24. Twenty-Four

Twenty-Four

O minous black clouds loom overhead. I hurry down the drive, a mixture of anger and remorse spurring me on. I've just upset two people I care about in one move. I can't stay here a minute longer. Poor Barbara. And Art … I did exactly what he hadn't wanted me to do. Told his secret. He hates me.

Can we come back from this?

I could have fucked up the most important thing in my life.

Angry tears leak from the corners of my eyes, and I swipe them away with the back of my hand. The gates at the end of the drive slide open, like they sense my urgent need to leave. Heavy drops of rain start to fall, landing on my bare flesh. I shiver and wrap my arms around me as I head onto the country lane and take a left with no clue where I'm going.

She goaded me. And I bit .

I push the thought from my mind and pull my phone out of my handbag. I need an Uber. Fast. I need to get away. The more I think about it, the more I think I did the wrong thing.

The drops of rain grow heavier and fall faster, soaking my clothes and turning my dress a darker shade of pink. My shaky fingers slip on my phone screen as I frantically tap away, trying to get a signal.

Did she expect me not to react to those things she'd said to me?

I feel sick at the thought.

At first, I think I hear thunder. Rumbling low in the distance and gradually getting closer. But I'm wrong. The screech of rubber against tarmac makes me look over my shoulder to see a familiar grey sports car careering down the lane towards me.

I turn back and instinctively speed up, which is ridiculous because I'm not about to outrun it. I'm not getting in. I'm not ready for the massive argument we're going to have. And above all, I can't bear to think I've let Art down. Conflicting thoughts churn over in my mind. Right now, I want to be anywhere but here.

The car slows to a crawl behind me. I hear the buzz of a window going down.

"Sophie, get in the car," he yells.

He's angry. Very angry.

I push my wet hair out of my eyes. "Go back to your mum, Art. You should be with her."

"Get in the fucking car."

I know he won't leave it. And I really need him to.

I carry on walking, unable to look at him. "Please, go back."

The engine cuts. I hear a door slam. I turn to see him stalking towards me, his whole body taut in anger.

Wild eyes stare at me as he jabs a finger in the direction of the car. "Get in."

"I think it's best that you go back to your mum."

The crease in his brow deepens. "Don't tell me what's best. This whole fucking situation isn't what's best. "

"Art, please. Leave it." I sound weak because I think I'm in the wrong. I hate it. And this whole fucking mess.

"Leave it? How the fuck do you expect me to leave any of this?! Get in the car. You're fucking soaked."

And I'm not the only one. A raindrop falls off the tip of his nose. The dark blue cotton of his shirt is turning black and sticking to his chest like a second skin. I'm soaked through to my underwear, and the material of my dress is semi-see-through.

"Get in, Sophie," he warns, running out of patience. "You'll catch your fucking death."

A cold droplet of rain trickles down my back, making me shiver. I should probably give it up.

Art slams the passenger door behind me after I get in the car. He climbs behind the wheel and pulls away sharply, racing down the country lane.

I should say something, but I don't know where to begin. She started it sounds childish.

"How's Barbara?"

"Stunned. Upset. Disappointed. Shocked. Angry."

Shit.

I stare out the window. I have to ask. "With me?"

"No. With Aisling. She threw her out of the house and told her to never come back."

It was always a possibility that Barbara would react that way, but the reality feels different.

He catches my surprised reaction. "How did you expect her to react to the news that I'd fucked the therapist she'd pretty much introduced me to? Who just happens to be a family friend?"

I narrow my eyes. "Is that why you didn't want her finding out? You're protecting Aisling."

"No. I was protecting Mum. I brought enough upset to her door when I went to prison. I vowed I'd never do it again." He rakes his fingers through his wet hair and breathes out a slow, deep breath, trying to keep calm. "Why, Sophie? Why the fuck did you have to tell her?"

Disappointment is etched across his face, and his accusatory tone stabs through my heart like a knife.

Anger and regret twist in my veins, and I hate how feeble the next words out of my mouth sound. "You don't know what she said to me."

"I get you don't like Ash, and I get the reasons why. You and her are never going to be friends, but I specifically told you I didn't want Mum finding out about what had gone on between me and her. So, what, Sophie? What did Ash say to make you tell Mum?"

