The Gift

by Portia Da Costa

  ‘Er … my pleasure,’ she answered, then found herself laughing again.

  It certainly had been her pleasure. In fact more of it than she’d probably ever had before in her life, with any man. It hadn’t lasted all that long but, boy, had it been intense!

  Jay kissed the back of her hand again, and flashed her a wink.

  ‘Would you think that I’m a crass, horrible, insensitive philistine of a typical man if I said I was hungry now?’ He turned on his side and, giving her fingertips one last kiss, he released her hand. ‘That was amazing but, somehow, I’m starving.’

  Sandy glanced away, suddenly embarrassed, as he plucked at the condom that still enrobed his wilted cock. But she couldn’t help noticing out of the corner of her eye that he was still sizeable when flaccid and, deep in the quick of her, she felt the echo of response.

  ‘No, I’m a bit hungry myself,’ she admitted, wondering if he could read the ambiguity, the half-baked double entendre.

  But it seemed not, because he was already disposing of the evidence, and fastening his trousers, then his shirt. ‘I just hope we can get into the kitchen now. Kat and Greg might have gone back there.’ She tweaked down her skirt, wondering exactly where her knickers had got to this time. ‘We are in her room, after all.’

  Jay was on his feet now, tall, even in his stockinged feet.

  ‘Yeah, I’m sorry about that,’ he said conversationally as he cast about for his shoes, then, finding them, slipped them on. ‘But … well …’ He turned to her, smiling again, strangely shyly. ‘It was important to … to get together as soon as we could, you know?’ His muscular shoulders lifted in a shrug.

  She did sort of know, but somehow she sensed there was more to it. A more compelling drive than lust, pure and simple. There were shadows about Jay, things he hadn’t yet told her. Things he might never tell her.

  It just depended how long this relationship, or whatever it was they had, lasted.

  Chapter 7

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Sandy’s head whipped round, and the spoonful of mayonnaise she was dolloping onto the salad sandwich plopped onto the kitchen counter. She wasn’t yet ready to prepare any kind of food on the table, even though she’d gone over it several times with sanitiser spray, and the tablecloth – and the butter dish – were now in the waste bin.

  She wasn’t used to men apologising, especially when they didn’t actually have anything to apologise for.

  Had he steamrollered her into sex? Well, no, not really. She’d been with him all the way. Doing things she wanted to.

  Had he made her do what he wanted? Surrender, submit or whatever? She supposed she could accuse him of that, but what difference did it make if she’d ended up wanting it too? God, she felt too confused and too tired to psychoanalyse that right now.

  Mopping up the mess on autopilot, as she did a dozen times a day in the café, she stared at him. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his expression oblique and thoughtful. One of his long hands was resting on the bare scrubbed wood, and with the fingertips of the other he was absentmindedly tracking the line of one of the scars across the back of it.

  He’d been deep in thought since they’d cautiously left Kat’s bedroom a little while back, but then, most men fell asleep after sex anyway, so consciousness at least was a plus in Sandy’s book.

  Creeping to the kitchen, they’d heard a lot of giggling and a suspiciously rhythmic bumping from the direction of the sitting room, and just now, a moment or two later, there’d been more laughing and the sound of stumbling and tussling on the stairs. It seemed that Kat and Greg had reclaimed her bedroom, and Sandy didn’t want to think about the younger couple fucking in the sexual miasma of hers and Jay’s recent coupling. Too weird, and very icky. But obviously Kat didn’t mind, and neither did her seemingly inexhaustible boyfriend.

  ‘What have you got to be sorry about?’

  She brought the plate of sandwiches to the table, and then pressed the plunger on the coffee pot. The aromatic smell of the roasted beans revived her, and straight, clear thinking returned to her at last, emerging from the mad events of the night.

  God, she was tired though. And it probably showed.

  Jay gave her a searching look, and held out his mug for coffee. ‘I think I was rougher than I should have been. When we had sex.’ He paused and took a sip of the hot brew, making Sandy wonder if the inside of his mouth was fireproof. ‘I’m usually a good deal more sophisticated than that.’

