Beautiful Series Boxset, books 1-4

by Lilliana Anderson

  I’m surprised by his reaction. “You’ve never had sex without a condom?”

  “Never,” he answers seriously.

  “Well, I guess that means you’ve got the all clear then? Health wise, I mean,” I ask carefully, not really wanting to ask the difficult question but knowing how important it was for both of us to be STD free.

  “Yes, I’m clear. What about you?”

  “I, uh, got tested in the hospital. Just to be sure, so yeah, I’m all clear. And um…I get Depo injections every six months. So I can’t get pregnant,” I assure him, feeling awkward but glad the air is clear.

  “Oh, good.” He breathes out his relief, kissing me again. “I don’t know what it is about you. I just keep doing things that aren’t normal for me.”

  He withdraws, and I feel the warm gush of his semen run out of me. He looks at it then looks at me like he doesn’t know what to do.

  This really is the first time he’s had sex without a condom.

  I tell him to rinse the cloth again to clean us up. He insists on doing it for both of us, and when he finishes, he lifts me from the bench and sets me on the floor, before he drops the Chux into the garbage bin.

  “Breakfast?” he asks me.

  I nod my agreement, and he pulls out a chair for me at the small wooden table in the kitchen's corner that only seats two. I sit down, watching him move around, preparing toast and eggs with orange juice and coffee.

  When my phone beeps with a message, I jump up and retrieve it from the coffee table where I left it after speaking to my mother.

  The message is from David. Went by ur house but ur mum said u were out. Sorry about last night. I’m an idiot. forgot to charge my phone and couldn’t find u. Have been worried. Connor said u went home.

  I’m angry and grateful to David because if he hadn’t disappeared, I wouldn’t have just had a night full of mind-blowing sex.

  I take a breath and type back. Don’t worry about it, just glad ur safe. Was worried about u too

  He messages straight back. Where r u? Can we talk?

  Typing again, I answer: With Elliot. Talk tomorrow?

  I sit there looking at my phone waiting for the dots to dance again. I’m disappointed when it shifts to read and nothing else happens. Elliot moves into my periphery as he places our breakfast dishes on the table.

  “Everything OK?” he asks for the second time this morning.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just David this time. Saying sorry for ditching me last night.” I move back over to the table and sit down with Elliot. “This looks great,” I tell him, starting to dig in.

  “I think I’ll have to thank David for ditching you last night. I would’ve had to settle for dreaming about you instead of getting to spend time with the real thing.”

  I blush a little. “You wouldn’t have had to wait long. I was supposed to come to dinner tonight remember.”

  “I remember,” he says. “Do you still want to do that? Or do you have to get home?”

  “I think I would still like to do that, if that’s all right with you. Not sick of me yet?”

  He leans over and kisses me. “Um, let me think: a beautiful woman who rocks my world and can talk sports with me? Hmmm, no. I can’t see myself getting sick of you anytime soon.” He finishes his eggs and takes his plate to the sink, leaning against it as he speaks to me. “I need to shop for dinner tonight, though. You want to come along?”

  “Sure. You wouldn’t happen to have some women’s clothes lying around would you? I don’t really want to go out looking like I just stepped out of a club.”

  “I’ll give you a shirt to wear over your dress if you like. Will that do?”

  “That’ll be fine, thanks.” I smile, downing the last of my coffee. I stand up with my dishes, and he moves towards me to take them, placing them in the sink.

  He’s a good ten centimetres taller than me in bare feet, and he leans down to kiss me again. “But first, will you shower with me?”

  I raise my eyebrows at him, and my eyes drift to his chest. “You mean, I get to rub soap all over your body?” I ask, tracing my fingers along the grooves between his muscles.

  “I was thinking the same thing about you,” he growls, before he swoops me up and carries me laughing to the shower.

  Nineteen

  We don’t end up making it out of the house to buy supplies for dinner. Instead, we spend the day exploring each other’s bodies and minds. Touching, tasting, whispering and moaning together.

  By the time our stomachs growl it’s six o’clock, so we rummage through his kitchen, deciding on fish finger sandwiches, topped off with a can of coke.

  “I’m sorry this isn’t a nicer dinner,” he says as we eat quietly.

  “Don’t be,” I nudge into him. “It’s perfect.” We lock eyes for a moment, engrossed by the pull our bodies seem to emit around each other. He edges his chair closer to mine, lifting my leg so it’s resting across his lap. With light fingertips, he runs his hand up and down it, giving me goose bumps all over.

  “I heard Ken offering to open doors for you last night,” he says.

  Finishing my mouthful, I take a sip of Coke before I reply. “Do you think I should take him up on it? I saw your reaction when he mentioned you’ll stay in the same position for at least another year.”

  “I am not happy about that. The work I’m doing now could be done by anyone. I mean, why bother going to all the trouble getting a degree if you’re just going to be treated as no better than a filing clerk?”

  “I happen to like the filing clerks in our office.”

  He frowns. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. I do. And I have to wonder—especially after that rant he had about your father and morals—if maybe he’s keeping you down on purpose. As a way of getting to your dad or something? I don’t know.” I shrug. “Just a vibe I got.”

