Deep Diving

by Cate Ellink

  It works; he laughs out loud. ‘You’re incriminated enough. Your face speaks louder than words.’

  ‘Sorry. I remember what it’s like to never be anything more than meat and muscle. I don’t want to do that to you.’

  ‘You remember…as in it doesn’t happen anymore? I find that hard to believe.’

  I smile at his compliment but I answer his question. ‘I know that it happens, why it happens and I avoid it. The ice queen thing works well. Plus, now I work with kids and that’s easier.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘I train kids, talented kids regardless of socio-economic standing.’

  ‘Does that mean you train kids for free?’

  ‘Some, yes. Others pay. Some are on scholarship-type programs.’

  We walk and talk about athletics, funding, and life. Deep conversations for a ‘first date’. However, the longer I’m with Cooper, the less it feels like a date. It’s friends, talking and enjoying it. We aren’t touching, we’re walking together in synchronous movements and I’m happy. His company is fun, sexy and I’m more alive than I’ve felt for a long time.

  We emerge from the silence of the rainforest to the pounding swish of surf and sand. The night air swirls, kissing my skin until goosebumps appear. I rub my hands up and down my arms and walk to the water’s edge. I paddle, ankle deep, heading along the beach, kicking at the waves that ripple in. The sea’s warmer than the breeze.

  I ask him about football and we end up discussing the demands of our careers; the continuous cycle of training, travel and competing. He is totally absorbed by his football, to the detriment of having a life outside it.

  ‘Don’t you feel a need to balance football and life?’

  ‘I couldn’t find the perfect balance, so I gave up trying. I spend fifty weeks a year being a selfish prick who lives for football. I take two weeks a year to be human. Do you know what I mean?’

  Nodding, I kick out at a wave, watching the green sparkles of the phospholuminescence dance across the water. ‘You train hard and live for football. There’s no time for anything else. Yeah, I remember what it’s like.’ I walk further, kicking at the water to watch the dazzle. I know how hard it is to train enough, eat right, sleep and somehow fit family, friendships and relationships in. It’s almost impossible except with the perfect friend or partner.

  ‘I’m interested in having some fun while I’m here.’ Cooper’s words send shivers of anticipation through me. I need to be more than just one night of ‘fun’. I’ve outgrown that. I want more. I’m not saying marriage but there are a heap of levels between the extremes.

  Deliberately obtuse, I try for innocence. ‘I thought we had fun today. Well, I did.’

  ‘I did too. I’m thinking more along the lines of turning my dive buddy into a bed buddy.’

  I stop walking and he does too, close behind me. He’s not touching, except with his breath that slides beneath my right earlobe making my flesh throb. His warmth extends so it licks at the back of my knees, along my hamstrings, across the top of my shoulders.

  ‘This is a no-pressure question,’ he adds when the silence has been too long.

  I don’t reply but the sound of rushing air comes from my nose, a cross between a sniffle and a snort. Those large hands close over my shoulders and his thumbs rub against my shoulder blades.

  ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I thought you might have been interested.’

  ‘Oh, I am. You haven’t read that wrong.’ I’m caving in. Easily. With no fight. But I haven’t spent years of training and discipline to be a pushover. ‘I have some rules.’ He nods sharply and I continue. ‘I’m clean but there’s no sex unless it’s safe and consensual. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed. And for the record, I’m clean too.’

  I face him. In the moonlight he looks…divinely edible. I lean forward, ever so slowly. I could be caught in freeze-frame. My gaze locks onto his perfect lips. The top bows beautifully but it’s his bottom lip that is truly sinful. Pillow-plump, it beckons and calls. I sink towards him and after an agonising wait my lips touch his. I pause, resting my flesh against his for a second, savouring the sweet tingle of the initial caress. There’s the momentary jolt of energy shifting between us as I press. This is followed by heaven as I sink into pillowy softness. His lips catch and hold mine. His hands circle my arms, warmth seeps in. I step closer, my body overshadowed by him, my feet tucked between his, while our kiss deepens.