  Sandy slid into the chair across from him and took a cautious sip from her own coffee. Ah, heaven. Not too hot after all, but strong as rocket fuel. ‘I’m OK. Nothing to forgive. I liked it. I would have stopped you if I hadn’t.’

  Do you think you could have stopped me? Jay’s eyes seemed to say.

  Could she have done? He was big and strong. But yes, she knew instinctively that he wasn’t the kind of man to force himself on a woman. Why would he have to? Even with his scars, he was sexually attractive. Big time.

  Jay smiled. A wide warm uncomplicated smile. Suddenly he looked inordinately pleased with himself, she could tell, despite the apology. He had the air of a conquering hero, triumphant. Almost jubilant. Had fucking her really been that big a deal for him?

  ‘What exactly do you mean by sophisticated?’ She took a bite of her sandwich, then another. God, she was hungry! Despite her weariness, her appetite was like a bricklayer’s. That was what being fucked senseless in your best friend’s bed did for you, she supposed.

  ‘Oh, I like to build up slowly, experiment. Ease into the main meal of sex first, then gradually sample the more exotic delicacies.’

  ‘You mean the type of thing Kat and Greg were doing?’ Sandy shuddered. Staring at the wooden surface in front of her, she was momentarily distracted by the practicalities of being a food provider. God, would she ever feel quite the same way about this table again? Maybe she ought to have it resurfaced? Watching Kat and her naughty boyfriend had been a cataclysmic turn-on, but it was still messing with her scrupulous sense of culinary hygiene.

  Jay lifted the top slice of bread on what was left of his sandwich, perused its underside, and waggled his dark eyebrows wickedly. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say there was much delicacy about that, but I’ve no doubt it was pleasurable.’ His long fingers glided across the bare surface of the table, and he lifted them, studying the tips as if he’d been searching for evidence of buggery.

  ‘I threw the tablecloth away! And the butter dish too! And I’ve given the entire table about four coats of Dettox!’

  ‘Just teasing.’

  Unable to be cross, she smiled back at him, astonished by the way his impish grin seemed to blur his scars and make him look younger and gentler.

  Who are you?

  The thought sprang into her mind. It had occurred to her before, but not in a serious, concerted way. Now she really wondered. He’d just appeared out of nowhere, a polished cosmopolitan man in a small-town café, and then popped up again at a stodgy municipal cocktail bash where he really had no business at all. Then he’d kissed her sex without offering anything more than the very moment of pleasure.

  Why are you here?

  The question got stuck in her throat. She couldn’t ask it, even though she knew she should. There might never be another chance to have wild sex with a mysterious stranger, so why drag it down into the mundane world of practicalities and accountability by probing and ferreting around for explanations and provenance?

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  He was staring at her intently, as if he was the one with all the questions and she was the mystery. His eyes were harder now, and a pleat of a frown rumpled his brow.

  ‘Nothing. I was just thinking about Kat and Greg.’ She glanced across at the new tub of spreadable butter, sitting on the worktop minus a proper dish. ‘And, um, what they did. I can’t help imagining what it must feel like.’

  A complete lie until the very instant she voiced the words. But now her innards clenched, think
ing of what she’d seen. What they’d seen.

  ‘Why, do you want to try it?’

  ‘No! Well … yes. Maybe sometime, and not with butter.’

  Jay’s expression cleared. He looked happy and sleekly mischievous again. ‘Well, there are much more aesthetic products available to ease the path.’ His eyes glittered like sunlight sparking off a ferocious northern sea. ‘I think you’ll enjoy it. A lot. Once you relax it’s an incredible sensation.’

  What?

  For a moment, Sandy struggled to process his words. What was he telling her? That he’d ‘received’? That he was bisexual? He seemed so completely male that she couldn’t imagine it. But then, he was also obviously an experimenter, and a daring one.

  ‘Well, a man would. Not sure about the woman, though,’ she countered. Would he clarify?

  That free, sexy laugh rang out again. She loved the sound of it.

