by Dori Lavelle
Milton drains his glass and places it on the edge of the drinks table. He reaches out a hand to me. “Can I interest you in a short walk before dinner is served, Ms. Hollifield?”
I gaze at Chelsea and Neil. A woman is handing them each a glass of champagne.
“Looks like they’re getting started with the toasts,” I say. “Let’s wait until they’re over, then I’ll happily join you.”
Not long after the toasts, people are dancing happily on the beach, while other sit at tables, eating grilled meat, fresh bread, and salad. Some of the guests who are old enough to drink are already swaying from too much champagne. Having forgotten about the walk with Milton, I grab a paper plate and fill it with sausages and potato salad, then break away from the crowd. A safe distance from the rabble, I sink onto the soft ground and place my plate on my knees. I eat as I watch the waves rolling onto the beach and then retreating. With my eyes closed, I inhale the fresh, salty air. I long for a swim.
Squeals, laughter, and shouts land on my ears, so I turn to look back at the group. Many of the guests have abandoned their food, and are now peeling off their clothes, running into the sea. Chelsea and Neil are among them. From a distance, Chelsea’s gold bikini sparkles in the night. I have a bikini under my clothes as well, but it’s hard to imagine joining in.
I don’t know how it happens, but a few minutes later, I find myself among the swimmers, allowing the waves to swallow me, spitting salt water from my mouth, pushing my wet hair from my face. The water is gloriously warm and yet refreshing; welcoming and invigorating. I laugh as I dive under the waves, taking deep breaths upon resurfacing. Flipping onto my back, I watch the stars glinting in the night sky. I feel alive and free.
I wish the feeling could last. I know it won’t.
After a long swim that leaves my arms aching, I, along with many others, emerge from the ocean, dripping wet, sand clinging to the soles of my feet, salt drying on my skin. We head back to the party, feeling ravenous again. I realize I’ve forgotten to bring my towel. As I wring the water from my hair, someone hands me one.
I look up into Milton’s eyes, take in his soft smile. His gray eyes are deep and dark, and his own damp hair is clinging to his forehead and scalp. With clothes on he normally looks a little too skinny for my liking, but without a shirt, he’s surprisingly well built—broad shoulders and chest, well-defined arms. Rivulets of water trail down his six pack. I want to look away, but find I can’t. Maybe I really do need some action. For a moment, my heart turns over. Does this mean I’m actually attracted to him?
Blushing, I finally look away and glance at the black towel. “Thanks.” I take it and dry myself off, trying not to focus on the masculine cologne clinging to the fabric. I hand it back to him.
“You’re welcome.” He winks. “Now how about that walk?”
I pull my dress on over my wet bikini. “Sounds good.”
“Perfect.” He tosses the towel to the ground, and we walk side by side along the edge of the water. We don’t get far before he starts talking about going on a date.
“You really don’t give up, do you?” My lips twitch in a smile. He must really like me to be this persistent. Surely, if all he wants is sex, he can easily get it anywhere. I know for a fact there are several girls on campus who’d love to get him into bed.
“Not when it comes to you.” He places a hand on my arm and brings me to a stop, then moves closer and places the other on my waist. I don’t move away. “Come on, Ivy. One date. I promise you won’t regret it.”
“If I say yes, will you tell me where it is you intend on taking me?” I take a step back and his hands drop to his sides again.
“Allow me to surprise you.” He pauses and drops his voice. “Actually, how about I cook you dinner?”
“At the dorms?”
“Nope. I have a friend who owns a restaurant. I’ll ask to use his kitchen. Only the best for you.”
“You can cook?”
“I happen to be the son of a well-known chef in Serendipity, Wisconsin. Everything I know I learned from him.” His voice is sexy and smooth as it glides over the sound of the crashing waves.
“Okay.” I raise my hands in surrender. “You win, Milton. But only one date. And you better be a good cook.”
“Are you serious?” His mouth drops open. “You’ll go out on a date with me?”
“Yeah.” I gaze out at sea. “If it will stop you from bugging me.”
