The Tempest

by Brit Constantine

  My question catches him unprepared, and I am greeted with nothing but that oh so familiar silence that comes with this touchy mysterious subject. I sigh heavily. “Something you don't want to talk about — got it.” I take off his Royal Marine beret that I’m wearing and look down at it.

  “Something I don't want to remember.” He keeps his gaze pinned on the banana he is peeling and I watch his eyes glaze over, his jaw stiffening. I set aside his beret, and flick my finger over the fresh cream from the leftover main course, my bare legs swinging, drumming against the cupboard doors below.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not right now.” He turns on the blender and stares at its swirling contents to distract himself from my questioning. “What kind of name is West?” I hear him mumble.

  “I don’t know, Lenic … What kind of name is that?”

  “Fair point.” When he stops blending, his eyes meet mine. “Does West know? About your aunt?"

  “Yes. I think that’s why he is so protective over me. Why he doesn’t want to see me hurt.”

  He looks at me. “You sure it’s not something else with him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He squares his shoulders. “Some guys are only after one thing.”

  I sigh and drop down from the counter. “My aunt, the boys who spread rumours about me at school, even the town gossips — I would’ve had their foot on my neck for so many years if it wasn’t for Grandpa and West. I’d be nothing without them. Do you understand that, Lenic? Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you here? Because if you want me to be your girlfriend … West comes with part of that deal.”

  There is a long moment of silence, my heart beating just a little bit faster. He turns from the blender, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me softly on the lips.

  ”I won’t fight with him,” he states with resolve. “I’ll leave it alone.”

  “Except at the semi-finals of the Road to Redemption,” I say smartly, giving him a warm smile.

  “That’s work.” I hear the grin in his voice when he says it.

  “I’m worried…”

  “About what?”

  “You always risk your life when you enter the ring. One wrong hit in the head … and it could all be over. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t. I promise you. I'm a man who's best at his work — number one. It's included in my work not to get myself killed.”

  “You’re not Superman. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah … but I’m damn close.” He kisses me again, but this time he is not gentle, biting my lip so hard I think it bleeds a little. He hoists me up, dragging my leg around the back of his thigh. I whimper into his mouth before he pushes me back onto the counter. He starts kissing me down my neck, yanking my dress down to expose one breast.

  “You trust me?” he growls huskily, rubbing my mound slowly with his whole hand.

  “Implicitly,” I hiss, when he tugs my hair back and runs his tongue over and around my erect nipple. I grip the edge of the counter when he drops his jeans to the floor and thrusts hard and forceful into my already tender sex.

  “Don’t underestimate … my promises … I’ll always give you, what you want.” He thrusts into me with each accentuated words.

  “Wait,” I breathe out, grabbing his beret from the side and set it on top of his head. “I want you to fuck me like a Marine — harder.”

  His dominant thrusts and touches, mixed with the look of pure carnal desire in his eyes, while wearing his Royal Marine beret … it all sets me off and I cum instantly.

  “Too easy … Way too easy, Felicity,” he smirks.

  “This still doesn’t mean you own me.”

  “We’ll see.” He thrusts into me as he bites down on my neck.

  He goddamn owns me.

  “WHAT’S THIS ONE from?” My fingertip traces a small white scar that criss-crosses the knuckles on the back of his hand, leaving droplets of water where my fingers touch.

  We’re lounging deep in steaming water in his bathtub. I lean back against his broad solid chest, my hair tied up in a topknot.

  “A fight, I think," he replies, as if he can’t quite remember. As if it could have been from a number of manly things: war, fights, fixing old beaten-down boats and showers.

  “Why do you fight?” I twist around to squint up at him. He smiles down at me, all dimples and boyish handsomeness.

  “I need the money. For food, clothes, bills. You know — to live.”

  “But when you fight, you don’t appear to enjoy it. In fact, I would go as far as to say that it pains you.”

