’s so important to me, I don’t want to miss a minute of her growing up if I don’t have to. Plus, I remind myself, she’s still too young to ask immediately if I’ve bought her any presents. She’s simply pleased to see me.

After whirling her around, I set Tabby back down on the ground, noticing my parents are there too, standing in the hallway.

“Hello, Mother,” I say. “Has she been a good girl?”

“Hello, Daring,” says my mother, stepping towards me, the clack-clack-clack of her heels ringing out loudly on the polished floor.

She kisses me briefly on the cheek.

“She’s been as good as gold, darling. She’s a little angel. But then of course, she
is
a Cavendish, isn’t she?”

Just at this moment, Chrissie nervously makes her way into the hallway. I realise that the poor girl must have been nervously waiting on the steps this whole time. I don’t want to make her any more uncomfortable in this already awkward situation, so I immediately step behind her, pushing her into the hallway as I say, “How rude of me! Mother, father, I’m delighted to introduce you to my travelling companion, Christina.”

Christina.
I should have warned her about that, but I didn’t have time to think. I could just see Mother wincing at the name Chrissie. She hates it when I call Tabitha Tabby.

“How charming,” says my mother, stepping forward to grasp both her hands and kissing her on both cheeks. “And what a delightful tattoo!” she adds, casting a glance down at the delicate floral design on Chrissie’s forearm.

“Thanks,” Chrissie mumbles, as my mother lets go of her hands.

My father, reticent as usual, waits in the background before silently shaking hands with her.  

“Well,” my mother says. “You two must be simply exhausted after your journey. We shan’t keep you.”

And then with a final flurry of air-kissings and plenty of last minute hugs for Tabby, they’re gone.

The door shuts behind them, and I mouth a silent ‘thank you’ to Chrissie. However they behave, I’m always careful not to badmouth them in front of Tabby.

As usual, Tabby begins prattling away, telling us about all the exciting places she’s been with grandma and grandpa.

“Come on, missy,” I say. “It’s well past your bedtime. Let’s get you to bed. What story would you like tonight?”

“Can Chrissie do it?” she replies. “I like Chrissie’s stories best of all.”

I pretend to be really hurt by this information.

“What? Are you telling me you don’t like your old dad’s stories?”

“But I like Chrissie’s,” Tabby says in a small voice. She obviously doesn’t want to hurt me, but she’s too young and can only say what she really thinks.

“Okay,” I say, “but just this once, just as a treat.”

“Hooray!” squeals Tabby, running up the stairs with Chrissie hot on her heels.

“What story do you want?” I hear Chrissie say, back to her usual self, obviously just as glad to see Tabby as I am.

“The one about the mouse and the fairy,” she says.

“But you had that one last time!”

“But it’s my favourite!”

Soon the cheerful voices have faded from my hearing, and the moment I’m left alone, exhaustion hits me in a wave. While Chrissie puts Tabby to bed, I need a few moments to myself, some time to think. So I walk slowly up the stairs and sit down in the comfortable wingback chair in my study.

I close my eyes and breathe slowly to try and combat the thoughts racing through my mind. Now my parents know about Chrissie, how on earth do I tell them that she’s also the nanny? They’re going to be livid that I’ve brought somebody so quickly into their granddaughter’s life without warning, without consultation. Have I done the right thing? Just a few hours ago, everything seemed so perfect, but now it’s like real life is crashing in again. Things between us happened so fast, so naturally. It felt like fate. But should I perhaps have stopped for a little longer to think of the consequences, before I jumped headfirst into something so intense?

It was so wonderful watching Chrissie explore a new place – watching the world of travel and adventure open up before her. Of course, I knew travelling and exploring was her plan. She’d told me as much, just after we met. And being with me, am I condemning her to a life without adventure? Trapping her so young into the role of mother and companion? Into being a Cavendish?

Christ
. With all the expectation a name like that brings, have I truly considered whether she can handle it?

Or in allowing her to heal my pain, am I perhaps only causing her more pain in return?