by Laura Carter
Matty throws daggers at Clark, which makes me wonder whether he saw the altercation, then he hugs me and tells me not to let the bed bugs bite.
As I climb the stairs, I know the bed bugs won’t bite but something else will have to if I’m going to put out the flames between my legs.
I close the bedroom door and lean my back against it. I drop my towel and run my hands over my stomach, up to my breasts. I close my eyes and see him. His hands, his mouth taking my nipples.
I slip my fingers through my slick labia and feel just how much my body wants him.
I LIE BACK on top of the sheets, naked, one arm behind my head. I’m on the fringe of drunk — from drink or her, I don’t know. What was I thinking? I went in too heavy, again. I have a game plan: take it steady, let her see she can trust me, that I’ve changed, that I’m over Connie. Then I see her, and I forget it all. I lose my cool like a lovesick fucking boy. But those nights … What I’d give to have her in my bed again, to take her over and over, to hear her screaming my name when she comes around my cock.
I’m already hard before I move my hand to my dick. I rub my length and grip my balls, growing harder still as I picture Dayna’s face. The way she looked at me by the fire, hungry for me, the way she used to look at me.
I turn my thumb around my tip then take my shaft in my fist. I imagine her slipping out of that black dress to reveal her lace bra, her perfectly formed tits, that lean stomach, a black suspender belt and stockings. I increase the rhythm of my hand as I watch her in my mind, stalking towards me and kneeling across my lap. She unbuttons my shirt and presses her soft lips to my chest as she uncovers me. I hear her groan, feel the sound vibrate against my chest, when I cup her over her thong. She unbuckles my jeans, draws down the zip and slides her hand under the denim, groping me over my boxers. I stand abruptly, lifting her legs around my hips. I feel her heels on my skin as she crosses her ankles and pulls me tight against her. She pushes my shirt over my shoulders and slides it off, one arm at a time. I push her back against the chalet wall and take her nipple in my mouth, sucking the supple flesh until it stiffens.
I pump faster with my hand and moan without meaning to, grateful that there’s no one in a room next door to me. I try to control my thoughts. I try to imagine her sitting back on the chair, unhooking her suspenders and drawing her thong down her legs slowly, seductively. I want to see her spread her legs. I want to witness the glorious sight of her fucking herself with her own fingers. But my mind is working as fast as my fist, both working my cock untiringly, and all I can imagine is us both naked, against that wall, me pounding into her ruthlessly as she cries out my name.
My thigh muscles tighten. My core locks. My mouth opens, and I want to shout her name into her neck. I pump my shaft faster and increase the pressure as I remember how it felt driving deep into her at the point of no return.
I hold my free hand over the end of my dick as I drive up and down, my hips grinding as I spurt everything that’s been pent up for much longer than one night, covering my hand, squirting onto my stomach.
I SHOWER THEN head out to the kitchen, following the smell of coffee. Any other Saturday after a skinful the night before, I wouldn’t wish to see this time of day, but today I’m like a kid at Christmas; I can’t wait to get out on the snow.
“I don’t think we have a choice, Arthur. Yes, I know that.” Dayna, dressed in only shorts and a thin strap vest, has a towel wrapped around her hair and her iPhone tucked under her ear as she pours herself a filter coffee. “Look, I’m meeting Sophia Falicino at the bank on Wednesday, but let’s suppose, in our wildest dreams, she agrees to give us more money. Is she likely to have it approved by Friday? I can’t put a bid in without the formal approvals, not when it comes to bank finance.” She scoffs. “Yes. Possible but highly unlikely… Mmm, I thought about private equity, and I’ll give it shot, too, but they’ll be even worse than the bank for due diligence and they’ll want security. They’ll want a stake in the well, a big one.” She picks up her coffee in one hand and takes hold of the phone in her other. “I don’t want to get into bed with Bahrain any more than you do, but if I offered them a stake, with our ble—” She turns and sees me. “I’ve got to go, Arthur. Just think about it for me, please. I’d like your support.”
