I rubbed harder. My eyes tightened. I was ready to come, almost there, pushing, hard —
Huh!? "Wh — ?"
Conall's hands had gone to my waist and he'd lifted me straight off him like so much paper! He threw me on the bed next to him. I was heaving with heavy breaths! He turned to his side, smiled and looked at me intensely.
"What the fuck was that?" I said, tingles all around my thighs, my middle throbbing like a motherfucker, so goddamned tense... All I needed was one finger, just one, he could do it, right now! He could touch me, just slip it in... I was so close!
He looked at me, his smile becoming stronger, a naughty grin, enjoying watching me suffer!
I dug my head into the pillow. "You're such a fucking asshole!" I said, not meaning a word of it. I put my right hand in my panties but before I could even rub myself Conall had grabbed my wrist and lifted it away. "Fucking sadist!" I said. I moved my left hand in there. He grabbed it as well!
"Urgh, damn it!" I was still throbbing. I was so goddamned close to coming! All I needed was one rub, just a touch. One. Frickin. Finger!
I exhaled like my life depended on it, felt the sweat of passion on my hair, under his shirt that I was wearing, on the insides of my thighs. I breathed, looked at Conall. He was smiling so fucking widely...
Jesus H!
"You're a total asshole, you know that?" Only, I was smiling now. And then I laughed. I don't know why, but I did. "Do you know I am so frickin horny that you could've put your hand in there and made me explode with pleasure with just the slightest touch? Heck, I would've fucking screamed my lungs out so that even your neighbors would've heard it!" (His house and grounds were so big that his neighbors were practically in another city...)
"I believe it." His smile was so pleasant, so friendly. It looked like he was about to give me a frickin candy-cane!
"I'm still horny," I said, putting on my best mean face.
"It'll ease off."
"No it won't. It never does with me. After a certain point, it's got to go all the way. I mean, got to."
"Have you ever tried stopping yourself?"
"Hell the fuck no! Why!?" The conversation was slowly cooling me down, but I still throbbed, I was still swollen, and I was still producing goddamned moisture!
He shrugged. "It makes the end better."
"Huh? How would you know? You're a man!"
He shrugged. It was a such a confident "fine, suit yourself" shrug that I absolutely knew he'd learned this art to a fine fucking skill with some other woman!
"It works for men as well, but more for women. I assume." A knowing grin flashed across his face. I "assume." Yeah right.
I frowned. And, OK, the throbbing had eased. Thank God! "You can let my wrists go now," I said, feeling so friggin turned on by him holding them and looking down at me on his comfy white bed...
His eyes locked on my crotch — still goddamn smiling!
"If you're going to put your turn-me-on eyes on my kitty then we'll never make it through this little dilemma we have here."
He guffawed (and let go of my wrists.) "Your 'kitty'?"
Damn it. He had such a beautiful smile, and perfect teeth, and bottomless eyes, and comfy hair...
"Yes, my 'kitty'!"
He laughed some more, too taken aback by my use of the word. I didn't get why. I quite like it. It's better than those other words they use for it, the one with the P and the other with the C. I'd come up with my own name for it. Kitty suits me just fine thank you very much.
"Um, Conall, I figured that this stopping-me-from-coming business was going to eventually lead to, well, I dunno, me coming eventually! The way it looks it seems we're getting nowhere near that!"
"So it seems." He raked my body with his eyes, scraped his nails against my right thigh.
"Fucking...God." I writhed. "I don't know why I love you."
"For this very reason." He kept scraping his fingernails up and down my bare leg. And, damn it, I was getting horny again. Heart-thumpingly horny.
I steadied my breathing...
"Look, it's all fine to get me all hot and ready for an orgasm, but it's not cool to not give it to me."
He stopped scraping.
Had I said something wrong? "No, don't stop!" I said. I moved my hand to his, trying to get it going again. I couldn't read his expression, but he was thinking something now. The thought had grabbed him and taken him elsewhere.
"Baby? What is it?" I sat up, suddenly a little concerned.
