by Donna Alam
‘Flowers like fanginas and Talk Dirty to Me for the ringtone.’ Jason Derulo and Kai can both kiss my arse.
‘Did you say—fanginas?’ His words ripple with barely suppressed laughter.
‘Yes,’ I reply, the word all sharp edges. ‘D’you have a problem with that?’ Even as I speak, I feel my cheeks heat. Fanginas, for the love of God. Have a word with yourself, Kate!
‘I prefer the language you used last night, even if I thought its delivery a little harsh.’
‘Hmph.’ Harsh my arse. Try well deserved.
‘So you got my flowers?’
‘I bet you’ve got a book somewhere, Elizabethan Smut to Woo.’ Try saying that ten times fast; it sounds a bit like the noise an owl makes.
‘You didn’t like my note?’
‘Apart from the bit about dying in my lap.’ Anyone who studied Shakespeare at high school knows dying is code for the big ‘O’. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if you did die in my lap when you finally get home.’ I’ll probably smother him in all the excitement.
‘Have I yet given cause for concern?’
‘Just last night,’ I answer wryly. ‘Concern for your sanity.’ He chuckles softly. I’ll credit him as trying to muffle it. ‘If you’ve plans for further, let’s say, spoilage on your return, you’d better be able to run fast, that’s all I can say.’
‘You’re still mad?’
‘Just a bit.’ Try foaming.
‘Good job I’m not there?’
‘Nope. Quite the opposite.’ I’m surprised as this comes out in a growl.
He laughs freely then. ‘It’ll be worth the wait.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s a promise or a threat.’
‘Perhaps a little of both.’ Excitement, like quicksilver, rolls down my spine. ‘I’m not a selfish lover.’
‘No, just one that doesn’t believe in suffering alone.’
He chuckles, a throaty hum, but this time he isn’t laughing alone.
‘There was a point to the experience. Delayed gratification can have the most amazing pay off in the end.’
‘Hmph,’ I answer, not for the first time.
‘No, really. The fault was mine. You were just so into it, and I was so caught up. I wasn’t paying attention to how close you were. I was so mesmerised. I just miss you so much. The taste and feel of you, the sounds you make when I slide in deep. I truly was going to—’
‘You were going to let me come? So why make me stop?’
‘Oh, I wasn’t going to let you,’ he answers darkly. ‘Just work you up to that edge a few times more.’
‘Why?’ I don’t wait for an answer before exclaiming frustratedly, ‘You’re just a great big clit tease!’
‘Careful, Kate,’ he warns, oh-so sensually. ‘You don’t know what I’m capable of.’
I swallow thickly, because he’s right. This isn’t the first time he’s surprised me. This is just the first time I haven’t been stoked by my surprise.
‘It hasn’t got one of those GPS thingies, has it?’ I ask, looking at the empty iPhone box, attempting to turn the conversation.
‘Are we talking about your clit, or the phone?’
‘Funny,’ I reply, though clearly I don’t mean so.
‘The phone,’ he says softly, ‘is because yours was looking a little tired.’ Try bashed. And stuck together with sticky-tape. ‘And yes, because you weren’t answering yours. I was making a point. Besides,’ he adds, his voice betraying a smile. ‘You know your clit is always at home when I call.’
‘And the flowers?’ Change the subject, Kate, if you want to keep the upper hand!
‘An apology, not a statement. I didn’t request erotic blooms.’
‘I might just have fanginas on the brain,’ I say, with a sigh signalling that fail.
‘Sweetheart, was that your way of telling me you’re interested in a three-way.’
‘You must be dreaming,’ I say with an inelegant snort. ‘There’s no way I’d be up for any kind of delayed gratification again.’
‘Meaning?’
‘In a threesome, there’s always going to be someone left out at one point or another, isn’t there? All three participants can’t be engaged all the time—especially if it’s a girl-boy-girl deal. Someone would be left third-wheeling it a bit.’
God, I am such a loser. No wonder he sounds like he’s choking on laughter. He’s probably taken part in dozens of these, while the only threesome I’ve ever experienced is taking my latest book boyfriend to bed with Shane. And I mean it just like that, a boy in a book. As in, not real. Why isn’t my mouth attached to my brain?
