He grabs the bottom of his black t-shirt and pulls it up to reveal a grid of muscles that are splattered across his stomach and chest. My eyes want to devour each and every single one of them but are stuck to his chest for a completely different reason. From the top of his right shoulder, a stream of scars starts. As they near his nipple, the stream becomes a river. Then, as it falls down his side, it turns into a waterfall. I wonder what could have happened. They look like burns and they look painful. I shake my head, trying to ignore the fact that I care if he’s been hurt. Why do I care? He’s a complete stranger that I’ve only just met. I don’t care. I’m just being curious.
I look back over his chest, ignoring the scars, and concentrate on his muscles. I’ve seen pictures of men looking like that, but I didn’t think normal guys were capable of getting so buff. He lets the t-shirt fall to the floor with a huff and then his hands undo the button of his jeans before he slides them down his muscular legs.
He looks like a swimmer. His broad, round shoulders spread outwards before morphing down into a narrow waist, complete with inner rib muscles. He must be good, I think. You don’t get muscles in those sorts of places naturally without doing a lot of sport. And you wouldn’t do that much sport if you weren’t good at it. Or maybe it’s all the twisting he must do when he’s digging holes in the ground.
He rubs his hands down his face as if he’s stressed and then pushes his boxers down his legs.
Oh.
My.
God.
I’m drunk. I’m drunk enough to know I’m drunk, so I also know that I wouldn’t normally be doing this. Despite my intoxication, I feel a slither of fear creep through me after seeing the size of his knob. I wrinkle my nose up at that word, but I have no idea what else I’m supposed to call it.
I think about going back into the bedroom to sleep it off, but I dismiss this idea once he turns around. I see the muscles in his bum flex and wiggle as he yanks the shower curtain back and steps into the bath. I know I shouldn’t be thinking like this. I’m younger than him. I’m drunk. I’m a sniffling, drunken mess and I’ve just buried my family. I really shouldn’t be thinking about doing anything other than going home to sort the house out, but I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to see the empty rooms, the beds that haven’t been slept in or the shoes that will never get worn again. How am I supposed to sort out a house that’s full of years worth of memories? I shake my head and take a deep breath.
I push the door open further and stand in front of the mirror like he did, seeing his silhouette through the curtain as he washes his hair. Then I stare at myself in the mirror. My usual light blonde hair is pulled back in a simple bun and looks lank. I have no make-up on, my deep brown eyes look tired from being weighed down by big bags and my skin looks pale and lifeless. I still have some faded yellow bruises and pink cuts all down the side of my face. Basically, I look like a mess.
I reach up and unfasten the zip at the back of my sleeveless black dress, which has gone stiff from being wet and cold. It drops to the floor in a big heap, leaving me in a strapless black bra and knickers that hang off my breasts and bum because of how much weight I’ve lost. I can see my hipbones sticking out of my skin. I take my underwear off and leave it on the floor with the other clothes before turning around to face him. I don’t know how he’s going to react, but I don’t care. I’d take feeling mortified and embarrassed over feeling nothing. Numb and empty…that’s all I’ve felt for days and I want to feel something else—anything else.
I wrap my fingers around the edge of the curtain and slowly peel it back. He’s facing away from me, but I see his body go tense at the sound. I step into the bath behind him and just stand there, staring at him for a few seconds. My eyes take in every inch of him. I start to count the freckles and beauty spots that are splattered across his back, but I lose count after twenty. He twists slightly, causing the water to spray off his shoulder and directly into my face. I have no choice but to move, and I move forward. My breasts press against his back and I hear his quick intake of breath. I touch my shaking fingers to the tops of his arms and start to skim down them.
“Don’t,” he breathes.
“I want to,” I tell him softly against the base of his neck. “I want you to fuck me.”
He shakes his head.
“Please,” I say.
“I can’t.”
I trail my hands back up his arms and wrap them around his chest. I start to move them downwards, my hands dancing over his chiselled stomach.
“Stop it,” he orders.
I ignore him. I skate my hand further down until it skims over his trimmed pubic hair.
“Please,” I beg. “I don’t want hearts and flowers. I just want you to fuck me. I want to feel you inside me. Just this once.” What am I doing? I should stop, but I don’t. I wrap my fingers around his semi-hard erection.
“Ariel,” he breathes.
I can hear him trying to control his breathing. It’s obvious he’s attempting to do the right thing, but I think I’m winning. Also, how does he know my name? I should ask, but I really could care less right now.
“I just want to feel you,” I whisper, sliding my hand up and down the length of him. “I want to feel something other than this hurt and anger. I want to feel something other than nothing. I want to feel something good.”
He puts his hand over mine, stopping me. “It won’t always be like this,” he says. “It’ll get better. Time will make it better.”
I trail kisses down his spine. “Please,” I beg again. “It’s my birthday today. I just want something that isn’t totally shit.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just passes me the flannel and the shower gel so I start to wash myself. He doesn’t turn around as I spread soap over my entire body. When I need to wash it off, I slowly push him aside and step around him into the jet of water. I rinse as slowly as I can, the water rushing over my face and body. It’s fantastic to feel warmth on my skin again. I push back against him and feel his erection hit my hip.
