Caught by the Tide

by Lily Evans

  He twisted around, shooting me an amused glance. "That's not my doing."

  "It isn't?" I couldn't help but feel a little relieved. I'd feared his hygiene standards might be rather hard to live up to. "Then…?"

  "I have a cleaner. Rita. She comes twice a week. She's quite a character, always complaining that there's never enough for her to do around here." Luke grinned. "I tell her not to worry, that she should spend one hour pushing the Hoover around and spend the other on the settee reading a magazine. That'd be fine by me." He shrugged. "But she won't have it. So she indulges in championship bathroom cleaning."

  "It looks beautiful."

  He nodded. "Too beautiful. I hate spoiling it. And very often I don't. I end up using the facilities at the hospital a lot of the time. But," he beckoned me across to the shower, opening the screen door, "she'll love that someone's used it. Now, I know this looks complicated—"

  "Complicated?" I echoed, giving the control panel a dubious look. "Luke, my shower has one knob and a button. Hot, cold. On, off."

  He grinned again, looking for all the world like a small boy about to show off a new toy. "Watch." Reaching into the shower, he tapped at the keypad. There was a second's delay, enough time for him to back out of the way then the water spray began, a steady, ordinary stream. "Now," he said, smiling back at me. "You can have this. Or," he prodded at the keypad again and the water pressure increased perhaps five fold, pounding down into the tray like torrential rain, "this." Another quick tap and the water began pulsing, spurting from the showerhead in sharp bursts. "Great when you need a massage."

  I could well imagine. If I had a shower like it, I doubted I'd ever be able to get to work on time in the mornings. "Right," I said at last when he'd demonstrated at least a dozen different modes and I was utterly bamboozled. "So, how did you get it to behave like a normal shower again?"

  "Rebecca." He shot me an exasperated glance then began to laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, what the hell, we've got time."

  To my surprise and secret delight he abruptly peeled off his sweatshirt then shrugged off his jogging bottoms, leaving him completely and gloriously naked. But before I could look my fill, he drew me closer, untying my dressing gown and pushing it off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. I shivered as he reached for the bottom edge of my T-shirt, his fingers skimming my bare skin as he pulled it up and over my head. Then he steered me into the cubicle, closed the screen door behind us, turned on the shower and swept me into his arms.

  For a while, neither of us moved, revelling in the feel of warm skin pressed against warm skin, the water from both showerheads cascading over us like a hot fountain. But when I tilted my head to look at him, his lips found mine and we kissed, my hands roaming across his back, those broad shoulders; his hands moving over my body on a teasing mission of their own.

  I whimpered in disappointment when he pulled away, Luke smiling as he showed me the bottle of shampoo he'd retrieved from the shower caddy. "S'okay. I'm only going to wash your hair."

  Oh well, in that case… "Do I get to wash yours too?"

  He smiled again, taking my hand and pouring a little shampoo into my palm before adding a fair-sized dollop to his own. Ducking out from beneath the spray, I reached up first, sliding my fingers into those water-flattened dark curls, massaging his scalp the way he'd massaged mine all those… All those days ago? Was that really all it had been? It already felt as though it could've been years.

  I laughed as he rewarded my efforts with a groan of satisfaction then heard my own pleasured gasp as his hands burrowed into my hair, working the pads of his fingers deep into the roots. But seemingly not content with that, he then began drawing the suds lower, over my shoulders, down my arms, over my breasts, soaping me thoroughly, caressing me everywhere. And when I followed his lead, mirroring his movements, pretty soon we were both covered in foam.

  Spinning me around, Luke gathered me to him, my back slithering against his abdomen as his hands slid over my ribs, one rising to capture my right breast, his thumb brushing repeatedly over my nipple, the other moving lower across my belly then lower still, finding my now-aching centre. Already aroused, it took only a few sure strokes of his clever fingers to make me come, my rapturous sob resonating around the bathroom.

  He held me close while I floated back down to earth, murmuring endearments, whispering praise before drawing me back under the spray, allowing the water to rain over us both, washing all traces of soap away. And then I was turning, sinking to my knees, almost overwhelmed by the desire to return the pleasure he'd so selflessly afforded me.

