by C. J. Duggan
He began to pull me forward, my feet skidding on the wet sand. ‘No wait, stop. STOP!’ I cried.
He stilled for a moment, a devious gleam lighting his dark eyes. ‘Famous last requests?’
‘I don’t want to get my clothes wet.’ There, that was a good enough reason. But just as I realised what I’d stupidly said, something sparked in Ballantine’s expression.
‘No, can’t have that,’ he agreed. Ballantine’s right hand slid down to the hem of my top, gathering the fabric with his fingers while he still held me prisoner with his left hand.
I gasped when I felt the brush of his knuckles against my skin, as he slowly lifted the material. He smirked. ‘Arms up!’
Like a mindless zombie, I complied, lifting my arms above my head. Ballantine had even let my wrists go so I could. He didn’t need to physically hold me, not when his heated gaze kept me in place. For as long as his eyes bore into me like that, I wasn’t going anywhere. I blushed deeply at my wanton thoughts, at the way he was controlling me. He peeled my top off with one swift movement, chucking it aside. My eyes broke away briefly to see it land perfectly on top of my shoes.
I swallowed, looking back into his eyes. There was no humour in his expression, no smug tilt of his lips, nothing. All I was aware of was the way his fingers lightly grazed down my sides, causing goose flesh to prickle my skin. My breath hitched when his hands slid down to rest on the top button of my jean shorts. Without so much as an eye blink, he popped one button after the other. Expertly working his way down, loosening my shorts until they became baggy around my hips. The only thing that made him seem anything but the perfect vision of calm was the heavy rise and fall of his chest – the way it mirrored my own. He aided me by pushing down the denim, down, down, sliding over my hipbones until the shorts fell to my ankles so I could step out of them. Ballantine picked them up, and threw them aside to join my singlet and thongs. I held my arms across my chest, conscious that I was standing in front of Ballantine in nothing but my bra and undies. White cotton with little pink bows. My cheeks were burning with mortification, but Ballantine didn’t flinch at my lack of attire. At a guess he had seen it all before.
He had probably seen Lucy Fell-on-her-face in far less, I thought bitterly.
‘You ready?’ His voice snapped me out of my depressing thoughts.
‘No,’ I replied.
He smiled broadly. ‘Well, that’s just too bad.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
He was fast. So fast. Scooping me up and over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing at all.
He ploughed into the waves, his legs expertly lifting over the crests so he could gain traction. He paid no attention to my pleas and squeals, and before the true shock set in and the realisation that my world had quite literally been turned upside down as he carried me over his shoulder, he flipped me over and plunged me into the icy black ocean. The shock of it caused me to gasp, inhaling a salty mouthful of water. I broke the surface, scrambling to find my feet. The strong current of the water didn’t make it easy but Ballantine broke through the surface next to me, reaching out to help me stand and get my bearings as I coughed and spluttered: a stark contrast to Ballantine’s laughter.
‘Refreshed?’
‘No!’ I snapped, shivering against the coolness of the temperature. Actually it wasn’t that bad, quite warm now my body was adjusting, but I wouldn’t admit that.
Ballantine dipped his broad shoulders under the water before standing fully, running his hands through wet tendrils of hair. He stood with the waterline nipping at his navel; he looked even more gorgeous wet.
I cowered, keeping myself concealed by the water, hiding my near-naked body, and was happy to stay that way until I felt something tentacle-like brush against my legs. I screamed, leaping towards Ballantine, seeking refuge near his body. ‘Oh-my-God-what-the-hell-was that?’ I yelled, breathing erratically.
Ballantine laughed. ‘It’s probably just seaweed.’
I felt it again, causing me to claw and scream at Ballantine. If he had been a tree I would have climbed him. Oh, yes, in the movies people walk romantically into the ocean, basking in the warmth of the water and getting lost in each other’s eyes. But no, hell no.
‘Let me out! Let me out,’ I screamed, fear carrying me through the water as I bolted towards the shore.
