“Well, the boy says to the girl, ‘Hey, baby, let’s go see the world.’ And do you know what the girl says?”
“‘I’m washing my hair’?”
“Ha! No, not quite. She says, ‘Let’s go see Italy because the whole world starts there’.”
“She sounds like an idiot.”
“Hey! This is my bedtime story.”
“Okay, I’ll be quiet.”
“Is that even possible?”
I punched him lightly on the arm and he laughed.
“Okay, so the boy says, ‘I’ve got an idea. Let’s fly to Switzerland…’”
“On the motorcycle? Because I should explain to you…”
He put his hand over my mouth, so I kissed the palm and snuggled in a bit more.
“‘Let’s fly to Switzerland, drive over the Alps and then we’ll go to Milano and see Il Trovatore at La Scala’.”
“That’s the opera where everyone ends up dying.”
“You said you’d be quiet.”
“Sorry.”
“So, then they stay at this amazing hotel where they have breakfast in bed, served on silver plates…”
“And they scappati in the morning because they can’t pay the bill?”
“Yeah! Then they ride off on their trusty motorcycle and go to Verona, one of the most romantic cities in the world…”
“It’s not romantic—that’s where Romeo poisons himself and Juliet stabs herself to death.”
“Shh! Then they drive down the spine of Italy, stopping to eat pasta … and have a lot of sex…”
“This story is NC-17.”
“Yeah, that’s because it’s my bedtime story. Then they ride to Salerno and take this little mountain road to a tiny village called Capezzano Inferiore and they meet all these wonderful, crazy people who turn out to be cousins and aunts and uncles of the girl, because she’s kinda crazy, too…”
“And then what?”
“They live happily ever after.”
I sighed. “Okay, that was a pretty good story after all.”
“Told you you’d like it.”
I felt very comfortable lying in his arms and my attack of guilt and disgust was slowly passing.
He didn’t speak after that and neither did I. We drifted to sleep, wound around each other.
A loud crash woke me suddenly. I sat up, disoriented and panic-stricken in the darkened room.
“Oh, fuck. Mom’s home,” said Sebastian sullenly. “Are you okay, Caro? Don’t sweat it; she won’t come up here.”
My heart was pounding; it was so loud I felt certain he must be able to hear it knocking against my ribs.
“Are you sure? Is your door locked?”
“I haven’t got a lock—I put the chair up against it when I want some privacy.”
I couldn’t believe how casual he sounded. I almost leapt out of my skin when he reached out to stroke my hair.
“I’ll go see if she’s passed out,” he said, reading my mood.
I nodded, nervously twisting my wedding ring around my finger.
He frowned, then rolled off the bed and gently opened his bedroom door. He was gone for less than a minute while I waited anxiously.
“She’s out cold—like I said. No problem.”
He pulled the chair up against the door, letting all the clothes slide off into a heap, then wedged its wooden back tightly under the handle.
He turned slowly, staring down at me.
From the look on his face, I guessed he wanted to cash in the rain check on the make-out session I’d promised him. I definitely wasn’t on the same page; the adrenaline rush caused by Estelle’s noisy return had freaked me out.
I pulled my cell phone out of my jeans pocket and flipped it over to check the time: it was after 1 am.
“It’s late,” I whispered. “I should get back.”
“Stay. Please.”
He sat down next to me again and ran the tips of his fingers down my arm.
“We don’t know when we’ll have another night together,” he said persuasively, kissing my shoulder. “What difference does it make if you go now or in a few hours?”
When he didn’t meet any resistance, he pushed me gently back onto his bed and used his body to press me into the thin mattress. I could feel that he was already aroused. Boy, it didn’t take much. I still felt shaken, but at the same time it thrilled me that I could make him feel that way, make his body respond that way.
“Stay,” he whispered as he ran his tongue up my neck and tugged at my ear lobe with his teeth.
His right hand rode up under my t-shirt and cupped my breast, circling his thumb over my nipple. “Please stay.”
