Bad Girl

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  I finish my dinner and he asks, “Do you want pudding or should we get the bill?”

  “I’m happy to make a stop on the way home.”

  “Okay.”

  “Cole, I was going to pa—” I’m trying to protest, when he’s already heading for the bar with his wallet out.

  When he comes back to the table and helps me out of my seat, I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, meaning every moment of it. I push my body tight to his and grab his hair, devour him, drag him as close to me as possible.

  When I pull away, he’s beaming with pride and happiness… and the other guys in here are suddenly shaking out some kind of malady as they walk around.

  “Let’s fucking go,” he says, taking my hand.

  “Yes.”

  What is love? I ask myself, as Cole and I sit snacking on chocolate and crisps in front of the TV in my cosy little, sparsely decorated living room. How have I gone from leaving him in Oz to this? From feeling as though I didn’t love him, to now knowing that I unequivocally do, always have, always will. Is love a madness that overcomes you suddenly? Or does it hang in the background most of the time and it only rears its head once distance makes the heart grow fonder?

  What must he think of me, really? With my unfinished business and my new life here. Does he believe I will come and live with him, or is he living by a wing and a prayer?

  This house, rented though it is, has taken effort. I had to buy the couch and though I got it second-hand and cheap, it was a purchase I made because I thought I’d be living here for a while and would need something to sit on if I ever did get time to relax (tonight is one of a handful of times in the past few months I’ve actually been able to lie back and relax in front of the TV).

  And the TV? I’d had that in the loft of my mother’s place alongside old boxes of books and university papers. There are few things in this house that actually say I mean to stay, and the pathetic little row of books on the shelf above the TV definitely tells people I don’t really have what it takes to commit. Most of the things I read are on my tablet or phone and I’ve never loved books enough to finger them in passing, smell them and re-read them, again and again and again – like Theo or Lily would. Because they’re obviously the committed sort.

  The appliances all came with the house so I didn’t need to buy those. Well, I have an air fryer that I’ve been using recently but I could easily part with that at a charity shop.

  The built-in wardrobes upstairs were handy and the only other big things I bought for this house were a bed, a nightstand and a desk, shelves and chair for the office. I got all of it cheap, too. I think Cole knows that because he tosses in bed at night, unable to get comfy on my £200 mattress with his 200lb bulk.

  There is little I would leave behind if I agreed to move to Australia and be with him. I lived with him out there for two years, quite happily parted from most of my possessions, my friends back home, my mother and my career. We rarely spent a night apart, except the time after the threesome with a woman which I hadn’t enjoyed. I was mad at him for that because we hadn’t discussed it beforehand. I felt like he’d set it up with a view to making me jealous. It hadn’t even bothered me when he rolled on a condom and stuffed himself into another woman right in front of me. Perhaps it was because we were high that I wasn’t bothered, or perhaps it was because he wasn’t fighting for me. He was trying to get my attention, but he wasn’t fighting for me. I disappeared for a couple of days with my phone off and came back to find him panicked and bloodshot. I’d left him a note saying I needed some time – but he’d obviously worried I was going to need a lot more time – like maybe I was leaving him. I never told him why that threesome bothered me, and it’s only now I look back that I can see why it did. With hindsight, I know the threesome bothered me because he’d arranged it without my permission, but also because he didn’t know me well enough to know that I’ve never fancied women. Ever. I know some of my friends have. I haven’t. When she was licking my pussy, I had to imagine she was a man. So sue me if that makes me frozen solid or something. She was pretty, I suppose, but I wasn’t interested. Perhaps Cole had wanted to get back at me for asking him for a threesome with a man. He’d agreed to that. I hadn’t forced him into it. I hadn’t bullied or mithered or any of that. I’d asked and he’d simply said yes. I wanted a threesome because just once, I wanted to know what it felt like to be full front and back. That’s all. And I was full front and back for a night. And it was unforgettable and I did leave it there and was happy to. I was happy for that to be that. It wasn’t about getting off on another man. It was just about having something extraordinary for a night. Just sex. Nothing else. Just my pleasure, for myself, nobody else. My pleasure. Cole and the guy I picked, George were strangers but I’d met George at one of my jobs helping muck out animal shelters. I didn’t make them kiss or anything. I didn’t even kiss George on the lips. One of the hottest things was when George was licking my clit and Cole had his cock in my mouth. As much as you can love someone and want them, sometimes you just want what is physically impossible with just one person.

  They were the only two instances during our entire time in Australia where other people were involved in our relationship. Yes, we’d shagged around in London when things were crazy and everything was up in the air, but somehow things changed when we made a commitment to spend time together in Oz and travel around. So just when did it get complicated again? When did I lose my impulse to be with him? Was it before I found out Adam was separated, or was it after? Am I sick in the head to have come back to England without him? What the fuck am I doing with my life? I keep trying to remember Theo’s words about how men show they love you rather than always say it. He’s sitting with me, rubbing my feet and occasionally laughing at the show we’re watching. Cole and I always watch comedy together. One of our favourites is Chris Lilley. Not everyone likes comedy, and sometimes partners don’t even like the same brand of comedy, but Cole and I have always shared the same sense of humour. We appreciate blatant human idiocies put on display and the dumb things people get caught up in. We’re the same person in many ways. All I’d say is that he’s highly logical whereas I’m a little more emotional, I just try very hard to hide it. So the fact that I’ve had him here with me, crying and telling me he loves me, it’s astounded me. Have I broken him? Did he break himself?

