My back arches, and I split apart, crying out his name as the orgasm blinds me.
“Shit.”
He doesn’t stop until my body turns lax. I open my eyes, and he drops a final kiss to the inside of my thigh.
“I love it when you come against my mouth,” he rasps.
“Me, too.”
Like the gentleman he is, he pulls up my underwear and jeans for me. I place my hands on his chest when he stands. My head is still in the clouds.
“I think our time is up,” he says. “We should get you home.”
We haven’t been here for two hours yet. I want to leave, too.
I couldn’t care less where he takes me now. My body is pulsing and growing ever desperate for more of him. “Uh-huh.”
Laughing, he pulls me along, and I skate forwards, having to stifle a giggle as I spot the two wet patches on his knees. I bet he was freezing down there. I, however, was molten hot.
I fall into his chest, and he wraps me in a hug, kissing the crook of my neck.
“I love you, Hollywood.”
His lips smile against my skin. “I love you, too.”
“Do we really have to leave? I don’t want to let you go tonight. There’s so much more we need to do.”
He pulls back, and his eyebrow arches. “Oh, really?”
“I need to be closer to you. I want to feel you inside me.”
“Let’s go. I’m staying over.”
“You’ll have to put your hand over my mouth so I don’t make too much noise.”
His nose flares. “Change your fucking shoes. We’re out of here.”
I laugh all the way back to the bench.
“Easy, Spence,” I say as he rips the skates off his feet.
“I’m three seconds away from pouncing on you,” he says flatly. I’m sure his hands are shaking as he puts his shoes back on. Poor boy hasn’t come yet. I should sort that out for him, but I love it when we burst into a room and he can’t get inside me fast enough. I can’t get enough of him.
He takes my hand, and we run to his car.
Forty-Seven
Indie
“You doing okay?” I ask him as his knuckles turn white around the steering wheel.
He doesn’t look at me, but he does take a very deep breath to calm himself. Oh, it’s not anger, though. I smile, knowing that it’s frustration. He’s all pent up and we’re still five minutes away from mine.
“You’re loving this,” he accuses.
“A little. I’m anxious to get back, too. I can’t wait to feel you slide inside me while your mouth is on my neck, kissing and biting.”
“Indie.” His voice is a threat and a promise, and it makes my pulse race. I’m so ready for him I’m surprised I haven’t combusted yet. He turns me on so much, I feel like I’m going insane.
He pulls into my drive and slams the brakes on as if a child has run out in front of us.
“Jesus, Spence!”
“Sorry. Come on. Do you think your mum will be in bed?” he asks, getting out of the car at lightning speed.
I follow him, unable to stop smiling like an idiot.
“Probably. She’s been going to bed earlier lately.”
It’s a good thing because she gets up early, makes tea, and eats breakfast. She also makes it for me. We’ve actually sat at the table and had breakfast together.
I unlock the door and let us in.
“The light is still on,” I say as he bends to kiss my neck.
Groaning, he looks over his shoulder. “She’s still up?”
I almost bite my lip off. Am I really going to have to stand there throbbing with a visual of Spencer underneath me while I have a conversation with my bloody mother?
“Rain check. I’m sure she’ll go to bed soon.” I walk past him, into the living room.
She’s on the sofa.
She’s very still.
Blood drains from my face. “Mum?”
Spencer, hearing the hollow tone in my voice, pushes past me.
“Shit!” he hisses and runs to her.
She’s laying on the sofa, arm stretched out, almost pointing to the empty pack of pills on the floor.
No. She’s fine. She’s pale but she hasn’t been sleeping too well since our story was splashed all over the internet.
Spencer kneels in front of her and pulls his phone out of his pocket, fumbling as he rushes to make a call.
I can’t move. I’m frozen to the spot. But I want to move. I want to take off.
Stop freaking out, she’s just asleep.
Her chest will move in a second.
My ears ring. I blink hard but nothing changes. She’s still lying there.
“Mum, get up,” I whisper. No way would she leave me.
I’m aware of Spencer now on loudspeaker to the emergency services.
And I’m acutely aware of the empty bottle of vodka beside my mum’s lifeless body.
This can’t be right… she wouldn’t do this. There must be something wrong. I could be dreaming. Mum was getting better. She wouldn’t try to take her own life. No way. She’s probably just taken the last two pills in the bottle and is in a deep sleep.
The vodka is just a slip up.
That’s what it’ll be.
She wouldn’t leave me now. She promised.
No.
We had plans!
“She’s fine,” I say.
Spencer ignores me.
What is he doing?
He tilts Mum’s head back and listens.
“She’s fine!” I shout, realising what he’s about to do. “No, don’t!”
“…chest compressions…”
Two words I never want to hear ring down the phone like a foghorn.
The operator wants him to perform CPR on my mum.
Because she’s not breathing.
No.
That can’t be…
No.
She’s taken her own life.
My mum has killed herself.
I’m not enough.
My legs crash to the floor, and I slump forwards, my forearms splayed out on the carpet. I gasp for breath, but my lungs feel like they’re covered in lots of tiny holes.
She’s left me, too.
I turn cold, shivering. I’m as cold as I was when they accidentally locked me outside on a frosty February afternoon.
“Mum,” I rasp.
Spencer places both hands on my mum’s chest, and he pumps.
No, no,
