Kismet

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  Ruben envelops me and cries into my hair, sobbing against my ear. “I won’t ever be over it, Frey. Not ever. I’m a fucking stupid cunt with more money than sense, but I won’t ever be over it. I need you to know that.”

  “I know you won’t, baby. I know. Just hold me. You’re all I need.”

  Dinnertime arrives just as I’m finishing unpacking my things in the closet. It’s taken the best part of an afternoon, going through the belongings I picked up during what now feels like a closed chapter of my life. I hear the oven bleeping and then Ruben shout, “Freya, it’s ready!”

  I put down what I’m doing and look all around me. I should’ve gone through my things years ago. I have a pile of stuff for the charity shop, another for the tip and another lot of items I’m still not sure about.

  Ruben doesn’t know I have money. I don’t know if he needs to know. It’s not important, right? I cashed Mum’s cheque earlier today when I spotted a bank on the way to the coffee shop (when Ruben was busy disciplining his staff). Her money added to the pot means I’m getting ever closer to the dream…

  “Freya,” he calls again, urging me to hurry, although I imagine he’s still dishing up.

  I survey the shards of my life piled around me, along with the rails Ruben cleared for me now bearing the clothes I deem worthy of keeping. It’s all just dust, in the end, right?

  I never expected that things would become so complex, so quickly, but it seems like love does this to people. It shakes them up—makes them say things they never thought they would ever admit.

  I make it to the kitchen and dinner’s on the table, steam rising into the air.

  “Smells great,” I enthuse.

  He beckons me to sit and I examine our plates. Pasta and meatballs, packed with herbs and spices, and then there’s salad and garlic bread to accompany what’s on our plates. I help myself to a healthy pile of salad and two slices of garlic bread.

  “We should’ve done this years ago,” he says, watching me tuck in.

  I swallow what’s in my mouth. “Why’d you say that?”

  “You enjoy food for a start. It’s refreshing to be with a girl who eats. All this time I could’ve been sharing dinner with a fascinating companion instead of eating TV dinners on my lap in the living room, the Xbox controller in one hand and a plastic fork in the other.”

  I give him a wry smile. “I saw the inside of your bin earlier. Don’t lie to me.”

  “What? I get a kebab like once a week. Twice at the most.”

  I wonder what his body was like when he was playing football and eating clean all the time. It must have been insane! He has a great body now, but back then it must have been… blow-your-socks-off beautiful. He must have a naturally high metabolism to remain as fit as he does, even though he’s been living a bachelor lifestyle. I won’t tell him that the only reason I can eat like this is because I have a free pass for the gym at work.

  He pours some red wine and I throw some down my neck. “Lovely. Really brings out the spiciness of the meatballs.”

  “Funny that because on the back it says it goes pretty damn fine with meatballs.”

  “Pretty damn fine, eh?”

  “Read it! That’s what it says.”

  “I believe you.”

  I know Ruben went out to Marks and Spencer earlier while I was unpacking, so potentially he didn’t make any of this from scratch, but it tastes remarkably good just because I didn’t have to make it myself. I was ostracised from family meals at home a very long time ago. It was never spoken out loud, but I always knew I wasn’t welcome at the table. It started even before I worked at the hotel and was putting in unsociable hours. My father couldn’t stand to have to look at me. It got so that I ate at work or microwaved leftovers, or better yet, ate at the Oxford Blue where I’d receive a warm welcome from Russell and usually a free dessert.

  “How’s it looking up there?” he asks, perhaps sensing my mind wandering.

  “I can’t believe I had so much junk, actually. There’s a huge pile for the charity shop and then another pile to go straight in the bin. Who knew I had three bottles of sun cream all out of date? I dread to take the lids off and open the bottles.”

  “The benefits of living at Chez Kitchener eh? Endless.”

  I don’t want to say it, but his mood’s rather improved tonight, even after what happened earlier.

  What’s on the table is demolished quickly. Then he brings dessert out of the fridge.

