Page 46 of Indie
“You know getting wet doesn’t cause pneumonia, don’t you?”
Indie shrugged, his eyes now on the road. “No matter. You’re going home and getting changed first. Besides, you’re making my seats wet.”
He turned his head halfway towards me, a smile across his face. He’d not shaved this morning, the stubble on his jawmore prominent, casting a silver sheen over his skin and making his jaw more angular. I clenched my legs together, ignoring what was eating at my insides, ignoring the tingles deep in my stomach, focussing on the road and the sound of the rain assaulting the windscreen as we drove through the storm.
Indie parked the van directly opposite the garden gate, knocking the van into gear and reaching for the ignition.
“Wait. We need to move to the other side of the street. Mr Jones from twenty-five won’t be able to get past if we stay here.”
Indie looked at me and then back at the road.
“There’s loads of space. I could get a bus through there.”
“Yeah, but Mr Jones will struggle. And then he’ll complain. And it’s not worth it.”
Indie shook his head. “We’ll only be a few minutes, Emmie. I’m not moving. Now out.” He nudged my thigh, and I bit down on my lip.
He waited for me on the pavement, rain pelting onto his leather jacket, dark splashes forming on already dark jeans. Reaching for me, he grabbed my hand, the van beeping behind us as he locked it, and then he jogged forward, pulling me with him, running up the path a little in front of me. His strides were long, covering the wet ground quickly, towing me behind him as I fell back, unable to keep up. At the door my hands trembled, wet and cold, the keys stuck in a soaking wet jeans pocket, my skin stuck on the wet denim. Eventually, I pulled them out, shoving the key into the lock and bounding through the front door out of the rain.
“I’ll just go change my top,” I called, my words muffled as the hoodie I’d peeled off got stuck over my head.
“The lot, Emmie.” Indie was right behind me, following me through the house.
“Just a dry top will do, the rest will be ok.”
I dumped the wet hoodie in front of the washing machine in the utility room, Daisy rushing out to meet me, her tail thrashing painfully across my cold, wet legs. I dug a clean jumper out of the dryer, still warm from where the machine hadn’t long finished its cycle. And then I turned.
“Oh no, little sparrow,” Indie’s voice was low, gravelly. “I want you completely changed.”
I’d heard the command in his voice but wasn’t prepared for the hands that scooped around my waist, picking me up suddenly.
“Indie!” I shrieked, looking down over his back, my head hanging towards the floor, my hands searching for something to grab hold of as he turned and walked out of the kitchen, and I dangled precariously over his shoulder.
Chapter Twenty Two
Her jeans were saturated, and no amount of clean, dry tops were going to solve that problem. The girl would catch her death if she left these clothes to dry by themselves.
“Indie!” she shrieked, as I launched her over my shoulder and made my way out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
“Put me down!” she squeaked again, hanging upside down, her hands scrabbling for purchase against the slick leather jacket until the only place she could hang onto were the pockets of my jeans.
I ignored her, bounding up the stairs, the sway of her body as she fought me, barely knocking me off balance. She was so light. A perfect weight to throw around. The layout of the little house now familiar to me, I moved straight to her room, dropping her on to her back at the bottom of her bed. She gasped audibly, a mix of shock and the telltale whimper of a sound I’d heard her make when I’d had my face buried in her pussy last night. And I like the way it sounded, more so when I towered above her, looking down on her little body spreadeagled on the bed.
“Get these wet clothes off,” I instructed, my voice unusually gruff.
Her eyes widened lying on her back, staring at me.
“If you don’t take them off, Spuggy, I’m gonna. So, start stripping.”
Emmie’s throat bobbed, her teeth raking her bottom lip, those blue-green eyes filled with uncertainty. But her fingers moved to the button of her jeans, quickly flicking it open, and lifting her arse off the bed, just high enough that she could push the soaked denim over her hips and down her thighs.
It was different seeing her in the daylight, knowing we were the only ones in the house. Her legs were slim, not nearly enough meat on them, but the skin was smooth underneath. Youthful skin of someone not quite thirty. The wet denim stuck at the widest part, and she struggled to move them any further down her legs. I grasped the top of them, pulling at them till, after a moment’s resistance, I slid them off her legs.
And then she was there on the bed, just her knickers and a thin long-sleeved top that was itself wet over the collar and the caps of the shoulders. I stepped back towards her, cradling herback as I helped her sit up, gripping the bottom of the shirt with my other hand and whipping it off over her head.
Now I could see her. That pale fresh covering a small frame. Nipples poking through what was probably a white bra but was now a shade of grey, and the mint-coloured lace that covered her pussy with little pink flowers embroidered on the front. She was a mis-match of naivety. And it did everything for my dick.
Emmie crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly sub-consciously, watching me with uncertain eyes.