The shrimp only took a few minutes and soon Ben was back out in the courtyard sat at the rustic table to eat his snack. With a couple of slices of local bread and butter, it was better than paying for it in town. For a start he could put twice as many shrimp on which was always a bonus. There could never be too many shrimp in a garlic and shrimp fry.
The sadness arrived for a fleeting moment as he looked up at the slowly setting sun. His wife Eloise would have loved this. She’d have nagged him for overloading the shrimp and yet would have eaten just as many for herself and would have shrugged at any mention of the double standards. But Eloise wasn’t with him. She’d been cruelly taken from him some four years ago due to a nasty and aggressive cancer. Ben had seen plenty of heartache and action as a soldier, but nothing ever prepared him for losing his wife in such an ugly way.
Eloise was always strong. She’d had to be, married to a serving soldier, but even as she faced her final moments she’d been so much stronger than Ben thought he could ever be. She held his hand as the morphine tried to fight off the pain before finally slipping away from him. He sobbed. All he could do was sob. His heart went with Eloise. He could never love again. Never share the joy of anyone else. Nobody could ever replace the only true love he had ever known.
Ben took a large slurp of wine and gave a deep breath. What was done was done. Over is over. Portugal was an attempt to move on. To move forward again with life. The tourist blog was a good distraction and supplemented his military pension. He fumbled with a large shrimp and easily peeled off the crisp skin. Yep, Eloise would nag about that too, dripping oil all down his front. He smiled and tucked into the dish.
“Are you open for business, stranger?” A sultry voice came through his gate and Ben looked up.
Arabella, the Italian currently occupying the other apartment, stood there with her hand on her hip, a welcoming gleam in her eyes.
He’d noticed her coming and going but hadn’t spoken to her. The landlord had told him her name when she’d emailed him about Arabella’s arrival date. He’d not introduced himself to the gorgeous Italian woman, but there she was, asking him for things she wasn’t sure how to ask for.
He’d noticed her from the day she arrived, a tall woman with sadness in her eyes and slight curve to her shoulders, as if she carried the weight of the world with her. She often went out in the mornings and didn’t come back until well after dark, quite late for Portugal in the summer. Her sophisticated choice in clothing and her sad demeanour had told Ben all he needed to know about her and he’d left her to her own devices, rather than intrude. That didn’t stop him from noting how attractive she was or from having a brief fantasy about her a time or two.
She was beautiful, her black hair long and amber eyes inviting. She wore one of those long dresses of a lacy, airy nature that all tourist women seemed to produce upon arrival, the white cotton cloth contrasting with the dark tan of her supple skin. A slit on the left side went almost up to her hip and Ben knew she wanted more than just his shrimp dinner. Ben could hardly turn her down, could he?
“Hi there, come on in! Hungry are you?” He kept the hopeful tone out of his voice, needing company for the moment and not caring where it came from. The fact that it was coming from a young, beautiful woman didn’t hurt. She looked to be in her late twenties, and obviously took very good care of herself.
He waved her to a chair, not bothering to get up as yet. Sometimes when women came alone, and sometimes not so alone to the villa, Ben would make exceptions to his “don’t get involved” rule. Sometimes, like now, Ben took what was so freely offered by those that wanted something more from their holiday than a list of restaurants to try and a good tan.
“I am, but not for food. It’s my last night here and, how do you say? I’ve not been laid the entire time. I thought you might oblige me for an evening. If you were so inclined.” She settled in the chair across from him, her foot bouncing from the leg she’d crossed over the other.
A very long, smooth leg, just the right kind for wrapping around a man’s hips, he thought as he watched the elegant foot bounce. It wasn’t often that women had pretty feet, but the enticing Arabella had very lovely feet. Ben could imagine them locked behind his back, pulling him deeper into her. He felt his eyes open a little further and his nostrils flare as he watched her, his pulse rising in anticipation of what she offered.