I win.
“You just want to be fucked?” he asks.
I nod. “I’m leaving soon. You’ll never have to see me again.”
“You’re sure?” he asks.
I turn around, feeling the spray of water on the back of my head, and see a droplet of water trickle from his face to his neck before slithering down his chest. “Yes,” I say. “Fuck me like you’ve always wanted to fuck a woman. Fuck me like they fuck women in porn, if it makes you happy. Do whatever you want. The rougher, the better.”
As though I’ve flipped a switch inside him, he quickly shuts the shower off and steps out of the bath. He leans over and grasps my bum with both of his hands before lifting me easily out of the bath. I instinctively wrap my legs around him and throw my arms around his neck. He practically falls into the bedroom and drops me onto the bed. He hesitates for a second and then leans down as if to kiss me, but I turn away at the last minute.
“Don’t make this something it isn’t,” I say.
He frowns but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he dips his head and wraps his mouth and tongue around each of my nipples. He sucks and tugs, pulling each nipple gently with his teeth until they’re erect and waiting for his warm mouth to encase them again. They start to tingle but in a good way. I like what he’s doing to them. I like that he’s groaning when my breast completely fills his mouth. I hear him gasp for air when he pulls away and feel a trickle of pleasure pulsate from my head straight between my legs. I gasp at the unfamiliar feeling.
He’s hard and rough, and his hands are everywhere. He tugs and pulls at my hair, digging his fingers into my skull as his mouth continues to assault my breasts. When he’s kissed, licked and sucked every bit of my chest, he moves his head downwards, nipping at every bit of skin he can get until he plunges his tongue deep inside of me. The feeling of his hot, wet tongue as it explores me is exquisite. I’ve never felt anything so pleasurable in my entire life, and I certainly didn
’t think I could feel that way from someone’s mouth. I arch my back and push myself into him, sending his tongue deeper inside. He pulls away and grins up at me. Then he kisses me gently before his tongue forces its way back into me with a desperate sense of urgency.
One of his hands starts to massage my breasts while the other starts to manipulate my clitoris. My hips buck the second the tip of his finger brushes over me, and I can feel the beginnings of an orgasm. I can’t believe I’m actually enjoying this. When he pushes two fingers inside me, I can’t stop myself from gasping and pulling on his hair.
“Fuck,” he pants. “You’re really tight.”
I bite my lip to stop myself from saying anything. His fingers start to circle inside me while his tongue flicks my clitoris.
The cold, tingling feeling starts at my head and whizzes up and down my spine before finishing in my feet. It rumbles through me with such strength that I almost pass out. I grasp the bed sheet and feel my toes curling. I cry out, listening to the evidence of my pleasure as it echoes around the bare-walled room.
“Oh, God,” I breathe as he pulls away from me.
He stands up and wraps his own hand around his rigid cock. He locks eyes with me and I know what he wants. I nod just the once, but it’s all he needs. He climbs over me and straddles my chest, placing one hand on the back of my head. With the other, he holds his erection in my face, letting me make the final move. I stare into his eyes and open my mouth, sliding my lips over him as he closes his eyes and groans in pleasure. I cover my teeth with my lips, push myself down him as far as I can go and then suck hard as I pull my mouth all the way back up. I look up at him and do it over and over again.
When I start to feel him tensing inside me, I slow down. I lightly touch his balls before taking them into my hand as I suck him some more.
“Stop,” he says, pulling out of my mouth.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and grin up at him. He rubs himself a few times before painfully grabbing my hips and flipping me over. He positions himself behind me, then wraps a couple of fingers over my hipbones and pulls me up onto all fours. I expect to feel him get into position, but he just slams straight into me with one hard thrust. He groans instantly while I slap my hand over my mouth to muffle my cry.
I bite my lip and taste blood. I start to shake as I grab the sheets and shove them into my mouth, biting down as hard as I can and lowering my head so he can’t see me. He pulls out and slams back into me again with a grunt as tears spill from my eyes. He does this multiple times until I relax a little and let him completely in, and then he slows down. I can hear his balls slapping against my bum as he rocks himself in and out. He leans down over me, his chest against my back, to devour my neck with his mouth. I like his lips on me. I like that they’ve been down there and tasted me. I wonder if I would taste myself if I kissed him. Just as I begin to get used to the feeling of him, he starts to speed up again.
And he completely obliterates any hint of pleasure. He pounds me like a man possessed and I know he’s fucking me. He’s doing exactly what I wanted, but I didn’t for a second think it would hurt this much. I grit my teeth and let him fuck me until I feel a burst of warmth inside me. He stills and digs his fingers into my skin. I hear him moan as he thrusts three more times. Then he slumps down on top of me, forcing me to collapse onto the bed. We lie there like that until our breathing returns to normal.
“Why can’t every girl say that to me?” he says, dropping a kiss onto my shoulder blade.
