And we both cracked up laughing.
***
After dinner, our small group headed to the beach for the hotel’s weekly bonfire event. People were everywhere, all of us scattered around the many flame pits dotting the privately owned section of sand. A hum of conversation in the cool night air often broke with sporadic bursts of boisterous laughter, and the ocean’s breeze danced playfully around us, hues of orange flickering in our eyes when flames illuminated and reached for the star-sprinkled sky up above. It was nice, warm, especially from my nestled position in between Brad’s legs.
“Great idea to bring the marshmallows,” I said to Dimps, while sliding a puffy pink pillow of yumminess onto my stick.
Brad threaded his marshmallow on behind mine “Yeah, but where’d all these sticks come from?”
“Break them from a tree, I did.” Noah smiled proudly before removing his own melted, gooey treat from the stick he was holding.
“You just broke them from the hotel trees?” Cori whisper-asked, craning her neck like a peacock while trying to hide her stick under her leg.
Noah nodded.
“You can’t do that!”
“I can, yes.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Too late, it is. Eat, you shall.”
I subdued a laugh, leaned back, and whispered to Brad, “How the hell did you put up with that Yoda-talk as a kid?”
“I don’t know. I guess it was funny back then. It used to drive Mum nuts.”
“And as you got older?”
“I didn’t notice it so much, or maybe I was just used to it.” He nudged my neck with the tip of his nose then lightly nipped at my earlobe, sending a delightful shiver down the length of my spine where it settled in between my legs. Not now, delightful shiver. Go away.
I shuffled forward to create some distance and hovered our marshmallow-covered stick over a couple of hot coals in the fire pit. The cool night air struck my back, and I knew immediately that my newly stretched position had lifted the hem of my top and exposed a section of skin just above the waistband of my jeans.
Reaching behind me, I tried to pull the material down, but Brad knocked my hand away, the coolness teasing my back replaced by warmth from the tips of his fingers.
I jolted at the change of sensation, but his fingers gripped my hips, firm. They held me with confidence, yet were tender as the pads of his thumbs massaged small circles near the crevice of my arse. Oh good God, yes!
Just quietly, I wasn’t opposed to bit of arse-play. In fact, if the right guy with the right cock did the right thing at the right time, I welcomed it. But now was definitely not the right time, no matter how much that thought floated deliciously on my mind. Fuck! I need a BOB session, or a real session. Damn it, I just need a session.
Trying to relax under his touch, I watched the sugar in our marshmallows bubble and caramelise, the transformation quick. In fact, it was so quick that I was too slow in pulling them from the fire before they charcoaled on the outside.
“Sexy pixie,” he murmured into my ear, leaning forward and reaching over my shoulder for the stick, taking it from my hand. “You suck at toasting marshmallows.”
Truth. I did.
“Well, I was distracted by a pair of large hands on my body.” It was all the defence I had.
He pulled a marshmallow from the stick and placed it in my mouth. “You call what I was doing a distraction?”
“Yes,” I mumbled, poking the melted mallow in completely and getting some of it stuck to my chin and fingers.
Brad quickly popped his in his mouth and licked his fingers before grabbing my chin and turning my face toward him. “I have better ways to distract you, trust me.” He dipped his lips to my neck and traced his tongue up my throat until he was licking and sucking the sticky treat from my chin.
My eyes grew wide. My mouth, even wider. My hands, immobile.
The wet glide of his lips and tongue twirled a trance across my skin, my chest heaving and my nipples speaking longfultongue. Not to mention that the delightful shiver from moments ago had once again found their way in between my legs.
I didn’t care this time. It was welcome. What he was doing to my favourite erogenous zone had my eyes closing under the weight of euphoria and my body falling limp into his arms. It was heaven. Pure bliss.
With one hand cradling my head and the other sliding underneath my knees, he lifted me up and onto his lap, his lips trailing higher until they were upon mine.
