The Tempest

by Brit Constantine

  He contemplates me for a beat. “What do you love? You know … about the cupcake.”

  I want to shout it from the rooftop how much I love this damn cupcake. How much I want to keep on eating it, chewing it, licking it, biting it, for the rest of my life, until it becomes the death of me.

  I lean forwards in my seat, the corners of my mouth tugging up, and describe all the qualities I cherish in the cupcake. But in all honesty, I am talking about the extraordinary man sitting opposite me. “I love that it’s unpredictable, with all its unique ingredients. I love that it’s made strong…” I sweep my eyes over Lenic’s thick biceps, then back to his eyes. “But despite its strength, it is the sweetest thing I have ever tasted.”

  He smiles, and then he does the unexpected. Surprising me to the levels he will reach to impress little me. He rises up, leans over across the table, and practically purrs, “Yeah … I love it too,” then takes a bite out of the cupcake. Goose bumps dot my skin and my eyes go wide as I watch him sit back in his chair. I suck in a deep breath, the subtext not lost on me.

  Did we just declare some kind of love over a lavender and pear cupcake?

  My scattered mind fills with wayward emotions, illicit thoughts, and I cram down the urge to leap up on the table and beg him to take me on it, while feeding me a cranberry and orange cupcake. But when his expression becomes faintly pained, I laugh.

  “You want to spit it out, don’t you?” He shakes his head, chewing, but I notice he is yet to swallow. “Are you a swallower or a spitter, Lenic?” The Tempest shoots me his infamous stormy look and I only smile in return.

  He finally admits defeat and turns around. Ensuring his manners are kept at the table, he spits the contents of his mouth out into a napkin. “Now you know how it feels for us girls,” I mumble under my breath.

  “What?” He turns back to face me.

  “Nothing.”

  “I’m training,” he admits, guzzling down a full glass of water. “Cross will kill me if he ever found out.”

  I set the rest of my cupcake down on my plate so I can stop and look at him, really look at him. I smile a toothy grin and let out a belly laugh, because Lenic Reevus is not the kind of guy that eats a cupcake.

  Ever.

  He took the bite for me.

  He took the damn bite.

  17

  “HOPE MY WHITE ONE ISN’T DISAPPOINTING YOU.”

  LENIC

  “YOU’RE NOT STILL getting to know your penis, are you?” I ask from the living room area, picking up his copy of Bloke magazine from the table.

  “No,” he grunts, while standing by the kitchen sink, washing the last of the dishes. I insisted on helping him but he was adamant that I didn’t get my dress dirty. He said if something were to dirty it, it would be him.

  “Good. Because ironically enough, that's the one out of all your organs I would have said you know the best.”

  Toeing off my heels, I sit down on the sofa, tucking my legs underneath, and leaf through the magazine. Stealing a quick glance, I watch him shake his head and chuckle. When I hear the sink draining, I remember I left the present I bought for Lenic in his car — the present Delphine bought. Indirectly. She always buys me a souvenir from France: luxury chocolate or expensive wine. And for some reason she gift-wrapped it, informing me that it would make me go ‘Ooooooh’.

  Chocolate.

  Just as she handed it to me, Lenic arrived on time to pick me up for our date this evening. Seeing a wrapped gift in my grasp, he asked me if it was for him. Spur of the moment, I told him yes. After all, it is the polite thing to do when someone invites you over for dinner, right?

  When I mention his present, Lenic heads out to his car to collect it. I use this opportunity to go into the bathroom and re-apply my lipstick, and brush a hand through my hair. I look … like a girl that's been kissed often and by a man who knows how to please a girl. When I exit the bathroom, I find Lenic in the kitchen with a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Is something the matter?” If I am right, and it’s chocolate, he is probably confused by my motives. But he isn’t thinking smart. We can melt it down and pour it over his chest and his—

  “Yeah, not sure what to do with this?”

  It must be wine.

  “I can’t wait to get it into me,” I call out. I love French wine. “I always feel refreshed for some reason, taking it in after dinner.”

