Sure Thing (2 page)

“I’m sorry. That’s me done now. And you do seem to be all right except for the migraine. Do you normally take anything for it?”

“Yes, Amitriptyline,” I mutter. “I ran out…”

“I’ll give you a prescription. Won’t help much now but should prevent it coming back. Are you registered with the practice?”

“No, not yet…” I don’t elaborate on my failed attempt to get taken on as a patient at the surgery in the village.

“Well, either register with us if you’re staying in the area, or see your own GP about long-term medication. I’ll prescribe some painkillers too.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, already drifting back off to sleep. I’m only dimly aware of Tom thanking her for coming all the way out here, and the rustle of paper as he obviously takes my prescription from her. I hear the door gently click shut, then it’s all silent once more.

* * * *

I wake again some time later, my head still pounding. I try an experimental and somewhat optimistic peep out from under my pillow and crack my eyes open ever so slightly. The room’s still in darkness but the constant throbbing behind my eyes is enough to convince me I need to stay where I am a good bit longer yet. I burrow back down, rolling onto my side.

And come up against the strong, warm, hard body that is Tom Shore.

Surprised, confused, I make to back off, not wanting to disturb him. He reaches for me, places his hand on my shoulder then strokes me gently, sliding his palm softly down my arm.

“You okay, babe?”

The soft voice is sleepy, but I know he’s awake, aware. And still taking care of me.

“Yes,” I whisper and drift back to sleep.

* * * *

The next time I awaken I know I’m alone. The space where Tom slept is empty, cool, and despite the closed curtains I can tell it’s daylight. Morning. And I’m still alive. Warm. Too warm. I realize I’m still wearing my thick sweatshirt and cotton T-shirt, and my underwear. But more importantly, the searing pain behind my eyes has dulled to a sharp throb. The daylight is uncomfortable but bearable. The worst has passed.

Gently, gingerly, I ease myself to a sitting position. Beside me, on the bedside table, are two white tablets—painkillers I assume—and a glass of water. Tom must have been out somewhere and got my prescription filled. Feeling inordinately grateful I slug the medication down and swallow hard. And realize straight away that I need the loo. I need it now. I climb out of bed and, unsteady, head toward the bedroom door, then along the upstairs landing to the bathroom. The house is echoing, empty. I know without checking downstairs that Tom must be out, on the farm somewhere. No problem, I’m not ready for company just yet. I quickly do what I have to do and make my way back to bed.

When I get there I find I have company after all in the shape of a huge, black and brown furry dog. Barney must have been in the room somewhere, or maybe out on the landing, and has now decided to make himself comfortable on the bed. I shrug, decide to let Tom take the matter of sleeping arrangements up with Barney later if he wants to. I owe this dog, big style. He can stay as far as I’m concerned. I quickly strip off the rest of my clothes and loosen my hair from the plait I wove it into yesterday morning, a lifetime ago, before I left my cottage to head off up the moors. Naked, I climb into bed and snuggle under the duvet.

* * * *

The next time I wake up I feel fine. Absolutely fine. Better than fine, even. The room is in darkness again, it must be night time once more. And the migraine is gone, gone without a trace. I’ve battled with migraine all my life, and however many times it strikes me down I never cease to be amazed at how quickly, and totally, it passes. Astonishing that just twenty-four hours ago I was so helpless, so weak I couldn’t even make my way down the moors, couldn’t find my own way home if my life depended on it—which it did. I couldn’t even stand.

And without a shadow of doubt I know I’d be dead but for Barney. And Tom. Barney who pulled me to the best shelter around, and stayed with me, kept me warm. And Tom who somehow knew where to look and came to find me. I lie still, contemplating what so nearly happened. I’ll never, ever forget what the pair of them did for me yesterday.

But this is today, now, and I feel good. I want to be up. I want Tom. There’s so much I need to say, about yesterday, and about today too. And tomorrow. But first, I need the loo again.

I meet Tom at the top of the stairs as I come out of the bathroom, clutching a mug of steaming coffee. His head is cocked to one side, his eyebrows raised in some surprise but obvious appreciation that I’m naked and wandering shamelessly around his house. I pad wordlessly past him, back into his bedroom, and he follows me in. He sets the mug down on the bedside table, only just in time as I launch myself at him.