  “You can’t do this to me,” I groan, as he presents me with the most luxurious chocolate cheesecake I’ve seen in years. How did he know it’s my favourite pudding? Also, that it’s my ultimate weakness! I’ll have to have it all the time now—repeatedly—and because of his discovery I will also have to spend many more hours in the gym burning off all the calories.

  “We can work it off later,” he says, eyes full of fire. “Enjoy, please. It’ll make me so happy to watch you eat pudding. I haven’t done this in years.”

  After I take my first bite, I’m hooked. It’s even better than it looks. Layered with vanilla and chocolate, the sauce on top just sickly enough and the biscuit base ridiculously moist and crunchy all at the same time, it’s heaven.

  He offers me a second slice but I insist he have some so I can watch him eat, too. He enjoys it with restrained enthusiasm, his eyes mostly on me as he eats.

  When we’re done, he insists I take the wine into the living room while he clears up. I make myself comfy on the couch and pick up the remote, finding a thriller on Netflix I’ve been meaning to watch for ages but haven’t got around to yet.

  I wait patiently for him to join me, not wanting to start without him. However, it’s as I sit waiting that my thoughts begin to run away from me again.

  Nobody is ever this happy. It’s a fallacy. He might be trying hard right now, but in a few months, I’ll be the one slaving over dinner and filling the dishwasher—then emptying it in the morning, too. It doesn’t last forever—this, whatever this is—and we’ve rushed things. We’re already living together. The only way is down now. That’s it. The romance is dead. He’s seen me naked. No more mystery. What more could there be to cement us, if there’s nothing else to discover? He now knows my dad is a fucked-up, abusive thug while it’s blatantly obvious to me that Ruben’s nothing of a businessman and naïve as they come. We’re total opposites and that never lasts. True, it creates fireworks in the bedroom, but that’s all. What will he and I talk about in the future once all our secrets are out?

  My thoughts are heading in the direction of absolutely crazy when he lands heavily in the cushions next to me, his wineglass empty. I refill it for him and he puts his arm around my shoulders, encouraging me to snuggle into him.

  Nope. There’s absolutely no way I can see this lasting forever. And absolutely no way I can see myself ever giving him up. Not when he has such perfect biceps.

  Then I have a horrible feeling. Ruben doesn’t play football anymore, and he’s never once spoken about being a gymgoer these days. Perhaps he stays looking great, despite the kebabs, through lots and lots of sex? In which case, he most probably lied about slowing down on the random sex front in recent years.

  You see… it’s potentially the lies that’ll get us.

  I press play on the remote. “This okay for you?”

  “Perfect,” he says, though he could hate it for all I know, but he’s telling me whatever it takes to make me happy.

  Whether he’s into this show or not, I want to watch it… and we can deal with being honest later… much later.

  Chapter Fifteen

  You Were Right

  After bingeing a few episodes of the Netflix show I suggested we watch together, I find myself standing in the centre of his bathroom wondering what the hell is going on. He just sent me upstairs to get ready for bed. Are we already that boring married couple who brush their teeth every night but don’t fuck? This is weird and not right. I never thought I would settle for this. I’ve stumbled into some
parallel universe where I’m docile and preparing myself for bed instead of messily falling into his arms without a thought for brushing my teeth or wearing decent nightclothes. I’m looking for an exit when he yells, “You done yet? I need to clean mine!”

  Hastily, I stick a toothbrush inside my mouth and clean. Best case scenario, he wants my breath fresh so he can kiss me all night long, preferably with his cock in me at the same time. Conventional bedtime routine aside, I can deal with that.

  “Almost,” I garble.

  I leave the bathroom and find him waiting outside wearing a towelling robe. I’m hoping there’s nothing under it when he barges past and shuts himself in the room I just vacated.

  “Won’t be a minute, get comfy, won’t you?”

