All Mine (The All Mine Series), page 28
‘Can I shower?’ he asked and she nodded at his reflection, suddenly having lost the ability to speak. Reaching into the cubicle, he turned the water to full pelt. As she tied her hair up to wash her face, Etienne began to undress behind her. He undid the buttons of his shirt, peeling it off to reveal his muscular and smooth chest. The line of hair starting from his belly button and heading down. His shoulder had a bruise forming on it already, from where he hit the floor, showing blue-green under the skin. She smoothed her cleanser over her face on autopilot, her eyes glued to him. He pulled at his belt and then released the buttons of his jeans. Shucking them down over his hips, they fell to the floor and he stepped out of them, standing only now in his fitted boxers. She put the hot cloth to her cheeks and began to massage off the cleanser in careful circles, thinking about what was under those shorts.
He raised one eyebrow at her in the mirror and then turned. She let her eyes feast on the contours of his back, the round of his buttocks, the long, strong legs. Using both thumbs, he pulled down the shorts. She realised she’d stopped attempting any kind of face washing and let the hot cloth fall in the sink. He looked at her over his shoulder and flashed her a smile, before stepping into the shower, back still turned. She was gripping the sink with both hands.
She’d never seen him naked. He’d never seen her naked. Not completely. She wanted to see him all, feel all of him.
She pulled her top over her head in one movement. Her own shoulder smarted where Toothpick had shoved her, but she didn’t give it a second thought. She pushed down her jeans and left them there on the floor. Unclipping her bra, she let it fall and she kicked her thong to join his pile of clothes.
His back was still to her as he ran his hands through his hair under the jet, sending the water cascading down his body. Opening the shower door, she stepped inside, pressing herself against his back and hearing his gasp above the sound of the beating water as she wrapped her arms around him from behind.
‘Bella,’ he said quietly, and she smiled to herself, her forehead to his shoulder, her breasts to his ribs. He was the only person in the world to call her that and she loved the sound of it. She explored his chest with her fingers, feeling his nipples bud like hers under her fingertips. She trailed her fingers lower, skating over the taut abs which quivered slightly at her touch, brushing the tiny trail of hair from his navel and down. He turned in her grasp before she could reach his cock, his body soap slippery against her, and pulled her further into the torrent of water so that it ran in rivulets from her breasts, and down between her legs. She widened her stance, letting the water run where she wanted his fingers, his breath, his cock.
‘I want you,’ she said, voice husky. She put her hands to his head, gently avoiding the cut, and held his face to hers. The first touch of his lips was soft and tender. It grew and deepened until he was holding her so tightly and kissing her so completely that it felt never-ending. God, she loved him. His hands roamed, hers searched, they learned each other’s backs and shoulders as they tightened their grips on each other. Turning each other this way and that underneath the water, pressing her back at one point onto shockingly cold tiles, the heat of his erection searing her stomach.
Slowly, without her realising what he was doing at first, he loosened his grip and pulled away, putting a few inches between their bodies. He turned the lever and the water stopped. Her breath shuddered with anticipation.
‘I want you, Etienne,’ she said again. ‘I want all of you.’
He led her by the hand out of the shower and she saw his eyes flick over her body, the clench of his jaw.
‘I want you too,’ he said, voice rough. ‘But not tonight, Bella.’
She growled low in her throat and he laughed. Pulling one of her fluffy white bath towels from the rail, he wrapped her in it and began to rub her shoulders, her arms, her breasts. She felt her body strain for him, but he calmly smiled that half-smile and continued to dry her.
‘You only have a few days left,’ he said. ‘We can wait. And I’m not going to make it harder for you.’
She growled again in frustration.
‘Although it’s hard for me too,’ he said, tucking the towel around her. ‘Very hard indeed.’ He took her hand and wrapped it around his cock, holding it there against the throb and heat for a second. She gasped. He removed her hand and she groaned.
