Sunflower

17

HERO'S POV

An errant sunbeam shoots like a dagger into my eye, waking me from a cavernous sleep. I groan and silently curse my mum who obviously came into my room this week and messed with my blinds. I purposefully leave them closed all the time to avoid this very inconvenience. 

Eyes plastered shut with sleep, I stumble out of bed blindly and twist the rod to close them. As I'm about to collapse back onto my mattress, I glimpse a mess of mahogany curls spilling off my pillow and am jolted awake by the memories of last night and the very real Charlie in my bed now.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and blink them into focus as I tiptoe to my dresser and quietly pull out a new pair of briefs. I put them on and gingerly slip back into bed hoping not to disturb her. 

She's laying on her stomach, her head turned toward me with her arms flayed out above her in the shape of a Y. Her caramel colored skin contrasts my white sheets, accentuating the curve of her cheek, the long line of her neck and her petite nose. I only notice now that her freckles, which I thought were confined to the bridge of her nose, actually extend across her cheeks and up into her eyelids. And her lips, impossibly pink, are slightly parted in repose. I fight the urge to peek under the covers.

Despite the early hour (my alarm reads 8am) I come to terms with the fact that I can't fall back asleep. I also hear Diesel stirring downstairs, ready for breakfast and his morning relief. I slip on track pants and a tshirt, then take one last look at Charlie before quietly pulling the door closed behind me.

After feeding Diesel and letting him out in the garden, I turn on the Nespresso machine. I left Milan men's fashion week educated in both fashion and coffee, and have been a convert ever since. 

Sipping from my mug, I go over the events of last night in my head. Charlie and I dancing to Post Malone. Kissing Charlie on the bench beside her mural. The taste of her mouth. The feel of her skin. The sound of her voice as she came.

"Hey." Her voice jolts me back to reality and it startles me so much that coffee sloshes out of my cup and burns my hand. "Oh God, sorry," she says and walks toward me, concern lining her face.

"It's okay," I say, sucking on the tender part of my hand. "I hope I didn't wake you up - it's still early." She's wearing my tshirt from last night and seemingly nothing else. My cock twitches and I silently beg it to stand down.

"No... well I mean yes," she stammers as she leans against the counter opposite me. "I heard you, but it's okay. I should probably be going anyway."

"Why?" I blurt out, setting down my coffee on the counter beside me. "I mean, what's the rush?" Where is this coming from? Does she regret last night?

"I don't know..." She wraps a long dark curl around her fingers and I see that she's weighing her options. "I'm sure you have things to do today..."

Oh, I see. She's trying to gauge if I still want her here. "Come here," I say, grasping her wrists and pulling her into me. "The only thing I want to do today is hang with you," I reassure her as I enclose my arms around her small body and inhale the faint lavender scent of her hair.

"In that case," she says, rising up on her tiptoes to try to bring her eyes up to my level, "is there any more coffee?" She smiles at me cheekily.

I grab another mug and pop a pod into the machine before turning back to her and wrapping my arms around her again. "Plus, I like seeing you in my shirt," I say, wagging my eyebrows and giving her ass a light squeeze. She yelps and I realize it's not from my touch. Diesel has just shoved his cold wet nose into her bum. 

"Diesel, sit," I command. Charlie laughs as she tugs down the tshirt lower on her thighs and backs up against the kitchen cabinets.

When her coffee's ready, we settle onto the couch, her leaning back into me; both sets of feet propped up on the table. "So, what are we doing today?" she asks me while blowing on her mug.

"I have a thing at 3; otherwise I'm wide open," I reply. "Wait, don't you have work today?" Suddenly, I'm scared that my morning with Charlie is about to disappear into thin air.

"No, Hank doesn't work on Fridays, which means I don't work on Fridays," she shrugs smiling. "What's your thing at 3? I mean, if you don't mind saying..." A faint blush of shyness colors her warm cheeks.

"It's a fitting," I reply. "I have a few events for work coming up – and the studio would prefer I not wear track pants and slides." I take a large gulp of my coffee, which is now the perfect temperature.

She giggles – a sound that's fast becoming one of my favorite things in the world. "What are slides?"

"Slides," I say lifting up my leg to show her the one on my foot.

"Ohh, soccer sandals," she replies and I nearly spit out my coffee.

"First off, you're in London, darling," I say with an extra posh accent. "It's football; not soccer. And secondly, they aren't sandals." I roll my eyes dramatically at her American gaffe.

"They don't have shoelaces," she retorts, setting her coffee down on the table. "They're most definitely sandals." She looks at me with a daring smirk on her face.

I finish my coffee and place my mug next to hers. Then I grab her by her arms and bend her over my knee. "You will not refer to them as soccer sandals, young lady," I mock chastise her while smacking her exposed bum. I note, with some dismay, that her panties are back on. "Especially not while you're in this country." 

She alternates between protesting and laughing. 

"Repeat after me," I say, still holding her down. "'I love your slides, Hero.'"

"I will not," she says through gritted teeth. 

One hand holding her down, I use the other to grab the sensitive spot on the inside of her thighs and mercilessly tickle her. She writhes around, half laughing, half screaming, while attempting to escape my hands. She's got a lot of fight for such a small girl; I have to hand it to her. 

Confused by what's happening, Diesel rises from his dog bed and begins barking at us, which is the only reason I think she finally acquiesces. "Fine. 'I love your soccer slides, Hero.'" 

I choose to let the soccer comment go and release her from my grip. When she sits up on her knees next to me, I see that her eyes are narrowed and her face is red – is she really mad? Maybe I went too far.

"You're lucky you're cute," she admonishes, smoothing her hair behind her and then poking me in the chest to reinforce her point. 

She goes to resume her seat on the couch, but I wrap an arm around her and pull her onto my lap facing me. I take her head in my hands and kiss her slowly all over her face. First her forehead, then her nose, followed by both eyelids, both cheeks and her chin; then I say, "I'm lucky you're hot." I smother her mouth with mine and work my tongue inside, reliving how good it felt the first time I did it last night.

"Uh oh," she says coyly. "This feels familiar."

I smile as I kiss her. "Hmmm, I think you might be right," I reply as I lift her up and carry her back to my bedroom.