  Luke made an odd, strangled sound as I drew his cock into my mouth, gazing down at me as I looked up at him. "Becks." His voice was hoarse, his eyes wide. "Babe, you—oh God! You really—don't need to—do this."

  If I could've smiled, I would have. I knew I didn't need to but, perhaps for the first time in my life, I truly wanted to do what I was doing, concentrating on taking in as much of him as I could. Though that was no easy task. Even semi-erect he was considerably bigger than any of my previous boyfriends and as he swelled rapidly I found it difficult to manage much more than the head. If Luke minded my ineptness, he certainly didn't show it, his face contorting with pleasure, his breathing growing ragged.

  "Becks," he ground out at last, "you have to stop that."

  I couldn't see why, his enjoyment was obvious. So I carried on, using my fingers now as well as my mouth, swirling my tongue across the under side, trying to remember every trick I'd ever learned. Until all at once I felt his strong hands on my shoulders, pushing me away before reaching down to seize me around the waist, hauling me to my feet. "Becks! I said stop. You're going to make me come."

  "But that's the point!" I gave a puzzled laugh. "I want you to come."

  "Not like that," he growled, shaking his head. "Not without you." And then he was turning me around again, pushing me forwards, taking my hands and planting them on the tiles in front of me. I gave a gasp as he moved in behind me, edging my feet apart with his own, feeling for me with his fingers. Then I could feel him against me, poised for entrance, perfectly aligned. Hot. Hard. Huge.

  I wailed as he plunged inside me, driving deep—oh God, impossibly deep—on that very first thrust, appreciating immediately just how very wet I was, how ready I'd been, how much I'd wanted this. I could hear, could feel the water thundering down around us, somehow intensifying the friction of each stroke, heightening my desire, my need for him. And soon I was pushing back against him, trying to force him further inside me, trying to increase the pace.

  "You like this?" he said, his voice so very close to my ear, a note of surprise in his tone, his hand moving to my lower belly, pulling me even more tightly against him with each thrust.

  "Yes," I breathed, barely capable of speech, the sensations almost too intense, the pleasure all-consuming. "Oh God, yes. But Luke, please?"

  "Mmm?"

  "Don't wait for me." I recognised the sounds he was making, knew he was close, knew he wanted me to be there with him. But I wasn't ready, not quite. Not yet. "Please? It's okay!"

  To my astonishment, he reached up for the showerhead above my head, pulling it down from its holder. I saw his hand in front of me, saw him stab at the control panel and watched as the stream of water became a pulse. And as he continued to plunge deep, he turned the spray on me, allowing the jets of water to spurt first across my over-sensitised breasts then my belly, then finally—oh God—down between my thighs. The result was explosive, my orgasm flooding through me in a devastating burst, Luke tensing before finding his own completion, his cry of pleasure merging with my own.

  For a few moments I couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, only gradually becoming aware of the arms still around me, holding me close, my legs so jelly-like I knew I would've fallen without the support. And by and by I realised I couldn't see because my eyes were closed, opening them at last to find I was staring at the tiles in front of me, Luke's soft laughter rumbling in my e
ar.

  "Holy shit," he murmured, planting kisses on my neck. "I think you just turned me inside out."

  When I didn't reply, he twisted me around, seeming to discern from just one glance how depleted I was feeling. Adjusting the spray back to normal, he gently cleaned me up before returning the showerhead to its bracket then wrapped me tightly in his arms, hugging me as though he'd never let me go. As the deliciously warm water continued to cascade over our bodies, I let my head droop on to his shoulder, my eyes drifting closed again as his hand gently caressed the length of my spine.

  "I love you."

  "Wh-what?" Startled, not at all sure I hadn't fallen asleep, that I hadn't merely been dreaming, I lifted my head to stare at him.

  Luke smiled, those blue eyes unwavering on mine. "I know. It's probably way too early to tell you that but…" He shrugged, looking unrepentant. "I do and I just had to tell you."

  No. I couldn't have heard him right. "Tell me—tell me what?"

  "Becks!" He gave an uncharacteristically self-conscious laugh. "I've made a point of never saying those three little words to any other girl in my life. You're really going to make me say them again?"