  He starts to laugh. “You really are all open, aren’t you?” he chuckles, deep from his chest. “Still not getting this…”

  Why is it troubling him to open a bottle of wine?

  “It’s not a Rubik’s Cube,” I laugh, shaking my head. “You either twist it or pop it out. It’s not that hard, Lenic.”

  “Looks pretty hard to me.”

  I get he is a beer and whiskey man, but he did manage to serve wine at dinner, so what could be the problem? “Is it a corkscrew or twist?”

  “I’ve never been so proud in my life to say I don’t have a damn clue about these things. Aren’t you supposed to just stick it in and let it do its thing?”

  He has been on the H2O all night, but I’m starting to wonder if he slipped himself something when I wasn’t watching. “I think you’ve been punched in the head too many times,” I sigh, crossing over to the kitchen. “Lenic. It’s really not that hard—”

  My entire face lights on fire.

  I am going to kill Delphine. Especially since she was standing right beside me when I gave it to him as a present.

  My jaw is wide open as he stands with a smirk on his face, holding a…

  …ten-inch French black dildo.

  FML, number gazillion.

  He leans against the counter and studies it with a lopsided grin. “Well, this is a first,” he chuckles. “I know you’re unique, I get that — that’s why I like you. You cut through all the bullshit. You want a big, black dildo and you make damn sure the world knows it. Is this what you usually do after dining with someone?” He laughs behind his hand. He is laughing at me. “You know, most people are fine with having an After Mint.”

  Heat rises up my neck and across my entire face as I try to snatch it from his hands. “Of course not,” I snap. He extends his arm up and I can’t reach it. I feel like a dog jumping for its treat. Except swap the bone for a ten-inch French black dildo.

  “Should I be worried?” He is still smirking as he shoots his package a quick glance. “He’s never had any complaints. Hope my white one isn’t disappointing you.”

  I want to curl up and die, but when he tosses his head back and starts laughing, really laughing, it eradicates any embarrassment I feel in this moment. Because watching him let go, watching him enjoy himself — even if it is at my expense — all I feel is joy.

  All I feel is him.

  Laughter bubbles up inside me, and finally I confess that I lied about the gift.

  “I love this,” he manages to say through his laughter. “Christ, I love spending time with you. These bizarre moments are plenty with you ... and I love it. You know just how to make a man feel good.”

  “I could make you feel a lot better with this French dildo.” I smile mischievously.

  “I’ve got my own one thanks. He does me right, just fine.”

  When our laughter begins to subside, the playful energy between us begins to change. I can feel it in the way his body sways into mine; in the way his heated gaze makes my pulse race. But then, he has been looking at me like that all night. He has been looking at me like that since the moment he saved me from the storm.

  His eyes fix on my hardening nipples, my dress thin enough to see I am not wearing anything else. I hear the want in his throaty moan, and I ache for him to wrap his tongue around them and make me moan too.

  I feel my breath rate increase, my chest rising and falling a little too quickly for him not to notice. It seems strange, considering that I’ve almost lost count of how many times we’ve already had sex, that I should be shy around him now.

&n
bsp; My body feels hot all over, knowing that all there is left to do is for him to lead me to his bedroom, rip off my dress, and lay me down on his bed and serve me the specials.

  “Felicity,” he rasps.

  “Take me to your bed—”

  “Wait.”

  “Why?” My voice drowns with need, desire. “I can’t wait any longer. I want to feel you cum inside me.”

  We’ve already had the talk of being tested recently, and I told him that I was on the pill and that I wanted to have sex with him tonight without protection. He knows this is what I want.

  He closes his eyes, clenching his fist. When he opens them, his eyes show me he wants me just as much as I want him. “Felicity … I want to bend you over, right here, right now, and take you hard and fast.”

  I take half a step back. “But?”

  “But…” He reaches to grab my arm with his hand, his large fingers snapping easily around my small wrist. “I want to keep talking with you.” He lifts his other hand to my face and cradles my chin. “I want to keep getting to know you better.”