I moaned unashamedly, and even louder when our tongues collided. Again, I didn’t care. The fuck I gave was about as real as a fire-breathing mermaid. And anyway, the moment was definitely moan-worthy, so cheers to dragon-mutant mermaids.
I honestly didn’t know how he did it, but from the moment I’d met Brad, he’d made me feel at ease in his company—in his arms. His touch sent warmth throughout my body, and his words ellicited a smile that reached the corners of my face. And when he looked at me with those piercing blue eyes, I was unarmed yet confident and strong. So yeah, I didn’t know how he did it, but he definitely did something.
“Dude, what’d you put in those marshmallows?” Noah blurted out, breaking our kiss. “Look at those two. They’re practically fucking on top of the bonfire.”
“Nothing. I didn’t put anything in the marshmallows.” Dimps sounded a little defensive.
I wasn’t paying much attention to them though, because my eyes were still trained on Brad’s and his on mine, and it was as if they communicated all on their own—a flirtatious twinkle to a satisfied smirk.
“Bullshit nothing. You roofied them, didn’t you?”
“No!”
Finally turning my head to look at Dimps and Noah, I found Noah holding the bag of marshmallows, a suspicious scowl set on his face as he scrutinised them.
“Um … is it me or is anyone else feeling a sense of déjà vu here?” Cori asked with a laugh, her nose a little scrunched as she searched our faces.
We all paused, eyes narrowing, seeking recollection.
“Yes! I know,” Chief said, clicking his fingers. “That movie. What’s it called?”
Noah pointed his finger toward Dimps. “The Hangover. Yes! This is just like that scene when Alan roofies the marshmallows and that Asian kid loses his finger,” he said, his eyes landing on his own outstretched finger, which he then pulled back in while glaring at Dimps.
I laughed. “Not quite. No one is losing their finger.”
“Well, you can’t categorically state that any one of us won’t lose a finger at some point. That surpasses the law of total probability.” Dimps popped a marshmallow in his mouth, unperturbed and seemingly oblivious to the non-seriousness of the topic at hand.
I went to respond, but found myself elevating when Brad picked me up to stand with him.
“We’re out of here,” he announced, taking my hand in his when my feet hit the ground.
“We are?”
“Yes.” He led me away from the fire and toward the waves lapping the shore.
“Oh, okay. Bye,” I said, with a wave above my head.
“Good night,” Cori called back.
I couldn’t see her face, but I knew she was smiling the kind of smile she did when she thought she knew something that I didn’t.
It didn’t matter though. She could smile all she wanted. I preferred her to smile if the alternative was an angry or sad Cori. Both of those Coris were hard for me to be around. I wanted … no, needed to be surrounded by positivity, humour, and people who were carefree. I found that if I could maintain a happy-go-lucky lifestyle, take my antidepressants and write in my diary, I was less likely to slip back into depression.
This practice had worked for the most part.
“You’re very fucking beautiful.”
“What?” I asked, snapping from my inner thoughts. We’d stopped walking and were instead standing just shy of the water’s edge.
He pulled me flush with his chest and held my face with his hands
. “You’re incredibly beautiful. Your sexy-as-fuck pixie hair. Your cute little pixie body. That smile. Those eyes—”
“I am not,” I interrupted, dismissing his compliment and looking anywhere but his face.
What the fuck was that, Em? Where’s your confidence gone?
“Yeah, you are.” His fingers pressed firmer, commanding I look back at him.
I obeyed.
“Why do women do that?”
“Do what?”
“Brush off compliments.”
I shrugged. It was a good question and, in all honesty, I didn’t understand why a lot of women did it.
Trying to regain my nerve again, I answered, albeit stubbornly. “Maybe we don’t need them.”
He laughed. “Yeah, you do.”
His condescending response annoyed me. “We do not. We don’t need your approval.” I tried to wiggle free of his grip, but he held tight.
“I agree. You don’t. But you should accept it. Because if I tell you you’re fucking beautiful, then you are. Don’t tell me you’re not. It’s an insult.”