  I feel aimless as I look around his bedroom, seeking something to occupy me while I wait for him to emerge from the bathroom. All I hear is whistling but I dread to think what he’s trying to mask with the whistling. Maybe nothing… or…

  I’m wearing the same white shirt he gave me last night, but I’m wishing I had even a semblance of dirty lingerie in my wardrobe. Pity it’s always been a bit basic on my part in that department. Usually I wouldn’t bother with special underwear and rarely would I allow the man to remove my bra—I simply never had the patience or time for that. I really must consider an online order of some sort. A teddy or whatever you call them. A basque, maybe? Even a plain suspender belt and stockings would be better than the plain shirt I’m currently rocking as nightwear. Still, at least it’s better than the plaid pyjama selection I wore at home to cover up every disgusting inch of skin my father might find offensive in the mornings.

  I’m standing around admiring some of the erotic art Ruben has hanging on his walls, all of it fine art no doubt, when his arms come around me from behind. It’s such a wonderful, delightful shock to have a man creep up on me that I curl back into him immediately, thankful it’s him and not someone else.

  He’s naked, I can tell, and as he holds me close, I feel his erection brush against my leg before slotting into the space in between my thighs.

  “Ruben,” I groan, because my body’s immediate response is to send blood rushing around my veins, but particularly to those between my legs.

  He grasps the hem of my t-shirt and yanks it right off my body. He strokes his hands over my front before turning me to face him. I throw my arms around his neck and dive into his kiss, his love pouring into me immediately and without restraint.

  “Yes, god…” I moan, when his tender lips trail down my throat and towards my breast.

  He walks backwards to the bed and we fall on top of the covers, me landing deftly on top of him thanks to his strong arms controlling my motion as I tip forward.

  There are hands immediately on my bottom as I straddle him, my mouth toying with his, my hands tugging and pulling on his hair, great big chunks of it between my fingers.

  I’m loath to take my mouth from his but I need to breathe him in. I lean down to kiss his throat and inhale his masculine scent, the smell of home and happiness. I feel safe when I’m surrounded by him. Too safe. I’m so small and soft in comparison to him but I absolutely can’t get enough of feeling like I’m his plaything, his little princess.

  He throws me onto my back and pins me down, sucking my tight nipples, then my throat. There’s a moment where I believe he’s about to penetrate me, but I’m celebrating all too soon, I realise, as his lips travel elsewhere over my body, his kisses soft and gentle on my stomach, my inner thighs, then my arms, surprisingly. His soft beard brushes against my skin, driving me wild for him. I spread my legs open, encouraging him, displaying how ready I am for him. I can also see how ready he is, the veins in his cock bulging, his skin incredibly taut, barely containing the fire beneath.

  “Ruben…”

  “I know, I know…” His voice is barely a whisper.

  My entire body strains against the need to come when he flicks his tongue gently over my clit, only twice, but pleasurably enough that I know only a few more tender licks would bring me yelling to a piercing, swift crisis. He laughs when I grumble and bites into my mound, making me curse like a trucker.

  Maddening!

  So, he’s in this type of mood again, huh? Let’s see where he goes with it…

  For his next trick, he lies beside me and pulls me into position to be spooned. His arms encircle me and his lips travel across my shoulder blades. Perhaps he wants to relive last night. It was wonderful. However, I’d like to have him on top this time, his weight pressing down on me, his cock buried deep inside me as he kisses and holds my body to his. I need only that tonight—him in my arms as he plunges into me.

  He rocks his hips against my backside and I begin to envision him taking me in a way nobody ever has before. In the past there’s never been the time nor the patience for that… nor the uninhibited demand from me for them to do it. I’d quite happily let Ruben take me any way he wants to… but I’m still curious as to how we’d manage it, nonetheless.

  He puts his hands on my breasts and squeezes tight, the noises he’s making letting me know he’s ready and raring to go—but for some reason, he’s still holding back. I’m a sure thing now, he knows that, right? I’m in love with him and I’m ready for him, whenever he wants me, because I love the very marrow inside of him. I’ll always want him.

  His hand glides towards the apex of my thighs and a finger presses lightly over my clit. My body becomes rigid with fear. I’m afraid I’ll come too easily, or that he’ll take his touch away again before I can feel anything akin to a proper orgasm, but just enough so that I’m left gagging for more.