“Glass of wine?” He offered a drink to her from the carafe he’d placed on the table, a clean glass on the table top, just in case anyone happened to drop by while he was eating.
“I’d love one.” The beautiful woman smiled at him, her eyes giving away her nervousness. She’d spoken to him bluntly, as any European woman might, but there was a hint of something that told him to go easy.
Ben inspected her closely from beneath his lashes as he poured the wine. He’d have to be gentle with this one, she wasn’t used to asking for what she wanted. Her open, blunt request was out of character for her, those tight eyes told him; a slight tremor revealed it to him even more.
“You leave tomorrow then?” he prompted, hoping some talk might ease her into being more comfortable.
“Yes. I’m going back to my normal life, work, my husband, the never-ending “why haven’t you given me grandchildren yet” mother-in-law.” She waved her hand around, letting him know how boring she thought it all was.
Ben watched her without responding, ignoring the part about her husband. He didn’t care about that part, this was merely sex for the sake of having sex, he didn’t need her life story to fuck her.
She caught on quickly, because she stopped and smiled. “Are we alone here?”
“Yes, the upstairs apartment is empty for now. It’s just you and me.” He had an idea about where she was heading, but kept his thoughts to himself.
She wasn’t a virgin, that was good. And she wanted sex. Also good. Her husband wasn’t here with her so that meant this had been either his way of getting her out of his hair, or her attempt at getting away from him. Either way, she wanted a night of passion, something to get her through the rest of the lonely winter months, and she’d chosen Ben. He was happy to oblige.
They ran through the typical course of conversation as she sipped at her wine, looking around nervously on occasion, as though she thought her husband might be nearby. Ben watched her without remark, letting her play out her fantasy. Because, it was after all, her fantasy that had led her to the gate.
“I’ve watched you since my arrival. You keep to yourself.” Her words were spoken with more of an accent now, and Ben didn’t know if it was the wine or if she was simply more relaxed.
“I do, yes. There isn’t much point in getting to know people that are only going to be in your life for a few days before disappearing to never be seen again, is there?” He sipped at his own glass, leaning against his elbows on the table, their hands almost touching. He knew how to play at seduction.
She glanced at his hand so close to her own, a deep breath giving away her thoughts. She was considering what she should do. He hadn’t touched her, but the promise of it was there. Would she do it?
His eyes took her in, her indecision, waiting for her to make up her mind. He wouldn’t push her, he wasn’t that kind of guy, but he wouldn’t dissuade her either.
She reached out with her pinkie, the long nail covered with some kind of beige nail varnish. When she brushed his hand he knew she’d made up her mind. Ben looked into her eyes and gave her a reassuring smile. He wouldn’t push.
She became bold then, shifting to cross her legs the other way, moving closer to him, her face only inches from his. Her pink tongue came out, wetting her lower lip, as she pondered what to say next.
“You’re a very handsome man.”
“You’re an even more beautiful woman.” He looked at her questioningly, waiting for her to go on.
“I want you. I’ve watched you, waiting for you to say hello but you haven’t. To at least tell me your name, but you haven’t. Is that the
old British politeness or are you simply not interested?” Her eyes closed as she spoke, but opened again, bolder, somehow wiser.
“Oh you’re quite tempting, Arabella. Quite.” He took her hand then, massaging her long fingers. “As I said, there isn’t much point sometimes, getting to know people. Especially when it’s part of the fantasy of coming here, don’t you think? I’ll gladly tell you my name, if that’s what you want. I don’t think it is though, is it?”
She could only stare at him, wondering how he’d seen through her so correctly.
“I’d be more than happy to fulfil your fantasy, if you don’t mind being fucked against a wall, Arabella.”
She’d glanced at the wall quite often since asking if they were alone, a bare spot in the bougainvillea seeming to catch her eye. He’d guessed that was her fantasy, a passion filled moment spent taking exactly what she wanted from a virtual stranger before heading home to her boring life.
