12. Twelve

Twelve

A magnificent roll top bath sits in front of a Georgian sash window, dominating the bathroom. Dove grey panelling lines the walls and large white hexagonal tiles cover the floor and decorate the large walk-in shower.

Art sets me on my feet then turns on the water which cascades from the large chrome shower head and fills the room with steam. He steps beneath the shower and closes his eyes, slicking back his hair as the water sluices across the undulations of his body. He notices me watching him and holds out a hand. "Come and join me."

I place my hand in his, and he pulls me to stand beneath the torrent of water, placing his hands on my shoulders and turning me round so he's behind me. I shut my eyes and push my hair out of my face and hear the click of plastic. His hands return to my shoulders as he slides cool, soapy liquid across my shoulder blades, massaging it into my back. A familiar sandalwood fragrance mingles with the heat from the shower and permeates the air .

"I hope you don't mind having to smell like me."

I breathe in the scent of him and feel strangely content. "I can't imagine smelling of anything else."

Large soapy hands sweep across my rib cage and cup my breasts as he shifts closer behind me, and I feel his erection press in between my buttocks.

I turn to face him and gaze up at him towering above me. This is the first time I've had the freedom to touch all of him. I savour the sight of his taut, tanned skin as the water cascades down the curves of his muscles. Droplets hang from his unfairly long dark lashes as he watches me, and I feel a fizz between my thighs. I'll never grow tired of looking at him. His body, his face. All of him. I press my palms flat against his chest and note how it rises beneath my hands as his breathing hitches. I keep my eyes on his as I glide my hands lower, across his ribs, and down across his abs. His gaze remains on my hands as they work their way down his body. It seems he's just as affected by my touch as I am by his. I brush my fingers across the small silvery scar beneath his belly button. The nagging voice in the back of my head returns as I peer at the only thing to mar his perfect appearance.

"What happened?"

"I got into a fight."

"Is it… is it a stab wound?"

"It happened a long time ago." There's an edge to his voice, telling me to step away from the conversation. Before I can decide whether I'm going to push him further or not, he flashes a wolfish grin. "Do you want to move your hands a little lower?"

My eyes drop to his cock, standing to attention once again. I roll my eyes in mock disgust and can't help but smile. "You're insatiable."

"It's what you do to me." He lands a hot, heavy kiss on my lips and curls one arm around my waist whilst his other hand slides across my stomach and glides down to cup in between my legs. He dips a finger inside me and moans into my mouth. Sparks of desire shoot all over my body and I know I'm ready for him once more.

"You're drenched and it's so fucking hot," he breathes. "Turn around and put your hands on the wall. "

My pulse soars at the instruction and at what's about to come as I obediently do as I'm told.

"Open your legs." His hands are on my waist as I shuffle my feet apart and steady myself against the wall as he pulls my backside towards him. Two hands sweep down my back and circle across each buttock before returning to my hips. "You have a spectacular arse. Make sure you keep hold of the wall. I'm going to take you from behind and it's not going to be gentle." Alarm shoots through me at the warning but I barely have a moment to register before he slams into me all the way, pushing me forwards and making my hands slide against the wet tiles. "Keep hold of the wall."

He pauses as I reposition my hands, then he pulls out and slams into me once more, muttering expletives under his breath. His right hand reaches round my body and between my legs, his thumb on my clitoris as my muscles tighten around him.

"Not yet," he warns as he sets a rhythm. Rub, thrust, rub, thrust, working me up into a frenzy. On his next thrust, I push backwards with my hips and hear him hiss my name and I match his pace until the delicious tension between my thighs is bordering on painful and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to keep it together. His fingers tense around my hip bones and my wrists are aching from taking my weight, when he says the words I've been longing for. "Now, Sophie."

My cry of delight is drowned out as he roars my name, carrying me through my orgasm with his own, emptying himself inside me once again. I'm dizzy as I reach the top and my legs buckle. I'm caught instantly as his arms swoop round me, keeping me upright. "Easy," he soothes, holding me to his chest. As our breathing calms, he places a tender kiss on my wet shoulder. "Come on, you need to eat. I don't want you fainting on me."

I'm left to pick whatever I want to wear from his wardrobe. Rows and rows of clothes hang neatly from the rails of the brightly lit white room. Designer shirts, suits, jumpers, and jeans are hung by colour or carefully folded on the floor-to-ceiling shelves. I choose an army green t-shirt, like the one he wore on Saturday when he helped me move into the flat. It's more like a baggy dress on me and covers my bum and knickers, so I don't feel too exposed. He's standing in the kitchen behind the white marble island, pouring boiling water into two white mugs as I walk barefoot back into the living area. He's pulled on a black t-shirt and boxers and his hair's still damp and all over the place. He looks rugged, rather than his usual coiffed self and I fight back the urge to jump him.