  I looked at him helplessly, aware of just how fast my heart was beating, those 'three little words' rolling around and around in my head. "Luke…"

  "I love you." Cupping my cheek, he leaned in to kiss me, still smiling, his gaze very warm. "It's okay, babe, I know it's too soon. I'm not expecting you to say it back. I just wanted you to know." And then he drew in a deep breath. "So," he said, his tone much lighter, "let's get you out of here. Let's get you…"

  But I wasn't listening anymore. It was yesterday afternoon and I was back in that quadrangle not far from the WRVS coffee shop at the hospital, sitting on the bench with Sarah.

  That's the thing about falling in love, she'd said. You can't control it. You can't decide when it's going to happen.

  "God, I hate it when she's right."

  It was Luke's turn to look bewildered. "What?"

  "Sarah." And suddenly I was smiling, beaming in fact, feeling rather as though someone had switched on a bright light inside of me. "She told me yesterday I'd fallen in love with you."

  "She did? You have?" I could see that same light in Luke's eyes, his own smile brightening. And then, the cogs in his mind evidently whirring furiously, he added, "Your sister knows about me? You told her?"

  "She knows about you but she doesn't know that it's you. I would've told her but yesterday, when you came up to speak to us after Mum's operation…" I stopped, remembering how wretched I'd felt. "You wouldn't even look at me."

  Luke winced. "Becks, I thought you were—"

  "—back with Daniel, I know." I shook my head. "But then you were there when I fainted. And for a moment, I thought everything would be all right."

  "So you're admitting you fainted now?"

  I pretended I hadn't heard. "Then Daniel went and spoiled all that as well. So of course I didn't tell her. There didn't seem to be any point. Because I thought…" And suddenly I realised my eyes were filling with tears. "I thought it was over. Oh!" I gave a sob as Luke's expression softened. "I love you and y-you love me. Why the hell am I crying now?"

  "Aw, Becks." Smiling, he stroked my wet hair back from my face then kissed me tenderly. "Come on, babe. I think it's time we got you dry."

  On emerging from the steam-filled bathroom, the bedroom seemed startlingly bright and airy. Luke insisted on drying every inch of me himself, frowning as he patted the skin dry over the nearly healed wound on my arm. "Those stitches are coming out today," he said firmly. "Make sure I don't forget."

  I gazed down at my forearm, wanting to ask whether it would hurt but certain he'd laugh at me. "You branded me," I said instead, smiling when he looked baffled. "See?" As he watched, I traced the L shaped scar with my fingertip.

  Luke smirked. "Oh that," he said lightly. "Yeah, I like to leave my mark on all my patients. Your mother's got two actually. One on her leg and one," he unwrapped the towel from around my shoulders, "just here," he finished, similarly drawing a line down the valley between my breasts and laughing when I shivered with pleasure. "I think we'd better get you dressed before I start getting ideas," he said reluctantly. "We're never going to get to the hospital at this rate. Want to borrow a pair of my boxer shorts?"

  I stared at him in surprise as he left me to go and open the top drawer of that huge pine chest. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Well, I'm guessing you haven't any clean underwear tucked away in your handbag. Or have you?" His grin broadened as I pulled a face at him. "That's what I thought."

  And so it was I found myself sitting in Luke's Mercedes twenty minutes later feeling acutely conscious of the loose cotton nestling against my nether regions, despite the fact no one could possibly have guessed I was wearing his shorts beneath my trousers.

  "So." Hearing the amusement in his voice, somehow I just knew what was coming next. "What are the chances of you staying awake long enough to tell me where we're going this time?"

  "Oh, ha bloody ha." I gave his shoulder a playful jab then told him the address of the flat. "It's not exactly in the posh end of town, I know. Not like your place. But it's home. Well, it was," I added with a sigh.

  He smiled. "Actually, until six months ago I lived two streets away from you."

  "Really?" Astonished, I found myself wondering just how many times I'd seen him, how many times I'd walked past him without having any idea who he was. It didn't seem possible.

  Luke was nodding. "And I loved it there. But Tim kept going on at me about climbing the property ladder and well, I gave in. Don't get me wrong, I like where I'm living now but it still doesn't feel like home."

