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34
AVERY
If I hada fantasy checklist about Bryn – okay, I did –, the last few months I've ticked a lot of those boxes. When I discovered he owned a bike too, one of my all-time fantasies of spending time with a hot guy on a bike, whose slightly rough at the edges and great in bed, came true.
Several weeks travelling on the back of that bike, and those fantasies have switched to hot guy with large, comfortable car —but still rough at the edges and great in bed.
The day I ice-skated with him was weird enough, but I'm currently sitting in a small bar on a French campsite with Bryn. Parked nearby is the chrome and black BMW bike we've toured France and Italy on over the past few weeks.
We're cut off from the band. I confiscated Bryn’s phone in case he's tempted to switch back into his mothering mode. The freedom from life has blown away the tension in Bryn I never noticed fully, but then in the past, he never opened fully.
We’re alone in the small café bar apart from a family with young kids eating a meal nearby. The wood-panelled walls and slate floor darken the café, and we choose a spot in a corner, beneath the dim glow of a shaded light bulb.
The barmaid watches Bryn as he heads back to the table with two glasses of beer, and he shuffles along the bench next to me. I rest my head against him, listening to his heartbeat through his soft shirt. The scent of leather lingers on his clothes despite the shower fresh smell that evokes images of sex. We spend a lot of time in close physical contact because of our travel mode, and we're alone twenty-four hours a day. I can’t imagine ever getting sick of this.
The darkened clouds hovering on the horizon break and the rain splatters on the ground outside the building, pushing the earthy scent of a dry summer into the air.
“I hope our tent pitching skills have improved enough that we don't get flooded,” I say to Bryn, remembering our disastrous first attempts where a gentle breeze uprooted half the tent pegs.
“I guess rain had to happen sooner or later.” Bryn rubs my hand with his thumb. “I haven't slept in a tent in the rain since I was at Scouts.”
“You were a Scout?” I fail to hide my disbelief.
“Where else did you think I learned my camping skills?” He flicks my nose.
The vision of Bryn in a Scout uniform won't leave and I fight back my amusement. “Did you earn lots of badges?”
“Are you teasing me?”
“No, I'm interested in the skills you learned.”
Bryn gives me a slow smile and leans closer. “Would you give me badges for any of the skills I use on you?”
“I don't think you learned any of those in the Scouts!”
His fingers play at the hem of my shirt and he slips his hand beneath, running fingers along my skin. Despite daily sex, Bryn's hands on me continue to addle my brain and he knows it.
“No, but I'm good at what I do,cariad.”
My breath disappears from my lungs at the quiet words, the tone he uses when he whispers dirty words into my ear when we're alone and triggering the familiar ache.
“You don't need me to tell you that,” I say, curling my hand around his.
“True.”
“Don't look so smug!”
He drains his beer. “Let's go.”
“Back to the tent in the rain?”
“I need to practice my skills if I want to earn a badge from you.” He stands and pulls me to my feet.
I hover in the doorway watching the rain hit the ground and puddling on the path leading to the main campsite. “I must really love you.”
He halts. “What makes you say that?”
“Sleeping in a field in the bloody rain! Most rock stars would take their girls to five star hotels. Now you've trapped me in your god-like spell, do you think you don't need to impress me anymore?”
