Covet

by James, Ella

  “You feel so good.” I wait for those words—for any words.

  His hand squeezes my hip. His fingers rub my clit. And then he starts to thrust. It’s slow at first, then faster as I bear back toward him. His hand strokes along my back, and then his fist cinches my hair.

  I gasp at that. His hand slackens. He stops thrusting.

  I groan, “More!”

  He fills me so deeply, I cry out. Then his hand grips my hair again.

  Eight

  Declan

  “People are stupid and naive. Do you think this is about love?”

  The voice is so crisp and clear, so goddamn loud, it rips me from sleep. I bolt upright, panting as the motion tosses Finley off me.

  OH, FUCK.

  Just a nightmare.

  Just a nightmare.

  Off the bed, into the bathroom. What day is it? Fuck. I’m shaking. Phone is on the bed. Getting close to that day, though.

  Deep breaths, man.

  It’s all good.

  Finley’s in the room right there. You can get in bed with her.

  I fold my arms tightly across my chest and lean against the door. My heart is racing. Jesus. Deep breaths.

  It’s so weird when this happens. Now my teeth are chattering.

  Nothing’s wrong, dude. Just the same dream.

  I drag air in through my nostrils…hold it. Blow it out my mouth.

  Again.

  Again.

  I feel like a balloon that’s floating off—my head hollow; my body fuzzy, cold. My heart’s still racing. I shut my eyes. Take some deep breaths.

  I don’t want to pass out. Please.

  I breathe through my nose, half close my eyes as I lean into the tub, wrapping my hand around the shower faucet. When the shower’s warm, I sit in the tub and put my head against my knees. Inhale the steam and tell myself it’s different than air. I can breathe steam, no problem. When having my eyes shut gives me that weird floating feeling, I thread my fingers into my hair and pull hard enough to make my eyes sting.

  How ironic that it levels me out—the thing he did.

  I try to guide my racing mind to Finley. She’s in the bed. She’s naked. I can never leave her. What day is it? It’ll be June 21 soon…and then I leave the next week. I inhale and try to let my thoughts roll past without latching on. Like they taught me to at rehab. Mindfulness.

  Hey, at least you’re clean.

  It’s such an innocent thought—and it’s true. I don’t know why it makes my stomach heave. I lunge from tub to sink, trying to stay quiet as I dry heave. When I’m done, I wipe my face and brush my teeth and clean the faucet off with hands that shake.

  You’ll never be better.

  Finley doesn’t care. She said she’d never leave me.

  You’re okay. My sweet Carnegie…

  I just want to get in bed with her. I still feel kind of weird and half-real. If she’s not too hard asleep, she’ll probably scoot up against me. That’ll be good.

  I look at the razor on the sink for a long, dazed moment before I step back into the bedroom. Back into bed, and it does feel good. The sheets are cold, the mattress soft. Finley is sort of awake. She lifts the blankets for me, and I wrap her soft, warm body up against my chest.

  I do that little tremor thing—my body’s last hiccup. Then her hands are touching my bare shoulders. I can feel her waking up more.

  “Did you shower?” It’s a whisper.

  I nod.

  “Are you all right?” Her hand runs down my tricep.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  But she can see through me. Even in the dark and half asleep, she knows I’m not. She hugs me with one arm around my neck, kisses my cheek. She’s so soft.

  That’s all I need: to be inside her. It’s the only place on earth I always feel good. She prods at my dick, then jerks me off. I eat her pussy. After she comes, she presses my cheek against the softness of her belly, and she whispers it like nothing: “I love you.”

  My throat twists. All the air in my lungs dissipates.

  “Don’t say it back,” she murmurs. “Not right now. This is my moment to tell you.” Her hand comes to my face. “I love you, Declan Carnegie. No strings attached, as they say.”

  But she’s wrong. Every string I have is tied up in her. I don’t know how I’ll ever untie them. I blink. My eyes sting so fucking bad.

  I want to say I love you, too. I love you.

  I can’t breathe because the words are stuck in my throat.

  She reaches for my dick again. I put a hand over hers. Better if I do that tonight. Better when I feel her long, soft hair against my chest and throat.