  "No," I murmured, as he navigated a busy junction. "I don't suppose the flat's ever going to feel like home again, either."

  After turning right and pulling into a faster stream of traffic, he shot me a sympathetic glance. "What will you do? Put it up for sale, I s'pose."

  I frowned. "What?"

  "Well, you'll have to, won't you? Presumably Daniel will want his share."

  "His share?" I gave a rather bitter laugh. "What share? It's my flat. It's in my name. I was living there before I met him. Mum gave me the money for the deposit and I got a mortgage for the rest."

  "And you're still letting him live there? Becks!"

  "I know. But with everything that's been going on, it just seemed easier to let him stay for now. He knows he's got to move out soon."

  "Good. Although…" Luke grimaced slightly. "He might still be able to say that he's entitled to part of it, you know. If he can show that he contributed to the bills or paid money towards the mortgage."

  I gave a snort. "Contributed to the bills? Luke, he's never got any money. I don't know how he does it, but he always manages to spend all of his pay in about three days. I used to count myself lucky if I didn't have to buy my own birthday card."

  He shot me a bewildered glance. "Remind me again why you were going to marry this guy?"

  "Oh." I heaved a sigh. "I thought I loved him. He was good-looking, funny. Life and soul of the party. All my friends were jealous when we started going out. I guess I was flattered he wanted to be with me."

  "Becks, you're amazing." The warmth in his tone made me feel all gooey inside. "Why wouldn't he want to be with you?"

  "Well, no one had ever made me feel that way before. It felt—different. Special. He used to spend money on me back then. He was always buying me silly presents." I bit my lip. "To be honest, I couldn't believe it when he asked me to marry him. We'd been going out for a year and a half. And then, well, the wedding stuff kind of took over. I s'pose I should've seen the signs but everyone else seemed to like him so much. My Mum…" I sighed. "Well, you know that Mum thinks the world of him. And my all friends thought I'd got it made.

  "So I told myself that the little things I'd started not to like about him didn't matter. You know, things like not coming home when he said he would, going o
ut with his mates when we were supposed to be going out, forgetting anniversaries…" I trailed off, realising the more I told Luke, the bigger fool I was beginning to sound. "Stupid."

  "No." His hand landed on my leg, his fingers warm even through the fabric of my trousers. "He was the stupid one. He had you, and he threw it all away. Threw you away. What an asshole."

  "Luke!" I found myself laughing weakly at the disgust in his tone.

  He grinned, giving my thigh a gentle squeeze. "Still, his loss is my gain, right?"

  As we turned into my street, I found myself feeling inexplicably nervous. I hadn't been back to the flat in more than three weeks, not since the afternoon of what should've been my wedding day when I'd dashed inside and stuffed as many of my clothes as I could into two suitcases. I gazed up at the three storey whitewashed building as Luke pulled up outside, drawing in a deep, steadying breath.

  I felt his fingers curling around mine. "Sure you don't want me to come in with you?"

  "No. He's not here. His car's not here, thank God." I'd checked the car park the moment we arrived. "Besides, I'm only going to be a minute."

  I jumped out of the car before I could change my mind, striding with a confidence I didn't feel towards the communal entrance. It was a perfect spring morning, the sun shining, the sky a cloudless blue, a hint of a breeze sending a slight chill through my barely dry hair. But I felt curiously out of place. Although the flat had been mine for nearly six years, I found myself looking up at the block and seeing things I'd never noticed before; the decorative brickwork beneath the windows, the yellow curtains in the window of the flat next to mine. This was home but I felt like a visitor.

  My keys in my hand, I went inside and crossed the lobby, taking the stairs to the first floor. Nothing had changed. The corridor looked just the same, the fake palm in the window at the end as dusty as ever, the plastic gnomes propped up outside my neighbour's front door still grinning at me inanely.

  But on opening the door to my flat, I realised something was different. The sound of the television, a children's programme blaring from within. The smell of toast—burnt toast—mixed with something else, a sweet, slightly sickly aroma I recognised but couldn't quite identify. And the sight of a coat, not mine, not Daniel's, hanging from the row of pegs to my left.