by Tim O'Rourke
I thought that to be very sad. To spend a lifetime and not have anyone miss you when you’re gone. Not even to care. With his hand still on my shoulder, my father leant forward and did something he hadn’t done since I was a little girl. He kissed me gently on the forehead.
“I know you’re tearing yourself up inside over what happened, but it was an accident, Sydney. Take a couple of weeks off from work – get a different perspective on things and you’ll feel better for it, I promise.”
“I’m not due any leave until...” I started.
“I’m not just your father, I’m your sergeant, and I’m telling you to take some time off,” he said. “Get your bearings, clear your head, and come back when all of this has died down.”
“Okay,” I said, wondering if I couldn’t book myself a cheap flight and go visit with my mother in Spain. Then again, the last time I’d visited, I felt as if I were just in the way. Julio had those smarmy-looking friends who hung about all the time, leering at the English girls. They made my flesh crawl. Maybe I would just stay at home, read a few books, go walking along the shore. I could find plenty to do if I really thought about it. Maybe go and max out the credit card in Penzance? That would be reckless – but fun. There was nothing like a good bit of retail therapy.
Taking his hand from my shoulder and heading for the door, my father looked back at me and said, “If I were you, I’d keep away from work. You know what some of them can be like – real gossips. Anything you say will only get bent all out of shape, and we need to keep our stories straight. The less you say about this to anyone, the better. I’ll keep out of your way, too, until you get yourself sorted out. Give me a call when you feel like coming back.”
He opened the door, and just as he was about to disappear, I said, “Thanks, dad.”
He looked back at me. “Just keep a low profile for the next week or two until this whole thing blows over.”
“Okay,” I said.
“And promise me, no more screw-ups.”
“I promise,” I whispered as he shut the door, leaving me alone in my apartment.
Chapter Eight
I drank straight from the bottle of milk in the fridge. Wiping away the white moustache from my upper lip, I went back into the living room in search of my iPod. I’d decided to go for a walk along the beach. I found the whole exercise thing easier if I was listening to music. The scenery nearby was beautiful, but perhaps I didn’t appreciate it as much as I should. I’d grown accustomed to it over the years. It was wasted on me, I guess, not like the visitors who came from the overcrowded cities in the summer months. They acted as if they’d never seen a freaking hill, the sea, or sand before. Perhaps they hadn’t.
After searching beneath the pillows on the sofa and in the armchairs, I checked my bedroom but couldn’t find my iPod anywhere. I’d have to go for a walk without it. The morning was moving closer to lunchtime, and I wanted to get some fresh air before I spent the afternoon curled up on the sofa reading the rest of my book called Blood, Bullets and Blue Stratos by Tom Graham, which I recently downloaded to my iPad Mini. I hoped that it would take my mind off recent events. I had frozen pizza in the freezer, which I could cook for my dinner. There was a couple of bottles of red wine, too, somewhere.
I put on a pair of jeans, a coat, and a pair of boots. I left my apartment and made the short walk down to the shore. The beach was empty, apart from a couple of dog-walkers way off in the distance. I turned my back on them and began walking in the opposite direction, towards the massive black cliffs which loomed in the distance like giant ogres. Waves crashed up the beach, then retreated again. The sea was a dark green and looked uninviting. Pieces of dirty wood wrapped in black seaweed floated in the foamy waves. The wind was cold and it made my lips taste salty. With my long, blond hair down, it blew about my face like a mask. I liked that, I wanted to be hidden. I wanted time to clear my head, just like my father had suggested. I didn’t want to dwell on what had happened, I’d done enough of that in my nightmares, and part of me feared falling to sleep that night. Would my dreams be haunted by those dead people again? I guessed I had a few more nights of disturbed sleep before I’d truly come to terms with what I had done – before the accident.
Bent against the bitter wind, I headed along the shore, a set of footprints trailing away behind me. I’d been walking for about ten minutes or so, when I thought I heard someone calling my name. At first I wondered if it wasn’t my imagination, or a trick being played by the howling wind. I looked back in the direction I had come, but all I could see was the tiny black outlines of those dog-walkers way off in the distance.
“Sydney!” the voice came again.
I looked to my left to see someone running down the grassy sand dunes towards me. It was Michael.
“Oh, Christ,” I murmured under my breath as he ran towards me.
I turned around and set off at speed in the direction I had come from. I didn’t want to see Michael – I had nothing to say to him.
“Hey, Sydney!” he called after me. “Wait up!”
Over the sound of the wind and the crashing waves, I could hear his heavy footfalls as he came running after me across the wet sand.
Burying my chin into my chest, I leaned forward and sped up almost to a slow trot. It wasn’t long before Michael had caught up with me.
He gripped my arm and said, “Hey, what’s the rush?”
“Leave me alone,” I snapped, yanking my arm free and setting off up the beach again.
“I just want to talk to you, that’s all,” he said, walking beside me.
“About what?” I said, refusing to look at him.
“What happened yesterday, of course,” he said.
“That was a mistake,” I said coldly. “Nothing like that will ever happen between us again.”