Startled, he catches me as I straddle his waist, clutching his wonderful latter-day Viking face between my hands and sink my lips onto his. In true Viking fashion he recovers from the surprise admirably and within seconds his tongue is in my mouth. I have a moment’s relief that I had the foresight to clean my teeth when I went to the bathroom just now, then I’m bouncing backwards onto the bed.

“Bugger off, Barney, find your own lady.” Tom’s voice is gruff, urgent, and the dog gets the message, lumbers off the bed and out onto the landing. Then it’s just us.

Maybe it was the shock of nearly dying just yesterday, but all I can feel is desperation to have him inside me. And I can’t wait. I need the life-affirming impact of hard, fast, deep sex. And I need it now. When Tom would have likely stroked, caressed, made me ready, I pull at his belt impatiently, tearing his work jeans open and reach greedily for his cock. He’s already rising to the occasion, solid and hard and thick. My fist around his huge erection, I push him off me, onto his back. I suppose he could have it his way if he decides to insist, but he simply lets me take charge.

I climb on top of him, my thighs spread, and place my knees on either side of him. He’s still fully dressed and I’m naked but it doesn’t matter for what I have in mind right now, it heightens the pleasure if anything. One hand on his chest to steady myself, I use my other hand to position him at my entrance. But he rolls to one side, stops me from sinking onto him as I intended. At first I think, dismayed, disappointed, that he’s going to throw me off, that he’s going to roll on top and take over after all. But no, he just reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a foil packet, hands it to me.

“Be prepared, sweetheart.” His grin quirks up the edges of his mouth as he lies still, waiting for me to do the honors.

And I realize that I’ve never actually put a condom on a man before. Perceptive, he sees my indecision, my uncertainty, and takes the foil pack back. He rips it open, then hands me the rolled up condom.

“Just nip the end between your thumb and finger, like this”—he demonstrates—“and then put it on. Just roll it down slowly.”

My desperation mounting, there’s no time to waste. I shift back a little to sit astride his legs, his jeans crumpled beneath my thighs, and concentrate on my task. It’s remarkably easy, thank God. Complicated would be quite beyond me at this moment. The condom safely in position, I glance back at his face to see that his eyes are now closed. He’s grimacing, but I’m sure he’s not in pain.

“It’s done,” I whisper.

He opens his eyes. “Then, baby, I’m all yours.”

With no further ado I wriggle back up him, and with a soft moan lower myself gratefully onto his shaft. I groan. The sensation feels wonderful. Fabulous. I’m stretched, tight, almost to the point of pain. It’s near, but it’s not quite painful, not really. It’s more that I’m—full, complete. And in control.

For long moments I don’t move, and neither does he. My eyes are closed as I savor this—connection—between us. Then I open my eyes, look down into his glittering, emerald gaze. He smiles up at me, his eyes warm as he reaches up, the back of his knuckles delicately tracing my nipples, first one, then the other. He takes one between his finger and thumb and rolls it, gentle at first then firming his touch. His smile still light, he squeezes the hard little bud. I gasp, and startled out of my reverie I begin to move. I use my thighs to raise myself up then sink back each time, reveling in the feeling of being stretched, filled entirely. I concentrate on sliding up and down on his hard, thick shaft as I settle into my rhythm. I use my inner muscles to squeeze him, to clench around him. He groans, releases my nipple to take firm hold of my hips. And I’m no longer the one controlling this, I’m no longer alone in setting our rhythm. He holds my body as I continue to move on him, but he’s now thrusting upwards to meet me, filling me each time, angling the thrusts to hit my most sensitive spot. The pleasure builds and I share my power willingly—I arch, scream with the mindless delight of it.

I feel the boil of orgasm starting, deep within, bubbling, simmering, gathering heat, gurgling upwards and outwards like a volcano. It’s new, unfamiliar, as though I’ve never been so thoroughly fucked before.

And maybe I haven’t. At least, I’m only just starting to become accustomed to being fucked by a man I love.

With that realization comes release. I pitch forward, collapsing boneless, on top of Tom’s chest as my orgasm pulses through me.

Chapter Two

“I’d have brought you a coffee up earlier if I’d realized how grateful you’d be. If I throw in some toast would it get me a blow job?”

Tom’s grinning down at me, propped up on one elbow on the bed. He’s stretched out alongside me, still fully dressed.

