Living On Air

by Susan Mac Nicol

  It morphed into something stiff and unfriendly the moment he saw me.

  “Good evening. I came by to see how Greta was. I can come back later.” He turned to go but Greta’s stentorian tones made him turn back.

  “Nonsense, Rhys. Please come in. Cary was just leaving.”

  I blinked. I was? I hadn’t even finished my tea.

  “Okaaay. I’ll be on my way then.” I turned back and looked at Greta, who inclined her head at me in a regal good-bye. “Speak to you later then, Madame.”

  I stepped down onto the field, Rhys giving me a wide berth, but I still brushed his arm with mine as I did so. My skin crackled and fizzed with the static touch. From the look of his expression, he felt it too. He went up the stairs and closed the door behind him without a backward glance.

  Chapter 10

  Cary

  I’d always liked the dark. Dark was the blanket to my insecurities and fears, the place I could hide, and no one could find me. Tonight had been a tough performance and I needed to decompress. I’d made some slips in my routine, one of which could have caused me harm. I didn’t think the audience had noticed, but I’m sure Lucy had from her vantage point down below. She knew my act well.

  As soon as my heels had touched solid ground, I’d bowed and gotten the hell out of the top fast. The bottle of Jack Daniel’s I’d secreted in the glove box of my home had been a welcome friend, and now I sat in the woods, back slumped against a large oak tree. My senses swam with the alcohol as I wondered where the hell my mind had been during the ankle hang I’d tried and butchered.

  The bourbon had tasted excellent going down, so I took another swig. Somewhere, an owl hooted, answered by another, and I raised the bottle to it. My hand shook, and I wasn’t sure whether it was because it was fucking freezing or from the booze.

  “I wish you luck in your hunting, my feathered friend. Go forth and conquer the mouses…I mean the mices.” I giggled at my mistake and corrected myself. “The mice. You’d think I’d never been to a private school.”

  Somewhere a faint singing chorus drifted through the trees. I sat up, wondering where it came from. Concentrating on it sent trickles of cold unease down my spine. It sounded like a boys’ choir singing “Glory to Thee,” a tune I knew all too well and had never wanted to hear again. The words were too reminiscent of my past and the horrors that had been inflicted upon me while it was being sung.

  Bile soured my throat as the angelic choir sang on, heedless of how it was affecting me.

  At the last ringing and sonorous phrase, I leaned forward and spewed up all the alcohol I’d so enjoyed consuming.

  Violent tremors made my limbs shake, and I vomited until I had nothing left to give.

  “No,” I gasped, voice hoarse from the heaving. “He isn’t there. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

  Ah, but he can, that devious little voice whispered. Because he’s still alive, isn’t he? He lives, and your family are rotting in the ground somewhere.

  “I went back,” I sobbed. “I found their graves, and I laid flowers and I told them how sorry I was. I visit every year.” I lifted my head and shouted into the night, “What the fuck do you want of me, you bastard? Wasn’t it enough you took everything from me in Your name?”

  I needed my cilice. Needed the pain to banish the shame and the guilt.

  “Cary, what the hell is going on? Are you hurt?” Julien’s worried call cut through my pain and I blinked up toward him.

  Oh God. This is all I need.

  “I’ve had too much to drink, I fell,” I lied. “I’ll be fine.

  He helped me to my feet, running a worried eye over my body. “Nothing is broken but you’ve cut your leg. Come on, let me help you get back home. We can take a better look there.”

  No, we goddamn can’t because I can’t afford anyone to see my scars and cuts.

  I’d fight that fight once I was back to the relative safety and privacy of my home.

  We stumbled back to the campsite, Julien talking as we walked. “Greta asked me to come and find you. I know this is a spot you like to come to. I’ve seen you out here a few times, all alone.”

  “Why did I need finding? Isn’t a person allowed to have some me time?”

  Julien shrugged. “She talked to Marco earlier about something, and she’s been a little distracted ever since. Said she felt you were in trouble and she didn’t need you both to be lost, whatever that means. You know Greta and her feelings.”

  I hobbled over a patch of shrubbery, wincing when the nettles stung my ankles. The pain felt good though.