“I wasn’t talking about that,” he said. “I was talking about the accident you had. You know, that family dying and all.”
I stopped mid-stride as if walking straight into an invisible wall. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I hissed, glancing sideways at him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said, his voice soft.
“Who said it was my fault?” I glared at him.
“No one said it was your fault,” he said, looking startled by my overreaction. “It’s just that I thought you might be feeling a bit guilty as you had been drinking whiskey with me.”
To hear him say that felt as if I’d been slapped in the face. Despite all the efforts my father had taken to provide a fake breath test and witnesses, here was someone who could testify I’d been drinking before the crash. He would know, as he was the person who had given it to me.
“That wasn’t enough to make me drunk,” I said dismissively, and turned away, wishing that he would just fuck off and leave me alone.
“I never said you were drunk,” he called after me.
I could hear the sound of his footfalls in the sand behind me again.
“Look, Sydney, if it helps, I feel guilty about what happened, too,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” I snapped, wheeling around to face him again.
“It was me who gave you that drink, after all,” he said, looking at me. “I should have never done that. You were on duty...you’re a cop and I put you in a compromising situation.”
Clawing a length of hair from out of my eyes, I stared at him and said, “Look, Michael, let’s just forget about what happened between us. No one needs to know what happened.”
With his own curly hair blowing about the sides of his handsome face, he looked at me, and said, “I can’t forget about it.”
“You’re gonna have to!” I barked, feeling the urge to scream at him. Michael reappearing wasn’t something I had planned for. What would my father say or do if he knew there was someone else who knew I’d been drinking prior to the accident yesterday? It could ruin everything – it could ruin my father’s plans – and him – now that he had lied for me.
“Michael, j
ust do us both a favour and forget about that accident, because that’s all it was. The police are dealing with it now,” I said and turned away, leaving him standing alone, waves crashing about his boots.
“It’s not the accident I can’t forget about,” he called out. “It’s you, Officer Sydney Hart, that I can’t forget.”
“Oh, please,” I said, looking back at him over my shoulder. “You don’t even know me.”
“I’d like to get to know you,” he said, staring straight back at me. “That’s if you would like to get to know me better.”
Without saying anything, I faced front and started to walk away from him again. Half of me was screaming to keep on walking and not to look back – to forget all about Michael. He could complicate things. He knew I’d been drinking regardless, my mind started to reason.
No! Keep right on walking! the rational part of my brain screamed, as I pictured my father.
But the irrational side – the side that always got me into trouble – threw-up memories of what had happened between me and Michael and how good it had felt. I could feel his hands on me again – the warm sensation I had felt...
...promise me, no more screw-ups, I heard my father whisper in my ear.
Pushing the sound of his voice away, I glanced back one last time at Michael and said, “Do you like pizza?”
With a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he said, “I can’t get enough of it.”
Together we walked back along the shore towards my apartment.
Chapter Nine
I took the pizza from the oven and cut it into slices. Michael lent against the frame of the kitchen door, watching me. He had opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. I handed him a plate with some of the pizza on it, and in return, he passed me a glass of the wine.
“Thanks,” I said, brushing past him and stepping into the living room. I sat at one end of the sofa and he took a seat at the other. We had talked little on the way back from the beach. I don’t know if it was me, but there was a kind of nervous tension between us – almost like we had unfinished business between us. I guess in a way, we did. Michael was fit, and there was no denying I was attracted to him. What woman wouldn’t be turned on by his strong determined features, soft curly hair, green eyes, and well-defined chest and arms? His butt was good too – firm-looking beneath his jeans.
With a sudden imaginary flash of me gripping that butt as I pushed him into me, Michael looked up and said, “What you thinking about?”
“Huh?” I said, pushing that image of him between my thighs from my mind.
“You look deep in thought,” he said, then took a bite of his pizza.
Trying to think of something to say, I flushed scarlet and said, “What I don’t understand is how I’ve lived in this godforsaken town my whole life but haven’t seen you before until the other day?”
“How old are you, Sydney?” he asked.
“Twenty-one in a couple of months,” I told him, sipping my wine.
“Okay, so I would have been about the same age as you when I left Cliff View,” he said, as if working out a sum in his head. “So I’m thirty now, that would have made you ten years old.”
I looked at him.
“Wow, I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” he half-smiled. “It makes me sound like a pervert.”
“Are you?” I shot back smiling.
“Am I what?” he asked.
“A perv?” I said, fixing my eyes on his.
“What do you think?”
“Like I said, I’ve never seen or met you before until the other day,” I reminded him. “This is the third time I’ve seen you in less than a week. Are you following me?”
“You came back to the farm, remember?” he said, placing his empty plate on the floor by the sofa.
“To take your statement,” I said.
“Was that the only reason?” he shot back, then took another sip from the wine glass.
There was a pause, then downing what was left in the bottom of my own glass, I looked at him and said, “No, it wasn’t the only reason I came back to the farm.”
Inching his way along the sofa towards me, Michael placed his wine glass on the floor so both of his hands were free. “So why did you come back?” he asked, and again, there was that intensity in his eyes I had first seen a few days ago.