“Definitely. Any time. It’s probably cold by now. Shit.” I groan to myself. I could murder a good hit of caffeine right now.

“I seriously doubt it. That’s got to be one of the fastest fucks on record.” He stretches over me to reach my still steaming mug, hands it to me. “There you go. Don’t scald yourself.”

I sit up and sip the coffee gratefully. Tom lies still, watching me. Eventually he breaks our companionable silence.

“So, I’m guessing you feel okay again. Quite lively, in fact, going by how you jumped me just then. Migraine all gone?”

“Yes, totally. Thanks for the painkillers earlier. And I’m sorry about, well, I just…couldn’t help it.”

“Any time, Ashley.” He shakes his head, his grin infectious. “Amazing. You sure you’re okay? I’ve never known anyone seem so ill and recover so fast.”

“I didn’t
seem
ill, I
was
ill. It’s difficult to describe, when it hits it comes on suddenly and just knocks me sideways, it’s like being clouted on the head with a sledgehammer. Wipes me out completely for a day or so. Then it’s gone. Just gone. And I’m back, absolutely fine, as though nothing’s happened.”

He looks thoughtful. “I remember a kid at my school who used to get migraines. I don’t recall it ever brought him to his knees like you were yesterday, though. Have they always been so severe for you? Isn’t there any treatment?”

I nod, glad to be able to do so once more without expecting the roof of my head to shoot off. “I had more frequent attacks as a child but less severe. It’s definitely worse now. And yes, there’s some medication I can use and that prevents attacks, pretty much. But it’s only available on prescription and I’ve not managed to get registered yet with a GP here.”

“Yes, you said. Yesterday, when the doctor asked you. Why not? Why haven’t you registered yet, you’ve been here for weeks now? Especially as you obviously need regular medication.”

I shrug, try to pass it off. “It doesn’t matter, I just never got round to it.”

Spotting the lie immediately, he reaches up to take my empty cup, places it behind him on the floor. Then he takes my chin in his hand, brings my face around close to his, catches my gaze, holds it.

“Why no GP, Ashley?”

Trapped, I know I’m going to have to explain—if I can. I close my eyes, take a deep breath.

“I— They would have needed my medical records. I’d have had to give my real name. I just wanted to leave all that, the past, behind me. And I was worried that Kenny might find me, might somehow trace me.” Even as I hear myself trying to explain, I know it sounds silly, but those genuinely were the reasons I didn’t pursue the registration process. The receptionist at the health center in Haworth was ever so friendly, couldn’t have been more helpful. She gave me the forms, asked for suitable ID. And I just thanked her, stuffed the forms into my bag, walked out of there, and gave up. I abandoned the effort. Hence, I’ve run out of Amitriptyline and have no prospect of getting a new supply.

Tom just continues to hold my gaze, slowly shaking his head. Then, “Right, as soon as the surgery opens up again after New Year we’re going down there, get you registered. We’ll get through the paperwork, and you’ll come out of there with a repeat prescription sorted out.”

“But…”

“No buts. We’ll do it. Look, even if Kenny is bright enough—and sweetheart, he really didn’t strike me as bright—do you honestly think he’d be able to access your medical records and trace you?”

Put like that I can see how silly it seems. But I resent having my old self still hanging around, clinging to me like some unpleasant smell. No matter how hard I try to shake her off, little Sharon Spencer just hangs on in there, with her migraines and baggage and prison record, ready to pop back up first chance she gets. But he’s right, I know he’s right. I flatten my mouth in distaste, but I know when I’m beat.

“Okay. I’ll dig out the forms.”

A few minutes later, my coffee cup, now empty on the floor beside the bed, I remember that I was only the supporting cast in yesterday’s little drama. Mortified, I turn to Tom, grab his arm. “Rosie, is she okay do you know?” That should have been my first question, my first concern, rather than gratifying my own immediate needs for hot sex and fairly hot coffee. Feeling guilty, I’m now anxious to know how Rosie is after her ordeal out on the moors.

Tom turns his head, smiles warmly down at me. “Yes, she’s fine. Thanks to you. Nathan texted last night. A badly sprained ankle and mild hypothermia. The hospital kept her overnight for observation but she’ll be home today. Might be there already. Shall I check?”