"Would you like to spend a weekend away? Or maybe a week?" he asked abruptly.
I scratched my head. "Sure, um, I mean, I'd need to clear it with work. I got someone to cover my shift there yesterday and today. But I don't know how much more time I can take off. I don't wanna be fired or anything..."
He gave an inquisitive chuckle, then looked at me curiously when I didn't understand. "You like working at a pub?"
"Sure."
"Oh, I mean, I would've thought that maybe..."
"What, that I would've taken all of mommy's money and lain on the beach all day?"
"'Lain'? Impressive. Most English people don't even get that right..."
I punched his shoulder, then regretted it because my wrists still hurt from earlier! "Would you stay on topic! God almighty, you're worse than me."
He laughed, and fell onto the bed. Well, so much for the orgasm, and I'd lost the mood of it all anyway by now...
"Anyway," I continued, "I like working. I mean, my money's back home but, well, I don't wanna use it. I like paying rent and I like seeing what I can get at a second-hand bookstore for fifty P, which is so much cheaper than getting the same thing at Waterstones — " Conall turned and glared, some type of shock apparent on his face. "What!?"
"No, nothing, sorry. It's just, I remember when we met in the states... You're so different now. And you talk like an English woman. It's cute. I mean, it's just odd hearing you say 'P' instead of cents and talking about Waterstones instead of, I don't know, what do they have in the states?"
"Dunno, I guess the equivalent would be Barnes & Noble or something... But, that's not the point! Damn it. Are you paying any attention?"
"Of course I am, and I'm loving hearing what you have to say."
I looked at him firmly, trying to see if he was joking. He wasn't. So I continued. "Well, yeah, I mean, I like starting out from scratch. My dad did it, worked himself up from nothing from The Bronx. Would you believe it? All the way to the Upper Sleaze Side from The Bronx!"
He smirked briefly.
"Yes, I said Upper Sleaze Side. And thank you for not interrupting!"
Conall gave a tight nod like a good little boy. I chuckled.
"So, anyway, I just wanted to do this for myself, you know. I wanted to...I don't know, be a grown up or something. I mean..." I was hedging. Because what I wanted to say was: Losing you killed me, and I needed to know that I could make it alone, without you, otherwise I knew I'd never make it at anything...
"So, that's the story," I said. "And, yes, I have a bank account here and I count up my savings and my tips each night and, well, I'm happy. I also have a piggy bank with little coins in my room. I'm sure I've secretly hit a million pounds in there by now. Feels like it when I shake it by my ear at least. And I shake it a lot."
Conall thought a moment. "That's fucking amazing," he said, still staring at the ceiling.
"Huh? What?"
"I said that's amazing." He was completely sincere.
"Really?"
"Of course. I wish I'd done the same. Everything was handed to me on a platter."
"Not everything. I mean, you can go to Oxford but you have to have a brain to pass the exams and learn that shit, don't you?"
"Yes, I supposed you have to 'learn that shit.' Very well spoken Ms Caivano!"
"Hey, like I said, my dad's from The Bronx and, well, I love him..." I twirled the comforter, thinking of him.
"You two close?"
"Very." I wanted to tell him
what dad had said before I'd left: Pride, Leora. Never forget pride. That's all you ever got. Nobody and no amount o' money ever gonna give you that. That's the only thing in life you ever give yourself. And you will be the poorest person in the world if you lose it. Only, when dad had said it, "forget" was "fuhget." And "ever" was "evva."
He'd said that in relation to Conall. I'd told him a little about him, not much. Conall didn't need to know that.
"That's great that you're close. He sounds like a great man." Conall sat up, turned his back to me.
"I take it you and your dad don't get along?"
He stood up, shrugged. "No, not really. Nothing dramatic. I mean, he wasn't abusive or cruel or anything. He's just...well...rich. And he thinks... Anyway, I won't put him down when he's not here."
"You're not putting him down. You're just telling me how it is."
