Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male

by Sally Wentworth

Tasha stopped to watch him, thinking that there was a dejected set to his shoulders. Presently he got up and she expected him to come back to the house, but instead he took off his clothes until he stood naked. He looked very beautiful in the moonlight; it silvered his skin until he looked like a shining marble statue. A god for people to worship. A perfect sculpture of perfect manhood. Without glancing round, he walked into the sea and began to swim.

  Slowly Tasha walked down to the water's edge. She felt profoundly moved by what she had seen. The naturalness of his actions, his silhouette in the moonlight, his arrant masculinity, had stirred her deeply. Somehow it belittled their differences, made modern- day competitiveness between the sexes seem of no importance. So must primitive man have stood when it was his God-given right and duty to provide for and protect his woman. That was what his superior strength and power had been intended for. The supreme being on earth.

  Tasha felt a sudden and terribly deep yearning for such a simple life, for the basic clearness of that existence. Lifting her hands, she undid the clips that held back her hair and let it fall, then shook her head from side to side to send it swirling around her head, as if throwing off the yoke of the twentieth century. Without haste she took off her clothes, one by one, and dropped them on the sand beside Brett's. When she, too, was naked, she tilted her head towards the starlit sky and laughed aloud, a silvery note lost in the sound of the waves. Then she ran into the sea.

  Brett was floating on his back and thought first of all that it was a strand of floating seaweed that had brushed against him as he felt a feather-light touch running down his leg. But he grew rigid with shock as the sensation became more definite and he realised it was fingertips that were stroking him. He gasped, jerked over onto his front, a vision of a floating dead body large in his mind. But then he heard a low laugh that he recognised and he was consumed by incredulous, unbelievable happiness.

  'Tasha!'

  She laughed again and dived away from the hand he reached out to her, came up behind him and blew in his ear. Brett gave a shout of laughter and turned to try to catch her. But she swam away, turned and splashed him, the water a phosphorescent arch in the moonlight. He joined in her game as she got tantalisingly close but then flashed away from him, chasing her and deliberately letting her get away, although he could have caught her several times. Once he grabbed her arm and pulled her near enough to kiss her and run his hand over her. He found that she was naked, and it so blew his mind that he slackened his hold and she slipped away from him again. This time she dived a long way and he couldn't find her. He called her name a few times and looked wildly round, then saw her wading out of the sea.

  He swam towards the shore, felt sand under his feet and stood up. Tasha was standing where the beach shelved, small waves breaking around her feet. Naked and supremely lovely. Waiting for him. Brett gave a hoarse cry of mingled joy and surprise, of excitement and wonder. Taking a step towards her, he held out a hand and said hoarsely, 'Are you real—or are you a mermaid come to torment me?'

  She smiled. Reaching out, she took his hand and carried it to her cheek, held it there for a moment, then slowly guided his hand down her length. Over her breast, down her slim waist to the flat plane of her stomach, and on down to her thighs. 'Now do you know whether I'm real or not?' she whispered.

  The hand that she still held against her was shaking and Brett's breath was a rasping gasp in his throat. His body was like a volcano about to erupt, his blood on fire, his flesh trembling, his mind almost unable to cope with the frenzied heat of desire and anticipation. Suddenly he could stand it no longer. With a groan of real pain he dragged her to him and began to rain kisses on her mouth, her eyes, her throat. He made small, muttering sounds of agonised need and held her tightly against him, wanting her too desperately for gentleness.

  She moved her hips against his and he cried out with the agony of delight it gave him. He stumbled and they fell onto the sand, the water licking at their bodies. Tasha put her arms around him and hungrily claimed his mouth, returning his kiss with wild passion, with all her heart and soul. They rolled on the sand, first one of them in the water and then the other as they wrapped their legs around each other, kissing frantically, each moaning out their cries of frustrated sensuality.

