“Thanks, but maybe we shouldn’t be—”
But Scott was already kissing her. It wasn’t the frantic kind of kissing that dissolved into second and third base. They kissed in slow, savouring laps, the kind of marathon make out that took Sam right back to her teenage years. Scott kissed her until her lips were swollen and other places were even more so. Her nipples chafed against her bra and she had to fight to keep herself from rocking against Scott’s hips like he was a merry-go-round horse. She didn’t want to push him and he seemed utterly content to kiss. Just when she was considering grabbing one of his hands and shoving it onto her boob, Scott tore his lips away from hers and nuzzled her neck, stroking his hands all over her skin, as though she were some kind of priceless artifact. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Really? I thought we were flirting quite a bit.”
He gave a strained chuckle. “I don’t mean like that. I meant because I’ve been imagining this forever.”
“What did you imagine?”
There was a sadness to Scott’s smile as he ran his fingers through her hair. “Let’s see, when I was eight, I wanted to touch your hair. I didn’t know why I wanted to touch it. I just wanted to touch it.”
He took both of her hands in his big cold ones. “When I was eleven, I wanted to hold your hand. Again, I wasn’t sure why, knew you’d never let me, but I wanted it all the same.”
He held them up and they both stared at the fists they’d made together. His skin was tanned and ruddy, hers was pale and covered in the tiny floral tattoos she’d gotten when she was twenty-six, for forgiveness, growth and regret.
“What next?”
Scott smiled. “At twelve I made a big leap. I wanted to kiss you and I wanted you to be my girlfriend.”
The honesty of it made something inside Sam twist. “You wanted that even though—”
“Yes,” Scott said, without a moment’s hesitation. He kissed her again. It was like their first, light and sweet and shy.
Sam smiled against his lips and pulled away. “What next?”
Scott smiled, a lazy seductive smile. “When I was thirteen, I heard the boys at school talking about kissing with tongues. At first I was so grossed out, and then the idea kind of grew on me. Then all I could think about was kissing you like that, all deep and wet. Like we were becoming one thing.”
“Seriously?”
“Want a demonstration?”
They kissed again and this time it was an unruly tangle of lust. Sam ground herself against him, feeling a hardness beneath his suit pants. Its length and heft had her pulling away and asking, “What next?”
Scott looked a little sheepish. “When I was fourteen…to be honest, all I wanted to do was see your tits.”
Sam laughed. “I was wondering when we were going to get to the dirty stuff.”
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
Sam ran her fingers through his thick hair, gripping the thick flax and trying to commit the sensation to memory. “Let’s talk about it, Galahad. Did you just want to see my tits, or did you want the whole show?”
Scott swallowed. “I wanted to see you naked about as badly as I wanted to breathe. That’s what it felt like some nights, that I couldn’t breathe. I’d lie in bed and think about how close you were. I’d think that if we could just talk, everything might start to make sense.”
They were close. She tried for a tension-alleviating joke. “Fourteen was the year my boobs came in. I’m assuming you know the exact day it happened?”
Scott gave a half-smile that said he knew what she was doing and was willing to allow it. “There wasn’t a single day, it was every day. Watching you was like watching a rose bloom, always something new and just as beautiful.”
The poetry of his words stung. Play the game, Galahad. Just flirt and fuck around like before.
She arched her back, her breasts swelling over the cups of her halter top. “You saying you didn’t notice my tits?”
“I wouldn’t pretend to be as chivalrous as that.” He swallowed hard. “They’re…flawless.”
“So touch them.”
He hesitated. “We’re in a car. Near a McDonald’s.”
“So? There’s no one around and the windows are tinted.”
“I still don’t think—”
Sam bent her body so that her breasts were inches from his face. “Welcome back to Melbourne, Galahad.”
The sound of his laughter was perfect, almost as perfect as the way he pressed a palm to her right breast, his skin cool, his touch heartbreakingly uncertain. She was so turned on from their kissing that her nipple strained against his skin and when he arched up and bit lightly at her neck, she shivered.
