Golden Luckenbooth

Nine

We settle into a comfortable routine over the next few days.

"Good morning," I whisper as I crawl out of bed and grab my clothes to take downstairs.

Sometimes he mumbles 'morning' at me in his gravelly voice, and it's all I can do to physically leave the room when I want to crawl between the sheets with him for cuddles or sex or whatever we're in the mood for. But, you know, work. I'm trying to build a business here. Many days, he sleeps through my frantic gathering of daily items.

This morning, he opens one eye and smiles at me, the most alive I've seen him yet during the pre-dawn hours. Throwing off the duvet, he stretches and scratches and rises in all of his naked magnificence. While I wee, he pulls on clothes he hadn't been wearing the prior night, and I recall that he'd brought a duffel with him for a change.

Respectfully, I examine his tight arse in his leggings before he yanks on some shorts. As I'm zipping my jeans, he's donning a t-shirt and adding a lightweight jacket over the top.

"Big plans today?" I taunt, "Thought you weren't supposed to make plans on this trip."

"Oh, Anna," he sighs, shaking his head. "I've had plans every day since meeting you."

"You have?" I'm confused, as I wasn't aware of any plans.

"Yep. Mostly, the plan is to kill time until I can be buried deep inside you again." With those words, he grins and throws in the dimple as an additional prize.

"You're such a numpty," I laugh as I pull on my socks. "And it's weird getting dressed in the same room with you. I'd gotten used to fighting off the dogs first thing while using the downstairs loo."

Raising and lowering his shoulders in a shrug, he explains, "I thought it might be helpful if I took the dogs out right away in the morning. You know, treat both them and me to some exercise."

"Oh yeah?" I smile, approaching him and placing one hand on his shoulder for balance while I step into my remaining shoe. "I prefer my exercise at night. In bed." With those saucy words, I plant what's supposed to be a chaste kiss on his lips, but before I can pull away, he's wrapped his arm around my waist and plastered me to his body while he deepens the kiss, setting my insides on fire.

Even though I put both hands on his chest to push him away, somehow they don't actually exert any pressure, and I find myself moaning and rubbing my legs together before breaking the kiss. This time, I do push him away. "Fuck me," I whisper, "You are bad for business."

"Mhm," he mutters. "If you say so. Want me to bring you some tea after my run with the dogs?"

"Of course."

Most days, when I get back to the house for a midday snack and break before visiting the farms, Harry is nowhere to be found. Some days, he leaves me a cute note with a really bad dad joke on it. Today's joke is "Where do bad rainbows go? Prism. It's a light sentence and gives them time to reflect." It's always signed with a heart and the letter H. As if I didn't know who wrote it. Each note gets preserved in a sandwich bag I keep under my knickers in my dresser.

It's become standard for me to remove my FemCap at lunch time, reinserting it with my nightly shower. Today, I notice something that gives my stomach a twist. I'm out of spermicide jelly. Shit. I've no time to get to the pharmacy to get more. Quickly, I dial my doctor's office.

"May I speak to Dr. Gilmore please?" I ask the receptionist who answers my call.

"May I tell her who's calling?" The polite inquiry and my answer are followed by several minutes of silence.

"Anna?"

"Blair, you really need to get some music for when people are on hold."

"Ha. You're so witty. You're one of only a handful of people that I put on hold. Everyone else has to leave a message."