  I am going out of my mind wondering if I came back to England purely to see if Adam wanted to get back together, and now that he doesn’t, have I gone back to my second option?

  I don’t want Cole to be my second option. I want him to be my first option, my only option – because I couldn’t imagine a life with anyone else. I want to forget Adam even exists.

  I don’t want Adam.

  He comes with baggage. He comes with problems and complications.

  Besides, people don’t tend to stay together if they met in school and fell in love that way. It’s a low percentage of people who marry their childhood sweetheart, stay with them, love them and bear their children – then also last the distance. I’m a lawyer, I know these things.

  But there’s something deep inside me. Something that was crushed when Adam looked at me that night… that shame… it has never left me. Ever. That shame only began to leave me after perhaps the first year of Oz. Maybe it was being displaced and busily living my life that helped, or maybe it was Cole’s love, which evidently, he’s always been free with – I just didn’t know it. So how did I downgrade the shame? Or is it just a more distant memory now? That old adage, that time heals all, or whatever.

  I feel it, still. That look. Paul’s reaction to catching us.

  I never got over it. I never will.

  I distanced myself from Adam after that and he never made an effort to chase me. I knew there was a reason behind his lack of effort to come after me. I felt at the time it was because he thought I was a slag, but now, I wonder if there wasn’t more to it. Maybe something was going on in Adam’s life that could account
for Paul’s disapproving look. I don’t know. I feel like I need to know. And at the same time, I hate myself for needing to know. It’s old, old news after all. Having Cole ought to be enough. He’s gorgeous. He makes mistakes the same as the rest of us, but I do love him and I want to have children with him. He’d be a wonderful father and husband, I just know it.

  The problem is, I’ve been friends with Adam since I was eleven years old. We have so much history. And when we used to fuck, there was so much light in his eyes, I was sure he loved me. I can’t get over it. Any of it. I have to know if there was something… I have to say goodbye to him if I’m going to make it work with Cole. I have to face whatever may be the truth. I have to find out whether any kind of future would have been possible with Adam. I can’t move on until I’ve exhausted all my options.

  “I’m heading to bed, I think,” I murmur, leaning over to kiss Cole on the cheek.

  “I’ll be up soon,” he says, tossing an M&M in his mouth. “I’ll just watch this to the end.”

  “Okay. Make sure you do otherwise your sleep patterns will be screwed up.”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  I’m exhausted. I’ve been at work today. I’ve been worrying about all kinds of things. I’ve been fucked all afternoon, so hard, I fell into a coma afterwards. And I’ve had to face the truth in front of the man I love:

  The reason I came back was another man.

  And yet, Cole still came chasing after me, finally.

  He actually came.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I wake in the night for the toilet and get back into bed, realising I must have passed out earlier and didn’t even hear Cole come up. He’s lying on his back with his head turned to the side, fast asleep, just his bare shoulders poking out above the duvet. I pulled on a vest for bed and I’m still wearing my white knickers – the lace ones Cole adores.

  I shift across the bed and lift his arm, resting my cheek on his chest and tucking myself around him, his arms shifting in sleep to hold me.

  “Love you, baby,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead.

  “Love you.”

  I shut my eyes and try to return to sleep but the more I try, the more I’m aware of him. His breathing has changed and he’s not sleeping now either, his body hyper aware of mine.

  I stroke my hand along his tattooed bicep, his tribal tattoo representing his love of the ocean and the beach. His tattoo and his eyes were the first two things that attracted me to him.

  My clit is tingling and I’m warm now, too – almost too warm for the winter duvet, even though it is the middle of January. Our legs are starting to stick together because he’s hot, as well.

  His huge bicep is flexed as he holds onto me tight and I bite into his muscle, needing to taste and feel all that testosterone, that strength. I lick across his tattoo and trail my kisses along his shoulder next, then his neck – at this point he groans – then I’m kissing his chest, his nipple, then the other one, the one that’s pierced. He gives a little moan when I take the piercing between my teeth and tug a little. I run my hand down his thick abdominals and catch my fingernails in his pubic hair, tugging and twisting, toying with him. Finally, when my hand brushes against his cock, I discover him rock hard, his balls risen and full.

  Pushing the covers away, I make him naked and he grins at me as I slide down the bed to lick his cock, taking my time. I lick the length of him from all sides, then give attention to his balls. I suck them one at a time and he almost flies up off the bed but stops himself. I watch him, his fists clenched, teeth gnashing, the ropes of muscles in his arms tense and glistening with sweat.

