by Eden Finley
My thumb traced over her pebbled nipple, and her walls tightened around my cock.
I was trembling from trying to restrain myself, and it wasn’t long before I lost all control and my hips pushed off the bed, driving myself deeper and meeting her thrust for thrust. “You all good?” I asked, my words coming out more like a breath. I was praying that it wasn’t hurting her because I didn’t want to stop, but I would’ve slowed if she asked me to.
“Uh-huh.” Her voice was strained and even more breathy than mine.
Thank God.
My thumb went to her clit, rubbing in little circles. I felt her start to contract around me, and I could no longer hold in a moan of my own. Her movements became frantic.
Her long dark hair clung to her skin from the wet, and I started imagining what it would be like to fist while she sucked my cock.
Next time. Because, fuck, there was definitely going to be a next time.
“Ryan,” she panted as her whole body convulsed around me, milking me as it did so.
I gripped her hips to keep her moving until I had nothing left. I came hard for the second time in one night and began to wonder how it was possible to have anything left.
After what seemed like an eternity of an orgasm, I pulled her down to lay on top of me and wrapped my arms around her.
The way she called out my name ran through my head as our breathing slowed and synced.
I hated my name, I always had, but coming from her lips? I wanted to make her scream it over and over again. I contemplated telling her my name was actually Hunter, but I didn’t think that would go down well. How do I even bring that up? I told myself it didn’t matter because I was strangely fine with her calling me Ryan. And it wasn’t not my name. She’d find out one day, just not yet.
Her breathing settled and started getting longer and deeper.
“Sara?”
“Mmm?”
“You’re not falling asleep, right? Because we still have stuff to do on the list.”
She rolled off me, her eyes closed, and mumbled, “It’s not my fault you fucked me into a coma.”
I ran my thumb along my bottom lip to try to hide my smile. “Pretty sure you’re the one who fucked me, but okay. Come on, we have to get going.”
She opened one eye, staring at me. “Where?”
I grinned. “Tattoos.”
Both of her eyes shot open. “Nuh-uh, no way.”
“It was on your list.”
“I substituted it for public sex.”
“Nice try. We’re doing it.”
She rolled over and looked at her bedside clock. “It’s three AM, where the hell are we going to get tattoos?”
“Those all-night places on the main strip. They make most of their money from drunk tourists.”
Sara leaned up on her elbows. “Tell me why first.”
“Same reason I gave you at the start of the night. Biggest contract of my career.” Best night of my life doing crazy shit with the girl of my dreams. I so wasn’t going to say something that insane aloud.
“Are you even allowed to get a tattoo? Don’t all you models have to be unmarked?”
“Unmarked?” I chuckled. “There’s a thing call Photoshop these days, you know. Makeup to cover tattoos, airbrushing … there are ways around tattoos.”
“I don’t know … I mean, I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but I wouldn’t even know what to get.”
Jumping out of bed, I went to the bathroom to ditch the condom and retrieve my phone and wallet that I left on the vanity. Zipping up my now dry jeans that I took from the dryer, I headed back to Sara. “I already thought of that.”
She pulled her comforter over herself and sat up, rubbing her eyes.
I took it as my opportunity to keep talking. “Where’s your family from?”
She yawned and glared at me the same time.
“Like, originally. My mother’s side is Maltese, my dad’s side is Scottish.”
She snorted.
“I know, I’m lucky I take after Mum’s side of the family or I could’ve been a ginger.” I shivered exaggeratedly for effect.
She laughed but then furrowed her brow in thought. “I think I remember my mum saying something about Croatian relatives, but I can’t be sure.”
I shrugged. “Close enough is good enough for what I had in mind.” Pulling up Google on my phone, I put in my search and then showed her the result: divlji. “It means ‘wild’ in Croatian.”
Her lips curved up into a smile. “I like that.”
I typed something else into Google and came up with: selvaġġi. I handed her my phone. “The Maltese word for wild.”
“Isn’t that a little too matchy? As in, one step away from tattooing our names on each other? Pretty sure it’s about five years too early for that.” Her eyes widened at her own words. “Not that I mean we’ll be together in five years or that this was anything more than one night … I didn’t mean … oooh boy.” She covered her face with her blanket.
Fucking adorable.
I decided not to torture her but kept a mental note that five years from now, we’d get our names tattooed on each other. “Getting the word ‘wild’ tattooed on us isn’t exactly proposing to one another. I’m sure there are a lot of people out there with a similar phrase marked on them. And when we’re old, we’ll look back at our tattoos and remember the crazy night of scotch, midnight swims, near arrests, and public sex. It even rhymes and everything.”
“Dammit.”
“What?”
“Just when I start to think you’re insane again, you come out with another reasonable justification of your actions.”
My entire face lit up. I flopped onto the bed and started pulling up the taxi app on my phone. “I’ll call a cab, you get dressed.”
“You’re just going to sit there and watch me get dressed?”
“Fuck yes.”
I loved how her faced flushed, but she stood and dressed in front of me anyway.
She changed into the clothes that she’d laid out on the bed earlier—but were now on the floor after our little romp—simple jeans and a tank top. No bra. Damn, that’s hot.
