Passing Through (Love/Hate Part Three)

All Rights Reserved ©

Part Forty One

 Chapter Forty One


Bo's heart pounded, finally! He'd known, the moment he walked into the bar that Natasha was waiting for him, he could only hope that it was in earnest, and her reaction or more likely her actions were all that he had worked for.

Stood on her tiptoes, her lips were planted on his, her hand cupping his cheek, her fingers tingling as they brushed over his jaw. He was a goner. Reciprocating, he wrapped his arms around her, dragging her into his body, and devoured her, snatching at her lips with his, then when she sighed, thrusting his tongue into meet hers. It was obscene for a public place, he knew that before someone called out, "get a room." That was inevitable as they were in the middle of a bar that was only getting busier, but he didn't care. This was so much more than he expected.

Pulling back, he looked at her, resting his forehead on hers, her eyes sparkled, her lips were pink, and her chest was rising and falling dramatically with her erratic breaths.

"Shit." He murmured, and then it was as though she suddenly took in her surroundings and blushed deeply.

"We shouldn't..." as she tried to push away, he shook his head, holding onto her tightly. There was no way that she was backing off, he could admit that this wasn't the right place, but it was definitely the right thing. It felt perfect.

"Don't." He put a finger over her lips, "don't run away. This is everything...this is right." Her eyes were like saucers, staring up at him, scared, and he wished he could take that away, but he didn't know how to. "Come on, let's get out of here."

For a long moment, she didn't reply, but then just as he thought it was all over, she nodded, consenting. And jubilantly, he led her out of the bar.


His feet barely touched the floor as he dragged her down the stairs and then out into the cold night. As the door closed behind them, he deviated sharply to the left, rounded the corner, then pressed her up against the building.

"Where were we?" he asked, as he leaned in to her, bringing his face right up to hers.

Before she could answer, he smiled into her bewildered eyes, then covered her lips with his own once more.

And it was wild, for all her soft looks and insecurities, her gentleness and reluctance, as soon as his lips touched hers, she was crazy, fighting his lips for dominance, biting at his bottom lip, seeking his mouth with her tongue. For a long moment he let her, took her inquisition, accepting her challenge, but he was no saint, every inch of his body wanted to dominate every inch of hers, and he grabbed her hands, pinning them to the wall above her head, rendering her incapable of moving, but rather than fight him, it caused her to moan, to arch her body into his. And his body ignited in response, he wasn't gentle, biting, licking, sucking his way from her mouth to her throat. Securing both hands in place with one of his, allowed him to slide his free hand over her body, the curve of her hip, the dent of her waist and the delicious swell of her breast. He could feel her hard nipple through the soft wool of her sweater, and as he thumbed over it, she moaned into his mouth, it was fucking perfect. She was perfect.

Restrained by his hand, he could feel the frustration rise in her, her body started to thrust against him, wanting control, but he was enjoying his power far too much. Grinding into her with his hips, and his mouth, there was nothing pretty about this contact, and he was glad they were tucked around a corner out of view.

Biting at her collarbone, he threw caution to the wind, dragging the neckline of her sweater down, and the cup of her bra with it, exposing the harried nipple to his mouth. At that point she almost dropped to the floor, legs weak, he had to thrust his thigh between hers to keep her upright as he chuckled into her breast.

"Fuck...Bo..." he looked up at her, from h is stooped position, her head was thrown back, her lips parted. She was desire in a nutshell.

Re-clothing her boob gently, he straightened back up and kissed her gently, "let's get you home."

He led her to his car, her legs almost drunk as she tried to negotiate the uneven car park.


Driving to her home, he kept a hand possessively on her thigh, she was slumped in the seat, and he couldn't help the ego boost that seeing her so dishevelled created in him. One kiss and she was putty in his hands, how could you not feel cocky at that?

"We're here." Her voice was a breath as he stopped the car. Climbing out, he moved to meet her as she closed her own door behind her, then taking her hand he led her across the road to her front door.

Before she could speak, he kissed her once more, and the result was exactly the same, wildfire. He wanted to consume her, be on her, around her, in her...all at the same time. She clawed at him, and he squeezed her tight, all the while their lips crashed and their tongues duelled.

Eventually he pulled back, resting his forehead on hers, staring into her eyes.

"Shall we go in?"

It took every ounce of his control to shake his head, "I'm going home."

"But..." frustration oozed off her in waves, then there was the rejection that seemed to hit her like a sledgehammer.

Cupping her face with both hands, he kissed her in what he hoped was a cherished way, "I want that, more than anything. But I've screwed up once before, I am not rushing, or ruining this." In reality he knew that there was still a lot of talking to do, a lot of things to iron out, they had to go into this with their eyes wide open, transparent.

It didn't make it any easier to see her face fall, so he kissed her once more, "don't make this harder than it is. I have tickets, tomorrow night, the ballet at the Manchester Opera House, Romeo and Juliet, Russian company, full orchestra...I will collect you at half past four, to allow for the drive, and then dinner."

He watched her, waiting for her acceptance, and when she nodded, he wanted to punch the sky in pleasure and relief.

Walking away was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.