The sun went down at last, leaving them under a blanket of stars, Soft lights came on, solar lights, and the courtyard became a magical place filled with shadows.
Arabella gasped, her pulse racing in her neck. Ben watched, and when she inhaled sharply without leaving he knew that’s what she wanted. A hot fuck against a wall, with a man not afraid of saying dirty words, words that would make her hotter the longer he said them.
“Come here.” He pulled her around the table, pulling her down to his lap. She settled in, her arms circling his neck. Without another word, he kissed her, his hand settling on her hip, holding her there as he pressed himself into her cotton covered bottom. “Is this what you want?”
She pushed her face into his neck, her breath coming in gasps as she fought for control.
“Do you want my dick inside of you, fucking you Arabella?”
“Yes. Please.”
There were no more words spoken then as Ben let the pain of his lost wife drift away and Arabella forgot she was married. There was only passion as he picked her up, carrying her to the wall as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
She kissed him back hungrily, her hands roaming over him as his tongue flicked over hers. A delving hand found her naked beneath her dress, wet and ready for him. Ben broke away from her lips and pushed at her dress, lifting her higher with strong arms to take a perfect, dark nipple into his mouth.
He wanted her, he wanted the pleasure she offered, and he took it as he pushed his shorts down, a condom gliding onto his cock before sliding into her with one smooth, easy stroke. He never fucked without protection.
“Fuck.” He spoke the word for her, but also couldn’t stop it as she enclosed his hard flesh with wet heat. Even through the numbing latex of the condom he could feel her heat, the way her muscles clenched around him.
She responded in Italian, words he couldn’t understand, but caught the meaning of as she began to move in his arms. He pressed his hips into her, trying to hold her still so he wouldn’t drop her.
She stilled, her moment of euphoric escape calmed, as he soothed her with whispered words.
“It’s alright, Arabella. We have all night, and I want to spend it with you. There’s no rush.” She looked into his eyes then, bring her head up to stare at him. She wanted what he promised, she was greedy for it.
“Take me to your bed then.” She’d changed her mind, a quick dirty fuck against the wall wasn’t what she wanted after all.
He let her ease down the wall, and took her to his guest room upstairs. There she sprawled on the bed, her legs opening for his exploration. He went to her, parting her legs further, opening her to him, for his mouth.
Her fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue split her open, adoring her in a way her nervous inhalation told him she’d never been adored before. This is what she really wanted, the kind of sex she’d never had before, the kind that left her a screaming mess as she came uncontrollably.
Ben explored her slowly, his fingers stroking her in places she’d never been stroked, his tongue tasting what had never been tasted. Her body relaxed as he gave her pleasure, her words coming more frequently, her fingers tangling in his hair.
When her hips began to move, he reached for a nipple. When she gasped, he squeezed it, and when she inhaled sharply, he sucked at her throbbing clit, giving her the first orgasm of her life, though he didn’t know it. Arabella came apart beautifully, making him even harder as her sounds of pleasure filled his ears.
Ben didn’t let her rest as she came back down to earth, instead he lurched up, entering her in one swift motion. The condom helped to contain his control, but Ben gave all of himself to her as her hips followed his pattern, as she sang out wonderful sounds of surprise and pleasure. She hadn’t been a virgin but she might as well have been.
Ben paced himself, knowing she wouldn’t be done with him yet. He took her hands in his, pressing them over her head as she looked up at him with a mingling of gratitude and desire. She gave herself up to him completely, trusting him to take her to heaven again.
Her legs wrapped around his waist as she whispered to him, dirty words he knew instinctively she’d never spoken before. With a grunt of triumph, he thrust into her one last time and gave her what she wanted.
“Come inside me, make me yours. Take me, dear stranger. Take me and fill me with only you.”