  “Admittedly, I considered that too. Or he’s just not as interested in nurturing new blood as he says he is. Which is also why I’d advise you against sending Ken your results. After experiencing a big firm, I’d recommend starting small.”

  “Is that what you wish you did?”

  “Yeah. A buddy of mine went to a small firm—one name partner and two senior solicitors—he does way more hands on work than me.”

  “Maybe you should transfer?”

  “I don’t know. I’d have to read through my contract again to find a loophole. But I’m pretty sure I’m stuck in a job I hate for at least another three years.”

  “What is it you hate? The fact your skills aren’t utilised?”

  He blows out his breath and runs his hand up and down my leg. “To be honest. Everything. I hate everything about it. I hated uni too. I hate law.”

  I snap my head back in shock. “Then why do it? I couldn’t think of anything worse than spending all that time studying to be something I don’t enjoy.”

  Running his hand through his hair, he shakes his head. “You already know the answer to that.”

  “Because it’s what all the men in your family do,” I state, remembering our previous conversations. He holds up a hand, his gesture saying, ‘there you go.’ But I don’t believe it. Why would someone be miserable just because their parents expected them to be something?

  “I was never meant to be anything else.”

  “What would you be if you could choose for yourself?” I ask, sensing that pushing him to talk about his father is a bad idea.

  He lifts his brow, sitting against the back of his seat as he looks out the window. “I’d be a personal trainer,” he says, shifting his gaze to me. “Is that lame?”

  I reach out and place my hand over his. “No, Elliot. It’s brave. Following your passion, going against the grain… it’s a very courageous thing to do.”

  He gives me a half smile. “Pity I’m too chicken shit to try, huh?”

  “No. You’re not chicken shit at all. I have a feeling you’re just biding your time. And when that moment arrives, you
’ll stand up and say enough. I see that kind of bravery in you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Really.”

  He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss against my knuckles. “Will you stay again tonight?” he asks.

  “I would love to. You don’t know how much I want to. But I should be getting home,” I say, registering the disappointment in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I skipped training this morning so I have to make up for it tomorrow. There’s a race next weekend, so now isn’t the time to ditch.”

  “A race? Can I watch?”

  “If you’d like.”

  “I would. Very much.”

  “Then I’ll send you the details.”

  He nods as he stands to clear away our dishes. “I’ll drive you home after this then?”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that, it’s too far. Just drop me off at the train station. I have to get my car, anyway.”

  “Well then, I’ll drive you to your car,” he insists.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I’m not dropping my girlfriend at the train station to find her own way home. What kind of monster do you think I am?”

  “I was thinking you were a beast between the sheets, to be honest,” I tease, standing to help him with the dishes.

  “A beast, huh?” I nod. He grins. Then he growls and chases me into the bedroom while I squeal with laughter before giving me one last taste of his beastly charms.

  On the drive home, something changes between us. The bubble we’ve been in has burst, the real world seeping in with its glaring reality, making our conversation stall. How do we make this work?

  I realise that for the next—I don’t know how many days or weeks—we have to hide what we are. I’m not allowed to be openly affectionate with him. I’m not allowed to touch him; to flirt with him; to give him meaningful looks. In the weeks leading up to this moment, hiding how we felt was a part of the process, part of the courtship. But now we’ve been intimate, well, it feels so much harder. Like I’m losing something with the passing scenery, the car catapulting us closer to the end of our perfect time together. Back to the hiding. The lying.

  Why can’t my relationships ever be simple?

  “You’re quiet,” Elliot observes.

  “Maybe I should quit,” I blurt out.

  He glances at me before setting his eyes back on the road, giving me a humourless smile. “Quit what? Work? I would never expect you to do that. Besides, it wouldn’t even matter if you did.”

  “What do you mean it wouldn’t matter? If I’m not working there, the no-dating policy can’t affect us.”

  “I read over the policy after Priya pulled us in her office; it says you can’t date a recent employee either.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. It’s so those in positions of power can’t pressure someone to quit just so they can fuck.”

  “It makes sense they’d have that in there. But still…” I let out a sigh.

  “I know. It really doesn’t matter if you leave or if you stay. We’ll still have to hide it.” He glances at me again and takes my hand, resting it on his leg as he drives. “We’ll be OK. We just have to keep staying away from each other at the office so no one notices any change in our interactions.”

  “I know. It’s just gonna be harder now. You always made me thirsty. But now I’ve had a taste, I’m going to starve.”

  With his mouth twitching in amusement, his eyes flick from the road to me. “Did you seriously just say I make you thirsty?”

  I laugh and run my hand through my hair as I lean on the windowsill. “Yeah. You make me real thirsty.”

  A low level growl rumbles in this throat, and I contemplate sliding my hand over to that tempting bulge in his jeans. But at a hundred and ten on the freeway, it might not be the best idea.

  “How about, we skip drinks on Friday and go to my place instead?”

  “What about your schmoozing time with the partners?”

  “I think I can take one night off from that,” he reasons, giving the hand that wants to do naughty things a light squeeze.

  “We could do that. But I’ll have to pass. I’m racing next weekend.”

