Goodbye Girl Ch. 04

For days, after their last tryst, he'd found it hard to sleep. He'd been in a foul mood; a bear with a sore head. He'd snapped at colleagues, dropped the ball more than once, forgetting important stuff at work, stuff that could have had a very real impact on peoples lives. Could he risk that happening again? Could he afford to have that emotional disruption in his life, interfering with his job. Was it worth is for one night of bliss with Orla's delectable body? For this searing connection he felt whenever he touched her, whenever he looked into her eyes.

It wasn't.

He broke the kiss, and she made a sound. A sort of half growl and a half moan that came from the back of her throat. It was almost his undoing. He nearly changed his mind and forgot his doubts and let himself fall back into the moment, take whatever he could get, whatever she was willing to give him. But he held fast.

*

It felt glorious. To finally be alone with Greg, to be able to touch him and taste him and press herself against him. Until suddenly it didn't. When Greg stiffened and withdrew from her, his change of mood was as sudden as a change in weather on a March morning. It felt like someone had tipped a bucket of cold water on them, quenching the burning desire which had monopolised her evening. She pulled back and brought herself up right. They stared at each other, and a long moment, that could have been minutes, but could equally have been years, passed between them. Bleak, dark clouds gathered in the midnight sky of his eyes and a frown formed across his brow. She craved to brush it away with her fingers, but the prickle of apprehension that flickered somewhere in her chest, told her she should hold back.

"Greg?"

"Look, I didn't mean for this to happen."

"What do you mean?"

"I have to go."

She blinked, what?

"I can't do this again Orla. I'm sorry."

"Why not? What are you talking about."

"Isn't it obvious?"

"No!"

Again, he took her face in both his hands. "I really like you Orla."

"Oh, okay I understand." But she didn't understand. Her head was spinning, as she searched his face.

He took a deep breath. "I don't want this to just be a series of one night stands. However hard I try, I can't get you out of my head. You've got right under my skin. I can't stop thinking about you, when we aren't together. I dream of you at night. I want to touch you, I want to kiss you, I want to cover every inch of your flesh with my own, and I don't just want to do it now, I want to do it again and again. I want to do it for hours and hours. I want to be with you." Abruptly, he stopped speaking and frowned again.

"Oh." Orla felt like a bomb had exploded inside her, she had no idea what to say, she opened her mouth and closed it again. She couldn't think. He was still holding her face in his hands, still touching her. She was finding it hard tear herself away from the sensation of his touch and focus on his words. And she'd been so wrapped up, so absorbed in her own conflicted feelings, she hadn't given any thought to his. The fuzz of arousal, though swiftly retreating, was still too all-consuming for the her process this new revelation. She frowned, and shook her head slowly, trying to clear it.

He released her. "I should go."

She still couldn't speak.

He was down the stairs before she knew it. Out the door before she had the chance to stop him. She saw his retreating figure, from the window. He looked back, just before he turned the corner. He might have seen her watching him, but she couldn't be sure; it was too dark to see his face. She slumped against the window frame. Her chest hurt. Greg shouldn't be able to make her chest hurt like this. Tim never made her chest hurt.

She was still staring out of the window when she heard the door again.

"Vanessa?"

"Are you ok? Who was that leaving?"

"Nobody"

"Pretty cute for a nobody."

*

By the time he'd made it home, Greg had gone over that final conversation a thousand times in his head, reimagined it in a multitude of different ways. He'd relived the drinks and the meal in the pub. Pulled apart every interaction they'd had; every heated gaze, every word they exchanged and more. He realised he'd hoped it would go differently. Even though he hadn't really thought it through. He wasn't sure how, but on some deep level, he hadn't meant for it to be so final. What it boiled down to was Orla. She hadn't reacted in the way he'd been hoping. He had hoped, on some unconscious level, she was going to tell him she wanted more too, even though, really he had already known she didn't.

He'd given it his best shot. He'd been honest with her. He'd admitted he had feelings for her and told her he wanted more and she'd turned her face away while he'd bared his soul and it hurt. There was nowhere else for them to go from there.

He climbed up the stairs and threw his jacket on the sofa. Then why did he do it? He'd hoped this physical attraction, this earth-shattering chemistry they shared, might be enough to overcome Orla's misgivings about his job. But it wasn't enough. She didn't like him enough, and he was an idiot for imagining any different. He needed to get over himself and move on.

