Beyond the Horizon

by Bea Paige

  My heart crashes against my ribcage as blood fills my dick, my lust throbbing painfully. I need release. I need Connie.

  I need her.

  I fucking need her.

  Pushing up onto my knees, I grasp my balls with one hand, whilst yanking at my dick with the other. Precum drips from the tip and I coat my thumb with it, circling my engorged head with wetness. For a moment, Connie just sways slightly in the water, the ocean’s current lapping at her pussy. Then, oblivious to my fucking voyeurism, she brings her hands in front of her, one disappearing between her legs.

  Goddamn her and her sweet little cunt.

  My cock jerks.

  It fucking jerks as though she’s the one touching it, drawing me towards her.

  Above me the terns fall silent, and all I can hear are my dirty little pants and her quiet little moans, the lyrics of her song forgotten in this intimate moment. Her hand moves between her folds, her legs parting to give her access as she tips her head back and rocks her hips backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.

  God, please fucking help me.

  He doesn’t answer, her siren’s call does.

  “Malakai,” she laments, unaware that I’m right goddamn here.

  I stagger to my feet, gripping the waistband of my jeans with one hand, still clutching my painfully erect cock with the other. Stumbling across the sand, half crazed with lust, my bare toes reach the water’s edge. The sudden cold pulls me up sharply.

  Stop!

  Goddamn it, fucking stop!

  I press my eyes shut, breathing shallowly whilst my whole body vibrates with need for her. A whole damn year has passed, a whole year where I’d convinced myself I could live halfway across the world from her. I’d believed that Connie’s text messages were enough of a balm to my wretched soul.

  But one look at her naked backside, the curve of her waist, the tips of her hair pulled in the current and the hypnotic thrusting of her hips makes me lose my goddamn mind. I may as well be a fucking lifeboat being pulled by a mindless current with no hope of ever being rescued.

  My arm is around Connie’s waist, my jeans pushed down to mid-thigh before she even has a chance to fully turn and face the intruder of her most private moment.

  “Don’t move. Don’t fucking move, Connie,” I growl, pressing the length of me against her. My cock is thick and heavy against her lower back, and like the bastard that I am, I bend my knees so that I can rub my dick along the crack of her peachy arse, revelling in the friction. Losing my sanity one hip thrust at a time.

  “Motherfucker,” I grind out, my eyes rolling in the back of my head as my jaw goes slack.

  “Malakai…”

  Her breath hitches. The tightness in her voice and the tautness of her stomach muscles trembling beneath my touch. She smells of the damn ocean, of the sunrise, of every single thing that is free and wild. Maybe it’s me who’s wild, because like the animal I am, I sink my teeth into the soft flesh of her arched neck, my tongue lapping at her pulse that beats uncontrollably there.

  She jerks beneath me, then lets out a whimper as I lick and kiss the pain away. “This means nothing,” I mutter into her neck as my hand slides lower and my lips drag across her silky skin.

  “Nothing,” she repeats, her voice catching as my fingers find their way to her pussy and slip between her folds. Gone is the triangle of hair covering her mound. She’s bare.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  A groan rumbles up my chest as my balls tighten. A tingling sensation builds in the base of my spine, matching the blood rushing through my already engorged dick.

  “Did you do this for me?” I ask.

  She whimpers, her head falling back against my shoulder as I suck and lick at her neck, her jaw, her ear, every inch of skin I can reach. I want to lick her pretty cunt.

  “Malakai, please,” she begs, turning her head to mine, her lips brush against my mouth and I grasp her tit, squeezing roughly. She cries out against my stubborn lips and I crack open a little. My fucking soul keening for hers. I don’t mean to grope her this way, but if I kiss her, I will lose all fucking control. I’m hanging on by a very frayed thread. It’s been unfurling since the day I left her sleeping in post-orgasmic bliss a year ago.

