He takes a step backwards. ‘Sorry?’
‘Ciao.’ I get her out of there before she clings to his ankles.
I take her to the sports shop. 'You need to be inspired by funky Sandy. Here.' I show Jackie a pair of wet-look tight Capri leggings with a black and white chevron pattern down the side, a matching chevron bra top and an off-the-shoulder black tee. 'See if they have these in your size and get them tried on.'
Jackie laughs. 'Are you always like this?'
'When I have a project, yes.'
'I'm a project?'
'No, but you're in a Project. Project Get Cole.'
'Oh. Okay. I like the sound of that. Does it come with a money-back guarantee? This kit costs a bomb.'
'You need to invest in that kit anyway, so you can upstage your sister at her fortieth.'
She gasps, then chuckles. 'You are a wicked woman.'
'Changing rooms, now.' I point. Jackie heads over, shaking her head.
A few minutes later she appears, her shoulders slumped.
'They're too tight.'
I sigh. Honestly, they fit around her arse like a monkey hugging its mother. Tight. I can't stop staring and admiring.
'Seriously, if my arse looked like that I'd never take them off. Anyway, with the top draped over the bra top like so-' I do a bit of adjusting so it slants off the shoulder at one side. 'It's long enough to cover most of your butt.'
Jackie checks herself in the mirror. 'That's better.'
'Don't forget, though. When you get hot, or Cole makes you hot.' I wink. 'Top off and show off those bloody abs. Oh, to be fifteen years younger.'
'You look fab.'
'I do my best but you can't escape being forty-five and having had two children. You need to own it while you have it.'
'Okay, I'm buying it.' She returns to her changing room to put her old gear back on.
My phone rings. It's Camille. I give her some grief about not ringing me on Thursday only to find out they both rang me, but Tim had switched the ringer off. Shit. They had bothered. Tim was making sure I got some sleep. I've fucked up. I consider returning home, but then Cam tells me Tim has stopped my debit and credit cards. The complete and utter fucker. I'm staying put.
After Jackie has made her purchases, I say goodbye and that I'll see her tomorrow. Then I go into a clothes store that sells beautiful Kipling handbags and purses. I've always wanted to own a Kipling bag but put the needs of my family first.
I spend some time perusing and choose a medium travel tote that my gym kit will fit into, a shoulder bag, a large purse, and a travel document holder. Then I take my purchases to the counter and take out the credit card Tim doesn't know I own. I shall pay off the bill with money from the account Tim doesn't know about. The money for a rainy day, or what I call the if you get on my nerves and I have to leave you account. There's over two grand in there so I'm good for the rest of the week.
'Oh, you are having a treat aren't you, love?' says the assistant as she carefully wraps my new items.
'You have no idea,' I tell her, then smile sweetly.
Game, set and match to Dora.
That evening, as I down my third glass of wine, I become a miserable drunk. The purchases haven't given me any lasting satisfaction. As I peel back the duvet to get in bed, a wave of grief comes over me. I miss Tim. Most of the week we come up to bed at the same time. He's usually a little later on a Friday and Saturday night because he can lie in the next morning, but on work days, we tend to hit the sack together. I miss his body being next to mine, his falling asleep before me and snoring. Tears fall as I consider myself a rotten, selfish partner. I've spent a load of money on this week away and now I've bought all these bags. All he's ever done is work hard all week and have the odd trip to the local for a pint. Perhaps I don't deserve him. I vow to be a better partner and pick up my Kindle. After a quick browse, I download a copy of a book called Your husband has the Balls. Reading the blurb, it’s a guide to being a bit of a Stepford Wife, giving your partner control and letting them feel appreciated. Maybe I could try it? I start reading.
Okay, never say no to sex. That one's easy. I never do. Tim's more likely to turn me down. Oh, I'm not allowed to ask. Less sex then. Not sure how I feel about that but I'll give it a try.
Don't question your husband’s decisions ever. You can ask him to consider your ideas but ultimately the decision lies with him. Fucking what?
Do not answer back with snotty and ill-judged remarks. Instead, let your husband know he has hurt you. Show it in your demeanour. Hmm, I can certainly work with that.
Let your husband choose how you look. Fuck off.