‘Tonight, I’m going to make this easy for you . . .’ Etienne continued, leading her from the bathroom to her bedroom and sitting her on the end of her bed. She wanted to pull him onto her, to wrap her legs around his body. But he sank to his knees in front of her instead.
‘I’m going to make this easy for you to enjoy.’
Etienne tugged at the towel and it fell away. He knelt before her and his tongue flicked his bottom lip as he swept his eyes over her breasts, her belly and down. Running his hands lightly over her, he pushed her backwards on the bed so that she lay flat on her back with her knees off the end. She reached her hands above her head, holding on to the bed sheets.
‘I’m going to make it easy for you to come . . .’
Etienne put his hands on her knees. Her stomach flipped over.
‘And then you’re going to rest . . .’
His hands gently eased her knees apart until she knew he was staring right at her most secret part.
‘And then you’re going to sleep.’
She wasn’t listening any more. Her breathing was ragged already and his fingers were only skimming her inner thighs, heading inwards to where she wanted them so badly. Holding her legs wide now, he parted her lips and she realised how wet she was. His fingers stroked the slickness, dipped inside her and then again, one finger, then two. And she arched her back on the bed at the penetration, wanting more.
Then, nothing.
He withdrew.
Isabella’s whole body throbbed with longing. With the need to be touched, kissed, filled. She writhed on her sheets, creasing the cotton between her fists.
Etienne held her in place, one hand on each thigh, stilling her. She glanced at him there, his face between her legs, the hint of a smile playing on his mouth. She dropped her head back to the pillow and knew he was making her wait.
He rubbed the stubble of his beard on her left inner thigh and she groaned at the proximity of him. He pressed his lips to her mound, his beard scratching her softness and leaving it tingling. And then the tip of his tongue flicked out, so soft, so gentle as to be almost not there. But the next pushed firmly against her clit and she gasped at the current that charged through her. Her back arched like a bow, breasts pushing to the sky. Isabella closed her eyes to feel everything, to lose herself to this feeling. This moment. Again, and again, flicking, licking, gently at first, as though exploring, tasting, testing reactions. Then longer strokes, covering all of her, his moans vibrating against her core. She filled her hands with her own full breasts, and put her fingers to her nipples, pulling them to peaks. His hand came between her legs, two fingers inside her plunging, again and again and again as he pressed his whole mouth over her clit and sucked it inside his mouth, holding it between his teeth for a second before tugging with his lips. His other hand reached over her belly to her breasts and he put his hand over hers and suddenly she was reaching and reaching for something that crashed over her in such waves that behind her closed eyes she saw sparks and then stars and fell a thousand miles into a warm black nothing.
Chapter Sixty
Etienne
Etienne opened his eyes into a mass of chestnut-brown waves on the pillow. Isabella was still sleeping, the rise and fall of her chest almost, but not quite, soundless − like a cat in the second it begins to purr. His arm was still slung over her waist and she fitted perfectly to his front. Her bottom pushed into his groin was having an immediate effect now that he was awake, or maybe her closeness had woken him.
He breathed her in – the lemony shampoo, the cream of her skin – before exhaling slowly, fully. The light was already shining through the gaps in the wooden blinds and it was time to go. However nice this was – and it was probably the nicest way in which he’d ever woken up – he had to get out of bed. He had a lot to do if his plan was going to work.
He shifted in the bed and she awoke, turning towards him, winding her arm around him even before she had opened her eyes. She was sleep-smudged and beautiful, bare-faced, and he could have stayed there all day, looking at her, touching her . . .
But there was no time for distractions. The thought made him laugh. He was turning into Isabella.
Last night, after she’d come, Etienne had rolled her into bed and switched out the light. He’d held her and stroked her head as she’d drifted immediately into a deep sleep, exhausted by the shock of the day.
He lay there for a long time, not daring to move in case he woke her up. But also, to watch her as he still tasted her on his mouth. The twitch of her nose when a stray hair fell on it. Her slightly parted lips. The way her eyelids moved occasionally with dreams underneath. His heart swelled with love.