  “Malakai, please don’t do this if you plan on walking away again,” she utters, her pain and desire lacerating my flesh. In response, I roll her clit beneath the pad of my finger, yanking her undulating hips back against me so that I can rub my dick between her pillowy arse cheeks once more.

  “I fucking hate you,” I grind out, loving her with my hands and my lips and my dick. My touch tells a very different story. A story that has no right to exist in my world. This is a fantasy. One I can’t seem to get enough of.

  “I hate you too,” she responds, her voice cracking whilst the fluttering beat of her pulse betrays her true feelings. “I hate you so much, Malakai. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” She’s sobbing now, her tears rolling down her cheeks as I slide my finger inside her wet heat, crooking my finger in a way that makes her sobs catch in her throat and a cry rip out of her chest. Her cunt squeezes around my fingers as her orgasm builds, punishing me with its grasp. Reminding me of the power she holds over me.

  This is wrong in every way. I’m bringing her to orgasm, rubbing my engorged cock along the crease of her arse because I can’t stay the fuck away. She’s an addiction that no amount of time, nor distance, can satiate. She turns her head to the side, her eyelids lowered in bliss. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her sweet, plump lips, but force myself to graze my mouth over her shoulder instead.

  “Malakai,” she sobs, her internal walls squeezing tight as an orgasm rips through her and her body shudders violently.

  Behind her, my cock jerks with such force that my legs almost buckle as I spill my seed all over her lower back, marking her skin with my salty cum as she marks my fingers with her wet, wet heat.

  We stand like that for long minutes, neither of us daring to move as reality filters back in with the sunrise. I’m the first to let go, my hands reaching for the waistband of my jeans as I tug them up and tuck my still erect cock away. I know what it wants, and if I take her now I might not find the strength to be the man I need to be to keep her safe. Reluctantly I move back, watching as her shoulders shake with silent sobs. I’ve hurt her. Not physically, no, but emotionally. I’ve hurt her with my indecision, with my mixed messages, crude emotions and year long absence. She takes a step further into the water, but I can’t let her go just yet.

  “Wait…”

  Sinking to my knees, the waves lifting to my mid-chest, I cup some water in my hands and pour it over my seed that hangs in stringy ropes over her lower back and arse. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t attempt to turn around, but she doesn’t stop me either. Connie allows me to wash every last bit of me off her skin. It seems fitting somehow. Standing I reach for her, my fingers getting as far as her long tresses but no further as she moves away.

  “Connie…” I begin, my voice low, shaky. What can I say? I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I came back. I’m sorry I can’t stay away. I’m sorry I’m fucking with your head. What can I possibly say to ease her agony? Nothing. There’s nothing I can do or say to make this right. We can’t be together.

  “What, Malakai?” she asks, her voice tight with pain.

  “This…” I swallow hard. Fucking do it, arsehole. Sever the connection once and for all. “This meant nothing.”

  Those three cold words burn my throat, tearing at my soul as they pour from my mouth like hot coals, scarring me from the inside out. It meant everything, but I bury that truth deep inside the darkest recesses of myself, forcing myself to believe each and every word.

  “I hate you,” she whispers, and this time I truly believe she does.

  Connie sinks her body beneath the water, then pushes off her feet carving through the surface, her hate rippling over me with the waves she makes in her haste to get away.

  Twenty-Five

 
Connie

  After climbing out of the shower, I get dressed and head to the kitchen ready to face Grandma. I feel fragile, as though the lightest of breezes will have the power to scatter me like a field full of dandelion seeds. Malakai wrecked me this morning. He wrecked me with his touch and his kisses, then twisted the knife with his fucking words.

  “This meant nothing.”

  Hate is a powerful emotion. One of the most powerful. It sits right up there with love. Side by side they coexist. The ying to the yang. The dark to the light. How can I feel two equally powerful emotions for the same man? How can he stoke such loving bliss within me one minute and such anger the next? I want him to leave and never fucking come back… I want him to stay and never, ever let me go.

