Love in Transit

by Jana Aston

  ‘Jesus, Connie,’ he moans, and it registers that that’s the first time he’s actually said my name. He struggles into a sitting position, and I slide my hands into the warm conker-brown thickness of his hair.

  ‘Your eyes,’ I say, because I’m looking into them and it’s like suddenly looking into his raw, exposed heart. I see his lust, clear and direct, but I see fear too, and brittle, patched up hurt. I kiss him as my brain dictates, slowly, and his hands slip around my ribs to press me into his chest. He has big, gentle hands as he holds me, cupping the back of my neck as I bend my mouth down to his.

  ‘I didn’t expect this,’ he whispers, his breath in my mouth. I wrap myself closer still, rocking my hips as his hand moves between our bodies to cover my breast. He licks into my mouth as his fingers close over my nipple, stroking his other hand slowly down the bumps of my spine.

  ‘You’re like some fucking beautiful wood nymph,’ he says. ‘I love your tits.’

  His hands give me the same message as he palms the fullness of my breast flat against my body, massaging and firm.

  I open my mouth, and he heats up the kiss from hot to crazy intense, fast and deep and filthy out of nowhere.

  ‘When this is over, I want to fuck you,’ he says. ‘I want to fuck you hard against the wall, and soaking wet from behind in the shower, and gentle over you in bed. Tell me yes, Connie.’

  I’m truly and completely overwhelmed, and I could be wrong, but I think he is too. I don’t think either of us expected to feel this sudden jolt of emotion or lust when we touched. We met less than five hours ago, but it feels more like a million micro meetings; The Tube, the studio, the limo, the chopper, the cabin, and now out here in the woods. It’s like we’ve known each other for years.

  ‘I…’

  I’m interrupted by the buzz of our pagers, first mine and then his. It takes both of us a second to focus, for the noise to register, for reality to kick back in hard. I look down at the ring boxes he’s discarded on the earth, and grab them a second before he does and jump up. I don’t care that my dress is around my waist; I run like the wind for the cabin, my tits swinging free and wild in the breeze. Behind me, I hear him stumble and swear, and as I skid through the door, he’s hot on my heels. I drag the dress up over my chest as I scrabble around the sofa and slam the rings down on the coffee table.

  We’re not alone, of course. Rena and Brad fill the TV screen, shouting encouragements at us, yelling and leaping around as if they’re watching the cup final. Rena punches the air and cheers when I’m first to the table with the rings.

  ‘Yes! Connie, yes! You’re the best bloody friend the whole goddamn world!’

  Roberto appears and raises Connie’s hand in the air.

  ‘First blood to the Brides,’ he says. ‘Well played, ladies. Well played.’

  ‘Con, plait your hair around your head like Katniss Everdean! You’re TV gold!’ Rena shouts, elbowing Roberto out of the way to get back on the screen. He hip bumps her off again and leans in until his face fills the entire screen, making me shrink back in horror.

  ‘Brace yourselves for challenge two soon, people! I can exclusively reveal that it’s called ‘Something New.’

  Somewhere behind him, Brad shouts ‘you better pull this back, twat-boy!’ before the screen goes grey and eerily silent.

  Slowly, I turn and look at Ryan. Crap, he must have taken quite a tumble; his T-shirt is ripped up the middle and dirty.

  ‘Did you just use your tits on me to get an advantage?’

  I fake shock. ‘What kind of dumb guy would that make you if I did?’

  ‘Unfair move, lady,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I don’t have tits. My cock is nowhere near as pretty as your tits.’

  I can’t argue. Cocks are many things, and I love them dearly, but pretty isn’t one of them.

  Words flash up on the screen.

  IF YOU WANT TO EAT, DO IT NOW

  ‘I’d lay money on the fact that Sean-the-Unwed typed that message. I can hear his grump from here.’ I wrangle the dress up over my boobs and turn my back to Ryan. ‘Would you mind fastening this? I can’t reach.’

  He answers by stepping in close and sweeping my hair over my shoulder to reveal my back. His touch is warm and confident as his fingertips brush my skin, pulling the dress snugly around my body to hook the catches in place. Finally, I’m secured. His hands settle light on my waist as he brushes a barely there kiss against the back of my neck.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ he whispers against my ear, and I want him to crawl up beneath my skirt and have me for his lunch.