  “What the hell was the music I heard?” I rasped. “I heard a choir.”

  Julien helped me over a tree root. “There’s a Boy Scout Jamboree camping out in the woods, close to where you were. I imagine it was their music you heard.”

  As we entered the dimly lit campsite, a group of people stood to one side, chatting. I hoped Greta wasn’t among them—or Rhys. Once again, the bad luck fairy lighted on my shoulder and cackled with malevolent glee.

  “Julien, is he okay?” Rhys strode over, and I couldn’t look at him. “Cary, what happened?”

  “Our young man had an accident caused by some overindulging,” Julien murmured. “His shin is cut but other than that, he seems fine. Nothing a glass of water and a good night’s sleep won’t cure.” He let go of me. “Perhaps you could take over, Rhys. I have to see a woman about a ferret.” Julien winked at Rhys, who looked a little taken aback.

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll get him home, no problem. Come on, Sir Drunkalot.” His firm hand took hold of my elbow, placing his other hand at the small of my back as he propelled me forward.

  I had nothing left in me to protest Julien’s blatant attempt to get us together.

  The walk home was silent, with only an occasional swearword (me) as I stumbled, and Rhys’s huffs of exasperation at my side. Despite my addled brain, I noticed he smelt good. His aftershave mixed with sweat and the unique scent the man held, something smoky, and sent tingles sweeping across my skin in appreciation.

  “We’re here,” Rhys muttered as he let go of my arm. “Do you have the key, uhmm, somewhere in there?”

  He gestured towards my tight silky black dance pants, which didn’t have a spare gap to put a credit card.

  “It’s open,” I choked out, feeling a rush of something up my oesophagus. “And you’d better get me in there before I’m sick outside.”

  He pulled open the door and pushed me inside. I rushed for the bathroom, and in no time, I bent over the toilet, retching my guts up again. I didn’t think I had much left, but I was wrong.

  “Jesus, how much did you drink?” Rhys sounded irritated. “Was it worth it?” He came into the bathroom, filling up the area with his bulk.

  I ignored him because I was puking again. He leaned forward, and gentle hands brushed the hair from my face and held it back. That gesture was unexpected, and the tenderness of it pierced me. I hadn’t had that comfort in a long time. Once the retching stopped I sat down on the bathroom floor, head hanging down, mouth raw and tasting foul.

  Rhys crouched down in front of me. “Come on, you can’t stay there. Let’s get you up, you can brush your teeth, and then we’ll get you cleaned up and into bed.” He hefted me up. In the tight confines of the room, we pressed together as he helped me to put toothpaste on my brush. My vision wasn’t working very well.

  Once I’d done, he nodded in satisfaction. “Go into the bedroom and get those clothes off. They stink of boak, as my dad would say.”

  “Boke?” I murmured. “And I’m not undressing in front of you.”

  “Aye. Scots word for vomit,” Rhys said. He handed me a towel. “If you’re worried about your modesty, put this around you.” He pushed me out of the bathroom.

  I did as I was told, and my reeking clothes dropped to the floor beside my bed. I heard the toilet flush then Rhys appeared, bearing a steaming facecloth and a glass of water.

  “For your mouth and face,” he said. “Dr
ied crud is not a good look on you. The water is to drink now because we don’t need you being dehydrated.”

  I frowned but cleaned my face and lips, feeling better. “Why are you doing this when you haven’t spoken to me for days? I’d have thought you’d run a mile rather than help me.”

  Rhys’s face darkened. “You may be a prat, but when someone needs help, that’s the first concern. Not the fact you ignored me and gave me the run around when you promised we’d talk.”

  I ignored him, and Rhys gave me the evil eye. The room spun, and my head nodded forward as a rush of dizziness took over. I fell onto the bed, eyes closed. Something folded over me and I opened one eye to see the other half of my duvet.

  “Thanks.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in the hope the room would stop swirling.

  Rhys nodded. “No problem. I’ll leave you to sleep and I’ll come back later to check on you. Make sure you drink the water.”

  I was about to tell him he needn’t bother, but the thought of someone looking out for me was a temptation. So instead I nodded and sunk into sweet darkness.