Assess your appearance. Do you need to lose weight? Dress better? Be someone he wants to come home to. I'm hot as fuck and he's lucky to have me, bitch.
Ooh, keep your mind full of things to discuss. Take up a hobby, maybe a sport. Tennis - tick.
Don't discuss your relationship. But I wanted to discuss what we did now the kids have left home.
Let him have peace and quiet and don't nag. Fuck, I'm never going to speak again. I might as well take a vow of silence.
Leave him alone. Doing that right now - tick.
As my eyes follow the rest of the advice, I can't believe the words on the e-reader, but there are qualifying pieces written by wives who followed the books advice and they swear by it. I take a deep breath and vow to give it a try. Then I down another glass of wine cos if I'm doing this shit I need alcohol.
Chapter Eight
Dora
Tuesday is spent having a game of tennis with Jackie, who turns up wearing her old kit as she wants to save her new things for tomorrow. She admires my new Kipling kit bag.
I'm nursing a sore head, the result of last night’s drinking and reading, so I have a wander around the pathways of Center Parcs to take in a little fresh air. I call in at a restaurant where I enjoy a cup of tea and a sandwich for lunch. From there I head to the ParcMarket to buy some overpriced cleaning materials to take back home with me seeing as I have to keep the house clean and tidy to make my man happy. I add another bottle of wine to my basket. Back at the villa, I look through the activity brochure and find Lavender Relaxation at three pm. That will do nicely.
I'd forgotten how much lavender stinks. I'm given a cushion, and we are guided through a meditation and some stretching. The floor is hard. We are given a mat but it's only a flimsy thing. A draft sweeps across the floor. It's not relaxing at all. I can't help wondering if anyone's fallen asleep and drooled on this lavender pillow. God, it smells like a bingo hall full of old women in here. Plus, the floor’s filthy.
I leave the room in a bad mood, wanting my money back. I'm as relaxed as Gordon Ramsey with a new chef.
So I book a game of archery and enjoy shooting arrows at targets. Some of them hit. It's very satisfying.
Wednesday arrives, and it's time for another tennis lesson.
Cole walks in and shimmies past the simpering women (and man). He does a double-take at Jackie in her new kit. She turns away from him as advised. Good girl.
After demonstrating the volley, Cole has us run up and do a forehand volley. We all take too wide a swing and I can see he's getting annoyed.
'Take your slouchy tee off,' I whisper to Jackie.
'No,' she protests. 'I'm still cold. We haven't warmed up yet.'
'Seriously, take it off,' I hiss.
'God, okay.' She whips off her tee to reveal her ripped abdomen and firm boobs in the bra top. She throws her slouchy tee at me and gets in line. Cole hasn't taken his eyes off her. As she runs up, her boobs jiggle around. Her nipples are peaked because of the cold. This is exactly what I planned for him to see. 'Fantastic,' says Cole, and I have no idea if he means her volley or her rack. What I do know, is that he's in a much-improved mood for the rest of the lesson.
Watching them flirt with each other reminds me once again of Tim. I'm so distracted that Cole comes over to me in the middle of my practice.
'Here, you're
holding the racket all wrong.'
He stands behind me, close, puts his hands on mine and wraps them around the racket. Then he holds the racket up. 'Like this… and then slice.' He swings us together.
As I swing around, I see a man watching us. Leaning against a wall, he’s dressed in a sharp suit. I note his close cut salt and pepper hair and the five o'clock shadow. He's dark, brooding and erm, Tim.
He strolls over to us.
'Dora.' He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow awaiting my response.
Remember to be obedient. 'Tim.'
Cole holds out his hand to shake. 'Good to meet you, Tim. Dora, I need to get back to the lesson. Shout if you need me.'
Tim gives him a cold stare so Cole goes off to the others, most of whom are focused on us rather than practice.
Jackie comes running up. 'Are you okay, Dora? Do you need security?'
'Nah, it’s my other half,' I whisper. 'He's just got the face on because he's lost the argument.'
'Eh?'
'He's come to get me. I win. It was nice to meet you. Hope you land Cole. Don't forget to show off your assets and act cool.'
I walk off the court and stand in front of Tim. Then I drop my gaze and look upset.
