by Belle Brooks
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah, I degrade children instead of helping them. Fucking great teacher I am.” Sadness makes my shoulders droop.
“What happened to make you snap?”
“Nothing I plan to talk to you about.”
There’s a sudden and awkward silence, but it soon lifts.
“I see. Well, I think his punk arse needed a beating. What you did was a lot less than he deserved.”
“What I did was plain and simply wrong. Regardless of how much of a piece of crap that kid is, he’s only a teenager and I’m an adult. I still don’t know if I will return. But hey, there’s the dirt.”
“Maybe that moment will make an impact on his life. He probably hasn’t had anyone tell him off before.”
“Doubt it. Anyway, enough about me. Let’s talk about something else.”
“I can tell you about the time I spent the night in the lock-up if it will help?”
“Well, this I have to hear.”
We laughed and talked the entire night away. Marcus is such a great listener, but most of all he’s funny.
Taking a brief moment to look down at my watch, I’m alerted it’s 11:26 p.m. “It’s getting late. I really must be going. Thanks for—”
“Do you want to come back to mine for a coffee?” He drums his fingers on the table, slightly nervous.
“I’m pretty sure they have a coffee machine here.”
“No, it’s broken.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” he says with ‘guilty’ written all over his face. “I only live a stone’s throw down the road.” He grabs my hand, pulling me to the railing and pointing down the beach to the Oasis high-rise apartments.
“At Oasis?” No way.
“Yes.”
“Wow! A luxurious high-rise beachfront apartment on an assistant’s wage. You’re either extremely efficient with money, or you’re a manwhore. Which one is it?” I banter playfully.
“Not an apartment, the penthouse suite,” he replies, rather pleased by his living space.
“And you’re a gloat, I see.”
“There’s no reason I can’t take pride in what I own.”
“You’re such a manwhore then…aren’t you?”
His head tips back, and he laughs. The sound is like music to my ears. “So coffee?”
“Just coffee?” I question, offering him hope.
“Yes, just coffee.”
“Well…I don’t drink it, so no.”
His eyes light up. “You’re something.”
“Something that is leaving now. Thank you for a fun evening.”
“No problem. I’ll walk you out.” He extends a long-fingered hand to me. Our hands slip together with ease.
“If you must.”
Each stair becomes harder to take because his hand is now placed on my lower back. Maybe I could start to like coffee again if I tried hard enough. We walk like this until we get to Bertha.
“The VW. I saw this car at the cemetery when I pulled up.”
“You saw me too. Put two and two together, genius.”
“Touché.”
I turn to face him with Bertha behind my back.
“Have a good night. Don’t let your hex get you.” He chuckles.
“I wish I could control it. But I can’t. It could kill me before morning.”
His gaze is intense, all traces of humour gone. Swiftly he closes the small distance between us, forcing my back against the car. He places his hands on either side of my face and stares deeply into my eyes.
I don’t know why I do it, but my finger runs over the scar on his cheek, gently caressing the small rise of skin. Want—or is it need—for his touch sears through my blood.
“That would be a shame,” he says softly.
“What would?” I’m overcome.
“Your death.”
His lips are so close to mine, I’m tempted to have a small taste, but refrain.
Stepping back from me, he looks towards the ground. I feel his absence and will his attention to return. “Do you drink tea?” His voice mirrors mine—nervous.
“Yes.”
“Would you like to come back for some tea?”
“I would,” I reply, without thinking about the answer.
“Good.” He takes my hand in his. “This way, Miss McMillian.”
I go with him like a lovesick teenager. This is ridiculous.
Taking our time, we stroll along the footpath. I, of course, trip over thin air, and he manages to catch me on the way down. Maybe having him around might save me a few scraped knees.
“So you’re really cursed?” he asks after my near miss with the pavement.
“I am.”
We say nothing more. The silence makes me evaluate my motives for leaving with him. I tell myself that it’s just a cup of tea with a friend and colleague and I’m being nice. It still doesn’t stop the waves that crash inside my stomach and the flutters that are present in my chest.
***
The lift stops at the top level, the doors open, and we step off hand in hand. The sexual tension is at fever pitch. Every part of me wants his touch, but my heart and my head know this will never be a possibility. It’s a cup of tea with a friend and that’s it, Abigail.
“This is home,” he says before punching numbers into a keypad by the door and pushing it open.
Walking in behind him, I must say the arse view I’m getting was worth the trip.
“Are you staring at my arse?”
Busted. “Whatever do you mean?”
He chuckles as the apartment begins filling quickly with light.
“Wow. This is big.” My voice radiates how surprised I actually am.
“It’s definitely spacious.” He flicks more light switches on.
“You’re very neat,” I yell out, having no idea where he has gone.
“I like things to have a place.”
Neat? I like to live my life in a constant treasure hunt. I hunt through all my crap until I find what I’m looking for. Totally not compatible.
The entire space is modern and well decorated. He definitely likes fine things. I’m still puzzled at how he can afford something like this.
