Bad Girl

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  Then his face changes and I’m staring, wondering what he’s hiding.

  “Cole, what’s that look?”

  “An ex tried pegging me in the past. I didn’t like it. It’s just not for me. That’s all there is to it.”

  “You never said!”

  “You never asked.”

  I frown and play with his hair, knowing he’s watching me as I stare at his mouth.

  “What if Theo doesn’t like it, but he’s saying he does, just for Lily’s sake?” I suggest, enjoying his hands on my bum.

  “He could be, but it’d be pretty hard to hide if he didn’t like it. It’s not… well, you know yourself, when it’s not going well, you can’t… you know, pretend it’s all good when it isn’t.”

  “Oh god, yeah.”

  The first time me and Cole tried anal sex, it was really difficult and we tried and tried, but couldn’t do it. That’s kind of why I roped in George. I’d imagined, by the law of averages, he was going to be smaller than Cole. But it actually turned out that George was just as big and I actually needed the weed to relax me, which it did. Not that I am a regular imbiber, I’m not, but sometimes if you want something bad enough you make it happen by whatever means necessary.

  Since George, Cole and I have had anal sex a handful of times, and only the last few times I did it without weed – because we got to a point where we’d learnt what worked for us.

  “What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?” I ask him, urging him to be honest.

  “The other night,” he smiles, “when I first got here. That was awesome.”

  “It really was.”

  “And for you?” he asks.

  “Tonight,” I tell him, smiling.

  “Tonight?” he exclaims, eyes wide.

  “Tonight.”

  “How come?”

  I smile into his eyes and brush a kiss across his lips. “Because this is the most honest we’ve ever been with each other.”

  “She’s a romantic, after all,” he murmurs, brushing the hair off my face.

  “It’s a problem,” I admit, sliding down until I’m back inside his arms, my face cushioned against his chest.

  “It’s a wonderful problem,” he says, kissing my cheek, “and I love you very much.”

  “I love you, too.” Maybe more than I realise.

  A couple of days later, he’s driving me to a mystery location, because apparently that’s what couples do when they’re in love. They take one another to mystery locations. They also put themselves on your insurance just so that they can drive you someplace special and mystical.

  When the sign for Oulton Hall comes into view, my stomach flips and I cringe in a way that’s unmistakable. When he sees my face, he asks, “What? Didn’t you say you wanted to come to the spa?”

  “Yeah, it’s just… this is a bit expensive.”

  “If I can’t spend my money on my girl…” He frowns. “Come on, Chloe.”

  “Okay, yes, you’re right. Sorry.”

  He drives on, ignoring me, and I turn my head to take a deep breath when he’s not looking.

  He couldn’t have known. I didn’t ever tell him about me and Adam. He doesn’t even know Adam was getting married. I’ve kept the two of them apart. It was easy, really. Adam was busy with his Susan and never hung out with me and Cole. True, Adam is the ghost in our relationship we never talk about, acknowledge or accept, but he’s there, always.

  He couldn’t have known, right? This is where Adam got fucking married.

  Cole grabs our bags from the boot of the car. I wasn’t even allowed to pack. Cole was waiting up for me this morning after another night of epic catch-up sleep, having already packed and arranged everything for a little break away for us.

  We’re walking across the gravel to the entrance when I joke, “You didn’t book the bridal suite?”

  He laughs hard. “No!”

  He blatantly doesn’t get what it is I’m insinuating and carries on with our luggage, reaching for my hand and for me to catch up to his brisk pace.

  “We’re having lunch first,” he says, “and then, well, wait and see.”

  We get checked in and our luggage is taken away for us. I don’t see what room we’re staying in or any of that. He slots the room cards in his back pocket and gives the receptionist a conspiratorial smile.

  “Why did you book this place?” I ask, as we’re walking towards the restaurant hand in hand.

