by C. J. Duggan
I’m turning back.
I made that decision as soon as I reached the letterbox with number fourteen on it. That was too much of a reality check for me and just as I was about to turn, I felt something grab my arm and pull me into the thick of a bush. I screamed, but only a muffled yelp managed to escape as a hand clamped across my mouth. I struggled against the iron grip, my heart racing, my legs working to kick out as I tried without much success to break free.
‘Lexie, it’s me.’ A voice laughed in my ear, shaking me to my senses. It was then that I felt the grip around my wrists loosen enough for me to spin around to see the darkened silhouette of a figure I would recognise anywhere. I breathed out in relief as I threw my arms around his shoulders and buried my face into the hollow of his neck.
I don’t want him to get bored. I don’t want him to be with anyone but me.
I had one more week until school was over, and then I’d be heading back to Red Hill. I couldn’t even stomach the thought.
He seemed surprised at first by the force that I used to wrap myself around him, but then I slowly felt his arms circle around me, enclosing me in the sweet-smelling warmth of his body. I was so desperate to be in this place, to be in these arms, I never wanted to leave. I was completely happy in the shadows with this boy who I had been enamoured with from the first moment I saw him – also in the shadows. Ironic? As happy as I was, I could still feel a tightness in my chest, a lingering feeling that this was the edge of goodbye. This is why I had come here, this is what had led me into the night, consequences be damned. I had to know, had to experience the very thing that drove me to want to come to Paradise City. The final week of school was like a ticking time bomb; once it was over, what then? I had to give him something that would have him coming back for more.
In such a short time, with the ups, the downs and all the untruths, I had managed to experience so many things, things that both excited me and terrified me. It was the same feeling I had now being in Ballantine’s arms.
‘So what are you doing lurking around my neighbourhood? Stop being so creepy.’
‘Creepy?’
‘Yeah, besides, my bedroom’s upstairs, so there’ll be no knocking on my bedroom window. You’d best leave me to the late-night house calls.’
‘Do you share a room?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘Well, there you go; I think your upstairs bedroom trumps my downstairs room-share.’
Ballantine tilted his head. ‘Lexie Atkinson, are you trying to get into my bedroom?’
I could feel the heat flush my cheeks as I let my arms fall from him. ‘No! I’m just saying that if I had a choice I would sooner –’
‘Relax,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Do you want to hear something crazy?’ He stepped backwards and led me out of the bushes. ‘At my house, we use the front door.’
•
My anxiety lessened a bit when Ballantine moved towards the back of the house; he almost seemed nervous himself as he paused by the door at the very end of the hallway, giving me a small smile.
We entered a large rumpus room that was designed as a home theatre. With its large, reclining suede couches, an enormous television, a coffee table set up with bowls of popcorn, lollies and chocolate, as far as a secret rendezvous went this was pretty spectacular.
My ear-to-ear grin probably said as much. ‘This is amazing.’
‘You approve?’
‘Ah, yeah!’ I said, making my way across the room to plonk myself onto a seat, then settling into the comfy contours of the soft cushioning, all my worries instantly melting away.
Ballantine appeared beside me. ‘Here, check it out.’ He pulled a lever on the side of my chair that flung my legs up and my body backwards; I squealed at the unexpectedness of it.
‘S–sorry,’ Ballantine said through a fit of laughter, which only added to my giggles as I tried to get over the shock of the Transformer-esque couch.
‘This is dangerous,’ I said, trying to adjust my position. ‘Seriously, you need a licence to drive this thing.’
Ballantine tried to shift the lever and press down on my footrest to get me back into position, but it wasn’t too easy because he was laughing so hard.
‘Well, someone sounds like they’re having a good time,’ came a voice from the doorway.
Ballantine stood, taking his weight from pushing my footrest down; I flung backwards again with a yelp.
‘Oh, shit. Sorry, Lex.’ He grabbed my hand and helped me scramble my way – rather inelegantly – out of the chair, helping me stand to face the voice, the friendly, feminine voice of the bemused-looking woman standing in the doorway with a drink tray.