  “You get hit in the face ten times and tell me you wouldn’t wince. Sorry, next time I fight and get punched in the face, I’ll be sure to laugh like a maniac to please you.” He chuckles, reaching up to brush the back of his hand affectionately down my cheek.

  “Good,” I grin, turning completely over so I am straddling him. “It’s important to enjoy what you do. I’d like to think you’re living the life you chose and not the life that was chosen for you.”

  “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean…” I sigh. “You seem like you’re fighting something. Internally. Every day. I can just see it, feel it whenever I’m around you. You got this wall up.”

  “Maybe the wall’s to protect other people, not me.”

  He curls a loose strand of hair around my ear. “I know girls want to over talk things and boys under talk, but somewhere in the middle is the Goldilocks Zone.”

  “The what?”

  “The Goldilocks Zone. Where everything is just right.” He smiles at me. “You’ll have to let your guard down one day.” I run my hands over his shoulders. The water is nearly scalding but everywhere I touch him, goose bumps rise.

  “Why?”

  “Because, Lenic, a relationship works both ways, doesn’t it? I know I’m new to this ball and chain—”

  “Sounds hot.”

  “—thing, but I don't think I can be with a man who won’t trust me enough.” I feel his chest rise and fall. “Look, I won’t push. Whatever it is, I know it’s hard. I’ve been there myself. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

  Sometimes we need a little time to open up old wounds.

  He remains silent for a beat. “What if I’m never ready? What if my story is one you don’t ever want to hear?”

  We look at each other then — a long, close look. When his eyes dim with sadness, and the moment becomes awkward, I relieve the tension with my usual coping mechanism when life gets too serious.

  Humour.

  I steer the tone of the conversation in a more comedic direction, a talent I've mastered since I was a teenager. One I use to my advantage a lot, and one I am never called out on. I grab his hands and pull them over my breasts. “You wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise your relationship with the girls, would you?”

  “Never,” he laughs. I lower myself over him when I feel his cock begin to harden, his hands gripping me by the hips underneath the water.

  We spend the rest of the night lying naked in his bed — making love, fucking, talking, whispering things in each other’s ears that make us smile, blush. But I don't tell him I am determined to uncover the truth of what he is not telling me. The skeletons in his closet are rattling, and I can’t ignore them. I am sure, in time, I could persuade him.

  I won’t rest until I uncover his secret.

  20

  “YOU ARE NOT GOING TO GROW A VAGINA IF YOU FLOAT, LENIC.”

  FELICITY

  “I DON’T FLOAT," Lenic grumbles.

  It is a beautiful Sunday afternoon in August, and the rocking of the cool water beneath me feels so good against the beating sun above. But the feel of Lenic’s hands cupping my buttocks in my barely-there red string bikini, under the water of the sea, is a million times better.

  "Of course you do, gorgeous." I look at him, incredulous.

  "I sink like a stone. I don't float."


  "Everyone floats," I insist, wrinkling my nose at him. "Look." I lie on my back, my arms wide, my eyes closed, and a smile on my face. "See … I float." I stand upright in the water.

  He shakes his head. "You’re a girl."

  “Lenic, everyone floats. If you put a newborn baby in water, it will kick its legs and swim to the surface. It's natural, just like floating. Everyone floats."

  "Exactly. I’m a man, not a baby. I don't float."

  “You are not going to grow a vagina if you float, Lenic.”

  “This body is all muscle. It’s harder than stone. I’ll sink.”

  "I won't let you sink," I promise him.

  "Too late, beautiful," he says, his voice gravelly, threading his hands through my hair. "Way too late now."

  I smile warmly. "Just ... just lie back, it’s fun," I insist, cocking my head and stare at him expectantly. He stares back, defiant. I roll my eyes. "Just try it. I'll hold you up, I promise."

  “Not happening.”

  “Lenic, can’t you just go with the idea for a moment? Be a bit playful? Humour me, and not go all Tempest?” I blow out a frustrated breath when he shakes his head at me. “Do you not get fed up?”

  “Of what?”

  He has been treading deep water for too long. “Of swimming against the tides, all of the time. Just let go, have fun, and float already.”

