He'll come through

Chapter 11 - all good things must come to an end

Chapter 11

Quinn was dressed and gathering their things when Lilah opened her eyes in the morning. It had been gone midnight when they finally slept, Quinn stroking her hair as she settled on his chest.

As he spotted her wake up he smiled, she stretched provocatively and the sheet fell away from her body.

                “We’ve got lots to do Miss Hussy! Are you trying to sidetrack me?”

She shook her head, “if I was trying to do that, then I’d do something like this...” Turning onto her knees she stalked across the bed and reached for his belt, immediately unbuckling it, pulling him down on top of her.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Panting, he rolled onto his back and watched as she gracefully climbed to her feet, strolling across the bedroom completely, beautifully naked as she reached the bathroom she glanced over her shoulder, “I’m just going to have a quick shower, I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

He groaned, he’d showered, changed and was already to go, he glanced down at his unbuttoned trousers, the t-shirt that was thrown onto the floor. He needed a cold shower, if not another warm one. The temptation to join her in the cubicle was immense, but they had a deadline. He’d ordered breakfast to go, Amir had paid their bill via phone, the car was filled with fuel and they had a six hour drive to get them to first Amir’s then to the Embassy to get her home. Quinn jumped up to ignore the heavy feeling that the thought of her leaving gave him. Lust wasn’t an emotion, once she was out of his sight he’d be fine, he knew that.

                “You’ll need to sit low in the seat if we pass any cars Blondie, ok? We’re still fairly obvious, and we’ve no idea how far the network extends for those people who stopped the bus, not at least until Amir identifies them.”  He was firing the ignition in the hotel car park, but he knew Lilah was only half listening; her nose was well and truly stuck into the virtual hamper of food the hotel provided. Two large cups of coffee sat on the dashboard, and he already feared that one would end up in his lap on any uneven roads.

                “What do you want? There’s bread, croissants with jam...” she peered at something more closely, “no honey, and some sort of pastry with sugar on top...and cheese...” She held another package up to the light, “and THAT is something sweet and sticky! Yum.” When she realised there was no response from him, she looked up at him, “do you want anything?”

He shook his head, “coffee’s good for me.” He’d never seen someone so enthusiastic over food. He’d thought the previous day that it was purely because they’d barely eaten for days, but after eating several meals, she was still happy to order more and more food and ate every mouthful with pleasure...at this moment, pure, unadulterated pleasure. He adjusted his trousers; suddenly things were all a little more tight for him.

                “Taste this!” she breathed, holding out some sort of almond topped milk based tart. When he opened his mouth, she slid the food in and he closed his lips around her fingers sucking them both briefly.  She gulped at the sudden overtly sexual gesture and Quinn smiled, he’d wanted to get back in control! Now he was.

The drive was long and boring in parts, not that the scenery wasn’t beautiful, but it was unchanging for hours at a time, so soon all enthusiasm ran out, coupled with that they had no real music to listen to, and most of the journey there was no significant radio reception. Quinn was used to quiet, to trips like this, but he knew that in the current climate of media overload, this was a hard thing to tolerate.

                “Tell me about your childhood,” he asked her as they hit another long run of flat open dusty road.

She leaned back in her seat, and thought for a moment, “well I imagine it’s the opposite of the one you talked about. My parents tried to live self sufficiently, so we had a vegetable garden, a chicken coop, the odd pig or sheep. My father is a wood worker, he has made some beautiful crafts, and sold lots of ornaments and household goods, and when money was tight, he’d create a kitchen or a dining table, some bespoke piece, and then we’d have money for a holiday. We’d often go to Ireland and borrow a real gypsy caravan from my mother’s uncle. Ireland back then was made for slow horse drawn vehicles and I would run alongside the wagon picking daisies, then sit next to my Dad and make a daisy chain. My mother would be inside cooking stew.” She chuckled at memories, “you’d knock a door and a farmer would give you a few eggs, or a piece of bacon, we’d always take lots of rhubarb or soft berries from our garden for the trip...they were like a currency, trading and bartering.”