"I made you coffee." He places the mugs onto the circular glass, Scandi-style dining table.

"Thanks."

"Toast?"

I smile. "Perfect."

He throws me an easy smile and wanders back into the kitchen. "Make yourself at home."

As I amble into the living area, I realise I'm still grinning like a demented fool. What the hell has gotten into me?

The shorts and t-shirt I borrowed are folded in a neat pile on the single armchair. He's obviously tidy and orderly. Theo wouldn't even pick up his dirty underpants.

My gaze settles on the two framed photos on the white carved fireplace. Other than furniture, there are no personal objects or unnecessary knick-knacks in the room. Curious, I take a closer look.

I pick up the smaller of the two. It's of a clean-shaven, slightly younger-looking Art, dressed in black gym shorts, his bare muscular chest on show as he poses for the camera. It looks like it's been taken professionally given the pose and I can't but smile in amusement at the cheesy grin he's giving the camera.

"Why do you have a photo of yourself in your living room?"

He glances at the frame in my hand. "Ah… that's from my mum. The photo was taken at a promo shoot I did years ago, when the gyms first opened. When the chain became nationally recognised, she sent it to me with a note on the back telling me how proud of me she was. The head of the PR campaign thought it would be a good idea to have that photo of me displayed in the foyers of all my gyms. I hated the idea, but it seems to work so… "

It makes sense. If guys walk into the gym and see this photo of Art staring down at them, they'll want to join because they will think it will make them look like him, and women will want to join because it will make them think they'll meet guys that look like him.

I put the frame down and turn my focus to the second photo, in an antique style frame. A man with a bald head and dark moustache and a slim lady with a sandy coloured perm stands side by side, with what looks like a teenage Art standing in the middle of them. The Colosseum provides a spectacular back drop. All three of them are smiling at the camera.

"Is this you?"

"Yes, that's me with my parents when we went on holiday to Rome. I was thirteen." There's something about his tone which suggests he hasn't finished, and I look up to see him raking his fingers through his hair. He considers me for a long moment as if he's deciding something. "They're actually my adoptive parents. That was our first proper holiday as a family."

"Oh." I quickly place the photo back down on the fireplace because I feel as if I shouldn't be touching something so important. "How old were you when you went to live with them?"

"Ten." A definite tension appears in his shoulders as he turns away from me.

Questions pop up in my head, but I hold my tongue. He clearly doesn't want to talk about it, and I don't want to push him about something so personal. "I really should text Lucy," I say, changing the subject.

I pick up my phone off the coffee table and walk up to the dining table, sliding onto a chair. "She'll be going mad."

Don't feel well so won't be in today. X.

I press send, knowing that she won't buy the lie for a second.

"George will be going mad too." He spreads butter on two pieces of toast and his brows draw together. "What's his problem?"

"How do you mean? "

"The guy's a pain in the arse." He places two plates of toast down onto the table and settles in the chair beside me. "He's checking stuff out with me every second. Constantly asking questions and sending me emails. If he spent as much time trying to think of ways to boost income as he does wasting my time, the hotel wouldn't be in such a mess."

I slide the plate towards me. "He can be a bit pedantic, but he's a good man. For the last God knows how long your uncle left the running of the hotel up to him. And he carried on doing just that, even though his wife was ill, and he lost her. The hotel's all he's got."

"Now I feel bad." He takes a bite of toast and chews it thoughtfully. "I didn't realise that."

My mind ticks back to what he's just said. "Is the hotel really in a mess?"

"We need to do something to increase turnover," he admits, taking a sip of coffee.

I take a mouthful of toast as my phone beeps. It's a text from Lucy.

Liar, liar pants on fire. Don't have too much sex will you. Seriously I'm glad you two have kissed and made up. Xx

"Lucy hasn't bought my feeble excuse for not showing today. By tomorrow all the staff will have put two and two together," I say worriedly.

He shrugs dismissively as he finishes his toast and rubs his hands together. "And we'll confirm it when we walk in together."

"You won't try to hide it?"

His brows twitch in confusion. "Why would I want to hide the fact that I'm with you?"

He's with me. What does that mean? The sensible part of my brain scrambles to take control. "Erm…because you're my boss and I work for you and it's inappropriate."

"You're over-thinking things. Like I said, HR do as I say. And I don't give a fuck about what other people think of me."

I take another bite of toast to occupy my mouth and ignore the flurry of nerves in my stomach .

"How did you find the restraint?"

It takes me a few seconds to catch up with the swift change in conversation. "It was okay," I admit.

"Would you do it again?"

If it involves getting naked with him again it's a no-brainer. "Yes."