  Brett heaved himself over her and spread her legs. He looked down at her for a moment, at her hair like a silken halo around her head, at her face sharpened by desire and her mouth and eyes eager for love. Then he came down on her, thrusting with all his strength, so that she cried out. But her voice was drowned under his own great shout of triumph, under his groans of gathering delight and the shuddering tremors of his body as he climaxed. He did so very quickly, completely unable to control himself, but when he would have moved away Tasha wouldn't let him go. Instead she wrapped her arms and legs round him and moved with him, her breath hot and gasping, her lips kissing his throat and his mouth, her teeth nipping his ear, his nipples, sending shock waves of wild delight coursing through him, so that within minutes he found himself again making love to her, his need for her as frantic as it had been the first time.

  Rolling on top of him, Tasha held him tightly within her and showed him no mercy, carrying him along, using him to fuel her own mounting excitement until he thought that he could no longer stand such prolonged and frenzied pleasure, that his heart would burst and he would die of ecstasy. But then Tasha cried out in a long breath of agonised wonder and set him free at last to erupt in voluptuous abandonment all over again.

  For a while they lay, temporarily exhausted, in each other's arms. Then Brett pushed wet strands of hair from her face and kissed her deeply. 'That was wonderful,' he said hoarsely. 'So wonderful!' He chuckled. 'I felt like a volcano erupting.'

  Tasha smiled and reached down to stroke him. 'I like your Vesuvius.'

  'If you go on doing that he will probably erupt all over again.'

  'Such threats,' she mocked, and scooping up a handful of water she let it trickle over his chest, then bent to lick his skin. 'You taste of salt and the ocean, of trade winds and arctic snow. Of little streams that grow into great rivers and water that carries the sound of whales and the call of seagulls.'

  Brett was enchanted. Sitting up, he pulled her onto his lap and began to wash the sand from her breasts, letting the water run down over her still delightfully hard nipples, then following the trail it made with his fingertips. 'What made you come back?'

  'Sarah's parents came back from their holiday today, and I drove her down to stay with them.'

  'Has she recovered?' Despite his happiness there was a dry note in his voice.

  'No,' Tasha replied evenly. 'I think it will take a very long time for her to do that, and I doubt if she will ever forget.'

  But Brett wasn't interested in her friend's problems. The waves were washing partly over them, sometimes covering Tasha's loveliness as they swirled and frothed over her legs, then drawing back so that she was revealed to him again, almost as if the sea were playing a tantalising game with him. Reaching out, he began to stroke her gently. He felt her stiffen, then she looked at him—and smiled.

  Suddenly frantically hungry for her all over again, Brett lifted her in his arms and came to his feet in one lithe movement. Forgetting their clothes, forgetting everything else, he almost ran with her back to the house. Her arms about his neck, Tasha started to nuzzle him, to kiss the length of his jaw, bite his earlobe. He groaned, stumbled, paused to take her mouth and kiss her with fierce passion. He groaned again as he dragged his mouth from hers and went on to the house, kicking open the door and heading for the stairs and the bedroom.

  They didn't get that far. The stairs were low and narrow so that there was no way he could carry her up them. Setting her down, Brett reached to take her hand and lead her upstairs, but Tasha leaned against the wall and pulled him close. Putting her hands low on his waist she held him there while she moved against him, setting his loins on fire, the while kissing him avidly.

  He was already arou
sed, and such additional sensuality was both an overwhelming delight and an exquisite torture. 'Oh, God,' he groaned. 'I'm not sure I can take this.'

  'You'll live,' she breathed unsteadily. 'Believe me, you'll live.'

  She pulled him yet closer, held him as he took her, using her body to lift him to dizzying heights of sexual pleasure that he had never known. And later, when they finally reached his bedroom, she was again utterly wild and abandoned, as he had always dreamed she would be. Once she gave herself Tasha had absolutely no inhibitions. It was the most primitive, wonderful night he had ever known, leaving him utterly exhausted but feeling that he had the strength of a lion, that he could easily conquer the world. That the world, in fact, was already his. He finally fell asleep in sublime happiness and slept deeply and dreamlessly far into the morning.

  At first, when he slowly came to, Brett thought that he had been having the most fantastic dream, but then the strange languor of his own body brought memory flooding back. At once fully awake, he reached out for Tasha, but found the bed empty. In a sudden panic, he leapt out of bed and ran to the window, then gave a great sigh of relief; her car was still there. He looked round for his towelling robe but couldn't find it, so ran downstairs as he was.