  There’s the sharp sting of stubble against my mouth as we move. The kiss turns more demanding. No longer content to lounge in the softness, our lips fight for supremacy and submission. His press against mine, asking them to open but I’m demanding the same. We’re both asking, neither answering, the tension mounts. We prod and press against each other until, on some unheard command, tension snaps. My mouth opens to him and his to mine.

  He tastes of seafood, freshness, and salt. He’s the wickedest dessert and I can’t devour him quickly enough, nor have enough.

  His hands run across my body, skimming my hips, my waist. My breath catches, waiting, hoping. His fingers sweep beneath my breasts and I exhale. My left hand curls into the musculature of his shoulder while my right slips around the strength of his neck and my fingers spear into the short hair at his nape, stretching upwards to cup his head. Our noses brush before our mouths open.

  It’s a quick break for breath and as our lips meet again, our tongues reach for each other’s. They touch. Quivers rock me. His tongue is as strong as the rest of his body, curling around mine, teasing, pushing, stroking. He’s dominating, pushing forwards, then retreating when I don’t submit. Both my hands move to his head, holding so I can plunder his mouth properly. My fingertips knead the back of his head as our tongues twist and tangle. He cups his hands beneath my breasts and squeezes. I jump and pull away from the kiss, gasping, my breasts throbbing. I suck in air, hoping the lust-filled angst will pass. My nipples are standing out, so tight they could be torn from me by a passing gust.

  Allowing me only a couple of gasps, he steps towards me and his palms immediately claim my breasts again. Through the fabric of my dress, he holds and weighs them, squeezes and slowly releases then squeezes again; slow exquisite torture. I want his thumbs on my nipples, or his mouth, but he only squeezes, watching as if he knows what it’s doing to me. When he doesn’t do anything more, I push at his upper arms but it’s useless, they’re rock solid muscle and I doubt he even notices my touch.

  ‘What do you want, Samantha?’ His voice is low, pitched against my ear as he leans towards me.

  ‘My nipples…please, my nipples.’ I’m breathless. My words come out in gasps, begging.

  ‘I can see them. They’re pointed right at me, pushing through your dress. I bet they’re rubbing against your bra right now.’ And they are. Bloody tease. They’re abrading against lace that was once soft and delicate but is now barbed wire.

  ‘What do you want me to do with them, Samantha?’

  ‘Touch them,’ I manage to choke out. I can hardly think. All I want is the ache to go away, or stay and get better, or something.

  He brushes his thumbs against both tips, together, in a sweep that leaves them aching more than before he touched them. My groan elicits his cute crooked grin. It makes my knees weaken but gives me the sense to say, ‘Free them, suck them, taste them. Please.’

  He releases his stranglehold on my breasts almost before I finish speaking. He unzips my dress and it falls to a puddle around my feet. His hands are at my bra clasp. He fumbles and I almost scream with need and then one clasp, two, three. He’s deliberately making this tortuous. His eyes are dark but shining with laughter, or maybe the moonlight’s encouraging my imagination. Finally my breasts tumble from their prison. Cool air makes me start and then his hands close across the middle of each breast, covering the nipple with the heat of his palm. Arching my back, I press deeper into his hands. For a few moments, it’s heaven, and then he pulls away. A groan fills the air, followed by a deep c
huckle. ‘Why did I think you weren’t interested?’

  My growl only makes him chuckle more.

  He cups my right breast in his hand, fingers closing on the nipple, tweaking and rolling it in his solid fingers. My head drops back, eyes rolling to the heavens as he plays. And before I can sigh my satisfaction, he closes his mouth on my left nipple. Oh, God, yes. Warm, wet, wonderful. I sigh and groan in one sound. My hand curves against the side of his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone, the edge of his eye, the curve of his ear. Fingers thread into his hair, massaging his scalp. My other hand is on his arm of steel, curling around muscles bunched tight and loosening as he moves.

  Holy hell. I’m meant to be seducing him so I’m more than some chick who puts out on day one. Hundreds of girls must fall for him. My competitive edge is honed sharp. I have to be better than every single one of them. I need a point of difference, and the point cannot be the nipples he’s feasting on.

  My hands skim down his chest, stomach and dart over his hips. Hanging onto his hip bones, my thumbs brace either side of his cock, then rub simultaneously along the shorts-covered length.