Jealousy and insecurity rage inside me. For weeks, this has been building. From the first moment he told me about her. Her looks and snide comments lit the fuse and now I might have just played directly into her hands. Art doesn't get it, and it's about time everybody saw her for what she was. And his words are just enough to tip me over the edge.

I explode. "How dare you sit there and say that to me. You weren't there to listen to her shit. She's in love with you, Art. Don't you see? She wanted to be with you back then, and she still wants to be with you now. All this bullshit about her needing your help to buy a car? It's just an excuse to see you."

His eyes blaze with anger, and he slams his hand against the steering wheel in frustration. "I cannot keep having this same fucking argument with you, Sophie. What did she say?"

He's not listening.

I feel like shouting and crying. I'm trembling with rage.

Torrential rain hammers against the roof, and the windscreen wipers are going at full pelt as we hurtle down the lane.

My fingernails dig into the leather seat as we round a corner at speed, and Art changes gear.

"Tell me what she said!" he demands.

I feel sick .

Hot tears run down my cheeks. I find the words I don't want to speak. "She told me about the first time you fucked," I snap. "How you needed her. How you were so grateful she sucked you off. How you bent her over and fucked her."

I want him to deny it. I need him to tell me that it's a lie. Instead, he mutters expletives under his breath and keeps his troubled gaze straight ahead. He can't even look at me. Because it's true.

He did need her. In a way he'll maybe never need me.

Fresh tears stream down my face, and my voice becomes brittle. "So, tell me, Art. Have I overreacted?"

His jaws clenched so tight that it looks like it might snap. He keeps his eyes on the road. His silence fuels the anger thudding through my veins.

"Well, have I?"

Nothing.

"We both know how you would have reacted," I carry on because I want a reaction. Any fucking reaction. "If Theo had just said something like that to you, he'd have been on his way to hospital now with a broken fucking jaw—or worse."

His knuckles turn white from where he's gripping the steering wheel tight, but he remains silent.

Fuck him.

I need to get away from him. From this conversation and this entire fucking mess.

"Pull over," I demand, yanking at the door handle.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's pouring down, and we're in the middle of nowhere."

"Stop the car."

"No!"

"Stop the fucking car!"

"Fuck!"

Art brakes heavily and pulls off the road onto a country track. My head bangs against the headrest as we screech to a sudden stop.

I impatiently try the door handle. "Unlock the door."

"You're not getting out. "

Hot, angry tears well in my eyes as I glare at him. "I can't be around you right now. You just sat there and defended her. Let me out."

"No. Listen to me," he demands, but I'm not up for listening.

Rage has taken over, and I'm not thinking straight.

"Unlock the fucking door," I yell, as if screaming in his face would work.

He leans over and tries to grab my wrist to prevent me from yanking on the door handle again, but I lurch my arm out of his grasp.

"I get why you're angry."

"You have no idea," I cry.

"Calm. The fuck. Down!"

"Don't tell me what to do! Let me out!"

Art's hands are on my hips, and I have no clue how he does it, but the next thing I know, he's wrestling me onto his lap.

I squirm and wriggle, pushing my palms against his chest, but his strong hands remain gripped on my waist. Now that he's got me in his grasp, I'm not going anywhere.

"Let me go," I demand, but I know I'm wasting my breath.

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

I'm caught off guard, and I stop pushing against his chest.

"She shouldn't have said that to you. It was wrong." He lets go of my waist and cups my face. Dark eyes hold mine. "She shouldn't have said that to you."

A glimmer of hope ignites in my chest. He's not mad. He's not disappointed.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly, unable to stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. "I know you didn't want your mum to know, but I couldn't stand there and … "

"Shhh. It's done."

"I just snapped. The thought of you with her …"

He silences me with a kiss and rests his forehead against mine. "I know."

I'm not jealous or possessive. Until I met him. Maybe some of his traits are rubbing off on me .

Before I know what I'm doing, I rake my fingers through his hair and pull his mouth to mine, kissing him hard and deep. He kisses me until I'm breathless, but I don't care. He's my world, my oxygen, everything I need. I want all of him. I need all of him to consume me and squash the jealousy and bile from earlier. And make me forget.

My hands fall to his shirt and begin to undo the buttons, but there are too many. And I can't wait. I impatiently tear it open, sending buttons pinging all over the black leather upholstery, revealing his damp, tanned skin.