Kai composes himself audibly across the line, and as he speaks, it’s with a whole other tone.
‘What makes you think that would ever be you?’
His sensual words wash over me and my eyes flutter closed as I recall the way he looks at me. Sometimes it’s with a sort of warm indulgence. Other times like he’s starving and I’m gorgeously edible.
‘Is this something you’ve thought about?’ He’s using that tone still, but I can’t tell whether he’s being serious, or winding me up. Regardless, I find that I’ve crossed my legs where I stand, my thighs pushing together almost of their own accord.
‘That would be telling,’ I reply, trying to respond in kind.
‘The turn in the conversation is doing nothing for my self-control, kitten.’
‘Is that your way of telling me you’re hard?’ Please, please tell me you are.
‘Always, when thinking of you. Maddening and frustratingly so.’
‘Ah, so you do know what it feels like?’ I tease.
‘You’ll be the death of me, and while I really don’t want to, I must go.’ My heart plummets south. ‘But I wonder if you’d do something for me.’
‘Oh, no. Not after last—’
‘I want you to christen your phone,’ he says, carrying on as though I haven’t spoken. ‘I’d like another photograph, especially as you’ve so much to say about your clit.’
‘You want me to—’ I’m suddenly all kinds of excited. ‘I get to—’ Pet the pussy? Paddle the pink canoe? All while thinking of him?
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
‘Why?’ I whine. No, no, no!
‘Teased, but unfulfilled. I’ll make it worth your while . . .’
And I know he will.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Eww, don’t put it next to the toothbrush!’
‘A bit of pee never hurt anyone. It’s sterile.’
‘Coming out of your vag?’
‘Blue line—it has a blue line.’
‘Ow, you’re pinching my arm! And I thought it was supposed to go pink?’
‘Nope, that was the last one. No, sorry, the one before that.’
‘Ah, shit. That’s three out of three.’
‘Go for a fourth?’
‘We’re not playing rock-paper-scissors, here! Face it. I’m screwed.’
‘I think you mean, you have been.’
‘Thanks. That makes me feel so much better. Why don’t you just pass me the razor while you’re on a roll?’
‘Legs could do with a shave.’
‘Could’ve done with keeping them closed, more like.’
‘And you’ve got hairy toes. They look like pork crackling.’
‘Do you think it’s got anything to do with the sex?’
‘That you’ve got hairy toes? Like that urban myth, if you wank too much, you get hairy palms? Ha-ha! You looked!’
‘Really? Jokes at a time like this?’
‘Calm down. Didn’t they have sex-ed at your school? Condoms on bananas and that god-awful DVD. The miracle of childbirth through a muff that looks like a seriously mad wig?’
‘Like a merkin?’
‘No, like the black forest of pubes. I’m surprised the midwife didn’t get out the garden shears and give her a trim. Poor baby could’ve gotten tangled and trapped.’
‘Don’t mention chi
ldbirth, please. Anyway, that’s not what I mean. The colour thing. Do you get a pink line for a girl, blue for a boy?’
‘I think he must’ve banged your head against the headboard way too hard. For fuck’s sake, the thing’s still just a tiny collection of cells, no bigger than a bean!’
‘If I’d half a brain, I’d’ve stuck to flicking my bean.’
‘Maybe I should pee on the last test. Maybe you’ve got a duff batch.’
‘Duff. That’ll be the thing I am.’
‘Don’t be like that. We all make mistakes.’
‘Up the fucking duff. That’s not a mistake. It’s a great fucking catastrophe.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Fucked if I know.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘My goodness, it’s so warm out here.’ Yes. Warm. Something to do with living in the Middle East. Deserts, palm trees, dromedaries, and that sort of stuff. ‘It must play havoc with your coloured laundry. Katherine, you didn’t say you lived in a mansion!’
‘Mum, let Rashid past with your bags.’
Mum steps out of the doorway, murmuring her apology and thanks to Mr. Rashid, who deposits the two massive suitcases, each complete with a yellow ribbon tied to the handle—so we can see them on the revolving thingy, silly—into the hall.