She leans back against the worktop and sips her coffee. “First you’re looking at my phone, then you’re eavesdropping on my conversations.”
I walk into the kitchen and get myself a mug. “I wanted caffeine, that’s all.” She walks away as I start pouring a cup of the coffee she’s made. “Although, I have to wonder why you’re so concerned with extra money if you’re ranked first.”
The only retort I hear is the sound of her footsteps climbing the staircase.
“Happy birthday, Cross!” I shout after her.
“Screw you, Layton.”
WITH THE EXCEPTION of Amy and Yvette, we all ride the gondola out west to the tip of a black slope, in agreement that if there were a legal blood alcohol limit for skiing, we’d probably be over it and consequently deciding against off-piste.
“Did you see close was at thirty-nine dollars a barrel yesterday?” Teddy asks.
“The scary thing is, I think there’s still room to fall,” I tell him.
“I spoke to your dad this morning. He said it looks like Ocean Energy is going into liquidation,” Dayna tells Teddy, who shakes his head and whistles through his teeth.
“They bought a new rig and refinery right before the downturn,” he tells her. “I can only hazard a guess as to the size of the finance they took out, but there’s no way they’d have been turning a profit on the new gear. Probably a hefty loss. And what with everything else… now isn’t the time to make rash moves.”
It’s hard to tell whether that’s Teddy thinking out loud or whether his words are directed at me, or Dayna, or both of us. Fortunately, I don’t have time to question my own motives for wanting the Bahraini well, because it’s time to hit the white sheets. I position my shades, check my helmet is fastened and lead the group onto La Chaux.
The snow is like a waterslide covered in washing-up liquid. My skis move without effort. I head straight down with Spencer, neither of us turning to kill our speed, Spencer howling like a dog at full moon as we hurtle down the slope. I start to carve and look back for the others, only to see Dayna’s powder-blue jacket whiz past me. The woman has balls. She’s obviously followed our lead, our weight carrying us faster than her.
The slopes are still relatively empty and untouched, which means it feels like we’re skiing as a group once the others make up some ground. We’re all shouting, jibing, screaming, laughing together as we turn off one run and onto another.
“Race you!” Spencer shouts back to those of us closest to him — Dayna, Tim and me.
We all quit carving and hunch down, skis parallel and straight, and we take over the few other groups of people having their first run of the day. We start to take out speed in the final section. All except Dayna; she holds it straight for as long as she dares, flashing glances at Spencer. She knows he’ll pull up before her because it’s harder for him to kill his speed on a board without killing himself. But, Jesus, it’s tight. Reckless, even.
Finally, Spencer starts to turn and Dayna follows suit to the end. I’m hot on their heels, quickly followed by Tim, Matty and the others.
“I win,” Dayna sings.
She starts dancing on the spot with her poles, lifting her legs one at a time, her skis turning at all angles. She’s gloating, no doubt about it, but her way of doing it is so goofy and malcoordinated that it’s adorable.
I see it coming before it happens. She lifts her right leg, but the tip of her ski gets stuck in the ground. Her arms turn like a slapstick comedian. I move towards her, but not fast enough, and she crashes down into the snow like a starfish.
It takes a second before she’s laughing hysterically, her whole body shaking. And its infectious. I stand over her, bent forwards with my hands on my
knees, laughing hard. It’s the kind of laugh that physically hurts my ribs, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this welcome pain.
“I guess not everything’s changed, Cross,” I tell her, offering a hand. “You’re still uncoordinated.”
“Hey, only when I’m dancing, Layton.” She takes my hand but yanks me down hard, and I can’t save myself. My back hits the deck beside her and we’re both laughing.
“I’ve warned you about messing with me, Clark.”
“And I would have listened. Except I didn’t want to.” I grab a handful of snow and throw it in her face as I stand, another move she laughs off. “Hungover Dayna’s a hell of a lot less crabby than the sober version. You should lighten up more often.”
She stops laughing abruptly and stands. Attaboy, Clark. Foot in your oversized mouth, again.
