Every Bookshop Needs a Cat (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

A Bit More Time for Ourselves

"Yola said Varya could stay with her tonight," Anya said, returning to the bedroom.

The suite had its own sitting room, and the bathroom was the size of the flat Anya used to rent in Bristol. It was a good thing she was distracted by the emotional conversations and two more orgasms to start fretting about how out of place she was in all this luxury.

"I told her she could just drive Varya back to the Hall, but apparently they're watching Moana, and I'm 'killing the vibe' quote unquote," Anya said with a laugh.

He patted the duvet next to him, and she climbed under it. He immediately pulled her in, flush against him. The bathrobe that she'd found in the ensuite after her shower, shifted, hiking up; and Anya blushed.

"When we finally do it properly, with no clothes on," he whispered into her ear, "I hope you'll let me touch and see everything."

She could feel the leg of his usual checked pyjama bottoms brush at her bare thigh, and she suspected that her belt was getting loose. She hadn't packed anything, rushing here, so at the moment her knickers were drying on one of those toff heated towel racks above the giant tub, big enough for breeding golden orfes.

"Ah," he drew out. "That's what this face is. I've been misreading it the whole time."

"What face?" Anya asked distractedly, trying to discreetly move away from him to secure her terrycloth armour.

"This face." He tapped the tip of her nose with his index finger. "You're glowering at me. You used to make it a lot in the Ekollon, and I thought you despised me. But apparently, it's you being embarrassed in a sexually charged situation."

Her hands froze on the belt.

"Firstly, I never despised you," Anya said. "And I frown and glower a lot. I'm Russian. Well, in a way. And secondly, I'm no expert on this, but how's this sexually charged? You've slept together plenty of times. And you don't seem particularly... excited," she muttered and pointed down their bodies with her eyes.

"It's the pills," he answered quietly. "The painkillers. They dampen the physical reaction."

Anya swallowed her next remark. Way to put your foot in your mouth, Anya. If she was honest, she thought she'd cleverly lead the conversation onto the topic of something more than what he'd done to her three times by now - not that she didn't appreciate his wonderful efforts. Instead, she'd opened this can of worms! An average man would kick you out of his bed and pretend this discussion never happened. Isn't this the most shameful thing to admit for a man? He doesn't look ashamed, though. If anything, he looks pretty jolly.

"Oh, remember when I took them for the first time? When you mended my suit?" he asked nonchalantly.

Anya remembered. Vividly. Klaus chuckled, no doubt entertained by her expression.

"I didn't have the side effect the initial few times. They kicked in, and for the first time in years the pain was gone. I was feeling ace, and then you came in. You were hopping on one foot, don't remember why, and your hair was bouncing around." He picked up a strand on the side of her bob and tucked it behind her ear. "It took an hour to walk off that hard-on."

Anya's jaw slacked. Figuratively speaking. He guffawed, squinting and scrunching his nose. She'd only seen and heard this careless laugh from him, maybe, three or four times.

"But answering your unspoken question, darling, I am 'excited' when I'm with you," he murmured, and his hand covered hers on the knot of the belt. "Just not all of me. And even if it weren't so, I can't exactly move properly." His lips were just a couple of inches away from hers, his breath danced on her skin. "But I find you very, very exciting."