  Tasha was in the kitchen and was wearing his robe. She looked absolutely fantastic in it, her hair fastened back off her face with one of his ties, and her face bare of make-up. He thought that she had never looked so beautiful. Without hesitation he crossed the room and took her in his arms, then kissed her long and lingeringly.

  With a jug of orange juice in one hand and a glass in the other Tasha was able to put up little resistance, not that she tried. When Brett lifted his head at last she laughed up at him. 'Well, good morning.' Then she quite frankly let her eyes run over him.

  'Sorry,' he grinned. 'But someone stole my robe.'

  'Oh, that's OK. I'm all for gratuitous nudity—so long at it's male, of course.'

  'You could always give my robe back,' he pointed out hopefully.

  'Not until you go down to the beach and collect my clothes. They're all I've got.'

  Brett's eyebrows rose. 'You didn't bring a suitcase?'

  'No. Coming here was a sort of spur-of-the- moment thing.'

  He frowned, the ego-comforting idea that she'd been just waiting for her friend to be out of the way before she came rushing back to him suddenly dissolving. 'You didn't plan to come down?'

  Seeing his frown, Tasha set the things down and put her arms round his neck. 'Not last night. The idea was to go home from Sarah's parents and come down this morning, plus suitcase. But then I suddenly thought, why wait? So I came straight here.'

  It wasn't strictly true, but it immediately dissolved his frown and made him laugh. 'Only you could do that. What do I get if I go and get your clothes?'

  'Arrested, I should think, if you go like that.'

  'Who's to see?'

  'I saw two boats full of sightseers go by the cove this morning. Are you the sight they've come to see?'

  Brett grimaced. 'They're the only drawback in the summer.' Undoing the belt of the robe, he slid his hands inside. Her skin was warm, like finest silk, so firm and yet so pliant beneath his hands. 'You're so lovely,' he murmured, kissing her neck. 'So very lovely.' He stroked her length, making himself randy. 'Come back to bed.'

  Tasha laughingly pushed him away. 'Later. Go and get your trousers on, King, then get my clothes before they're washed away by the sea. You wouldn't like me to be left without a thing to wear, now, would you?'

  'Do you really want me to answer a silly question like that?'

  'All right, how's this? No clothes, no sex. Get it?'

  'I'm on my way.' He turned and strode for the door.

  'Hey!'

  He glanced down. 'Oh, yeah.' Reaching out, he plucked the robe from her shoulders, then just had to kiss her indignant face before he shrugged it on.

  When he came back, carrying their clothes, Tasha was no longer in the kitchen. He yelled out to her and she called back from the bedroom. He found her sitting up in the bed, wearing one of his shirts and drinking a glass of orange juice. She looked completely relaxed and at home, almost as if she was meant to be there. As far as Brett was concerned that was exactly where he wanted her. 'Your clothes, ma'am.' He dumped them all on a chair, took off the robe and got into bed with her. 'Who said you could borrow that shirt?'

  'Do you object?'

  'I think you should return it at once.'

  She put her tongue out at him, then laughed when he immediately leaned forward and kissed it.

  'You've got the cutest tongue.'

  'Want some orange juice?'

  'Please.'

  She poured some for him and he leaned back against the pillows in utter contentment; he couldn't remember when he had felt so good, so happy and so fulfilled. Letting his fingers run down her spine, he said in smug triumph, 'I always knew you'd be a wildcat in bed.'

  She glanced at him over her shoulder, her mouth pouting, her eyes wanton. 'You thought about it, huh?'

  Just that look turned him on. His voice dry, Brett said, 'I've been able to think of little else but what it would be like since the day I met you.'

  'And now you know,' she said softly.

  'And now I know what an incredible woman you are,' he agreed. 'Last night was—just fantastic, my darling.' He waited, but when she didn't say anything said in a mock-patient voice, 'You are now supposed to say that you did at least enjoy it.'

