The Taming of the Bastard

by Lindy Dale

  The opening shots lit the screen. There was a creepy German guy and, oh dear God... it was Bruce Willis.

  Now, Bruce Willis in a suit, talking to a cute little boy about seeing dead people was perfectly acceptable. I could handle that. In fact, I enjoyed The Sixth Sense and wouldn’t have minded seeing it again, but Bruce Willis wearing a singlet and a big gun while sporting a buzz cut? Forget it. Sam, the bastard, had tricked me into an afternoon of watching Bruce Willis. I glared at him from the corner of my eye. I shot him daggers of annoyance, hoping he’d see them and tell me this was one of his practical jokes, then shoot me next door in time for the Lord of the Rings marathon. But Sam was too engrossed in the explosions.

  Sensing, at last, that I had gone rigid with annoyance, he turned. “Die Hard I, Die Hard II and Die Hard III marathon,” he smirked, somewhat evilly before reaching across to squeeze my knee for the second time. “Can’t get better than that.”

  I flicked his hand away. That was a matter of opinion.

  “Argh! I detest Bruce Willis. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it was a surprise, babe. How could I tell you if it was a surprise?”

  It was about then I realised I’d let the fact that Sam had the cutest eyelashes in the history of the world cloud my judgement. It was clear I should have checked his credentials further before agreeing to this silliness. The velvety smooth tones of his voice and styled metrosexual hair were a cover up for an Aussie bloke extraordinaire. Even the brand name thongs were a fraud. I had to face the fact that our relationship, young as it was, was doomed to failure. I could overlook rugby for nice manners. I could blind myself to the cocky personality or maybe even grow to love aspects of it but... BRUCE WILLIS? There was no room for Bruce Willis in my life.

  Peeved at Sam’s deception, I stood up. I wasn’t sure why or what I was going to do, I needed to clear my head. A walk through the lounge in the direction of the bar should do it. “I’m going to get more food,” I hissed in reply to his questioning glance. If I had to sit through an afternoon of Bruce, I was going to need more than a bowl of chocolate and a cup of coffee. There was alcohol to be consumed.

  “But the movie’s starting...”

  And hopefully the line would be really long and the movie would be half over by the time I got back. “You can fill me in.”

  I didn’t care that I was being a cow. Sam had led me on. He’d made me think I was going to see Lord of the Rings again. He could’ve warned me. But then he’d have known I’d say no to an afternoon with Bruce. I mean, seriously.

  “You don’t have to get up, Millie. The wait staff will bring you all the food you want.” Sam looked upset. His puppy dog eyes were glazing over and the cleft in his chin had started to wobble, making me feel even more of a bitch. Maybe he hadn’t done it on purpose, I decided, flopping back down and crossing my arms over my chest. It was plausible he’d only wanted to share one of the joys of his life with me. As if the joy of rugby hadn’t been enough.

  “Is something wrong?” His voice was concerned.

  “No. I’m fine.”

  But we both knew that when you say you’re fine it means the exact opposite.

  I was so mad at myself. A man with cute eyelashes and a sexy hairdo had duped me, something that had never happened before. I exhaled and gave him a tight smile. For the sake of having him touch me again, I was prepared to suck on my Maltesers and bare it. But I’d get him back one day. I’d make him suffer. Maybe Colin Firth chick flicks or maybe a Sex and the City Marathon? A bit of musical theatre?

  While Bruce was busy blowing up the world, I made a mental list. Determined not to let Sam pull the attractive wool over my eyes again, I worked my way through the entire bowl of Maltesers, plus a refill. I drank so many glasses of champs it was a wonder I wasn’t plastered. With amazing clarity, I examined what I knew and decided what needed to be done to rectify the things that worried me. With a few small tweaks, Sam could be the perfect boyfriend. Things such as commenting on other girl’s boobs like I was one of his mates and farting in my presence were not on. Neither were remarks about the size of people’s noses or stomachs straight to their faces. And as for movie choices… we could reach a compromise, I knew we could. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. By the time I was finished with him, nobody would ever call my Sam a smartarse bastard again. Well, except me. He would be the perfect gentleman with just a hint of larrikin. Finally content, I looked across the darkness to where Sam lounged in his recliner.