“The same reason you came looking for me today,” I said, matching his stare.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, the gap between us now paper-thin.
“You came looking for me because you wanted to finish what we started the other day,” I whispered, those feelings I had previously felt flooding back. That sweet warm sensation spreading from my stomach and down between my legs.
“Is there anything wrong with that?” he said, placing one hand gently on the base of my neck, pulling me close so I could feel his breath against my face.
“No, but I’m not looking for anything serious,” I whispered into his ear, one of my hands running up the length of his muscular thigh. “There is a lot in my life I need to square away. I need some time to think...”
“I don’t want to marry you, Sydney,” he whispered back. “I just want to fuck you. Is that so bad?” he said softly against my cheek, his fingers losing themselves in my hair.
“I guess not...” I started. Before I’d had a chance to finish, Michael had pressed his lips over mine.
I opened my mouth slightly, but it was enough for Michael to slip his tongue inside. His mouth tasted of sweet wine, and I slid my tongue over his. He explored the inside of my mouth, our tongues pushing and prodding against each other as if acting out what it was other parts of our body really wanted to do. Taking his hands from my hair, he pulled at my sweater. Breaking our kiss and raising my arms above my head, he pulled my sweater free, tossing it across the room. He looked down at my breasts. Gently cupping them in his hands, Michael lent forward, running his tongue over them. I reached down and loosened the belt which held his jeans in place. My fingers brushed over the front of them and I could feel he was already hard beneath the blue faded denim. He shifted as if kneeling up, so I could undo the button fly. The buttons popped open beneath my trembling fingers. I wasn’t scared or nervous, just turned on.
Michael arched his back as I fumbled the last button free. I reached inside, my fingers curling around him. He felt hard. Michael groaned. With the fingers of one hand curled around him, I pulled Michael’s jeans down further. Placing my hands flat against his chest, I pushed him back onto the sofa. He reached for my breasts again and I slapped his hands away.
He looked at me wide-eyed.
“No,” I said.
“But I want to hold...”
“Do as I say,” I snapped at him. I knew from what had happened between us the previous day, he liked the idea of me being a cop and being in control.
Michael looked at me, not knowing if I were joking, acting, or being serious. As if trying to test me, he reached for my breasts again.
“I said, no!” I hissed at him as he grew harder in my hand. He was secretly enjoying me taking charge of him.
Closing his eyes, Michael finally lay back on the sofa in submission.
I got up and stood, looking down at him.
“Don’t let go,” he murmured.
“Be quiet!” I snapped. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do!” Michael lay flat on his back, his cock standing up from the centre of him, looking solid and unbreakable. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he groaned, reaching for himself, now so desperate to be released that he would happily do it himself.
I slapped his hand away, and he groaned – in pleasure or frustration, I didn’t know which. I looked at his muscular frame, his thick round shoulders like two giant cannonballs, and his perfectly toned stomach, and muscular thighs. I had total control over him and it turned me on.
I slid my jeans down over my hips. Michael heard the rustle of my clothes and opened his eyes, wantin
g to see my naked body.
“Did I say you could open your eyes?” I breathed.
“No,” he murmured, shutting them tight again.
“You do as I say or just get out.”
Michael flinched at what I said and I became more excited.
I knelt down beside him, and taking hold of him again, I slowly eased my hand up and down. I did this until Michael was groaning with pleasure. I stopped.
“What!” Michael gasped, opening his eyes again and looking straight at me.
“Did I say you could look at me?” I hissed at him.
“Don’t stop what you were doing,” he begged.
“I’ve changed my mind,” I said with a sly smile. “I don’t think I want you anymore.”
“You can’t just stop!” he breathed.
“So what are you gonna do about it?” I teased.
With a crazed look of desire on his face, Michael snatched hold of my hand and leapt up. “I’ll show you what I’m gonna do about it!” he barked, gripping me by my shoulders and spinning me around. Placing his weight against me, he forced me over the arm of the sofa. Pushing one of his legs between mine, he forced them open.
“You’re not going to fuck me,” I groaned, the tip of his cock brushing against me, all the while just wanting him.
“I’ll fuck you if I want to,” he grunted, pushing his cock fully into me.
I cried out in pleasure, as he knotted his hands in my hair, forcing my face down into the sofa cushions. He jerked his powerful hips backwards and forwards as he thrust in and out of me, pushing me ever closer to that moment of ecstasy. I could feel myself growing hotter, a knot of pleasure unravelling, spreading out from my core and throughout my body.
“Is this the best you can do?” I groaned.
“I’ll fucking teach you to tease me,” he breathed heavily, pushing ever harder and deeper into me. Michael’s strokes became frantic, as he bucked his hips backwards and forwards. With each hard thrust, the heat inside me grew more intense until my whole body felt as it were on fire. My arms, fingertips, legs, and toes began to tingle and I gripped the back of the sofa as the feeling of pleasure inside of me and between my legs became unbearable. Unable to stand it any longer, I felt my whole body spasm. At the same time, Michael arched his back, locked rigid, and then seemed to tremble violently. Both of us cried out in utter pleasure. Michael began to slow, until he finally stopped.