I could hear Ballantine howling with laughter but I didn’t care, the ocean and me were never going to be friends. I scooped up my clothes – struggling to gain traction in the sand – and made a determined beeline for the path that led up to civilisation. The sooner I put distance between me and the water, the better.
‘Lex, wait!’
But I didn’t, I kept forging on: woman on a mission. I started to run and just as I thought I was nearly free, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist and whipped me to the ground, landing me with an oomph.
Ballantine pinned me effortlessly to the ground, drops of water dripping off his body onto mine. I squirmed underneath him but it was futile.
‘I don’t want to go back in,’ I pleaded through my laboured breaths.
‘You’re not going back in,’ he assured me, ‘but I think you should probably put your clothes back on.’ His eyes dipped to my chest. I followed his gaze, horrified to see my white bra had turned completely see-through, the pebbled, pink discs of my nipples clearly visible through the cotton material. I gasped, instinctively wanting to move my arms to cover myself, but Ballantine was unmoving. His hands imprisoned my arms on either side of my face, caging me in. His damp torso pressed against mine; our breathing hard and heavy from running. Or maybe from something else. I knew it wasn’t just the running that had me feeling the tingling sensation over my skin, between my thighs. Ballantine could undo me with a look – one simple look. If this is how I felt already, what would happen if he actually touched me? His dark eyes lifted from my chest to my face, and judging by his stormy expression, it was almost as if he might have been wondering the same thing. What would happen if we did, if we went there? I knew I had over-analysed so many ridiculous scenarios when it came to Ballantine, but there was absolutely no mistaking the hard feel of him pressing against my hipbone. A thrill shot through me in complete and utter satisfaction that I, in some way, had excited him in that way.
He seemed lost, completely frozen, unsure about what was to be done with the wet, half-naked girl beneath him. So I made it easier for him.
‘Luke,’ I whispered, my eyes searching his face, searching for an expression I could read.
He blinked, looking down at me as if seeing me for the first time.
I bit my lip, terrified that I had broken the trance for good, that in some way he might come to his senses and let me go. But as soon as I said his name it was like a trigger – like he now knew exactly what he had to do. His hands let go of my wrists, his right hand sliding down my arm, the sweep of his skin along mine causing a tingly sensation. He swallowed. As his eyes followed the trail he blazed with his palm, sweeping down across my collarbone, tracing it delicately, he touched me as if I were made of glass, so gentle, so delicate as his fingers ghosted over the centre of my wet bra. A gorgeous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when he flicked at the little pink bow, causing me to giggle. I was amazed how I wasn’t embarrassed, that I was open and eager, almost arching myself into his touch, urging him on. I didn’t want to stop, not ever.
And he didn’t. His hand continued down, his palm playing over the tender, ticklish part of my belly. I inhaled a steadying breath, causing him to smile again. This time he wasn’t looking at me; his eyes were following his hand as it trailed over my skin as if he was fine tuning an instrument. It wasn’t until his hand skidded upwards along the edge of my bra that he looked up, as if silently asking a question. When my silence told him everything he needed, he slid his hand under the material of my bra, cupping my breast and maddeningly brushing his thumb over my nipple. I gasped.
Oh my God. This was happening, this was really happening.
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With no sense of mortifying thoughts or second-guessing, I let my body succumb to the pleasure. My legs shifted for Ballantine to lay snugly and hard up against me, the thin, damp material of his shorts and my knickers the only barrier between us. My head pushed back in the sand as I arched into his touch, rocking into him as he rocked back, building a delicious friction between us. His right hand moved to slide the strap from my shoulder, peeling it slowly down until my breast was exposed to the night – exposed to him.
I could feel the heat of his breath across my bare skin and I thought I might die from happiness. Then I definitely knew I would when he spoke against my neck, his lips grazing the lobe of my ear.
‘Is this what you want?’
His strained voice was hoarse, dark . . . promising. He asked the question just as his fingers pinched my nipple; it gave him an unfair advantage that left me gasping, ‘Yes.’
He smiled, pleased by my answer.
