Page 37 of A Secret Escape

Lila

W hen I open my eyes, it takes a few moments to figure out where I am.

My head is on Marcus’s leg, the fabric of his sweatpants soft beneath my cheek.

I breathe in, the faint scent of him – a mix of wood and warmth – lingering in the air.

The comforting weight of his hand rests gently on my back, the heat of his touch seeping through the fabric of my shirt.

I sit up slowly, my eyes adjusting to the light in the room. The inside lights of the cottage are still on, now mixed with beams of daylight filtering in around the curtains covering the French doors behind us and around the wooden board covering the kitchen window.

Marcus is asleep on the couch, sitting up, with his head leaned back against a cushion.

I glance at the door to make sure it’s still bolted. It is.

We made it through the night.

I let out a sigh of relief.

My neck is stiff, but I must have been in such a deep sleep that I don’t remember waking up even once .

I look at Marcus, his eyes still closed, his chest softly rising and falling with every peaceful breath. I smile as I imagine waking up next to him again the next morning, and the next… and the next…

Trying to quiet the butterflies suddenly causing a commotion in my stomach, I stand up, stretching my arms up to the ceiling. I go to the windows and open the shutters, letting the hazy morning light fill the space with its misty glow.

The rays fall on Marcus’s face, warming his eyelids as he stirs.

I watch him for a moment, my heart content with warmth.

I turn to look out the window, my breath stilling at the sight of the winter wonderland outside. A thick blanket of snow covers the ground and the car - a perfect picture of peace and serenity.

The night’s sleep had done wonders to restore a sense of safety, even if it is temporary. We’ve survived the night, and we haven’t been followed.

I look over Marcus’s car on the drive, both tyres I can see in tact and wing mirrors attached.

A groan rises from Marcus’s throat and I turn back to look at him, smiling warmly. He opens his eyes and looks around, his mouth breaking into a wide smile when he sees me.

“Morning,” I say, feeling my soul come alive as I imagine getting to saying that to him again.

“Morning,” he says, instantly followed by a yawn.

He’s still wearing his hoodie from last night, but even through it, the broadness of his shoulders makes my heart skip a beat as I pray tomorrow morning we’ll be waking up in bed, ideally with no clothes between us.

Marcus stands up, stretching his arms up the same way I had, and looks around for a moment before walking over to a wooden door and opening it confidently, only to find a storage closet. He closes it, turning back to me with a sheepish grin on his face.

I laugh. “You might have to try upstairs.”

He lifts his chin in an acknowledging nod, looking at me with a sleepy smile as he ruffles his hair and walks up the stairs.

God, he looks so fucking good in the morning.

He looks older, less put together and a bit more suggestive of his age, but still devastatingly handsome.

It only adds to the feeling of comfort, knowing I get to see him in this intimate setting without all the presentation he puts into his appearance at work.

He's everything I’ve been dreaming about and more.

I look out the front window again, smiling as the snow on the ground reflects the morning sun, painting the air with a magical shimmer. Tall evergreen trees with branches weighed down by blankets of white line either side of the snow-covered drive.

I walk across to the French doors and pull the curtains open, and the view that greets me steals the breath straight from my lungs.

There’s a small patio area, the snow sparkling like a carpet of glitter in the morning sun, with a small wooden table and two chairs.

A small black gate at the edge of the patio opens onto a sprawling field, at the end of which is a low fence establishing the boundary of the property.

Past the fence lays a vast expanse of fields surrounded by dense forests.

It looks like a postcard from somewhere far away.

Marcus’s footsteps come down the stairs and heat spreads across my cheeks as I feel him come up behind me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders.

“Tell you what,” he says in a teasing voice, his lips nuzzling my neck. “I’m looking forward to getting ready for bed tonight. ”

“Oh?” I ask, leaning my head back against him, my eyes closing from the feel of his mouth against my skin.

“You should go check it out.” He plants a kiss on my neck and lets go of me, walking over to open the fridge.