  Oh my God.

  Sam was snoring. And the resounding echo from his nose—it’d been broken twice through rugby and was permanently blocked—was loud enough to make everyone else in the theatre turn and stare.

  “Sam,” I hissed, jolting him awake.

  “Hey, babe.” He gave me a sleepy grin and rubbed his hand over his face. “Must have dozed off. ’S okay though, I’ve seen this one seven times.”

  And to prove his point, he leant across the divide between our chairs began quoting lines from the movie against my lobe. Disgustingly, I began to melt. Sam’s voice could even make Bruce Willis appealing. But rest assured this would be the last time in living history Bruce and I would ever cross paths again.

   12 

  A hint of expectancy lingered as Sam and I walked in silence to the car after the movie. It was as if Alex and Chantelle were having a conversation inside my head and though I was nervous I had to try not to laugh, or bang into any cars.

  “They’re gonna do it, Chica.”

  “About bloody time.”

  “He really likes her, you know.”

  “He’s still a smartarse.”

  A cute one though.”

  According to dating rules, we probably should have had sex way before now, but somehow, something had always interfered. Not this time, it seemed.

  “Do you want to come to my place for dinner?” Sam asked, his eyes smiling. Dinner didn’t really mean dinner.

  I stopped next to the passenger door of the car and looked at his profile, set against the backdrop of stars and streetlights. Apprehensive didn’t describe the way I felt at that moment. I mean, there was no doubt he liked me, that I was more than a number in his mobile phone. We’d reached the stage of boyfriend and girlfriend. And how I felt about him was a given. Every time I saw him I became incompetent. But how serious was Sam? Despite his reassurances and compliments, I wasn’t sure he’d want me after the deed. Sam was a man with a past and my experience in no way measured up to his or to the women who’d graced his bed before me. What if I was a failure? It’d been quite a while between drinks, after all.

  Sam gave me a curious stare. “Well?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  He took a step closer, pressing me against the car with his body. The muscles of his thighs leant into my leg. They were hard and yet soft, somehow. I trembled as the warmth of his palm skirted along my side, stopping at my hip, pressing me closer. I relaxed and tried to breathe, to enjoy it. I wasn’t going to be pathetic about this. He’d chosen me. He wanted to be with me.

  Sam’s head tilted, his mouth was a whisper from the corner of my lips. “What’s wrong?”

  I swallowed. My heart lurched in my chest and my hands crept up onto the soft folds of his t-shirt. He smelled so good.

  “I don’t know. It’s nothing.” How could I tell him I didn’t want to be the one girl who’d be a let down? How could I tell him I was scared of the turbulence building in the pit of my stomach?

  Sam’s body leant fully into mine. The weight of his chest left me breathless, his hands slid up from my hips, grazing the underside of my breast. They skittered along my collarbone, my neck. Then he clasped my face tenderly in his hands. “You won’t regret it,” he murmured.

  No, but he might.

  He bent to claim my mouth. His lips were hot and insistent, his tongue melded with mine. Then, as I began to mewl with pleasure, his lips left mine to chase across my chin and around my lobe. He sucke
d gently. “You know you want to...” His voice was barely audible as he moved his lips back to mine.

  Yes, I did want to. And that was what scared me the most. I couldn’t think, my mind was blurred by desire. His mouth was on my throat, his fingers tangled through my hair and slid to cup my face.

  “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” Yhis was a dangerous game, but one I found I couldn’t resist.

  “You have to make a decision, Mill’. Now.” His voice was earnest. He kissed me again. Hard and demanding, then long and slow.

  “Why?” I gasped, my mouth barely able to form words.

  “Because if we don’t leave in thirty seconds I’m going to have to fuck to you on the back seat of the car and I think we’re both a bit too old for that.”

  Nobody, and I mean nobody, had ever made anything so dirty sound so appealing.

