Ethans Fal

by Dee Palmer

  “Ethan,” I place my hand on his chest, my thumb absently stroking the curve of his tight peck under his light knit jumper, greedily grabbing its own enjoyment at the contact, even as my brain is fighting for some sense to prevail. We’re in a goddamned library. “I don’t think–”

  “See, there you go thinking and learning, or other secret shit, when really you should be coming. Don’t you want to come, Ada, hmmm?” My hand is now trapped between our bodies, his nose is trailing from my ear down my neck, inhaling. His lips punctuate each word with the softest kiss, like he is scared to frighten me away. I couldn’t move if I wanted to, and all I crave is for him to do exactly what he knows I yearn for. “Don’t you want to come for me?” He drops his embrace from around my waist, and steps instantly back. The coolness of the break in contact is stark and shocking. But I didn’t hear the door open, so I didn’t have the warning Ethan had.

  “Ethan Cates, it’s not often we see you in here, young man. Don’t you have fancy enough resources of your own?” Pat casts a parental glance of concern my way over the rim of her half-moon glasses, and I must flush seven shades of red.

  “I don’t have the local history you have here, and Ada had expressed a need to come”–I close my eyes at the mortifying pause Ethan takes delight in drawing out–“and learn all about the local history. Isn’t that right, Ada? You can’t wait to get started?” He isn’t even smirking; he is deadly serious. I catch the slightest wiggle of his fingers and I can almost feel their intimate electric touch.

  “Oh, Ada, you never said,” Pat interrupts, oblivious to the sexual tension building in the small room. “No one ever comes in here but me, and the odd tourist on a rainy day. I would be happy–”

  “–I’m going to be the one to give Ada what she needs. We will call you if we need anything. That won’t happen, by the way.” Ethan’s dismissal is curt and seems to irritate Pat.

  “I should really supervise any persons in the reference section.” She frowns and grumbles. Ethan hasn’t taken his eyes from me. “But there is no one to cover the front desk.” Pat is talking to herself, when she turns to face me. “I suppose, since it’s you, Ada,” she muses, and flashes a quick scowl at Ethan. “If you need clarification, Ada, I will be right outside.” She focuses on me, and whispers, “If you can’t get my attention, just scream.” Pat’s shoulders are shaking with laughter at her own attempt at humour .She closes the door and I release a breath I had been holding.

  “There, you even have permission to scream. What could be better?” Ethan’s smile is breathtaking and deviant at the same time.

  I look around nervously; the room is dimly lit but the door we just came through is part of a glass wall partition, which separates the main part of the library from the temperature controlled silence of the room we are in. There is a waist height bank of bookshelves that divide the room and it is behind those that Ethan leads me. He spins me first to face him, tipping my chin so I meet his hooded eyes.

  “I am going to make you come so fucking hard, and I am not going to stop no matter who enters this room. Now, it’s up to you who enters this room. So unless you would like an audience or a police record, you will have to save the screaming for later, understand?” His stern voice and gravelly delivery, leaves me speechless. “Good girl.”

  He spins me away from him and pushes me so I am slightly bent over the bookshelf–more of an extended lean. He roughly pulls at the buttons on my jeans and drags them, and my panties, down to my feet. Oh, shit, I thought he would at least leave them around my knees. He taps my feet with his foot and I lift my naked legs free. He then kicks my feet apart and parts them wider. “Good girl. You know, I’ve never tasted anything like you before–liquid sunrise and untamed ocean. Sweetest fucking taste ever! I think you might be addictive.” He crouches behind me and I swallow a squeal, which still comes out as a strangled squeak. He grabs the cheeks of my bottom and strokes reverently before slipping his fingers down my crack and pulling me apart enough to put his mouth to my core. His thumbs are massaging my slickness and his tongue takes long sweeps, dipping inside but not enough. Then circling my clit with teasing feather-light strokes. My hips roll, pushing against his mouth.