I glare at him expectantly, but when he doesn’t say anything else, curiosity gets the better of me and I quickly run up the stairs, a smile taking over my face so wide that my cheeks physically hurt.

In a large bedroom, there’s a huge king size bed and an oval shaped whirlpool tub that is definitely designed for two people.

My heart thunders in my chest as I imagine sitting in it with Marcus, my legs squeezing together from the hungry ache building within me.

I stare at the tub, mesmerised as visions of Marcus, naked, surrounded by steam and bubbles, fill my head.

Having quickly freshened up and used the facilities, I walk back down the stairs, a tightness building deep in my core, my inner walls tightening as I realise that tonight, in just a matter of hours, every fantasy I’ve had over the last two years will be coming true.

My heart feels ready to burst out of my rib cage as desire burns like a fire through me, making my skin buzz with electricity.

Marcus is sitting at the kitchen island, wearing a loose black T-shirt, his messy morning hair and stubble growing in around his carefully trimmed beard somehow making him look that much more alluring.

I love seeing his imperfections, seeing him not so perfectly put together.

It makes him more real, more mine , as if I’m getting to see something special.

A mischievous look plays in his eyes as he looks at me.

“Well?” he asks.

“Did you know this place had that when you booked it?” I ask, walking up to him as he spins on his stool to face me, his legs spreading out wide so that I can stand between them. His hands find my waist, pulling me firmly into him.

“I may have spotted it in one of the pictures…” he teases. “I was searching very quickly.”

His playful smile warms my soul, and in this moment, I know, with absolute certainty, that no matter what else happens, no other man will ever come close to him.

His eyes are pure passion, his golden skin a godly level of perfection, and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of the way he holds me, as though he never wants to let go.

“You kept that quiet then,” I whisper, trying to make my voice sound as seductive as possible. I lean in, my lips grazing his for just the briefest moment before his hands run up my back, pulling me even closer.

“I thought it might be a nice surprise.” He stands and lifts me on to the kitchen counter with surprising ease, his mouth crashing into mine.

My heart races as I bury my hands in his hair, my legs opening to wrap around him.

It’s surreal, almost too good to be true, but I push the thought quickly out of my head.

His tongue is in my mouth and his hands grip my hips with a bruising intensity as a fire rips through me, igniting every nerve ending with an uncontrollable flame.

My arms slide down to his neck, one hand running down his shoulder as euphoria consumes my body in waves.

Is it possible to come without even being touched?

Because I feel so close, so on the edge, heat and moisture growing between my legs with every caress of his tongue, and his hand isn’t even there yet.

After an intense minute of his tongue exploring every part of my mouth, Marcus pulls away with a groan, dropping his head to my shoulder .

I hold him tight, my hands clinging to his back, desperately wanting to say so much, but also knowing that no words are needed. I can feel in the way he holds me that he needs me as much as I need him.

I run my hand up, sliding it through his hair and letting it fall down his back.

“We should have some breakfast,” I whisper, my lips softly nuzzling his neck.

He lifts his head, his hand mimicking the motion of mine as it slides through his hair, ruffling it more than it already was. “We’ll have to go into the village for food.”

“We should do that,” I mutter.

“Mmm, in a minute,” he mumbles, pulling me back in for another kiss.

I smile, my mouth lingering on his for a long moment before a hungry rumble from my stomach interrupts the air.

His mouth widens into a smile. “Alright, let’s go.”

I jump down from the counter, resisting the urge to run my hand over the obvious arousal showing through the soft fabric of his joggers. Instead, I force myself to focus, and we put on our shoes and coats and step out of the house.

The morning air is frosty, the sky still and quiet. Snow crunches beneath our feet, each step leaving deep footprints as we make our way to the car. Marcus brushes off the powdery snow with his arm, shimmery clouds of white flying off the hood.

I climb in, the leather seats ice cold even through my jeans, and Marcus breathes on his hands, rubbing them together. Once the engine has warmed up, he carefully turns around in the drive and we head down the path back in the direction of the town .

I glance at the time on the car dash – 9:05am - and realise I haven’t even checked my phone all morning.