  I pull the head of his delicious member into my mouth, sucking and twirling my tongue around his glans, drawing his precum into my throat. When he tips his head back, I know he’s close so I remove my mouth.

  “Naughty boy.”

  I climb astride him and I’m about to remove the vest when he asks, “Leave it on.”

  He sits up and pulls me close, sealing his mouth over mine and kissing me deeply. “You taste like cock.”

  “Funny, so do you,” I say, laughing.

  He chuckles and grabs my breast, rubbing and squeezing. I know my breasts are his favourite thing. They’re not particularly big but he’s always told me how fond of my nipples he is and that a C-cup is perfect for him. He loves my pointy pink nipples and he would happily play with them all day.

  I’m shocked and delighted when he starts sucking my breast over my thin white vest, my boobs heavy with desire and shockingly tight on my chest already, without him doing what he’s doing.

  He stops and I wonder what he’s doing, and when I look down, I see he’s admiring his work – my wet shirt showing my nipple through it. I put my hands around his neck and rock back and forth along his cock, so aroused and ready for him.

  He does the same with the other nipple and it’s obscene, my breasts are practically naked. He makes a grab for his phone and takes a picture of my breasts with the flash on.

  “That’ll keep me going,” he growls, right before yanking a breast out of the top of the vest so that it just hangs on the seam of my top, pointing right at his mouth. He sucks my nipple hard, then licks furiously over my bud, circling, then flicking.

  I can’t take it anymore. I reach back and wrap my hands around my ankles, throwing myself back and forth along his length, my knickers still in place. He watches me, still sucking, my other breast now squashed alongside the other as he slaps them, then kisses them, licking and sucking until I come in my knickers, his cock head pushing against my clit just enough to send me over the edge.

  Panting and delirious, I have no idea what’s happening next, except that I’m quickly relieved of my vest and thrown on the bed, his weight pressing down on top of me. He pulls my knickers to the side and growls as he fills me full, his tongue in my mouth, his muscles all over his body bulging with the effort it’s taking to control his urge to come.

  “Why don’t you get it waxed like you used to?” he asks, out of breath and kissing my throat.

  “You want me bald?”

  “I want to dine off you. And I want to see your beautiful pussy bald, yes. It excites a man. It’s wrong, I know, but it excites a man.”

  I grab his buttock and admit, “It excites me, too. It feels wonderful when I finger myself. It’s so silky.”

  “Yes, fuck, we’re booking you in,” he growls.

  “If you promise to get your sack and crack done? Then maybe…” I wriggle my eyebrows and he plants his hands firmly in the bed, levering himself so he can fuck me with deep plunges, my body completely his.

  “Yes, fuck, you’ll tongue my arse, like before?”

  “I’ll fuck your arse, if you like?”

  “What?” he growls.

  “Lily was telling me how. She did it to Theo. He really, really liked it. Something about his prostate… it gets really wet, you know. Did you know that?”

  “Hell, fuck!” he yells, plunging into me thick and fast.

  I hold on tight and bite his nipple again. He keeps pounding me until it sounds fucking wrong, my body accepting his all too willingly for a man so endowed and strong.

  He comes inside me and I reach down to finger my clit. He watches me and continues rocking into my body, the grin on his face a picture as I tense around him several times, his groans telling me he’s leaking just a little more because of my orgasms.

  We’re knackered but we roll together, a mess of bodies. Of arms and legs, tired, floppy hands and feet, weary souls and messy hair.

  Then we start laughing hard, from the gut, unable to stop ourselves. I laugh hard into his chest while he grips my hair and laughs into the side of my head.

  “You’re really gonna fuck me up the arse?”

  “You really just came to thoughts of Theo being fucked up the arse?”

  He chuckles loudly and we settle into the pillows, my leg wrapped over him, claiming him. He holds me to his chest and sighs.

  “I cam
e to thoughts of you making me come out of my arse,” he growls.

  I titter. “Really?”

  “Nah, I came because you want to fuck me up the arse, and also because your body was gripping my cock from all sides and I’ve now got that dirty picture on my phone which will not be deleted.”

  “Well, I’m going to need a picture in exchange. Definitely after we’ve been to the spa for all our treatments and got pretty, methinks.”

  He nuzzles my hair and kisses my cheek. “Lily sounds pretty fucking wild.”

  “I know, she always has been. Everyone thought I was, but nobody has anything on her. She’s done it in public places you wouldn’t even imagine.”

  “I love sex, I reaaaaallly love sex,” he says, “but it’s just sex, you know?”

  “I know,” I agree.

  “There’s more here, don’t you think?”

  I lift myself up on his chest, my breasts pressed to his pecs, the cold piercing brushing against my tender nipple.

  “There’s more,” I agree, and lean down to give him a long and tender but sensual, deep and meaningful kiss. “But I would, if you wanted?”

  “I like the licking,” he says, “and a bit of fingering. The rest, not bothered with.”

  I smile so wide my face hurts. “You don’t know until you try it.”