Passing Through (Love/Hate Part Three)

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Part Thirty Nine

Chapter Thirty Nine


It seemed his body had a homing device, and in particular his morning wood, which for the second morning on the trot, had found it's way to nestle between Natasha's buttocks. It seemed to be where his body wanted to be, and as he felt her spooned along his length, he couldn't deny that the cognitive part of him more than shared that appreciation. His arm was wrapped around her, thumb just about touching her breast, and that knowledge only seemed to ramp up the attention below the waist. Groaning, he nuzzled his nose into her hair, apple, she always smelled of apple.

Suddenly he realised that his headache had eased. He'd been scared to admit it the previous day, but his sense of smell hadn't been great. Now, the scent of her shampoo made him feel euphoric. He was going to get over this, he was going to get better. He knew that. And that made him feel better, stronger.

Throwing caution to the wind, he pulled Natasha tighter against him, trying not to grind into her, she'd potentially punch him, he was prepared for that, but he felt so relieved when she didn't, and that meant he wanted and needed her more.

She stirred, pressing her hips back into him, making him breathless for a moment.

"Bo..." it was a breathy moan, but it held a little warning.

His lips pressed against her neck, "feeling better, makes me happy."

Her little moans were ramping up his body, "so happy is rubbing against me?"

He laughed against her skin and was rewarded with her shuddering, "I'd be a lot happier with more than rubbing." As if to punctuate that point, his erection jerked against her.

Despite her negative sounding groans and the instinct to push him away, he felt her squirm against him. She wanted this, he knew.

"You're feeling better," she finally offered. When he nodded against her, she added, "I'm glad. I was worried, even last night, you looked so pale..."

Pulling her gently, he turned her in his arms, "I can't feel pale, lying beside you."

Her eyes were troubled as they met his, and he hated that.

"Natasha, tell me you don't want me, I will walk away forever, I promise. But I know you want me, I know you want this..." She whimpered, and he knew that he was finally making steps.

"I can't..."

Bo silenced her with a finger to her lips, "I know. you're going to tell me you don't want to be hurt, that you don't want me to abandon you. All I can promise is that I am not going anywhere. I want to keep playing, but I'm not bothered about going back to the US, there's nothing there for me, I get that now...but I can't guarantee I'm staying here...but I want to."

Her eyes lit up, as she stared at him through a glaze of tears, "you want to stay?"

"If the future was mine to dictate then I would, I'd stay here and work this out with you. That's the honest truth, but as I'm a commodity, I have no idea if the club will keep me when the season ends. But can we please just try?"

"I want to..."

He sighed, "I can sense a but."

She shook her head, "not a but. I find it hard, to open up."

"I know, when I thought was my thing. Look. I am not going to push this, now, here. But I want to do this properly, dates, time together. Start over. OK?"

Natasha's eyes were like pools as she stared at him, "but I thought..."

He wasn't sure whether she pressed herself against him deliberately, but he knew that she was hinting at sex, and his body was primed and frankly fucking gagging for it. He wanted it more than anything...but he was still weak from his injury, plus he knew that it would be a mistake. So he stepped back metaphorically.

"What I want, more than anything, and what I'm going to do, are two very different things. I want to be everything to you, Natasha, not just a quick fuck. We made that mistake before, diving into something without thinking it through...and I've thought it through now, and I want you...all of you. Even if I have to pursue the shit out of you."

That made her blush, and he grinned, "fuck, you are so gorgeous, I cannot explain."

Flopping onto his back, he pulled her so that she was tucked to his side, her head under his chin, resting on his shoulder, it gave their eyes a rest from each other, and he hoped that his words would be more impressive than actions.

"I remember the first time I saw you, reading rink side, then calling out the ref. You were instantly the most exciting woman I had ever seen." He stroked her arm with his loose fingertips, "you still are. I am sorry that I let bullshit ruin what we have, what we had. But I am more than ready to change that.

"I know you have a past, we all do. And that you were hurt, I'd punch the guy who hurt you, but I know that I hurt you too. I just want, no need, the chance to make it up to you."

"Really?"

She craned her neck to look up at him, and when he nodded, she sighed, "you really are a new man."

Laughing he nodded, "seems that way."

"So..."

"So, whilst I want to kiss you, as I told you yesterday, the next move is on you, but don't think I'm going to go easy on you..."

As if to prove the point, he stretched, pushing his body against hers and she shuddered again, he was going to enjoy this, a long slow tease. Then in an almost riposte, she stretched back, thrusting her breasts into his chest, and it was his turn to groan...because she might just kill him first.