  *****

  I woke to the noise of a wildebeest in my room. The room was lighter, soft rays of sunshine creeping in through the half-drawn window curtain.

  Sitting up in panic wasn’t a smart thing to do. The road workers in my brain using pile drivers were in full force. In between the pounding in my head, I realised the noise came from beside me. I glanced down to see Rhys fast asleep on my right. He was snoring, and I watched in disbelief as his lips parted and another wild animal noise emanated from between his full lips under that well-shaped beard of his.

  I glanced at the bedside clock. It read six am. I couldn’t help it; he looked too cute. I reached out and tweaked his nose. It had been something I’d used to do to my dad when he’d snored, to wake him up. Nothing happened. I tweaked harder and this time, Rhys’s eyes opened, and he spluttered as he sat up, hands flailing.

  “What? Who’s there? Stay down! They’re shooting at us.” Eyes wild, he reached for me and tried to push me down. I resisted and held his wrists. I might not be as big as he was, but I was strong as hell.

  “Rhys, nobody is shooting at us. Calm down. It’s me, Cary. We’re at my place.”

  His face cleared as his confusion melted. He gave a soft huff and leaned back against the pillow he’d been sleeping on. “Okay, yeah, sorry. I must have been having a bad dream.”

  “Wait a minute. Why are you here sleeping with me?” Apprehension slid up my spine like a snail. “Did we, did you—” My hands performed a frantic dance in front of my face as I tried to find the words.

  I reached for my thighs; my sweatpants were still on, he hadn’t removed them.

  Rhys stilled my hands with his. They were strong and warm to the touch. “Relax, Cary. I came in to check on you, to make sure you hadn’t face-planted in vomit and choked to death.”

  I grimaced at that unsavoury picture. He laughed.

  “I took my shoes off, sat on the bed to watch you—not in a stalkerish way—” he clarified, “and I must have fallen asleep. Why, did I wake you?”

  “Does a volcano erupting disturb the peace when it blows? Yeah, you woke me up with your snoring.”

  Rhys looked sheepish. “Sorry. I know I snore sometimes, it’s why blokes don’t like sleeping over.”

  “It must be like sleeping next to a slumbering Yeti,” I muttered, but then smiled to take the sting out of my words. The man had held my hair while I was sick. Watched while I’d brushed the sour taste out of my mouth before he bundled me into bed.

  He grinned and stuck out his tongue at me. A pink, wet tongue that had me thinking thoughts I had no right to think.

  “Yetis are warm, and furry, and cuddly,” he murmured, reaching out a hand to caress my jaw. My heart beat faster, his touch mesmerising. My groin warmed, and I pulled the duvet over my lap. “They’re also known to be protective and not stop when they want something. They can be very—possessive.” The air in the room grew thicker and our breathing got deeper and ragged. The dryness in my throat reached Sahara-desert level.

  “Why are we doing this whole hot and cold thing, Cary?” Rhys stroked my top lip, which wanted to join my bottom one and suck his finger inside my mouth.

  God, what was this man doing to me? Was it Scots’ magic, or sorcery? I’d never experienced this before. This man reached a place deep inside I’d thought was barren, and he made things grow.

  “Because we’re scared?” I whispered, as his finger toyed with my lip. “Because this isn’t going to last and if it isn’t, then why bother in the first place?”

  Rhys shook his head and leaned in, his breath warm on my cheek. “I’m not scared, beautiful. You are. I’m intrigued, fascinated, spellbound, and all I want to do is kiss you again like the other night. But I don’t want you to run away again.”

  Something in me gave way at those words and I took a deep breath. “It’s what I do. But I think I’d like you to kiss me again too.”

  Shit. I’ve done it now.

  His smile widened and he pushed himself forward. His rough hands cupped my face as he breathed me in. “Cary.” My name on his lips always seemed sacred, special. I didn’t know why Rhys saw whatever he did in me.

  This kiss was deeper, sensual, and more intimate than the one before. Rhys’s lips on mine were demanding, and his tongue was in my mouth, voracious and greedy. I returned the kiss, starving from years of self-denial, of perfunctory, unsatisfying fucks in outhouses and fields, or blowjobs given and taken without feeling.

