by Fiona Lowe
Somehow this morning, when she’d come out of the pantry, she’d managed to hide from the twins the fact that she’d been crying. They’d said, ‘Daddy says goodbye,’ which meant Grant had kissed them farewell, but he hadn’t come back to find her. With an aching heart, she’d put on her best in-charge voice, signed their school diaries, chased down a missing library book, cleaned up cat furball vomit, badgered the twins through the teeth-cleaning routine and had finally got them to school on time. After that, she’d thrown herself into her workday, thankful to be busy.
She snapped her bag shut. ‘I better get on the road if I’m going to be back in Mil Springs by school pickup. You stay feeding Brady and I’ll see myself out.’
Usually Mindi Station homestead was surrounded by a bright and cheery green lawn of couch grass to keep the dust at bay but, with no water to spare, the drought had put paid to that. The yard was as burnt-red as the rest of the landscape and when Kelly crossed it, she wondered if Mars looked much the same. She threw her bag onto the passenger seat before swinging up behind the wheel, turning on the ignition and ramping up the aircon to cool the trapped heat.
With the large-tread tyres of the four-wheel drive gripping the red-dirt station track, it didn’t take long before she rumbled over the cattle grid and was back on the packed gravel road heading toward town. She drove around a ring-tailed dragon sunning itself in the middle of the road and, as she passed a gnarly Coolabah tree in one of the many channels that gave the area its name, a flock of Major Mitchell cockatoos rose into the clear blue sky with their distinctive flash of white and pink. She loved this country, but its unforgiving harshness played havoc with people’s lives—with her marriage. It wasn’t a place for the faint-hearted.
Her phone buzzed and her breath stalled in her chest.
Grant.
Even when they hadn’t argued, his texts were never good news. She braked and pulled over, forcing herself to pick up the phone and click on the buttons until she could read the message.
Are you wearing my socks?
She stared at the words, none of which made any sense. He’d left her this morning without kissing her goodbye and now, despite her having told him, he was asking her about his bloody socks again?
A fizz of anger spurted and her fingers clicked jerkily on the keys. Not wearing any socks. R&M made puppets. Look in the toy basket.
She set the phone back in its holder and was about to pull out onto the road when it buzzed again.
So your legs are bare?
What was he on about? He knew what her uniform looked like and that no one wore pantyhose out here in this heat. Of course they’re bare.
A message came straight back. I love the feel of your bare skin against my hand. Against my lips …
Oh! She gasped as a zip of need bolted through her, landing with an addictive shimmer between her legs.
He was sexting her.
Excitement bubbled in her veins. He’d never sexted her before, not even when things had been good or when they’d had easy access to mobile phone reception. With trembling fingers, she texted back, cursing the simple SMS facility of the SAT phone that meant she was pressing buttons multiple times to make words.
Where are your lips right now?
Where do you want them to be?
She licked her lips and typed, Everywhere.
Two very long minutes passed and she wondered if he’d stopped. Should she have been more specific? Had he changed his mind? Been interrupted? She stared out at the mulga as dismay trudged through her, pulling her down with it.
The phone beeped. I’ve flicked open your sheer bra. Your nipples are hard & begging 4 my mouth.
A shiver of wondrous anticipation tickled down her spine and her breasts throbbed and strained against the lace of her bra. The same bra Grant was texting about. God, she wanted to feel his hot and blazing mouth on her right this second.
They’re aching for you. They’re yours. She pressed send and her body quivered, pulsing excitement along her veins and heating her skin. She almost panted as she eagerly waited for his reply.
My mouth’s sucking them. You’re making that high-pitched sound I love.
She heard herself making that same mewling moan as pure lust rocked her. It was as if his mouth was actually on her breasts and his tongue was flicking against her sensitive nipples. White heat arrowed down deep, making her toes curl. Her legs automatically parted as she writhed against the seat desperate to feel something harder pressing into her core.