  My pager rattles on the table, and I reach for it to read Rena’s message as Ryan watches me, suspicious because his own pager is silent.

  Stop flirting and chop your skirt off! It’s only going to get worse!

  I can’t help but laugh. Rena’s nothing if not dedicated to her task.

  ’She wants me to forgo lunch in favour of making more adjustments to my dress,’ I say, sharing the message because it’s of no benefit to him.

  His eyes light up. ‘I’m all for that.’ Disappearing into the kitchen, he comes back with the scissors and a couple of fresh beers. ‘Liquid lunch.’ Taking my hand, he instructs me to climb up and stand on the coffee table and I tower over him, beer in one hand, Rena’s ring box in the other.

  ‘You’re not going to take revenge on me with those scissors, are you? Because I won these fair and square.’ I wave the rings around and take a celebratory slug of beer.

  ‘I’ll just put them somewhere safe, shall I?’ He takes the jewellery box from me as I catch the words on the screen out of the corner of my eye.

  FOR FUCK SAKE TAKE THE RINGS OFF HER! SHE’S A LUNATIC, SHE’LL PROBABLY EAT THEM FOR HER FUCKING LUNCH!

  I give Sean-the -Unwed the finger. They can take the rings. First blood is still mine.

  ‘Take it up to around my knees?’ I say, gesticulating with my hand where I think Ryan needs to cut with the scissors.

  ‘Something new,’ I muse, looking out of the window as he starts to snip behind me. ‘What do you think that’s going to be?’

  ‘I don’t know, but you can guess that the other games will be something borrowed and something blue.’ He’s cutting steadily through the layers of the dress.

  ‘How’s it looking?’ I ask.

  He doesn’t answer, just keeps trimming, and as he moves around to the front, it becomes apparent that he isn’t anatomically au-fait with the kneecap. He can’t be, because he’s taken my dress off at crotch level.

  ‘Jesus, Ryan!’ I yelp, feeling behind me and finding I can now touch my knickers. ‘It’s a bloody tutu!’

  He kisses my thigh. ‘You’ve got cracking legs.’

  Climbing down, I realise that I’ve gone from Bo-Peep to Darcy Bussell in the space of five minutes. It’s not a good thing. I’m terribly ungainly, far too clumsy to ever be a ballerina. Whatever our tasks are from here on in, it’s a fair bet that the great unwashed are going to get a good view of my undercarriage.

  I look at Ryan standing there with a lopsided grin on his face, and I know that I need to even the score.

  ‘Thank you, that’s so much better now,’ I smile, and then I reach for the snagged bottom edge of his T-shirt and rip it right the way up the middle. It tears loudly, and he looks down, taken by surprise. It takes him a couple of seconds, but he recovers himself admirably.

  ‘If you wanted to see me without my shirt on, you only had to ask.’ He shrugs the T-shirt off like a cardigan and lets it fall to the floor, and all at once I’m in my lounge with Rena lusting over Magic Mike again. Who has a suntan in March in England? Ryan does, and he clearly works out because he’s all hard surfaces and angles.

  ‘Christ, what are you, a bloody Marine?’

  He absorbs the compliment. ‘Something like that.’

  I frown. ‘SAS?’

  ‘Just a regular Joe,’ he shrugs. ‘I like the gym.’

  ‘No one likes the gym.’ I shudder at my one and
only gym memory. It turned out that my feet move at a speed that is incompatible with standing up on running machines. Who knew that could be a thing?

  He shrugs again, clearly not enjoying the line of conversation. ‘I do.’

  Well, it’s working for him. I want someone to pass me a bucket of popcorn while he gyrates for me. Would it be wrong to ask him to unbuckle his belt in a slow, suggestive way and wink at me? My pager buzzes. Rena.

  I’m dying. You’re out in the woods with the freakin’ Hulk. For God’s sake don’t make him angry!

  ‘Insider tip?’ he asks, trying to see.

  ‘Something like that.’ I tuck the pager securely into my bodice and finish my beer.

  ‘We’re ready whenever you are,’ I call, challenging the camera in the corner of the cabin. ‘Bring it on.’

  ROBERTO IS TAKING A NATURAL BREAK appears on the TV screen in massive letters, at the same time as Ryan’s pager bleeps.

