He flashes me a smile and I drag in an involuntary breath as the beauty of it hits me full-force. The memory of his mouth on me, teasing and torturing me into a frenzy of desire, fills my head and I feel my legs wobble as blood rushes to my head and my pussy simultaneously.
Being in a constant state of arousal for the last couple of days has really messed with my mind. And my balance, it seems.
‘It’s gazpacho,’ he says, waving towards the bowls of chilled soup and a big mound of soft rolls on the table as I step onto the terrace.
‘Great,’ I reply, keeping my expression blank and my mind on the challenge of not reacting to his allure in any way.
He’s all relaxed again now, as if the scene in the pool never happened. Well, fine, I can act as if it didn’t either.
I take a seat opposite him and pick up my spoon, annoyed to find my hand is shaking. I put the spoon down again and pick up a bread roll instead, tearing it apart to give my twitchy fingers something to do.
‘I owe you an apology,’ he says, startling me.
I look up to see him assessing me with that shrewd gaze of his.
‘Oh?’ I say blandly. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of a response until I’ve heard what he has to say. This could just be another trick, a way to unnerve me further.
‘I need to explain why I acted the way I did after we broke up.’
I blink at him, completely surprised by this. I was expecting an apology for him walking away from me like that in the pool, not about his behaviour ten years ago.
‘Okay. I’m listening,’ I say warily.
‘Okay.’ He blows out a long, low breath, as if readying himself to do this. He picks up his spoon and swirls it through the soup as if needing something practical to focus on while he speaks. ‘When you finished with me so suddenly I felt like my whole world had fallen apart,’ he begins.
He pauses and looks at me, as if checking this is a safe subject, so I nod, encouraging him to go on with his story, my heart thumping in my chest.
‘I knew that your mother’s sudden death had been a horrific shock, and that you’d need time alone with your family to get through that period, which is why I gave you the space you asked for at first.’ He pauses again, his eyes filled with sadness. ‘But I couldn’t understand, when I came to you later to let you know I was there for you whenever you needed me, how you could just turn your back on what we had.’ He grips his spoon harder, his knuckles turning white.
My stomach gives a swoop of regret as I see the pain he’s remembering flicker in his eyes.
It had hurt me too, more than I’d ever let him know.
‘I didn’t understand what had gone wrong. What I could have possibly done to cause that. It made me crazy. I felt so fucking powerless.’
He sighs and shakes his head. ‘After what we’d shared, I really thought we were solid. That we cared for each other. Loved each other.’ He looks directly into my eyes again and I have to steel myself not to react to this.
My chest feels like it’s been trapped in a vice, and my heart aches with the emotional pain I’m experiencing, but I can’t let him see that. I can’t. I can’t.
‘But I guess I was wrong,’ he carries on when I don’t say anything, resting his spoon on the side of his bowl, apparently not hungry any more. ‘I guess our lives were destined to go in very different directions from that point. But I couldn’t accept it at first. I thought—naïvely, I now realise—that if you heard I’d been seeing other people it would make you jealous. That you’d decide you’d made a mistake and want me back. And when that didn’t work I was so fucking frustrated I did the most stupid thing in the world.’ He runs a hand over his creased brow. ‘I started drinking heavily.’
There’s a loaded pause while we both reflect on the implications of this.
‘You remember my mother died from liver failure, right?’ he says quietly.
I nod, not able to speak, my heart in my throat.
‘So I’m sure you’ve put two and two together by now and figured out that she was an alcoholic. She couldn’t control her urge to drink and keep on drinking. I thought I was okay with alcohol, but it turns out a traumatic event can turn me into someone I had no idea I was capable of being. Someone weak and needy. And when I started drinking heavily I couldn’t stop. I had no off-switch. There are weeks from around that time that I have no memory of. I know I behaved badly because my friends were honest enough to tell me about it. And I know that I told one of the women I was fucking at the time—who it turned out had a real grudge against you, for some reason—about you begging me for anal sex.’
He’s referring to a sex game we used to play and at least has the decency to look thoroughly ashamed at blabbing about this.
‘Which I recognise was a terrible abuse of trust and I know resulted in a lot of unkind gossip flying around about you,’ he adds.
He holds up a hand and shakes his head, not able to meet my eyes now. ‘Shit, I’m so sorry about that. It was unforgivable. But I was so angry with you for rejecting me, and half-crazy with frustration and alcohol poisoning at the time, I did nothing to quash it. I guess in my addled, fucked up state I told myself you deserved it for hurting me so badly.’
He picks up his spoon again and jabs it into the rich liquid in his bowl. ‘So, yes, you’re absolutely right about me being ego-driven and self-serving. And, of course, that’s why I don’t drink alcohol any more. I stopped before it ruined my tennis career and the rest of my life.’
He leans back in his chair and folds his arms, studying me with a steady, contemplative gaze. ‘The shame I felt about it has dogged me for far too long now. It’s been a really destructive force in my life and I don’t want to carry it with me any more. I’m done with pandering to my resentment about what could have been with us. It’s time to move on.’
The smile he gives me now is tinged with remorse.
