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Yes, I shagged Kaan but how many of you can honestly say you wouldn’t have done the same thing if the opportunity presented itself? My mum, for example, always loved Michael Hutchence. Would she has shagged him if she had the chance? Probably. Maybe. Highly unlikely.
It was a one-night stand.
But when I’m with Kaan I realise that the famous part of his life seems to be the least appealing of his attributes. He has a natural charm that puts people at ease and his sense of humour never fails to make me laugh. It’s not just his sense of humour, though, it’s the way he effortlessly makes everything seem more fun and exciting. Even mundane tasks like grabbing a coffee become a source of amusement when I’m with him.
And let’s not forget about his how beautiful the man is. He oozes confidence and charism, and his rugged good looks are enough to make any girl weak at the knees.
But what really sets Kaan apart is just how naturally romantic he is, despite his scepticism about love. He has a way of making me feel like the only person in the world when we’re together. It’s almost as if romance is ingrained in his DNA, yet he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. Let me tell you as much as I try to resist, it’s pretty easy to get swept up in it all.
I just have to keep reminding myself that none of this is real.
“Good morning, Nutmeg.”
It’s Kaan and his usual early morning wake up call. I don’t mind admitting that I used to be a bit of a night owl, so when Kaan first started calling me in the early hours, I was less than impressed. But what once irritated me is now one of my favourite parts of the day.
When my phone lights up with his name, I can’t help but smile as I reach for my phone, bleary-eyed and dozy. He always starts with the same question, “I didn’t wake you, did I?” I used to tell him the truth: that he did, but that it doesn’t matter. Now though I’m eager to hear his voice.
As expected, the sound of his voice, still a little rough with sleep, is like hot toddy on a cold winter’s day, and that familiar lust pools in my lady bits.
“Good morning, Pretty Boy.” I yawn into the phone and sink back into my pillow. “No, I was already up.”
His chuckle is deep and delicious. “Never lie to me, babe.”
“Fine.” I huff, mostly at my heart that is still beating wildly in my chest. “I’m still in bed.”
“It was a late one.”
Kaan and I had gone to Camden to catch his rehearsal band play, and they blew everyone away. The energy in the room was electric, and the crowd was going wild. As we were hanging out backstage, Kaan’s bandmates convinced him to join them. At first, he was hesitant and rolled his eyes, but then he made his way onto the stage, and the anticipation in the air was palpable. The crowd roared as he grabbed the microphone, and the band launched into the opening notes of “Better Off Dead”.
Kaan’s voice was soulful and raw imbuing the song with a level of emotion that sent shivers down my spine. It was no wonder he and Gabe Rushley, the lead singer of Seven of Crows, had a contentious relationship. Kaan’s talent is undeniable.
The band launched into a medley of Seven of Crow’s biggest hits, and Kaan was in his element. He worked the stage like a pro, drawing the crowd in. When Kaan finished his set and thanked the crowd for indulging him, his hair tousled and his skin slick with sweat, I was practically swooning.
Without a word, Kaan’s brawny arms snaked around my waist, and pulled me into his chest, as he pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was deep and passionate, his tongue exploring every inch of my mouth. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, my fingers tangling in his damp hair.
But then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of cameras clicking. My eyes flew open in surprise, and I pulled away, foolish and exposed.
Oh! The kiss wasn’t for me. It was for the cameras.
I try not to dwell on that kiss and concentrate on my morning wake-up call instead.
“What are you wearing?”
What does he expect to hear? The truth? I’m wearing flannel pyjama bottoms with a dancing daisy motif and a mis-matched tank top.
“Black lacy thong and a smile,” I say as seductively as I can manage.
The truth is not nearly as sexy.
“You’re not playing fair, Nutmeg.”
“Who says I’m playing?”
“Tease.” He moans into the phone and my mind wanders as it does most mornings on these calls. Kaan naked. Moving inside me. Fucking me, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me off and on his hard cock. Oh. My. God. “Did you dream about me last night?”
Lost in my fantasy, my mouth can’t form the words.
I dream about you every night.