I smiled a little but then argued his point. “Hang on a minute. An insult? Really? That’s a bit harsh. Some women truly dislike their appearance. That’s their perception, and what you see is yours, which means neither of you are right nor wrong in your own eye—”
His lips crashed down on mine before I could finish what I was saying, his tongue feverish and hungry. It sought mine with an intensity I’d only ever seen in movies or experienced on stage. And even then, those kisses weren’t real. Not like this. This kiss was undeniable.
I was stunned when he pulled away. My mouth open and my tongue buzzing.
“If I say you’re fucking beautiful, then you’re. Fucking. Beautiful. And if I say that I want nothing more than to taste every inch of your fucking beautiful body right now, then I mean that, too.”
Well fuck. Okay, I believe you.
I swallowed, finally closing my mouth. “You want to taste my body … now?”
The distant flames of the bonfires, the lights of the hotel building, and the silver ray cast by the half-moon above us highlighted his eyes as we stood in the shadows near the shore. I watched as those illuminated eyes slowly roamed the length of my body, their gleam deliciously filthy. They mapped every part of me, consuming me—branding my skin with their fiery burn.
“Yeah, I do,” he said, dropping to his knees. “And I’m gonna start with your ankle.”
Brad lifted my leg, and I quickly placed my hand on his shoulder for balance. His lips touched my skin, his tongue lightly tracing the small joint of my foot. I sucked in a ragged breath. It tickled, but oh my God did it feel delightful.
“Then,” he murmured, slowly trailing his lips a little higher while placing my foot on his lap. “I want to lick behind your knee.”
A jolt of pleasure surged directly to my pussy when he feathered his tongue across the crevice behind my knee, and my hand jumped to the back of his head, gripping his hair tightly. I wanted nothing more than to slam that head of his between my legs and ride his face, hard. I wanted him to tear my shorts down my legs, bend me over, and drill me to within an inch of my life. I wanted to … “Ohhhhhh,” I moaned.
Brad’s hand had crept underneath my shorts, now resting on my arse, his fingers splayed and his pinkie rubbing the seam of my G-string.
“Fuck,” he mumbled, his mouth climbing my leg a little quicker. “I can feel how wet you are.”
Growling and nipping my inner thigh, his fingers grew frenzied and moved my underwear aside, sliding along my arousal-coated skin before one of them entered me.
“Oh fuck!” My head dropped backward, and my eyelids fell shut. I rocked my hips, grinding my pussy against his hand.
His finger slid in. And then out.
His finger plunged deep. And I cried out.
“Brad!”
“Fuck!” he growled. “You’re so fucking perfect, Em.”
That word. Perfect. It was so … absolute, as if something or someone could be exemplary. I wasn’t. I was flawed. I had secrets, demons, insecurities, and that was okay. I was okay with that. But if perfect was what Brad wanted, I couldn’t be that for him. I couldn’t even pretend to be that for him. The ‘me’ he could see wasn’t the real me. She was fabricated for his liking, and he deserved better than that.
“Stop,” I said, opening my eyes and pushing off of him before taking a step back.
“What? What’s wrong?” His brows were drawn together, and he looked … confused.
I honestly couldn’t blame him.
“I just can’t do this. Here … now. I’m sorry.” I turned around and moved quickly through the sand toward the hotel.
“Em, wait!”
Waiting was the last thing I wanted to do. Waiting meant having to explain why I’d stopped him. And I didn’t want to explain that. I just wanted to get away, to be alone … to talk to H. He always helped me see reason when I got close to a guy. He prevented me from hurting and disappointing them.
He prevented me from fucking up.
“Em, stop!” Brad’s hands landed on my hips and pulled me to a halt before spinning me to face him. “What happened? What did I do? Talk to me.” He bent down, his eyes, imploring.
I couldn’t look at them, so I stared down at my feet. “It’s not you.”
“What’s not me?” He let go of me and stood back, running his hands through his hair and gripping it with frustration.