  “I want to say I love you with my sex.” She grins as she murmurs the word. I give her the best smile I can manage.

  Then I guide her onto her back. I love to whisper to her while I fuck her. I love to touch her face and kiss her lips.

  I love you.

  I grab her by the hips. She squeals as I turn her over onto her front.

  “Ohhhh, it’s this again…the deep dive.” She giggles.

  Cold sweat blooms on my skin. “Stick your ass up in the air for me, Siren. And put your fingers in your pussy.”

  * * *

  Finley

  I ponder it at the mid-June Monthly Market as I wait in line for all the usuals: enough eggs, meat, chicken, and grains to last, oddly, not four weeks, as the name might suggest, but six. Our customs need not make sense.

  “For one or two?” I ask Maura, who oversees the market with her mother and two sisters.

  “When will Doctor be back?”

  “I believe the ship’s arriving ’round about the first of August.”

  Maura scratches her freckled face with a pencil. “Well…the beef keeps. And chicken. Go on. Get a bit for the household.”

  I’ll share a bit with Declan as well. My thoughts return to him as I move through the homegoods market. Would he need some shaving cream? New razors? I fill my basket for us both and grin behind my hand at how lovely it feels.

  I return to the clinic residence, unload a bit of stuff, and get a hat I knitted for Kayti so I can drop by Anna’s. If I don’t go by often enough, she’ll know—and that won’t do. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

  When I arrive, Anna grins and tells me Freddy took Kayti to market. “I’m alone! Can you imagine?” She laughs, a bit mad with the freedom. “Do come in, my dear!”

  To my surprise, she opens the bottle of wine the oldest Mrs. Glass gave her just after Kayti’s birth.

  “Shall we have a bit?”

  “And what of your udders?”

  “Oh, I’ll have only a swallow.”

  “And I’ll get sloshed?”

  I laugh at that, but it’s near what happens. By the time I leave a few hours later, I can scarcely walk straight. I remember there was something—something I should do or think of?—but it’s quite a ways past midday now; I left before sunup, and now I need to see my darling.

  I love him. I grin at that. Then I frown…because he didn’t say he loved me, did he? I did ask him not to, though. And besides, I can feel he does.

  But what of the odd intercourse? That’s what was nagging at me. I was going to ponder why he’s switched his preference. Every night and day this week when we’ve made love, it’s been that way, where I can’t see him. Is it odd? Does it perhaps signify he’s putting distance between us? Or does he rightly think that I enjoy the angle?

  I giggle as I weave a bit along the road toward Gammy’s. I’m a bit sloshed. A wee bit, that’s all. Will he think it funny? What will Baby do? I’m a git; the lamb won’t notice. I laugh at my own madness.

  I’m there on the porch before I realize my colossal error. I fix what’s wrong and stash the evidence inside the tiny pocket on the front of my pans. Then I knock. I’m transfixed by my own fist moving.

  I giggle when he opens the door. I watch as his lips bend into a frown and his blue eyes widen. “Finley. Are you…drinking?”

  I’m howling.
It’s right hilarious how startled he looks. “Anna’s fault,” I wheeze between cackles as I clutch his shirt. His arm goes around me. “What did she give you?”

  “Wine.”

  He laughs. “What kind of wine was it?”

  “The whining kind.” I dissolve into giggles again, and he scoops me up and carries me into the kitchen, where he sets me at the table. I giggle further as I wobble in my chair.

  “Hold onto the table.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Siren. This is a surprise.”

  “I’m such a git!”

  I hear him chuckle behind me.

  “Am I annoying?”

  “You?”

  I nearly fall again as I look over my shoulder at him.

  “C’mon, Siren.” He steps to me, and I feel his arm hand on my shoulder. “Hold onto that table for me, okay? I don’t want my Finny getting hurt.”

  I giggle.

  He looks into my eyes, and I watch as his lips curve slowly upward. “I think you need some water.”

  I belch softly. My hand slaps over my mouth. I hear his low laugh, followed by the sound of water running. “Don’t worry, I’ve got ya covered.”