Watching her lace up her chucks, with her hair tussled and her face devoid of any makeup, I realised this was the real her. No tight dress and no makeup. Simple yet so beautiful. And also very eighteen. I pushed that thought aside though. Five years wasn’t a huge gap in the big scheme of things.
“You’re not wearing a shirt,” she said.
“My abs take offence that you’re just realising this.”
She laughed. “Naw, does someone’s abs need some affection?” Climbing on top of me and pinning me to the bed, she peppered kisses from my mouth, down my neck and chest, and then made circles with her tongue on my abs.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” I hissed as I began to harden again. “As much as I want this to continue, I think I’m spent. I’ll be lucky if I can come again in a year.” A horn from a car blasted outside. “And our cab’s here.”
She giggled and climbed off me. Walking to her drawers, she pulled out a T-shirt and threw it at me. “Here, you can wear this.”
At first, I thought she’d given me a girl’s shirt—I wouldn’t have cared if she did. If it was big enough, I could’ve pulled it off—but it was a guy’s shirt.
“I’m not wearing some ex’s shirt.” I threw it back at her.
She laughed as if I’d just said the most hilarious thing in the world. “It’s mine. I buy guys’ shirts to sleep in. They’re bigger and comfier.” She handed it back to me, and I relented, shrugging it on.
The taxi honked again and I winced. “He’s determined to piss off your neighbours, isn’t he?”
We rushed to the cab and pulled up to a tattoo parlour less than fifteen minutes later.
***
“Painful?” she asked me.
I tried not to wince. “Not at all.” Yeah, real convincing. Next time try it without your voice cracking.
“Liar.�
��
They were tattooing my left arm on my triceps so it wouldn’t be too visible. Even though tattoos were easy to work around, I’d be more likely to land a job if it was mostly hidden.
The tattooist had been at it for about an hour and a half and was almost finished. The whole thing nearly took up my entire underarm.
Selvaġġi.
Sara’s eyes darted around the small room, and she kept shifting her balance from one foot to the other, even though she was leaning against the long tattooing bed against the wall.
“There’s no emergency exit, if that’s what you’re looking for,” I said, smirking. “I’ve already done it, so you can’t back out now.”
“Maybe I should’ve gone first. Then I definitely would’ve done it.”
“You’re doing it either way because I’ve already paid them.” I was totally bluffing—I wasn’t going to force her into doing something she didn’t want to.
“Dammit.”
At least it worked.
The buzzing of the needle stopped for the hundredth time, and the tattooist—who called himself Chook—wiped more of my blood away. Every time he paused to do that, I got my hopes up, thinking he was done. No more pain. But then the buzzing would start back up, and the torture would resume. So this time when he said, “You’re all set,” I was relieved it was all over.
“I just have to wrap it, and then I’ll get cleaned and set up for your girlfriend.”
“Oh, umm, I’m not—”
“Thanks,” I cut her off. She wasn’t my girlfriend yet, but I was sure she would be after a few more dates.
The fact I was already planning a future with someone I’d known only a few hours was a surprise, even to me. Relationships in my line of work seemed pointless at my age. There was too much fun to be had. But there I was, staring at this girl who I knew almost nothing about, and I wanted more than one night.
Chook wrapped my arm in plastic. “Need to keep that on for at least an hour. Two would be better.”
I nodded and got out of the chair so Chook could clean up. Pulling Sara into my arms, I snaked my hands around her waist and kissed her hard. “That was way too long to go without your lips.”
“Lame.”
I chuckled. “Not much for sweet talk?”
She shook her head.
“Ready for your tattoo?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. So, no … not really ready.”
“It doesn’t hurt that much.”
“You’re still lying.”
I laughed and walked around her to sit on the edge of the tattooing bed behind us. When I tugged on her hand, she moved between my legs, facing forwards and leaning her back into my chest. The stance was so casual and comfortable, as if we’d been a couple for years and knew where each other fitted perfectly. We stayed like that until Chook was ready for her. I kissed the side of her head and then nudged her in Chook’s direction.
“You’ll have to lift your shirt up,” he said as he reclined the chair so she was on a forty-five-degree angle.
She’d chosen to tattoo her ribs on her right side, just under her breast. She didn’t want a visible tattoo if she was going to be a lawyer.
Sara pulled up her tank top so far that the underside of her boob was showing. I was sure Chook was used to seeing stuff like that, but that didn’t stop me from practically growling every time he had to look in that spot.
“I think your boyfriend wants to kill me,” he muttered quietly when he was applying the stencil. It wasn’t quietly enough because I still heard it.
She snorted, finding it amusing, which only made me glare more.
When the needle started up, the nerves got the better of her and she dug her nails into the palm of her hand.
Before I knew it, I was by her side and prying her fingers away so she could hold my hand. “Breathe, babe.”
She’d scrunched her eyes closed, refusing to watch as the needle touched skin. I was expecting her to grasp my hand tighter. Instead, she opened her eyes and looked relieved. “It’s actually not that … ouch … bad. I think I spoke too soon.”