  “Why?

  “Simple. It’s fun.”

  Lenic heaves out a defeated sigh. “Don’t you dare tell the lads I did this,” he grumbles, then shuts his eyes, and slowly, reluctantly, he allows himself to lie back in the water.

  “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “You would. And don’t you dare YouCube this.”

  Restraining a giggle, my arms slide beneath his back, my body pressing close to his. “There," I say, the smirk in my voice evident. "See, isn't this something you should be doing? You know, relaxing and not over thinking things? Unwind and have fun. Fun. That’s what life is, or should be."

  “The hell’s happening to me?” he grunts. “I’ve got the hottest-girl-in-the-world’s tits pushing up against me, and what am I doing…? Goddamn floating like a pussy.”

  "Relax. Look, you're doing it. You're floating. You are having fun like a big kid." I laugh. “A big manly kid, if it makes you feel any better,” I add quickly.

  “Huh…" He glances up as I smile down at him with an I-told-you-so look on my face. "I guess I am, Hazelnut.”

  He laughs then, a real deep belly laugh, the booming sound filling the big empty space around us. Listening to it with rapt attention, urges me to throw my arms around his neck and squeeze him until he can’t breathe. If he had any idea how good it is to see him laugh like this—

  I squeal suddenly when Lenic splashes water over my face, then tries to hook me by the waist. “I’ve got something else to float … your boat,” he laughs.

  I duck beneath the water and dodge away from him, slipping one finger just beneath the top of his black shorts and snap the waistband. “Oh no. Am I in a relationship with a man who makes dad jokes?”

  He spins in the water and prowls towards me. “I’ve waited long enough with you in that teeny, tiny red bikini,” he rasps.

  I watch his powerfully built legs move beneath, his chest cutting through the water like a great white shark, and can’t help but think of the force he can generate. Desire floods my body, my gaze roaming over his broad shoulders and along his thick muscular arms, dripping with droplets of water. I want to taste every single drop with my tongue. But he is smiling, and I want to keep him that way. Surprisingly, I tell myself sex can wait for later.

  Swimming between his legs, I surface just behind him, tapping his shoulder, and then diving away again as soon as he starts to turn. I hear him curse as I dive beneath the water and can’t resist doing it again, grabbing his calves as I do to give myself an extra boost. I break the surface of the water, laughing as he spins around, capturing my shoulders in his massive hands.

  I catch my breath as his eyes open. Eyes I always get lost in, eyes that make the butterflies in my tummy fly south. His gaze flicks to my mouth, and he slides his tongue across his lower lip. “You're it," he tells me in a low gravelly voice that is almost a whisper, caressing the side of my face with his hand. My fingertips gently trace his jawline as his eyes rest on mine, like he is looking deep inside of me, then his head angles and he softly kisses my lips.

  "Yeah … I guess I am."

  For the last few weeks, we’ve done it like animals in heat. Really, I'm amazed I have any damn stamina left with Lenic. It must be all the practice. My fondest memory is when he pulled me into an alleyway last Friday night, after our date at the Thai restaurant, whispering in my ear, ‘I have a bad memory to make up for,’ before giving me a mind-blowing orgasm with just his fingers.

  Licking his lips, he reaches over and wraps one arm around my waist, pulling me close to kiss my mouth again. He pulls away to speak after only a brief touch of his tongue to mine, but only ends up kissing me again, and again, and again, deeper each time, caught up once more in the electricity that flows between us. I wrap my arms around his neck and begin to helplessly give him everything he wants.

  He looks down at me, the look of a man undone, and I am barely able to not lift up and encourage him to take me completely, but … I have something important to tell him.

  It is something I should have told him a week ago.

  “I’m staying over West’s new apartment tomorrow evening in Queens Oak … I’m going to tell him about us. Tell him I’m serious about you.”

  His brow creases. “He’s in love with you.” His assertion is delivered with so much conviction that it surprises me, and takes me a moment to find my bearings.