His hand moved from my breast, skirting over my belly, lower and lower, breaching the elastic barrier of my knickers. I felt a brief moment of panic, a panic that was soon obliterated when Ballantine lowered his mouth onto mine. Soft and sure, his lips slanted against mine, slowly opening me up to him. His tongue plunged in just as he slowly pushed his finger inside me. I moaned into his kiss, greedily accepting all he had to give. As my hands flew up to tangle in his dampened hair – my mind circling in disbelief that this was happening – thoughts became unintelligible as soft, tentative kisses soon turned into fierce, needy kisses as I rocked into his hand. I felt alive everywhere. Every spot on my skin he touched raised goosebumps. My heart was racing. This felt so surreal yet so welcome. And oh, this boy could kiss.
My whimpers were captured by his mouth. I was on fire, my insides twisting and clenching with the building pleasure.
‘That’s it, Lex, let go,’ he whispered against my mouth, and just as I was about to shatter into a million pieces and scream Ballantine’s name into the starry night, I heard the distant calls.
‘Leeeeexie! Ballantine?!’
We froze. Panic stilled my racing heart as we looked at each other.
‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ Boon’s voice taunted from above, closing in.
Shit!
Ballantine rolled off me as if he had been electrocuted; I pulled up my strap, positioning my bra back into place as I scurried to find my top and shorts.
Shit-shit-shit.
Ballantine had been so busy chasing me down that he’d left his clothes by the shoreline. We stood, running back into the shadows; Ballantine motioned for me to go in the opposite direction. ‘There’s a set of steps up that way about fifty metres. Keep in the shadows and double round back to the car,’ he said quickly.
I laughed and said, ‘Okay,’ and did exactly as he directed, keeping to the shadows and watching as Ballantine casually walked out onto the beach to collect his shirt and shoes.
‘There he is!’ called Amanda, spotting him from the walking track. I took the opportunity, as Ballantine distracted them, to somehow – some way – get my boneless legs to move me further along the beach and towards the steps. But this time, a newfound adrenalin carried me and had me smiling like a fool, skipping every second step out of the darkness, into the illuminated streetlight.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I was the first one back to the car, which gave me a bit of time to straighten myself out. My hair was a half-dried, sand-infused, frizzy mess. I felt as though I’d rolled in dirt, which I kind of had. I checked my reflection in the side mirror of the van, taking in my flushed complexion with a cheeky smile, trying to stifle my giddy laughter.
Oh. My. Fucking. God. What just happened?
I wanted to do a little jig of happiness. I could still taste Ballantine on my lips, the spearmint flavour of his tongue. It seemed like it took forever for him to kiss me and then when he finally did, my mind exploded with sheer elation. It wasn’t like I hadn’t kissed boys before, but this was in a totally different league. I wanted to laugh hysterically at the memory. I paced back and forth in front of the car until I finally heard the distant sounds of voices coming up the path. Boon spotted me first.
‘There she is,’ he called.
Amanda sighed in relief. ‘Bloody hell, Lexie. Where were you?’
I glanced back at Ballantine. His face was . . . completely expressionless.
I shrugged. ‘Just went to wash the sand off my feet.’
‘Well, don’t just wander off. You never know who might be lurking in the dark,’ Amanda chastised.
I snorted, quickly turning away from their concerned looks. I stood by the car door, waiting for it to be unlocked, trying as best I could not to burst out laughing.
Much like the ride to the beach, we travelled back and pulled up out the front of our house in silence.
Amanda and Boon hopped out of the back, languishing in their passionate goodbyes. I knew there would be no passionate farewell for me, although I did at least expect a ‘see ya later’. But when I turned to smile knowingly at Ballantine, revelling in our little secret and how we nearly got sprung, I was met with his stoic profile and not so much as a smirk. My elation slipped away. I sat there for a moment, waiting for a change in his demeanour, but it never came. I didn’t exactly know who was sitting next to me but it certainly wasn’t the boy from the beach.
‘Wow, that was fast,’ I said.
Ballantine’s eyes shifted to look at me. ‘What?’
I breathed out a laugh. ‘I thought it would take until at least tomorrow for regret to set in.’