The place seemed so empty without Bo's lumbering frame filling her lounge. She'd had to get up after their conversation as she had to open the cafe, Monday morning was a busy time. He followed her downstairs and sat at the end of the counter drinking tea, he still wasn't allowed caffeine, and eating poaches eggs. That was until Coop came to collect him to take him to a hospital appointment with a local neurosurgeon.

He'd text her mid-morning to say he had the all clear, the doctor was happy and in a few days he could start training, it was a humorous message, but she knew she shared his relief. It had been an awful few days.

As she was cleaning up, closing the place late afternoon, he messaged again.


Come for dinner, I'm cooking. A kind of thank you. Come over about six?


Fear flew through her, but she was also touched, that he was making an effort. And whilst she was fighting it, she also knew that she wanted to spend time with him, she missed him.

Changing quickly, she grabbed the jacket he'd left behind that morning and a bottle of wine, then drove across town to his waterfront apartment.

He buzzed her in from when she pressed the ground floor intercom.

"Come up, I'm just shaving, the door's open."

When she got out of the lift, she made for his door which was ajar, "Hi, Bo?"

Heading for the lounge, she called his name again, dumping the wine on his small dining table.


"Sorry, I meant to be ready."

He appeared from behind her, wiping shaving foam off his face with a towel, but it wasn't that action that distracted her, it was the fact that he was wearing just another small towel, wrapped low on his hips, barely concealing his obvious semi hardness pressed against his thigh, and his damp chiselled body, shoulders, chest, that flat stomach. Her body heated and her knees literally swooned.

She'd already had that making all kinds of pleasure for her. As Steph would say, she'd 'tapped that', and she knew exactly what he was capable of.

He grinned at her, knowingly, then before she could comment on this setup of sorts, he waved an apology and disappeared into his bedroom to get dressed.


The meal smelled amazing, and she was inhaling it deeply as she looked out of his balcony doors when she felt him approach.

"Great view."

He'd always been sarcastic about the view over a quiet part of the city, but tonight in the dark, the twinkling of lights, it was pretty, whatever he thought.

"Whatever you say, it's nice. I like it. And the smell."

He laughed, moving to almost touch her, and she met his eyes in their reflection in the dark glass. "I was scathing about everything about this place, but it's nice, I am starting to appreciate this place. And I made cottage pie. A hearty meal that I am told is popular here."

She turned to stare at him, "you've never made it before?"

He shook his head, "no, never tasted it either,  but I hear it's a good meal."

She laughed and when he looked at her questioningly, she said, "I can't believe you made a new recipe for someone else, I'd have made at least fifteen attempts for myself before I share it with someone."

He smiled, "well, I kinda figure that the effort will win me points, and you're too polite to tell me if it is bad."

Grinning she nodded, "I told you before, when you spend all day cooking for work, a meal at someone else's hand is the greatest treat, no matter how it tastes."

"And hopefully, it tastes good."

She smiled, he was so lovely when he was like this, earnest, honest, and caring. Her heart melted.


"How's your head?"

He shrugged, "had a headache this afternoon, so I'm listening to advice. But my vision is clearer, I didn't realise how bad it was until it cleared, the bruising seems easier, especially after my bath, that's why I wasn't ready when you arrived. I was enjoying a soak."

That made her tilt her head and stare at him, and he laughed, "what you questioning me?"

She shook her head, "why would I? Not as if you'd deliberately be showing off your ripped and sexy body to tease me."

His eyes opened as his face broke into a huge smile, "I'm sexy?"

Rolling her eyes, she pushed him in the centre of his chest, "you know exactly what you are."

"And according to you that was nothing to celebrate."

"You were holding out on me, not giving me anything."

Tilting his head, he nodded, "touche."

As he made for the kitchen and the dinner he'd made, she was left to stew on that.



Despite his career, his life, all the things he'd done, nothing seemed as satisfying as watching Natasha wolf down the meal he'd taken time to create. Even if she said it was below par he wouldn't care because of the moans she'd made as she ate it.

He was glad they were opposite each other and the table covered his lower half, as his body responded in dramatic fashion to those little sounds. The little memories of the time when he had all of her and blew it.

"So Freya said she might be doing some work with you," he offered, keeping the conversation light and away from the tension between them.

She finished chewing her mouthful, then reached for her wine glass, before replying, "she loves making cakes, I'm struggling to do enough baking. It makes sense. Plus I work six days a week, sometimes sixty hours. I need to embrace the growth with the cafe, or cut back. So I am going to advertise for a manager. I like baking, creating, someone else can run the place."

"That might mean you haven't got to get up at the ass crack of dawn everyday?"

She laughed, "a lie in until seven am would be a treat."

He nodded, and she picked up on the suggestion in his reaction, blushing. He was enjoying this, every moment. Slow, drawn out foreplay.  

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