He looks thoughtful for a while. “There’s peace out there in the water. I’ve been fishing for years. Started with my dad. It’s a great way to shut down and shut off and have something that’s completely different from boxing. It’s not about records and hits. It’s about what bait and rod you are using. It’s an easy way to forget the fast pace and … and other things.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll take you with me next time.”
“Oh, great … can’t wait … Sounds…” Absolutely torturous. “…riveting.” I’ll conjure up some sort of excuse to get out of it. I’m good with excuses.
He grins, like he knows I am planning on pulling a get-out-of-fishing card. “Don’t sound like that. I promise, I’ll be the one catching the fish and eating it — good and plenty.”
I stifle a shiver. “I could be persuaded. How big is your rod?”
He laughs. “You need reminding again.”
“Here’s an idea…” My arm brushes past him as I head for the fridge. I reach in and take out the aerosol whipped cream, slowly shaking it. “Maybe I need to spend more time getting to know your rod.”
WE SCREW AGAIN. In the kitchen. On my bedroom floor. Taking time over it, swapping positions, tasting each other and finding new rhythms I’ve never explored, until everything smells like cum and sweat and sex.
My bedroom is too hot like the place and the walls have condensation running down them from hot breath and the exertion of sex. My sheet was thrown to the floor at some point, and my lamp was smashed to the floor. Neither of us gives a crap about lying naked, sweaty, with cum and juices still spread on our bodies. It feels like a sex pit.
My head is buried in the crook of his neck, and I can feel his soft breath on top of my hair, our ankles entwined, and his steely arm around my waist. “Leave the money on the table,” I mumble, kissing his neck.
“What?” he chuckles in surprise.
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t mean pay me for the sex like a prostitute. I meant for the lamp you broke while you were fucking me.”
“Oh right,” he chuckles, reaching down to caress my bare sweaty buttocks. “Yeah. It’s not over. So put it on the tab with the rest of the things I’m gonna break later. Take that mirror for example. I wanna bend you over that dressing table and watch you cum as I take you so hard from behind — it’s gonna shatter.” I swallow hard.
His mobile phone starts to ring but he ignores it, titling my hips back so he can reach down into my inner thigh. “Aren’t you going to get that?”
“No,” he groans, stroking upwards to my heat.
“It could be important.”
He grunts as he lifts his hand away and picks up his phone from the bedside table. “It’s the matriarch. I’ll call her tomorrow.” He drops the phone down and reaches for my leg again.
I push him away. “Parents don’t call late without a reason.”
“Mine call whenever they like,” he grins, grabbing my arse.
I push his hand away, his ringtone still blaring in my ears. “Go on, get it.”
He clucks his tongue, then grabs his phone with a huff. “Hey Mum … Yeah, I ordered it yesterday…” He looks at me and shakes his head, one dimple showing with a boyish smile. I start trailing kisses up his neck. “…Yeah, like a horse. Look, Mum, I’ve kinda got my hands full right now. Yeah — well I could be busy all night. How about I call you tomorrow, OK? Love you too. OK. Stay safe. Bye.” He sets his phone back on the table and turns to me. “What?”
“You’re a mummy’s boy.”
“I am not,” he laughs.
“You are so!” I squeal, as he wraps his arm around me.
“You can’t be questioning my virility?”
“Oh, no. No worries there, gorgeous.”
“I feel all defensive now — like I’ve got to prove it again.” He tastes my neck with sensual kisses and hot licks.
“I think that’s lovely.”
“I’ve barely started,” he says huskily.
I giggle. “No, I mean it’s sweet that you’re close to your mum.” I look warmly into his bright eyes for a quick moment. “I never had a mother. I don’t know what it’s like…”
“If your mother was anything like you, she must’ve been really beautiful.”
“She was … I’m sure your mother is really sweet and caring.”
“New rule. No mothers in the bedroom.” He kisses me then, taking my lips between his soft ones, and I moan as his tongue wraps around mine, with just the right amount of pressure to make me swoon. He pulls away, groaning softly, and starts to stroke my hair. “I’m glad you came back,” he whispers into my hair. “To Stonebrook.”
I playfully walk my fingers on his chest, upwards to his chin. He takes my fingers and kisses them. “I tried not to, I assure you. I escaped for a while. Got as far as University and this close to saying goodbye forever. Believe me, after what happened, what they said about me—”
I begin and then realise that of course he doesn’t know. How could he? I still haven’t told him what happened, let alone anything else about me, nothing real anyway. I bury my face into his chest.
“Does this have something to do with you biting my head off when I brought up the whole wild child thing?” The arm around my waist becomes firmer in its grip, fingers splayed across my tummy, and my body tingles all over as his calloused fingertips touch me affectionately there.
I feel myself fighting between my desire for Lenic’s touch and fear of true intimacy when things get too close to the heart. Normally, this is the moment when I would bail from the man’s bed, or ask him to leave mine. Sometimes, I stayed for a few weeks and it would be good, but eventually, I’d create the safety of distance and end it. With Lenic, it feels way more intimate, way too intense, and the way he holds on to me sometimes feels really tight. But that is Lenic. He is intense. He is serious. And I am … the complete opposite.