"He's a good man, a successful man. A 'proud' man, I suppose. But there are two kinds of pride — the real kind, and the kind that comes along by always insisting on your rightness with others and fighting with them to their graves just to prove your own idiotic bullheadedness. Anyway" — he walked to the window, looked at his backyard — "I don't really want to talk about him. I always bad-mouth him when I get onto the subject. And he doesn't deserve that. He's a good man. Never beat us. Always provided for us. That's what a man is supposed to do, I guess. So, what do I have to complain about?"
You probably have to complain about the fact that it seems like the commodity he didn't provide was love. Isn't that the most important thing for a parent to give?
Of course, I never voiced that. "I see. OK, well, we don't have to talk about him."
Conall's phone buzzed. I sat back by the headboard, pulled my knees to my chest as he went to grab it from his mirror-less dresser. The room was darker now, lit only by a full moon which washed over Conall's weighty body and expansive shoulders. He looked at his phone awhile, as if considering what to do about whatever message had arrived. He hefted it in his hand, put it back down, then looked at me.
"It's Alex," he said. The word sent a javelin through my heart. And I know it was cruel, selfish. I know that. And I knew it then. But the emotion came suddenly and forcefully. I won't lie about that. At least I understood that it was some sort of irrational anxiety and so I didn't act on it. I don't think a person can ask for more than that. Jealousy is, unfortunately, very often a knee-jerk kind of reaction.
"Yes, she's having another fit. I need to go over there. They might kick her out..."
And then? Will she come here?
"Oh, sure, well, go ahead, I mean, no problem," I said.
"You're coming with me."
"Oh, no, I have no clothes and — "
He gave me a wry look, then lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, sure. But even if that were true, guess what's in that closet there..."
I looked at a door I hadn't yet entered. I got up, went into it.
When the light of the walk-in closet went on, all I could say was, "Please fucking tell me these are not Alexandra's clothes!"
"No. They're yours. But she did help me pick them, for you, yesterday."
"Er, what? You — I mean, she — picked out an entire wardrobe for me? In a day?"
"No, two days. Yesterday, and the day before."
I strode in. There was everything in there: dresses, blouses, boots — and no crappy old brands either! Dolce & Gabbana, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Guess, Versaci, Prada — "Damn! I feel like Gabrielle Solis of Desperate Housewives!"
Conall leaned up against the walk-in's doorframe.
"And I think I'm starting to like your friend," I added.
"She needs things to keep her busy. She was more than happy to help. She knows how I feel about you, you know?"
My hand paused mid-air, holding the end of a red satin dress. I looked at Conall. "You told her?"
"I told her everything about you. She's happy for me. I told you, she was never interested in me."
Well, it didn't look like it when I saw her earlier today... Damn it. I hated myself for thinking these things. Really fucking hated myself. But I thought them, and I don't want to lie to you about what happened, so there. That's what I thought.
"Well, I think I need to put my insecurities aside and get to know her," I said.
"It's your choice. I'm not asking you to do that. She's done lots of things for me. Like I said, she needs to keep busy. She was more than happy to help. It's not often a woman gets to go wild in a clothing store with a credit card."
Yip, I was so the new Gabrielle Solis...
He continued: "Now, had I known you were trying to make it on your own, well, I wouldn't have splurged so much."
I smiled, because he was right. The person I was in New York would've jumped into this closet and swum in the clothes like scrooge McDuck in his vault of gold...
Now, however, I felt bad for Conall having spent so much money on me. I really did want to try and make it on my own. I'd convinced my mom to let me do it for a year at least, then college would come after. If at all... (Although I never told her that last part.)
I sighed. "I don't know what to say," I said, shrugging. "Thank you?"
"Leora, I can read you perfectly. When I was lying on the bed there and you told me about how you're saving money and getting on your own two feet I had already decided what we could do with all these clothes, because I knew, after that, that they'd make you uncomfortable."
Ahh, and, hence, the pause before he'd said that what I was doing was "fucking amazing"...
"Don't tell me you're going it give it to frickin charity..."
