Chapter Four

Abby's POV

“You smell nice,” he says, his eyes travelling across my face. I fight back a blush, looking away as I tuck a few strands of hair behind my ear.

“So, do you want to come inside or …?”

“I was thinking maybe we could do some catching up? Can we have dinner at my place?” He suggests and I'm not exactly sure I like his idea.

I glance down at my outfit. “I'm not dressed for it.”

He flips it off. “It doesn't matter, you look good in anything. Besides, we're not walking there. No one's going to see you if that's what you're worried about.”

A small sigh escapes my lips. Looking back at the house, deliberating to myself, I spot Sarah at the window, her head peeking through the curtains.

“So what do you say?”

“Fine, but let me grab my jacket. I'll be right back.” He gives a slight nod and I quickly rush back inside.

Surely, just as I expected, Sarah is in the living room, waiting for me. The look on her face shows she's displeased.

“Abby, where are you going?” She asks and I freeze in my steps. “I thought you said you weren't going to be hanging out with Anthony anymore.”

“No, what I said was I wouldn't get attached to him anymore. I never said we wouldn't hang out,” I reply.

Right now I'm starting to wish I hadn't come back inside to grab anything. With Sarah giving me a chiding look, I can't help but feel like a little child being scolded by her parents.

Irritation pricks at my skin.

“I'll talk to you later. It's nothing, don't worry about it.” That's the last thing I say as I hurry upstairs to grab my phone and jacket.

When I return to the car, Anthony is on a call. Once I get in, he hangs up.

“Took you a while. Was there a problem?” He asks and I can tell he's talking about Sarah. “She still doesn't like me, does she?”

I shake my head. “You weren't exactly the nicest guy in highschool. You were more of a jerk,” I reply.

“That was over a decade ago. She can't possibly think I’m still the same old guy,” he says, amusement in his tone.

I redirect my attention to the window. “Well, first impressions always last.”

For some odd reason, I can't help but remember the look of disappointment on Sarah's face. A part of me feels like I’m doing the wrong thing but the other part of me is looking for some sort of fun tonight.

“Are you okay?” He asks, glancing at me.

“Yeah, absolutely.”

When we get to his place, I'm almost left speechless. Anthony Wells ows a family sized house and judging from his empty driveway, I figured he’s the only one living here.

Inside, the house is even cozier than I thought.

“Your mouth’s open,” he says, teasingly. I roll my eyes at him playfully and take off my jacket.

Outside, the wind had already picked up, rustling leaves and trees outside.

“You can wait for me in the living room. I've gotta change first,” he says, glancing at his outfit.

While he's upstairs, I move around the spacious living room, taking note of every framed photo— which is mostly about family and work.

“I had the entire house furnished to my taste,” he says from behind me, startling me.

“Jesus! You need to stop doing that. You almost gave me a heart attack,” I squeal in fright, slapping his chest. He chuckles and leads me towards the kitchen where there's a cute little dinner layout.

A warm smile tugs at my lips. When he had suggested dinner at his place, I pictured something tacky but this was way better than I expected.

“So, you planned dinner already and what if I said I couldn't come over tonight?” I ask, settling into a seat.

He smiles. “Would you have said no at first?”

Cocky bastard

Dinner is a beautifully cooked steak and rice with broccoli.

“I'm guessing you called in a chef or you paid to make this happen.”

He smiles in amusement. “I feel offended, what do you take me for Abby?” He shakes his head. “I cooked this. I took a couple cooking classes a year ago and they're paying off pretty well.”

I wasn't going to deny it— I was impressed.

Not only did he look like an entire meal, he knew how to cook up one too.

“So, Abby, how've you been? What brings you down here?” He asks. “I don't think I ever got to ask.”

I shrug, wiping the corner of my lips with a napkin. “Nothing really, just looking to get away from work and the hustle and bustle of the city.”

“What about you?” I ask.

“Work, actually. I work as an architect, so I'm usually moving around. I've got a contract here with a client and it's going to last for a while, possibly months.”

“Whatever happened to soccer tho? You were really good at that,” I point out, reminiscing about his glory days.