Slowly making my way into the kitchen, I see him putting water into a coffee machine that’s homed on a large marble bench. Glancing over his shoulder, the view of the beach is even more stunning from this height.
“Can I?” I point towards the sliding door to a deck.
“Of course.”
Stepping out onto an oversized patio, a million miles away from the ground, I’m greeted by a crescent moon. The salty smell and taste of the sea water from this high up and the sound of the crashing waves helps me to relax. This place is so peaceful. If only I didn’t hate men so much, I might have been able to stay here forever.
Beautiful Mistake
“Such a beautiful view.” His tone is dreamy.
“It is,” I reply, still wrapped up in the peacefulness of the ocean. I can sense him close, too close.
One hand and then a second grab onto the bar on either side of mine. His body presses against my back. A tickling sensation fills my senses as his breath runs along my neck.
Losing my inhibitions, I allow my head to tip sideways, giving him access. Stop, Abigail.
“You’re definitely the definition of beauty,” he breathes before soft lips make contact with my skin, perfectly. His nose runs along my jawline.
I begin to melt into him. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched this way. Even though this has to end, a minute more seems harmless.
“Abigail,” he murmurs, kissing my neck again, “what I wouldn’t give to take you right now.”
My head dances with visions of pleasure. Pleasure that’s been a distant memory for far too long. My eyes close. I want this. Him. But I can’t.
One of his hands releases the railing and wraps around my waist, pulling me tightly against him. A bulge presses into my lower back, causing a moan t
o escape me. Five fingers splay across my stomach. I will for them to move higher. They do. My breast now sits cupped in his hand as his lips perch over my ear.
“Let me have you,” he whispers.
The railing no longer holds my body upright as I’m spun into him. Strong arms embrace me protectively…lovingly. His dark eyes search mine.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he says as if asking permission.
I nod.
Slowly his head moves towards me, his lips inviting. Fingers skim over my naked back until his hand lands at the base of my neck, holding me in place. Throbbing pulses tell me I want this kiss more than air. His mouth finds mine, softly, passionately at first, and then I gasp as he slips his tongue into my open mouth. Everything about this moment is exceptional. The only problem is it needs to end, now.
“I can’t, Marcus,” I plead, pulling away, overcome with so much emotion, I can’t focus.
“Okay,” he replies calmly, releasing me and then stepping backwards.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His hand gently cups my cheek. “I’d never do anything you didn’t want to.”
Pressing firmer into his palm, I wish more than all the stars sprinkling the night sky that I could.
“I should go.”
He smiles. “I wish you’d stay.” Those eyes, and that face, make me second-guess myself, but I don’t allow myself a chance to falter.
“I—”
“You’re biting your lip. When you do that…fuck, it’s hot.” His words are filled with hunger, and before I’m out of arm’s reach, he grabs me until I’m against his chest.
“Fuck it!” I exclaim, franticly lifting the hem of his shirt as my lips crash hard against his.
Our mouths part for a moment while he removes his shirt in one swift movement. Tight muscles tense beneath my touch, and I thank the Lord for the body that now rests under my fingertips.
“Abigail,” he groans into my mouth as he slowly lowers the zipper of my dress. His hands run along my spine, stopping at the seam of my underwear. “Fuck me,” he commands when he realises I’m braless, and my breasts push against him as my dress falls away to the floor. He lifts me off the ground with ease, and my legs wrap around his waist. The warmth of his skin against mine sends tingles through my extremities. “The things I want to do to you,” he declares, carrying me back into the suite.
Gently, he lowers me until I rest against a surface so soft I feel like I’m being cradled by a cloud.
My heart beats rapidly, my breath replicating the rhythm.
For a moment Marcus disappears. I close my eyes.
“Abigail, look at me,” he urges a second later.
I do.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I manage to get out.
The top button of his jeans undoes as his hand lowers his zipper. “Do you want to do this with me?” The tone of his voice keeps me calm long enough to give the answer that feels so right, although I know is so incredibly wrong.
“Yes.”
I’m mesmerised by the godlike creature standing in front of me. How in the world I got here, and why in the world I’m allowing this to happen are questions that remain unanswered as he springs free from his jeans. I’m surprised that he’s not wearing underwear, but I’m grateful that he seems a perfect size for me to take.
Kneeling on the bed between my legs, he whispers, “You’re beautiful,” before his body hovers over mine. Placing both hands on the mattress beside my head, he gazes into my eyes. The dark chocolate colour becomes hypnotic as he hushes all thoughts of previous uncertainty.
It’s quiet—peaceful—apart from each breath we take in unison to sustain life.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, breaking the silence.
I nod.
A commanding tongue swirls in my mouth and everything in this one action feels natural, like I belong right here with him. Soon the absence of his lips against mine causes sudden panic to rush through my veins. His mouth returns in time to the skin above my breast, bringing back the calm.
Taking time, he explores each breast before fingers slide into the top of my underwear, resting on my pubic bone.
“I want to see every bit of you,” he groans as he slides the last piece of material covering my skin away.
Five long fingers glide up my inner thighs, tickling, caressing, until they stop at my opening. “Abigail,” he breathes before entering me quickly.