Finally, she woke. As her eyes adjusted to the light and she spotted him there, she smiled.
‘I have to go,’ Etienne said, pressing a kiss to her mouth, and she made a noise of protest and pulled him in tight. He laughed and kissed her again, before scooting out of the bed.
‘You sort the skip out. I’ll sort the rest,’ he said, pulling his boxers on and noticing her admiring the view. His jeans came next. ‘I’m going home to check Fred is okay and have a shower and then I’ll get to work.’
‘Are you sure I shouldn’t postpone the opening? Cancel the bookings?’ She sat up and stretched her arms above her head, letting the sheet fall from her breasts. He stopped with one sock midway on, and blinked, trying to keep his focus. Stuffing his foot into his trainer, he knew the only way to get out of here without ravishing that body was to leave fast. He grabbed his shirt from the bathroom, blew her a kiss and ran out the door.
Once he was showered – which was quite a feat with an erection like a flagpole thinking about the shower he’d had with Isabella the night before – and was at the kitchen table, he began making his list of contacts. It would take everyone he knew to make the plan come to life but he was determined to make it work. Isabella was depending on him and he wouldn’t let her down.
He rang Rosie and Wren first. They immediately promised to pass the word on to all the clubs that met in The Lit Lounge. Walker promised to email everyone who had taken in a Spare Room Sleepover guest, and also contact the Malones so that Millie could pass on to her friends on Snapchat. Fox put the word out on Reggie’s class WhatsApp group. That was already more than one hundred people who knew Isabella that he was sure would want to help. After everything she’d done for Honeybridge, it was time for Honeybridge to repay the gesture.
Once he’d called everyone, he wrote up the list.
Wooden chairs x 60
Tables x 12 (wood if possible)
Mirrors – as many as possible – different sizes and shapes welcome
Glasses x hundreds
Luckily the crockery and cutlery just needed putting through the dishwasher and nothing had been touched in the kitchen.
It was the dining room that he needed to focus on. And the marketing. But he had an idea for that too.
‘You okay, Boss?’ Mile End Mickey asked, pulling on his apron. ‘I heard you were the hero of the day yesterday at Tutto Mio.’
‘Not so hard to believe, is it?’ Etienne said and added pictures/art to his list of things to do.
‘Finally realised you fancied her then?’ Mile End Mickey waved a rolling pin his way. ‘Thank fuck for that.’
Chapter Sixty-One
Isabella
By four o’clock in the afternoon, Isabella was starting to panic. The restaurant was still an empty space, although it was clean and free of debris and glass, and she was meant to open the next day. There was a brown bloodstain soaked into one section of the old floorboards which hadn’t scrubbed out, but it didn’t look out of place as the floorboards were reclaimed and bore bruises and memories from their previous lives anyway. It was now another piece of history – and one she felt curiously proud of. No matter what people threw at her, she was going to get through it.
She messaged Etienne again. This time a single question mark. She couldn’t see how this was going to work. The closer it got to the end of the day, the less she could imagine opening tomorrow lunchtime with a fully functioning restaurant. All day, he’d replied saying not to worry, to focus on the kitchen and the team.
Nonna had cooked endlessly, tray after tray of meatballs, preparing for the grand opening. Whenever Isabella expressed any kind of concern about whether it would happen, she’d shrugged and patted her arm, and said that Etienne was sorting it.
But by four o’clock, her anxiety was kicking in. Her message to him whizzed off into hyperspace and she awaited his reply. But it came in person. He rushed through the front door, rosy from the cold and with an excited smile.
‘Come outside,’ he said. ‘We’re ready for you.’
She frowned, confused. Who was he with and what was he doing and how was this going to get a restaurant open tomorrow? What was with all the mystery? She stepped into the coat that Etienne held out for her and let him wrap a scarf around her neck. He kissed her quickly on the nose, then gestured for her to lead the way out to the square.