  I’m justified in my fear when he takes his touch away again a second later. Instead, he puts my hand on his cock and groans when I squeeze my fingers around him, testing his endurance. Still, he holds back as I give him what I’d saw my own leg off for right now. He doesn’t come even though I’m gripping and stroking the whole length of him, teasing the end of his cock every time, just how he likes. I stroke and manipulate his balls too, just enough to make his eyes roll into the back of his head.

  I roll onto my side to face him and continue stroking him with one hand as I hold his jaw with my other. “Wouldn’t you like me to suck you, Ruben? Until you come? Juicy and thick, sliding down my throat?”

  “Yes,” he groans.

  I shift down the bed and sink my mouth over him without a second thought. I can taste the salt of impending orgasm and the testosterone of pent-up energy inside him. His skin is divine under my tongue and lips. I would suck on him all day if it didn’t hurt to continually hold my jaw open.

  Failing to bring him off, I lift my eyes to his and narrow them. “What’s going on? You’re moaning like a bastard and still not coming…”

  “Release your hair,” he asks, and I do so, letting down my topknot. I let it fall over my shoulders and caress my naked skin. He reaches out his hand to stroke it before tugging on the back of my neck, encouraging my mouth on him again.

  As I suck him off once more, my hair spills over his groin and he spreads it out, so it’s like a curtain all around my face and he can no longer see my mouth rising up and down on him, just the mass of my hair spilling across his hips and lower stomach.

  He twists locks of my hair between his fingers and groans, “I came in the bathroom, just before. I can go all night now, if you like.”

  I look up into his face, my hair parting. “Utter bastard.”

  He laughs loudly and doesn’t even attempt to apologise for his lack of gentlemanly behaviour. Beast. Foul, depraved git…

  God, I love him.

  Wetter than I’ve ever been, I crawl over his body and pin him down, furious he’s been doing things behind my back like pleasuring himself—then he comes in here and denies me my own fun at every turn.

  I wait until his cock pops up into position and then I sink down onto him, letting the tight walls of my dissatisfied cunt swallow him whole. I grin down on him, feeling victorious. His restr
aint fracturing, he grabs a hold of my hips to control me instead of letting me have my freedom.

  We tussle for a minute or two before he sits up and grabs both of my wrists together, securing them behind my back with just one of his holding both of them hostage. He’s stronger than I will ever be.

  While he’s busy sucking my nipple, I’m given a minute to bounce on him with wild abandon, my hair swaying behind me, my head thrown back, the heat and tightness between my legs like an ocean of calm unsettledness, a paradox trapped in one tiny space deep inside of me. His free hand maps the curves of my hips and waist, my bum and my thighs. When I’m almost there, he pulls me so close I can’t ride him anymore, and so instead I kiss him violently and work my pelvic floor around him, warning of danger to come if he doesn’t play ball.

  Ruben isn’t deterred. He licks the valley between my breasts and holds me steady so I still can’t move. His hand seems to be all over me, moving across my body at speed, leaving imprints that never seem to wane.

  “My woman,” he growls. “Mine.”

  “Ruben, please… I’m dying.” Just a little press of his thumb to my clit… just a tiny thrust inside me. Anything he’d like to do… would be most welcome. As long as he does it NOW.

  He allows me to move over his lap slowly and I groan with every stroke of him inside me. He gradually allows me to build up the rhythm and the depth of his penetration.

  But always, just as I’m near to peaking, he reels me in and makes me kiss him… sucks my nipples… strokes his hands over sweaty, tired limbs as I fight this searing, almost painful yearning buried so deep inside of me, I’m close to tears just because it feels like they might soothe me where Ruben’s refusing to. Whatever it is I’m feeling, I need it to be out, and crying might just be the only way he’ll let me relieve myself right now.

  Suddenly his hands are on my arse and he’s swinging me back and forth. I’m clutching his shoulders, head thrown back, his lips on my tits one minute, throat the next. My eyes are closed, my focus absolute. I’m determined not to let him see I’m coming until it’s too late for him to do anything about it.