  He groans and the vibrations feel amazing–he feels amazing. My hands grip the top of the bookcase, the sweat from my fingertips makes little half-moon imprints in the wood. My tummy clenches and a deep, swirling, intense pressure is making it hard to hold still. I find myself pitching up on my toes to try and evade the extreme pleasure. Ethan growls and uses both his hands to secure me firmly against his mouth. His lips move with his tongue, sucking and grinding lightly, building a delicious ache that I can feel in the base of my spine, firing through every little hair on my skin. Oh, God…I close my eyes and drop my head with a thud. The tension in my legs is acute and they start to shake, but the door opens suddenly and I clamp my legs tight around Ethan’s head. His hands just wedge me back apart and his tongue resumes its tortuous ministrations, fervidly drawing my pleasure in waves I can feel begin to crest.

  “Where’s Ethan?” Pat asks and I swallow thickly. Think, Ada. I can’t think…I’m so close…so unbelievably close, I can’t…can’t. Pat steps further into the room. It’s a simple question. Just answer something and she’ll leave. I need her to go away. Just speak for Christ’s sake, and try not to pant like the wanton bitch in heat you appear to be.

  “He is…um…” The words escape and I choke back a cry of frustration.

  “Just getting this.” Ethan slams a large dusty volume of maps of the Cornish coast and pats it with self-satisfaction, grinning and wiping a wide smile onto his face with the back of his hand. He bites my flavour off his lips, and a whimper escapes the back of my throat. “Actually, you know, Pat, I think you would be much better placed to talk Ada through the history of coastal erosion. I mean, I would love to but I have a party to get ready for.” He discreetly pulls my long sweater back to where it hangs close to my knees, and even pats my bottom.

  “Ethan?” My voice is laced more with disbelief than it is with anger. But it quickly morphs into focused hostility when Ethan strides out of the Reference room, leaving me clinging half naked to a book shelf. Not to mention an over-eager historian, desperate to share her local knowledge. I smile weakly at Pat’s enthusiastic expression. I just pray she stays on that side of the bookcase.

  Forty five minutes I stood with my jeans crumpled by my feet, waiting for Pat to leave her mini lecture long enough for me to get dressed and pull myself together. It was no reflection of Pat’s impassioned talk about the devastating effect of ferocious waves on the delicate rocks that give Cornwall its dramatically rugged and wild coastline, that I was too distracted to engage. When she did leave to answer the bell at the front desk, I quickly slipped my clothes back on, and made my excuses. The sexual frustration had ebbed, but I was fucking furious that Ethan had now cost me more hours of potential income. Not only that, but he had eaten into precious research time. I have to steady my stride when my body gives an involuntary shiver. Trust my body to vividly recall my research time with Ethan, when I’m trying to stay mad. It’s nearly noon when I reach the bar to change. The sun is high and the mid-morning heat is fierce in the clear blue sky. For the first time since I walked into this town, I feel unsettled. More so now that I’m outside the staff entrance to the bar: a place that has become my second home, a place of refuge from the elements, and somewhere to get my hug fix. I have always felt welcome, and now I’m not so sure. I don’t work here anymore, and I can’t afford to stay as a paying customer.

  “Hey, sweetheart. What are do doing hanging out here? Come, give me some sugar!” Buddy swings the back door wide, almost as wide as his welcoming outstretched arms. My response is automatic and I step inside to be enveloped in his meaty strong arms. His squeeze is just on the too tight ‘You didn’t need that last bit of breath’ type of embrace, but it is perfect for this morning. I hold just a little longer. “Hey, what’s up?” He pulls me back a
nd I’m surprised when I can feel a tingle pinch behind my nose, and I think I might cry. I don’t know what has got me so sensitive. I shake my head because as emotional, confusing, and abnormal as this morning was, it is nothing to cry about.

  “Nothing, just tired, and I didn’t get as much time at the library as I needed.” I shrug off my excuses.

  “I take it Ethan found you then?” He raises a brow and his smile falters when I shift out of his hold and can’t meet his eyes. “Ah, shit! Look, Ada…Ethan is a good friend–one of my best friends actually and he’s a good guy–but you really don’t want to….” He looks really torn with split loyalties. “It’s just, he isn’t the commitment type. He loves women, he’s just never going to–”

  “–and they all love him,” I repeat a phrase that is quickly becoming a little irritating. “I get it, Buddy, but that isn’t me. I am probably the only one in this town who thinks he’s a massive prick. You don’t need to worry about me, I’m safe.” He purses his lips, and runs his hand through his hair.