  An imp of mischief came into her blue eyes. 'Oh, really? Was I supposed to enjoy it, then?'

  'Minx! Why don't you finish that and come here?'

  She took a sip from her glass, her eyes on him, then ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.

  'God, I love it when you do that. It's so damn sexy. Drink it up.'

  'I'm in no hurry.'

  'Tasha!'

  She laughed at him. 'Is Vesuvius on the boil again?'

  'Definitely.'

  'Well, in that case…' She put the glass aside and moved over to him. 'This time I'll remember I'm supposed to enjoy it.'

  He was left in no doubt that she did, her moans of pleasure filling his ears, her tremors of delight thrilling his body. And afterwards, when they were both spent, he held her close, thinking that this had been the best time yet, that he could never have enough of her.

  Brett would have liked to stay in bed all day, but Tasha slipped to the bathroom to shower and when she came out began to dress. 'I shall have to go out and buy some clothes,' she informed him. 'Which way is the nearest town?'

  'Why bother? I shall only take them off again,' he said complacently.

  'If I don't buy some, then I'll have to go all the way back to London to pack a case.'

  He was immediately out of bed. 'I'll be with you in two minutes.'

  'You don't have to come. I can manage.'

  'Are you crazy? Now that I've finally got you here I'm not going to let you out of my sight.'

  'But your book? I wouldn't want to stop your work.'

  'To hell with the book! Don't move.'

  He showered and shaved swiftly, pulled on clean jeans and shirt, then went to find her. Tasha was standing among the foxgloves in the garden and he caught his breath, so fierce was the wish that he could paint. She made such a vibrant picture, with her red hair blowing about her head, the carpet of colour reaching above her waist and the cloudless blue of the sky behind her. But he could do the next best thing. Backing into the cottage, Brett found his camera and stood in the doorway to take a photograph that he knew couldn't be anything but perfect. Tasha was unaware of him; she was looking away from the house, her head tilted a little towards the sun and the sea, a small smile of contentment on her lips. It was a smile that matched his own wide grin, that spoke of a perfect night of sexual fulfilment.

  Impatient to see the finished result, Brett took the film from the camera, then strolled outside. 'Ready to go?'

  'I'll just get my bag.'

 
Brett drove into the nearest town, the car roof open, and they joined in the throng of tourists strolling the streets. Their only disagreement came when Tasha had chosen some clothes and he went to pay. But she immediately took out her own credit card and handed it to the assistant. 'I'll buy my own things.'

  'But I want to get them for you.'

  'Thanks, but no.'

  Aware of the assistant's curiosity, Brett waited until she was out of earshot before putting a possessive hand on Tasha's waist and saying, 'Surely now I'm allowed to buy things for you, darling?'

  She gave him a direct look. 'No. I haven't given you that right.'

  Brett's eyes widened in surprise and then his face tightened. 'Doesn't giving me your body mean anything, then?'

  'It means a great deal.' Tasha's eyes softened and she put up a hand to stroke his face. 'I think you know that. But it doesn't mean that I belong to you. I'm a person, independent of what we do together, and you must let me stay that way.'

  He was disappointed but tried not to show it; he wanted her to be dependent on him, entirely dependent, but obviously that one night, erotic as it had been, hadn't been enough. But there was time yet. He would make her so sated by sex, so fulfilled by it, that soon she wouldn't be able to live without it. Bending to kiss her, he murmured, 'OK, we'll do it your way.' But he didn't mean it, and in that moment he decided to make her fall in love with him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  They had lunch in the town, then bought enough supplies to last them for a few days before heading back to the cottage. Already Brett wanted her again. Walking through the town with Tasha, a negligent hand on her shoulder or waist, to let everyone know that they were intimate, had been a pleasure out of all proportion to what he had known in the past. He had walked with other women before, women he had taken to his bed, but he had never felt such pride before, such triumph in possession. Perhaps it was because Tasha had played hard to get for so long, until his desire for her had become all-consuming. Or perhaps it was because he'd thought he'd lost her and then she had come to him of her own accord. Or, there again, it could be simply because it had been such extraordinarily great sex.