From far away, I hear someone sigh a little half-moaning sound. I think it’s me. But I can’t be sure, not when Jackson’s hands are playing, plumping and tugging. From far away, I hear him say, “You were all wet in the salt-ocean, your shirt was soaked through and clinging to these, the most glorious breasts I’d ever seen, a wet T-shirt contest winner right here.” He laughs, low and throaty and just that sound alone has me whimpering weak with desire. “I wanted nothing more than to lick every drop of salt ocean from your skin.” He bends to replace his hands with his hot, wet mouth and I’m gasping. It’s so incredibly good that I never want him to stop.
I try to find my voice. It’s swimming through thick puddles of chocolate sauce and navigating hazelnut pralines. “Ummm, so what you’re saying is, that you didn’t notice my fabulous personality at all?”
A raspy growl of laughter as he raises his head. There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes as he imprisons me in his arms. “Sure I did. Like the night of the bridal shower when you were Ursula the Octopus Witch. Your inner goddess was on full display then,” he teases, with a soft kiss to my forehead. He turns serious. “I watched you in the club, before you realized I was there. Everyone else dressed like Disney princesses and yet doing their best to radiate sex. Then there was you in that sea witch outfit, vibrant, fearless, unapologetic, boldly being you. You were amazing. I’ll admit the beauty of your inner self got to me that night.” He’s back to teasing and I relish it. “It almost distracted me from wanting to do this…”
In a replay of that unforgettable night, he slides up the folds of my skirt, tugging aside the lace thong. He looks up at me with taut teasing desire in his eyes. “I know I’m supposed to be focusing on your soul, the inner butterfly – but I find your body insanely distracting.”
Then he’s hooking my right thigh over his shoulder so I’m half-sitting on his broad shoulder, so I’m open and welcoming, so I can’t hide from him – even if I wanted to.
But let’s face it. I don’t want to.
Not when he’s taking a decadent satisfaction in wreaking magic with his tongue. Not when I’m leaning back with my arms splayed on the bench, arching my spine, thrusting and needy, caught in a swirling jagged maelstrom of feeling, pulsating light and sound. Not when I’m not thinking about dessert, not once – because I’m not thinking at all.
I’m racing towards a cliff-edge, about to leap and soar – but then he stops. Pauses to look up at me, “Still worried I’m not in love with your body Scarlet?”
Eyes fly open in dismay. Nooo! Don’t stop. He’s so mean. I can’t believe he’s torturing me like this.”
“Yes. I mean no, I’m not worried…” I can barely get the words out and he grins in triumph before resuming his beautiful torture.
This time, there’s no stopping. This time, I leap and soar – and he is with me on every tremulous breath as if he’s a liquid force pulsating through my veins. When the world stops spinning and the ground settles beneath my feet, it’s to find myself secure in his arms as he holds me, steadies and soothes me.
There isn’t a dessert on the planet that can come close to describing how perfect it is to be in Jackson’s arms, right here, right now in this moment.
“I’m sorry to have to break it to you. You got it backwards,” he says softly. “I didn’t fall in love with your inner beauty and then want to make love to you. Truth is, I wanted to have hot, dirty sex with you from the moment we met – and falling in love with the rest of you had to catch up with my raging hard-on.”
I’m delighted. Sure most girls want to hear their man loves them for their personality…their insides…their essential inner beauty and ‘it’s not about the physical, I promise!’ But not me. Not this fat girl. Not right now anyway. I want to hear all about how much he longs for me, and yes, how raging his hard-on really is. I smile up at him weakly, “So what you’re telling me, is that you want to marry me for my body?”
“Absolutely,” he says. His voice is raspy sandpaper that sears my skin and my soul. “I promise to spend the rest of my life in utter worship and adoration of your body. As it is now, ten years from now, fifty years from now.” There’s no more teasing as he cups my face gently, so gently – in his hands. There’s only total intensity and naked intent. Resolution. “And I promise to spend a thousand lifetimes learning and loving all the mysterious, beautiful layers of the inner secret butterfly Scarlet.” There’s that wicked grin again. “I’m pretty sure she’s not skinny though.”