* * *
Portugal had been one of the first places Ben had visited with his wife when they’d bought a VW camper van. Driving from the ferry-port at Santander in Spain, they’d taken a leisurely drive to get down to the Algarve. Stopping off at various rustic villages on the way, it was a trip Ben would remember forever. For Eloise, it would be her last, but together they’d made it so memorable. Ben’s steel-grey eyes began to moisten as he thought back to happier times. He’d given it his all to help her fight the cancer and it was actually Eloise herself who suggested he should come back to Portugal alone. She’d known he’d fallen in love with the place. He could feel her presence there, and hear her tinkling laughter as the breeze blew gently though the courtyard and tickled the wind chimes hanging from the porch. Here is where she wanted him to be.
Arabella was gone now, their act of passion locked away in his mind, but the memory of his wife was always near the surface. Ben sat at the table in his courtyard, lost in memories that plagued him with a loneliness that no woman had been able to fill.
The apartment next door had been cleaned, the beautiful young woman’s presence now completely obliterated. The new arrivals should be turning up in an hour or so, he thought to himself, trying for distraction. He would open the side gate and keep an eye out for them, as he felt duty-bound to do. Taxi drivers from the airport easily got lost in the tiny lanes that surrounded the house. The meter would keep ticking as they went to the golf club for directions, and then get lost again coming back down. Directions from the owner of the property were always vague. She would email her clients telling them how it was impossible to miss with its bright white and blue frontage covered in bougainvillea. They still somehow missed it.
No matter how often Ben told her she needed better directions, the landlady never quite got it. Most houses in the area looked as charming as the next. And most of them were had white frontages and were crawling with a variety of colourful blooms that might or might not be bougainvillea. Nope, Ben knew her directions would be as good as useless. If Ben was around to wave the taxi down, they might arrive before the sun had swapped places with the moon. He’d lookout for passing taxis once he’d finished his dinner and the remains of the wine.
Ben went over to the side gate and opened it wide. It was a solid steel door that made the courtyard secure from the outside world once it was closed. He went back to the table and cleared away his dishes and glass. No rush, but he didn’t want his place a mess if he had to suffer visitors for any length of time. It took just a few minutes to have everything cleaned and back in its proper place. With the steel gate open he could hear any passing traffic.
With the dishes cleaned, he refilled
his glass, grabbed his smart phone, and went back to the garden. He lined up a playlist on his phone, and as the strange arrangements of the “2 Cello’s” began to play, he wandered from plant to plant, watering them as he sipped his wine.
Chapter 3
Walter had delivered his wife Lillian and their daughter Mary to Charlotte airport. Neither of them had ever been to an airport and certainly never flown. The tension in the truck was electric as they arrived. Lillian had spent most of the drive giving Walter list after list of “Do’s and Don’ts.” Walter had nodded between each burst and stared straight ahead as he drove. He was worried. Not for himself. He and Albert would be quite happy for some peace in the house. No, he was worried that Lillian would find a way to offend someone and end up in some foreign jail unable to speak the language and never be released. He nodded again, responding to another barrage of instructions from his wife but also as he pondered her in a jail cell and him peacefully home alone with the dog. The last thing he wanted was to lose his wife and daughter in a strange land. For all its faults, life was good in sleepy West Virginia.
Charlotte airport was alive with people rushing, most dragging heavy luggage and looking nervous. Cab drivers and airport staff milled around amongst the fractious flyers, trying to be helpful or calm stressed folk. Too many stories and too many scary “what-ifs” would always keep people jittery in airports and no amount of soothing from helpful staff was going to change it. Nobody in the airport had ever experienced anything worse than interminable waiting, but this only served to heighten the tension. Lillian was no different. She had read only the other day about a plane that being diverted from this very airport. It had actually been due to a blocked toilet, but of course the story changed from kidnapping to hijacking, to whatever else her imagination could conjure.
They unloaded from the truck and made their way to the terminal buildings. Walter got as far as the door and dropped the bags onto a baggage cart.
Professor next Door Page 73