  “Okay, whatever. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  I close my eyes and think that you have to let people in for them to hurt you, and even if I didn’t have a stellar IQ, after what Cal did to me, I won’t let that happen again. Ethan affects my body and the shock of my reaction is something I need to come to grips with, but it’s not love. Lust–raw, filthy, hot, and sexy; out of my control and comfort zones, plus all of the above, but not love. I look up into his soft, curious, dark-brown eyes. “Besides, you are so wrong if you think I’m looking for commitment. But I do need a favour?”

  “You name it.”

  “Is it still okay for me to keep my locker here, you know, until I get my place back? Only, I feel awkward now I don’t work here–”

  “Seriously, that’s your concern? Wow, I thought you were smart. Mi Casa Es Su Casa and always will be. I’ll get a key cut if it helps, but I’m always here so it isn’t necessary.”

  “No. No key. Just a place to stash my stuff and maybe the sofa when it rains; that would be sweet, thank you.” I lean up and kiss his bearded cheek.

  “Jeeze, you are easy to please.” He ruffles my hair and holds the door wide for me to pass. I poke his scruffy facial hair.

  “You know, this will have to go when Honey gets back.” I laugh at his instant killer smile.

  “I’d have a full back sack and crack, if it would stop her from touring.”

  “Ew, Buddy! I have a visual now…gross.” I slap my hand to my mouth and make exaggerated heaving noises. “Don’t get me wrong, I like a wax as much as the next girl, but you’re like my brother, and no sister should have that image.”

  “All I’m saying is I have no problem losing the beard for my baby girl.”

  “Oh, my God, Buddy. Could you be any more adorable? When does she get back?”“Another six weeks; she’s just started the Australian leg, then she's home for a whole month.” He eagerly rubs his hands together.

  “Well, when arse-hat leaves, I am happy to cover your shifts to give you a little extra Honey time. Just say the word and it will be our little secret.” I give him a cheeky wink.

  “Ethan doesn’t like secrets, especially when women are involved, but we’ve got all summer to win him ’round.”

  “He’s staying the whole summer? But Sky said he only ever did the odd and infrequent flying visit?” My tummy knots and I don’t know whether it’s with pleasure or anxiety.

  “Nope, not this time. He told me he is here for the summer, to play.” Buddy flashes a warning look my way, and I cringe a little at the futility of its timing–too little too late.

  THE BEACH IS busy but even with the people packed like brightly coloured sprinkles on an ice cream cone, I can see Ada. How is that exactly? It’s like I can feel the air around me move and nudge me to look in a certain direction. She even has a ridiculous floppy hat, which covers her face completely, but I would recognise those legs anywhere. My fingers tingle with the memory of her delicate skin and the pin prick bumps my touch ignited. I watch from my elevated position on the Life Guard station, because days like this Gus, the Chief Guard, is not going to turn away an extra pair of eyes. The station is situated in the centre of the beach, and the sand stretches half a mile end-to-end, but with my binoculars she’s in touching distance. Not creepy at all. I watch her carefully straighten out a large blanket, a sun shade, and then spend a good twenty minutes taking some items out of her bag and placing them on the ground. I can’t make out what it is and I’m curious enough to find out. Actually, I don’t care what it is, but she has spent so long setting it all up, I know she won’t want to move, and I know exactly where I intend to pitch up my look-out post today. I slip my Peterson rescue tube over my back, grab a folding chair, and pick my path through dense clusters of mini encampments. Wind breakers surround towels and circle enclosures like picket fences, affording a degree of privacy and securing holiday-makers their own personal plot in paradise. Each of the poles pitched in the sand holding the breakers in place has a garment hanging, swimsuit, T-shirts, or wetsuits. All drying in the breeze and flying like flags staked on the newly claimed land. I don’t recognise any of the faces, but this is high tourist season, so anyone local would be working. It looks like that’s exactly what Ada is doing. Across the beach from me, fiddling with the hair of a small child, I can just make out the movements of her braiding the long strands of hair.