For that moment, his touch pushed away all my concerns, all the dull considerations of a rational mind and I wrapped my hands around his neck to pull him closer.
My tongue swept into his mouth and I raked my nails down his back, making him cry out.
“Ssh, you have to be quiet, tesoro,” I reminded him.
I tugged on the hem of his t-shirt and he immediately yanked it over his head, throwing it across the room. Mine soon followed and the cold metal of his pants button pressed into my belly making me shiver.
I lay on my side so he could unhook my bra; this time he didn’t fumble—within seconds it had joined my t-shirt on the growing heap. In fact, there wasn’t any floor space that wasn’t littered with clothes, his and mine.
He knelt up to watch me as I undid my zipper and shimmied out of my jeans and panties. He ran his hands down my body and then slid his fingers back up along my inner thighs. I closed my eyes and sighed deeply with pleasure and desire.
His body hovered over mine again and I enjoyed the rough feel of his denim against my bare flesh. I pulled his waistband toward me and slipped my hands inside, running my hands over his fine, sculpted ass. A tremor ran through him and he leaned down to kiss me again.
Hastily I unzipped his jeans, pushing them down over his hips. When he sat up to kick off his pants, I reached up to run the nail of my index finger from his chest to his stomach, watching the faint white mark I left behind quickly fade. His eyes fluttered closed and he sucked in a deep breath as his body quivered.
“Now you’ve got me here,” I said teasingly, “what are you going to do with me?”
His eyes opened wide with surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Well, what do you want to do?”
“I want to make love to you,” he said, sounding confused.
I laughed gently. “Yes, I can see that! But will you be on top, or shall I be on top, or maybe you’d like to do it from behind again? Or perhaps I should let my mouth do the talking? You choose.”
He licked his lips as he hesitated, his eyes blazing.
“From behind,” he whispered.
“Your wish is my command.”
I knelt up on the bed and, with deliberate slowness, turned around and sank to all fours. Then I glanced at him over my shoulder, flicking my hair out of my eyes.
I heard him suck in a deep breath and the springs of the bed protested loudly as he climbed up the mattress. He knelt behind me, holding my hip with one hand and positioning himself with the other. He sank into me slowly and groaned loudly.
“Fuck! Oh, fuck!”
I pushed my hips back toward him and his whole body convulsed.
I could tell he was trying to control himself, to move slowly, but his body was winning the battle over his mind. I wasn’t even trying for control. I wanted all of him. Now.
I ground back against him again and Sebastian lost it completely, gripping my hips with both hands and pounding into me. The bedsprings squeaked loudly with every thrust. A breathless giggle escaped me—it couldn’t have been more obvious what we were doing if there had been a neon sign over his door saying, ‘sex in progress: do not enter’. Although I was rather enjoying the entering. And exiting. And entering.
His hand moved to my sweet spot the way I’d shown him before, and, at that point, I lost all cogent thought as
exquisite and uncontrollable sensation lanced through me. He’d gotten so good at finding my weak spots: mentally and physically. He was a hell of a fine student. I let my elbows fold, taking our combined weight on my forearms, so I could sink my face into his pillow, attempting to muffle my increasingly loud moans. Between us, we were making enough noise to wake the dead—luckily not enough to wake Estelle.
I felt Sebastian shudder into me with one last, powerful thrust—he gasped, biting back a mangled sound that could have been my name.
We sank down and lay full length on his narrow bed together. After a moment, he shifted onto his side and pulled me with him so my back was half-resting on his chest.
“That was … fuck, Caro! I didn’t know…”
He paused.
“Didn’t know what, tesoro?” I asked, still breathless.
“Nothing.”
He sounded embarrassed.
“Go on. I’m curious now.” I stopped and shook my head. “Sorry … I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
“Doing what?”
“Forcing you to speak when you don’t want to. Sorry.”
“Fuck! Don’t be sorry, Caro. I was just … okay, but don’t get mad at me. I just didn’t know girls really liked it like that.”