  He took from me this morning. Yes, he might’ve given me an orgasm but I’m not naïve enough to believe he gave me pleasure because he actually gives a shit about me. He’d touched me to get himself off. He’d rubbed himself against me. He’d taken my pleas and fuelled his own lust with every whimper that left my desperate mouth. He didn’t comfort me in my distress, he didn’t shower me with words of affection. He didn’t stop. He’d used me to satiate himself, and the worst thing of it all… I’d wanted him to.

  “This meant nothing.”

  After he left, I’d swam for an hour in the ocean trying to rid myself of him. He might’ve washed away his cum with gentle fingers that belied his indifference, but I couldn’t wash away his touch, or his words, or the hurt. I couldn’t wash away that.

  In a trance, I’d gathered my clothes and walked naked back to my house not caring in the slightest that someone could see me. I didn’t care. That’s how hollow I’d felt. I still feel. Grandma was fast asleep when I’d returned, at least I didn’t have to face her at that point. I’d climbed into the shower and tried to rid myself of the smell of the ocean because it reminds me too much of him. But like the ocean that encircles our island, Malakai surrounds me. He’s in every intake of breath. My lungs, my heart. My salty tears are full of him.

  I don’t look in the mirror in my bathroom, not willing to see the person staring back. Instead, I pull on a t-shirt dress and sandals then pull my hair up into a messy bun and plaster my face with a fake smile before heading downstairs.

  “Morning, Connie. Did you sleep well?” Grandma Silva asks me as I head into the kitchen and pick up the coffee pot, pouring myself a cup.

  “Uh-huh,” I mumble, swallowing a mouthful of bitter coffee and avoiding her gaze, trying and failing to stop the tears brimming on my lashes.

  In an instant she’s by my side. “Connie, what is it?” Her warm hand rests on my back as she guides me to sit at the table. I take a seat, clutching onto the mug before me, willing myself not to cry. I wasn’t able to stop myself from sobbing earlier in Malakai’s arms, but I can and will now.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “If that were true then you wouldn’t be trembling. Tell me, child, what ails you?” she urges, her soft fingers stroking my arm gently.

  I debate lying to her, but what would be the point? Pretty soon Lola will be back, and she’ll definitely tell Grandma about Malakai’s return. I may as well do it. Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on my cup of coffee, I tell her. “He’s back.”

  Her hand grips my arm tighter. “Malakai?”

  “Yes,” I confirm.

  “Did he hurt you, Connie?”

  I let out a bitter laugh that catches in my throat. Swallowing it down, I cover her hand with mine. “You and I both know that he already did that when he left a year ago.”

  “He shouldn’t have come back,” she mutters, folding her arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “I warned you Connie. I warned you not to fall for him.”

  “The heart wants what the heart wants,” I say, sighing heavily.

  Because despite my anger and my hate, my heart still yearns for Malakai. My foolish, foolish heart still holds onto the hope that beneath all the harsh words and angry glares Malakai wants me as much as I still want him.

  “Oh, child. What are we to do?”

  When I arrive at The Shack thirty minutes later, Peter’s leaning against the door scowling at his mobile phone. I watch him fire off a quick message then shove the phone in his back pocket with a heavy sigh.

  “Morning, Peter,” I say, forcing cheerfulness into my voice when I feel anything but, then repeating myself when he doesn’t appear to hear me over the raucous gulls that are currently screeching and cawing over a trawler that has come in early. A quick glance tells me they have quite the haul, and those birds are wanting a taste of the catch.

  “G’day, Connie. Did you sleep well?” he asks. His smile is broad, and his teeth startlingly white in the sunlight. Though, this morning, his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “I slept like a baby,” I lie.

  “That’s good…” The sound of his phone receiving another message, interrupts his train of thought. His smile drops as he pulls his mobile free from his pocket and reads the message.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yep. Just a couple of friends I made on my travels checking in.”

  “You don’t look so happy about it,” I remark, unlocking the door and pushing it open. He steps into The Shack behind me and hands me his hoodie to hang up next to my bag and jumper in the small office at the back of the shack.