“I’m sorry. I just … I don’t want to lead you on, okay?” This time when I turned around, I ran. I wasn’t stopping again. The anguish that had been swirling within his eyes was too difficult to bear, because I was at fault for them drowning in it.
“What are you talking about?” he shouted.
“Just let it go, Brad,” I shouted back, continuing to run.
Thankfully, he didn’t follow me back to my room, and a small sense of relief washed over me as I closed the door. I couldn’t say for sure whether I’d have cried in his arms or launched a verbal attack had he followed me. I was sad and angry, but mostly angry with him and with myself. I was also angry with H, and just outright fucking angry.
Why, Em? Why’d you push him away like that?
“I don’t know,” I snapped at myself, slumping onto the end of my bed and burying my head in my hands.
Yeah, you do. It’s because you like him.
“No shit,” I mumbled, again talking to the only person in the room … me.
Of course I liked him. I liked him a lot. He seemed like such a great guy: sweet, funny, attentive, a bit of a smartarse, and extremely good-looking. He appeared to have a loving family, and from what he’d told me, a great childhood. But that was all I knew. Then again, it was more than I knew of most guys I fucked around with. So why was I so unwilling to fuck around with Brad?
Because you LIKE him.
“Yes, I fucking like him, alright?” I shouted, standing up and storming to the bathroom.
Liking someone shouldn’t be so complicated. But for me, it was. For me, it meant lying to them, and I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to lie to Brad, because yeah … I liked him. Lying was hard, and not from an acting point of view. I was good at that part. Adept. Polished. No, my difficulty with lying had more to do with the overwhelming-guilt-every-time-you-deceive-the-ones-you-love point of view. I’d lied to my friends and family enough as it was. Adding more people to that list just wasn’t an option. I couldn’t do it.
I wouldn’t do it.
Shoving the plug into the bath drain, I turned the water on and slid my phone from my back pocket, placing it on the basin. I wrestled my navy singlet over my head, yanked down my denim shorts, unclipped my bra and removed my G-string before launching them all into the corner of the room. My big toe teased the surface of the bathwater, testing the temperature. It was hot, but not too hot, so I stepped into the tub, lowering myself into the water and retrieving my phone.
I needed H.
&n
bsp; I needed his words.
I needed not to lie.
And with H, I didn’t have to. I could be honest. I could be me. He was acquainted with my inner demons, and he never flinched.
Em: You there?
I’m wet and lonely.
I waited for a moment, but he didn’t respond. I put the phone back on the basin and sunk down under the surface of the water, opening my eyes and keeping myself submerged by using the leverage of the tap. The world seemed different underwater—quieter, peaceful … sequestered. Yet it was also blaringly loud, the thud of my heartbeat, my pounding thoughts, my doubts … my conscience. They were all screaming at me and I needed them to pipe down. I needed them to let me breathe.
I needed to breathe.
Breathe, Em.
Pushing with my feet against the porcelain of the tub, I broke the water’s surface and gasped for air, wiping my face with the palms of my hands as I settled into a more comfortable position. I closed my eyes and was about to focus on anything but Brad when my phone beeped H’s message tone. Oh thank God.
Mr Happy: Where’s your stripper friends?
Em: Doing stripper stuff.
Mr Happy: And you’re not there watching them?
H was baiting me. I could tell. It was something he always resorted to when grumpy. He had no reason to do it though, so I refused to bite.
Em: No. I’m here in the bath. Wet.
Mr Happy: I’d be concerned if you weren’t wet.
You stubborn smartarse. I smiled. He was such a baby sometimes. But admittedly, I found it endearing. Sometimes cute. It was confirmation that what the two of us shared was more than just perversion, that we could illicit different emotions and converse and uplift one another without sexual connotations. Sure, the banter was nice, but it wasn’t what I wanted right now. What I wanted was the perversion.
Em: If you’re not going to help me fuck myself,
I’ll log-on to work and find someone else who will.
I pressed send and waited to see whether he’d take my bait, even though I knew he would. He always did.
Reveal (A Wild Nights Novel) Page 11
