Sting

by Jennifer Ryder

  “Don’t you want to be with him? What are you trying to say?”

  “Of course I do. I just …” I breathe out until my lungs are empty.

  “Well, you need to sort that shit out quick smart, Willow.” She says my name in the same tone Sienna gets when she’s been a naughty girl. “You don’t want pride to get in the way of what could be something special, so you need to apologise.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Just, this is all kind of new to me.” I drink the last of my espresso, and walk towards the door.

  “One last thing before we go back inside,” she says, eyeing the back door.

  “Sure.”

  “Did you do it doggy-style, or up against the wall in the shower? Tell me, tell me, tell me,” she pleads.

  “Gabs,” I growl and wrap my arm around her waist as we walk back inside. “All in good time. But now, we have a café to run.”

  ****

  Images of Ryan are burnt into my consciousness. They’re all beautiful.

  On my swing, covered in a fine layer of dust.

  His biceps tensing as they curled around me.

  The heated lust-filled gaze he drilled me with when he asked if I wanted him to kiss me. The desire was dripping off him in spades in that precious moment.

  Standing naked at the foot of the bed, confident and ready to make me his.

  Sigh.

  These pictures have filled my head today. From the penises in the coffee, to making a batch of the lemon cookies he raves about. I even baked something special that I haven’t been able to bring myself to cook since I moved here.

  I’m so annoyed with myself because my inadvertent leaving in the middle of the night might have given him the wrong impression. That I’m treating last night as a casual thing, when that’s the furthest from the truth.

  I can only hope that he’ll come in today so we can talk. I can never tell him about my nightmare, but I can apologise for running out.

  “Okay, lady. I’m out of here. I need to save the mother-in-law from Sienna.”

  “Thanks, Gabs. I’ll lock up the front door.” I blow her a kiss. The back screen door screeches a moment later. I cringe. I really need to get that fixed.

  I turn over the sign to CLOSED and lock the door. Walking back to the counter, a knock on the door stops me in my tracks.

  When I swing around, I’m all too aware that the smile growing wide across my face must look ridiculous. I rush back and open the door again.

  Leaning in the doorframe is a very ragged, but dastardly good looking man who I’ve been dreaming about all day. The stubble across his face is much more noticeable than it was yesterday. When I think about how it felt running along my inner thigh, his tongue—ah! Blood rushes to my face, heating it up in an instant.

  “Hey,” I say, all of a sudden shy with thoughts of how intimate we were last night.

  He produces a beautiful smile and hooks his hand around my hip, drawing me close.

  “Hey, Blondie,” he growls and brings his face down close enough that I feel his warm breath against my lips. “You okay?”

  I press my hands against his chest. His pec muscles flinch beneath my fingers.

  “I am. You?” Riveting conversation I’ve got going on here.

  “Yeah, long day. I was a bit confused though when I woke up this morning. Alone.”

  Crap.

  I stand on my tippy-toes and kiss him, softly. I lick my lips, remnants of salt coating my tongue. He wraps his arms around my back and lifts my hips to grind against his. I deepen the kiss, losing myself for a moment as I draw on memories of last night.

  Skin.

  Sweat.

  Our bodies entangled.

  Screaming.

  When I break free from his lips he gently lowers me to the ground, and drapes his arms around my shoulders.

  “Still confused?” I ask, taking his hand and leading him inside.

  Ryan closes his eyes briefly and shakes his head as a sexy chuckle rumbles up his throat. “The only thing I can think about now is how hard you’ve made me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologise, Blondie. I’m sure we’ll work out how to solve the problem.”

  Gulp. The image of me down on my knees in front of him comes to mind.

  “We need to exchange numbers,” I blurt out. Way to be subtle.

  “Yeah, we do.”

  “I wanted to ring you today. You know, I’ve been thinking about you and I didn’t have your number, and then I wondered if you’d come in, and the longer—”

  “Willow,” his stern voice pulls me from my sudden explosion of verbal nonsense.