Rashid then gracefully refuses the few dirham notes Geoff tries to shove into his hand. It’s barely enough to cover a cup of coffee, and I’m guessing Rashid is paid more than decently, judging alone by the way he dresses.
I smile awkwardly at the man while wanting to melt into the ground as visions of next week’s wedding flashes behind my eyes. It’s turning into something beyond my control. Not that it’s ever been in my control, because I’ve quite happily floated along, letting other people decide things for me. Colour schemes, flowers and venues; I just haven’t given a stuff. But now I see how badly it could go; a weekend of my folks faux-pas and guests who’ll think we’re all terribly gauche. Dubai people are pretty sharp, and my olds, well, a yearly cruise to Fiji hardly constitutes well-travelled.
‘Excuse me, Madam, I shall take these to which of the guest rooms?’
‘To the pool house, please, Rashid.’ With a smile as wide as it is fake, I address my mum. ‘It’s outside the main house, but I thought you might like to be able to do your own thing.’ More like the more distance we have between us, the better we’ll get along.
Geoff pulls a handkerchief from one of his cargo pants’ many pockets and begins mopping his brow.
‘Good idea, Katie. I expect it’ll take us a while to get our body clocks in line. No use creeping around here in the middle of the night, eh? That was some flight.’
I don’t bother telling him there’s not much chance of him disturbing anyone in a house built as solid as this. But the pool house seems to suit us all, so that’s where they’ll go. It’s more like a cottage than anything else and very self-contained. Besides, if we’re to all keep our sanity, we’ll each of us need space. Dunno about them, but I can feel my temper being frayed. The “massive” flight is all he’s gone on about since the airport; a car journey full of his observations of international travel, not that I listened beyond the first few minutes.
‘Yeah, it’s a killer,’ I answer, not really listening. As per, again.
‘Seventeen hours, wasn’t it?’ Mum adds.
Geoff confirms. ‘Straight through. We did it in style, though, didn’t we, darl?’
‘A plane with a shower. Who’d have thought?’
‘And champagne and caviar.’ Geoff’s voice comes out in a rumble, my mum gravitating to him. As she stares up at him all dreamy-eyed, I wonder if I’ll see my lunch making a reappearance real soon. I’m not sure whether it’s the recurring begonia dream, or the fact that Kai and Niamh’s words have somehow poisoned my mind, because that’s all I can see. My parents, the kinksters. Please, no.
‘Yes, yes, champagne and cashmere jammies,’ I say in a rush as she slides her arm through his. ‘Let’s just get you settled before—’ I lose my salad ‘—shit, there goes the cat!’
The little fuzzy bastard speeds through the still open door, and as I’m nearest, I take off in hot pursuit, calling behind me. ‘I’ll get her. You follow Rashid to your rooms.’
I catch the swish of her scrawny white tail as she dashes over the ornamental bridge and disappears through the bamboo screen. I mean, I don’t love her, but it’s not like she’s some street cat ready for the open road, and—
‘Habibti.’
My stomach rolls as I turn the corner and reach the open gate.
Can this day get any worse? If trouble comes in threes, I’m way over my limit as Essam stands, cat in hand, in the shadow of the solid wooden gate, not quite in the front yard, but not quite out. No national dress for him today; jeans and a white shirt, looking every inch the sophisticate, from his Gucci loafers to the carelessness of his curling and overlong locks.
‘Give her to me.’
His smile is feral, like I’ve just asked him if he wants to fuck.
‘What? This little thing?’ He holds my kitten in his palm, pressing her close to his chest. He says something in Arabic, which I can easily interpret by his obvious leer as he stokes one long finger down her tiny back.
‘Give her back,’ I repeat, my words coming out less strong as he links his thumb and forefinger around her thin neck, lifting and almost dangling her over his other palm.
‘Come. Take her.’ His tone is treacle sweet, but I don’t budge, memories of that night—the darkness, the smell of the leather sofa and of his cloying cologne, rising before my eyes like a storm. ‘It can be frustrating when someone has what you want, no?’