  ‘Oh, I’ve tried most things in my time …’ He winked. ‘If that’s what you’re asking. I was a public schoolboy, which is probably self-explanatory, and I’ve been done by a woman, with a strap-on, once or twice.’ He held her gaze, dead level. ‘So I do know what it’s like to “receive”.’

  It was Sandy’s turn to laugh. More a reflex than anything. Images flashed through her brain, hard to compute.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. I only met you a few hours ago and now you’re telling me all your kinkiest secrets!’

  ‘I don’t keep secrets about my sex life.’ He cocked his head on one side, as if assessing her reactions. ‘And if I did, who’s to say that’s the kinkiest one?’

  ‘Christ almighty! I’ve clearly led a sheltered life.’ She sipped her coffee, not really because she wanted to drink it, but more as a reflex action, something to do. What the hell else did Jay get up to in the bedroom, or out of it? ‘I’ve done nothing. I feel like a novice.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’ He shrugged his shoulders, his mouth curving, his eyes challenging. ‘It just means you have much to learn, Grasshopper.’

  What was he offering? Knowledge? Experience? The key to sexual enlightenment? Whatever it was, it amounted to more than just the usual run of a few dates, then into bed, and maybe a bit of oral for variety. Hell, they’d already skipped stage one and majored in stages two and three, and they’d only met today.

  ‘So does that mean you’re offering your services as “Master Po”?’

  Jay drank the rest of his coffee, then set down the mug with a decisive ‘clop’.

  ‘You could say something like that.’ Shoving back his chair, he stood up. The movement of his tall muscular body moved air and almost made Sandy flinch where she sat. ‘But no more games tonight, eh, Princess? You’re tired. You need your rest.’ He glanced at the remnants of the sandwiches on the plate, then reached for a piece of buttered crust and popped it in his mouth. ‘And sometimes a sandwich can be just as satisfying if you’re hungry.’

  Strange man.

  ‘Why do you keep calling me “Princess”?’

  Dark shutters seemed to come down behind his eyes, and for a moment she thought he was going to go cool on her again. But, after a micropause, he smiled.

  ‘Just a term of endearment. Why, do you actually prefer “Grasshopper”?’

  ‘“Princess” will do.’ Hot blood rushed into Sandy’s face, thinking of the garden, when he’d murmured the word while he was between her legs. It still beggared belief what she’d allowed him to do within minutes of their first ever conversation.

  He loomed over her in a way that seemed to compel her to stay in her seat.

  ‘So, Princess, how do you want to do this?’ His hand settled on the side of her face, almost tenderly, and she could almost believe that they were at the beginning of a normal relationship. Tentative. Affectionate. ‘Do you want to do the courtship dance? Dating? Dinner and all that?’ His eyes were almost hard for a second, then he smiled. ‘It might be fun.’

  ‘What’s the alternative?’

  ‘We go straight for the sex, with no shilly-shallying about.’ It seemed honest, and free of the hypocrisy she’d encountered in previous relationships, but a bit stark and bleak. Lacking in romance. Not that she was a great believer in romance, apart from her secret dreams about Prince Charming. The difference between real life and what she fantasised about with him was a yawning chasm without so much as a footbridge.

  ‘Maybe we could have a bit of both?’ she found herself saying. Her body was melting for him all over again, but those softer, more sentimental feelings had suddenly got a grip on her. Damn! Jay was someone just passing through, she acknowledged instinctively, so emotional ties were pretty pointless. ‘I don’t have much time. The café takes up a lot of my life. But dinner out somewhere else might be nice. And I like to go for walks. We could do a bit of that in between the fucking and stuff maybe?’

  ‘It’s a deal, Princess.’

  His fingertips moved over her cheek, slowly, like a hypnotist working his patsy. His touch was so gentle, so soothing. Her eyelids drooped suddenly, even though she wanted to stay awake and savour every second with him.

  ‘You really are tired. You need rest.’ His rough voice was low, gentle, strangely coaxing. Did he actually have hypnotic powers? It almost seemed that way. ‘We’ll have other nights. Days too. Do you ever have free ones?’

  ‘The Teapot closes on Wednesday afternoons, and on Sundays.’

