The Years of Loving You. Ella Harper
was browned, tins of tomatoes opened. She always got a bit bossy when she was drunk. Hopefully, she thought, Ed found it endearing, the way he found Jody’s pedantic antics ‘endearing’. She dismissed the thought. Even in her drunken state she knew she was being ridiculous.
She gave Ed a half glance. Speaking of endearing. She watched the way he sliced up an onion, his eyes all crinkled up at the corners as he tried to stop them watering all over the place. Molly wished she didn’t find him such good company.
‘I take it I’m sous-chef,’ Ed grumbled, examining a tiny cut on his finger from an onion-related mishap. ‘Ouch, Molls. I’m bleeding.’
‘You’re moaning. And you’re everything-chef, for the record,’ Molly said. She tried to focus on him, but he kept swimming out of her vision for some strange reason. ‘I am in no fit state to wield a knife, my friend. Now the trick with bolognese is to use both pork and steak mince. Did you know this? It’s the best way. The only way.’
Ed spent the next half hour doing as he was told, an unusual state of affairs, but he was not of a mind to resist Molly when she was in domineering mode. Ridiculously, he found it sexy and he couldn’t stop laughing as she waved her arms around in place of actual words and coherent sentences. She did allow him to force a pint of water down her to stave off a hangover, and five minutes later she sashayed off to the bathroom to ‘break the seal’ as she delightfully put it.
Thoroughly distracted by her retreating form, Ed proceeded to drop an entire carton of passata down the front of his jeans.
‘Oh for fuck’s sakes,’ he muttered. His jeans were ruined. Not sure what else to do, he peeled them off. Fuck. He’d gone commando. It wasn’t a sexual thing, it was more of a: ‘I haven’t washed any boxers’ thing. He stuffed his jeans into the washing machine and quickly looped an apron over his head to save his dignity.
‘Ed.’ Molly appeared in the doorway, seeming to be gripping it for support. ‘I’m either more pissed than I thought I was or your arse is on show. Have you been like that all night? Surely not. I would have remembered. I know I would have remembered.’
‘Don’t be daft. My jeans … oh, it doesn’t matter.’
‘Nice bum, Edison.’ Molly’s mouth lifted mischievously. ‘Seriously. I had no idea. Hey – is that some sort of invitation?’
‘Begging your pardon?’
‘That. On the apron.’ Molly pointed. She was sobering up fast. But she was also feeling reckless tonight.
Ed glanced down at himself. ‘Snog The Chef’ was emblazoned across the front. He felt his breath quicken, but he reined it in. Of course Molly didn’t mean anything by it. It was just that she rarely flirted. Not with him at any rate. He had watched her charm many a poor bugger practically to his knees without even trying, but she hardly ever directed her flirtation in his direction.
He looked up and pasted an amiable smile on his face. ‘Absolutely. An invitation is exactly what that is.’
‘Gosh.’ Molly made a decision. She tested it out briefly first, as was her way, and it felt right. She was going for it. ‘Rude to turn down an invitation. Right?’
She ambled towards him. Ed felt a rush of lust. Good God. What was happening here? Was she … was Molly going to kiss him? She was mucking about, surely. His head swam. Molly was drunk. Squiffy, at very least. He should not do this. He definitely shouldn’t do this. He had never wanted to do anything so much in his life.
Molly leant against him. She wanted nothing more than to hurl herself at him and snog his face off. But she didn’t want to ruin the moment. If there was about to be a moment. Molly pressed her body up against his, her hands either side of him on the counter. It felt erotic being squashed up against Ed. She could be corny about it and say their bodies slotted together perfectly but – aah, sod it, they actually did.
Ed held his breath. He had never been so turned on in his life. He met Molly’s eyes, surprised to find them attentive and watchful. She put her mouth on his and kissed him. It was a sweet, exquisite kiss that seemed to ricochet around Ed’s body, lighting a billion tiny bulbs along the way. He felt the same sensation as he had the first time; the familiar, thrilling buzz that felt right.
Ed kissed Molly back. How could he not? He took the back of her neck in his hand, angled her mouth to his. It fit perfectly. What was that about? He had kissed many a mouth and sure, all mouths meshed together one way or another. But hers just fit.
‘You’re an annoyingly good kisser, Edison,’ Molly murmured against his mouth. He was. The memories of that first night came rushing back. Molly had kissed guys since Ed – not that he knew about them; discretion was her middle name – but none had made her feel the way he did. She wished that wasn’t the case, but it was. Kissing Ed consumed her with lust. She had fire chasing around her body in the most disturbing places – she wanted to pull his face to hers and kiss him endlessly. Before doing all manner of things she might not have the guts to do with someone else.
‘Being a good kisser is annoying?’
Ed felt Molly’s hands on his bare backside and closed his eyes. Good lord. There was clearly something very wrong with him. He wasn’t used to reacting like this. This is the way he tried to make girls feel. Ed aimed to give a girl the best time he possibly could. He tried to make a girl feel special, to make her feel that something awesome was happening to her. Molly was doing this to him without even trying.
‘Yes, it’s annoying. When it’s you.’ Molly paused and looked at him. His face was so achingly familiar. She wanted to kiss it all over. Slowly. She gave in to the urge. She took her time. She caressed his face as she did so, placing her lips against his cheeks, his chin, his forehead. Molly made sure the kiss to the forehead was a sexy one, a lingering kiss that couldn’t be confused with the dismissive one she had given him a few years ago. She whispered stuff as she kissed his face, moving to his neck to savour the smell of him.
Ed’s groin jerked. Not a twitch – a full-on jerk. The likes of which normally required physical contact of some kind. This one, however, was so sharp it damned near took his breath away. Molly’s mouth on his skin, her hair under his nostrils, her warm body curved around his. It was a sensory-overload situation. But Ed welcomed it. Wanted it, craved it.
‘What is that God awful song?’ Ed said, trying desperately to grasp a moment to rein himself in.
‘What?’
‘That song. What … what is it?’
Molly lifted her head. ‘It’s that one that bangs on about showing someone heaven. Maria thingy. From that film about the cars. NASCAR racing.’
Ed was none the wiser. But it had bought him a moment. Over Molly’s shoulder, he saw Jody standing in the doorway. She shot him a look – shock? Contempt? Loathing? Ed wasn’t sure. But he was fairly certain Jody would never utter another word to him again, unless it was either ‘fucking’ or ‘bastard’. He couldn’t blame her. Why was he such a shit sometimes? Ed forgot about Jody two seconds later when Molly put her mouth to his ear.
‘Let’s go upstairs,’ she whispered. ‘Right now. I want your hands on me. All over me.’
Ed bit his lip. He was aroused. God, but he was aroused. He could barely see straight. He wanted Molly badly. Badly. Was he taking advantage of her? Could he resist? It wasn’t exactly helping that he only had a ridiculous apron between his desperately rearing manhood and Molly and her warm, lovely skin.
Jeepers alive, how was a man supposed to cope with such a thing? He shouldn’t do this with her. She was drunk, he had to stop this …
‘I’m not drunk,’ she said. Molly could tell Ed was battling with himself, no doubt reminding himself she was drunk, that he was taking advantage of her. She had to stop him thinking that way. ‘I want you. Ok?’
Molly took his hand and led him out of the kitchen. Led him up the stairs, into her bedroom. Her heart was thumping but this was right.