For a moment I was taken aback and then I started to laugh. “What? You thought only porn stars liked it from behind … doggy style?”
“Well, yeah!” he sounded rather shocked.
I turned around awkwardly in the narrow bed so I could look at him. I stroked his face, but I couldn’t stop grinning.
“Sebastian, women like sex just as much as men … if it’s good.”
He tried to smile but still looked uncertain, his forehead creasing with worry.
“Am I…?”
He bit his lip.
I knew what he was trying to ask me.
“Yes, you’re good. In fact I’d say you’re amazing: in so many ways.” I didn’t mean to tease him—well, maybe just a little. He was just so unbelievably sweet. “Besides,” I continued, “the whole orgasm thing is a clue that the woman is really enjoying it. In case you were wondering.”
“Yeah, I was. Kind of. I mean, it always feels amazing with you, but I wasn’t sure if you thought so, too.”
“Well, I do. So stop worrying.” I considered for a moment. “I could make score cards if you like: grade you on required elements, presentation, and technical merit—like in ice skating.”
He laughed. “Okay! So how did that score?”
“Three sixes.”
He didn’t reply for a moment, then said quietly, his tone hurt, “Only six?”
I nearly choked, I was laughing so hard. “The score is out of six!”
He laughed, too, but the sound was a little embarrassed. “Oh, okay then.”
He reached down and pulled a sheet up to my shoulders. I was warm and comfortable in his little bed and could easily have fallen asleep.
When I felt my eyes closing I nudged his chin with my nose. “I should go now. It’ll be getting light soon.”
He pulled me tighter. “Five more minutes.”
“Okay, but I’m going to count: 300, 299, 298…”
“Okay, okay! I’m moving.”
He pulled back the sheet and shivered slightly. He knelt down, fumbling around on the floor trying to find our clothes.
“Hey, can I keep your bra?”
“Excuse me?”
“I haven’t got anything of yours, Caro, please!”
“Sebastian!” I shook my head in disbelief.
“Please, Caro!”
“Fine! But you owe me, Hunter. That’s the second bra that’s gone missing in action on your watch.”
He grinned and threw my t-shirt at me.
When we were both dressed, he pulled open the door and we tiptoed down the stairs. Well, I tiptoed; he walked normally, glancing at me and shaking his head like I was a little crazy. I’d never snuck out of a boy’s bedroom before—it was more fun than I’d imagined.
Once we were out of the confines of the house and in the yard, I began to breathe a little more easily. Sebastian insisted on rolling the water barrel over to the fence to make it easier for me to climb over.
There was the faintest hint of gray light in the east, and the air was cool and scented with pine.
We leaned against the car, holding each other before the inevitable division that always came.
“Your buzz-cut is growing out,” I said, absentmindedly running my fingers through his hair.
“Yeah, I guess.”
It was clear his mind was elsewhere. “Can I come over tomorrow morning before work?”
“It is tomorrow,” I reminded him.
“Can I?”
“I guess so, but let me text you.” I frowned when it occurred to me that I had to face David now—or at some point soon. “Just in case.”
He sighed. “Okay. Love you, Caro.”
I hugged him more tightly then let him go. “I’ll see you later.”
“We’re always saying goodbye. I hate it, Caro.”
“It won’t be for much longer,” I said, with as much conviction as I could muster.
Getting in my car and driving away from him was one of the hardest things I’d ever done.
A few minutes later I was home—or rather, at the house where my soon-to-be-ex-husband slept. I certainly hoped he was asleep as I crept through the back door.
But then I froze. From the kitchen I could see a leg hanging off the end of the couch; it was clad in dress uniform.
Shit!
I took off my shoes and slunk past him barefoot, hardly daring to breathe. His snoring remained deep and regular, so when I reached the top of the stairs without incident, I gasped, feeling faint with relief.