  “It came up on a Google search, why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  We arrive in the restaurant and everyone is pretty much dressed the same as us – in their casual jeans and sweaters, boots and warm jackets, scarfs and hats. I feel like I’m peeling off several layers when we’re shown to our table and seated.

  “Is this okay, then?” he asks, looking so handsome in his thick sweater, his dark-blonde hair messy on top and shaved at the sides, his eyes piercingly green, his smile shining.

  “Anywhere’s okay as long as I’m with you,” I decide, because maybe I can cope with this if he’s here.

  “We’re having a light lunch and then we’ve got a few treatments. They don’t wax here,” he says, grimacing, “but actually, I think, that would hamper us anyway, wouldn’t it? We’d have to wait for it to, you know…”

  He means for the redness and soreness to go down.

  Two glasses of crisp white wine are delivered, alongside a bottle of Perrier.

  “It’s a set menu,” he says, once we’re left to it, “it’ll be nice. Tonight, we could get dinner here, or in the room, or go hunting for a local pub. Whatever you want.”

  “A local pub?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  I love me a local pub, a roaring fire, a few dogs and kids racing around, some proper grub and a few jars of proper ale. He knows me too well.

  “So, you decided you were going to spoil me a bit, then?”

  He raises his eyebrows. “There’s no way I could spoil you anymore.”

  I laugh, almost too loudly. It’s a big room and has high ceilings that make any noise bounce of all the walls and echo round and round a few times.

  “That’s very true,” I agree.

  All we’ve done the past couple of days is roll around the bed, eat, watch TV and occasionally murmur about actually doing something with our last few days together. Seems like he decided to take matters into his own hands or we’d never leave the house if it were up to me.

  After the most relaxing and indulgent couple’s massage, I’m whisked away to a different room for a mani-pedi. I’m so relaxed, I could fall asleep. The beautician asks me what colours I would like and I tell her, “Just neutral, whatever you think will look nice.”

  She picks up a light pink for my toes and an ivory for my nails.

  “Thank you,” I tell her.

  Cole is off somewhere else, probably just as relaxed and subdued as I am. We had an hour’s massage, from the tops of our heads to the ends of our toes. It feels too good. I’m unwound to the point of gliding on air.

  I stare into space as the beautician starts to soak my nails and she asks, “Just had a massage?”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I’ll be quiet if you like, you can maintain your chilled state, then.”

  “Thank you, I feel like I’m out of body.”

  She gets on with her work, smiling as she works quietly.

  She does my fingernails and I’m admiring them when she takes a look at my feet and tells me, “We have some work to do here.”

  I grimace and admit, “Yes, sorry. I’m a criminal lawyer. It’s a bit of a desk job. My feet suffer for it.”

  “Interesting, and is your partner a lawyer, too?”

  “Oh, he’s a barrister in Australia, you must have seen him about the spa, then?”

  “Oh, well… he was in the jacuzzi with you earlier,” she says, with some appreciation in her eyes. “In Australia, you say?”

  “He was studying over here and we fell in love.�
� I’m sure this is how all women tell the story of how they met their lover… omitting the extraneous details such as the fact we were more fuck buddies initially and only fell in love recently.

  “He definitely has a surfer’s body,” she says, chatting amiably as she begins filing away at the soles of my feet.

  “He does. He loves to surf. He’s over here while we figure out what’s happening in the future… this is kind of a special break away from the city.”

  “I understand.”

  She focuses on the difficult task of rendering my feet suitable for public consumption. I rarely wear a sandal in winter, but perhaps I should tonight, just because my feet will be pretty. I’m sure Cole will enjoy them while we’re snuggling in bed together tonight. Nothing will go to waste.

  “He’s extremely handsome,” she says, “if you don’t mind me saying.”

  “He’s wonderful.” That’s all I want to say.

  I don’t want to tell her about all the other ways in which he’s perfect husband and father material… best not to make other women want to make a play for him.

  She smiles quietly to herself and gets on with the job.

