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“Nice of you to turn up,finally,” Connie states, collecting the remaining plates and heading to the sink to wash up. Her tone is doing stupid things to my cock. It jumps and leaps as though wanting to break free from the confines of my jeans.
“You expected me to stick around after the stunt you pulled earlier?”
Connie doesn’t respond, she starts washing up the dishes, but her agitation shows as she scrubs the plates vigorously. Her hair is now piled up into a messy bun on top of her head, tendrils falling free from the hair tie, giving me a good look at the curve of her neck and the tops of her shoulders and back. My god, I’ve never wanted to touch anything more in my life.
This is getting ridiculous. I should go before I do something I can’t take back.
Overhead the distinct rumble of thunder tells me the storm is closing in. Very soon the ocean will morph from a gentle lapping against the dock to a wild crashing of waves that will batter everything within ten meters, including this shack.
“Leave that. You need to get back home before the storm hits. It’s going to be a rough few hours and you don’t want to get stuck here,” I say, moving closer because Connie doesn’t appear to be listening to a word I’m saying. “Connie, are you listening?”
When I reach her side, she pulls the plug in the sink then dries her hands on the towel. “Yes, I heard you,” she says, looking up at me, her features impassive now.
“Good.” I swallow hard, restraining myself from touching her. The fire that burned within her earlier has disappeared, leaving just a smoulder. Yet, somehow, it’s more powerful than the burning flames of her lust.
“I’m just going to call Grandma and check in on Lola.” She turns away from me, and I try not to look at the sway of her hips as she moves. “I folded up your sleeping bag and put it with the rest of your stuff in the office,” she says, pointing to the small space off to the side of the kitchen.
“Thanks,” I mutter, straightening up a few chairs as she speaks with Ma Silva. I hear Connie reassuring her grandmother that she’s heading off home within the next ten minutes and that she will call as soon as she’s in. I establish from the conversation that Lola is feeling a little better, though her fever has yet to break.
“I need to thank your Gran for looking after Lola,” I say, when she ends the call.
“Sure,” she retorts, gathering her bag. She searches for the keys, pulling them free when she finds them.
“I mean, not just for tonight. For the past year. I owe her.”
“You can tell Grandma yourself because sleeping here tonight isn’t an option.”
“I’m staying with Rob. He’s putting me up,” I immediately respond.
“I see.” Connie grabs her things and heads outside just as the first spots of rain begin to fall. “I’m walking back home. You can walk with me if you want, Rob’s place is a mile or so on from ours.”
“That probably isn’t wise…” I begin.
“I promise not to touch you,” she says softly, her cheeks heating. A crack of lightning splits the sky in two and Connie jumps. “Shit.”
“You don’t like storms?” I ask, noticing her tremble.
“I love storms. I just prefer to be inside when one is taking place…” Her gaze lifts to the sky and she frowns, biting on her lower lip with worry.
“Let’s go then.”
Connie locks the door just as more thunder rumbles and another flash of lightning cracks overhead. The sky has fallen so dark that it feels like it’s long past nine pm rather than a few minutes after three in the afternoon. With the next roll of thunder, the heavens open up and a sheet of rain falls, drenching us both in seconds.
“Fuck!” I exclaim. “I need to get you home.”
“I have my bike…” Connie says, as she unlocks it with shaking hands. The rain is cold, the temperature falling rapidly. “It will be quicker if I cycle home.”
“Not in this weather you won’t.”
“Then I’ll walk it back.”
The sky cracks again, and the waves begin to rise higher, crashing against the harbour wall. It's getting rough, and fast. Making a decision, I turn my attention back to Connie.
“I’ll cycle. Get on the handlebars,” I order, taking the bike from her.
“You want me to sit on the handlebars?” she asks, frowning. The rain plasters her hair to her
head, and she has to swipe her hand over the rivulets of rain to get a good look at me.