  His mouth pulls away from my breast. ‘Fuck, yes.’ His voice is a rumble slightly louder than the surf.

  The fingers of my right hand close around his cock while my left hand splays against his chest. A deep fluttering develops in my lower belly. I take a big gulp before I can speak. ‘Let me guess, Coop, you’d like the bed buddies to start right away?’ I give a flirty grin.

  ‘Hell yeah.’

  ‘Not going to happen.’

  He chuckles and leans in to capture my lips. I let them be caught, soaking up the fresh taste of him, leaning into his solid chest, stroking his strengthening cock. All the while, I keep a little bit of myself back, holding tightly to the tiniest shred of immune-to-caring-about-football-hunk.

  I ease my hold on his cock as the kiss lessens. Moving back from him gently until he releases my lips.

  ‘Ever had a girl walk away from you?’ I make sure my words are light, almost a jest, and the smile on my face is fun and flirty.

  He shakes his head. ‘Nope. I’ve pushed plenty away but once it’s on, it’s on.’

  I nod. ‘And no frigging wonder. You’re almost impossible to walk away from.’ I wait long enough for our gazes to meet, lock and darken. As I think he’s moving to capture me again, I grab my clothes, spin and dance a few steps down the beach out of reach.

  A frown mars his face for a second and then his eyes widen. A low sound rumbles from his chest and expels as a desperately whispered, ‘No.’

  I grin evilly and dance a little further down the beach. ‘Oh, yes. I’m the evil triathlete who knows how much better things are when you have to wait. And you, Cooper, are definitely going to be worth waiting for.’

  ‘How long?’ It’s no plea. It’s the same question he’d give a trainer who asks him to run further. I would have preferred him to argue or beg so my ego felt better, but I’d have despised him if he did.

  I shrug and sneak close enough to run my fingertips along his forearm. ‘No fixed term. I thought I’d see how long we can last. Doesn’t that sound like more fun?’

  As I dart away, I’m unable to decipher his growl, but since I’m not crash-tackled to the sand I can only assume he believes in fun.

  Chapter 3

  Dawn finally breaks on my restless night. I’m up and running from my thoughts. A hard run always pulls me into line, although today, I doubt that’s possible since I’ve crossed into Cooper-crazy territory.

  Malabar Hill is one of the steeper climbs on the island and not far from where I’m staying. I run towards that. I need pain to focus. If I can reach the top running, then my mind will quieten as every scrap of energy will be needed by my body, not my brain.

  The slope has me slowing to a jog about three-quarters of the way up. It’s vicious and I don’t generally run on hills this big with this steep a gradient. My calves burn and thighs tense. My heart rate’s pounding and my breath is coming in gasps. It’s freaking hard work. Footfalls sound behind me, moving closer. Someone’s gaining on me? That makes no sense. Lord, they must be fit to make that much ground on me. I’m not a useless runner…but it is a big hill.

  I up my pace to a fast jog. They aren’t going to pass me. Air burns my throat before it fills my lungs. My thighs scream, calves knot in agonising spasms. I push through the pain.

  Whoever is behind me is still closing in, and I’m pushing myself to breaking. Who the hell can be catching me? My back prickles, goosebumps rippling along my spine and across my shoulders.

  ‘Morning, Sam.’

  Cooper.

  Of course.

  With muscles like that, he’d need to hone them somehow. He doesn’t even sound puffed.

  I gather a breath and put everything I have into sounding normal. ‘Good morning, Cooper. Lovely day.’ I fail. My words spurt out between gasps.

  ‘See you on the dive.’ He continues running up the hill as if he’s on the flat.

  I follow his progress. Holy shit, he’s fit. His calves are knotted tight, perfectly delineated. Thighs, deliciously defined, pump hard as they bunch rhythmically. He’s shirtless and his back ripples from his neck to the top of his shorts. Running shorts as skin-hugging as his Speedos display a butt so tight it causes the breath to jam in my throat. Choking, I halt. I drop my head down towards my knees, and try to catch air. He’s gone from view.

  I could know what those muscles felt like if I wasn’t so damn competitive. I could have had him last night. Licked every dip and swell. Feasted.