“Good?”
“It’s how touching should feel,” Sam sighed. “Why weren’t we doing this when we were teenagers?”
Instantly, she felt like an asshole but Scott seemed to have taken up her mission of avoiding the hard topics. He kissed her again, hot and deep and Scott became more confident, cupping and squeezing her breasts and tugging at her nipples through her top. The car was heating around them, the windows fogging. They were being ridiculous but Sam couldn’t bring herself to care. For the first time since Silver Daughters became hers, maybe the first time ever, she could think of nothing, she could only feel. The fucking boy next door, who knew he was such a good kisser?
Sam pulled away, knowing she was greedy, but needing more. “What did you want to do next?”
Scott’s smile flashed up at her. He gripped her hips and urged her against him. Sam locked against him in a pale imitation of sex. She felt the thick bar of his erection again and fought the urge to measure with her hands. “Did you want to do me, Scott? Did you want us to fuck?”
He shook his head. “When I was fifteen, all I wanted was to get you off. I wanted to make you come.”
“Most boys don’t think about doing that.”
“I did. I used to lie in bed every night with my head buried in a pillow and wank myself stupid thinking about you sitting on my face.”
Something about the image—the desperation, the unpolished teenage filthiness—sent a bolt through her middle. “Scott…”
“I wanted to taste you so bad, it hurt.” He kissed her again. His tongue curled and lapped at her mouth, she knew he was simulating what he wanted to do to her cunt. She pictured herself on her back, Scott between her thighs, not as they were now but back then. She imagined the sloppy fumbling, sheer enthusiasm making up for lack of skill. How she would have been powerless to resist orgasm, how it would have relieved both of their teenage tensions.
“Would you have wanted me to do the same?”
Scott gave a painful laugh. “That was sixteen, when all the boys at school were bragging about ‘this girl sucking them off and that girl sucking them off.’ I wanted it, Sam. I remember you used to go past sucking lollypops and I’d have to lock myself in the bathroom and take care of myself.”
Sam felt a thrill of guilt. “I did that on purpose.”
He made a snarling noise, gripping her ass cheeks. “I know you did. I used to go crazy thinking about it. I wanted to…and I knew I couldn’t. And I’d wonder if you were doing it for other guys and I’d have to make myself stop looking because I got too bloody jealous.”
It was the closest they’d come to discussing the truth of the matter, how he’d watched her and she’d torment him, the reality of their fucked-up situation. Complex guilt rose inside her, but thankfully, Scott swerved away from that hotbed of bullshit.
“I used to picture you doing it to me at school,” he said. “You’d meet me in the change room after football training. You’d kneel in front of me and give me everything you had.”
Sam pictured herself kneeling in front of him in the change room of a private boy’s school. She was old enough now that she could admit she’d been intimidated by his uniform, his poshness. She liked the idea of embracing the divide between them—of being that trashy public schoolgirl, serv
icing him. She lifted her hips, rubbing herself along his rigid cock. “Was anyone else watching?”
Scott’s hand gripped her hair, winding it tight. “The whole fucking team was watching. They stood around getting hard and wishing they were me.”
“Did I like it?”
The hand in her hair grew even tighter. “Of course you did. You liked it so much I had to punish you afterward, Samantha.”
This was danger, this was howling red alarms, but Sam couldn’t stop. She ground against him, rocking her hips in pursuit of a pleasure she’d never expected to find. “Please? Keep going?”
Scott tugged at her nipple, his other hand gripping the curve of her hipbone. “Do you want to know how I’d punish you, Samantha?”
Goosebumps rose along Sam’s spine. “Yes.”
“I’d bend you over one of the benches. You’d be wearing a tiny little skirt and I’d flip it up so we could all see your panties…”
“Yes?”