The cheering took her by surprise. The TV camera in her face was also a bit of a shock. But the long line of people waiting outside the restaurant was the most astonishing thing she’d ever seen. The queue went all round the four sides of the square. People of all ages, some she recognised, others she didn’t, all bundled up in coats and hats, holding various items in their hands or in bags.
She recognised the cameraman. It was the same guy from the Spare Room Sleepover, and there beside him was the reporter, Michelle Carter. The camera was firmly focused on Isabella, capturing the confusion and the wonder on her face.
Etienne wrapped her in his arms and even though she’d only missed him since this morning, it had already been too long.
‘What’s going on?’ she whispered into his shoulder.
‘You’ll see,’ he said, pressing a kiss to her mouth.
Michelle Carter cleared her throat and puffed her hair with one hand.
‘Ready?’ she said to Isabella, who had absolutely no idea what she should be ready for. Michelle, without waiting, beamed down the camera as she started.
‘Here we are back in Honeybridge, the riverside town which doesn’t often get media attention. But twice in the last week, it has shown itself to be the place to live if you love community and friendship.’
Michelle spread her arm wide, and the cameraman panned from her to Isabella and Etienne and then slowly along the waiting line of residents, following them on all sides. As they saw the camera pointed their way they did a crazy-looking Mexican wave, with various household items in their hands.
‘A few days ago we reported on the Spare Room Sleepover. A genius campaign created by Isabella Tucci, here with her boyfriend, Etienne Martin.’ Michelle moved to stand next to them. Etienne’s arm remained around her shoulders, holding her in place. The camera refocused on them and Isabella was glad she’d taken her apron off already.
‘Her campaign brought the entire community together to make sure the residents affected by a fire in the elderly residential home had somewhere safe and comfortable to stay. She organised it all even though she’s only lived here for a few months, putting people first and helping where she could.’
Isabella could feel a flush creeping up her neck.
‘So, when Isabella’s family and her new restaurant were the victims of a brutal attack which destroyed all her hard work, the community were more than happy to step up for her too.’
Michelle gestured with her arm again, showing the sheer numbers of people gathered in the square.
‘Right, let’s get this restaurant sorted out!’ she called to the waiting line.
The cameraman stepped aside and Michelle waved the first people forward. It was like a receiving line at a wedding, Isabella and Etienne standing by the door of Tutto Mio as the line slowly edged towards them. First in line were the waiting team, all wearing their blue shirts and jeans under their jackets. They proceeded past her into the restaurant, talking about ‘taking positions’.
Wren and Rosie came next, carrying a whitewashed wooden table between them which would seat four. Isabella recognised it from The Lit Lounge.
‘From us to you,’ Wren said, pausing to give her a squeeze as they carried it inside. The camera caught it all, including the brimming tears as Isabella finally realised what Etienne had organised. He winked at her and followed Wren inside to direct where everything went.
The next table was a six-seater, old and pine, carried by a family with a bespectacled six-year-old girl who said ‘Ciao’ with a shy smile.
The next were Amber’s next-door neighbours, who she had never met, but who told her they had heard so much about her. She blinked, taken aback by people’s kindness.
After another fifteen tables of various sizes were brought in by people she recognised, and others she didn’t, the chairs started. She put her hands to her head in astonishment.
Wooden chairs, white-painted chairs, wicker chairs and a couple of benches came through. A gorgeous dark-haired man introduced himself as Toby, Riley’s dad, and presented her with a high chair and a hug, saying, ‘Every restaurant needs one.’
Everyone headed one by one into the restaurant with their offerings and reappeared a few moments later, waving at the camera, smiling, happy.
Next came glasses. She recognised a few of the older people from the Heart of Honeybridge. Brigitta turned up with a set of sherry glasses, beautiful and stylish, as Isabella would expect.
‘We managed to get into some of the units to claim some items,’ Brigitta said, tapping her nose, and Isabella gave her a tearful smile as she went in the front door.