Chook laughed. “Because of where you’ve chosen to get tattooed, it’ll be pretty sore when I work along your actual rib bone.”
She nodded her head. “I can handle it.”
And she did. Tears pooled in her eyes when he hit those tender spots, but she never complained.
I stayed by her side the whole time, holding her hand and talking to her to distract her. I was an expert at distraction.
I learned she was an only child, her parents were still together, and her best friend’s name was Lana. She learned that Garrett was my only sibling, my parents were also still together, and that I had a penis so that meant I didn’t have a best friend. Guys didn’t do “best friends.” It was dude law. That got a chuckle from her.
Before we knew it, it was six AM and we were stumbling out of the tattoo shop, me with my Maltese phrase, her with Croatian. Divlji.
“I can’t wait to get back into your bed,” I said. It didn’t contain a hint of innuendo, only a whole lot of exhaustion.
The ringtone from my phone startled us.
Who the hell is calling me now?
When I saw my brother’s name came on the screen, my gut twisted. “Garrett?” I answered.
“Yeah, hey, bro.” His voice was all off. “I’m going to need you to come to Main Police Station and pick me up. Been in the drunk tank.”
The battery on my phone beeped, signalling low battery. It’d been beeping intermittently while we were getting out tattoos, but now it sounded like it was panicking.
“What happened?” Before he could answer, the phone beeped again. “My battery’s dying. I’ll be there as soon as I … shit!” I pulled the phone away to look at the screen. “It died.”
“What happened?” Sara asked.
“Garrett’s been arrested. I have to go pick him up.”
“Oh. Did you want … I mean, I can go with you … if you want?”
I smiled and stepped forwards, bringing her in for a kiss. “Thanks, but I won’t torture you like that. We just pulled an all-nighter, and I know there’s nothing I want more than to crawl into bed.”
She did the glancing around thing again. I wondered if she knew how transparent her actions were. I loved that I made her nervous.
“I’m ordering you to go home, get some sleep, then buy yourself a phone today”—I reached for my wallet to grab out the cash I got from an ATM on the way to the tattoo shop—“and then tonight, come meet me at the Lab Hotel on the Broadwater. My friend is having his birthday dinner there, around six.”
“You’re very bossy.”
“I think you said something similar last night.” I went to hand over the cash, but she put her hands up in protest. “Take it. For a new phone and the cab home.”
“I feel like a whore.”
“You were well worth it.” I winked and then laughed out loud when her mouth dropped open and she pushed my chest. I forced the money into the back pocket of her jeans. “Come out with me tonight.”
Her eyes darted around the street again, but she nodded subtly. “I’ll be there.”
I kissed her one more time, pulling her in close. My tongue forced her lips to part, and we both sighed happily as it entered her mouth.
“I’ll see you tonight,” I said when I pulled away. “You get the first cab, another will be here in a sec.”
“See ya, Calvin.”
Maybe if I’d known better, I would’ve kissed her harder. If I’d known that was the end of us, I would’ve made our goodbye count. She never turned up that night, and I didn’t know why.
4
- SARA -
NOW
“Thanks for agreeing to come out with us tonight,” my friend Paige said. “And Cole’s roommate isn’t all bad. If you can get past the manwhore part of him, he’s actually pretty decent.”
I met Paige three years ago on my first day of my law degree. She was a lo
t like me in the sense she used sarcasm as a defence mechanism and was a complete expert at faking confidence. It was probably why we gravitated towards each other. She quickly became my “person”—the one I’d run to after a bad date, and in return I was a shoulder for her to cry on when guys like her douche-canoe of an ex was being … well, himself.
She’d been dating Cole for about six weeks and was still in the glowing “I’m having regular sex” portion of the relationship. I loved seeing her happy, but I’d be lying if I said a pang of jealousy didn’t hit me every time her face lit up over him. I wanted that. I was all but ready to give up on finding it.
I should’ve told Paige to not worry about me and let her go have a night with Cole by themselves, but we’d made Friday night our night. We’d been brutally hit with assignments lately, and I wanted to go out and forget about uni. So Cole agreed to have his roommate tag along so I wouldn’t be the third wheel.
When we arrived at Cole’s place, a sickening knot tightened in my belly. Every step I climbed closer to the top floor of the apartment building, the feeling intensified. By the time Paige was knocking on the apartment door, my stomach was twisted like a pretzel. It was as if my body knew who awaited me before I’d even seen him.
It was Ryan. I had no idea how I knew, but his name fell from my lips in a whisper before he even opened the door.
“Hey, Paige, come on in.” He held the door open for Paige, and then his eyes fell on me.
It was definitely him. He had the same quiff hairstyle as I remembered, but he’d grown a beard since I saw him last. It was a big contrast to the baby-faced model I met four years ago. It was one of those manscaped beards—not bushy, but it shaped his jawline perfectly and made his eyes smoulder.
Unlike my hammering heart and deer-in-the-headlights gaze, his eyes bored into mine with emptiness. Nothing. No recognition whatsoever. Asshole.
Paige turned when she realised I wasn’t behind her. I was frozen, my feet refusing to step over the threshold.
“Sara? You coming in?”
Ryan still stared, emotionless.