  ‘Mm. It’s Wednesday tomorrow. I think you should get some sleep now.’ He winked. ‘Rest up and gather your strength. I’ll drop by for coffee in the morning.’

  He bent down and his lips settled on hers, just for a second, and then, while she was still reeling from the delicate sweetness of the contact, he released her and glided away to the door.

  ‘Ciao,’ he murmured. And then he was gone.

  Sandy touched her face, where he’d cradled her cheek, and her lips, where he’d kissed her.

  Oh hell, that’d felt like courtship. And she’d liked it.

  Jay stepped into the shower and raised his face to meet the water. It beat down on his skin, and seemed to wake him from a dream.

  He could barely remember anything of the drive back to the Waverley from Kissley, except the fact that he’d speeded – something that he’d rarely done since he’d started driving again – and he’d both enjoyed it and felt at one with the car. As he’d crested bends in the dark, and swung the Aston around sharp unknown corners, a confidence and competence had settled over him like a superhero’s cloak, and he’d felt ‘right’ for the first time since the accident.

  The other thing he could remember was his hard-on. It still lingered, and he cupped it in his hand now.

  ‘Thank you, Princess.’ He smiled in the cascading water, then opened his mouth and let it stream across his tongue.

  His penis stiffened even harder at the thought of her, and he couldn’t help laughing. How could this be? He’d come on this wild goose chase to find an imaginary woman, and when he’d made contact with her she wasn’t his dream at all. And yet the woman he had found had given him back a total belief in his potency, a greater gift, perhaps, than the fulfilment of his memories His cock jerked, as if it remembered the way it’d pounded into her. No faltering. No doubts. Nothing but pleasure, hardness, and delicious fulfilment.

  Thanks to Sandy. Who was Princess yet not Princess.

  Lathering up a bar of soap, he applied the foam to his hard member and worked his fist up and down it, imagining that the silky enclosure was her sweet body caressing him.

  Mm … that was good. So good …

  He pictured her beautiful hair, and in his fantasy it was wrapped around him, like satin, to enhance his pleasure. She seemed to kneel in the water before him, offering the long waves to him, inviting him to bring himself off and shoot his semen amongst the glossy red strands.

  He pumped and pumped, loving the slide of his own firm flesh and the fantasy both. Now, she opened her mouth and accepted his cock insid
e it, the wet heat echoing that of the tumbling water around him.

  He thrust, she took it all, doing something crazy with her throat.

  He dove in, she opened to him, reaching around to caress his buttocks as he came.

  His semen jetted and he gasped, ‘Sandy’, Princess forgotten.

  But afterwards, as he shrugged into his robe, the thoughts that sexual euphoria had expunged now flooded back in again.

  Why the insistence on straight dealing and no sexual shilly-shallying about, man?

  Pouring a whisky, he considered his own hypocrisy. Was his deeper deception the reason he’d suggested honesty? He laughed, then washed away the bitter taste of it with Glenfiddich.

  Just forget the lies, man, forget the conflict. Forget that you’re Jason Bentley Forbes and she hates your father’s guts, and probably yours by proxy too. Just enjoy, for a little time. Just enjoy this gift, and make sure that she enjoys it too.

  There would be time to face the hard truths all too soon.

  Chapter 8

  ‘I don’t know what it is really. It’s not dating and all that. You know, the sort of meaningful relationship stuff that leads to anything.’

  Sandy concentrated on the sugar sachets she was shoving in the holder on the end of the counter where the cutlery and condiments were kept. She’d already ripped one getting it out of the box, and had had to sweep the mess up. Kat was putting some of the freshly delivered bought-in confectionery in the display.

  ‘It’s more like the beginnings of a rampant shagathon, I think,’ Sandy continued, returning behind the counter and stashing the sugar-sachet box beneath it. ‘A bit like you and Greg have. Mostly sex.’

  ‘Hey, me and Greg are meaningful sometimes,’ the younger girl observed, unoffended. She gave Sandy a wink as she pushed a plate of cake slices into place. ‘It’s just that we like a lot of bonking too.’ She paused and waggled her plucked eyebrows.