Or so I thought.
Now I can’t make him leave like it was all some cheap one-night stand after too many drinks. Maybe it is just the deprivation, the post-coital high, the whole endorphin thing … but…
Just being held in bed, with him, feels good.
Too damn good.
I never want to leave.
I shift myself so I can see Lenic in the darkness of the room, the low lighting of the streetlamp just outside my window seeping through the gap of the curtain. When I look up at that crooked smile and into those warm eyes, I feel at ease with him, like I’ve known him a lot longer than I have. I realise sex with Lenic can never be just sex. It is complicated. But something inside me feels a connection. I can’t ignore it. I can’t deny the way I feel around him, or the way he makes me feel.
I give him another look, this one touched with a fleeting sadness, then take a deep breath. “When I was fourteen I hung around with this boy from school. Jeremy was … he was nice to me … I didn’t have any friends back then so I really looked up to him. He told me he liked me and that he wanted me to sneak out one night and go with him up to the lake. I was besotted with him so I trusted him.”
I shake my head remembering how naïve I was back then. “He kissed me that night. It was the first time I’d ever been kissed. It was so exciting … but he tried to put his hand up my skirt and I stopped him.” Lenic’s knuckles turn white as his hand fists into a ball. “Nothing happened,” I tell him quickly. “Not like that. When he tried again I punched him in the face and ran away. But the following week, a rumour spread around school that I’d slept with him. And that’s when it all started.
“All his friends joined in and starting telling everyone they slept with me too. The horrible thing was that all the parents at school believed the rumours because I was already labelled a freak the moment I came to live with my grandpa. I … I had problems…” I trail off, remembering something painful. More painful than the rumours.
The very thing that started it all.
Lenic probes further. I go on, speaking up about my grandpa’s faith in me, w
ho never once believed the town rumours. Then I touch briefly on how West became my self-adopted brother.
“I remember the day I met West. Jeremy and his friends were harassing me in the Square, calling me a slut, and one of them grabbed my arm and tried to pull me in for a kiss. West came out of nowhere and kicked the crap out of all of them. Ever since that day he’s protected me. He was two years older than me, the coolest guy in his year, but he still wanted to be best friends with the weird girl. He just sort of became my protective older brother after awhile.” I look Lenic in the eyes. “I had every intention of never coming back, never staying after Grandpa Joe passed away.”
“But you did.”
“Yes … After his death, everything kind of went on the back burner and I came back. I’m not complaining. I’m young and I have a dream career with my best friend. I own a house with no mortgage — which I would give up in a heartbeat for just one day with my grandpa…” He takes my hand and squeezes it. I glance at him for a long moment and then raise a smile. “Things worked out OK for me, all things considered.”
He returns my smile with one of his own. “You’ll settle in Stonebrook despite what happened to you as a teen?”
I think about it for a long beat, then nod. “It’s my home. It’s where Grandpa Joe and I lived. I have fond memories of him here. So no. I’m not running away this time.” He nods his head in understanding, admiration and respect gleaming in his eyes. “What about you?”
“I grew up here.”
Silence.
“You’ve already told me that. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Joined the army at sixteen, then enlisted in the Royal Marine Commandos.”
I wait for him to reveal more, but I get nothing in return. It is like getting blood out of a stone. “What made you leave the Royal Marines?”
He pauses then, his eyes lost in thought, seemingly drifting back over distant memories … and I just lie here, looking up at him, studying the landscape of his face. Eventually, I feel him shrug his shoulder. “Nothing of interest.”
“But I am interested. I am very much interested in you.”
I hear him exhale. “There just comes a point in a man’s life when it’s time to leave.”
He is being evasive, now the tables have turned. Lenic’s refusal to open up wakens a sudden realisation. I’ve given him so much of a part of myself I hide to the rest of the world. And it frightens the hell out of me. I am surprised that I’ve revealed hidden truths about my inner most secrets. I haven’t told my best friend about my childhood horrors, so why am I baring my heart to a man I only met less than two months ago?
What scares me the most … is how easy and right it feels.
But I don’t want to rush in headlong, mindlessly trampling over anyone else’s feelings — mostly his. I don’t want to hurt him. We are going too fast, like we’re riding his boat at one hundred miles per hour. I need to stay afloat before I sink in too deep and drown.
I need to hit the breaks.
So I do.
“I’ve never been in a relationship … I'm putting that out there.” He looks at me, stunned.
I roll over onto my side and glance at him. I can feel the intensity in his eyes as he looks deep inside me, looking for answers.
I want Lenic to comprehend that what we did tonight does not mean I’m seeking a relationship with him. And his body language, the slight crease in his brow, the sudden doubt in his eyes, shows me he gets the subtle hint.
I don’t owe him anything.
I never promised him anything.
“Really?” he replies.
“But what’s the option?” I smile up at him, my chin angled against my shoulder.
“That’s not something you hear every day.”
“What?” I let out a surprised laugh. “You ready for the big commitment?” My tone is playful, flirtatious.
He grins. “Maybe. I am surprised at you.”