  Other women might sit in this same seat and brag, but not me. That’s not my style.

  Then I’m suddenly thinking about Cole being naked beneath his robe and some woman coming onto him… brushing his leg or something… but he wouldn’t, no way. Today is about us two.

  “Do you know what Mr Jackson is having done next? I can’t remember what he said.”

  The lady looks up at me. “Oh, he’s having a men’s facial. The one for aged skin.”

  I laugh a little. “Australian sun, I guess. He doesn’t look older than his twenty-nine years, though.”

  “He certainly doesn’t, but you know men… they’re much more vain.”

  “Really? I never found that.”

  “Would they ever admit it, Miss McCarthy?”

  “Please, call me Chloe.”

  “As you wish.”

  She’s touching my toes; she may as well use my first name.

  “He will be done before you, so I’d pop to the pool area and you’ll find him there.”

  I have no idea how long I’ve been in here but it could have been three days for all I know, I’m still so relaxed.

  “Should I have a facial?” I ask the woman.

  She looks at me, wondering if she should say anything, scared she might offend.

  “Nope.”

  “Nope?” I laugh.

  “Nope. You have perfect skin.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, of course. That’s why you have that beautiful man. Your skin is amazing.”

  I wonder if I ever looked at myself before and realised that. I doubt it. Perhaps I’ve always lived too much in my own head and the shame Adam made me feel sort of erased any appreciation I may have once had for myself.

  “I don’t drink or smoke very much,” I tell her.

  “Well, it’s genes mostly, I suspect.”

  It hurts in a way that I can’t explain to a stranger, but I would agree with her if I knew my father. I certainly didn’t get my skin from my mother, whose face has always been blotchy and dry, probably the drinking, smoking and burning the candle.

  “You have that classic Nordic look,” the woman says, whose name I know not, nor do I care to know it. Hopefully I’ll never have to see her again. After all, she did file my feet. “It’s no wonder he fell for you. You have the elasticity of a twenty-one-year-old and naturally blonde, I’m guessing?”

  “Yes.”

  It occurs to me that people working in this field are very body oriented and the body is their bread and butter, so why shouldn’t they appreciate and understand bodies that pass through here? However, I think a little bit more than my look made him fall for me. Perhaps my intelligence, sense of humour, soul and playfulness? Maybe my sociability. My honesty.

  How can you get into these conversations with someone you’re spending just a few minutes with?

  I should take her compliments and leave with them, nothing more. After all, few people ever compliment me. Lily always does but she’s a true woman’s woman. Saskia would never go out of her way to make a big deal about how I look, but the fact she hangs out with me is compliment enough. My mother never complimented me nor did Adam. Cole compliments me all the time, telling me I’m beautiful and gorgeous, that he loves this or that about me, that he loves me. But nobody I’ve ever worked with has ever said it. Maybe they were too shy or a bit jealous. I don’t know. It’s not something I’ve decided to trade off of, I guess. I don’t need to be told I’m beautiful – perhaps, only by my lover.

  “You’re all done,” she says, “how’s that?”

  “Oh, I feel great,” I tell her. “Just great.”

  “I hope you have a wonderful stay,” she says, beginning to clear up.

  “Thank you, and you have a nice day.”

  “Oh, thanks, I will.”

  I leave her treatment room and dash off to the pool area, where I find him waiting for me.

  He gets up from his lounger immediately and takes my hand. “Oh my god, I’ve been hard since that massage.”

  “WHAT?”

  “It was a naked massage,” he half-growls, “naked! You were naked alongside me and there were two other women in the room.”

  I laugh into my hand as we race through the hotel carrying our clothes in plastic bags, not bothering to change before heading up.

  He takes out his key card in the lift and roars with laughter once the doors are closed and we’re flying up.

  “Fucking hell,” he says, and I look down at his crotch, noticing the towelling is bunched in such a way as to keep things down and in check.

  “Cole, you have to be kidding me.”