The following day dragged, yet it was busy enough that Natasha didn't have chance to relive the previous evening. The memory of her humping his leg outside the ice rink, where anyone could see them, her exposed breast being lavished by his beautiful and talented tongue, it was all so out of character. But nothing compared to the memory of his stopping, ending things so abruptly. Just when they were getting started.

He walked away leaving her hot, horny and extremely frustrated. And if that wasn't bad enough, he then text her when she got back to her home.


Don't even think about itching the scratch...that's my job, and I will soon.


And that was that, she couldn't do anything about it, other than suffer. How humiliating, to throw yourself at a man, only to have him disconnect you from him, and step away. Then for him to suspect that she might take things into her own hands, so to speak. Embarrassing. Was there a female equivalent of blue balls?

There was, and she had it, for almost twenty four hours.


Mid afternoon there was an accident outside the cafe, two cars collided, resulting in injuries, ambulances and even fire engines. The furore dragged people out, and the afternoon became a little chaotic. She didn't get the chance to get nervous, or even to get ready, as the place was still really busy at four pm. Fortunately she had the chance to rush upstairs to change, then had to apply make up and style her hair in the tiny bathroom downstairs.


She was seeing off the last of the customers of the day, when the door opened, and Bo walked in, dwarfing everyone else with his, height, his size, but also his presence. He was a mountain of a man in so many ways.

"Hey. Busy?"

Natasha nodded, "couldn't move, been really busy."

He leaned against the counter, watching her as she finished up, "you look good."

She glanced down at herself, she'd chosen a dress, short, but smart, and it was now covered with an apron, she still wore her work flats, but her hair and make-up was OK.

"Hardly, I feel very underprepared..."

He on the other hand looked decidedly edible. Dark grey trousers and a black shirt, fitted to his amazing physique, unbuttoned at the throat. Though in all honesty he'd look good in a hemp sack. She was glad she'd dressed up, anticipating that the ballet audience would be a little smarter than her usual dress code.

"Well, it seems I like underprepared." Tugging at her hand, he pulled her into his body, then met her lips with a promising kiss.

Sighing, she pulled back, "I need to lock up."

He nodded, "we need to hit the road, I mean we have a dinner reservation before the theatre. It's a tight schedule."


She'd never been to watch a ballet before, so as Bo drove into the city, Natasha couldn't help her beaming smile.

"What's made you so happy?"

He asked glancing at her when he stopped at lights.

She shrugged, "just excited to see the ballet, and dinner...you know me and food."

It was his turn to grin, "that I do."

It was no lie, chefs loved food, and whilst she was a baker by definition, she loved food, and as she was known to spout often, there was no better meal than one you hadn't created yourself, especially after a day spent cooking for others.

"And I have it on good authority that this is the best restaurant for miles."

That made her mouth water, "I'm sold."

She was quiet for a moment, then turned in her seat, "you booked this...what if I hadn't come to the game?"

He shrugged, "I wasn't expecting you to, not really. I was going to send you an invite, appeal to your inquisitive side. If you didn't want to come to this then I'd know I was completely out of luck."

That made her smile, he did know her, he knew she'd want this...and he knew that she wanted him, deep down. His patience had paid off.



Parking in Manchester wasn't great, but it seemed that Bo had done his homework, pulling into a car park near the city centre. The hotel nearby was home to the best restaurant in the region, a French themed steak house. There was a valet, uniformed, greeting them at the door. Silver laid tables in the most glamorous room she'd ever been in, and a menu with no prices.

"We're going Dutch," she offered as they sat down, but he shook his head.

"Nope, this is on me." She made to protest, but he stopped her, placing a finger on her lips, "don't argue...for once."

It was against her nature, but for once she did listen to him, and had the greatest night she'd had in years.


Bo glanced to his right, Natasha was transfixed on the closing scenes of the ballet, Romeo lying dead on the floor, Juliet bereft and holding the dagger aloft. Her face was open, mesmerised by what she was watching, and he derived such pleasure from that. He had never seen himself as a lover of the arts, but this ballet was the epitome of love and loss...and after the amazing meal, that almost cost him a month's rent, it was the perfect evening. Natasha showed her emotions in the way she leaned forward, gasped, and for the last twenty minutes, rested a hand on his thigh, squeezing and relaxing as the show played out.

He couldn't ask for anything more.

When he arranged the night, he'd thought about booking a hotel room, but realised that was far too forward. Instead, he was going to pull back again, take his blue balls home alone. Because it was working, this distance, this pursuit...he was seeing his prize in sight. He just needed a little more, another sign.

When the curtain fell, Natasha turned to him, tears flowing down her cheeks and sighed, "that was amazing."

He hadn't hated the ballet, but he'd loved her reactions more, sheer joy, unadulterated pleasure, grief...no restriction to any of it. And that was perfect.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Taking his hand, she squeezed it meaningfully, "I loved it, thank you so much for bringing me."

"I would do anything for you."

That made her lift an eyebrow, cheekily. "Anything?"

He shrugged, "within reason."

Grinning, she stood and filed out of the row, still holding his hand, then dragged him into a dark recess under the stairs of the theatre. There she pushed him against the wall, and kissed him, like her life depended on it.

When she pulled back, she stared up at him, coquettishly, "there's this itch...that needs a scratch."

And just like that he was a goner.  

Continue Reading Next Chapter

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.