He stripped off and stepped under the shower. It felt good to wash away the day.

When Eleanor had rung and asked if he would come, at first he'd tried to say he was busy, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. So instead he'd pretended to agree, with no intention of actually turning up. But as the fete crept closer, he'd changed his mind. The chance to see Orla again, one last time, was too much to resist.

He was like a stupid dog around her, just asking to be kicked. He had to keep reminding himself this was his choice. If having a committed relationship with Orla wasn't an option, then he didn't want to get any more emotionally entangled with her. Telling her his feelings was the right thing to do. Everything was out in the open now. They both new where they stood.

He just hadn't imagined it was going to hurt this much.

He switched the shower off and stepped out. Well he was done now. He wasn't going to keep trying. He just needed to get over her. He couldn't go back. It was a shame though; he liked those kids. They'd all wanted to carry on playing, even when the fete was at an end, and the only way he'd managed to convince them to stop, was by promising there would be a next time.

The doorbell rang. He thought he'd heard it earlier, behind the spray. But his ears had been filled with soap, and he'd dismissed it as wishful thinking. He sighed. It was probably that guy from downstairs anyway. The landlord had sent a plumber to fix the shower up a few months ago, because it had been leaking into the downstairs neighbours bathroom. He threw the his on bathrobe and went downstairs.

When he opened the door, she was standing on the doorstep, chewing her bottom lip and fiddling with the hem of a baggy, khaki green overcoat. "Hi!" She looked surprised to see him. "When you didn't answer the first time, I was sure I had the wrong place."

"Sorry, I didn't hear the bell, I was in the shower."

They stared at each other for a while. Orla's arrival was so unexpected that Greg couldn't think what to say.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course, I'm sorry." He stepped out of the way.

As she stood in the centre of his living room, her hands shoved in her pockets looking around, he realised she hadn't been back there since that first night, after The Duke.

"Can I get you anything?" She looked at him blankly. "A drink of some sort?"

"I'm alright thanks."

He sat down. She perched on the edge of the sofa too, at the other end to him.

"Orla, why are you here?" It must have come out harsher than he'd meant it to, because when he looked at her face, she was biting her lip again, pulling her jacket tighter, even thought it wasn't cold. "Sorry I didn't mean to be rude". He was itching to lean over and pull her into his arms, but he needed to know, for sure, before he got too carried away with what her being here, in his flat, at 12:15 in the morning, could mean.

She peeped up at him from under her lashes. "I want more than a series of one night stands too." She didn't meet his gaze for more than an instant. "If you haven't changed your mind." She added, quickly.

Greg laughed. "Changed my mind? In the last half hour? You're the flighty one Orla. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, since that night at The Duke."

"Me neither." She said, so quietly he almost didn't hear her.

Was it going to work though? "What about my job? Do you think you're going to be able to get past that? It's a big part of my life." It was taking every inch of self restrain Greg had to not pull her into his arms, but he knew the talking would stop the moment he gave into that urge.

"I don't know, but I'd... I'd like to try."

"And anyway, you recognised me. You knew I was the desk sergeant on duty when you were arrested, If that was such a big problem, why did you come on to me?"

She took a deep breath. "My ex-boyfriend showed up."

"So I was the one taken advantage of."

She looked guilty

"Just using me to get at him where you?"

"No! It wasn't like that"

Greg sighed "Why are we arguing?"

"Because we need to talk about this." Orla replied.

"Okay, if it wasn't like that, what was it like?"

"I fancied you, I was drunk, I really wanted to get out of there. And I decided I'd rather do something with you, than something I would regret later with him

"I feel so much better now."

"We were in a club. You'd already bought me a drink. I didn't realise it was a preamble to a committed monogamous relationship, I thought you were just out on the pull."

"I wasn't out on the pull. I don't normally spend my time trying to pick up girls in bars. It was a work leaving do. I was going to have one drink and leave. Until you turned up and turned everything on its head." he closed his eyes and paused. "Sorry, you weren't to know that."

He opened them again and looked at her "So, you still had feelings for him?"

Orla nodded.

"And now?"