A faint smile dances on his lips. “Yeah. I was but life got serious and I had to leave soccer. By the time I got into the University, I was sure I didn't want to go back to soccer. My kids can do that.”

We both laugh and I can't help but picture a mini Anthony, running around.

“Speaking of kids, do you have any?” He asks.

“Thankfully, no, that would've made the divorce process a lot harder,” I reply.

Something shimmers in his eyes— a mix of emotions. Sympathy and relief.

“I'm sorry you're going through that,” he says and I push up a smile.

“It's alright. It's something we're both sure we need anyways,” I reply, pushing out a little sigh.

“He's the one calling for the divorce isn't he?”

Was it that obvious?

“Yeah. He is but I'm totally fine with that, at least I'm getting there. It's part of the reason I'm down here anyways.”

For the rest of dinner, we don't say anything to each other and finally we retire to the living room to watch some TV.

Outside it's raining heavily and I can't help but find it relaxing. Soon, I'm cuddled into Anthony, trying to suppress whatever is building up in my chest.

His hands gently caress my back, settling on my waist and going back up my spine. His hand movements are a little too good, they're almost calculated.

“Let me know when you want me to stop,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. I nod, my face buried into the crook of his neck.

His hands continue to move, gingerly, carefully, from my waist to the small of my back. It doesn't take long before he readjusts me and I can feel something pressing against my stomach.

It's thick.

Something stirs in my stomach and down below. Shit.

“Are you okay?” He asks, now running his fingers through my hair as he stares down at me. I look up to face him and nod, my eyes shifting to his lips.

Those lips, they looked a little too good to just stare at.

Anthony's eyes are also fixed on my lips and slowly the air between us starts to grow thin as he leans forward.

There's so much tension in the air it's suffocating. I want to kiss him, so bad but I want him to make the move first.

“God, you look so beautiful,” he said, tucking a few strands of hair from my face.

“Are you going to keep staring at me or are you going to kiss me already?” I ask, growing impatient.

His not so little friend presses hard against my stomach, excitedly. I try to wiggle away but this only excites Anthony.

He leans his head back, letting out a low moan and when he comes back to face me, our lips meet in a hungry frenzy.

It's like a burst of flavor.

He lifts me and quickly repositions me to straddle him with my bum pressing against his hardened friend.

“Fvck, I need more!” He gasps, pulling away to lift my shirt over my head. Excited and in need of more than his lips, I help him take it off.

Tossing it on the coffee table, we lock lips again, sucking and biting at each other's skin. I gently rock my lower half against his groin and he stiffens, letting out a pained hiss.

Veins fan out across his arms as his hands move to grab my waist, helping me to move my lower half against him.

“Don't stop,” he moans, his eyes hooded with lust. “Please don't stop.”

His low voice, plea and lust filled expression only drives me crazy. While he's still in his euphoric state, I tug my pants down and kick them off.

When I sit back on him again, he's surprised to feel nothing on my lower half. The only barrier between us, his thin silk shorts.

“Fuck!”

His hands tighten against my waist as I ride him, keeping a steady pace. Impatiently, he begins to thrust into me, throwing me off guard.

His thrusts are hard, rough and calculated. My eyes squeeze shut with every contact his member makes. Gosh, he's thick.

The only thing that can be heard in the room is our ragged breathing, the sound of how moist I am and his little pleas.

“Fvck, I'm close Abby,” he groans, picking up speed and suddenly the door swings wide open. A lady appears— she looks familiar— and she's drenched in water from head to toe.

“Anthony?!”

As quick as lightning, he pushes me off of him, nearly throwing me off the couch and on the floor.

Rushing to grab my clothes, I feel humiliated and embarrassed.

Shaking from the cold, the lady walks in, her eyes glued on me. “She's the reason why you couldn't come pick me up?”

Wait, what?

Confusion masks my humiliated expression and she sees it. “Didn't you know?” She lets out a humourless laugh. “Didn’t he at least tell you he's got a one year anniversary date planned? Of course not, he'd rather shove his stick in anything with a hole!”

I want to protest but the only thing I can process is the anniversary statement.

Everything starts to fall into place. The dinner setup wasn't for me, it was for her.