“Holy shit,” I gasp as my back arches, and I call out in pleasure—pleasure I’d almost forgotten existed. Each movement causes my stomach muscles to tighten. “Marcus,” I whimper with need as he takes his time getting acquainted inside me. “Stop,” I cry suddenly as my body begins to reach climax.
He immediately moves away. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I reply, trying to catch my breath.
“Do you want me?”
“I don’t know.”
He kneels between my legs once more and hunches over me, brushing my cheek with his fingertips before tasting my lips. “It’s okay, Abi. I’m not going to hurt you.” His eyes are hungry with need. It makes me want this moment with him so much more.
“I know you won’t.” How I know this is unclear, but I feel like I’ve known him all of my life. Reaching up, I run my fingers through his hair, clutching a clump, pulling his head down until our mouths find each other once more.
He kisses me with want before we’re forced apart for air.
“Abigail, I need to be inside you, now.” His voice is primal, and I give my consent without thought.
I watch his hand reach for the foil wrapper I glimpse lying on the bed. Ripping it open with his teeth, I still, panting and admiring his body now upright in front of me. “Are you okay?” he asks as if needing reassurance that I won’t freak out again.
“Marcus...” Our eyes connect. “It’s been a long time for me.”
Full lips curve upwards. “I won’t hurt you, just keep your eyes here and don’t look away.” He points to his eyes.
I do.
“I want you, all of you,” he groans as inch by inch he pushes inside me until he’s nestled. “Abigail,” he groans with pleasure, casting all my fears aside as I hear my name from his lips.
Each thrust is gentle, his mouth attentive to every piece of my skin it can reach. I’m lost in the moment. Nothing but this right now could make me happy.
“Harder,” I pant.
He complies.
“More,” I beg.
He thrusts deeper into me, picking up the pace with every moan that gets more desperate as it vibrates from my throat.
Every part of me screams for release. “Please, please, Marcus.”
He grunts in response, his mouth devouring me.
Stars begin to replace my vision. My eyes close just as my body tenses, and I allow myself to get lost in the purity of a well needed release. Blurry eyes finally open once I gather my equilibrium. They open just in time to capture him succumbing to his own pleasure and it truly is a sight I’m glad I didn’t miss.
We stay connected, staring, touching, and tasting until he finally rolls from on top to my side.
“Abi, that was amazing.” His breath is still in limbo as he tries to catch it.
I want to reply with, ‘I’ve never felt anything like that in my life’, but I don’t.
He places his arms around me and pulls our bodies together. Feather kisses trace my nose. “Wow,” he mouths, still coming down from his high. “Are you okay?”
And with that one question I realise that I’m not okay and this was a mistake. Instant regret.
“Are you coming?” he asks, standing from the bed with the evidence of our deed tucked in his closed hand.
“Where?” I pull the sheet around me, sitting up.
“The shower.”
“You go. I’ll take one after you.”
“Are you sure?” Confusion is etched on his face.
“Yep.”
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A firm arse walks past me and enters a door not far from the bed. The sound of running water makes me want to pee, but there’s no way I’m going in there with him. Hell, I don’t even know who he is and he has no idea who the fuck I am. What I do know is he can fuck a woman in a way I’ve never known and that in itself tells me he’s a manwhore like I suspected. What have I done?
Soon the door opens and he returns to the room, turning a lamp on next to the bed. His skin glistens with water droplets and his hair is messy. The just fucked look is an expression he wears way too well and it’s sexy as hell. My eyes scan his body. Perfection. He definitely works out, a lot. Me, not at all. We have nothing in common from appearances alone. The V that hides his manhood behind the towel wrapped around his waist gets my juices flowing just from the sight. I need to get the fuck out of here. How can I be regretful and still want to have him in me again? This makes no fucking sense.
“Your turn.” His million-dollar smile sparkles.
How can someone be blessed with such looks? My God!
“Okay.” I pull up, wrapping the sheet around me as I stand.
“What are you doing?” He stops in front of me.
“Going to clean up, why?”
“What’s with the sheet?”
“You know, keeping some dignity intact.”
“I’ve already seen what’s under there. You shouldn’t hide yourself like that.” He attempts to remove it gently, but I hold on. “Abigail, you’re beautiful.” His fingers run through my hair before bringing his lips to mine. “Those lips,” he moans against my mouth. “They’re perfect, just like the rest of you. Lose the sheet.”
“I think I’ll keep it for now.”
His shoulders shrug, displeased.
***
The bathroom is immaculate and smells fresh like rain. Clean. I inhale a deep breath, enjoying the smell, his smell, before looking around. The en suite is as big as the rest of the place. Spa, shower, and toilet all reside on one side of the room. A double basin and vanity run the length of the other side. How can he afford this? Maybe he has wealthy parents, or he’s married and his wife is loaded. The urge to open the drawers and cupboards for evidence crosses my mind. But I refrain and take a quick shower to wash away my mistake, hoping that this has only been a dream and I’ll wake up sticky from its dirtiness, but untouched. One can only hope.