  Dumbfounded, I don’t know how to answer him immediately. Hearing a man choosing getting to know me over his desire to sleep with me is … extraordinary.

  “Why?” My voice is barely a whisper.

  “I’m just gonna go ahead and say I think there’s a little more going on here than sex. You know it. I know it.” I just look at him, my heart thumping wildly. “I can't stop thinking about your pretty face, your smile, your laugh … it's infecting me. The sex is off the charts, but it’s not enough. It'll never be enough.”

  “Why?” I ask again, surprised by his candour.

  “Because I can't get you out of my mind. Because no woman compares — not even close. I want you.” The atmosphere is becoming too intense, too serious, and it throws me out of my comfort zone. And he picks up on it. “You gotta just give me a chance. Have a little faith, beautiful.” I sigh, unsure of what to say or feel. I am not turning him down. I am not saying yes, either. “I'll wait if I have to, but I can't guarantee I'm not gonna take what I need from you without a fight. And you know I’m bouncing from win to win. I'm not about to start losing my guts now. No way in Hell. Not when the prize is you.”

  I could seriously fall for this man, because … without a single ounce of doubt, he is falling for me.

  “I like you, Lenic.”

  “I like you too, obviously,” he chuckles.

  “I'm … not planning to end this…”

  “I promise … you’ll never look back. You’ll never want for anything. I’ll give you the best.”

  He cups a hand on the small of my back, pulling me to him so that when he kisses me, our bodies are pressed tightly together, and there is no mistaking he wants me, here, now, if need be.

  I am prepared to tell him let’s not put a label on this and continue to have fun. But my body immediately submits to his, and as his tongue gently but firmly kisses me, I hope I will never speak that lie aloud.

  AS WE STEP off the dock and head down onto the beach, I toe off my heels in favour of bare feet. All of a sudden I've got the thrill to feel everything against my bare skin. Straightening, I stare up at the sky that is turning a deep velvet-navy colour of darkness, lit by what seems like a million stars.

  He reaches for my hand as I dig my toes into the warm sand. “What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told?” I ask, glancing over at him.

  “I’ve never lied.” I shoot him a don’t-bullshit-me look. “OK, that’s a lie,” he chuckles.

  I sigh, poking at a pebble on the sand with my toe. “Come on, Lenic. Tell me something.” We amble slowly along in silence, arm in arm, not really caring where we are going.

  “Told a girl once she wasn’t my type.”

  I glance sideways at him and shake my head. “You were a terrible liar. I never believed you in the first place.” Headed towards the water's edge, he prompts me to reveal mine. “My biggest lie is an occurring lie.”

  ‘Which is?”

  I pause. “When I put on a smile and say everything’s OK, when it’s not,” I tell him quietly, sharing with him a rare vulnerable look I never let anyone see. He squeezes my hand and then pulls me around to face him. I suddenly feel fragile as he reaches up to trace my lips with his fingertips.

  “You’re beautiful,” he tells me, his gaze focussed on my mouth. He slides his arm around my waist, my heels dangling behind him as his lips draw closer.

  “Why don’t you bring out the specials?” I whisper, his body swaying against mine, the surf twining around our ankles.

  “You’re really desperate for me to serve you it, huh?” he whispers, his lips almost touching mine. I nod dumbly, waiting for a kiss that never comes.

  His warm breath on my lips sends a thrill down my spine. “Later,” he promises. “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you since the fundraiser.” As if I wasn't hot enough already — even in a skimpy dress with slits up to there — the feel of his solid chest pressed against mine, ramps my temperature up even higher. “Why are you involved with the Youths At Risk charity?”

  I rest my head on his chest, watching the moon’s reflection distort on the surface of the dark sea. I stop talking; seem even to stop moving, until all I can hear are the crickets and the waves lapping up against the shore.

  “Felicity…” He pulls back to look me in the eye. I feel his thumb slowly and softly run along my cheeks. "I'm not the running-out kind of guy when the going gets tough. You don't have to talk about it right now if you can’t or don’t want to. But I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Even if you tell me to piss off — you won’t get rid of me that easily.”