He’s trying to joke. I like the way it easily slips from his mouth. It feels normal, nice even.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
I keep my head buried in the sheets and nod. He pushes himself off me and pulls out, making me wince.
“What the fuck?” he gasps.
I feel the heat burst onto my cheeks and can’t stop myself from smiling.
“Were you on your period?” he asks, the shock clear in his voice.
“No,” I say, turning over to face him.
His eyes widen in his head. I look down and see splashes of bright red blood on the white sheets and bits of it smeared over his pubic hair. “You were a virgin?”
I look up and stare at him. “Yes.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he hisses, pushing his fingers through his hair. He starts to march up and down the room. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrug. “I didn’t want you to do anything different.”
“But you—” he begins, shaking his head. It’s obvious that he’s shocked…and angry. “I can’t believe I just fucked you like that and it was your first time.”
“I’m not bothered,” I tell him. “I wanted it like that.”
“Why?” he breathes. “Why the fuck would you want your first time to be like that?! That was horrible. I treated you like shit.”
I shake my head. “It was good,” I tell him.
“Fuck,” he shouts, rubbing at his temple. “Shit, Ariel! Fucking shit!”
“Don’t be angry,” I plead. “I’m fine. We’re fine. I’ll just get dressed and then go.”
It’s clear he doesn’t know what to do or say. I can tell by how fidgety he is.
“I don’t like myself very much right now. I feel like a bastard.”
“Please don’t,” I say. I don’t know what to say to make him feel okay about this. “It was what I wanted. I came into the bathroom with the intention of getting you to fuck me.”
He huffs and sits on the edge of the bed with his back to me. “Why?”
“Because I needed to at least exper—” I stop myself. What the hell am I doing? “I just did,” I finally say.
He rests his head in his hands. “You need help,” he says softly. “Asking me to take your virginity like that isn’t right. I know you’re grieving and you’re angry at the world, but letting yourself be treated like that isn’t right. It’s not okay.”
“I said I didn’t want hearts and flowers,” I remind him. “Stop acting like you give a shit.”
His head whips around and I see a horrible scowl across his otherwise beautiful face. “Fine,” he snaps. “I’m going to have another shower. Alone.”
He gets up from off the bed and walks to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and locking it.
I sigh and turn over onto my side, pulling the covers over me. I ache everywhere. I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus and a sudden sense of exhaustion crashes down onto me.
What have I done?
Chapter 10
Now
Monday Blues
I put my arm across Ruby’s chest to stop her from stepping into the path of an oncoming car.
“Will you please watch where you’re going?” I ask.
Ruby removes my arm from her chest and puts it by my side. “I was all over it.”
Of course she was.
“So,” she continues, “what other symptoms are you experiencing?”
I’m really not in the mood for Nurse Ruby. “Nothing,” I say, “I just get migraines. I always have.”
“You didn’t complain of any of the usual migraine indicators prior to disappearing,” she says.
I don’t answer her as we cross over the road towards the hospital where we’ll both work. Instead, I try for a change of subject. “So when are you next seeing Owen?”
She shrugs. “He was a pretty good shag, but I’m not sure he’s of use for anything more.”
“Wow,” I say. “You’ve been spending way too much time with me.”
Ruby frowns at me, but she can’t help the smile that starts to spread across her face. “He’s thirty-one and he’s a doctor.”
“Yeah,” I say, wondering where she’s going with this.
“He acts like an eighteen-year-old.”
I giggle. “They’re all like that, Rubes. Surely you know that by now?”
“No,” she sighs. “I’ve definitely met some that act like they’re at least twenty.”
I shake my hea
d and start to unwrap my scarf from around my neck. “Are you ready for this?” I nod towards the front of York Hospital.
“Hell yes!” she says. “I’ve been ready for this since I left high school.”
We breeze through the automatic doors and enter into the large, open-spaced reception area. “So, I guess I’ll see you later?” I ask, staring at all the people that are milling about with coffees in their hands.
“You bet,” she says, grinning like a little girl.
I watch her head towards the corridor that leads to the Accident and Emergency department and glance at my watch. I’m about to start a twelve-hour shift, but I’m fifteen minutes early and I don’t plan on working a minute more than I have to. I head towards the little Starbucks that’s situated in the corner of the reception area and wait in the line. My eyes scan over the people sitting at the small, round tables. Some are obviously nurses, surgeons and doctors but most of them are members of the public. It seems strange to see them mixing so easily, but I kind of like it. When I get to the front, I order a double espresso.
“Double?” someone whispers into my ear.
I smile and turn around. “Good morning, Ben.”
He’s wearing a plain, crisp white shirt, complete with multi-coloured pens in his little pocket, and navy trousers. His gaze buries itself into my eyes. “Are you going to tell me what Saturday night was all about?”
I grab my coffee and thank the barista. “It was a birthday party.”
“Very funny,” he says, grabbing his drink from the counter. “Now be serious.”
“What did Noah tell you?”
“He told me to not ask him about you, to not talk about you to him or pay any attention to what you say.”
I nod. “You should do as he says.”
“So how do you know him?” he pushes.
Noah and Me Page 6