“CLARK, I’VE GOT to tell you, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” Teddy is leaning an elbow on one end of the fireplace as I rest on the other. “Your first bid was alright. There was some profit to be had. Not a lot, but some, and in the current climate, I was willing to support it. But if you raise the bid by as much as—”
“It’s Persian Fuels, Ted. Dayna might as well have told me she’s ranked third this morning. I’m competing with Caspar Kahn, and that man has money.”
“He also has government officials under his thumb out there, Clark. He’s the king of the Middle East. If he wants it enough to be ranked first, he’ll win it. If you throw money at it, the kind of money it would take to sit on his perch, you’ll run a loss. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this about proving you can make a dent as CEO?”
“We don’t know how high he went. What if it only takes a couple of hundred thousand to tip him?”
“Buddy, it’s ultimately your call. But for what it’s worth, I’d be tempted to pull out. I’ll run the figures in detail on Monday, but if you stay in the race, I think you have to stay under another half a mill, and I wouldn’t come close to that if I were you.”
“You guys talking shop? Want me to disappear?” Tim asks as he comes into the lounge fastening the cuff of his shirt, ready for the club.
“No, you’re good. We’re done,” I tell him.
“Gin?” Yvette calls from the kitchen counter, where she’s opening a bottle of Hendrick’s.
The others come downstairs, and God, am I pleased I’m wearing jeans. I see Dayna’s legs, every fine inch of them, before I notice the rest of her. Her tight-fitting black dress is about as short as I’ve ever seen her wear. She looks different; her eyes look dark, smoky, smouldering. Her hair is messed up, an intentional just-fucked look. I follow her legs as she walks into the kitchen and picks up a gin. The long sleeves and high neckline of the dress were deceiving; they didn’t give away the open back. I’m transfixed by her bare skin, by her, as she takes a piece of cucumber from her glass and snacks on it.
“Here,” Spencer says, coming to stand next to me and offering me the small napkin he’s holding under his glass. “For the drool.”
“You’re a twat. And take your fucking eyes off her.”
“Ouch. She’s got your knickers in a twist, good and proper.”
I scowl at him as I head to the kitchen to pick up my own gin, purposely keeping my eyes off Dayna, mostly to avoid an embarrassing crotch issue.
Rachel hands me a Hendrick’s. “You scrub up well, Clarky.”
“Thanks. You look hot, if you don’t mind me saying. On the pull?”
“Oh, you know. Not looking, but if the right guy presents at ten to two…”
“Home time!”
We chat in the kitchen while we finish our drinks, but I’m distracted by Matty’s vulture eyes on my… on Dayna. “What’s his story, Rach?”
She swallows the ice cube she’s been sucking. “Matty? Unsure, actually. They dated for a while at uni, nothing serious. He was on the rugby team; she was a cheerleader.”
I cough as I inhale rather than swallow my drink. “Cross was a cheerleader? She can’t dance.”
Rachel jerks her head back mockingly. “Can’t dance? That lady has crazy hips on the dance floor. You must make her jittery.”
I look over at Dayna. “It seems fair that I have the same effect on her.” I say it to myself, but Rachel pats my shoulder before declaring leaving time.
By the time we get to the club, I’m jittery for reasons that are less to do with Dayna and more to do with the minus-five air.
“Oh, Christ, look at the queue. I’ll freeze,” Amy says.
I walk right by the queue, which really isn’t too bad, maybe twenty or thirty deep, and offer a hand to the doorman.
“Clark, it’s nice to see you. How’s the ski?”
“It’s been good. How are you keeping, Georg?”
“Not so bad.” He steps to one side and gestures for me to head into the club. “Your table is ready for you. Neun, ja?”
“Good man.” I slide a note into his hand as we shake. “Nine is right.”
At the bottom of the staircase are two blondes, both in tight red dresses, fur coats and snow boots. “Clark, hello,” one of them calls. I cannot remember that girl’s name.
“Nice to see you again.” She bats her eyelids in way that, not so long ago, would’ve had me coming back to see her at the end of her shift.
