Page 24 of Love At First Fright

A fter that rather stressful encounter with Juliet, Rosemary was in need of a cup of tea.

She was becoming positively British with her tea drinking.

Unbidden, a memory of her mother came back to her.

Rosemary had been little, and she’d wanted to have a proper English tea party.

But the weather was so hot and sticky in Blossom Ridge, that instead of breakfast tea, her mama made sweet tea, and they sat on the floor of the living room, on their fanciest picnic blanket, and drank sweet tea from little china cups, and ate little triangular cut sandwiches.

Rosemary wished she could talk to her mama about all of this.

As it always was with grief, the person she most wanted to soothe her sadness was the same whose absence had caused it all.

She couldn’t let the grief settle into her bones, not right now. She pushed open Hallowvale’s front doors to escape back to the Gatehouse for a bit, and was met with a heavy onslaught of rain. Great. She looked around the foyer for any spare umbrellas—none. She would have to make a run for it.

Rosemary dashed out into the rain, splashing through puddles that soaked her up to the ankles.

Within seconds, her hair was slick to her neck and face, her clothes drenched and clinging to her.

It was fucking cold, too; even running she felt shivers beginning to rack her body.

But at least the cold helped wipe away the lingering touch of grief on her heart.

It was hard to feel too sad when you were focusing on getting warm and dry as quickly as possible.

Rosemary made it to the Gatehouse and pushed on the door to open it. Except it was locked. Why was it locked? She knocked, already knowing that no one was home. Shit. Maybe the back door into the kitchen would be unlocked?

As Rosemary made her way around, wiping rain from her eyes, she spotted an alternative.

The sash window to the living room had been left open a crack.

If she could push it open further, she could climb in.

Thunder cracked the sky above her and, if possible, the rain grew even harder, hammering on her chilled skin. She needed to get inside right now.

Rosemary supposed it wasn’t technically breaking and entering if she was residing in the property. And if no one saw her do it, then she’d be fine.

She pushed open the window as much as she could, and began to lift herself onto the sill. She had climbed in halfway, legs dangling out the back, jeans soaked, when she heard someone approaching.

“What are you doing?” Ellis shouted over the storm.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Why didn’t you use the door?”

“I don’t have a key and it’s locked. Do you?”

“No,” he grumbled. “Fuck.”

“Exactly.” She tried to pull herself through, but there was nothing to grab hold of that would help. Rosemary struggled for a minute, mortified at the thought that Ellis was just standing there watching her wriggle.

“Can you help? I’m stuck.”

She turned her head and saw Ellis’s gaze roving over her. “What do you need me to do?”

“Can you push me through? Or hold up the window?”

“Alright.” He came closer and she noticed he was just as soaked through, wearing running gear that was pulled taut over his muscles. You can fawn over him when you’re dry, she scolded herself.

With one hand Ellis held the window open, and with the other he took her arm, allowing her to wrench herself halfway through. She gripped his arm, using it to balance herself, except the floor was too far, and before Rosemary knew it, she was falling, and pulling Ellis with her.

She slammed down on her back, breath forced from her lungs.

Ellis was on top of her, entirely. Water droplets from his hair fell onto her already wet face, his hand still gripping her wrist. Time slowed.

His body moulded to hers, and every place they touched sent jolts of electricity skittering across her skin.

His muscles stiffened as he realised their position, but he didn’t move. Not yet.

Ellis smelt like cedar and sweat and rain, and he exhaled heavily, his body heating hers. In multiple ways.

His face was so close to Rosemary’s, she could see the flecks of dark blue in his eyes, the salt-and-pepper stubble that he hadn’t shaved off.

“Rosemary,” Ellis said, low and rasping.

Her lips parted in surprise at his tone, so intimate and inviting.

Ellis’s eyes flicked straight to her mouth.

If only he inched lower, closer. Wait, what was happening here?

They shouldn’t be doing this. As if on cue, her body began to shiver from the cold and wet, never mind that her insides were on fire.

“You’re shivering,” he said, pulling off her and helping her stand.

“Just…the rain.” Her teeth chattered.

Ellis began to vigorously rub her arms up and down, trying to chafe some heat into them.

“Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go upstairs, fill the bath, take off all these wet clothes, and you’re going to stay in the bath until you go all pink and everything feels warm, do you understand? ”

She nodded, her pulse hammering. His serious, commanding tone. It was…it was everything she wanted. The haziness of submissive desire rose up in her, and she tried desperately to focus on Ellis’s words over the blooming need in her belly.

“And when you’re done you’re going to come downstairs, and I’ll make you a cup of tea, okay, love? Don’t want you getting sick before night shoots.”

She nodded, shivering, and Ellis gave her a slight push in the direction of her room.

Rosemary ran the bath, and the hot steam began loosening her tight muscles even before she got in. She piled her wet clothes on the floor, hissing as she climbed into the water.

Ellis’s words played over and over in her mind.

He’d instructed her to take care of herself, helped her when she’d needed it.

It was everything she desired; that escape from her loud brain.

How long had it been since she’d just been able to let go with someone?

People Rosemary slept with tended to expect a certain dominance from her, she expected it was all the tattoos that gave them that idea, and so she’d always felt a little out of sorts after sex when it was clear neither of them was fully satisfied with her performance.

She felt desire slicking her, a deep emptiness in her core aching to be filled and filled again.

To be used, praised, taken care of. To have someone see to her pleasure and to use her for their own.

Could Ellis be that person? Could he…want her?

Downstairs, the way he’d held her down, looked at her, had felt like Something.

Something that you wouldn’t do with a colleague or a friend.

Rosemary’s hand crested over her clit, circling it with her fingers.

She was already so wet, so sensitive. What if Ellis had followed her upstairs, had come into the bath with her?

She’d done as he told her; she’d gotten in the bath and made her skin nice and pink for him.

He’d praise her for it. He’d cup her chin and call her his good girl.

He’d reward her with his hands and fuck her with his tongue first. If she was lucky, Ellis would push her down to her knees.

Fuck, Rosemary craved the submission that came with the sting of the ground on her knees, her eyes weeping as she licked up and down Ellis’s cock.

Then he’d fuck her, hard and fast and mercilessly.

Just as she wanted. Her brain would go quiet.

He’d get her there. Rosemary came, head tipped back, moaning.

She felt…a little better for doing that. Not as riled up. Definitely warmer. Only now she had to go and face Ellis in the kitchen, knowing she had just come at the thought of him fucking her. Only when she went downstairs, Ellis wasn’t there.