'Tim, I'm sorry about running away to Center Parcs. I realise I made a mistake.'
'What?' Tim coughs. Then clears his throat. 'What I mean to say is… this stops now, Dora.' He points to my nether regions. 'That pussy is mine. I own it, and you'd better not forget it. Now, where's your villa, because you need to be punished.'
What the fuck?
Tim taps his watch. 'Time's a wasting. I said let's go.'
Demure. Demure. Never turn down sex. 'Whatever you say, Mr Turner.'
I unlock the villa and head through to the lounge. The walk from the Jardin de Sports was silent, the air charged. Tim's cheek was pulsing with a tic, like he was raging inside, so I prepare myself for a bollocking now we’re indoors.
'Dora. Strip down to your tee and pants.'
'What?' Shit. Shut up, Dora. 'Yes, Tim.'
I strip off until I'm standing in my sports tee, Victoria’s Secret bra and pants.
He walks over to me with a slow swagger. What the fuck is wrong with him? I figure he's horny and it's overruling him being mad at me. It's coming out in sexual tension instead.
Tim grabs hold of my pants and pulls them upwards and to the side hard. My pants make a tearing sound and cut into the inside of my leg. He does it again… three times. Each time it cuts into the side of my groin area.
'Just a minute,' he huffs and walks into the kitchen. He returns with a pair of scissors and cuts through the side of my pants so they fall off. Then he picks them up and puts them in his trouser pocket.
'I'll be keeping those.'
Okay, nutter. What's he want them for? I bet it’s the silky material. He'll clean part of the bloody car with them or something.
I’m led over to the bed and told to lie on my back. Tim lifts my top up and puts it across my eyes.
I hear his clothes hit the floor and feel his weight above me on the bed. He puts his dick against my entrance and starts to push in. I'm as dry as a bone so it fucking kills when his dick drags across my vagina.
'Aaaaaahh.'
'Like that do you? You dirty bitch. I'm going to fuck you hard.'
Oh, my God, he thinks that noise was arousal, not pain. Of course, he can't see the tears in my eyes because he's covered them the fuck up. Dora, think sexy thoughts quick. I imagine it's Tom Hiddleston, not Tim, and my fantasy assists with being shagged from dry. I fake an orgasm in the hope this will end quickly. But no, I'm dragged into various different positions while he continues to say the most ridiculous things I've ever heard. If I weren't following that book, I'd be laughing and crying right now.
'You are quite something, Ms Evans.'
Ooh, compliments. This fucking subservient shit works. I'll carry on. Looks like I won't get bollocked for running away after all.
'Thank you, Tim.'
'Anytime, kitten.'
Kitten? KITTEN?
He pulls my top off my head and I squint as my eyes adjust to the light. He pulls me over to him and nestles me in the crack of his arm. Loving though it is, his underarm stinks of sweat after all the sex. Now, I'm not allowed to tell him he stinks, so how do I word this? Oh yes, as a suggestion.
'If you'd like, perhaps we could use the shower now?'
There's a pause. He scratches his chin while he thinks. 'Yes. Great idea. Let’s.'
He stands up. 'Come on then. What are you waiting for?'
He must want me to go in first. Fair enough, he takes forever anyway.
In the bathroom, I stand next to the bath, reach up to the overhead shower and turn it on. After a few adjustments, the water is at the right temperature for me. I climb over the side of the bath and get in. My butt keeps hitting the plastic shower screen as there's not much room in here. So I'm a little perplexed when Tim gets in.
'Tim, wha-'
I'm silenced by his lips on mine. He pushes me against the bathroom wall. Oh my God, anyone could have been pressed up against this. It looks clean enough but ew. I'll need to scrub my back with exfoliant now. I can't speak because he won't stop kissing me. His stubble is making my face sore. Why hasn’t he shaved? What on earth has got into him? His behaviour is well over the top. Then it hits me. Of course. He thought he'd lost me this time. Tim's showing me how much he missed me and loves me. He’s a desperate man.
'Open your legs.'