Sweat beaded on her top lip and her fingers slipped on the tiny keys. My fingers are in your hair, on your back, gripping your
She hesitated. She never used colloquial words. Hell, she texted with full punctuation and no shortcuts, because anything else just didn’t sit right. Talking dirty wasn’t something she and Grant had ever done before, but then, she’d never sexted with him before today either. The idea of typing words she only ever associated with porn snagged, but with Grant giving her the first sign in weeks that he was interested, she wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.
Pushing aside years of conditioning and silencing her mother’s voice, she typed arse. She immediately laughed out loud at how tame it was, but at the same time it felt excitingly new.
A long and excruciating few minutes passed and the phone stayed silent. Had she broken the moment by stepping out of her normal persona? Where the hell was a satellite when she needed it? She waved the phone around the car and then stuck her arm outside, straight up toward the bright, blue sky. The phone blessedly beeped.
She pulled her arm down so fast that her skin scraped against the partially wound-down window.
I want your hand rubbing my cock.
She blinked. Twice. She’d never heard Grant use the word, but she couldn’t deny the thrill that was skittering across her skin and leaving a glorious, fizzing trail of anticipation in its wake. It took her now-shaking fingers two attempts before she managed to type and send, You’re hard, but silky under my fingers. Wet against my thumb.
The reply was quick. Oh baby.
She heard a soft ‘oh’ leave her mouth. He hadn’t called her that in so long she wanted to cry.
Screw crying, her body screamed. We want him. We’re begging for him. Right. This. Instant.
The phone beeped again. I’m licking a path straight down your belly.
Her blood swooped downwards and instantly pooled between her legs—hot and heavy—and an intoxicating throb pulsed through her. She vividly remembered how his mouth would enclose her breast with a gentle nip, how he’d suckle her and his tongue would flick and tease and deliciously torment her. How she’d buck and writhe and magic happened. She leant back against the seat and gave over to her imagination. Your mouth’s on me and I’ve got you in my mouth.
Long seconds ticked past and she gripped the phone so hard it was a miracle it didn’t crack. She waved it outside, but then the wind blew dust inside the Cruiser so she wound up the window and willed the next text to come in. Finally, the phone beeped.
We’re licking each other like our favourite ice cream.
Her breathing hitched as need built into a fireball. Every cell in her body craved his touch and panted, yes, please. Lick me. Never stop. The cotton of her undies, now deliciously damp, stuck to her.
Barely able to focus on the small screen, she managed to type, I’m so wet for you.
You taste amazing.
Her head spun, silver spots danced in front of her eyes and every part of her craved Grant with an agony that had her squirming and shaking.
A knock on the four-wheel drive’s window startled her so much she dropped the phone into her lap. Trembling, she wound down the window and was face-to-face with Milpinyani Springs’ police officer.
‘Dare,’ she somehow managed to splutter out of her now very dry mouth, ‘h-hi.’
His open and friendly face stared back at her with a touch of concern in his eyes. ‘Everything okay, Kelly? You look a bit flushed.’
‘Not really,’ he said in his slow, Queensland drawl. ‘Out here, thirty-four’s a cool one. You haven’t broken down again, have you?’
‘No.’ The phone beeped and she immediately grabbed it, closing her hand around it as if there was a crazy chance that Dare had magnified vision and could read the racy texts. ‘I just pulled over to answer a text.’ The phone started ringing. ‘You know the law, don’t sext—’ Oh my god! ‘—text,’ she amended loudly, ‘and drive.’
‘Yeah.’ Dare scratched his head and gave her an odd look. ‘You going to answer that?’
‘Sorry?’
‘The phone.’
‘Oh, yes, right.’ Her body had lurched so fast from fully aroused to blind panic that she not only had whiplash, but brain lash. She took the call. ‘Kelly Wilkins.’
‘Hi, Kelly, it’s Amy. Did you get my text? We’re short-staffed tonight. Can you possibly do a three-to-eight to cover dinner, meds and the evening settling?’