“It just happened. I’ve dated, gone on dates. And I’ve seen guys for a period of time, but it’s never been anything; it’s never eventuated into OK we are this, or I want to be with you long term. It just never happened.”
He clears his throat. “Why not?”
I want to tell him I find it hard to let people in at the best of times and the thought of entering into a serious relationship makes me want to run for the hills. But what comes out instead is, “I don't think I'm made for love.”
He waits a beat before speaking. “What’s the longest you’ve dated someone?”
“Four months. He was a bass player I met at Uni. He fell in love with me and I didn’t reciprocate so I ended it. It was horrible. I think I truly broke his heart.”
“I think you’ve broken a lot of hearts.”
I give him an awkward smile and glance at the clock on my nightstand. It is nearly two a.m. and I’m not that tired, despite all the adventurous sex. I don’t need sleep, I tell myself. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
“You ever gonna take down those videos of me online?” he asks, and I’m grateful for the change in subject.
“And there I thought you’d found a sense of humour. Where’s my laptop?” I sit upright and turning my back on him, I search the floor for my MacBook.
“Why? You taking them down?”
“No. I need to check Wikipedia to see what happened to your sense of humour.”
He crosses his arms and laughs. “You’re a real comedian. You know that, right?”
“So I’ve been told. It’s good to hear you laugh. Like I said, I hardly see it.”
I feel him shift in the bed. “And you laugh too much.”
I whirl around. “That’s got to be the single most stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Do you go around making sure no one goes over their recommended daily allowance of laughter?” He scoffs. “It’s like … like sometimes you want to laugh but … I don’t know. It seems like you’re being chased by something...” His brow deepens, but I am determined to crack the wall he has built up. “You hold back, like you think you don’t deserve to enjoy life … or something.”
Just by lying here with him, in my bed, I feel as though I’ve become tangled up in something.
He glances over at the window, drifting away, strangely saddened. “Or something…” he murmurs, the wall of Lenic Reevus growing higher and higher.
There is something about him, something unexplainable, something that makes me want more. I lean closer to him, brushing my hand down his gorgeous neck. “Would you like to share?”
He looks at me. Sighs. I taste the scent of his breath. The sadness, the silence, the darkness, the loneliness … all of it is held in this simple little moment. It is just so … I don’t know. Just so much. A moment passes between us.
After awhile, he blinks the sadness away and murmurs, “Nothing … it’s nothing.” I smile gently at him, a silent agreement to put the truth on hold.
He kisses the place at the top of my collarbone before moving to the edge of the bed. Lowering his feet to the floor for a second, he reaches for his jeans in the dim light and stands to put them on.
‘Don't leave,’ I want to say. When he goes, I will go back to the real world. I am not ready to go back yet.
“Get changed, beautiful. Wanna take you out some place.”
Relief washes through me and I smile. “What are you up to at this hour?”
“Don’t trust me?" he asks, offering his hand.
"Do you think I should?" I venture, and despite the arched eyebrow and the playful smile on my expression, the question in my gaze is real.
"Probably not," he grins, "but give it a try."
“Why should I?”
“You asked me to share — I’m sharing.”
LENIC OPENS THE passenger side of his Lexus and kisses me on the cheek before I drop inside. He goes around to the driver’s side and slides in behind the wheel, closing the door. The vehicle smells of coffee and alluring cologne. He guns the engine and pulls out onto the road.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, looking out of the window, listening to the deep hum of the engine.
“It's a secret.”
I shoot him a sideways glance. “You're good at keeping secrets.”
His face tenses. He doesn’t turn to face me, keeping his eyes sternly on the road ahead. I lighten the atmosphere with small talk, bringing up my trip to Japan from three years ago, and how I helped with the aftermath of the earthquake.
“Kirei dayo. It’s my favourite Japanese phrase. It means ‘you’re beautiful’.”
“Aha. Why am I not surprised? I’m sure plenty of Japanese people were saying that to you while you were … helping them rebuild.” There is a smug amusement in his tone. “OK, tell me — what’s Japanese for ‘Hello Kitty cocktail, please’?”
I chuckle sheepishly. “OK, you got me.”
“So what’d you do to help? Rebuild a tower?”
“No…” I twirl my hair around my finger. “I just spent my tourism pound — which is what they need right now.”
“That’s a shame.” His gravelly voice pitches low. “I could think a lot about you in a tool belt. Just a tool belt.”
My cheeks flush. “No, uh, no hammers for me.”
“Good. I’m the only man who gets to hammer you.”
I giggle flirtatiously. “I did entertain them. I sang along to lots of Japanese pop music. I uploaded my time in Japan on my channel, if you’re curious.”
“I’m always curious about you ... I’m more of a Metallica man myself, though. The old stuff, mind.” I laugh out loud. “What?” He shoots me a sideways grin.
“Um, nothing, nothing. You would have fitted right in. I did. There was this one restaurant that only seemed to play 1980s Prince songs.”
“Yeah? I was a huge fan when I was a kid.”
“Oh my god — Purple Rain. It was my favourite song when I was three. I even bought the special limited edition.”
His eyebrows knit, and he grins. “When you were three?”
I chuckle softly. “Two years ago. I found it online.”
The Tempest Page 20