The Cure

Chapter 50

The red wine had worn the edges of Lola's panic smooth, Nate's words still nestled softly in her psyche as she blew out a mouthful of smoke under the tiny arched porch of the B&B.

There was nice, neat, red-brick, and the well-tended bushes bristled in the wind, steeling their leaves like bird-feather against the brisk whistle; the smell of imminent rain, the great gulps of gale as it wailed down the neighbouring streets.

Lola was warm, mummy-wrapped in her coat, and then his; Nate was turning about the small beer garden, muttering out of earshot on his phone, kicking his foot lightly against a picnic bench absent-mindedly as he focussed on the conversation.

He didn't look worried, she thought as she squinted into the darkness. His face was lineless, controlled, easy as he murmured medical mouthfuls to his colleagues.

Maybe they had got it wrong. Doctors got shit wrong all the time. Her mum had been together enough to tell Nate to come to the coast, had even been sitting up when Lola had seen her last, chatting leisurely about breakfast and boys, languid in the luxury of all the time in the world.

Lola breathed a small chuckle, shaking her head as she finished her cigarette. The whole thing was a medical bungle, a mix-up. She'd be back out in no time, ready to take on a new round of chemo, and then maybe, just maybe, they'd see the light at the end of this ghastly tunnel.

She was still lost in her thoughts when Nate returned to her side under the porch.

'What are you smiling about?' He murmured softly, ducking his chin to look at her.

'Nothing.' She took a deep breath as he held the heavy oak door open for her, buoyant over the flat grey stone, still lost in her near-touchable dream. 'What did they say?'

'She's asleep.'

'Still?'

It had to be a good thing. Sleep was the fundamental human healer, Mother Nature's cradle, a restorative lullaby. Lola struggled to hide her renewed, hopeful smile.

'Yeah.' Nate's reply was a breath, more than a word. 'We're good to stay the night, though.'

'Thank God for that,' she whispered as they creaked their way up the narrow wooden stairwell. She pointedly ignored his pained expression. 'Aren't you three large glasses in?'

The three large glasses were probably to blame for the look that flickered across his face when she came out of their bathroom, pulling off her jumper in the stifling heat as Nate returned the thermostat to an acceptable temperature.

They could hear the television echoing through the thin walls, from the neighbouring room; the king-size sprawled expectantly in the centre of the room, invitingly white, neat, comforting before them.

Nate rubbed the back of his neck, smiling softly as Lola glanced from it, to him, and back again.

Of course, they had slept side-by-side since the first time he'd asked her to; but they had always fallen around one another, spent, sweating and exhausted after losing themselves in one another, against the table, or in the shower, or against the wall; those uncontrollable, stolen moments of passion.

But the pull between them was different, now, he thought, as she held his gaze for a moment longer, before turning modestly away to undo and step out of her jeans.

A heated connection pulling unspoken in the air between them, more tangible, somehow more impossibly intoxicating than before.

Reinforced by the weight of his words.

Lola looked almost nervous, her fingers hesitating at the waistband of her underwear as she looked back at him over her shoulder, to where he hesitated, fully clothed by the doorway; she shivered as he approached slowly behind her, pressing small, soft kisses at her shoulder.

'Don't hide from me,' he murmured against the sensitive skin at her neck; she leaned her head back against his shoulder, inviting the smooth sweep of his lips.

'Thought you weren't going to fuck me,' she teased gently as he took her elbow, turning her to face him; he swept his fingers into her hair, lightly around her face, along her cheek, down to her jaw, drawing his knuckles gently under her chin and lifting her face to look at him.

The ghost of her teasing smile slipped off her face as she met his gaze, gently adoring, worshipful as he leaned in. Her heart sped up.

Nobody had ever looked at her like that.

Nobody had ever kissed her like he was kissing her now, his breath coming in ragged gasps between long, urgent kisses, or shaking from his nose as he scooped his arms around her back, holding her close against him, his tongue sliding over hers with small sounds of satisfaction.

And her body had never reacted quite as fervently as it did now, her abdomen seizing with great thumps of desire as he pulled her flush against his hips, pushing his body against her, pressing her slowly backwards until the backs of her knees touched the edge of the mattress, only breaking the contact of his lips against hers when he pulled his jumper over his head.

No, he wasn't going to fuck her. Not this time.

Nate paused, pulling out of the kiss breathlessly, his eyes trailing down her body, lingering over the soft white lace of her bra, swallowing hard.

'It's OK,' Lola whispered as he hesitated, furrowing his brow as he trailed his knuckles down her waist, his fingertips along the lace waistband of her underwear. She smoothed her palm against his cheek. 'I want you. I don't want to talk anymore.'

But of course, he knew that. He saw her. He saw every part of her.

He slipped her underwear over her hips and down to the floor, undressing like she was precious, his gaze flickering conflicted as he stepped out of his jeans.

He was taking her away, leading her into the luscious and all-consuming lull of wanting, of yearning, laying her gently back onto the bed, kneeling to press himself between her legs, meeting her gaze again as he positioned himself against her, trying desperately to steady his breathing.

She nodded reassuringly, pressing her lips together.

The shock of pleasure that darted through her stomach as he slid slowly inside made her cry out, and he pressed his palm to her lips, covering her mouth with a gentle shush, glancing purposefully towards the separating walls; she clung to the back of his neck with a gasp as he started to move; his eyes fell shut.

The perfect rolling movement of his hips, grinding down onto her, into her, exactly where she needed him; she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as he bit down on his lower lip, the groaned fuck slipping out between his teeth.

It wasn't going to take her much, anyway; but now he knew her body like it was part of him. When her breath started to shudder out, her hips trembling as her stomach muscles seized, he knew to speed up just so, angling his hips just so until she was balling the bedsheets beneath her fists, pressing her hips upwards to his, meeting each thrust until the hot ache surged into a crescendo, brutal, hot waves crashing over her as he pressed a hand over her mouth again, stifling her screams with another gruff, hushing whisper.

He swept back the hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, kissing her feverishly, the groan catching in his throat as he succumbed to the irresistible pull of his own completion as she clenched feverishly about him; his breath was coming quick as he chased heaven, swelling impossibly inside her.

He came undone, his fingers clenched in her hair, the muscles snatching in his abdomen as he jerked, pulsing, pouring himself into her with a flurry of strained, broken whispers, an incomprehensible stream of words and cursing.

She knew, somewhere in there, that he'd told her again. Told her just how much he loved her.