"There's been someone else occupying my thoughts of late. Quite a bit actually."

Greg let out a sigh, and tension he didn't know he'd been holding on to, flowed out of him. This response seemed to give Orla the courage to continue. "Look I'm not sure if this will work, but I've got to know you, I've had to reassess some of my assumptions. I'd like to give it a try."

"Come over here!"

Orla shuffled nearer and the moment she was close enough Greg leaned forward and pulled her into his arms. They kissed.

"Your hair's wet."

"I had a shower, before I came over here." She replied, pulling off her coat.

He jumped back. "Jesus, Orla you're wearing a onsie."

"Yup" she grinned. "My gran bought it for me for Christmas last year - I love leopard print."

"You came over here wearing a onsie."

"We're virtually neighbours. I was in hurry, I had no time to get changed and I'd just had a shower. Anyway, I had my coat on over it."

He stood up and walked out of the room.

"Where are you going?" She called after him

"I don't want you to catch a cold."

"Its July!" She followed him into the kitchen. There was milk on the side and two mugs. He was taking a packet of cocoa down from the cupboard.

"You like hot chocolate?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He pulled her against his chest, wrapped his arms around her and breathed in her scent. He kissed her shoulder. He trailed kisses up her neck. "You smell amazing."

She spun around, so she was facing him and kissed him on the nose. "Asda's vanilla and coconut conditioner."

"And I thought that was just your natural scent."

She pulled a serious face. "If we're in a serious relationship now, I can't keep those kinds of secrets from you."

*

They took the hot chocolate to bed and when Greg unzipped the leopard print onsie, he was delighted to discover Orla wasn't wearing a thing underneath it. He wore an expression of almost irreverent admiration as he peeled it off.

Orla shuddered as Greg's hands travelled down her arms, his fingers moving over her skin, in mesmerising circles. He slid off the towelling robe he'd been wearing since he got out of the shower and pressed the length of his hot hard body against hers and she sighed as something in her chest bloomed and opened. They both tumbled breathlessly onto the bed. He carved a hot trail down the length of her torso with his lips, while she gripped at the sheets, hands balled into fists, certain she would explode at any moment.

When he reached the apex of her thighs, he lifted an ankle, draped her leg over his shoulder and found her hot core with his mouth. He licked and sucked and gently played with her clitoris, learning what she liked and what worked for her, until Orla was clutching at his hair and moaning his name as she arched off the bed.

There were endless more hours of foreplay. Sometimes with the lights on, sometimes with them off. Sometimes with music, sometimes not. Greg acted like they had all the time in the world. For what felt like hours, he made her lie, perfectly still, stretched out on the bed, with her arms above her, and her legs pressed together. While he administrated his long, slow, torture. Exploring every inch of her with his mouth; trailing along every plane and crevice. Whenever he sensed Orla's desperation, he simply laughed. The deep, gravelly chuckle was infuriating and arousing in equal measure. He stripped her bare, as he drove her to greater and greater heights of desperation. It felt like an act of absolute domination.

"Greg please"

"what?"

"I need you."

"You've tortured me all these months, I'm getting my own back. It's the least I deserve."

"Haven't you tortured me enough?"

He grinned. "Perhaps I have."

He rolled a condom on and climbed on top of her. Bracing himself, an arm on each side of her head, he looked down at her face and smiled. A slow, lazy smile. Orla squirmed impatiently beneath him. He leaned down and kissed her, taking his good sweet time. And for a time, she forgot the ravenous need which had been eating her up mere moments before and lost herself in the sensations of his wicked mouth, and this thrilling intimacy they shared. Then, when she least expected it he plunged into her. Filling her. Engulfing her. Swallowing her hole. And as she looked up at this man, with his midnight blue eyes and his ruggedly handsome face, she thought her heart might burst.

*

Greg thrust into her. She felt hot and wet and so very tight. He felt as much as heard her contented gasp, against his throat when he bottomed out. He stilled, as the most extraordinary feeling washed over him. For the first time, this wasn't a stolen moment, it wasn't on borrowed time. Neither of them had to work the following day, so they could do this all night. They could wake up and do it all again in the morning. Orla was finally his. This time, she wasn't doing this despite herself. She wanted to be with him, and this thing between them was going to work out. He would make sure of it.

