Mr Americano - ALAN RICKMAN fanfic

Chapter 12 - Taste of Addiction

[M rating!] it's a hot one, and it only gets steamier in the next chapter. Enjoy! 

Mr Pellicci's voice travels from the back of the café for the third time in the space of five minutes. I was helping him to finish off the stock count, anxiously aware that if I didn't leave right this moment, I would miss seeing Alan in the parking lot. I should have left ten minutes ago.

"I'm sorry Mr Pellicci, I have to leave now. The chemist is going to shut." It was the first thing that sprang to mind.

He pushes his glasses back upon his nose, head still in his numbers and gestures me on. If I had of known it was that easy, I would have left before now. I felt a little bad. I'd always helped him with the stock count, but I was so desperate to see Alan, I couldn't wait another moment.

Alan had text me on the forth day after he gave me the ride home, now December 14th. A few simple words were all it took to set my heart a flutter; combined with the fact Scott had been a complete manipulative asshole all week and I wanted to escape.

"I'm trying to get this fucking promotion and you're out there getting pissed, staying out all night. What kind of woman are you anyway? I bust my balls working for us; you could at least have prepared something for when I got home. I don't ask much, Beck! I'm the one who's keeping our heads above water."

"And you think I don't work hard?! I'm working non-stop from the moment I arrive until the moment I leave. I stand on my feet all day. You sit behind a desk. I'm tired of you putting me down just because you're earning more. I work my ass off too!"

Scott rolls his eyes and makes a mockery of how strenuous it must be to work in a coffee house. This is nothing new. He forgets that he was the one to persuade me to move to London with him and drop out of university, that it was the right decision. He said with my writing abilities I could quite easily approach independent producers and directors with regards to my play script whilst working a regular 9-5. This is the 9-5 that he now belittles me with, which subsequently spirals into the fact I can barely focus on my play script at home because of our rocky relationship.

Under-appreciated, disrespected and undervalued, I felt no remorse on my way to the parking lot to see Alan that evening; neither did I feel it for the lipstick I applied before I left or the button I undone on my shirt.

.......

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show," he says with a smirk.

In the dark ambience of the parking lot, behind the blacked out windows of his BMW, our lips meet, melting together like honey, and it's everything I needed since the moment he drove me home. He responds to my enthusiasm, my questing tongue that toys with his, and buries a hand into the back of my hair. Just to feel his fingers on my neck sets me aflame.

"I missed you," I sigh, into our kiss.

"I was beginning to miss you too."

"Beginning?" I cock an eyebrow, teasingly.

"Well...you've been so vivid in my thoughts, it was as if you were still with me, except..."

There he goes pausing for effect, just inches from my lips, almost whispering.

"...Except I couldn't taste you."

A gentle sigh leaves me as our tongues erotically caress. He has such a way of kissing that makes me convulse between my thighs. An overwhelming need comes over me, and my hands that are pawing at his dark suited chest slink down...down...and begin slowly rubbing over the forming bulge in his trousers. He doesn't object and breathes in through his nose in enjoyment, smiling slight against my mouth.