So he told her how he’d first met Lindsey when he was twenty and she was nineteen. She was also studying law and they met at a party. Like him, she was there on a scholarship—she came from one of the roughest parts of London and there was no way her parents would have been able to afford to send her to university, but she was so bright that she’d aced every exam she sat and the school had arranged for her to go to Oxford.
He described how beautiful she’d been, with her shining dark hair and the way she lit up a room with her smile. How he couldn’t believe she’d fallen for him, and when she suggested they move in together, he’d taken a whole second to say yes.
They’d had two wonderful years, and they’d planned their futures together—talked about where they were going to live, how many kids they’d have. He honestly thought he’d be with her forever.
And then she died. He told Coco about the moment when the phone had rung—he’d had a couple of mates around to watch the football, and all the while her parents were telling him the horrendous news, his mates were cheering in the background.
He tried to tell Coco how he felt when he heard the news, but at that point he had to stop.
She reached out and took his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
He drew a long breath and let it out slowly. “It’s not been easy.”
“Of course it hasn’t. You were in love, and she sounds so nice. She was a very lucky woman to have you feeling so strongly about her.”
“I didn’t sleep with anyone else for two years,” he said, wanting to explain. “Part of me never wanted to sleep with anyone else ever again, but I’d moved back here and my family were worried about me. Toby—that’s my youngest brother—fixed me up on a date, and I didn’t want to go, but he bullied me into it and I suppose I was glad he did, ultimately. I felt guilty for weeks afterward, but eventually I realised life has to go on.”
She nodded. “I’m sure Lindsey wouldn’t have wanted you to stay single.”
“She would have laughed her head off at the thought of me being celibate,” he said wryly. “I was pretty insatiable when I was younger.”
Coco raised her eyebrows. “But not now?”
“Well, when I get the chance.” He grinned.
“But you haven’t met anyone else you want to share your life with?”
He met her gaze and smiled. “Not yet.”
Her green eyes were clear, but he couldn’t see through the glassy windows to her thoughts. What was she thinking? Was she aware of how attracted to her he was? He hadn’t felt this comfortable in a woman’s presence for a long time. Maybe it was just because he hadn’t slept with anyone for a long while, but every time he got near her, all his senses felt heightened. He could smell her flowery perfume, something nice and light, making him think of summer. Her pale skin looked flawless, although she had a scattering of freckles across her nose. Her hair, now tumbling around her shoulders, looked like satin ribbons that would curl through his fingers. He wanted to kiss her again. The last time had only been a touch of lips, and he wanted to taste her, to press himself up against her, to possess her.
He sipped his merlot. “So what about you?”
“What about me?” She twirled her glass in her fingers.
“Why are you still single at twenty-seven? You’re beautiful, clever. I’m sure you could have any man you wanted.”
“I don’t think so.” She lowered her eyes.
He studied her for a moment. “When was the last time you dated?”
She scratched at a mark on the glass. “I went out with a guy when I was twenty-one and we dated for three years. I haven’t been out with anyone since.”
“You haven’t been on a date for three years?” He stared at her.
She gave him a playful look. “Now you know how honoured you are.”
“I am. Jeez. Why not? Opportunity?”
She nibbled her bottom lip. “Not really. Well, yes, in a way—I stopped going out and socialising so I don’t tend to meet many men who aren’t involved at the office.”
He picked up on her words. “Why did you stop going out? Was this after you broke up with…”
“Michael. And yes.” She fell silent. She obviously wasn’t going to venture more details unless he prodded, but somehow he got the feeling she wanted to talk about it.
“What was he like?”
She continued to nibble her lip. Felix tried not to stare at it and think of something other than kissing her.
“He was nice enough. He worked in finance. We met at church. I stopped going regularly when I was about fourteen after Dad died, but Mum goes every Sunday and I met him when I was taking her there one week.” She sighed. “Mum’s parents were strict Catholics, and so’s she. I went to a Catholic girls’ school, and I was very, very shy. I didn’t make many friends, and unfortunately I was one of those students who didn’t rebel and go to parties and have a great time.”
He returned her wry smile.
She continued, “I went to secretarial college for a year and then got the job at McAllister Dell. But I was still very shy. I didn’t date anyone until I met Michael.” She lowered her gaze, hiding her thoughts from him again. There was something she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it because she was carrying on. “I was very naïve back then. We didn’t have lessons on the facts of life at school and Mum would never talk about that sort of thing. I only knew what I’d picked up from the other girls, which wasn’t much.”
“Girls don’t talk like guys, I guess,” he said.
“They would sometimes, but I never really understood what they were saying. No frame of reference, you know? Anyway, I met Michael and we dated for a while. And eventually we slept together.” She chewed her lip again.
Felix waited patiently for her to continue, sipping his wine. Eventually he prompted, “It wasn’t what you expected?”
She looked across at the fire, the warm light playing across her pale face. “In the beginning it was okay. I suppose it was how I thought it would be. It was only as time went by that things started going wrong. I guess that, well, we just weren’t sexually compatible, you know?”