“Then I’d slowly pull them down and I’d spank you. Hard. I’d make you count each strike and I wouldn’t stop until you were begging. And you’d like it because you’re a dirty little girl, aren’t you? You like being watched.”
His words made Sam shiver. She’d been told similar things before, but only because she’d planted the idea in her lovers’ minds. This, on the other hand, this was all Scott.
“I want that,” she said. “I want you to spank me. I want you to make it hurt.”
“I know.” Scott kissed her so deeply it made her head spin. It was insane that his mouth, the same mouth that had stuttered all throughout their childhood, could be so capable and lordly.
“Seventeen,” she panted. “When you were seventeen, what did you want to do to me?”
Scott gasped her hips, grinding her against his cock. “What do you think I wanted?”
“Did you want to fuck me?”
Scott’s smile exposed an incisor as white as a wolf fang. “Of course.”
“How did you want to fuck me?”
“On all fours.”
“No way!”
That wolfish smile flashed out at her again. “Oh yeah, I wanted to spank your arse and then fuck you from behind. I knew it would sting that way and I wanted to hear you moan. Have you beg me to keep going.”
Sam closed her eyes, imagining it, letting the heat rise up inside her.
Scott clearly interpreted this as discomfort because he raised his hands. “I’m sorry, this is getting a bit disrespectful—”
“Consent aside, I have never wanted a man to be respectful to me in bed in my entire life.”
Scott sat up, gripping her hips and stroking her along his still-clothed cock. “Good. Fucking good.”
Heat rose in Sam’s belly. This was going somewhere she hadn’t intended, her orgasm was rising inside her like bubbles in a boiling kettle. “Scott, I think I’m going to…if we keep going?”
She knew how ridiculous it sounded and half expected him to pause and question if she was serious. He didn’t. His hands tightened on her hips and he buried his face in her tits, kissing and sucking, his thick hair brushing over her skin. “Go there, Sam. Let me have it.”
She closed her eyes, trying to feel all of him at once. “What are you like when you fuck?”
“Mean.”
“Mean, how?”
Scott arched his head, pressing his teeth into her neck. His fingers gripped her thighs, rubbing her hard against his cock. “Work yourself on me. Work me over until you finish.”
Sam moaned, her body tightening…tightening…
“Don’t stop, dirty girl. Don’t you stop until you’ve fucking come.”
That did it, the posh demand. She rocked against him, her hands clutching her tits like some pornographic parody and she came, rubbing herself against the seam of his pants. “Scott!”
“There are people watching,” he muttered in her ear. “There are men watching you, Samantha. Wishing they could be where I am. How does that make you feel?”
She wasn’t sure, but it did wring a near-painful throb out of her pussy.
“More,” she said. “Scott, please tell me more?”
She expected him to say something about spanking, but he didn’t.
“You drive me fucking wild, Samantha,” he said, his voice thick with something both harder and kinder than anger. “You drive me fucking wild. You always have.”
Sam felt her clit burn with the sweet, pulsing pain of orgasm. She ground against Scott, feeling everything—soft hair, hard thighs, the immovable grip of his fingers. She moved so urgently she could feel the car rocking around them, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Let them watch, let everyone watch her. Pleasure burst inside her as she cried out, her spine stiffing, her back arching up.
“That’s it,” she heard Scott mutter, his hands still gripping her thighs. “Good girl.”
She collapsed against him, everything inside as hot and eager as though she hadn’t come at all. Her orgasm had been intense but it was also a prelude to more. How couldn’t it be? They hadn’t even gotten to third base.
Scott nuzzled her neck, kissing and stroking, his touch as familiar as though they’d been doing this for a decade. “How was that?”
Sam swallowed, trying to clear her mind. “Good. Do you want to keep going?”
“More than anything, but the police might not be sympathetic to my cause. And those teenagers over there might be too sympathetic.”
Sam forced a laugh and tried not to take it personally. Scott had a valid point and she was twenty-seven years old. The last thing she needed to do was get arrested for public indecency. “We should go home, shouldn’t we?”