  “I’m not. It hurts. It actually hurts.”

  “Who did your facial?” I ask.

  “This fucking gay guy who was coming onto me big style. I almost asked him to nosh on it just to get it sorted out.”

  I laugh harder into my hand and we race along the corridor towards our room. Once we’re inside, he opens his robe and I’m on my knees on the carpet, sucking him into my mouth. He is so big and hard, it’s ridiculous.

  “You’re an animal,” I accuse, the room in darkness.

  He reaches out for anything to grab hold of to steady himself but he can only find me.

  He pours into my throat without me really doing anything and I swallow him back, his body shaking so hard, so furiously as he spills into me, his legs almost buckling and his hips banging against my face.

  “Dirty, dirty boy.”

  “I swear,” he breathes, catching his breath, “I swear, I’ve never been that hard. It’s not like I’m not getting anything. I just have this thing where you and another woman… it really fucks me up.”

  I lick my lips and drop my robe, strolling across the room until finding a lamp. He goes around shutting all the curtains and I lay back on the bedcovers, my legs open wide. He drops his robe and climbs onto the bed, head between my legs.

  “What the fuck is this?” he asks, seeing that I’m bald.

  “Oh yeah, surprise! I did it myself last night after you were zonked. I never let another woman do it. Bad taste.”

  “Hol—y fuck,” he cries.

  “You just assumed I must get it done professionally.”

  “Fuck,” he repeats, smashing his face between my thighs.

  “Well, you said we were going to do something special to—”

  I endure the most blissful, the most delightful orgasm known to woman, as he licks carefully and gently around all of my sex, as though dining on, delighting in and savouring me.

  He crawls up the bed and into my arms, pushing straight into me. I gasp and hold onto him, kissing his lips softly.

  “I’m mad for you,” he says, “absolutely mad.”

  “Is that why… in Australia… you brought that other girl home?”

  “What do you mea
n?”

  “I thought it was to get back at me for the threesome I wanted.”

  He frowns and puts his hand on my cheek. “No.”

  “What was it, then?”

  “The thought of you and another woman… or women… it drives me insane. I just went a bit barmy that night, fucking you both, because that’s how horny I was… I couldn’t contain it. Because you were naked in the same room as another woman.”

  He links his fingers through mine and rocks into me, my body pushed into the beautiful bed, my butt rocking back and forth as he fucks me.

  I fling my legs wide open and stretch my arms above my head, watching as he pushes in and out of my bare, bald pussy, his flesh smacking and squelching against mine. I need him so much.

  He snaps a nipple into his mouth and lifts himself up high so he can reach all those delicious places inside of me that’ll make me come so hard, I’ll splash all over this beautiful bedcover.

  I come spurting as promised and he hangs his head as he empties inside me, his itch finally scratched, his thirst finally slaked.

  We climb in bed and under the covers, wrapped closely, tightly, comfortably.

  “I don’t like women,” I tell him, shaking with laughter.

  “I kind of figured. You didn’t lick her pussy that time.”

  “Yeah,” I admit, my nose wrinkling, laughing still.

  “That’s okay, it’s just nice to think about it,” he says, “just the thought… I mean… the thought is almost better than the reality. Because in my thoughts, you do want a woman’s face between your thighs. In fact, in my thoughts, you’re banging each other’s clits together.”

  I laugh loudly and right into his chest. He bites his lip and I shake my head at him.

  “Dirty, dirty boy.”

  “A boy can daydream, baby.”

  “Well, I never think about George,” I tell him, “only the way it felt to have two cocks. Which is possible again by the way. You just need a strap-on.”

  “And I suppose this information came direct from Lily, did it?”

  I try to stop myself laughing but can’t. “YES!”

  He laughs in that baritone way of his. “Thought so.”

  He groans as he holds me in his arms – it’s the sound of a man satisfied and happy and content. That’s a sound I would certainly like to hear, for the rest of my life.