Instead, I climb the stairs. We’re received by a waitress and shown to our table, which is already stacked with 42Below, Hendrick’s, mixers and ice. “Could you bring a couple of bottles of Dom, too?” I ask.
“Sure, I’ll be right back.”
“Tonight, Clarky, I love ya,” Amy says, hugging me zealously and planting a kiss on my cheek.
I seat myself so I’m neither next to nor opposite Dayna. She’s given my member a mind of its own, and the last thing I need is temptation. Instead, I sandwich myself between Amy and Tim — a safe zone.
The waitress returns with the Dom Pérignon, and we toast Dayna’s actual birthday. After being hungover all day and having a good workout on the slopes, I really feel my second drink of the night, but it isn’t relaxing me. In fact, I’m increasingly wound up. Matty has positioned himself at Dayna’s side. He leans in every time he speaks to her. He eye-fucks her when she’s speaking to him or anyone else. He strokes the skin of her back through the cut-out of her dress. She seems oblivious, but that doesn’t make me feel any fucking better about the situation.
“Did you catch any of the Rugby World Cup?” Tim asks me, handing me a vodka. We chat about the England versus New Zealand game, but I can’t seem to shift the desire I have to tear Matty’s hand off his goddamn arm.
Multiple drinks later, Rachel leads the girls to the dance floor, and the guys spread out. Now I’m opposite the bastard, and he’s so damn smug I want to rip his head off every time he looks at me with his fucking condescending grin. When Matty leaves the table for the toilets, Teddy slides another drink my way.
“You need to relax,” he says so only I can hear. “They’re friends, Clark.”
“Friends don’t need to touch each other every fucking second.”
“Clark, it’s her birthday. Calm down or you’ll ruin it. I’ve seen that look on you before, and you don’t have a right to say who she speaks to. Or who touches her and where.”
His words rile me further. He’s right. But I want to have that claim. I want to be able to tell the world to back off because she’s mine. I drain my vodka and head out to the dance floor.
I see her with the others, her head dropped back, her arms moving in time to the slow rhythm of Kygo’s “Firestone”. Her hips circle and her body is making shapes I’ve only seen women make in music videos. I stand on the edge of the dance floor and watch her move.
“Hey, handsome.” Two hands cover my eyes. Irritated, I pull them away, and Camilla Normen moves in front of me, pulling my shirt as she backs onto the dance floor. I move with her into the dancing crowd so I don’t lose the buttons of my shirt.
I end up in the middle of her group
of girls, the last place I want to be. Camilla rams her arse into my pelvis and grinds against me. It’s not particularly welcome, but I have to admit it feels good to have a woman touch my cock, since it’s been raging from the second I saw Dayna in that torturous black dress.
Camilla tries to turn to face me. I don’t want it. I hold her hips to stop her from rotating. She takes the hint but continues to roll her arse against me, her back to me. She sings as she moves, or maybe she’s talking to me, I don’t care either way. I scour the floor for Dayna.
Rage courses through my blood when our eyes finally meet. She’s grinding back into some guy I don’t know but recognise from other trips here. I push Camilla away as gently as I can while getting the point across and shove through the crowd, seething.
“Get the fuck away from her,” I growl to the dark-haired shit who has his hands all over Dayna’s waistline.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asks, only taking one hand off her.
I shove a hand against his chest, harder than I intend. “Keep your hand on her and you’ll find out.”
He holds up two palms and backs into the crowd.
“What are you doing?” Dayna yells at me.
“Me? Who is that guy?”
She’s nudged in the back by a drunken dancer and falls towards me. I take advantage, grabbing her at the hip and the small of the back.
“You have no business telling me who I can dance with. Just like I can’t tell you to stay away from Camilla Normen.” She digs the balls of her hands into my chest, but I hold her too close to fight me.
“That’s what you’re doing, trying to make me jealous? Well it fucking worked.”
She pushes harder against my chest. “Get off me, Clark.”
I hold her tighter but soften my tone. “I don’t want to see you with anyone else, Dayna. I can’t. It drives me fucking crazy. You drive me crazy.”