My immediate instinct is fleeting, the second is the conviction that I’ve somehow misunderstood. But as his gaze rakes over my body, I realise instincts are there for a reason; it seems I misinterpreted what he wanted the other day. Perhaps I’ve always misunderstood.
‘I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the one with the serious case of dick envy.’
Point to me and my runaway gob? Probably not as his thumb and forefinger tighten and Batool releases a pitifully strangled mewl.
‘Such a clever mouth,’ he sneers. ‘It will get you into trouble someday.’
‘Stop it. Please.’ Her little pink paws levitate higher, tiny sharp claws beginning to cut through the air. ‘You’re hurting her!’
‘I have imagined it often, that mouth, wrapped around my cock, choking back your clever words.’
Batool squeals and the tiny but frantic sound steals my breath.
‘Come, habibti, take. It isn’t nice when someone takes away your playthings.’
‘That had nothing to do with me—’ My throat constricts, and I swallow hard ‘—take it up with Kai.’
‘I’m over this. I have moved onto other things.’
‘Kate?’
‘My parents,’ I say, glancing quickly over my shoulder to my mum’s call. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’ I turn my head and call back. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’
‘I know what he is,’ Essam adds unaffected, his gaze following the path of my own. ‘I’ve watched him over the years. Watched his, shall we say, his tastes refine? For myself, I am not one for strange practises, but now I find myself with more time, I am curious.’ He crushes Batool to his chest once more, the poor thing too distressed to put up a fight. ‘And if I know what he is, then by default, I know what you are.’
‘Give her back to me.’ My heart hammers against my chest like the hooves of a runaway horse.
‘Do you like pain, habibti?’
He stretches out the false endearment as I bite back the instinct to ask him the same thing, to tell him I’m gonna cause him a whole world of the stuff if he doesn’t give me my damn kitten back.
‘It’s unnatural. No?’
‘Essam, just give her to me. Please.’
‘I want to hurt him and it is almost karmic that you, Katherine, like to be hurt.
Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.’ My brow furrows. What is he on about? ‘You see, it’s interesting what you can obtain with a little digging. Of course, both myself and Kai have long had an appreciation for . . . art. Do you like art?’
‘I—I’m not much of a follower,’ I reply, hating how I stumble over my words. My gaze flicks upwards to his, a face whose lines echo the one that I love. Even his expression has a certain resonance, like a hawk eyeing something tasty and small. I lower my attention to the cat squashed against his chest, her body rigid and frozen, like she’s anticipating more hurt.
‘Here.’ He slides his free hand into the back pocket of his pale, loose fitting jeans, pulling out something folded and a little dog-eared at the edges. He slides one finger down the crease, turning it towards me. A photograph. Of me. In all my naked eight by ten glory. A photograph Shane took that day at the beach.
My heart plummets, roiling now in stomach acid.
‘Where did you get this?’
Gripped in between his thumb and forefinger, he turns the image back to himself, studying it with dispassionate eyes. ‘Your hair was shorter then. I think I prefer it.’ His gaze rakes over me again. ‘There are more, of course. Six, I think. Very tastefully done. I commend the photographer, or was there more than one?’
Ignoring his insinuation, my mind races, trying to recall what other images he could have; their levels of lewdness. I’d been drinking—not a lot, but after a day in the sun, a couple of cruisers, a beer, and a cocktail or two, my inhibitions were swallowed along with the booze. Shane was the man I was marrying, and though he wheedled and coaxed, I saw no harm in those few shots he took with his phone. I maybe even encouraged him. Maybe I felt they were a barrier I was breaking, or maybe I was trying to be someone else. Someone more daring.
‘The question is, what shall I do with them?’
My tongue darts out nervously. ‘What have you got planned?’
‘I could keep them for myself, of course, but what good are mere images when the subject keeps me at arm’s length.’
‘No, Essam. I’m married—’
‘I do know that. It is what makes this all the more fun. I was contemplating making them an early wedding gift. But to you, or to him?’ One brow rises in malevolent enquiry. ‘You don’t like the idea of my gifting them to him?’