‘Don’t mind me, I just thought you might be thirsty.’
‘Ah, yeah. Thanks, Mum,’ Ballantine said, rubbing the back of his neck and grimacing. ‘Just, um, put them down there.’
‘Oh, don’t look so worried, Luke, I’m not staying,’ she said with a knowing little smile at her son’s embarrassment.
All I could think of when I looked at Ballantine’s mum was how he must have taken after his dad. She had shoulder-length, blonde hair, with big blue eyes, and a bold shade of red lippy that she was really pulling off. Her skin was fair, and she wore beige Capri pants and a white linen top. She was, in a word, classy.
She placed the clinking tray down next to the popcorn before straightening and turning the full weight of her friendly blues on me. ‘You must be Lexie,’ she said, stepping forward and taking my hand. ‘It’s so lovely to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.’
‘Muuum,’ Ballantine groaned.
‘What? I want to meet the girl who inspires my son to go to school every day.’
Ballantine pinched the bridge of his nose as if summoning strength.
‘For a boy who went from wagging every other day to now having perfect attendance, I am one very happy mother.’
‘Mum, we’ve got to make a start on these movies.’
‘Okay, okay. I’m out of here. Nice to meet you, Lexie.’
‘Nice to meet you, too,’ I said, as Ballantine ushered her to the door.
‘Thanks, Mum.’
She pinched his cheek, deliberately embarrassing him. ‘You’re welcome.’
•
The room was plunged into darkness, true theatre-style. There were even drink holders in the couch . . . drink holders!
So fancy.
The light and movement from the screen danced in front of us, illuminating Ballantine’s transfixed face, which I found myself watching more than the movie. My elbow was pressed next to his on the armrest; the warm skin-to-skin contact did strange things to me. I found it hard to concentrate, and all I could do was think about the hot boy next to me: the rise and fall of his chest, his perfectly proportioned profile, and his ludicrously good-looking bone structure. I could hardly believe I was sitting here with him. Just Ballantine and me.
The couch was great, cosy, comfy, but there was one irritating factor that I caught onto pretty quickly: those fancy drink holders that folded down out of the couch acted as a barrier between us, making that elbow press over time more and more frustrating. It was, like, so close yet so far. And then of course I reminded myself –
Just watch the damn movie, Lexie.
I’d just settled down and resigned myself to the idea that I would at least try to concentrate, when Ballantine moved. ‘Back in a minute,’ he said, leaning over.
He made his way to the door, closing it behind him and leaving me to watch a convoy get blown up after the hero smugly delivered some witty catchphrase. Next movie will be my choice, I thought. Pretty Woman or something. It was only fair.
By the time Ballantine returned I was actually starting to understand what was happening in the movie. Some guy had kidnapped the hero’s daughter, hero was pissed off and started to blow things up – surely there was a better way to deal with the situation – but apparently the hero was a trained marine in another life so looked like he just wanted to c
ut some corners. Fair enough.
Just as it looked like the hero was about to get ambushed by the villain’s henchmen, the screen went black, and the room was plunged into darkness. For a moment I thought the power had gone out, but then I saw the darkened silhouette of Ballantine with the remote control in his hand, then heard him put it on the table.
‘And they all lived happily ever after,’ he said, grabbing for another remote and adjusting the room into a very delicate low light. Moving next to take the drinks out of the holders and place them on the table, he flipped the impressive feature back into place and returned it once more to a couch.
Ballantine sat next to me with no annoying divider between us, just Ballantine and me.
Chapter Forty-Five
This was it. This was what I wanted.
I didn’t want Ballantine to get bored; I didn’t want to be the mousy, prudish farm girl. I was going to take control and now that we weren’t on a sandy beach, or wedged in an alcove of the Year Twelve common room, now that we were at Ballantine’s home, it seemed right. Ballantine moved to kiss me first, slowly, gently teasing with his soft lips. He cupped the edge of my neck, tilting my head to gain better access to my mouth, but I wanted more. I placed my hand against his chest, pushing him back into the couch, lifting my leg over to straddle him. ‘Where are your parents?’ I breathed past my kisses.
