The Watcher

39. Electricity

I'd spent years watching soppy romantic films. In each of them, I'd sat with my wine glass hovering against my lower lip, as I was mesmerised by the way the figures on the screen unfurled together. Hands raced over skin while lips battled together, all of it captured on film in seductive slow motion.

Every time I told myself that I'd chosen the film for the feel-good happy ending, but it was always the first kiss that held my attention. It was like the electricity between the actors leeched from the screen, making me feel that buzz of excitement I'd only ever felt with Mr R, but without the sour taste of regret.

All I'd ever wanted was to experience a kiss like that.

Now I was drowning in it; completely absorbed in the way Atticus used my body to play a symphony of pleasure. As his mouth opened over mine, my body clung to him, my nails clawing at the fabric of his shirt.

I was ecstatic when I felt his hands run deliciously over my body, while the weight of him above me slowly pushed me back on to his bed. Reaching for my thigh, he hitched my leg around the back of his.

I instantly shoved both hands into the roots of his hair, hearing him moan as my fingers reached his nape. His lips left mine, only to kiss their way down my neck and make an exquisite circular path over my collar bone and back again.

It had been over a week of this: starting some innocuous task, like watching Atticus clean the pile of coffee mugs while I half-heartedly dried them, then ending with his hands roving over my skin, while I tried to stop my blood racing beyond control. It didn't matter what it was, we always found our way back to this... this bliss. Where all thought and reason ceased to exist and all that mattered was the electricity between us.

Folding laundry led to Atticus' shirt joining the crumpled pile on my bedroom floor. Washing dishes culminated in sudsy hands slipping over heated skin and Atticus' damp handprints branded on the back of my jeans. Even just feeling his hand in mine as we walked from work to the flat was enough to make my mind wander. The feeling of his hot palm pressed against mine, while his thumb drew languid circles on the back of my hand, made me think of what it would feel like when I eventually felt his body pressed against mine.

Because, despite my best efforts, Atticus always pulled away before things could go any further and the bitter voices would rush to fill the void of his touch. Sometimes it was a welcome reprieve from voices raging in my head; each one taunted by the way he looked at me. Other times I wished he'd never stop, if only to have a way to shut down my mind. Either way, this limbo of being adored and frustrated was so far from my comfort zone that I didn't know how to feel. All I knew was that I wasn't ready to give up the feeling of his lips on mine. Not yet. It might not have been my usual habit of fucking and fighting the fear away, but I'd be damned if it didn't feel just as good.

Like clockwork, I felt Atticus shift above me. My hands tightened my grip on his tresses, holding him to me for just a second or two longer.

A husky chuckle left his lips as he pulled away; his hooded gaze dragging over my body. His eyes lingered on the way my vest top had hitched up giving a glimpse of the black lace bra beneath with every heavy breath I took.

I watched with bated breath as his slowly reached forward. Inch by inch his fingertips trailed up my waist, his rapt gaze following their path.

A shiver ran down my spine as his warm touch skated across my ribs, the sensitive skin hyperaware of how close he was. My teeth bit into my lower lip as his fingers grazed the thin black fabric and his eyes slowly met my own. The heat beneath their surface made my body tremble in anticipation.

"You want it don't you. Whore..."

My body flinched as the remnant of a memory tore through the moment. Like the lash of a whip, I felt the darkness in me cut the tension between us.

Atticus knelt back as I tugged my top back into place.

"Anna?"

I could hear the concern in his voice, and I knew I should have been pleased that he cared, but instead I hated the fact he had anything to be concerned about.

I shuffled off the bed to grab the navy jumper which had been discarded on Atticus' bedroom floor.

As I straightened, Atticus hooked his finger through my belt loop, pulling me towards him as he sat on the edge of the bed.

I wrestled into the jumper, trying to ignore the way his hands trailed along the backs of my thighs. Even through the denim of my skinny jeans I could feel his nimble fingers caress the fabric, grazing the swell of my bum with each sweep.

"I'm fine," I mumbled through cheap polyester and hair, as I forced the jumper in place. It was better to answer now than when my eyes met his. It was becoming harder and harder to lie to him.

"I just remembered I promised Cal and Emma that I'd meet them in town," I said while I fiddled with the straps of my vest top under the jumper. "Emma wants a new dress for that Fire Festival this weekend, and Cal's more of a 'if you've got it flaunt it type', so she wanted a second opinion." It was half true. I had said I would help, but they wouldn't have finished their shift at the bar by now.

My eyes flit to his as my babbling came to an end. The blue pierced straight through me, scalding heat boring through ice.

"What's going on, Anna?"

"Nothing,"

My stomach squirmed.

A shadow passed through his eyes, as fleeting as a brisk a breeze on a winter's night and equally dark. With it, I felt his grip loosen and for a moment I mourned the loss because for the first time in the past week it felt like something had shifted between us, like there was something tangible to lose.

In an attempt to grasp at whatever was slipping through my fingers, I leant forward, capturing his lips with mine as my fingers delved into his hair. His body strained to meet me, his neck tilting back as he moaned softly into our kiss. His hands clamped around the back of my thighs, holding me in place.

"I need to go," I murmured against his lips, brushing lightly with each word.

"Or you could stay," he breathed, slowly tracing my collar bone while his hands pulled me into his lap. "And we could see what that black lace bra looks like on my bedroom floor." He grinned as his hands crept under my top and spanned my waist.

My lip caught between my teeth as my imagination went wild. The temptation of taking a tantalising step forward was almost too much to resist.

I pulled my phone from my back pocket and glanced at the time. "You're a bad influence," I grinned as I lightly tossed my phone onto the bedside table. I had an hour before Emma and Cal would finish work and head to the shops, and there was a lot we could do in an hour.

My lips collided with his and the thirty minutes that followed were just a blur of touch and sensation: the feel of his hands running over my body; the heat of his tongue teasing my skin; the sound of our breath punctuating the silence. Mine, gasping to try and still my racing heart, and his confessing the knife edge he was tiptoeing, between the Watcher he was and the humanity he'd discovered.

Just thirty minutes and we were too lost to hear the crash of the distant kitchen door, but neither of us could ignore the venom in Olivia's voice as she found us and sneered, "I knew it."