“Yeah?” I whisper.
“Mmhmm,” he says, “I’m pretty sure the inner secret Scarlet, wherever she’s hiding – is just as abundant,” he punctuates each word with a lingering kiss, “luscious, complex, frustrating, magnificent, and perfect, as the woman I’m wildly, impossibly in lust and in love with already.”
Now if that isn’t a declaration of true love, then I don’t know what else is.
“I believe you,” I say. “Who knew that an engineer could be so poetic?”
An arched eyebrow. “I don’t think it’s my poetry that persuaded you. Pretty sure it was my dirty hot sex moves.”
Oops. Busted.
I hide my face in his shirt, against his chest as he laughs but then I remember there’s not much point trying to be all dignified now. Not when I’m a wild mess and my shirt is in tatters.
I raise my eyes to meet his. “Who says there’s no poetry in steamy, dirty hot sex?”
We share a smile and then he asks, “So does this mean you’re saying yes? Now that I’ve seduced you?”
“Yes. I will marry you. But on one condition.”
“What is it?”
“We have to elope. No crazy Samoan wedding drama for us. Deal?” I say.
His face lights up. Raw happiness. “Now that, is the best deal I’ve ever been offered. You got it.”
He kisses me under a vast sky, as the sun slips beyond the horizon, and the tapestry of night unfolds. Wind rustles the leaves of the great oak tree, a soft whispering. And his kiss, it makes the stars dance.
This, this is our happy ending. Finally. And the beginning of our forever.
I have crossed the troubled sea. I have turned my face to the sun. At night, I have the constellations to guide me. The Ulimasao of my god to power me forward. The fierce wisdom of my ancestors to stoke the fire within me. The steel strength and spirit of all those who love me, to bear me up.
I am Scarlet, a daughter descended of Nafanua and I am silent no more. No lies, no secrets. I am no longer afraid. To fight. To live, laugh and love. To hope.
And yes, to forgive.
The End
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Faafetai lava to all the readers of Scarlet’s story who have waited patiently for her happy ending – yes I know it took a while, but I hope you find the wait was worth it.
In September 2015, my beloved second mother passed away. Somewhat adrift on the journey of grief, I shut down all my author projects at the time, including Scarlet’s conclusion, and took a two-year hiatus from writing fiction. It was a much needed break and one in which I exercised different writing and editing muscles, but it’s been a joy returning to the magic of storytelling. Peka, although you’re gone, your love continues to find its way into my writing, your fierce spirit and strength (and even your cooking) is in my books. I miss you.
I pay tribute to the many survivors of child sexual abuse who have shared their stories with me. I am awed and humbled by your courage, strength and resilience. To you I say, we are not broken. And our voice, hurt and healing is always more important than our family and our community’s pride and reputation. My prayer is that all survivors will find the love and support they need to help them through their own particular journeys across troubled seas.
Love and light to dear friends who have walked with me through many adventures and challenges, who ensure that I do get out of the hermit cave once in a while
Thank you to Darren and my children for all your encouragement and support of my wri
ting. You make stories happen.
Lani
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lani Young is a Samoan/Maori author and columnist. The 2018 ACP Pacific Laureate (selected by the African, Caribbean, Pacific Group of States), she is the author of 11 books including the international bestselling TELESA series. She’s worked as a scriptwriter for Disney, and her stories for children are published by the NZ School Journal.
When she’s not writing romance, Lani writes about feminism, culture, parenting, climate justice, gender, and everything in between. Her writing on child sexual abuse and domestic violence in Pasifika communities has generated dialogue in many forums worldwide. She is also an award-winning journalist.
Lani lives in Samoa and New Zealand with her husband and five children.
You can find more of her writing at her blog: Sleepless in Samoa.
Sign up to her newsletter and get the latest on her new book releases, bonus stories, and author events: Lani Young Newsletter
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This is a coming of age love story. (YA) Recommended for ages 15+ due to language and sexual situations.
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