Hide: Downunder Ink Book 2

by Bronwyn Stuart

  I throw a few things into a bag and before I know it, we’re in his car driving across town. We leave the beachy suburbs behind and head into the tropical foothills.

  “You better not be taking me to your cult.”

  He chuckles but doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Why are you so bent on me belonging to a cult? Is it a fetish of yours?”

  I can’t stop the burst of laughter spilling out of me. He hasn’t made one crude joke yet. I don’t think he’s even used a curse word since I’ve known him. “Definitely not up there with my fantasy kinks, no.”

  “Fantasy kinks? As in you have more than a few? Is the list very long?”

  My face hurts from grinning and I have to admit I’m actually enjoying myself in his company. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  He flicks a glance at me and for a moment I think I see heat but then it’s the road again and he says, “We’re nearly there. A few more minutes.”

  We turn off the main highway, onto a bitumen driveway lined with blue agapanthus and tall, sweeping trees, the leafy green branches meeting over the road. Behind the rows of trees are fenced paddocks. On one side it’s goats and on the other, it’s horses.

  I whistle between my lips and say, “This definitely looks like a more expensive cult.”

  He laughs again. “It’s my parents’ place.”

  A cold dread fills me and I sit up straighter in the bucket seat. “You fucking what? Ben? What the fuck is going on?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ben

  The look on Jen’s face is comical and as much as I laugh, her scowl gets fiercer.

  “Relax, rebel. I’m not taking you to meet the folks. They’re out of town and I have to feed the cat and water the plants. They also happen to have a private pool we can swim in.”

  Her relief is audible and for a moment I swear she wants to hit me.

  “Better than sweating it out back at your apartment, yeah?”

  “I suppose,” she grumbles.

  “You always this nervous about meeting parents?”

  She’s thinking about her response as she gets out of the car. I get out too and watch her over the open roof.

  “I think the last time I met the parents was in high school and since you’re not exactly a spring chicken, I’m assuming your parents are beyond boomers. Boomers and beyond don’t like girls like me.”

  I ignore the intended older man barb and instead fixate on something else she mentioned. “You haven’t had a serious relationship since high school?”

  “I had other things to worry about in high school and after.”

  “Such as?” I’m not prying, just trying to understand her better. The silence between us isn’t always awkward but I don’t like it.

  “The fact my aunt was a raging lesbian who owned a sex shop raising three teenage girls with her life partner.”

  My jaw drops open. I can’t help it. “What? Where were your parents?”

  “Dead.”

  And just like that, the day gets dark. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

  She shrugs and forces a smile. “It was a long time ago. We grew up quick.”

  I know grief. It does get a little better every day but it never goes away. “Kids can be arseholes, can’t they. Life can be a dick.”

  “They sure can, and it is, constantly.”

  I use my key and open the front door, ready to catch a ball of fluff. “Gizmo is sneaky. He’ll do anything to get outside.”

  She giggles. “Gizmo?”

  I like the sound of her laugh. Better than broody Jen. “Dad’s idea of a cute cat name. He’s a Himalayan so he’s supposed to be docile and chilled by breed but he’s got the devil in him, this cat.”

  We hear his meow before we see him but the front door is shut so I’m confident he’s just being his usual kitty self. I head towards the kitchen and hope Jen isn’t too far behind me. I don’t know why I brought her here. My parents’ house is opulent, expensive, over the top. It has six bedrooms even though there was only three of us when we moved in. It’s way too much house for a retired couple but they love it here and refuse to sell up and downsize.

  I make a kissing sound with my mouth to call the cat and hope Jen doesn’t think I’m a wanker for it. Out of nowhere, the fluffball comes flying at me and climbs my leg like I’m a cat pole. His claws sink into my flesh and I can’t help the howl I let out. He gets all the way to my shoulder and then rubs his feline face all over my jaw. “Lucky you’re cute,” I tell him.

  A giggle fills the room. Jen’s watching me and Gizmo. I’m practically being molested and she’s laughing.

  “He’s the cutest cat I’ve ever seen,” she chuckles, moving closer and letting Gizmo smell her hand like you would a dog.

  “You can pet him. But watch his claws. He thinks he’s some kind of goanna or possum, not a bloody cat. He’s pure evil.”

  She comes about as close as she can without touching me and runs her hand over Gizmo’s fluffy head, scratching under his chin and getting a loud purr for her efforts. She lifts him off my shirt, his claws scrabbling and scratching me more in the process. She lies him on his back in her arms and rubs his tummy. Gizmo rolls his head back and lets her have at it. It’s the most docile I’ve seen him. Ever.

  “He just wants a little attention,” she coos in a baby voice.

  I swear the cat opens one eye to pierce me with a glare before closing it again. Pure evil.

  I dish out the cat food, something expensive that stinks like salmon, onto a porcelain plate. “We better get out while he’s occupied.”

  “How long do your parents leave him alone like this? He must be so bored.”

  “He’s a cat. He survives.”

  “Yeah, but it must be lonely.”

  “They’ll be home next week. Usually the neighbours come and spend time with him, feed him, but they went away too.”

  “It’s nice of you to do this for them. It’s not exactly close to the city.”