Felix filled with pity. He could imagine how difficult it had been for the virtuous Catholic schoolgirl who knew nothing about sex to deal with the demands of a guy who grew tired of the attractions of naivety and innocence. Now she looked embarrassed, and his heart went out to her.
“It’s okay,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “It happens. And there’s nothing wrong with saying no if there are things your partner wants to do that you’re not comfortable with. You shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to.”
She looked back at him, and to his surprise a hint of mischievousness flittered across her face. “Um, I think you’ve got the wrong idea. It was me who wanted to be more adventurous in bed. That’s where it all went wrong.”
Chapter Sixteen
Coco couldn’t help but giggle at the look on Felix’s face. His eyes had widened and now his lips gradually began to curve as he realised what she was saying.
“Hmm,” he said, tipping his head and eyeing her with newfound interest.
She sipped her wine, letting his imagination work for a while. She knew she should stop drinking, but for once she was enjoying being slightly tipsy and relaxed in a good-looking man’s company.
Okay, she had to admit it—good-looking was rather underselling him at the moment. Felix Hotshot Fancy Pants was probably the most gorgeous guy she’d ever laid eyes on. When she’d walked into the bar and spotted him leaning on the counter, smiling as he waited for her to see him, she’d inhaled so quickly and deeply that her head had spun.
He wore jeans and a soft navy V-necked sweater over a white T-shirt that brought out how tanned his skin was compared to her pale complexion. He’d run his hands through his usually smoothed-down hair and now it looked ruffled and sexy. She’d thought he looked good in his suit—and a smart suit on a gorgeous guy took some beating—but
the casual gear suited him, and he looked like a model for a clothing company.
She’d really enjoyed the last few hours. He’d listened attentively when she talked, not looked once at other women, even though one had walked past with a skirt up to her panties and her chest on display for all to see, and he genuinely seemed interested in what she had to say.
Now, however, she hesitated to relinquish more details, aware they were on the verge of stepping from the general conversation of friends to something more intimate. She’d never spoken about what happened with Michael, not with Amy, certainly not with her mother, and it didn’t seem right to confess all to a guy she’d only just met.
And yet he leaned toward her, propping his head with a hand on the back of the seat, smelling good enough to eat—of fresh clothes and manly aftershave and that lovely warm muffin aroma that told her he’d nipped into Bella’s again on the way to his hotel room. His chest was only inches from her arm—she could almost feel the heat from his body, maybe just an inch closer than a good friend would sit, telling her that he was enjoying the intimacy they were sharing. And he was looking at her with fascination, clearly wanting more information, and men so rarely looked at her that way that she couldn’t keep silent.
She studied her glass, sobering a little as she remembered the details. “In the beginning it was okay,” she started. “Not magical, like you see in the movies, all ripping off each other’s clothes and everything, but nice enough. Then, as the months started to go by, I began to realise that we weren’t…um…progressing, shall we say.”
She risked a glimpse up. His smile had faded, and his expression showed curiosity mixed with sympathy, as if he was trying very hard to understand. Up this close, she could see the slight hint of a five o’clock shadow—her fingers would scrape against it, should she touch his cheek.
“When you say ‘we weren’t progressing’, do you mean emotionally or physically?”
“Both I suppose, although I meant more physically. It became clear that he wasn’t really interested in sex.” She frowned. “No, that’s not strictly true. I think he was, but it was like…he thought there was something wrong with liking it, you know?”
Felix didn’t say anything, a frown flickering on his brow.
“It was like…we always did missionary, and if we tried anything else, and he enjoyed it, he felt bad afterward. He’d withdraw from me emotionally. And I don’t just mean the old ‘I’m going to roll over and go to sleep’, I mean he’d get up and walk off, and wouldn’t speak to me for hours.”
Felix’s frown deepened. “You think that was something to do with his religion? That sex should be carried out to procreate rather than to enjoy, or something?”
“I don’t think so.” She couldn’t quite believe she was discussing this with him, but he was so easy to talk to. Maybe that was why he made such a successful lawyer, because his clients found him easy to open up to. Or maybe she was just relieved to find someone willing to listen. “I’ve thought about it a lot over the last few years, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he was abused when he was younger. He wouldn’t discuss sex with me. It got worse and worse. I began to get frustrated—I think I sensed it was strange that not only would he not experiment, but he started to get angry with me if I suggested it. He made me feel…” Her cheeks grew warm. “Dirty. Like there was something wrong with me.”
Felix’s smile disappeared completely, his expression hardening. “That’s incredible, in this day and age.”
“I suppose.” A wave of relief swept over her. He understood—he agreed. It wasn’t her. “And because I couldn’t talk about it to anyone, I put up with it for ages. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me, that I was perverted or something for wanting to try something different, for liking sex. I mean I’m not talking about swinging from the chandeliers or anything, but he wouldn’t even…” She hesitated.
Felix studied her and then, to her surprise, reached up a hand to warm her cheek. “Wouldn’t what? You can tell me.”