Before I can stop him, he plants a kiss on my lips, then punches the air in triumph. “Jackpot!”
23
It’s midnight, and I’m flat on my back, Judson’s weight pinning me into the wet sand. The length of his body covers me. I feel safe and protected, but at the same time, I can’t breathe. As I gasp for air, his strong hands grip my legs, push them apart. His palms are calloused and rough against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I want to scream and moan at the same time. But only a croak comes out, and it’s soon washed away by the sounds of the waves.
“Don’t try to resist,” he whispers into my ear. “Resistance only brings pain. Open up, baby, let me in.”
Before I can answer, a massive wave crashes onto the beach, warm saltwater washing over us. He’s thrown off momentarily, stopping for a few heartbeats to catch his breath and push my wet hair from my face. He gazes into my eyes. His eyes are wet, I can’t tell whether from tears or sea water. “I love you.” My knees turn to liquid when his mouth descends on me. He thrusts his tongue into my mouth, and I’m unable to stop from wrapping my own tongue around his. That only spurs him on as he hungrily crushes my lips, devouring me.
Unstoppable currents of desire shoot through me. I’m hot, too hot. Moments ago he was too forceful, his body too heavy. Now I want him close again. I want him closer than close. I want him to crush me, to break me. I want him inside of me. I wrap my arms around him so my hands push him down onto me, kneading his strong back muscles.
“You want this, don’t you, Ivy?” His breath is hot on my earlobe. “You want me to fuck you deep and hard.”
I don’t respond in words. I move my hands to his hard butt and squeeze tight while pushing my pelvis upward. He uses his teeth to remove my string bikini top from my breasts and sucks my taut nipples so hard I flinch. But I love the pain and pleasure he brings me.
I’m swallowed by throes of passion when he removes my bikini bottoms. The only thing I feel is his thick, hard cock forcing me open and driving into me without waiting for me to adjust. With each thrust, he drives me deeper into the beach. The sand gives way to my weight. He presses his lips to my ear and roars with the waves. In response, I pant and sigh, and scream into the night.
My muscles clench and unclench around his cock, gripping and releasing him. Our hips meet and then part, and our breaths merge as he finally moves his mouth to mine. We nibble on each other’s lips. We don’t stop as the waves wash over our hot bodies. We’re so connected, so in tune, that the water and sand cannot stop us from taking what we crave, from reaching for that peak of pleasure, waiting for it to build inside us until we are powerless to stop it. It rises, growing stronger, overpowering our senses, blinding us. Then, with the next wave, we crash.
I wake up drenched in sweat. I can still taste his kiss on my lips, hear his breathing in my ear, feel him moving inside me. Except, like every time, he’s not really here. I’m alone in the room, and it’s still dark outside. I don’t look to see what time it is, just lie on my back, gazing up at the dark ceiling. How will I ever be rid of him when he sneaks into my dreams like a thief and takes me unawares? He has completely possessed my mind and body. During the night, he enters my dreams uninvited; during the day, he invades my thoughts.
It’s been three weeks since I got a new letter from him. I want to feel relieved, but instead I’m afraid. I can’t banish the fear that everything is coming full circle. That he is now doing to me what he did to Jennifer. What if my silence has driven him back into the hole of darkness and depression? What if h
e has finally done what he initially planned to do? What if he has committed suicide, only now it’s because of me?
The pounding fear in my veins pushes me out of bed and takes me to the drawer in which I keep his unopened letters. It’s actually way after midnight, and Chelsea is at Neil’s, leaving me to read them undisturbed. I’m sitting on the floor, surrounded by them all. My stomach tightens with a strong sense of déjà vu as I open one.
The first three letters I read are soaked with pleading and begging and threats. He goes from telling me he loves me, that he can’t live without me, to warning me that if I don’t write back I’ll regret it. Then back to loving me again. He tells me how much he misses me, how he wants a second chance to make things better. When I read the most recent one, which I had tucked into the stack without opening, my blood runs cold.