  I don’t want to tell her about how they guilt trip me, manipulate until they get their own way. I’m an adult. I don’t have to let them do it. But I do.

  “Swim?” I suggest.

  She nods and I swear something flashes across her eyes. Maybe I imagined it? This is kind of weird, being here with her, after last night. But tossing and turning in bed made me realise I was hasty to shut her down just like that. I need her to understand me. I need to understand her. We have to be able to get along.

  We head out through a set of French doors I’m careful to close properly behind us and latch from the outside with the extra hook. She raises her eyebrow and I roll my eyes. “Gizmo can open this door if it’s not locked from the inside.”

  The line of her neck is smooth and long as she tips her head back and laughs. “You can’t be serious?”

  “In about ten minutes when he’s finished eating, you’ll see. Watch the handle.”

  She’s still laughing when I lead her in the direction of the indoor pool. It’s usually heated but in Summer, my folks turn the heat down so it’s more refreshing than bath.

  “Oh,” she says, stopping dead. “My bag is still in the car.”

  “I can get if you need anything from it?”

  “Actually, on second thought, as long as there’s towels? I don’t think I need anything else.”

  “There’s towels.” I wonder how pretentious she’s finding all of this as we walk through a tropical garden treading a slate path towards another structure. This used to be a barn back in the day. The building itself was heritage listed but my parents managed to get approval to turn it into a pool house. Why did I bring her here again? The truth is I want to spend time with her, soften the harsh feelings I must have left her with last night. The very last thing I want is for her to feel unattractive. That I don’t find her attractive.

  “Holy fuck,” she breathes when we walk into the barn. “You’re fully loaded.”

  I laugh despite the language. She swears so much but sh
e has a filter and knows how to use it so I wonder why. “My parents are fully loaded.”

  “This is bigger than the community pool.”

  “I know. Wankier too.”

  She spins on her hot pink joggers and pins me with an expression of complete disbelief. “You don’t like it?”

  “I think there are better ways to spend a half a million dollars.”

  She blinks a few times and looks around again. “It must have been sick growing up here.”

  “I didn’t. Grow up here.”

  “They bought the house recently?”

  I shake my head. I don’t want to go into it but my mouth opens before my brain can tell it not to. “I moved out when I was eighteen. They bought this place the year before.”

  “Why the hell would you want to leave this?” She spins in a circle and I smile.

  “It’s a long story. Let’s just swim, okay?”

  “Okay. You the boss man today.”

  I strip my shirt off and throw it on a sun lounger. I leave my shoes next to it. I’m wearing swim shorts already so I jump straight in, making the biggest splash I can. I run my hands over my hair and face to get rid of some of the water so it doesn’t drip in my eyes. I should have had a shave this morning. When I look around, I see Jen sitting on a lounger, taking her prosthesis off. “Need a hand?” I call to her.

  “I know what I’m doing,” she calls back, resting the artificial foot against the side of the chair. She takes her shirt off over her head and I already know she’s wearing a bikini because her top today is practically see through but it still takes my breath away. Her cleavage. Her ink. Her skin.

  I want to give her some privacy but my gaze is glued to her every movement.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jen

  I know he’s watching me. I can feel his eyes and it happens in movies and books but I’ve never felt it before, not like this. I knew people were watching me at my parents’ funeral. I knew people watched me at school, ready to pounce with the taunts and bullshit because being an orphan wasn’t fucking hard enough already. This is different.

  I slip my jeans off and then gauge the distance between me and the water. The floor is non-slip so I can hop it. Thank God I didn’t have this when I went to high school. I can’t even imagine how mean the kids would have been to me then.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a hand?” he asks again.

  I don’t want him to see me as disabled or crippled or vulnerable. Just because I have no foot anymore and some of my leg is missing, it doesn’t mean I can’t do simple things like this. I hop once, twice, three times and then dive into the cool water. I kick off, spread my arms, enjoy the freedom and weightlessness. I don’t get far kicking one foot so I find the surface of the water and haul a breath into my lungs as I push the water from my eyes and hair.

  He’s still watching me when I search him out, his gaze narrowed, considering. “You’re a swimmer,” he says.

  “Not anymore,” I tell him. I was on my way to becoming a champion when I had to give it all up. Aunty Pat didn’t have the time for the early morning trainings, and I didn’t want to burden her with it all. We kept saying I’d pick it up again later, but I never did. Another regret on my list of never-going-to-do-that-again.

  “It suits you.”

  “Thanks.” It warms me that he’s paying attention but there’s something I don’t understand. “What am I doing here?”

  “You were hot, sweating away in your apartment. A swim seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “You didn’t really say why you came past this morning.” I want to hear him say it. Push me away. Tell me all the reasons why fucking me is such a bad idea so I stop thinking about his hands on my tits.

  “I felt bad after last night.”

  I move toward him in the pool, my arms skimming the surface of the water. “And? This is your way of saying sorry I didn’t bend you over the table and bang your brains out?”

  “Are you always so blunt?”

  “Yep. You don’t get anything from life pussyfooting around.”

  “Sounds like great advice.” His tone is wry and I smile.