"Good."

I put my half-eaten slice of toast down on the plate and decide to seize the moment. "Actually, I've a few other questions about the whole kinky sex thing."

His lips twitch into a smile at my choice of words. "Go on."

"Have you done kinky stuff with all your sexual partners?"

"What I like isn't that kinky, really, and no not all."

"How do you have kinky sex with someone who's not into it? Surely not everyone's up for it?"

"No, you're right They're not. Everything I do is consensual. If the woman doesn't want to try it, that's fine. Although I'd prefer it if they did at least try."

I stare into my coffee. "Have you ever whipped anyone or been with more than one person at a time?"

"I've whipped someone because they asked me to. And I had a threesome with two women once, when I was younger. Overrated." He raises his eyebrows and lifts the cup to his lips taking a sip.

"Who got you into the whole scene?"

"A woman."

"Do you still have contact with her?"

He places his cup down on the table. "No. I haven't seen her for a long time." His hand covers mine, and he lifts his eyes to mine. "Everything I've done has always been with consent. I'll never hurt you, and I'll never make you do something you don't feel comfortable with. All I ask is that you try it."

That doesn't sound so bad, I reason.

My phone begins to vibrate on the table beside me. "Mum calling" flashes on the screen. I hesitate. Her timing is always rubbish but I know I need to answer it, because if I don't, she'll just worry.

He looks at my phone, smiles, and gets to his feet, collecting the empty plates and mugs off the table.

"Hi, Mum. Is everything okay?"

"I don't know, Sophie. Is it?"

I frown at the apparent panic in her voice. "What do you mean?"

"I couldn't get through on your mobile, it just rang out, so I tried you at work."

"I haven't had any missed calls."

"Well, I did… bloody modern technology. Anyway, Lucy said you're off sick. Are you okay, dear?"

"Yes, I'm fine I'm just feeling a bit… sick." I've always been rubbish at lying.

"You're not pregnant, are you?"

I roll my eyes and lower my voice. "No, Mum. Of course, I'm not. Jesus!"

I catch the pointed look thrown in my direction from Art who's clearing up the breakfast things in the kitchen.

"Are you sure you're okay? I could pop by the flat," she offers.

I press my hand against my forehead. I haven't told her I've moved yet. She'd freak out about the potentially poisonous substance lurking in my old flat. I'll save that for another time. "No, no. I'm fine, stop worrying. I'll be right as rain tomorrow."

"Oh, okay, love, if you're sure. I was calling to say Martin has his eye on a miniature Flying Scotsman model kit, which I think he'd love for his birthday. Do you want to chip in, I've got it in my basket and I'm about to click buy?"

I wouldn't have the faintest idea what to buy him, so I'm in. "Of course. Text me the details and I'll transfer some money over to you."

"Wonderful, I've booked the table at Carluccio's on the twenty-ninth."

"Yes, twenty-ninth at half past seven," I repeat to make sure I don't forget. "I'll be there."

"Lovely. I'll let you get some rest then. Hope you feel better soon. Bye, love. "

"I will. Stop worrying. Bye, Mum."

I end the call and let out a deep breath. I love my mum, and I know she only worries about me because of what happened with Theo, but every time I speak to her I feel on edge. Her nerves seem to transfer to me and take me back to the nervous Sophie I was when I first left him. I'm not that woman anymore.

Art slips back into the chair beside me. "Penny for them?"

I make a face. "Oh, nothing. Mum just worries."

He picks up my hand in his and brushes his thumb across my knuckles. "What's happening on the twenty-ninth at half seven?"

"It's my stepfather's sixtieth. We're going out for a meal. Mum was telling me what we're buying him. Some weird train things he collects." Something Mum said niggles me. "When are we going back to mine?"

"I'll take you back first thing tomorrow morning before work. Why? You aren't bored of me already, are you?" he teases.

Hardly. He's one thing I'll never tire of. "No, it's just my pills are there; but I should be okay as long as I take one in the morning."

His brow furrows. "I didn't think about the finer details when I stole you away." He sits back against the chair and opens his arms. "Come here."

I scoot over onto his lap, and he wraps his arms around me, bundling me to his chest. I close my eyes and breathe in a deep breath as I relax against him. I'm pretty sure I could die happy here.

He presses his lips against the top of my head. "Today I just want it to be about you and me. I don't want to share you with anyone. I know that's not exactly rational. But it's how I feel about you."

A shiver of excitement runs through me because it makes perfect sense. I tilt my face upwards and look at him. "It's how I feel about you, too."

He kisses me, entwining his tongue with mine and I curl a hand around the back of his neck as we kiss deep and slow. If this is how we'll be spending the day bunking off work, then I'm not complaining.