  My dick was rock-hard, and I reached down and touched myself, unable to believe it was so. The touch was too much; any more of that and I’d come in my pants.

  I didn’t even notice my headache anymore.

  Rhys noticed my gesture. He pulled away, lips swollen, his heated gaze following my hand.

  “You want me to touch you there, baby?” he whispered against my neck, licking and sucking my skin until I thought I’d collapse from the pleasure. “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, so you need to guide me. Tell me what you like. What you want. It’s yours.”

  My chest heaved as words escaped me. I chased Rhys’s mouth for another kiss. His body rolled against mine on the bed, but he was careful not to land on top of me. We lay, side by side, face-to-face, mouths ravaging each other’s as if our lives depended on it.

  When Rhys’s cock pushed against mine in a sensual frot of denim against silk, I groaned and pushed back, loving his hardness against me. Rhys’s breathing hitched as his fingers gripped my hips and he rubbed against me.

  “Is this okay?” His lips traced my cheek and eyebrows. “It feels like heaven, but I’ll stop if you don’t like it. I swear. It’ll be tough, but I’ll stop.”

  I reached out and held his flushed face in my hands, and he turned his head and kissed my palm. That tender gesture ripped something inside me open and for a minute, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel instead of my usual freight train.

  “Don’t stop,” I muttered. “I need this. I need you.”

  Make me feel normal for a while. Let me do what other men do and feel something. Just this once. Let me make a good memory for a change.

  Rhys moaned and pulled me closer to him as our frotting grew in intensity. I wasn’t sure if I would come. The symphony was worth every second even if it didn’t lead to the grand finale, but a happy ending suited me better.

  It was Rhys who climaxed first. His groin stuttered against mine and the little sound he made, halfway between a loud satisfied grunt and a sigh, made me rub myself against him faster.

  I needed to come, damn it. Don’t do this now, my fucking stupid prick can’t win this one.

  My groin ached, my arse clenching as I tried to force my orgasm. Rhys stopped me with a soft murmur and a hand stroking my chest through my tee-shirt. “Baby, you’re trying too hard. Let me help you.”

  I stopped, not sure whether to cry at my inadequacy or stop it
altogether and tell him to get out so he couldn’t witness any more of my embarrassment.

  He peeled my skin-tight leggings down over my hips, took hold of me in one calloused hand, and kissed me. Panicked, I held on to my pants. “Don’t move them down any more. Just use your hand, yeah, like that.”

  I kissed him back as he stroked me, fingers slipping round my slick wetness, upward and over, caressing my cock, my balls, and my taint, then coming back to my cock to lavish more attention on it.

  I pushed myself into the tight tunnel of his hand, gasping with the effort, desperate to prove I could do this.

  “Slowly,” Rhys whispered as he slid his tongue along my sweating throat. “Give in to the feeling, stop thinking about it. It’ll happen.” He chuckled against my skin. “Imagine the sexiest thing you want to do. If I was at your mercy, what would it be?”

  I didn’t have to think too hard. The one fantasy I had was of Rhys spreading my cheeks open and sticking that hot tongue of his inside me as he pumped my cock. That scenario had featured in a few wanking scenarios, but they’d been hard earned.

  “You, rimming me,” I gasped. “That’s my dirty secret.”

  The lengthening cock against my leg proved Rhys liked that idea too. “My tongue in your arse?” he whispered. “Opening you up wide, licking you, tasting you, and pushing my tongue straight into your beautiful hole. Mm, I like that idea. It works for me too.”

  His mouth left mine, and he slowed his strokes. “Let me do to your mouth what I intend doing to your hole one of these days.”

  Oh fuck, the thought of that drove me to the edge, and I knew with a sense of fierce satisfaction that I would come soon. Rhys’s pupils dilated, and he licked his lips, then that pink tongue entered my mouth in a kinky and boiling simulation of my wildest dream.

  I didn’t last long. The second thrust of wet, heated slickness between my lips, coupled with the action on my dick, catapulted me into a body-shaking orgasm, my spunk spurting in what seemed to be never-ending streams all over us both. The mouth fuck had turned to tender kisses as Rhys held me though my body-shaking, skin-tingling event.