Before long, we pass a small convenience store at the edge of the village, a single car parked outside.

We walk in, mouthing a silent hello to a young girl standing at the till who looks like she would rather be literally anywhere else than here.

I follow Marcus down the aisles as he picks up coffee, bacon, bread, butter and eggs. When he reaches for a carton of oat milk without even pausing, a heartwarming joy unfurls in my chest. It’s such a small thing, but it feels enormous.

“Hope you like a fry up,” he says.

“And he cooks?” I tease, feeling my heart expand ever further at the thought of him cooking us breakfast.

“Baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” he smirks, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek as he puts the items down on the counter. I pray that the cold is a good enough explanation for why my face has turned a bright shade of red.

We get back to the house and Marcus heads straight to the kitchen and puts the kettle on. I grab the bag containing all my clothes and make-up, and head up the stairs, in desperate need of a shower.

The hot water rushes over me as thoughts swirl around my head like a tornado. The body on the ground. Chris at my door. The reflection of the streetlamp on the knife. My flat back in Manchester.

A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, making me feel queasy, but I take a deep breath, letting the steam fill my lungs as water runs down my face, and I force myself to push it aside and focus on the moment.

Instead, I think about the tub in the bedroom, and my mouth breaks into a smile again. I shush the voice in the back of my head telling me this is all too good to be true .

Quickly changing into jeans and a soft green t-shirt, I leave my hair hanging down in damp tussled waves as the smell of bacon wafting up the stairs calls my name.

Back downstairs, the sight of Marcus in the kitchen with a frying pan makes my heart stumble.

I feel like I’ve won the fucking lottery, being here with him, witnessing these quiet, ordinary moments that to me are beyond extraordinary.

Even just watching him cook feels intimate after two long years of dreaming about him from a distance.

And for a fleeting second, it feels like this isn’t my life.

Like I’ve been picked up and transported into someone else’s life.

Someone who happens to be married to this beautiful man, spending a romantic snow-dusted weekend in a magical cottage, probably with three angelic children still happily asleep in their beds.

But then he looks at me, his eyes warm, and suddenly, it is real. Okay, maybe not the married with children part ( yet !), but I’m me. And he’s here, actually looking at me, and I am the luckiest girl in the whole fucking world.

“That smells amazing,” I say, running my hand across his back as I walk past.

“Have a seat.” He gestures towards the kitchen island where I hadn’t even noticed two plates already laid out, with two steaming cups of coffee.

I smile and sit down as Marcus transfers two slices of bacon and two eggs from the frying pan onto the plates at the same exact time the toaster pops.

He quickly butters the toast and adds it to our plates, sitting down beside me.

“Thank you,” I say, the aromas of the food causing my stomach to grumble loudly. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

“No problem,” he says, jabbing a fork into his bacon and taking a crispy bite .

My gaze lingers on his mouth as he chews, my mind choosing that moment to remember just what that mouth is capable of. My insides tighten as a shiver runs down my back.

“You alright?” he asks, suddenly looking up at me.

“Oh, uh, yea.” I force my mind back to the present. “Sorry. Got distracted.”

Marcus smiles, seductively licking a drop of bacon grease off his lips.

“Oh yea?” he teases, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a tissue. “By what?”

The way he’s looking at me with a devilish twinkle in his eye says he has a pretty good idea of exactly what.

“Nothing,” I say coyly, averting my eyes from him as I bite into my toast.

“I see,” he says, a light-hearted playfulness underlining his words.

We finish our breakfast and I gather the plates, setting them by the sink.

“I want to step outside and check out the view,” I say, tugging on my boots by the front door. Marcus follows suit as I pick up a key hanging on a hook just to the side of the French doors, unlocking them and stepping out onto the patio.

The cold wraps around me as untouched snow crunches beneath my feet. I’ve seen snow in Manchester of course, but it never lasts long, almost instantly turning to grey slush that just makes everything more difficult.

Here, though, the snow is enchanting, like a magical playground waiting to be discovered.