Free 31 Days of Winter by C. J. Fallowfield

claim.’
    I glowered at his back, did he touch up every
guest that came to stay? But then my eyes and thoughts were drawn to his
buttocks moving in his jeans with every stride. I don’t know what came over me
but I moved my swinging palms and slid my fingers down into his pockets,
cupping that firmness as he walked. I knew I didn’t imagine the sharp hiss of
air that he took in through his teeth, or the firmer grasp of his left hand on
my own backside. I figured tit for tat, he’d touched my arse, twice now, why
shouldn’t I grab his? We stayed silent as he continued to walk effortlessly and
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the rub of his hand on my bottom and the back of
his shoulder creating friction against my aching nipples. I think I could come
if he walked another mile, just like this.
    ‘So, the owner, how long have you known him?’ I eventually
asked.
    ‘Forever.’
    ‘You’re good friends?’
    ‘The best of friends,’ he chuckled and I felt the
smile from my upside down position.
    ‘Why doesn’t he live in that lovely house?’
    ‘He needed a time out to reassess his life, kind
of like you’re doing now.’
    ‘And what about you? Why are you living in a small
boathouse in the middle of nowhere, servicing tenants needs? Are you
reassessing too?’
    ‘Yes,’ he replied quietly. I opened my mouth to ask
more but noticed that the rocks under his feet had changed to smooth nicely
stained decking boards.
    ‘We’re here?’
    ‘Yes Miss Baxter, you’re home.’
    ‘Home? You make it sound like I live here,’ I
laughed as I heard the key in the door turn.
    ‘Well as day one is nearly up, for the next twenty-seven
days you do. You’ve left your fiancé, who I assume you lived with, so it
appears you are homeless except for this house, what else would you call it?’
he asked and I suddenly went dizzy and wobbled on my feet as they reconnected
with the floor. I flexed my fingers which were stuck in a curved position from
clutching his peachy bottom. I suddenly missed the body contact with him and
closed my eyes for a second as he reached out and held my shoulders to stop me
from swaying. ‘Come, the tour.’
    I reopened my eyes and looked around me and my
mouth opened. This place was an architect’s dream. Exposed wood and metal
struts in the roof, some large silver columns bracing the building from the
lack of many internal walls. I stood in the middle of a wide walkway, an open
plan modern galley kitchen in front of me, with an island unit. To the right
was a full sized pool table, to the left a massive sofa laid out in a U shape
around the burning open log fire, shielded with a grate and two armchairs
either side. The walls on each side of the building were made of  huge slabs of
rock that climbed up to a mezzanine which ran around the edges of the building,
with an open aspect in the  centre all the way up to the roof. There was a
chrome and oak staircase leading upstairs and I reached out and touched a
silver pole that ran down from the roof to the ground floor, it was too thin to
be a supporting strut.
    ‘What’s this?’ I asked.
    ‘Fireman’s pole,’ he smiled.
    ‘Why does the owner have a fireman’s pole in his
house?’
    ‘He has a sense of humour Miss Baxter, and likes
to make it down from the bedroom when he’s ravenous for food in the most
expedient way possible.’ I looked at him and giggled and looked back up at it.
‘Go try it,’ he offered.
    ‘Seriously?’
    ‘Yes, I told you it’s your house for the next twenty-seven
days.’
    I laughed again, a real school girl’s laugh, then
bent down, pulled off my heels and ran barefoot for the stairs, taking them two
at a time and heard his sexy laugh echo around the building. I barely
registered the open plan bedroom as I ran to the gap in the glass balustrade
and launched myself at the pole. I screamed with excitement as I started to
zoom down, wrapping my legs around it as I fell, then the delighted scream
turned to panic as the