  He sits beside me with a tall glass of water and two small, round M&Ms.

  “Advil.” His strong-looking fingers push it toward me.

  “Advil.” I pout. “So…I swallow them?” I rub one with my fingertip.

  “Siren, Siren…” He picks up the pills. “Are you pill first or water first?”

  I tilt my head. “I don’t quite follow.”

  “When you’re taking something.”

  I laugh, airy. “I don’t know. I take nothing.”

  “Let’s do the pill first. Then you drink a little water, wash it down.”

  I love his face as he helps me. “You’re so good-looking. It should be a sin.” My eyelids feel so weighted suddenly. “I suppose it is.” My words sound slurred.

  “How much of the bottle did Anna have?” I hear him ask it distantly.

  “Not much. Because her breasts are VIPs.”

  He chuckles. “Are they?”

  “Not like mine.” I poke my lower lip out, peer down at my chest. “Mine are talentless twits. Anna’s make milk.”

  Something touches my leg, and I startle.

  “Baby.” Declan smiles. I rub her with my foot.

  “Do you still like me, Carnegie?”

  He makes a frowny face, but also a bit soft, a little smiling. “Why would you ask that?”

  I look down at the table. He stands up and pulls me up against his hard abs. “Why’d you ask me that, Siren? Tell me.”

  “Because…of things,” I whisper. I shake my head, picturing our odd lovemaking. “Can’t remember now,” I murmur. I try to stand.

  He helps me up. “Let’s go back to the bedroom. You can see a thing I knitted.”

  That sends me all giggly. “I adore a man who has smart fingers.”

  His hand grips mine as we walk toward our lovely lair. I note the yarn out on the bed. There’s two mugs on the bedside table.

  “Having tea?” I frown down at them.

  “Yeah.”

  “You quite like it.”

  He nods. I frown as I sniff in his direction. “Do you smell that smoke smell? Oh,” I laugh, “I bet it’s you. You’ve been a chimney lately!”

  He tugs at his shirt, takes it off. I whistle at his lovely, hard torso—or try to. He laughs at my failed attempt.

  We’re on the bed then. I’m collapsed on my back, and he’s leaned over me. I reach up and pinch his pebbled nipples. “These are darling.”

  That gives him a good laugh.

  “So much good here.” I run my hand down his chest and realize I can feel the outline of his ribs. “What’s this?” I run my fingertips over the hardness of him there.

  “My body?”

  He’s grown leaner, I realize. But…it’s rude to say so. I don’t want to make him feel odd. I’ll just feed him lots so he’ll be healthy when he goes. When we go.

  I look into his eyes. “I want to go with you. Did I say that yet?” His eyes widen, making me laugh. “I think not.” I claw at his side—warm skin, hard muscle, the surprise ribs.

  I can see him try to blink away the shock on his face. He tries to mask it as he peers down at me.

  “I’ve decided I’d like to go to America.” I wrap my arms around his, struggling to pull him down atop me. “I’m the princess, you’re the prince. It’s too soon…you leaving. We’ve only just begun.”

  I reach for his face, cupping his cheek with my hand. “I’ve known it’s time for me to go,” I whisper. “Believe me…I need to get away from here. You’ll feed me liquor for the boat part…or we’ll break the safe. Not break the safe,” I muse. “That could be painful for you. No pain for you…”

  His eyes are wide, and my mind’s foggy. I fear I’ve said something untoward. “Don’t be having wide eyes. And don’t let me be afraid,” I hiss. “If you tell me you love me, I can brave the boat.” The words grow raspier as I whisper. “I’m frightened of the boat.”

  His eyes are wide and somber.

  “Not now,” I whisper. His face blurs. “Say it when you want…I’m just talking nonsense. Kiss me.” I grab his shoulder. “And let’s be together.”

  He kisses me. Harsh kisses. He should tell me he loves me. I bite his lip in retribution. “You’re a git.” I yank his hair. “Tell me you love me.”

  “I love you.”

  The words spin round till they’re evaporated. Did he really say them? I think so.

  I fumble with his pants then push at his hands. “Take them down,” I order.