Dare tapped on the roof of the vehicle and she looked up. He gave her a wave and walked back to his police ute with its cage on the back.
She absently waved back. ‘Amy, I’m sorry, but I don’t have any childcare.’
‘You do. It was Grant who suggested you work. He finished up an hour ago and said he was going to run footy clinic after school, so he’ll look after the kids. Please, Kels. I’m desperate.’
A hollow feeling filled her along with a trickle of foolishness. In her lust-filled state, she’d assumed that after the hot and heavy sexting that had just gone down between them, she’d drive straight to Grant, but really, how dumb was that? They both had jobs and kids and the chance of actually tumbling into bed before nine o’clock tonight was non-existent.
Why did he suggest I work if he’s finishing work early? Why had he sexted her until she was gasping, panting and desperate for sex if nothing was going to happen? None of it made any sense.
‘Kelly? Are you still there?’
She checked the phone, but the only new text was the one from Amy. Intense disappointment slugged her as duty called and a long sigh rolled out of her as her body wept. ‘Amy, I’ll be there in half an hour.’
***
‘Want me to tuck you in, Elsie?’ Kelly said, walking into the 92-year-old’s room. She watched the woman’s life-lined but friendly face fall. ‘Expecting someone else?’
Elsie grinned as if she was a girl again. ‘Leo.’
Leo was Milpinyani’s male nurse and a big favourite in the small, six-bed permanent care unit. The men loved him because he was a walking, talking sports encyclopedia and the women loved him because he made a fuss of them. Kelly had learned over the years that no matter how old a woman was on the outside, inside she was still eighteen, happy to bat her eyelids at a good-looking man and flirt with him until her cheeks pinked and her eyes sparkled. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Elsie.’
‘I’ve had worse disappointments, lovey.’ Her rheumy eyes glanced toward the sepia photo of her wedding day that showed her as a young, smiling bride gazing up at her now deceased soldier husband. ‘When you lie with a man for sixty-three years, it’s the touch you miss the most when he’s gone.’
Kelly was fluffing the doona and trying to wrap her head around the idea of being married to the same person for sixty-three years. She and Grant were struggling after a mere ten.
Elsie added, ‘And the sex. I really miss that.’
‘I miss it too.’ The words slipped out before she even realised she’d said them and she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. She sent up a quick wish that Elsie’s hearing wasn’t the best.
Elsie patted her hand. ‘Friday night was Stan’s and my night.’
‘You had sex every Friday?’ Kelly thought it sounded all a bit routine and clinical, but then again, the spontaneous sex that had been the foundation of their early relationship was no longer working for her and Grant.
We were spontaneous today. Her mind went straight back to the sexting. Who was she kidding? Her mind had never left the glorious sensations in the car and her body had been on high alert ever since—oh-so-ready and hating the waiting. Why had Grant taunted her with the promise of sex when he knew she had to work?
There was no promise.
The thought hit her so hard it hurt. She remembered his tight and furious face this morning when he’d found the vibrator and her heart sank. All this time she’d been thinking that the sexting was an olive branch, a sign he’d heard her this morning, but now she was not so sure. Was he still angry? Had the sexting been some sort of payback? Get her to the point of wild abandonment, have her teetering on the precipice, and then just stop and walk away?
The insidious thoughts latched onto her like burrs and she tried hard to shake them off. Grant wasn’t petty. Sure, they argued from time to time, but it was always respectful and resolved quickly, ending with a kiss and later sex.
But he’s never been as hurt and as angry with you as he was this morning. She couldn’t get past that truth; this morning she’d hardly recognised him.
‘Not just on Fridays, dear,’ Elsie’s voice broke into her harrowing thoughts, ‘but because life can get in the way we always had Friday.’
The world-weary but wise woman tilted her head and gave her a long and ruminative stare as if she could see straight down into Kelly’s deepest, darkest, swirling fears. ‘Men are funny buggers,’ Elsie said, shaking her head. ‘Women will talk about their feelings at the drop of a hat, but men need sex to do that.