  He reads it, then flips it in the air with a sigh as he catches it. ‘Five minutes. Roberto’s outside having a fag.’

  I have to wonder about the wisdom of a man wearing the entire contents of a can of hairspray around a lighter.

  ‘I might just use the bathroom quickly then,’ I say, glad of the chance to grab a couple of minutes to myself.

  Chapter 6

  In the bathroom, I take stock. By some fluke, I’ve taken the lead in the game, which probably means that Ryan will double down on his efforts to win the next round. Thankfully, my dress is less of a hassle now, even if it looks ridiculous and is likely to indecently expose me on national TV. This is a four round game. I only need to win two more for Rena to bag all of the prizes and win her dream wedding. I can do this. The mirror tells me that my shoulder length dark blonde hair is looking more like a birds nest than human hair, so I do as Rena suggested and make a messy attempt to plait it around my head.

  ‘Connie?’ Ryan knocks on the door. ‘Can I come in?’

  I tuck my hair in on itself and open the door.

  ‘What is it? Have we had more instructions?’

  At least he hasn’t buggered off and taken the lead again while my back’s turned.

  ‘No.’

  He steps into the room, closes the door behind him and presses me against the wall, bare chested, hard and hot. His hand lands on the cool tiles beside my head.

  ‘I meant what I said out there in the woods.’

  And then he kisses me. Or what he actually does is ravage me, opening my mouth with his own, pressed hard against me from shoulder to hip. It’s insanely, take-my-breath sexy, the kind of kiss you might have three or four times in your life, the sort that makes you want to climb down the throat of the person kissing you and live there forever. He makes these turned on, low moans, as if he can’t get enough of me, and his free hand roams down my body to the hem of my now tiny dress.

  ‘I made it this short on purpose,’ he whispers, biting my bottom lip. ‘I want to shove my hand down inside your knickers and finger your clit right now, push my fingers into the heat of you.’ As he speaks, his hand skims down and cups me between the legs, massaging me through the flimsy silk barrier.

  My pager vibrates between us, and we both ignore it.

  ‘Are you wet for me?’ he breathes, pure filth as his fingers work the material deeper in-between my lips.

  I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and cling on, mouth to mouth with him.

  ‘Drenched,’ I whisper. ‘Wetter than the wettest wet thing in the world.’

  ‘Need to check that for myself,’ he says, dragging the silk to the side. My knees buckle when the heat of his fingers makes contact with my bare flesh. He’s electric and I’m soaking wet; this cabin’s going to go up like a fireball.

  ‘Shit, Connie,’ he groans. ‘You’re so fucking sexy.’ I groan too, because his fingers are in my slickness, opening me, unexpectedly tender and exquisite as his tongue slides over mine.

  My fucking pager has an emergency alarm, and we jump apart like sixth formers behind the bike sheds when it goes off like a school bell. Guiltily, I pull it out and knock the blaring alarm off.

  THE MANAGEMENT REQUIRES YOU TO LEAVE THE BATHROOM OR THE GAME WILL BE TERMINATED AND ALL PRIZES FORFEITED WITH IMMEDIATE EFFECT.

  I show Ryan, and he pushes his unsteady hands through his hair as he gets his breath.

  ‘Here’s what’s gonna happen,’ he says, staring at me. ‘We’re going to go out there and be enemies for the purposes of the show, and I’m going to beat you this round. And then once the camera stops rolling, I’m going to get you out of this dress, spread your legs, and give you the fucking of your life. Your clit’s gonna remember me forever.’

  He’s my hero. I agree with almost everything he’s said. I have no doubt my clit is going to love him in the way my brain loves Channing Tatum. It’ll probably send him Christmas cards, but there’s one tiny point I need to pull him up on.

  As he reaches for the doorknob, I lay my hand on his shoulder and whisper in his ear.

  ‘I’m going to win this round, Ryan, then I’m going to blow you so good that you’ll want my name tattooed on your cock.’

  He turns and gives me a violently sexy three-second kiss.

  ‘Deal,’ he says. ‘Winner performs oral.’

  Chapter 7

  Roberto has clearly had his makeup re-touched for the afternoon session, because he looks like he’s been in the tanning booth usually reserved for oompa loompas. I’d say he’s probably pissed Natalie off because she’s trowelled his eyeliner on so thick he looks as if he’s been punched.

