Mr Americano - ALAN RICKMAN fanfic

Chapter 7 - The Way He Kissed Me

If you're unsure, the image above comes from the movie 'Dark Harbour.'

Finally, a move, which as you can gather from the title leaves a deep impression on Rebecca. 

Since we're still in Lockdown here, I have another chapter for you!

Just a PRE-WARNING - this fic will contain MATURE content from here onward and will get pretty graphically heated throughout the chapters, so if it's not your thing, you may want to backtrack...OR, if it is your thing, enjoy!

Finally Mr Americano makes a move. He's been treading carefully so far, being the considerate man he is to Rebecca's situation.

...................

Anyone with more than a single lone brain cell knows that you do not eat noodles in an expensive car on a timed lunch break in front of a man you fantasize of ripping the knickers off you.

And that's where we're at right about now.

Picture it. Noodles dangling from my mouth like some ugly-ass sea creature whilst I desperately tried to contain them, slurping, doing the ol' 'hide it with my hand, carry on and hope to god he doesn't notice my lack of grace' trick. Why couldn't I have suggested something else! Why.

As it tuned out, things weren't so bad after all. Yep. I'm kidding. T-minus five and I'd dropped a fork full of noodles down my front.

"Oh bugger!"

Alan snorted, as I glamorously picked up the noodles with my fingers and flung them back in the box. Oh sweet Jesus why. I could feel my cheeks going bright pink and he clearly noticed. There was now an oily stain left on my uniform to make matters worse. Sexy.

"I'm sorry, I'm so clumsy," I sigh. "In my defence there really isn't a way to eat these lady like. At least it didn't go on your car seats."

"Well that is fortunate."

Yep. He's definitely cancelling our second lunch date. Oh god, what's that! Oh no, there's a bloody noodle in my cleavage. Do not retrieve noodle. I repeat, do NOT retrieve noodle.

"Thank you Alan."

"For what?"

"Well, not only for buying me lunch, but for choosing a fork instead of chopsticks. It could have been a lot worse."

What are you talking about! There's a bloody noodle between your tits!

"Chopsticks, oh now that would have been bloody disastrous."

Laughter fills the car, and it's wonderful. He has a great laugh that reverberates bass-like through his chest.

...And really that's how easy it was. For two days we experienced lunch together. Two glorious days before he announced that he had finished his project with the BBC and my heart sank. It was over. Mr Americano was leaving London (for now).

"Do you think we'll see each other again, perhaps when you're back in London?" I ask, unable to stop myself. I could already feel his loss.

Alan smiles warmly. "I think that's inevitable, don't you?"

"I don't know, you tell me," I tease, "That's why I asked."

Oh he liked that. A smile dances between us. The way he looks at me causes my heart to flit around, palpitating irregularly in my chest. It's time for me to head back to the café and I know this is goodbye. So handsome he looks in his black sweater, his salt and pepper hair shaggy and loose, whisping a little across his forehead. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't fantasized about pushing my fingers through it as he deliciously screws me.

He's looking at me; I'm looking at him, his intoxicating aroma engulfing the air around us, seducing my senses, and then, slowly he moves in. My breath hitches before his lips meet mine in a soft, massaging caress. The sensuality he emits unleashes tingles throughout my entire body right to my core. He awakens something inside of me that makes me deliciously twitch as a woman. An involuntary sigh leaves my mouth into his. It was more perfect than I could have ever fantasized about. I feel his finger and thumb come to my chin and he slowly pulls away just millimetres before my lips.

"You have my number," he says in his pantie dropping voice, eyeing my lips. It settles straight between my legs where I feel an insistent throb for more.

I archive this moment in my mind as excellent masturbation material.

I make some kind of noise as a 'yes.' Bloody hell I can't think, can't speak, I'm completely lost to his kiss, his taste... Everything after that became a beautiful blissful blur. I was walking on air as I stepped out of his car that afternoon. I'm surprised I made it back to the café without a car knocking me down.

I found the positive energy Alan had imprinted deflected Scott's negativity whenever he raised his voice or picked fights over the most minuscule things. In order to keep the peace, I found I was letting him get away with things without arguing back. Instead, I would bite my tongue and let him get on with it.

Whilst he sat in front of the TV late on Saturday night, I took the opportunity to take a long soak in the tub. I couldn't stop thinking about Alan. I couldn't comprehend the way he had been so concerned for me, wanted to talk to me, to see me again, to give me his number, to kiss me. Me. Rebecca. For what felt like the longest time, Scott had lowered my self-esteem and made me feel worthless, and then...this. It did happen didn't it? It was hard to believe.

The flicker of vanilla candles glimmers behind my closed lids as I focussed on the warm bubbly water enveloping my aching limbs, thinking back to his kiss. I can still feel it. No one had ever kissed me the way he did. It was the kind of kiss that spoke to my soul, but the things it said seemed almost too good to be true. Still, I remembered his words, that it was "Inevitable" we would see each other again.

My fingers ran over my body thinking of his lips, except they were no longer pressed to mine, but other places, soothing a deep ache that was now burning for him. And there, beneath the peach scented bubbles, I reached between my thighs and gave in to my desires.

Instant guilt wrapped around me like the towel that dried off my damp limbs moments later. I could hear Scott on the phone in the living room ecstatic over his football team's winning victory. His mood that night went from agitated and on edge to pumped and primal. At least he was distracted.

Clearly, as I sit down in our spare bedroom-come-office that evening to continue writing my screen play, so am I. It was Saturday night. I wonder what he's doing. I eye my phone to the right of me fantasizing over the idea of texting him, fighting the internal battle that us girls all have to deal with – should I, shouldn't I, what if scenarios looping through my mind..."

Rebecca, focus.

My fingers dance across the keys as I pick up a flow in my writing, but I'm interrupted when Scott calls me from the living room. He asks me to watch a movie with him. 'The Amityville Horror.' I've seen it a dozen times, but he insists. To keep him happy I sit with him where he pulls me under a blanket. My mind is clearly on other things. He notices and pulls me close, plunging his lips onto my face. Everything about the kiss repulses me, as what followed. It was consensual. It always is, but it was all about him and his release, lasting for a couple of minutes at the most.

I thought of Alan. I tried. I know it was wrong, but it was the only way I would allow Scott to touch me, but it turned out to be so empty and uncoordinated on the couch that the image of Alan left me. Until afterwards. How different he would be. Those beautiful manly hands that clutched his Americano, cupping my bare backside as I straddled him, grinding me deeply to the perfect orgasm. There's no doubt in my mind he could make me come with his voice alone.

Scott could never make me come. At least not now. In the beginning, a few times. Now I was faking orgasms just to keep him happy. Just another part of the loop. I hadn't enjoyed sex in years, but my drive at times was like a raging furnace.