  I run my fingers through my hair, brushing the loose strands off my face, which right now are bugging the crap out of me. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry I left last night without saying goodbye.”

  His eyebrows knit together. “I told you there was no reason to leave. I thought we sorted that.”

  “I know, we did, it’s just …” I huff out in frustration.

  “Just, what? Talk to me. I wanna know what’s on your mind.”

  I can’t tell you the horror that’s on my mind. I can’t involve you.

  “It’s been a long time for me, since, you know …”

  “Yeah, I told you that doesn’t worry me,” he assures me.

  “Not the sex, I mean. Starting something with someone. I haven’t dated anyone since high school. I kind of panicked, and last night … I’ve never done anything so spontaneous like that before.”

  “Blondie, there’s not too much to think about. There’s something good happening here. Let’s not stress about it, ’kay?”

  “Yeah, okay.” I slip my hand into his and tug him towards the back of the café. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  I flick on the kitchen light. There on the stainless steel counter is my prized creation, looking mouth-wateringly delectable. For a moment today, I didn’t think I’d be able to share it with him. But he’s here now.

  He lifts me onto the counter beside it. I squeal at the contact of the cold metal surface against my bare legs. Goose pimples jump over my skin.

  “I made this for you.”

  “Lemon Meringue?” He cracks through a shiny meringue peak with his finger and moans as he sucks the white sugariness off his digit.

  With the thought of those fingers inside me last night, and Ryan making me taste my own juices, I clench my thighs together with need.

  He takes another swipe of the pie. With two fingers, he delves into the lemon filling.

  Holy sharks!

  He licks the sweetness off his middle finger and then places the other digit into my mouth.

  “You know what?” he says, spreading my legs further apart and positioning his hips between them.

  I suck his finger clean. “What?” I ask.

  “That tastes fuckin’ amazing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yup. You know what’d be better?”

  I swallow hard. I have a fair idea where he’s going with this. “What?”

  “You,” he states, the conviction in his tone clear.

  “That’s sweet of you to say.”

  I have so many fantasies surrounding that kind of pleasure that it’s not funny. Needless to say, they haven’t ever been fulfilled.

  “Nothing sweet about what I wanna do to you.” He tugs at the join in my shorts, grazing the front of my G-string. I moan with the brief contact and push my hips towards him. Yes, more of this, please.

  He leans into my neck and nibbles at my skin. I weave my fingers into his hair, and pull him to me for a feather-light kiss. I remember I’m still at work, and getting naked in a food preparation area is not a good idea. I move back and cup his face in my hands. His shoulders drop and a weary sigh falls from his mouth.

  Dark circles drape beneath his red-rimmed eyes, his hair is messy, which of course suits him, and the stubble on his jaw is longer.

  “Are you okay? Hard day
on the water?”

  “Yeah, you could say that. You don’t look your usually fresh-as-a-daisy self, either.”

  “That’s because someone kept me up half the night,” I tease and poke him in the chest. Oh, and let’s not forget the nightmare.

  “I’d happily do it again, you know. Just put in a request.”

  I laugh and smooth my hands over his collarbone and down the curves of his pecs. “Come on. Why don’t you come back to my place? I’ve got to water the plants and then I can cook us some dinner?”

  “We bringing the pie?” he asks, one brow raised.

  “Of course.”

  “Good. ’Cause I’ve got plans for it.”

  Oh, boy.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  RYAN

  I follow Willow in my Ute back to her place. Pulling myself away from the café, away from her, was no easy feat, but she called me on it. I am fucking exhausted. As much as I wanted to take her on that counter, drive into her until we were both a panting mess, I need to recover from today. Things are stepping up and I need to be on the ball.

  It was twelve long fucking hours of surveillance, on and off the boat. All I had today to keep me going were two dirty fucking pies and a shit coffee from the service station. I’m not a happy boy when I can’t eat, and decent food at that. I’m surprised I’m still standing.