The wait is over, my love. In a few more days we’ll be together. I’ll contact you soon. I’ll never let you go. J.
24
It’s three p.m. and my feet are planted firmly on the ground, my toes digging into the sand, but I’m floating. Since Chelsea’s engagement party, I’ve been coming to the beach often in search of peace. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t. Today, three days before the end of term, my stomach is a bundle of nerves.
The wind grabs my hair, wraps it around my neck, and glues it to my glossed lips. My heart is racing. No amount of deep breathing or positive self-talk is helping at all.
I step over a neglected red flip-flop and force myself to focus on the sounds of the waves, desperately needing them to drown out the voices inside my head. They only get louder.
Seagulls cry from somewhere in the distance, the squawking sounds breaking through my thoughts. I follow the sound with my gaze, but I do not see them. Raking a hand through my hair, I sink to the ground and wrap my arms around my knees. I rock back and forth, dreading my date with Milton this evening.
When I agreed to go on a date with him, I was so sure I could handle it, that I’d be able to leave Judson behind and focus on someone else for a couple of hours. Now I feel like an animal about to be taken to slaughter. I’m so not ready. I don’t see a future, near or far, with Milton. I don’t see the evening going beyond a kiss, if that. When he kissed me last time, I felt nothing. I don’t expect that to change just because he’s cooked me a meal in a romantic setting.
I’m leading him on by promising him something I cannot deliver. There’s no way I’ll be able to give him my full attention when I’m thinking about Judson, wondering every second whether he’s okay, if he’s killed himself. I haven’t read anything in the news concerning his death, but I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I spend thirty minutes on the beach, inhaling suntan lotion and brine, but I don’t come any closer to feeling better. The knot in my stomach refuses to unravel. I won’t cancel the date with Milton, but as soon as I see him, I’ll be honest: I’ll tell him once and for all that I don’t see us becoming more than friends. After that, he can decide whether he wants to continue with the evening he’s planned, or call it off. It would be cruel to let him put so much effort into an evening that’s going to hell.
When I finally stand, the sky has clouded over and it’s drizzling softly. The few people who were on the beach when I arrived have disappeared, leaving me alone with nature. With eyes closed, I turn my face up to the sky, allowing the fine drops of rain to mist my face for a few minutes. Then I turn around and head back to the dorms.
In my room, I glance at my phone screen. A missed call from Milton. I don’t call back, but glance at the time. Quarter to four. Plenty of time to get ready.
I had initially planned on wearing a sexy black dress with a lace trim, but now, as I open my wardrobe, my hands move past the dress and wrap around an ivory lace crop top.
After a long, hot shower, I don the top with skinny jeans and camel wedges. No makeup, no jewelry.
My phone beeps and I pick it up off the couch. A text message from Milton.
A car will be waiting for you at the gate.
The back of my hand swipes at the sweat beading on my brow. Crap. He is really trying to impress me. I can’t let him spend money hiring a car. Taking a deep breath, I write back.
I don’t need a car. Send me the address and I’ll be there.
He writes back instantly.
No, you deserve the best. See you soon.
My fingers are tight around my phone as I draw in deep breaths. There’s no way he’ll take my rejection well.
I’m still holding the phone when it rings. This time Chelsea is on the other end, sounding breathless.
“It’s almost time, isn’t it? Are you excited?” Over the past few days, Chelsea has been more excited about my date than I could ever hope to be. She even went as far as discussing birth control with me, and how it will feel to have sex for the first time. I’m already on the pill, but only because it eases my killer menstrual cramps. I have no intention whatsoever of sleeping with Milton tonight. Or ever.
The phone is glued to my ear as I step into the bathroom and reach for my boar bristle brush. “I don’t know, Chelsea. I think I’m making a mistake.”
“You have to relax. The guy isn’t going to propose. Go ahead and let your hair down for a change.”
“I’ll try.” I put Chelsea on speaker so I can use both hands. I run the brush through my hair and let it tumble down my back. Instead of leaving it that way, I pull it into a ponytail.