‘Asleep,’ he whispered, as he hitched the edge of my denim mini over my hips so I could sink down more snugly on his lap. I felt the heavy press of him against my now damp knickers. Would this ever be enough? This feeling? I crossed my arms, peeling my top up and over my head with Ballantine’s help, letting it fall to the side. Between tongue, teeth nips and moans, we feasted desperately on one another, full with the need to release and enjoy each other’s bodies. Ballantine had fulfilled me in the common room all those weeks ago, and now I finally had the chance to do the same for him. I didn’t let the voices in my head or the knots of anxiety in my stomach control me. I just wanted to get lost in his touch, engulfed by the pleasure I was feeling as I ground my hips against him.
Ballantine pulled down my bra, baring me to the light and his lips, as he grabbed and pressed the tip of my breast into his mouth, and then moved to taste the other. It was the sexiest thing I had ever seen, running my hands through his hair as he groaned, pressing his head into me. I could feel myself building, my hips were grinding harder, faster. I opened my eyes, catching our reflection in the mirrored cabinet across from us. I didn’t recognise myself – wanton, needy, desperate.
‘Don’t come,’ Ballantine whispered against my skin, as if I had a choice in the matter as his fingers dug into my hips, trying to stem my movement. Giving up the battle, he moved, flipping me onto my back on the couch. I could have cried if he hadn’t followed me down, filling my mouth with his hot tongue to sate my need. This was it, he was going to take my virginity. There was no going back and I didn’t want to. This felt so good. So right. I felt Ballantine hook his fingers into the elastic of my underwear, edging them down until I lifted for him so he could slide them down over my thighs and off completely. My skirt was all twisted and hitched up to my belly button, which meant I was exposing myself entirely to him; his eyes raked over my body, his chest was heaving as his dark eyes rested on the most intimate part of me. He leant back, grabbing my legs, hooking one over his shoulder. I readied myself for him to undo his zipper, but instead, he bent down and kissed my belly button, eliciting a shocked gasp at the unexpectedness of it. He glanced up, flashing me a knowing little smirk.
‘If that’s how you react to your belly button being kissed, I can’t wait to see what you do next.’
And before I could question him further, he lowered his head, kissing a slow, agonising trail, down . . . down, kissing me in a place I would never have thought I could possibly give to someone, but I gave it to him. He pushed my thighs open, my hands flew up to entwine in his hair, urging him to go deeper with his tongue . . . and he obliged. I was a writhing, panting mess, arching into him. I had thought I had felt the throes of pleasure by his clever, wicked hands, but his mouth was something else, to the point of pushing away from him as I felt I couldn’t take any more. My heart was racing. My skin had goosebumps all over. I could hardly get a breath. Oh God. His fingers dug into my legs, holding me in place and making me take the unrelenting pleasure of his mouth. Without the aid of his mouth or hand to quieten me down, I grabbed for a cushion, pressing it over my face as a muffled scream escaped me, until my body was spent and his mouth lifted from me. I lay there boneless, my chest heaving, my flushed face still hidden by the cushion, a cushion I didn’t want to remove as my senses slowly returned to me and I realised what the hell had just happened.
‘You okay?’ he asked, lifting the cushion from my face and looking down on me. I wasn’t the only one that was flushed – Ballantine looked most pleased.
And then it occurred to me, judging by the noises he had made as he’d made me come: Ballantine was all about making me happy, putting me first. Doing that time and time again, he’d probably lose interest and with that thought in mind, I bit my lip as I slowly sat up. Ballantine looked at me warily. ‘Lex, you okay?’