I do as I'm told and the next thing the water from the shower head is no longer cleaning me but being pointed upwards. I'm getting a douche. It's supposed to tickle my clitoris, not wash my insides! If I get any more water up my arse, he'll need to be paid for a colonic irrigation. I quickly fake another orgasm. It works as he moves the shower head back onto our bodies. He pushes me back against the shower tiles and enters me again. With each thrust he speaks.
'You. Fucking. Love. This. Don't. You?'
No, I fucking don't. I've got an arse cleared of good bacteria and a chafed and sore vagina.
He comes as I fake a third orgasm. On the whole, I usually have real ones and only fake when I'm dead tired and want to get it over with quickly. This is a record. I’m more fake than a reality TV show.
'Love you, babe.'
Babe? BABE?
I can't cope with being awake anymore. I can't take another hour of his penis, or his gob.
'What about an afternoon nap?' I suggest.
'Great idea, babe. Let me finish showering and I'll come join you.'
When he gets in the bed, I've faked being asleep so he can't attack me again. I hear a relaxed sigh escape his mouth. Glad someone enjoyed themselves.
Chapter Nine
Tim
I call Center Parcs and after I explain my situation, they book me a day pass. They say if Dora wants me to stay she can come down to their Visitor Centre and add me on to the accommodation list. I ask when the next tennis lesson is and set off in good time to see her there.
I'm not expecting to see the Tennis player with his body wrapped around hers.
Although I want to go charging over there and drag him off of her, I remember what I've read in the books about playing it cool. Also, that bloke’s bigger than me. I might get hurt.
I feel stupid wearing a bloody suit when everyone around me is in fitness gear. But that's what these billionaires in the books wear. Gone is my old suit that's shiny at the knees. Now I'm in a brand new dark grey suit. A pale grey shirt and silky black tie complete the ensemble. I even polished my shoes. I've not shaved to attain the rugged image. Have to admit, I could keep the rugged image. Shaving is a pain in the arse, well, the face actually. I don’t shave my bum.
So I walk over, taking my time while Dora looks at me, eyes wide with what I guess is surprise or apprehension. Once she's recovered from seeing me, I’m sure this court will see a slanging match. Dora won't give in easily when she thinks she was wrong
ed. Heaven forbid she gives me time to explain.
The tennis bloke holds out a hand to shake mine. Fuck off, dickhead. I glare at him and he goes away. Thank God that worked. I can hardly lift my arm in this new jacket.
Then a woman comes over, looking like she might start on me. Dora talks to her and she goes back to her tennis lesson.
Dora turns to me and starts to apologise. I take a deep breath. I need to start as I mean to go on.
'That pussy is mine. I own it, and you'd better not forget it. Now, where's your villa, because you need to be punished.'
Her jaw drops. She nods and walks towards the exit. I follow. Bloody hell, this book stuff might actually work. For the first time in the history of our relationship, Dora's done as she's told.
I make her strip down to her pants and tee shirt. Firstly, I need to address the pants issue. In several of Dora's books the alpha male tears off the woman's pants. I grab them and pull and... nothing. I try again. Nothing. I end up cutting them off with scissors. Fucking books. Get your facts right. It doesn't bloody work. I almost cut off the circulation in her vagina. Why do the alphas keep the pants in their pocket after? I feel like a right pervert but Dora's not complaining, so I carry on.
Next, I put her top over her head like I saw Mr Grey do to Ana in the Fifty film I endured last night. Ana had nice tits, that's about my whole take on that DVD. I wrinkle it up so it covers her eyes and then shag her. She makes moaning noises and comes. Bloody hell, she's really enjoying it. I want to lie at the side of her and rest but they don't do that in the books. Time to try some positions I've read about. While I bonk her, I call her a dirty bitch. I make sure I add some endearments I noted from the books too, kitten, and babe.
Absolutely fucking exhausted, I pull her towards me so she's tucked under my arm in a macho embrace.
She asks if I want to get in the shower.
She's not done?
I can hardly say I'm tired. That’s not something I’ve read in one of her books so I agree and follow her in. I grab the shower head. At least my dick thanks me for a well-earned rest while I bring her off with that. She loves it. My dick lets me know that actually it will have another go, so I shag her quickly and hard while I do some more macho posturing.
New Balls Please (Ball Games #3) Page 5