  “Just out of the blue, that’s all. They’ve asked me to meet them in Canterbury in a week’s time.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s where my friends are at University. Are you planning on going?” I ask, whilst pulling out the ingredients for the couple dozen English breakfasts we’re going to have to prepare. It feels good to have a distraction. I don’t want to be inside my head today.

  Peter leans against the counter, chewing on his lip, a flop of messy, blonde hair falling into his eyes. “That all depends…”

  I meet his gaze and can’t fail to miss the hope that lights within his grey eyes. “On what?” I ask, feigning ignorance when I know what’s coming.

  “On whether you’d come with me? It would just be a few days, tops, and then we’d come back. I know you don’t like leaving the island,” he adds in a rush.

  Correction. I haven’t left the island ever. Sighing heavily, I place the box of eggs on the counter and start cracking them into a bowl one by one. “I’m sorry, Peter. I can’t…”

  “Can’t because you don’t ever want to leave the island, or can’t because you don’t want to go anywhere with me?”

  I wince. “You’ve been a good friend, and I enjoy your company…”

  Peter nods. “It’s okay. I know when I’ve been friend-zoned, but you can’t blame a man for trying.”

  “You’re not mad about last night?” I let out a sigh of relief. Hurting him wasn’t my intention.

  “I can’t possibly be mad at you, Connie,” he responds, the slightest look of something close to annoyance flashing across his face, but it’s gone before I can question it. “We’ll go to Canterbury and have some fun… as mates. Perhaps we could meet up with your friends too, make it a proper hook up? Besides, I’m not giving up. At some point you’re not going to be able to resist my charms.” He kisses both his pecs, then winks, drawing the first smile out of me all morning. “Come on, let’s get those breakfasts ready.”

  Half an hour later The Shack is filled to the brim and buzzing with news of a great haul. Apparently, the ocean has been good to the fishing crews.

  “That’s the last of the orders,” Peter says to me as he leans over the counter and hands me a slip requesting a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee.

  “Perfect. Give me a couple of minutes.”

  He waits patiently whilst I fry the bacon and slice two slabs of white bread, slathering a thick layer of butter onto both pieces. When I’ve added the bacon and cut the sandwich in half, handing over the mug of coffee, Peter delivers them to the remaining customer with a smile on his face and friendly chat on his lips. We work together well, Peter and
I, and I can’t help but wonder whether I’d feel any differently towards him if I’d never met Malakai. He’s funny, smart, handsome, and Grandma Silva likes him.

  Maybe I should take him up on his offer.

  Maybe I should leave the island and give Malakai a taste of his own medicine.

  It’s only a couple of days, right?

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Peter asks me, as we stand side-by-side washing and drying the plates after the last punter leaves. I plaster on a smile and nudge him gently with my arm to move him away. He’s gotten close, and whilst I’m not weirded out by it, I don’t want to give him the wrong impression.

  “Just looking forward to taking a swim in the ocean. It’s hot today.”

  “We’ve got time before the lunchtime rush...” he offers.

  “Lola will be back by then, you don’t need to be here,” I remind him.

  He shrugs. “I want to be. Besides, if we’re going for a swim, I may as well have lunch here afterwards.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I say, giving him a half smile.

  Twenty minutes later, we’re closing up shop when I hear the familiar rumble of a low voice and the almost scratchy sound of my Grandma’s. She’s pissed off and it always shows in the pitch of her voice.

  Shit.

  Casting a look over my shoulder I can see Grandma Silva and Malakai standing at the end of the harbour beside his boat. She’s pressing a finger into his chest and he’s glaring at her. The top of her head might only reach the middle of his chest, but his height and overbearing presence doesn’t faze her in the slightest.

  “There’s that dick again. What’s his fucking problem? You never did tell me how you know him. Was he the bloke you were talking to in Grant’s boat shop yesterday?” Peter asks in one long breath, the happy lilt of his voice gone now, replaced instead with a malice that unnerves me.