She rested her cheek in his palm for a moment and closed her eyes, enjoying the human contact, the warmth of his hand on her skin. Then she opened her eyes and he dropped his hand. “He didn’t even like kissing. He’d turn his head away.” She could hear her voice growing husky as emotion flooded her, so she stopped and took a big gulp of wine.
“Did he give you orgasms every time you had sex?” he asked.
She flushed warm. Orgasms? What a joke. Again, the height of pleasure had become something to be embarrassed and nervous about, until she’d hardly come at all.
But all she said was, “Occasionally. Very occasionally.”
Felix released a long, slow breath, and she wondered what he was thinking.
“Are you wondering why I stayed with him so long?” she asked softly. He said nothing, and she knew she was right. “It’s very difficult to explain. You must have had the same sort of thing in the past with your family law—where women continue to stay in abusive relationships. It’s easy to think they’re weak—that they don’t value themselves, but it’s not like that.”
He shifted in his seat, moving a fraction closer to her. Now his arm where it lay along the back of the seat touched her shoulders, his thigh brushing hers. If anyone looked over, they’d think they were a couple, she thought. His presence comforted her. She felt safe in the circle of his arm, protected somehow. How different would her life have been if it had been Felix and not Michael whom she’d dated all those years ago?
“I’d like to understand,” he said.
She looked down at his chest, concentrating on the weave of his sweater. “You think it’s you,” she said. “That you’re at fault. Deep down, you’re sure it’s not you, but when someone constantly makes you feel that way, it’s hard to fight it. With me, although I watched the odd movie where the woman made the first move and both the guy and girl seemed to enjoy sex, often in this world women are made to feel somehow wrong for liking it. Or, alternatively, many women take the stand that there’s something disgusting about liking sex, and they act superior, as if we should all feel the same. I mean the rise of modern erotic romance novels has somehow brought it more into the open—that many women enjoy sex and want to try other things and that it’s okay to be like that. But there’s no doubt that a good proportion of the female population look down on those who like reading erotic stories, insisting it’s pornography, that it’s demeaning to enjoy role-playing or being tied up or whatever—that it’s somehow encouraging men to abuse their partners. Maybe that’s the case, I don’t know. All I know is, I don’t feel like that, and eventually I knew I had to get out of that relationship.”
It was a long speech, and she finished slightly breathless with the effort of trying to make him understand. “Sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“Rabbiting on.”
He smiled. “You know where that comes from?”
“What?”
“Rabbiting. It’s Cockney. Rabbit and pork—talk.”
“I never knew that!”
He laughed. “Anyway, it’s good. I meant what I said—I want to understand.” He finished off his glass of wine, placed it on the table and considered her thoughtfully. “All relationships are about control to a certain extent, even friendships. The best are those where the control is equal, or where you can explore controlling each other in a safe environment by, as you say, using role-play or whatever. The problems come when one half gets off on controlling the other, and it takes over.”
“I guess.”
“All dating is a game. It’s like being dancers, or ice skaters, circling one another. You look for the signs, hoping you don’t misread them and get it all wrong. We’ve all done it. I had my face slapped at school.”
She giggled. “Really?”
“I was sixteen. I chatted up this pretty girl and I thought she was giving me all the signs, so I tried to kiss her. Turns out I was wrong. It’s not easy.”
“No, it’s not.�
� She smiled, and then bit her lip. She felt embarrassed about asking, about being so forward, but curiosity—and the several glasses of wine she’d had—prompted her to be brave. “So, what’s your view on women and sex then? What do you like your girls to do in bed? Michael hated me taking the initiative. He disliked role-playing or talking dirty or swearing or anything like that. What do you think about it?”
Felix’s lips curved. “Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“I love women taking the initiative. I don’t think anything two people want to do in bed is wrong, providing it’s consensual. I think pornography is in the eye of the beholder, so to speak—what’s sexy for one person is pornographic for another, and I think it’s a matter of luck almost, to find someone who feels the same way you do. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with looking at the naked body, and I think it’s perfectly normal to get turned on watching other people having sex.”
“Oh.” If she could widen her eyes any more, she knew her eyeballs would pop out.
“And I don’t see why that should be any different for women than for men,” he continued. “You’ve probably already worked out my view on that, but I believe in total equality. Are men stronger than women? Yes, and it’s fun to explore that sometimes. Are there other differences in the sexes? Yes, although whether the majority are nature or nurture, it’s sometimes hard to tell. But should women feel differently about sex than men? No, of course not! Why should they? Monogamy only came about when mankind developed farming and ownership of land began to be passed to one’s children—at that point it became important for a man to know the children he was giving his hard-earned land to were his own.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I never thought of it like that.”
He shrugged. “The last few thousand years have done a lot of damage to women and their place in society. That’s one reason I enjoy doing what I do. I hope I can rectify that, even if it’s only to a very tiny extent.”
She nibbled her bottom lip. “So you think it’s okay for women to suggest different things in bed, then?”
Five Exotic Fantasies: Love in Reverse, Book 3 Page 10