“We could go somewhere else?”
Scott said it lightly, making it clear she could say no. Sam considered the idea of going back to his place. To his fancy apartment. No, that would never work. Reality had too many gaps to slide inside there and her place would be even worse. She shifted against him, feeling uncomfortable. Already the illusion that settled over them from that first perfect kiss was fading into post hookup awkwardness.
It was just a fluke. A one night thing by the light of good old McDonald’s.
“I’ll take you home,” Scott said and he helped her clamber back over to her side of the car.
They were silent as he drove. The noiseless atmosphere wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was loaded. Sam knew that if she turned to Scott and said ‘take me back to your place and fuck me’ he wouldn’t even break for traffic. Maybe he knew that too and was deliberately avoiding conversation. They were being careful with one another in a way they’d never been as kids when they’d wound each other up like those clockwork frogs and let them flip and crash all over the place.
Scott had his radio tuned to the classic rock station her dad used to listen to. When the ephemeral sound of Stairway to Heaven filled the car, Sam’s insides swelled. Where was her dad? Climbing the stairway to heaven or struggling to stay away from home, even as he hoped it would make her grow the hell up.
“Are you okay?”
“Just this song,” she said, trying to be casual. “It reminds me of my dad.”
Wordlessly, he covered her hand in his, weaving their fingers together. It was embarrassing how nice it felt.
They drove in silence, listening to Led Zeppelin. When Scott turned the corner to her street, Sam laughed. “I was going to ask you how you knew the way, but that’s no surprise, is it?”
“I don’t know, I was surprised how well I remember it all; school and mum and…” The silhouette of his jaw tightened. “…everything else.”
Sam knew he meant the ugliness, the events they didn’t want to rehash. Wind. Put the frog down. Flip. “Are you glad you remember?”
He looked across at her. “I’m glad to be back.”
Fleetwood Mac’s Everywhere came on as he pulled up at her curb. The lights in Nicole’s bedroom were on and she was both annoyed and grateful her twin was home. It meant she cou
ldn’t invite Scott up for a nightcap and an incredibly complicated screw. “Thanks for tonight. The orgasm and the burger and everything.”
“It was my pleasure. Sleep well, Samantha.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, lingering just long enough for it to be tender. The skin where his mouth touched burned.
She’d nicknamed him Galahad when she was fourteen. She hadn’t known anything about Arthurian legend, she’d been riffing on the Monty Python and The Holy Grail idea that Galahad was a stuffy virgin. After Scott left for London she’d read up on the mythos of King Arthur and his knights. She’d been infatuated by the stories—especially the ones about Morgan Le Fay, of whom she’d get a tattoo when she was twenty. Sam had also discovered Galahad wasn’t a virgin, he’d just been gentle and self-sacrificing to a fault. She’d unknowingly chosen the perfect nickname for Scott. He’d always been well mannered and chivalrous, and he was being that way now. He was leaving the ball of their attraction in her court, even though he knew they both wanted more. The kindness of that made Sam’s breath catch in her throat.
“I know it’s a bad idea,” she said, before she could stop herself. “But would you like to see each other again?”
Scott blinked. “I…yes. Of course.”
Both exhilarated and embarrassed, she opened her car door. “Bye, Galahad.”
He clasped her hand, keeping their bodies close. “How can I contact you?”
“You could always climb up to my window like you used to.”
“Don’t tempt me. Seriously though, how do I call and arrange a date with a woman who doesn’t have a phone?”
Feeling mischievous, Sam smiled. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
“I will. I warn you, we’re going on a proper date, though.”
“Like dinner and a movie?”
“Exactly.” Without ceremony he leaned forward and kissed her again—long and slow. Then he let her go, getting out of the car and helping her to her feet. Sam stepped onto the nature strip, feeling flattered and silly and a hundred less easily defined things.
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