  I fan my hand in front of my face and blink a thousand times. I hope to hell I haven’t missed my chance.

  I hadn’t imagined him running past me. But I should have. I should have known he’d train hard to keep that shape, even if he is being human for a fortnight.

  No human should be able to run up this hill like he just did.

  I reach the top of the climb at a slow jog before heading back down, my thoughts somewhat quietened by my exertion. Cooper doesn’t pass me again. I’m glad. I don’t need all those lusty thoughts again.

  When I return, time moves slowly. I wonder how far Cooper ran, if he’s returned, if he’s twisted an ankle or stretched a muscle. Stupid things. Things I have no right thinking about let alone worrying about. He’s gotten under my skin. In a day. Too deep, too quickly.

  I head to the lagoon beach to snorkel for an hour before the dive. The beach is deserted, just how I like it. I put my towel and keys and Cooper’s washed towel and snorkelling gear on the sand beside the rocky point and head in. With my face in the water I’ll look at fish and not keep twisting my neck, straining for a glimpse of Cooper.

  The water’s cool after the warmth I’ve generated. The lapping motion of the sea immediately calms me. Fish dart before my mask and sunlight streams through the water as if it’s glass, highlighting rocks, weed, fish, shells, colours, movements. My mind stills and I lose myself in the majesty of the underwater world.

  A brush against my foot sets my heart in my throat. ‘Shark!’ immediately springs to mind but in the second it takes for the word to form, I settle myself and think it’s more likely seaweed touching me. I kick away a little, still entranced by the world below me.

  Another brush and I turn. It’s not seaweed but the brush of fingertips. Fingers belonging to the dimple-faced man I had momentarily forgotten. I tread water and remove my snorkel before speaking. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey, yourself. How did your jog go?’

  My jog? The one I call a run? I smile instead of grimacing. ‘Fine, thanks. Your run?’

  ‘Good. Hard. Just what I needed. Much to see here?’

  I shrug. ‘Nothing like Neds but there are lots of little fish.’

  ‘Mind if I join you?’

  I enjoy being asked even if there’s zero chance of my rejection. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Thanks for washing my gear, Sam. I owe you.’

  We snorkel for another 40 m
inutes and even with him beside me, it’s relaxing. He taps my arm and points to his watch. Time to dive. We make our way back to the beach.

  Walking out of the water, he shakes himself and my eyes are drawn. How can they not be? He’s magnificent. The nerves in my body, soothed in the salt water, are again frayed. They shoot sparks through synapses at random moments making my whole body tense, jumpy and ready to scream in frustration. I need to be back in the calming sea. Or, fuck, plastered across those muscles.

  Wordlessly I grab my towel and blot it against my face, hoping to hide the lustful gaze, the blush of need. When I’ve regained a semblance of control, I knot the towel around myself and we make our way to the dive shop.

  I like our unspoken communication. We grab dive gear, attach buoyancy control devices to air cylinders, regulators are fitted and tested. We suit up, grab fins and head to the boat. Stowing gear, we work like a long-standing team. Then side-by-side against the railing we listen to the dive brief.

  It’s our second dive together but it might as well have been our hundredth. I know how it’s going to go, what we both want to see, and it’s an unusual heady feeling.

  The boat starts and we make our way to the site.

  I think I know what we’re wanting, but it pays to check. ‘So, our plan for the dive is?’

  He turns towards me and his tongue does a quick sweep across his lips. My eyes follow greedily before I consciously pull my gaze away and settle on the horizon.

  ‘Don’t drown.’

  I quickly snap my head back to stare at him, mouth open. He grins and his fingers press against my lower jaw.

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist.’ He’s not sorry at all. ‘I’m happy to drop down, see what’s there and poke around. How about you?’

  ‘That suits me fine.’

  ‘Have you dived this site before?’ I nod and he asks, ‘Do you want to head away from the drop zone and explore new territory?’

  ‘It’s new every time I dive. I reckon we see where everyone else goes and find somewhere quiet.’ And I hope that doesn’t sound as suggestive as it does to my ears. I hope there’s no blush creeping up my face.