His gaze darkened, as if he didn’t like what he’d just heard. He gripped the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, perhaps readying himself to retort, but I didn’t give him the chance as I flung open the car door, swung it closed, and trudged a determined line across the grass with not so much as a backward glance.
•
No matter how hard I scrubbed, I still felt the remnants of sand against my scalp. It was infuriating, almost as infuriating as the anger I felt towards myself, and at Ballantine for ruining my night. He could have at least been a man and given me the ‘I’m not looking for anything serious’ speech. I wasn’t exactly after a proposal of marriage. Bastard. I didn’t know what I wanted; I just didn’t want to be treated like the plague, to feel like such a reject. Should I have been so surprised to learn that Ballantine was just one of the boys, that getting with a girl was no more than a cheap thrill, get your rocks off and see you later? Perhaps that’s all it was. Play with the new thing just for the fun of it. See how far she will go. And stupid me fell for it. I felt embarrassed. I felt ashamed.
One in the morning and I was in the bathroom violently combing the knots out of my hair, thanking the Lord above that Boon and Amanda had come along and disturbed us; there was no telling how far I would have gone, even though I knew in my heart of hearts I wouldn’t have wanted him to stop, ever. My body reacted to him in a way that kind of scared me; even now, when I was so angry at him, if he came knocking on my window pleading for forgiveness my heart would spike in approval. Not that that was going to happen. I just had to wipe him and the night from my mind – if that was possible. If I couldn’t shake him from my thoughts when we had barely done anything except sit next to each other in detention, how on earth was I supposed to forget him now that he’d had his hands down my pants?
I sighed, flicked off the bathroom light, and dragged my weary butt to bed. The lamplight guided me into the room where Amanda was lying in bed, smiling like the Cheshire cat. For a moment, seeing her so happy, so open about her relationship with Boon, a dose of resentment surged inside me, and I wanted nothing more than to plunge the room into darkness and not have to witness the sheer bliss that radiated from my contented cousin.
I crawled into my bed, my body aching, my mind alert but exhausted, and closed my eyes.
‘Can you turn off the light?’ I asked.
Amanda leant over, clicking off her lamp
, and in the comfort of the darkness I let the tears pool under my lids.
No-no-no-no . . . Don’t be such a baby. You’re just tired. Don’t be stupid. You made out with Ballantine, you fooled around. So what? You weren’t friends before, so nothing will change now. Just go with the flow, Lexie, just go with the flow.
I did go with the flow all right – the involuntary flow of tears. Amanda’s voice pierced the darkness; she happily went on and on about Boon and how amazing he was. I rolled away from her, answering in one-word responses to make out I was listening, even though I wasn’t. I was too steeped in misery. I desperately wanted to feel the way I had felt with Ballantine – that thrill and excitement even before we had done anything, when he was merely sitting on my bed, looking at me. I feared he wouldn’t look at me again, and my chest ached with the thought. I would sooner have moments of something, than a whole term based on awkwardness. I guess only tomorrow would tell.
•
With a new day came new clarity, indeed . . . it slammed me in the face the moment Laura Boon bounced up to my locker.
‘Hey, Lexie.’
In all my moments of self-obsessed misery, a memory flashed, a memory I didn’t need and one I couldn’t believe I had forgotten. Looking at Laura’s expressive, kind eyes and bouncing giddiness, I had somehow, some way, forgotten what Boon had told me that night on the beach. Laura had a massive crush on Ballantine. My self-entitled rage and self-pity was instantly wiped away with shame.
‘Hey,’ I said, trying my best to smile.
‘Did you watch Neighbours last night?’
No, actually, I was too busy dry humping your crush on the beach.
‘Um, no, I didn’t. Was it good?’
‘Ugh, so good!’ she said, turning to her locker.
I was a shitty person. A shitty, shitty person who deserved all the cold shoulders in the world. From now on I would be a model student, a model friend, niece, cousin, and all-round decent human being. I couldn’t believe I had done what I did last night, without even a thought for poor Laura and how it would crush her. I suddenly thanked God for Ballantine – if he didn’t want to acknowledge what had happened then neither would I.