  I don’t approach right away. She is sat crossed-legged, and her frayed white shorts have crept high on her thigh. She is wearing an oversized, sleeveless, grey T-shirt with scooped cut out sides, exposing a black string bikini top. The swell of her breast curve spills out just a little under the tiny material, and her soft skin folds in ripples at her over bent posture. A deceptive image, she has sensual curves in all the best places, but that body is toned and fit. Her skin is a lighter tan than sitting all day in the sun would cause, so I would guess she doesn’t do this for extended periods. Or she is smothered in factor fifty. I like the idea of spreading suntan lotion on all that silken skin. I watch her nimble fingers twist and wrap metallic threads round and around a single strand of some young girl’s hair. There must be a hundred different coloured cotton threads laid neatly on the blanket. The grin on the small girls face is bursting with excitement, and from her profile, I can see Ada’s lips are curved in a tender smile. I can’t hear what they are chatting about, but it is an easy conversation for both. A mix of fits of giggles from the girl and a few belly laughs from Ada. That sound is almost as sexy as she is. When she finishes, the little girl jumps up and hugs her flat against the ground. The mother hands Ada some money and now I feel like a complete shit and wish I wasn’t wearing my official beach patrol badge. No pedlars on the beach. She is definitely going to think I have a vendetta, but this actually has nothing to do with me. The local council is strict about this and keeps the traders to the harbour wall and I think, having spent any time here, she would know this.

  “So, for someone not wanting my attention, you are not so subtle, Miss?” I stand with the sun to my back and she has to crane her neck back to look in my eyes. Her hat flops and she folds it back in a big half circle, which now looks like a dumb cowboy hat. Adorable. She ignores my attempt to illicit her surname.

  “I’m not talking to you. That little stunt you pulled in the library cost me….” She hesitates and holds back what it cost her. Every time we speak, she intrigues me a little more. I need to keep it fun, and I will, but she is curious, nevertheless. “I think it’s best I do your damn cleaning and we forget everything else.” She blushes, shakes the sand from her legs, and stands, even leaning up onto her toes to pointlessly try and even out the height difference.

  “Oh, you do, do you?” I shake my head and narrow my eyes with heat that rivals the mid-morning sun overhead. “Ada, that’s not going to happen.” I touch my finger to the centre of her collar bone. “We are going to happen.” She barks out an incredulous laugh, but I dip to meet her gaze and I
can see her eyes betray her indignation at my confidence. “But not today. Because, I am about to piss you off. In my defence, I take no pleasure in it, which personally I consider a crime.”

  She puts her hands on her hips, a prematurely defensive position. “You mean piss me off more. I’m listening.”

  “You have to pack up. No pedlars…no trade on the beach, Ada.”

  “Fuck! Really? What are you the pedlars police?” she snaps.

  “Actually kind of…I’m one of the life guards and we keep the beach safe, so yeah!” Her scowl has me pulling my hand through my hair. I can hear how pompous I sound, and I have the decency to feel awkward about it, shifting my feet through the sand with evident unease.

  “Life Guard…of course! Why should that surprise me?” She drops her head and I see her draw a deep breath. I steal myself for her wrath. But she exhales, her smile holds a sinister curl. “Ethan”–my name on those lips make my balls ache–“I’m not peddling on the beach. So, you can go on about your job with a clear conscience. The beach is safe from such perils today, at least.”

  “Ada, I just saw you braid that girls hair.” I point to the retreating child with her mother.

  “And?” she asks in all affected innocence.

  “And the mother paid you, ergo you are trading on the beach.” Her smile is fixed and I feel like I’m the one not ‘getting’ this situation.

  “Ethan, I braided that girls hair because she asked me to, and her mother simply returned some money I had leant her.” Her face is impassive but her fingers on her left hand actually cross. I know she’s lying–she knows I know she’s lying.

  “You leant that woman money?”

  “Yep.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care. You can go and ask her if you can find her in the crowd, but the bottom line is you can’t prove anything. So, how about you go do your thing and leave me to do mine.”

  “Your thing being?”