  Today was a good step in the right direction, though. The skinny red-haired bloke, who we’re presuming is a runner, dared show his face again. We got some shots of him with Perez, confirming the connection. They’re getting cocky. They think they’re gonna get away with this. Not on my fucking watch.

  I park behind Willow’s silver hatchback in the driveway. She opens the front door and holds it wide. I enter the house and follow her into the small kitchen, which is fitted out in black and white.

  “How hungry are you on a scale of one to ten?” she asks, placing the pie down on the bench.

  “Ravenous,” I growl, and clash my teeth together.

  She laughs sweetly and walks over to me, gripping my biceps as she stands on her tippy-toes to peck my lips.

  “I’ve got some chicken breast I can marinate with some herbs and cook on the barbecue, and some vegies I can steam. It’ll take about twenty minutes or so. Sound good?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Willow tidies a large pile of cookbooks and magazines, which are strewn over the counter. She stacks them at the side of the bench and then rummages through the fridge, placing a tray of chicken and some vegetables on the chunky square chopping board.

  “Mind if I take a look around? I might splash a bit of water on my face, and then I’ll give you a hand.”

  “Sure thing. There’s nothing much to look at, though. Bathroom is down the hall, first door on your left.”

  “Thanks.”

  I walk back through the way we came in, checking out the L-shaped living and dining room. There’s a small dining table, one black suede three-seater couch and a small LCD TV on a black timber cabinet with a few DVDs strewn about. Sweet Home Alabama, catches my eye. The Proposal, P.S. I Love You, The Wedding Singer … a RomCom girl, hey? I guess that matches with the clean-cut, non-swearing Willow I’ve come to know and …

  Moving right along.

  I cast my eyes around the bare walls. There are no photographs or picture frames anywhere that I can see. Don’t chicks have photos of everything? Friends, family, nieces or nephews? There’s hardly anything personal around either. No ornaments, vases or books. There are a few boxes stacked in the corner behind the lounge, but that’s it.

  There’s nothing. Zip.

  She’s been here, for what, two years? She said that much, but it looks as if she just moved in. Did she pack up in the middle of the night with what belongings she could grab?

  Something about this doesn’t sit right in my gut.

  Girls decorate shit. It’s what they do. Growing up, Cass was constantly re-painting her room, buying new linen and stuff, and there were always photos. When my sister moved into her first house, she went decorator crazy. I swear all her spare cash went on cushions and candles and shit. Now I guess she’ll be decorating a nursery.

  I make my way to the bathroom, a pokey little room with old-fashioned small white hexagonal tiles on the floor, and a peachy-pink sink and matching bathtub. The tub is deep. Hmm. Room enough for two.

  I fill the sink halfway with hot water and wash my face.

  Once I’m feeling a little fresher, I take a stroll down the hall. There’s a door at the end which is closed. I’m tempted to open it, to see if it’s like the rest of the house, but that’d be rude.

  The next door, which is opposite to the bathroom, hosts a queen-sized bed with a pale blue comforter and white, red and navy cushions. Nice to see a bit more colour around. There’s a small bookshelf in the corner filled with worn paperbacks.

  Fifty Shades of Grey. Isn’t that the kinky shit that Jeremy told me Cass was reading? Not that I particularly wanted to know my sister was into it, but at least I have an idea what it is. Good to know that Willow’s not averse to reading this stuff. Not so RomCom in the bedroom, are we, Miss Willow? Maybe we can delve into some of Willow’s fantasies.

  Next along on the shelf is Welcome to Sugartown, which I can’t resist picking up. I scan over the back cover. An Aussie sex god rolls into town on a bike, with dirty secrets.

  Hmm. Secrets. I sure as hell know a lot about those. My life is one big secret.

  “Do you want a drink?” Willow calls out.

  Enough snooping. I walk through to the kitchen.

  “I’ve got beer or wine?” she asks, shrugging.

  “Beer, thanks.”