  “Why … why are you so sure?” This isn’t the first time someone has made this assumption.

  He fits his body into mine, locking his arm around my waist. His dark eyes glance down into mine with so much sincerity, and something else that I can’t name, but it has the edges of jealousy, the jaggedness of hatred, and the commitment of possessiveness.

  “Because, how can he not be in love with you? You’re a heartbreaker, Felicity Saint James. I damn heartbreaker.”

  He reaches to cradle my face in his hand, and that look, that damn lopsided-grin look of his melts my heart again, and I feel it flutter like a caged bird in my chest.

  “I want a repeat of this morning,” he says.

  “What? You want me to make you a coffee again?”

  “You know what I want,” he growls lowly, and the throaty tone of his voice makes me shiver all over. “I’m taking you to bed. Now.”

  “Why?” I smirk. “Who’s waiting for me there?”

  Squeezing my buttocks, he rasps, “Don’t tease me about other men, Felicity.” His hands slide up beneath my bikini top, palming my breasts. Gasping, I arch back as he slowly rolls my nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

  I moan out in pleasure. “I … don’t think I’ve ever seen you so…” I study his face for a long moment, looking for the perfect word as I cover his hands with my own and lean into them. "…content."

  “Liar. You’ve seen me plenty of times," he growls at me, lifting my hips so that I straddle him and feel his unmistakable ‘content’ under the water. I bite down on my bottom lip. “Fuck the bed,” he hisses all of a sudden.

  He really dislikes beds.

  "We can’t out here," I sigh, not letting go of the grip my hands have on his, my nipples growing hard against the palms of his rough hands.

  “I know." He kisses me, then pulls back, breathing heavily, “If only I knew how to stop wanting you all the damn time.”

  “It’s daytime. Someone will see us.”

  “Private land," he replies, with a deep throaty chuckle. He presses his growing, hardening ‘content’ up against me. “I thought you like being in the public eye." His smouldering gaze seizes mine, as though he is daring me to say no to him. “You trust me, don’t you?”


  “Yes…” I breathe out. “You know I do.”

  His voice pitches deep. “I’ve never had anything to hold on to in my life, so all I want to do is protect you. I’ll keep you safe … I’ll always look after you.” He bends his head to kiss my neck, and I feel his finger curl inside my bikini bottoms and slide against my clit. "You’re too goddamn sexy," he growls.

  I reciprocate, moving my hands down abs that I want to trail my tongue down — but have no damn time — to the waistband of his shorts, and carefully stretch the material over his dripping hard dick. I tug on his cock, the familiar feel and weight of it in my palm. I want time to kneel down and lick, suck, and taste cum on my lips, want to spend time on his body and remember where he is damn sensitive. Want the time, but as we aren’t going to get that, out here in the open, all I want is him— quick, hard and dirty.

  "We have to be quick," I pant.

  "Turn around—” he orders gruffly.

  “Kowabunga!"

  Something large and dark flies over and canon-balls into the sea. A shower of water cascades over us, and I screech at the top of my lungs.

  Cross.

  Bloody cock-blocking Cross. Both Delphine and Cross are a team of cock blockers, and I am starting to suspect that they have an official cock-blocking business, Facebook page and everything.

  Team West.

  I am definitely waving the flag of Team West.

  When Cross bobs to the surface of the sea, a fountain of water erupts from between his lips and then he grins at us. “Thought I might find you two love birds here," Cross beams. “You two shagging in the sea?”

  “Piss off, Cross,” Lenic and I both hiss.

  I have a feeling that ‘Piss off, Cross’ is going to become a regular catchphrase.

  Lenic helps me climb up back onto the dock. “I’m sorry about this,” he apologises, handing me a towel. “Like I said — he’s a dog. If you want him gone, just say the word.” Cross eventually drags himself up onto the dock. “Quit staring at my girlfriend’s tits,” Lenic spits out, all of a sudden, his lips pursed. “Or I’ll put you back in the water and make sure no one ever sees you again.”