Page 26 of Resisting Mr Black

The cold night air envelops me as I step outside onto the pavement and the full extent of my drunken state smacks me like a hammer between the eyes. He seems to have a sixth sense for it and loops an arm around my waist, keeping me upright. I lean my head against his broad chest and breathe in his fresh scent and immediately feel safe.

Lucy points over to the other side of the road. “Mark’s just parked up over there.”

“I’m taking Sophie home,” Art announces in a way which suggests the decision has already been made.

I don’t even try to raise my head from his chest because it will take too much effort but notice Lucy looking at me to check I’m fine with him doing that.

“It’s okay,” I mumble.

“Okay. See you in the morning.” Lucy flashes her eyes at me and gives us a drunken wave as she crosses the road.

Art guides me over to his car and bundles me into the passenger seat. I lean my head against the side of the chair, my eyelids growing heavy as the vibration of the engine lulls my alcohol addled brain to sleep.

All I can think about is how I’m so glad he’s here. I know I shouldn’t feel this way about him. My gut is still telling me he’s dangerous and if I let him in he’s going to hurt me.

“Why are you here tonight?”

“I was in the area,” he replies evasively and, in my drunken state, I don’t have the energy to push him.

I close my eyes. “Are you my guardian angel?”

“If you want me to be.”

I sigh. “It’s too bad I have to stay away from you.”

“Why do you have to stay away from me?”

“Because you’re dangerous.”

“You’re drunk.” His reply is curt, as if he’s run out of patience.

I am drunk. I’m very drunk.

I must drift off to sleep because the next thing I know we’ve stopped moving and the passenger door is open and the cold night air is rushing in.

“We’re home,” he says softly. He closes his large hands around mine and lifts me out of the car onto the pavement, propping me up against the warm, hard length of his body as he closes the car door. He scoops me up in his arms like a rag doll and carries me over the threshold and it feels so right. My eyelids become heavy again and my head rests against the curve of his collarbone as if it were made to fit. I hear the thud of his heart in his chest. I relax into him, curling my hand around the back of his neck, feeling safe and protected. I close my eyes. I hear the hum of the lift as we travel upwards and the slide of the doors as they open, then the click of the key in the lock and the sound of the door closing behind me. He must have grabbed my keys out of my bag. I open my eyes slightly as I’m lowered onto the bed, then his arms slide out from beneath me and I want to cry out in protest, but the softness of the pillow beneath my head has me snuggling into it.

My right foot is gently lifted, and my shoe slipped off, then the same happens to my left and when I manage to open my eyes again his dark silhouette is knelt in front of me. He’s not taking advantage of me. He’s looking after me. He’s being kind and caring, not stern or dominant or anything like I’d expect someone who is into kinky sex to be.

“Are you into S & M?” I blurt.

“I’ll get you some water,” he says as if I haven’t asked the question and strokes his fingertips over my cheekbone causing my eyes to flutter closed.

“Sleep.” I feel a brush of lips against my forehead and then I drift off to sleep.

Seven

The piercing sound of an alarm jackhammers into my brain, jolting me awake. I flail a hand about in the air until it lands on my bedside clock, stab my finger on the button snoozing the alarm, and say a silent prayer the noise has stopped.

I wrench one eye open and wince as the bright morning sunshine filters through the cream bedroom curtain. Every trace of moisture has evaporated from my mouth leaving my tongue feeling as rough as sandpaper. I groan and heave myself onto my back and press a sweaty palm against my forehead to try and dull the pneumatic drill-like sensation hammering away at both temples.

A glass of water and two paracetamols sit on the glass bedside table. I frown. It doesn’t seem like something I’d do when I’ve come home drunk. I glance down to find I’m still wearing last night’s clothes. My crumpled black dress has ridden up to my thighs, but my shoes sit in front of the wardrobe, paired up rather than sprawledall over the floor like they usually would be. I frown again. Something seems off and I don’t know what.

I haul myself upright and swing my feet to the floor glancing at my bedside clock. It’s half past seven.

Shit!

I’ve got to get ready for work.