His hands yank down the zip at the back of my dress, peeling it up over my arms and chucking it aside. My bra's undone and off in one move. We're in a rush. I'm desperate to have him inside me, and he's desperate to be there. I unfasten his jeans, and he lifts up his hips, dragging them down. All the time, our lips are glued together. Like we dare not part. He reaches one hand between my legs and yanks my knickers aside while he lightly taps the other against my thigh.

"More," he murmurs against my lips, and I spread my thighs as wide as the cramped seat will allow.

I grip the headrest with one hand and catch his bottom lip between my teeth as I settle down on his waiting cock. I release his lip, groaning into his mouth as he fills me, throbbing inside me. And I forget. About everything that went on before. Anger dissolves from my body. It's just me and him. No one else matters.

He buries his face in my cleavage. He sighs with contentment, digging his fingers into my buttocks, telling me what to do without saying a word. I grind against him, rolling my hips, feeling the rapid build of my climax. He nips at the soft flesh in the valley between my breasts, which sends an electric charge through to my centre, and I tense around him, making him groan. I want to keep going, but I'm not going to be able to if he does stuff like this. He lifts his hips up to meet me, forcing himself deeper inside me with desperate thrusts. He needs this as much as I do. This connection. Me and him together. My hand flies up against the steamed-up window, and my muscles contract around him.

"Why does make-up sex always feel so good?" I gasp.

Art grips my hips tight, pushing me down hard onto his cock, causing a tidal wave of pleasure to soar through me.

His burning gaze meets mine. "It's because of you, brown eyes."

A moan falls from my lips, and I close my eyes to steady myself. The countdown clock is ticking. I draw in a deep breath and try my best to keep control but know I'm fighting a losing battle. We're both racing towards the finish line.

"I can't hold on."

He slams his head into the seat as his eyes roll back. "Fuck, you feel amazing."

He's on the edge. And so am I. And he knows just the words to send us both hurtling over it.

"God, I fucking love you."

And I'm gone. A warm wave of release rips through my body. I grab the headrest to keep upright as shudders rack through me. Art presses his face against my breasts as he buries himself inside me one final time, panting against my flesh as he unravels.

I rest my head in the curve of his neck and stare at the clouded window. We sit in silence, listening to the rain beat down on the car roof. His fingers glide up my spine, and his hands come to rest on my shoulders. His lips catch mine, and he kisses me for an age.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

He shakes his head. "It's done. And I'm sorry."

I still feel shit. I've ruined poor Barbara's birthday. "Will your mum be okay?"

He plays with a loose tendril of my hair and then tucks it behind my ear. "Yes. She was just in shock."

"I understand why you were fucked off with me," I admit.

"I was fucked off because you took off and I was worried about you. And, yes, I was angry you'd told her at first because I didn't understand why, but now, I get it."

I run my fingers over the smattering of his black chest hairs. "She said what she said, and I snapped. "

"She shouldn't have said it, and you were right. If a guy you'd slept with had said the same stuff to me, I'd have ripped the fucker's head off." He cups my face in his hands. "Look at me, Sophie. You need to know what she said was a lie."

I swallow. "I can take the fact that you slept with her. But I hated the way she said you needed her. That I can't bear. Fucking her is one thing; needing someone … that's on another level."

"It wasn't like that," he says firmly. "She's blown it up to sound as though it were some passionate and exciting encounter when, in reality, it was very different. She didn't …" He hesitates, and I'm not sure if I want him to carry on. "I'd just come out of prison. I lasted about five seconds. It wasn't my finest … performance."

I go to look away, but he continues holding my face, making me look at him. "There's only one woman I've ever needed, Sophie. Who I'll ever need, and that's you."

"You didn't tell her about your childhood, did you? All that time you saw her for therapy, you didn't discuss it," I say.

"I didn't want to. I didn't want to open up to her, to any of them. You're the only one who knows me. Who I've let in. You're the only one who's ever had all of me. The only one who ever will."

His words hit my chest and warm my heart.

He presses his forehead to mine. "No more arguing. It kills me."

"No more," I agree.

"You're all I need, Sophie Ward." He presses a kiss to my lips, and I'm mush. "Forever."