  “Ah, shit. I knew that. Now I feel like a dick.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I haven’t even given you the details for you to know specifics. But, I wouldn’t mind spending Saturday night with you.”

  “You won’t be too exhausted after your race?”

  “I will find energy to quench my Elliot thirst.”

  “My god,” he groans as I press my fingers into his thigh. “Do you think we’ll get arrested if I pull over here and fuck you in the backseat?”

  “I’m game if you are.”

  He checks his mirrors and bites his lip, and I notice the bulge in his pants growing by the second. When he flicks his indicator on and changes lanes, I suck in my breath. But when a red highway patrol car takes that opportunity to zoom past us, Elliot clicks the blinker off and we both let out a breath. “Holy shit.”

  We both laugh. “I guess we’ll have to wait until after my race,” I say.

  “Finish first and I’ll let you sit on my lap on the way home.”

  I giggle and wonder if he’d really let me do that before I point out the exit, squirming in my seat as I direct him towards Penrith Station so I can get my car. This will be a long and thirsty week.

  After making a plan to spend the night with him again, I’m feeling less despondent about the end of this car ride. Although, I still can’t help that nagging doubt in my mind—the reason we held back for so long—because we may never move beyond this point. We may never be anything more than a well kept secret. It’s something I really don’t want to face right now. We have to figure something out.

  Pulling into the back parking lot of Penrith Station, I point out my old shit-box car and he parks in the spot next to it.

  “That’s your car?” he asks, pointing at it like he doesn’t believe me.

  “Yep. Why do you think I wasn’t worried about leaving it here overnight? We don’t all drive pretty Audis.” I own a white 1979 Mazda 323. It cost me three hundred dollars, and that included any parts I wanted to scavenge from a second 323 the owner had in his yard. What I loved about my car was that it looked like crap, but the guy I’d bought it off had installed central locking, a sick stereo system and these dancing LED lights that bounce back and forth when I drive at night. As a finishing touch, he added cow print seat covers. I fell in love instantly. I’m also lucky that both David and my dad are good with cars so they keep it on the road for me.

  He grips the steering wheel of his Audi A4 and runs his hand along the leather. “This was a graduation gift from my father. He said that any up-and-coming solicitor needed a set of wheels to reflect their status.”

  “He must have been proud of you,” I say, seeming to interrupt some thought or memory he was playing in his mind.

  “I don’t know if he’ll ever be proud.”

  “Then why do you keep trying to please him?”

  He runs a hand over his face and shakes his head. “You know, I wasn’t mocking your car. I think it’s cute.”

  “Whatever. You were totally being a car snob,” I tease. “But you’re forgiven. Not everyone understands my love for Carrie.”

  “Carrie?”

  I place my hand on the door and push it open. “What else would you name a car?”

  Even though I don’t think anyone would bother with my hunk of junk, I do a quick lap around her, making sure she’s all in one piece and the wheels are still inflated. Can’t be too careful.

  “You sure I can’t throw you back in the Audi and take you back home with me? I don’t know if I’m ready to let you go.” His arms cage me in as I lean against my car.

  “When the season is over, I can spend every weekend with you,” I say, silently wondering if talking about the future so far in advance is a terrible faux pas. But since he’s the one who proclaimed himself my boyfri
end, I’m thinking it might be OK. “Until then”—I run my fingers over the curve of his chest—“I have to keep to my training schedule. The Olympic trials wait for no girl.”

  “I understand,” he whispers, leaning in and brushing his lips against mine. “I’m just going to miss this mouth of yours.”

  “I was thinking exactly the same thing.” Parting my lips, I capture his mouth in mine, kissing him tenderly in farewell, bittersweet knowing this will be our last chance for a whole week.

  “I’ll text you,” I sigh, reluctantly getting into my car.

  “Send nudes,” he says, making me laugh as I start up my engine and drive away, putting an end to our all too brief encounter.

  Twenty

  Instead of going straight home, I drive past David’s house to see if his car is there. He still hasn’t messaged me back, and I want to make sure he’s OK after our separation on Friday night. If he was half as panicked as I was, he’ll need to see me with his own eyes.

  Knocking twice, I step inside, finding his mother curled up on the couch, reading a book.

  “Hi Trina, dear.” She’s probably the only other person in the world I let call me that. It’s the only name she’s ever known me by since David gave me the nickname almost as soon as he met me. I like David’s mum. She struggles. But she always does her best by him.

  She closes her book over her finger to mark her place as I lean down, giving her a cheek kiss. “You look lovely. Are you and David going out tonight?”

  I look down at my two-day-old dress and wonder if maybe I should’ve gone home and changed first. “No, not tonight. I’m just here to chat with David. Is he in? I saw his car outside.”

  “Yes, he’s in his room. Go right on through.”

  “Thanks, Mrs Taylor.”

  She returns to her book when I walk down their narrow hallway, stopping outside David’s room. When my chest gets an anticipatory ripple, I laugh at myself for being a fool. I’ve done this thousands of times, spent hours upon hours in his company. Why do I still get a nervous flutter every time I see him? Crazy.