  *****

  On the open road of the freeway, Sam drove like he was a contestant at the Australian Grand Prix. The moment between us was gone. He was back to his old self. I wasn’t game enough to ask if he always drove like that, or if he was in a hurry to get me to his place fast. Neither explanation would have appeased my nerves. Worried to the point of fainting, I gripped the seat with my free hand, wishing we’d caught a taxi, as any trace of the lust that had consumed me earlier disappeared into the leather of the seat.

  “You alright?” Sam yelled through the wind, as we zoomed towards his house, dodging the traffic. He’d seen my whitened lips and was trying to show concern. It was sweet but it didn’t help.

  “Fine,” I grimaced. It must have set off his alarm bells. Thrice in one date was not a good sign.

  “Want me to slow down?”

  “Please.”

  Sam swerved in beside a red BMW and I clutched the seat tighter, hoping they weren’t going to drag race each other. He looked over to the driver of the other car and nodded, acknowledging their mutual good taste in wheels. Then he turned back. “Sorry. It’s not me, it’s the car, makes you feel like you’re going faster than you are, being so close to the ground.”

  “I thought it was because you were auditioning to join the Australian Formula One team,” I said, peeking at the speedometer. We were only doing the 100kph limit.

  He was telling the truth. Again.

  After what seemed like the shortest drive in history, I stood in the middle of the living room of Sam’s flat. It wasn’t anything like I’d imagined it would be. It was small and white and well… minimalist was being kind. There wasn’t a stick of furniture in sight except for a sofa and a massive plasma TV. Instantly, my heart melted and I felt sorry for him. I forgot all about the hair-raising ride and the myriads of women who’d survived it before me. All I saw was a man who had nothing to sit on but was too proud to say so. Sam had been in Perth for ten months, give or take and all he could afford was a TV.

  Sam shut the door and turned on a lamp. He walked towards to me. He took my hand in his and touched his lips to the tips of my fingers. He hooked his arms around my waist and looked into my eyes. His face was so close I could feel the breath against my cheek and I thought I was going to explode because his scent was seeping into my head, invading my bones. The lack of furniture was no longer important. Nothing existed in that moment except him and me. We were closer than the air surrounding us.

  “Has anyone ever told you, you’ve the most amazing eyes, Mill’?” he asked, as he brushed a stray lock of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. His green eyes were dazzling in their brilliance. They surely out shone mine.

  “No,” I replied, trying to ignore the finger tracing along my spine and in and out of the curve of my lower back. No one had ever told me that because it was cheesy and I would have laughed them out of the room. But it didn’t sound cheesy when it came from Sam’s lips. It sounded heartfelt and sincere and that was the most worrying thing of all. I didn’t want to fall for it. My life plan didn’t have a contingency file labelled ‘hot boyfriend.’

  “They have these dark blue rims around the outside of the green bits. They’re so round.” His voice was gravelly. It grated against my skin in the most erotic way. I bit my lip and swallowed as he placed a delicate kiss on each of my lids. I could feel my lungs tightening as his hands moved down to cup my buttocks. I prayed for the seduction to be quick. I didn’t think I could stand this delicate torture.

  “You’re trembling,” he whispered, as he leaned down to kiss me.

  Of course, he’d kissed me before, restrained goodnight kisses, the odd peck on the cheek and the melt-in-your-boots-bowl-you-over kiss at the car park but nothing like this. This kiss was hot and wet and lacking in restraint of any kind. I had no choice but to tremble beneath it. It was the type of kiss that made me want him. It made me want him more and more. His lips were soft and gentle at first, like tiny droplets of mist on my cheeks, then hard and fast, urging me to surrender. They were igniting a fire in me like I'd never experienced. It smouldered as a ball in my stomach, a single ember that swelled, intensifying with such magnitude that soon my blood was boiling. Trembling? My entire body was engulfed with a desire so strong I thought I might collapse if he hadn’t been holding me up.