He laughed. "No, I'm no philanthropist! Although, I thought maybe your friends might like them. We can exchange them for different sizes. I don't want to take them back. I don't like buying something in good faith and returning it."
My mouth went agape. "You mean, um, give them to Kayla?"
"Yes, and the other one..."
I scowled. "You know her name! You had your dirty little spies on me for months!"
"I do not! The guy — one guy! — I had in Seaford... His only job was to ensure your security. And, of course, to tell me who you hung out with. But no names! Just, well... Do I really need to explain this?"
He was red as the dress in my hand — and it was ardently red!
"No, it's fine."
"Anyway, I took a guess on Kayla. How many girls are there with shaved hair on one side and a million earrings in their ears whose bodies are as thin as a scarecrow?"
"Right, um, I get it. In Seaford, zero. My other friend's name is Dani."
"Good, either way, keep them or give the clothes to them, it's all fine with me. Throw them in the trash if you must. They're yours after all."
I pulled out that red dress. It was a one shoulder mini skirt. Very hot. Most of the back was open. I put it against me, looked in the mirror. I thought of the field-day the girls and I would have. It was gonna be a friggin parteh! "They'll think you're trying to buy them off. And they'll love you for it. But, um, I think I'll keep this one. And maybe a few of these" — I went to the Guess jeans — "and, well, these knee-high boots are kinda sexy so, I'm sure you'd want me to keep them as well."
He smiled.
Then his phone buzzed one more time, and all the joviality left his expression.
"We need to go," he said.
CHAPTER TEN
-1-
This time we did drive.
"At night it's bearable to drive into London. Just bearable," said Conall.
He put his hand on my thigh while I freaked out about people driving on the wrong side of the road. It had been three months and I still hadn't gotten used to it.
"I was asking you something in the bedroom," he said.
He was?
"I asked if you'd like to spend a weekend away, or a few days, and you told me you had to work."
"Oh, right." My mind drifted. I thought of a weekend away with Conall, as if nothing had happened. Damn. This is what I wanted. Thi
s was really happening! After all that pain, all that waiting... "I'd love to. I'll work something out with my manager."
"Great, because..." He squeezed my thigh, and you bet it sent an electric current up to the middle of my legs. I wriggled. "I made you a promise in New York. On that rooftop?"
Ahh, the rooftop. Shew. I exhaled. Conall turned the car with one hand while his left massaged my thigh. I put my own hand on his thigh.
And, yes, I remembered the promise. I remembered it well. Only thing is, I didn't want to wait anymore. I wanted him. I wanted him now. I wanted him in his bedroom, in his dining room, on his pool table with him standing looking down at me, ramming into me as I lay back on the baize. On the kitchen top. On the lawn! His house was so perfect...
But Conall had his way. He liked things to be just right, special. And I'd waited this long. I could wait a little longer.
"Are we talking about the promise regarding a certain fire in a certain cabin with no one and nothing around but a certain two of us?" I said.
"Of course we are. I mean, if, of course, you're ready...for me."
Ready? I squeezed my legs, exhaled, loudly. Conall turned his head and smiled. I gave him a "yeah, you know I'm hot, and you know I'm frustrated" look.
"You have no fucking idea how much you turn me on," I said.
He raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes back. "Oh, I have an idea. I have a perfect idea."
"You're such an asshole."
"Huh?"
"What?" I was suddenly confused. "What is that line supposed to be about — about having a 'perfect' idea about how hot you make me?"
"I meant, I have a perfect idea how much I turn you on because every time I see you my — " He blushed. "Goodness, I almost spoke as crassly as an American there."
"Yes...? Continue please..."
He laughed nervously. "You make me hot, Leora. So bloody hot that I shift in my seat every time I see you."
Oh, guys do that as well? This is one hell of an educational friggin field trip to England I've been having here...
"I see..." My cheeks warmed. "So, why don't you just take me? It's not my damned age anymore, is it? Because that's getting to be an old excuse."
East Rising (Naive Mistakes #2) Page 10