‘The truth is, I wanted you to stay here so I could prove to you, and to myself, that it’s possible. That I’ve changed. That I’m over you and what we had. What happened at that charity fundraiser was a real wake-up call. I let my grief about losing my father get the better of me and lost my mind. I was still pretty raw then and probably shouldn’t have gone that night. I definitely shouldn’t have ripped your dress. And I shouldn’t have fucked you like that, especially because I didn’t even stop for one second to think about using a condom. That was irresponsible and really fucking stupid.’
He shoots me a look of apology, which morphs into concern. ‘You’re not pregnant, are you? I realise I never asked. I guess I thought you’d let me know if that was the case.’
I shake my head, his apology ringing in my ears. ‘I’m not pregnant. I’ve been on the pill for years. And, just so you know, I did all the sensible tests they recommend after unprotected sex, so I know there are no other issues we need to deal with either.’
‘Good to know,’ he says with a relieved smile. ‘And, in the spirit of sharing, I did them too and got the same results.’
I suddenly realise I’ve reduced my bread roll into crumbs as he’s talked and I pick up my napkin and wipe my fingers to give myself a chance to look away from him for a second.
His confessions have knocked me for six and the tension that’s slowly been mounting in my chest since this morning has grown and grown until my heart feels like it wants to explode.
The problem is, I’ve used his anger and cruelty towards me as a shield from my real feelings for him for so long—even though I’ve never allowed myself fully to admit it—and now I’ve finally heard an apology for the way he treated me I don’t know how to protect myself any more. It’s as if he’s peeled back a shell I’ve been relying on and now I’m raw and vulnerable to his charm. I’m reminded of my longing for what we used to have. A feeling that’s never really gone away. It’s bubbled there, under the surface, permeating my ever
y thought, my every action.
He’s like a dangerous drug. Addictive and sanity-threatening.
‘So, come on, since I’ve been so honest with you, don’t you think it’s time you were honest with me too?’ he says with a provocative smile, picking up his spoon again.
My chest gives a throb of panic. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean are you ever going to tell me why you really dumped me back then?’
I clear my throat, then clear it again, playing for time until his penetrating gaze becomes too much for me. ‘I told you at the time why it wouldn’t have worked between us long-term,’ I say, my voice sharp with nerves. ‘Our lives were going in different directions and I had to look after my father and sisters after my mother died. My father went completely to pieces. The whole family was in turmoil. I had nothing left for you. For us.’
He leans forward, his expression insistent now. ‘I don’t believe you. I think there was more to it than that.’
My heart thumps harder. Even though we’re outdoors I suddenly feel trapped and claustrophobic, as though a cage has unexpectedly fallen down around me. ‘You can believe what you want. You always did think you were right, no matter what,’ I bite out. He knows I’m lying. I can sense it. I can see it in his eyes and it frightens me.
His gaze remains fixed on mine for what feels like eternity, neither of us saying a word, locked in a battle of wills with neither of us willing to lose. So much passes between us in that silence, so much pain, hurt and regret.
But I can’t back down. I can’t tell him what he wants to know. It would destroy the safety of the world I’ve built around me since that terrible time.
I jump as Jamie suddenly lets out a low growl of frustration and flings his spoon into his bowl of soup, where it makes a great splash, sending droplets of brightly coloured pureed vegetables flying through the air which land on the front of my white suit in a shower of splatters.
I stare down in horror at the mess he’s made of me. My beautiful power suit. He’s ruined it. Just as he ruined my dress. He seems determined to destroy every beautiful thing I own.
‘Shit!’ he says, springing up from his chair. Before I can say anything, he grabs a napkin and starts rubbing at the stains, smearing the bright-red soup further over my front and only making things worse.
I sit there, shaking my head in disbelief. Then I knock his hand away from my chest, stick my fingers into my own bowl of soup and take great pleasure in running them down his white T-shirt, marvelling at the elegantly swirled pattern I make.
He freezes and stares down at what I’ve done, one eyebrow raised.
‘There you go, now we’re even,’ I say.
Without a word he leans over, picks up my bowl of soup and proceeds to pour it from a great height down into my lap. I give a shriek as the cold liquid trickles between my thighs.
‘No, now we’re even,’ he says with relish.
‘Right!’ Jumping up from my chair, I make a grab for his bowl and manage to get my fingers onto the rim before he can reach over and stop me. I throw the soup towards him, managing to catch him a little on the face as well as all down his neck and chest.
‘Fuck!’ he shouts as soup drips from his chin and soaks into his clothes.
He’s a mess too.
Such a mess.
Tension hovers in the air between us. At this point it could go either way: tip towards anger or laughter. And we both know it needs to go somewhere.
I start to laugh. I can’t help it. It comes from deep in my belly, radiating upward through my chest and out of my throat in great gusts. And, now I’ve started, I can’t stop. It pours out of me, making me bend at the middle from the force of it, my whole body shaking, my eyes watering. I can barely breathe, and I know my face must be as red as the soup I’m covered in, but for once in my life I don’t care.
Because he’s laughing too.
This moment is perfect in its madness. And it’s the ideal antidote to the tension humming between us.