  Before I knew it we were nearly naked on the floor, not that I cared by then. I was lost to the sensation of his hands on my skin and his words against my ear. I was imagining the things that would follow. I had forgotten the hundreds of women who had been before me. All I wanted was Sam. To be with him and have him in me. To please him. I sighed as those fingers I'd dreamt of trailed along my side and onto my hip, pushing me into the cushions he’d thrown around us. I murmured as his tongue slid over my calves and onto my ankles. I squealed as he took the tip of my toe in his mouth and sucked, ever so lightly, tickling the edge of my foot with the tip of his tongue. I watched entranced, consumed by his seduction, wanting that tongue to torture me again and again. My mind had done a back flip. I never wanted this moment to stop. The moment was everything.

  “Sam, please,” I moaned, as he flicked my knickers aside and ran his palm across my naked torso, and into the tangle between my legs. His tongue lashed, his fingers slid in and out and I writhed beneath him. I’d never felt pleasure like that before.

  Then he raised his head. “Now, Millie?”

  “Yes, now. Please now.”

  And he was moving inside me, thrusting and pulsing, filling me with an indescribable pleasure. I couldn’t speak for I realised I’d lost my mind... somewhere between a Die Hard Marathon and the sex.

  *****

  Languidly naked and gloriously smug, Sam strolled to the bedroom and grabbed his doona trailing it into the living room after him. His strong thighs flexed as he padded across the carpet and lost myself remembering the pressure of them against mine only a short time before. He was a magnificent example of manhood.

  “That should be a bit warmer,” he grinned, tucking the doona around me and tumbling underneath beside me. “Your skin was goosebumpy.”

  I snuggled into him, his warmth surrounding me. Sex with Sam hadn’t been so scary. He was wonderful. He was able to push buttons that until this evening, I had been convinced were the stuff of fantasies. I only hoped he thought the same about me. I rolled to face him, my cheek leaning into my hand. “I suppose you do this sort of thing all the time, then?”

  Those moves were not something he’d learnt in the last half an hour. Oddly, though, I didn’t feel jealous of it, merely curious as to where he’d learnt such extraordinary skills.

  “What’s that? Entice young ladies to my place on the pretext of dinner and seduce them on the living room floor?” He paused, a devilish glint appearing in his eye. “No, not all the time. Sometimes I go to their place—especially if they have furniture.”

  “But you’ve slept with lots of girls?” A man who could do the type of things with his tongue that Sam did had to have had tonnes of practise.

  “A few.”

  A few. Clearly, as Mel had stated, Sam was not one to kiss and tell. But what did
he mean? How many were a few? Ten? Fifteen? Fifty? As if some irrational hormone had triggered at the words, suddenly, I had to know. I needed to see that magical number in my mind’s eye to reassure myself that I was not going to go to the internet and find I was another entry in his blog of adventures while shagging around Australia.

  “So, your ballpark figure would be?”

  “I dunno, two hundred or so.”

  I stiffened under the doona. He had to be exaggerating. He’d have to be having sex every minute of the day to rack up that number. Even James Bond wouldn’t have had time for two hundred women and he’d been doing it for nearly half a century. Sam was only thirty. “You’re having me on. Aren’t you?”

  “No. What about you?”

  Eyes narrowed, I studied his face, not sure if he was taking the piss. But if he could sleep with two hundred women I could turn back the virginity clock a decade or so. All was fair in love and war. “I was a virgin until an hour ago.”

  “Yeah. And I’m the captain of the Wallabies. Come on, tell the truth.” His mouth covered a spot near my left nipple and he began to tease. “If you don’t, you’ll suffer the consequences.”

  “I don’t know, I can’t remember.”

  “Liar. Girls always remember that stuff.” His teeth nipped into the skin of my nipple. It was not helping.

  I pushed his head away. “I can’t think, you’re distracting me.”

  “Liar. You’ll pay if you don’t tell.” His teeth returned to my flesh, biting only hard enough to confuse me further. He sucked and I went spiralling into oblivion.

  “Okay, okay. Ten, thirteen. Something like that. Now, stop.”

  Sam ran his tongue over my breast. Then he paused. His eyes grew larger than I’d ever seen them. He rolled to sitting and pushed a hand through his hair. His eyebrows knitted in confusion or possibly anger. “Thirteen? You’ve had sex with thirteen blokes? Fuck me.”