I didn’t want to speak; I didn’t want to break my intent, so instead I showed him. I pushed him back into a seated position and slid to the floor between his legs; he never asked again. Instead, with a heated stare, he watched me as I held eye contact with him while I worked on the top button of his jeans, then the zip, pulling it slowly down. I had never done this before, and I had no idea what I was doing. I pulled him free from his pants, running my hands up and along the hard, smooth length of him. I revelled in the way his entire body tightened as I touched him. He felt so soft, yet he was so hard.
I laughed. ‘If that’s your reaction when I touch you, I can’t wait to see what you do next.’
I took him in my mouth. Slowly and gently at first I tasted him, holding the base of him. I groaned when his hands threaded through my hair.
‘Lexie,’ he breathed, his head falling back against the couch as his hips involuntarily bucked. His hoarse voice guiding me through only excited me more as his hands on the back of me directed my speed. ‘That’s it, Lex, take me deeper, all the way.’
He wanted it faster so I went deliberately slowly, teasing the tip with a swirl of my tongue. I smiled up at him as he looked down on me like I was the devil, or maybe even an angel – it was hard to tell.
‘You keep doing that and I’m going to come,’ he breathed.
I hesitated a bit, not knowing whether to pull away now or keep going, so I let instinct take over and took him deep, drawing him in and hollowing my cheeks.
‘Fuck me, I’m going to come.’
And just as I went to repeat the trail with my mouth once more, there was a knock on the rumpus room door and muffled voice spoke through.
‘Lexie, you have a phone call.’
•
‘Abort! Abort! You have to go home right now,’ Laura’s voice whispered down the phone.
By some act of God, there was a phone extension in the rumpus room. Ballantine yelled out to his mum that I would take the call in there. We madly scrambled to make ourselves decent; it was safe to say that the close call took ten years off our lives.
‘What are you talking about?’ I snapped, flustered and still in shock, more so when Ballantine handed me my knickers with a smirk.
‘Amanda is here hanging out with Boon.’
‘So?’
‘So, you’re supposed be here, too. Yes? That’s the cover story?’
Shit!
Ballantine stood beside me, looking on in concern, and mouthed, ‘What?’
‘Okay, no worries, I’m leaving now. Thanks for the heads-up,’ I said, before hanging up the phone.
Fucking Amanda.
•
Ballantine walked me home, both of us smug in our silence and exchanging knowing sideways glances on how bloody lucky we were not to be discove
red.
‘You okay?’ he asked for the hundredth time.
I laughed. ‘Never been better.’ And I did feel good. Liberated somehow. Proud of myself for being able to elicit such a raw response from Ballantine.
A response that had seemed to please him.
When we said our goodnights in the shadow of the neighbour’s tree, Ballantine looked down on me, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb; the look and his touch felt so tender, like there was something different to us than there had been before. I grasped the hand at my face and turned his palm up to the sky, highlighting the lines underneath the streetlight we stood near, the same one that shone through my bedroom window. I was studying the braided strips of leather bound around his wrist when I noticed something of interest. There, underneath the knotted threads that had slipped down his wrist, was a marking. I lifted his arm to the light and gazed in amazed wonder.
‘I didn’t know you had a tattoo,’ I gasped.
Hidden beneath the bracelets on the inside of his wrist was a tattoo of the sun; it was something I couldn’t believe I had missed. Even if not openly on display, seeing it now for the first time was like seeing Ballantine for the first time.
I smiled, looking up at him. ‘How appropriate,’ I said.
‘What? That it’s black and twisted?’
I rolled my eyes at his reference to the blackened ink. ‘You are the sun, Luke. To me, you are all the things Paradise City is about.’
‘Ha! It depends on your definition of what Paradise City is; some might not think that a compliment.’
‘Well, I can only tell you what my definition is,’ I said, lacing my fingers with his.
‘Oh, yeah? What’s that?’ he asked, cocking his brow.
‘Warm. No, make that hot!’ I grinned. ‘Unpredictable, exciting, beautiful . . . life-changing.’
Ballantine’s face sobered. I worried I might have gone too far, but when he lowered his head to kiss me sweetly on the lips, I knew I hadn’t.
