Chapter 4: Morning After Mischief
Sarah woke slowly, sunlight slipping past the gauzy curtains
and dancing across her bare shoulders. Her hair was a glorious mess, splayed
across the pillow like golden waves, and the scent of him — warm skin, musk,
and salt — still lingered on the sheets.
She stretched, a soft groan escaping her lips as she became
aware of every delicious ache in her body. Last night had been… something else.
Not just hot. Not just loud. But transformative. The kind of night that rewired
something inside you.
She rolled over.
Mr. Salty was already awake, propped on one elbow, gazing at
her like she was the sunrise itself.
“Morning, trouble,” he said with that same smirk that had
almost gotten him into trouble in the first place.
Sarah blinked at him, then grinned. “That’s Miss Trouble
to you.”
He reached out, brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, and
let his fingers trail lightly down her collarbone. “You’re even more dangerous
by daylight.”
“Yeah, well… you snore,” she teased.
“Lies. Fabrications. I purr. Like your cat.”
As if on cue, Mr. Jinx jumped up onto the foot of the bed,
narrowed his eyes at the two of them, and made the dramatic decision to sit
with his back facing them.
Sarah laughed. “He’s still judging us.”
“Fair,” Salty said, sitting up and rubbing the back of his
neck. “We were... enthusiastic.”
They showered — separately at first, then not so separately.
That added another twenty minutes to the morning routine, and they both emerged
slightly late, flushed, and with wet hair.
Breakfast was served in the guesthouse courtyard: fresh
fruit, warm scones, rich coffee, and scrambled eggs that tasted like they’d
been cooked with love and a pinch of buttered sin.
They sat at a little iron-wrought table under hanging ivy,
the sounds of Galway humming gently around them. Sarah wore a breezy cream
blouse and a short navy skirt that showed off her long legs. She wasn’t trying
to be seductive — but it just kind of… happened.
Salty watched her spread jam on her toast like it was the
most sensual act in the world.
“You planning to kill me with carbohydrates?” he asked.
She raised a brow. “You survived last night. You’ll manage a
raspberry scone.”
Over coffee, they started to open up. It wasn't just
flirtation anymore. It was stories. Confessions. Laughter.
Sarah talked about Clonsilla, about working hard to finally
own a home through the Affordable Housing Scheme — the pride, the struggle, the
unexpected joy of creating a space that was all hers. She spoke about the
pressure of professionalism, how being a woman with curves and confidence still
drew commentary in the boardroom.
Salty nodded, listening intently, occasionally brushing his
fingers across hers.
He told her about his travels, his writing, and the book he
never finished — about a man who meets women in different cities and ends up
falling for the one he never expected. “Total fiction,” he added with a wink.
Sarah rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. “You mean, women
like me?”
He leaned in. “Exactly like you. Bold, brilliant, and in
possession of a cat who hates me.”
Mr. Jinx meowed in the background, as if confirming his
eternal disdain.
Later, they wandered the city together — hand in hand, like
a couple who’d been together far longer than twelve hours. They strolled
through the Latin Quarter, browsed handmade crafts and secondhand books, and
ducked into a pub for a mid-afternoon pint.
People smiled at them — not because they were loud or showy,
but because they looked right together. Sarah’s energy drew eyes, but
Salty’s presence beside her made the picture whole.
She looked at him over the rim of her glass. “You know I
don’t do this. I don’t just… jump into bed with men I meet on platforms.”
He gave a mock gasp. “I’m special?”
“You’re lucky,” she replied, tapping his glass with
hers. “Very lucky.”
As the sun began to dip once more, the city lit up in warm
golden hues. Sarah and Salty returned to the guesthouse, hands full of little
souvenirs, hearts slightly heavier with something they didn’t quite name yet.
In the room, she sat on the edge of the bed, toeing off her
shoes.
“What's next?” she asked, almost too casually.
Salty crossed the room, standing before her, then slowly
knelt between her legs.
“Well,” he said, eyes locked with hers, voice low and full
of promise, “we’re not done. Not even close.”
Sarah arched a brow. “You have a plan?”
“Ten cities. Ten chapters. And you’re the lead in all of
them.”
She bit her lip, heat rising again between them. “You want
to write about me?”
“I want to experience you,” he corrected, “in every
corner of the map.”
And with that, he kissed her again — slowly this time. No
urgency. Just depth. And just enough pressure to promise that Chapter 5 would
be just as unforgettable.
No comments:
Post a Comment