He lifted her, so they were both up right, and pushing her back against the headboard, he gripped it, above her head with both hands, so he could drive into her. He knew he was behaving like a caveman, but he didn't care. And besides, Orla was clinging to his shoulders meeting his thrusts right back.

He gripped her hair in his fist, pulling her head back, so her face was no longer buried in his neck and kissed her roughly. Their eyes met. They both paused again, and a look no words could describe passed between them. It stole his breath. It was Orla who moved first, she ground against him, sending shockwaves of delicious pleasure shooting from his groin to his toes, and the moment passed. An increasingly familiar urge filled him. A primitive instinct that he hadn't known existed, until Orla. It inhabited every cell in his body, and it whispered Mine. The word sang it through his veins and he knew it that moment, that he needed her to belong to him, and whatever it took to make that real, he would do it. He was never letting her go.

He cupped both breasts, leant down and kissed them still fucking her, with steady, hard thrusts. He moved upwards, towards her neck, then her mouth. As he gazed into her eyes, He could feel himself getting close. She was close too, he could tell by the sounds she was making, by the glazed look in her eyes, her flushed cheeks. He pushed his hand down between their bodies, slick with sweat and moved his thumb firmly across her clitoris. Her head fell forward, and she sank her teeth into his shoulder. That did it. Despite his best efforts to hold back, he came with a roar, as all around him the world seemed to implode. Orla released a sound, something between a moan and a she dug her finger nails into his arms and he felt a shudder ripple through her. To his intense relief, she was climaxing too. He looked at her, and stars hovered around the edges of his vision. Orla smiled a sleepy smile.

*

In the orange glow of the street lamps, Orla slept and Greg watched her. Her long, pale limbs tangled up in the sheets. Her hair, sticking up in all directions. The galaxy of freckles, scattered across her shoulders.

A few hours later, they woke and did it again. He slid into her from behind, before either of them were properly awake. He wasn't sure where he found the energy. Afterwards, she burrowed into his chest, her arms wrapped around his middle, and he pressed gentle kisses against her neck.

*

The moment he opened eyes, Greg knew she was gone. Again.

He got up and looked around anyway. The bathroom was empty. He could see no sign of her stuff. He sat down at the kitchen table, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Had she planned this? The night before? All those promises they'd made each other. With their mouths. With their bodies. Had they all been lies? Or had she simply woken up, filled with regret, had second thoughts, and crept away while he slept.

He couldn't bear to entertain either possibility.

After staring at the wall for an interminable amount of time, he stood up, put the kettle on and wandered over to gaze out of his window, at the row of poplar trees behind his house. It was then he heard the scrape of a key in the door. He turned, listening as hard as he could. Thinking he must be mistaken. Not daring to hope. When he heard footsteps on the stairs he called her name.

Orla froze. There was everything in that word, from disbelief, to exasperation, to cautious hope and she knew immediately what that must mean. When she reached the top of the stairs, Greg was standing by the kitchen window, rooted to the spot. He was wearing a pair of boxers, and the morning sun was hitting his torso. For a moment she could only gape at his savage beauty. He said her name again and she blinked

"Hi." She put the shopping down on a chair by the kitchen table.

He pulled her into a rough embrace. Holding her tight. Kissing her face. "You're here."

"I'm sorry."

He silenced her with his lips, his hands slipping around her waist, then under top, cupping her breasts.

"You've changed." He said against her mouth.

"Well I couldn't very well go to the shops in a onsie. I borrowed your keys, I hope that's okay?"

"You were gone."

"You were sleeping so soundly, I... I didn't think you'd wake before I got back."

He didn't reply, instead he kissed her again, a ravenous, searing kiss. A thrill of desire ripped through her as he lifted her onto the table. Without missing a beat, he pulled her shorts down just far enough that he could thrust into her in one sharp, fluid movement. She gasped, still tender from the night before. But the incredible feeling of him filling her, the weight of him, the way her stomach clenched with anticipation at the growl he made when he bottomed out. All of this pushed the mild discomfort firmly to the back of her mind. She curled her hands around his shoulders and clung to him as he plunged in and out of her, as though his very life depended on it. He was like a wild beast. He was glorious.