  “Aunty Pat’s partner, Chris. She’s a smart woman. Full of good advice and bad one-liners.”

  “Where are they now? Still at the sex shop?”

  “Pat died a few years ago. Chris left a while after. The sex shop is now the tattoo studio.”

  He nods like he understands but he doesn’t. I look around me at the wealth it must have taken to build something like this. Ben was born with a golden spoon in his mouth. I bet his life was perfect. Is that why he hates tattoos so much? Because he comes from the country club set who crave perfection and order?

  His voice brings me back to the here and now. “I don’t like that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The one where your face gets all tense and frowny. Like you’re about to put me in my place. Again.”

  “I think I finally understand why you don’t like tattoos.”

  He tilts his head slightly and a wry humour fills his eyes. “Enlighten me.”

  Holding one hand in the air, I tick the points off on my fingers. “Hates tattoos. Never swears and doesn’t really like it when I do. Wears polo shirts with ironed collars. I bet you even went to one of those preppy private schools where they make you wear straw hats and blazers.”

  His lips are a thin line and the humour’s gone, and I reckon I’m pretty close. I continue. “Not churchy but I’m guessing you’d know your way around the local country club. I’m betting your parents’ name is on a building somewhere? Maybe a hospital wing? High school gymnasium?”

  He makes a sound like a gameshow buzzer going off when the contestant gets the answer wrong. “My parents are churchy. Their name is on the hall where the ladies hold their fundraisers. I did go to the preppy school but hated every second of it. Just because my parents have all this,” he gestures to the pool and I take it, beyond, “doesn’t mean I have it, or want it, or any of the other crap that goes with it. I don’t swear often because I think it’s unnecessary, not because you’ll go to hell. And I don’t hate tattoos. I actually think yours are sexy.”

  My mouth goes dry in a heartbeat. “You do?”

  He moves closer and circles me in the water. I can feel his heat. “I like this one.” His finger slides over my shoulder which isn’t submerged since I’m in the shallow water where it’s easier to find my balance. “Is that a McCracken?”

  I nod. Gulp. He’s touching me willingly. He doesn’t hate my tattoos.

  “The detail is amazing. And this one?” His fingers trail down my back to the koi. “These are beautiful.”

  “I got them done in Japan year before last when I went for an exhibition.”

  When his lips touch my shoulder, I shiver. “And this?”

  “Mexico.”

  “I don’t hate your tattoos, Jen.”

  I’m beyond confused about this turn of events. From the moment we met, we’ve argued over tattoos. I want to push him on the matter but I want his hands on me more. I want him to keep mapping my skin with his fingers, his mouth.

  “The scars?” he asks, his fingers trailing lower on my back and then my abdomen as he comes to stand in front of me.

  Ink never completely covers skin torn open or even a surgeon’s precise cuts. “The accident.”

  “It must have been really bad.”

  I nod because I don’t want to talk about the accident. My scars. My injuries. “You could kiss it better?”

  There’s slight pressure as he pushes me up the shallow end so I’m only standing thigh deep in the water. I have to hold his shoulders to keep my balance here. He kneels in front of me and fireworks explode low in my belly. When his lips touch the scar where they pulled my spleen out, I shudder and sway.

  He anchors me with both hands on my bare arse cheeks, squeezing, kneading. “I like this bikini,” he says between light kisses to my stomach.

  I
moan a little. “Right now, I hate it.”

  “Eleven months and how many days?” he asks.

  I’m lost for a second but then he uses the tip of a fingernail to peel back one of the triangles barely covering my nipple. He sucks hard, then nips, then licks.

  He moves to the other side and does the same. “How many days, Jen?”

  “Nineteen,” I huff on a half sigh, half groan. What he’s doing shouldn’t feel this erotic but I’ve been non-stop thinking about it and I’m wound tight.

  “I don’t do one-night stands. I don’t fuck for the sake of fucking.”

  My eyes open wide when he swears but then his hands are back on my arse and my breath is lost and I can’t form a response.

  He dips between my bum cheeks and pulls my g-string aside, baring my landing strip and more just above the surface of the clear water. His touch is lazy as he swipes from my clit downward. My pelvis twitches and I want so bad for him to do it again. A little harder.

  “This get-up is hard to ignore but you knew that didn’t you, Jen?”

  He circles me in the water until he’s standing behind me once again. He bites my hip and then a sharp slap sounds and my arse cheek stings. He soothes and then slaps again. I cry out but only because I think I’m going to orgasm on the spot.

  “Hmm,” he murmurs when his soothing hands wander between my cheeks again. He wraps an arm around my stomach to hold me close and I can feel his erection against my hip. “What do you need, Jen?”

  “Fuck me. Please.”

  Another slap. “Language.”

  This is a side of Ben I would never have guessed at in a million years. Does he like to dominate?

  “Touch me then, I don’t care, just do something.” I’m going to combust.

  He swipes my clit again, pushes my button, but then pulls away and I think I whimper.

  “Please,” I whisper, looking over my shoulder at him. I’ll beg. He knows it.

  “I’m not going to fuck you,” he tells me and the heat inside me begins to cool. Is he playing with me to humiliate me?