  ‘Round Two!’ he shouts, bowing for no apparent reason. ‘Something New.’

  Ryan and I are standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the TV screen, and he leans into me and whispers in my ear.

  ‘I’m going to lick your clit like a cat lapping whipped cream.’

  Unfortunately for him, my microphone catches his every word and rattles them back around Command HQ. Brad starts to howl with laughter, Rena shouts ‘For God’s sake, Connie! No sex until you’ve won the bloody game!’ and Roberto looks like someone just shoved a lemon up his backside.

  ‘Cut!’ he shouts. ‘Kindly refrain from such un-broadcastable vulgarity.’ He shudders, looking down his over-powdered nose, whilst I think hoorah, any sex stuff is going straight on the cutting room floor. ‘From the top again, please.’

  ’Sorry,’ Ryan mutters, standing close beside me as Roberto runs through the round two introduction again. Ryan has his hand on my ass. I mean literally on my bare ass. He’s shoved it down the back of my knickers and is cupping my cheek suggestively.

  Roberto sighs and flicks his eyes upwards as if asking the good Lord to send him strength.

  ‘Cut! You should know that there are cameras behind you too,’ he says, almost bored. ‘Did you ever see Peeta maul Katniss? No! Get your hand out of Connie’s underwear and look respectable. NOW!’ He screams the last word like a headmaster in a rage, and Ryan and I jump slightly apart and look at the floor as Roberto runs through the round two info for the third time.

  ‘Something new, in your case, challengers, is… fire!’ He’s all smiles again for the camera. ‘The first one to build a living fire from natural resources ONLY wins the point. Want to know what they’re playing for this time, fiancées?’ He turns to Brad and Rena, who are on the edge of their seats. Jesus, they look warm and cosy, and there’s an empty champagne bottle upended in an ice bucket on the table between them.

  ‘Designer wedding outfits for your entire bridal party! Couture wedding dresses, handsome morning suits, bridesmaids, groomsmen, mothers of the bride! Every last one of your bridal party all decked out in designer style courtesy of Splash TV!’

  Rena is a designer label whore. Of all the prizes, I think she probably covets this one most of all.

  ‘I don’t know how to make fire, Rena!’ I bleat, even as the screen goes blank. ‘Page me instructions!’

  ‘So for them to win something new, we
have to build a fire,’ I reiterate. ‘First one to make flames gets the point.’

  GO OUT OF THE BACK DOOR appears on the screen. God, I wish I had a coat. I’m in the equivalent of a swimsuit here, and despite the fact that the sun’s trying to come out, there was a frost last night and the air is cold.

  I sigh and troop out through the kitchenette behind Ryan.

  Two stone circles have been laid out a little way from the house with X spray-painted in the middle.

  ‘It looks like the scene of a human sacrifice,’ Ryan says. He’s so bloody confident that he’s bought his beer out with him. ‘Go and lie down in one of the circles and say your prayers, Connie.’

  ’No way,’ I say, my eyes already scanning the ground for sticks. I’ve never built a live fire in my life, but sticks are a must, surely.

  ‘May the best man win,’ he grins, shoving his hands in his pockets. Now, remember, he’s shirtless, and the movement bunches his shoulders up in a way that makes me all too aware of his manly maleness. I look away, because I think he’s using my physical distraction techniques from the previous round to try to thrown me off.

  ‘Or woman,’ I say automatically, rolling my shoulders although I’m far from confident. Was it only this morning that I rode The Tube in a wedding dress? It feels like a lifetime ago.

  He throws me an in-your-dreams look over his shoulder, then jogs off in the direction of the tree line.

  I check my pager. Nothing. Gah, Rena, come on! Pausing, I spend a couple of minutes typing out a help me SOS and send it, then scrub around on the edge of the woods gathering up likely twigs and leaves.

  Ryan reappears ten minutes later and eyes my haphazard unlit bonfire pile.

  ‘Never gonna happen.’

  ‘Wait and see,’ I mutter. ‘I’m not done yet.’

  He deposits his armful of wood and leaves in his circle and then drops his ass down on a nearby tree stump, watching me. He has his jeans-clad legs bent, and his bare elbows resting on his knees. I try, and fail, not to admire the strong curve of his lightly tanned back or the lean, defined lines of his biceps.