Finally, my hysteria starts to subside and I straighten up, smoothing my hands down my soup-stained suit, suddenly not caring whether it’s ruined. It was worth it just to feel like that again.
Happy, carefree and alive.
If only for a few minutes.
When I look at Jamie he’s not laughing any more. Instead he’s gazing at me with a puzzled but gratified sort of frown, as if he’s seeing me again for the first time in a long time.
‘There you are,’ he whispers fiercely, reaching up to slide his hand against my jaw, his eyes dancing with delight. And something else—lust. Longing. ‘I knew you were in there somewhere,’ he murmurs before bringing his mouth down hard onto mine.
The last of my laughter dies in my throat as I open my mouth to kiss him back, my heart thundering against my ribs.
And this kiss feels different. It’s no longer a quest for dominance or a battle of wills; it’s a meeting of minds.
I know it’s the most dangerous thing in the world at this point, but I can’t bring myself to stop it. Because I want this so much. This connection. This elation I’m feeling.
The kiss goes on and on and we press ourselves closer, deeper, tighter, till I can feel the beat of his heart against my chest and the insistent press of his erection against my stomach.
And, oh, God, I ache to feel him moving inside me. It’s all I can think about.
I’m suddenly aware of him stooping down a little and in one fluid movement he scoops me into his arms, his hands holding me firmly behind my knees, his other arm pressing me against his chest.
‘Let’s take this inside, shall we?’ he says, though it’s not a question; it’s a statement of intent.
He strides through the open bi-fold doors and into the living room, where he drops me onto the large leather couch. I watch in rapt fascination while he strips the soup-stained clothes from his body until he’s standing naked in front of me. His cock is hard and clearly very ready for action.
My whole body zings with a mixture of excitement and apprehension and blood rushes straight to my pussy, the pressure of my need making me crazy. I sit up and begin to strip off my own clothes as fast as I can, the movement of my fingers clumsy with eagerness.
I’m so afraid he’s going to stop this at the crunch point, just to tease me, I can barely stand the tension. I think I’ll go completely crazy if he does. I’ll lose my goddamned mind.
But it doesn’t seem as though that’s his intention this time because as soon as I’ve stripped off the last of my clothes he lets out a growl of approval and grabs my hands to pull me off the sofa and down onto the rug with him. The moment I’m down on the floor he rolls on top of me, his arms braced on either side of my head, pinning me under him.
I’m his prisoner through and through.
‘Tell me what you want,’ he demands, moving down my body to kiss my neck, my breasts, my belly. I feel his lips hot on my skin, his tongue damp and insistent on my nipple, his teeth gently biting my shoulder, sending small currents of ecstasy all the way through me. But he doesn’t touch the part of me that needs his attention the most. He’s nowhere near sating the hot ache between my thighs.
‘I want...inside me,’ I say, my voice a whisper of desire.
‘What’s that?’ he teases, moving his mouth over my ribcage, his breath leaving trails of burning sensation in its wake.
‘I want something. Inside me...’
‘What do you want? Say it. I need to hear you say it.’
I screw my eyes shut. ‘You! Your cock! I want your cock inside me,’ I moan. ‘I need it. Please. Please. I need it.’ I arch my body upward, hoping, praying, for contact. I shiver with relief as he moves up my body and lowers his hips so his erection presses firmly against my left leg. I wiggle my shoulders, trying to push my body higher up the rug to get the kind of contact I’m desperate
for.
His knee nudges between my legs, signalling me to spread them wide so he can kneel between them, which I waste no time in doing.
He stares into my eyes for a moment, his pupils blown and dark with desire, before lowering his head and crushing his lips against mine. His tongue plunders my mouth, his kiss deep and forceful. I feel him rock to one side and then suddenly there’s delicious pressure at the apex of my thighs as his cock finds my entrance, which is slick and ready with desire for him, and he pushes forward, opening me up to his gentle thrust, filling that aching gap between my legs.
Finally, finally!
His cock is hot and hard inside me and it feels so good, so fucking good, as he moves deeper, taking himself all the way to the hilt so our pelvises clash and my needy clit receives the contact it’s longing for.
‘Oh...’ we both groan happily as our bodies lock together for one sweet moment of ultimate pressure, with him so deep inside me I feel absolutely complete. And then he begins to move, slowly drawing himself out then pushing back, making every nerve I have come alive with pleasure. He keeps his thrust gentle to begin with, but I can tell from the shake in his arms that he’s having trouble holding himself back.
‘Harder! I want it harder,’ I demand, tipping my pelvis upward to meet his next thrust, encouraging him to do as I say.
‘Fuck!’ he groans, holding himself still inside me for one heart-stopping moment, then he seems to give in to the urge he’s been so carefully controlling and begins to pound into me hard, as if he no longer has power over his desire and is allowing it to take him along for the ride.
This wonderful, brain-melting ride.
Our bodies crash together, over and over, until we find the perfect rhythm with his cock hitting a spot inside me that makes me shiver with pleasure, and his pelvis catches my clit with every thrust.
This is going to be fast. I know it. There’s no time for changing of positions. But that’s fine with me. This is exactly where I want to be right now. Beneath him, around him, moving with him in the kind of sync we’ve not been in for ten long years.
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