Strike the Cord || Chapter 3. Wrennie and the Lack of Privacy

Copy of strike2

You both change into PJs and brush teeth over the same sink. It feels bloody weird. Probably because before you never went to bed like that, it was mostly ‘groping, biting, tearing clothes from each other’ type of going to bed. More falling than going actually. Then you would have to get up, probably take a shower, usually together, repeat the previous actions, sleepily tread to the bathroom, brush teeth, and then fall into bed again almost unconscious and very, very content.

The bed is narrow but comfortable. You curl into him, pressing your back into his warm chest and stomach, and then he slides his palm under your top.

“Phil, no. We can’t…”

He’s kissing behind your ear now. “Why?”

“Because your brother is right behind that wall, and apparently the walls here are made of paper.”

“We will be very quiet,” he whispers conspiratorially. His fingers brush the bottom of your breast. Oh, it always does it for you. You clench your teeth. You promised.

“No, we won’t, we never are.” He smirks.

“yeah, you are a screamer, love, I’ll give you that.”

“Me? It wasn’t me who woke up your next door neighbour last week, and he came to ask if you were hurt.” He hums and then presses his already full erection into your bum.

“Really shouldn’t have reminded me of that glorious night, love.” He’s biting your earlobe. “Still can’t believe you said you never tried horse riding. Your thigh muscles are phenomenal.”

You are getting randy like hell, but you hold your positions.

“I promised Killian, and I’m telling you I’m not having sex with you in this room.” Oops, that’s quite a freudian slip.

He jumps off the bed and stretches his hand to you.

“Common, princess, I’ll show you the world.”

“God, you are so tacky.”

“And yet it seems to work on you.” Cue wiggling eyebrows.

You give him your hand and follow him. Let’s face it, you are just as depraved as he is. And the thought of going at it in his parents’ house turns you on like hell. Your knickers are drenched, and heat is throbbing in your lower stomach.

You go through the library, which is huge and definitely your most favourite room in the house, and he opens a door that you’ve never really noticed before.

“What’s in there?”

“It’s an old drawing room, no one uses it.”

The furniture is covered with white cloth cases; the room’s a bit dusty but doesn’t feel unclean. He pulls a cover from a table and swiftly lifts you on it. You wrap your legs around his waist and tread your fingers in the golden waves. His lips are delicious, and you really, really started getting into the whole beard scratching thing after you started dating him.

After a few moment of copping off, you rasp, “Did you get the condoms?” He fishes three out of his PJ pants pocket.

“Aren’t you an ambitious one?”

He smirks and cocks a brow. His deft fingers are working on the buttons of your top. It’s open, and he lowers your back on the table. You stretch on it, and his lips close around your nipple. You arch your back and moan. Phil sinks on his knees in front of the table, and start pulling off your bottoms, kissing your thighs and knees.

The light turns on in the room, and you’re staring in John’s widened eyes. He’s standing in the doorway, one hand still frozen over the switch, a book in the other one. He blinks and swiftly spins away. Phil jumps on his feet and pulls you into his chest shielding you.

Fucking bloody fuck! No, no, no, this did not just happen!

“I’m sorry, I heard some noise.” John’s voice is coarse. “I swear I didn’t see anything. Much…” He pauses, his shoulders tense, and then leaves the room.

Phil’s frozen, and suddenly you start giggling. And can’t seem to stop. He chuckles too at the beginning, but then looks at you slightly worried. You really can’t stop and bury your face into his tee. Your whole body is shaking.

“Love, are you OK?” You are shaking your head.

“No, of course not!” It seems hiccups are going to start any moment. “It’s like a bad film… I’m spread on that bloody table… And he said… he said he hadn’t seen anything… Like he hasn’t seen all that before…” You stop, your laughing gone as suddenly as it started. You feel tears running down your cheeks. Phil’s standing with a lost look on his face, frowning.

You press yourself into him and sob. You don’t know why you are crying. From the adrenaline from the lust going down, from the sudden shock of the light flooding the dark room, from the absolutely clear and obvious pain in John’s face when he saw you.

Phil wraps you into your PJ top and rubs your shoulders.

“It’s alright, love, it’s alright…” The similarity of this and the morning after the tent incident is uncanny. You feel like you have been punched in your stomach. Repeatedly. Oh, fuck it! Admit it, Wren, your life is a fucking mess.


You come back to Phil’s room, climb into bed together, and he spoons you. You close your eyes and pretend to go to sleep.

Two things are becoming obvious to you. First, you really don’t understand Phil. Does he not see what’s going on? Does he not notice the tension in the room when all three of you are there? Is he ignoring it? Is it some sort of an evasive technique of conflict resolution? In your crazy hysterics just now you actually said “like he hasn’t seen all that before?” Does it not bother him? He’s too calm, almost detached.

You are actually surprised at John’s behaviour. Why would a confident grown-up man behave like a pissy teenager – marking his territory, flaunting his skills, and making snarky remarks? “Finesse and technique, Philip.” Really? How possessive is he? You’re nothing to him, a small something, a girl who chickened out of his cold unemotional offer. Is it just a hurt pride of a rejected suitor? Is he angry to lose to a younger guy? What the fuck? It’s his nephew! Why would he behave like that?

The second thought is that coming here was the stupidest idea ever. One thing is having a past; another thing is having the past share breakfast with you. You don’t let yourself think that the problem may not be about coming here, maybe it’s about dating Phil in general… Bollocks, Wren, you just had to go there. You were perfectly happy in the uni, what has gone wrong?

A little unpleasant voice in your head sarcastically remarks that it has nothing to do with location, and everything to do with a certain Dr. Dark and Sexy. You thought you were perfectly happy until you saw John. Then you became perfectly unhappy.

Because you are in love with him.

2 thoughts on “Strike the Cord || Chapter 3. Wrennie and the Lack of Privacy

  1. The angst and internal conflict in this chapter are perfect. It’s amazing that despite seeing to much that is wrong about Johns territorial behaviour, all she needs is a chink in his armour; and that chink leads to a whole world of questions (about John AND herself). Love it, love it, LOVE IIIIIIT!!

    1. Indeed, one chink, and she’s toast… 🙂 The bloody power of destiny 😀 And his majesticness 🙂

      I am So glad yo uare enjoying it! It’s such a pleasure to revisit this verse! Dr. T is mesmerising… 🙂

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