  I must be no good at drunken blow jobs. He’s not even fully thickened up and firm.

  “I’m sorry,” I manage. I wipe at my eyes.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not good.”

  His hands on my shoulders, down my arms. Gentle. “You so good, Finley.” His eyes seem to reach for mine. “You’re so good. Never doubt that I think so.”

  My eyes shut. Our dizzy kisses. I adore the weight of him above me, making things feel better. Safer.

  And then I’ve lost him. We’re moving, and he’s behind me. His hands build a fervor in me, make me want his sex inside.

  “Your fingers,” I hiss. “Not enough…”

  His hand is gentle on my back. “Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t think I mess around with drunk girls.”

  “I’m not a drunken girl,” I try. “I’m your girl.”

  He answers with a snap of latex. With his sex shoved into me. I’m numb on the surface, but deep there, I feel him. The sensation makes me grunt. It draws loud cries from me.

  “You okay?” he keeps asking.

  “Oh yes. Never better…”

  I’m near climax when his hand catches a handful of my hair and tugs.

  I gasp.

  “Is this okay?”

  “It hurts a bit,” I squeak.

  And then it doesn’t hurt. He lets go. He reaches around and rubs me till I’m screaming his name. As I come, he slaps my backside harshly, and I feel the condom swell.

  Nine

  Finley

  The weight of my drunken words grows nearly crushing as my mind clears and the headache comes on.

  What must he think? I don’t know, because Mark Glass has called him off. It seems Mark’s washroom pipes have sprung a leak, and he’s ripping up the tile floor. He came knocking as I soaked in the bath Declan drew for me, asking if Sailor wanted to help. Because why wouldn’t he want to help? Cue eyeroll.

  Before he left, I begged him not to mention me—in any manner. While they’re working, though, what topics might arise? If my name surfaces, what more might Mark Glass say of me?

  I pace around the house, talking to Baby before deciding to walk back down to the clinic residence and give Doctor a call. It’s been a few days since I’ve heard from him, and it won’t do to have him calling frequently, failing to reach me because I’m spending nights elsew
here. I’m checking the voice mail daily, but the notion of him catching on still frightens me.

  He answers on the second ring and tells me that his father passed last night.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “It was peaceful.” He says nothing more.

  I open my mouth to solicit details. Doctor and I have seen two Tristanians through their final moments. We understand the workings of death in a way few do. But it’s his father, and he didn’t offer me the information.

  “I’m sure it must have been quite difficult regardless,” I add softly. “I’m so sorry.” In the silence that follows, I feel breathless with growing disquiet.

  “Perhaps you should return to us ahead of schedule.” I blurt it, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I recognize the wisdom of my subconscious. Were I really to steal away on Sailor’s ship—the Lord forbid it—who would handle the ill in the month until Doctor’s return? Mrs. White could manage some of it, but she’s more elderly than she once was. She can’t prop up a heavy man, for example.

  I hear him clear his throat. “Perhaps that’s not a bad idea.”

  “I don’t know when the next ship departs. Could you return onboard the Celia? I know she doesn’t always pass our way…but perhaps she could be persuaded to.”

  The Celia one of only three vessels that pass our way with anything approaching regularity. I know from long experience that she departs Cape Town the tenth of each month. Today is the fifteenth of June. That means he can’t depart South Africa for some three more weeks, which gives me time to make a plan and carry it out—should I decide to—but puts him back here two weeks earlier. Perhaps it’s more like sixteen days. The Celia is a smaller, quicker ship than the two others.

  “Are you in need of me?”

  I smile, stiffly, although he can’t see that. “Always. Your guiding hand cannot be over-valued.”

  There’s a silence where I feel his ego swelling.

  “In that case,” he says with pomp, “prepare for my return.”

  * * *

  My Carnegie returns from the Glass house hungry. In the bed, he’s quite himself—all deft hands, rough murmurs, hard kisses, and his stiff sex. Before we move into our new position with him at the rear, he holds me close and runs his hands over my hair. I’m greatly relieved to find it seems he still craves me. I told him that I’d like to run away with him, and he’s not frightened off. I feel a thrill at that.