  He has one of those faces, open and honest with eyes that say whatever you tell him won’t go any further than right here. Even so, I prepare myself to tell a lie. It is in my nature to deflect the past. But I am beginning to realise it is the lies that spill outward that do far less damage than the lies that stay hidden.

  “I want to,” I murmur. “Can we sit?”

  Taking my hand in his, he leads me a little away from the water’s edge. Sitting adjacent to one another, I suck in a shuddering breath, and reveal the living nightmare I once lived as a child.

  18

  “IT MAKES YOU FUCKING BEAUTIFUL.”

  LENIC

  “I’m not going to let you ruin my life,” my aunt yells from the doorway. “You are not my child — thank God. You will do as I say and expect for nothing because I am not your mother and I never will be. Your parents are dead. And there is nothing you can do about it. So stop crying like a little baby. The sooner you get over it, the sooner I can get on with my life.”

  “WHEN I WAS five, my parents died in a motorway accident when a lorry crashed into their car.” I speak softly, evenly, like I am telling somebody else’s story.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Instinctively, I twist my charm bracelet around my wrist. “It’s fine. Really. I was very young when it happened and I’ve learnt to live with it.” I shoot him a quick smile. “My parents didn’t have much family. My father was an only child and my mother only had one sister who lived in London. She was my guardian and I went into her care…”

  I pick up a smooth round pebble that catches my eye and roll it between my fingers. “She was evil. There’s no better way to describe her. She never hit me physically — God, no. That would have made her a bad person … She broke me down mentally so there was no physical evidence of her abuse.”

  I glance over at Lenic. “I was just five years old. Just a child.” I shake my head slowly. “While kids my age played with toys and their imaginations, I had four walls keeping me imprisoned. Anything could set her off. If I didn’t put the salt back in the right place or I forgot to say please or she was having a bad day…” He reaches for my hand. “She would lock me in my room … She made me feel like I wasn’t worthy of love. And eventually, I no longer cared. About anything. About love. About life.”

  From day o
ne, when I moved in with my aunt, I was plagued with sadness. I became an unhealthy child.

  I feel him squeeze my hand, and I pull in a shaky breath. “The hardest part was when no one did a single damn thing to step in. The abuse went on for nearly five years.” My chuckle is bitter.

  “Her friends came to visit regularly. They never raised a single hand to help me, never said a thing. It wasn’t the case that they didn’t see it — they saw it. They chose to turn a blind eye to it. Because that’s what people do. They don’t want to get involved. They’re too busy or too scared to speak up and stand up for other people. It’s too much trouble for them, or they simply don’t care enough … I don’t know why…”

  I sigh heavily, closing my eyes briefly before meeting his gaze. “That’s why it meant so much to me when you didn’t tell me I was foolish to have put myself in danger with Rose’s boyfriend, and why it means the world that you showed kindness to a complete stranger.”

  I glance over at the water again before turning back to Lenic. “I didn’t have any love as a child. I didn’t know what love was.” I regard him for one, long moment. “I didn’t … not until Grandpa Joe rescued me when I was ten. I remember it like it was only yesterday. It was on the anniversary of my parents’ death.”

  “He sounds like he was a good man,” Lenic comments when I go silent, brushing a strand of hair from my face with a rueful smile.

  “He was the best, Lenic. I’ve got so many happy memories of him.” I look along the shoreline, a wistful smile surfacing through my grief. I cherish those times with Grandpa Joe more than anything. Looking back at them, I miss their simplicity, and the clear-cut sense of belonging I felt with him.

  “He was my dad’s father and he loved me with all his heart. But it was hard for him to travel to London and visit me when I was in my aunt’s care. He had heart problems and a business to look after. But as soon as he found out what my aunt had been doing to me, he fought tooth-and-nail to get custody of me. But even then, something changed in me. Something ... something not good.” I close my eyes, and take a slow, steadying breath.