‘Sure, they’re snoring five minutes after they’ve finished, but over the week, if they’ve had sex, there’s more of a chance they’ll tell you stuff that’s bothering them. My generation didn’t talk about feelings much. We just got on with it, but sometimes at night, all cuddled up and cosy under the covers, Stan let things slip.’
The hollow feeling inside Kelly intensified. God, how long had it been since she and Grant had cuddled and spooned? Talked about anything other than the kids, the bills, work, the drought and the omnipresent dust?
Way too long.
She kissed the old woman on the cheek. ‘Sleep well.’
‘I hope you don’t.’ Elsie winked at her and picked up her romance novel.
Kelly faked a smile. She already knew she wouldn’t sleep well tonight, but given everything that had happened in the previous weeks—and today—it wasn’t going to be sex that kept her awake. It would be the death throes of her marriage.
She’d already handed over to the night staff before settling Elsie so she walked out to the nurses’ station ready to pick up her bag and head home. As she reached the counter, she stopped short.
Grant.
Her whole body sighed at the delectable side-on view. His stethoscope was looped around his neck and he was leaning over the desk staring at the computer screen. Despite his aura of fatigue and the deep worry lines around his eyes, he still looked gorgeous. His pale green polo shirt with its navy blue trim stretched across the breadth of his chest, emphasising his square shoulders. The taut armbands on the sleeves strained to their breaking point, filled by his toned triceps and biceps.
Oh baby.
He’d said that to her in one of his texts. Surely that meant something?
Hope stirred as her gaze kept going, taking in the way his shirt was tucked in over his flat belly and the line of his linen shorts curled around his tight-to-the-touch backside.
Arse.
The texts rushed back and her muscles tightened on a shot of longing. Her cheeks burned, along with the rest of her, and she wanted to jump him right there and then, exactly the way she’d done the week they’d met ten years ago.
He chose that moment to look
up, but there was no wicked grin for her, no cheeky wink, no slow burn in his eyes, and no acknowledgement whatsoever of what they’d done a few hours prior.
Her insides puckered and her hopes deflated like a perishing balloon. Her arousal flat-lined under the assault of another rejection.
He gave her a quick nod as if she was just another staff member. ‘Can you set up for a chest tube? Bert McCurdy’s pleural effusion has got worse.’
‘Really?’ Astonishment rippled through her. Bert had been fine an hour ago. ‘Did Amy call you?’
His concentration was back on the screen. ‘Hmmm.’
His lack of attention really irked. ‘Can’t Amy help you? I need to get home to the kids.’
‘The kids are at Annie’s.’ He typed a note on Bert’s history. ‘Amy’s busy, so you’re it. I’ll meet you in Bert’s room.’
Yes, Doctor. A slow burn of anger simmered inside her at his perfunctory tone. Anger at whatever the hell game he was playing, because none of this was following the rules of sexting as she understood them. Anger at his ridiculous reaction to a sex toy that she’d bought with good intentions and was supposed to have excited him.
She marched to the treatment room, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking loudly against the linoleum floor. As a community health nurse, she didn’t work very often in the small hospital, so she wasn’t totally familiar with where things were kept. Between that and her fury at Grant, it took her a few minutes to find everything she needed.
She was up on her tippy-toes, reaching into a top cupboard with her fingers seeking the chest tube package, when she felt hands on her waist, the fingers gripping firmly. She gasped in surprise as her heels hit the floor and a hard, strong body pressed up against her, trapping her between him and the bench.
‘Nurse Wilkins.’ Grant’s deep voice blew erotically against her ear and all her banked yearning flared traitorously to life again. ‘That uniform’s indecently short when you do that.’
Lust rolled through her in intoxicating waves, but a heroic flicker of her fury somehow managed to survive the onslaught. She tugged on her uniform, smoothing it down. ‘Well, I can’t reach the chest tube, Doctor, so you’ll have to get it yourself.’