  She opens two beers and hands one to me. “We can have these out back while the chicken cooks.”

  Willow collects a metal bowl with the chicken in it, and a pair of tongs, and leads me out the back door. She opens the lid to the small round barbecue. Smoke escapes into a cloud above her.

  The chicken sizzles the moment she places the marinated meat onto the grill plate. She closes the lid and picks up her drink.

  “Come on. Let’s see how our babies are going,” she chirps.

  I’d sure like to drive my cock into that sweet pussy.

  She says babies and all I can think about is practising for some. I chuckle to myself, and take her free hand in mine as we walk through to the garden. Once I have some food in my stomach, I’m sure it won’t be long before I get her naked.

  Willow waters the seedlings with the hose, looking over at me occasionally. The bright smile she’s sporting never leaves her mouth.

  “So, how long you lived in this house?” I ask and take a long swig of the cool amber liquid.

  “Oh, since I moved here.”

  “Just doesn’t look very lived in.”

  She shrugs, and diverts her gaze away from me. The baby capsicums hold her attention for a bit too long. “Between the café and the beach, I’m hardly ever here. When I am, it’s pretty much to sleep.”

  I’m not entirely satisfied with her answer, but I guess it’d take up a lot of time, running a small business.

  “Yeah, I can understand that. Have you thought about doin’ anything else with the rest of the block? If you’re too busy I could give you a hand, if you wanna plant some trees or flowers or something?”

  “I’m not big on flowers,” she says, her voice deadpan.

  “Not even the bought kind?”

  “Especially the bought kind. I know this sounds stupid, and I hope you don’t take offence, but please, don’t ever buy me flowers.”

  Huh? What kind of chick doesn’t want flowers?

  “Why?”

  “They remind me of—I’d rather not talk about.” She shakes her head. “Chocolate, on the other hand, I won’t say no to,” she adds with a crooked smile.

  “Got it. Chocolate is key.”

  The more I probe, the more her past niggles at me. She has a clear aversion to flowers. She came here for a fresh s
tart, and she’s doing her utmost to hide her past.

  Something happened to this beautiful girl.

  I don’t like it one bit.

  Willow turns off the hose and I follow her back up to the barbecue.

  “Come on, Big Mussies. I’d better feed you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  RYAN

  “I don’t think chicken and veggies get any tastier than that,” I say, putting my cutlery down on my empty plate.

  “Was that enough? I mean, I’m used to just cooking for me.”

  “All good, Blondie. It was beautiful. I made sure I’ve left room for dessert, though,” I say and wink.

  “Good.” She takes our dinner plates to the sink and cuts two pieces of pie, placing them in small white bowls. “Let’s take a load off and eat this in the lounge room.”

  “Good idea.”

  We flick off our shoes in the corner and retreat to the couch. Willow switches on the TV and snuggles into my side. The news blares something about bushfires in Victoria. I need to catch up on what’s going on in the world. These long days are a killer.

  “You nailed this pie, by the way,” I say, with a mouthful of the tanginess and hit of sugar rolling across my tongue.

  “Thanks.” With a finger, she wipes meringue from her top lip.

  The next news story is about a drug bust in Albury. Immediately I recognise the dingy pale blue weatherboard house, with the abandoned car bodies and rusted out tractor.

  Operation Moonstone.

  Of course, my ears prick up. Dougie and I worked our arses off on that job. We barely slept for those few months. I’m fucking proud with the knowledge that we finally nailed the bastards.

  The broadcast continues to detail how many houses were raided simultaneously and the significant quantities of pills, ice and coke that were seized in the haul. We had suspected they were dealing ice, but this is great fucking news. They also found the old man in possession of child pornography, and seized all electronic equipment for analysis. Another paedophile off the streets, too. More than anything else, bastards who objectify kids like that make my blood simmer. The old man was involved in some serious shit.

  “Disgusting,” Willow mutters under her breath. Her legs stiffen and she draws her shoulders closer to her ears.