Glancing into our … his bedroom, I noticed that the bed hadn’t been slept in. He’d come home so drunk he’d never even made it up the stairs.
Just like Estelle.
The clock on my bedside table informed me that it was 6 am; I still had an hour before the alarm. I peeled off my t-shirt and jeans and slid under the cold sheets. I missed Sebastian’s warm body next to mine and couldn’t relax; instead of sleeping, I found myself staring dry-eyed at the ceiling for the best part of an hour.
Five minutes before the alarm was due, I gave up and headed for the shower. The hot water soothed and revived me, and then I spent a few minutes rubbing in moisturizer and body lotion. I’d better start looking after my skin more carefully if I was going to have a boyfriend who was so much younger than I was. It didn’t seem likely that a bit of palm oil could help enough, but I was prepared to try pretty much anything—anything that I could afford—which wasn’t saying a lot.
As I stared in the mirror, examining the fine lines around my eyes and searching for any gray hairs, I noticed a small, oval bruise above my left breast. Oh, my God! A hickey! I hadn’t had one of those in years! Well, make that over a decade. In fact I wasn’t completely sure that I’d ever had one. What was that boy’s name who’d asked me out the semester before I met David? Kevin? Colin? I remembered he’d tried to make out with me in the movie theatre, but I’d been more interested in watching the film.
I made a mental note to remind Sebastian that biting was out until we’d got to New York. Pity.
When I’d finished drying my hair with the towel, I laid out David’s uniform for work. I hoped it would avoid, or at least delay, the next fight for as long as possible. Needs must.
He was just beginning to stir when I started making breakfast. I banged around the kitchen as loudly as possible, taking out some of my frustration on the frying pan and kitchen sink, feeling his whiskey-soured eyes glaring at me balefully.
“Good morning, David. Are you feeling up to some breakfast?” I asked breezily.
“Just coffee,” he said sulkily, then added, “Thank you.”
I nearly dropped the plate I was carrying, staring at him in disbelief. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d th
anked me for anything. I wondered what had brought on that outbreak of civility. It was too weird. Still, it was better than being snarled at, which was usually how he behaved when he was hung-over. Wonders would never cease.
The polite entente was fairly short-lived. He left the house without speaking to me again, for which I was inordinately grateful.
The sun had broken through a layer of thin cloud and the gloom of San Diego in June was promising to be another glorious day. My heart felt curiously light—and I knew what would be perfect. I texted Sebastian immediately, knowing he was waiting to hear from me.
* Park in 20? Bring your boardshorts! *
His reply made me laugh.
* Isn’t it bedtime? *
* No! 20 mins? *
* ok :) *
I changed into my bikini and pulled on a pair of shorts and strappy t-shirt, then ran downstairs to make an enormous picnic. I knew he wouldn’t have gotten himself any breakfast or, even if he had, he’d still be starving by lunchtime.
As an afterthought I picked up my laptop and notebook and tossed them in the trunk of the car. I still had some notes to type up and, more than ever, I needed the money from the articles that City Beat was prepared to pay me for. Besides, now I had a membership to the country club, I may as well use it. Of course, there were also the ancillary benefits of the locker room to be considered; if it happened to be empty again, well, who knew what might happen.
Sebastian was sitting on the curb in his usual place, my dear sweet punk.
“We’re going surfing?”
The hope and surprise were equally evident in his voice.
“Why not? It’s a beautiful day. Maybe you can teach me some more moves.”
“I liked the moves you taught me last night.”
“Sebastian!”
He shrugged. “It’s true.”
“Well, maybe. We’ll have to see if that locker room is free later.”
He groaned. “Oh, man, that was hot!”
I couldn’t disagree with that assessment.
We drove with the windows down and Sebastian chose another jazz station to listen to. I was fairly sure that his interest in opera was just to please me. It was really rather cute.
I parked next to the same surf shack just north of La Jolla. It was aptly named, being so ramshackle, it looked as if it might tip over the cliff with the faintest gust of breeze.
The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline Page 28