“Anyway, I’ll call later to find out how it went.”
Chelsea drops the phone before I can tell her that Milton has rented a car to pick me up. It’s probably for the best she doesn’t know; her excitement would be too much to handle.
Fifteen minutes before my date, I should have already gone downstairs, but instead I switch on my computer to check my email. Nothing important, just messages from some classmates, arranging to meet up for drinks before the holidays. Since letting go of Judson, I’ve made a few more friendly connections with some students in my year. They finally treat me like one of them instead of a runaway model.
At five on the dot, I pick up my purse and walk out the door.
As I walk down the path, I glance in the direction of the beach. The sun has sunk lower in the sky. Soon it will be nothing but a glow on the horizon. I long to go back down to the water, but there is no way out of this date. I glanced down at the edge of the path, admiring the daisies that frame it. Someone’s folded navy cap is trapped in the bushes behind the flowers. I look up when I hear the distant sound of a car.
My throat dries up the closer I come to the gate. My legs want to stop walking, but I don’t let them. Milton has gone to too much trouble for me to leave him hanging at the last second.
I finally step out of the gate. I exit it completely before I see the car, parked almost a block away.
I come to a screeching halt on the sidewalk as I stare open-mouthed at the black limousine.
“How the hell…” I swallow hard, my throat parched. How in the world can Milton afford to hire a limousine? No way. There has to be a mistake. This can’t be the car he sent for me. I pull my gaze from it and study the street, in search of another, much cheaper hired car, maybe a taxi. Not many other cars are parked here, and they all look unoccupied.
A woman in a sarong, holding on to a dog’s leash, stares at the limousine. A little girl of about two years points at it before the man holding her hand picks her up and places her in a stroller.
As I stand there, still waiting for what I believe to be the right car and digging in my bag for my phone, a smooth honk comes from the limousine. My head snaps up. The driver’s door opens, but instead of the driver stepping out, a hand stretches out, beckoning for me to approach the vehicle.
My knees weaken as I walk toward the limousine. Well, if Milton can afford to pay for a car like this, maybe he has some hidden fortune no one knows about. He said his father was a well-known chef.
I hold my breath as I walk closer. I look arou
nd but the few people who had been on the street are gone.
The driver’s door opens wider, and a man with a full black-and-gold chauffeur uniform, complete with a black cap and dark sunglasses, steps out.
“This way, Ms. Hollifield.” He walks around to the sidewalk and ushers me to the passenger door.
“I…” I stare at the car as he opens the door. “There has to be a mistake. Are you sure Milton sent this for me?”
“No mistake.” The man shakes his head gently. He gives off a feeling of familiarity, but I can’t see enough of him to decide whether I’ve met him before. “He’s waiting inside.”
I hesitate, then climb inside the cream leather interior. The door closes behind me. I inhale sharply, the smell of leather and expensive cologne filling my nostrils. I twist my upper body toward Milton.
“Hey, you didn’t…”
But the eyes that stare back at me are not Milton’s.
My heart jumps to my throat, blocking a cry of surprise. I feel dizzy as the man beside me removes the cap he’s wearing.
“Wha—Judson?” He looks distinguished in a dark gray suit; he’s clean-shaven and his hair is teased back from his forehead with gel. His scent intoxicates me.
“It’s me, baby. I promised we’d be together soon, didn’t I?”
“I… I don’t understand…”
He places a finger under my chin, raising it. “You don’t need to. I’m here, and you’re here. That’s all that matters.”
He gives the tinted glass partition in front of us a soft knock, and the car starts moving. He presses another button and a dark, sleek screen rolls up over both our windows, making it impossible to see out.
“Finally, we’re alone.” His face splits into a grin.
25
I attempt to open the door, even though the car is moving. It’s locked. I have no idea where the switch to open it is even located. But why flee? Isn’t this what I wanted all along? Isn’t this the man I’ve been dreaming about for the longest time? In spite of my inhibitions, the knot inside the pit of my stomach has loosened. How is it possible to feel so scared and so free at the same time?