by Belle Brooks
Marcus repositions himself as I swing my hips in an exaggerated way, approaching the bed with a bottle of champagne and no glasses. The things we plan to do with this champagne are not for the innocent. Every inch of my skin hurts, my lady parts are becoming raw, and my nipples throb intensely. Let’s just say we’ve been making up for a lot of lost time and even in my current condition, I can’t get enough.
There’s something about exploring another’s skin. It’s like looking at a unique canvas. Every stroke has its imperfections, but directed by the right touch and in front of the right eyes they don’t exist. I now believe that Marcus has entered my life at the times I’ve needed to remember him the most. As my finger traces each abdominal muscle, he flinches from the tickling sensation and goose bumps erupt.
His breathing is slow and drawn, his eyes protected by closed eyelids, his lashes long and thick. The scar on his cheek no bigger than a fingernail is there because he pulled his car to the side of the road on the day that our worlds collided. He took my delicate state and nurtured me back to safety, then disappeared in a puff of smoke when I needed to fly on my own. But that smoke was never thick enough to keep me from his sight. I was his baby bird and he was always meant to come back when I was grown.
As a soft moan rumbles from his throat, I place my tongue below his navel…every taste of him is like heaven. I never want to say goodbye to Marcus again, but something tells me that our story is not going to be that simple.
As I take him to the back of my throat, his hands launch down from above his head and spread throughout my hair. He’s gentle, yet dominant as his hips thrust and his hands press firmly downwards…wanting more. The sounds that pass from his open lips sing all the world’s symphonies in synchronisation. First it attacks with the sounds rising, then it sustains and levels out as it reaches decrescendo and hushes almost to the point of silence. The bitter taste mixed with sweet warm liquid fills my mouth. His tense muscles finally relax, and as I watch him, I know there’s nothing more beautiful than the look in his eyes, one that is tender and appreciative.
“Your turn.” He’s quick to move and my wrists are pinned to the mattress as he stares deep within me—his expression speaks volumes, as if he’s seeing his angel for the very first time and I’m her. I know Marcus has the eyes belonging to an artist when he looks at me. He sees no imperfections…I’m painted for him with perfect strokes and colouration.
“I love you,” he says against my mouth right before his lips tremble with the applied pressure. The minty freshness of his breath and the strength of his tongue bring me home. This is where I was always supposed to be, with him.
I’m pinned by his weight as I tip my chin upwards. Bubbles pop against my tongue as dry yet pleasantly fruity champagne rushes down my throat. He licks at the spillage from my chin before he attacks my neck. I stay still and allow him to fulfil his need, the one that mirrors my very own.
“I love you.” I hush when his ear falls near my mouth.
He smiles before kissing every inch of my skin. I hum my own song in appreciation. Parting my legs with his knees, he splays me out for his inspection. The licking of his lips is enough to know he’s more than satisfied.
Positioning himself, he doesn’t take his eyes from mine as he slowly enters me, nestling in. He stills. “Let me love you, Abigail.” He repeats the words he’d spoken after our beach encounter only days ago, and I know I want nothing more than to let him do just that.
I moan, biting hard on my lip as he keeps his eyes locked to mine. Every movement is slow, prolonged, and deliberate. I stare in awe, mirroring his expression, and I have no idea how long it takes for us to reach the heights of our combined pleasure, but it feels like a very long time. Enveloping my arms around his neck, I watch his teeth clamp tight and hear the changes in his breathing…it’s more rapid.
“Look at me, Abigail.”
I do.
His eyes narrow as he begins to modify the pace and force. I am trying so hard not to take my eyes from his as my head begins to whirl.
“Don’t close your eyes, baby.” He gasps as I try even harder to keep my eyes locked on his.
“Marcus.” It’s a soft moan of his name that tells him I’m about to tip over the edge and when I do my vision will blur.
Twinkling stars give harmony to a black, blue skyline before splitting into diamond fragments as I hold my breath and ride deep, deep down, succumbing once more.
“Holy—” My tongue becomes glued behind my teeth as the pull downwards refuses to lift me back up. I can feel my body shuddering, but I’ve lost control of my own body until finally I race upwards and back into the light.
Marcus’ eyes are closed when his lips taste mine. I imagine him sailing away to the same place I just visited moments ago with my own release. I don’t know what the afterlife is like, but I sure as hell hope it’s something like that.
***
Soapy liquid rushes down my spine before collecting in the arch of my back. The wall holds my bent body, too exhausted to take my own weight. Marcus sponges my skin, washing away all the stickiness of champagne he lapped and sucked off me. I’m so tired that it takes everything for me to keep my eyes from entering into sleep. Having Marcus touch every piece of skin that covers my body makes me thankful that I am back here with him. We connect mind, body, and soul, and us together is right, so very right.
***
When Wednesday morning dawn’s light appears, I call a surrender to our sexcapades. Marcus seems to jump on board with this idea rather quickly. I think we’re both happily reacquainted in that department.
“So what do you want to do today?” Marcus slips a cotton white tee over his head before fixing the tie of his board shorts as he exits the kitchen.
“I don’t know. A drive maybe.” Kissing my forehead, he half groans before agreeing.
Hand in hand, we stride to Mar-Mar’s in retrieval of Bertha. I wonder internally if Marcus has ever driven Bertha before. I’m guessing he has.
Mar-Mar’s not home when we arrive, and I don’t have a key to get into her place.
“Well, there goes that idea.” My hands plant firmly into each hip bone.
“Hope is not lost.” His smile reaches his ears as he disappears down the side of the cottage.
“Where are you going?” I call after him.
He doesn’t reply.
Watching the heavy overgrowth dance in the wind, I become hypnotised in a daydream. Well, that is until Marcus returns and clears his throat for my attention.
“One key.” It hangs from a long silver key ring.
“Seriously, you really are a magician.”
“Nope. Not this time. I knew where the spare was. Alfie gnome back garden three quarters down to the right, just where it always is. Ilish lives on her own, Abigail. If she locks herself out, she needs a way back in.”
I roll my eyes in response.
The cottage looks different when it’s empty. All of Mar-Mar’s prized possessions are stored or sitting alone without her. I don’t think I could come here when Mar-Mar Ilish ages to the point of death. It seems so…wrong.
“I have the car keys.”
I snuff at the way Marcus announces this, proud as punch of himself.
Clever bloody handsome kind…moneybags.
Bertha hums like a dream with Marcus holding the wheel. I knew he’d be insistent on driving. He likes control…or is it that a man driving a woman is the acceptable standard of our generation? Or is it he doesn’t like the way I drive?
“I’m a good driver, you know.” I pout.
“If you say so.” He chuckles, placing his outstretched arm behind my headrest as he reverses out of the garage.
There is something so sexy about the way he does this. Actually, scrap that, everything this man does is sexy.
“I want to show you something.” His eyes focus on the winding roads.
“Okay.” I’m suddenly shy.
We drive in silence, taking in all the
beauty that surrounds us. There’s so much greenery, sand, and water here. It’s picturesque and just how I remember it the last time I came. Mega mansions are somewhat disguised by greenery as we chug up a steep incline. Little private lives are lived with views so spectacular there’s no reason to ever leave the house.
“Music?” Marcus questions.
“Yes. I’ll just turn the volume up. Mum probably turned it down.”
“You’re listening to 107.9 Hot FM, top playbacks of the ‘90s,” the radio announcer announces through the speakers, and Marcus glances my way with a smirk.
“Number Seven,” the radio announcer says over exaggeratedly.
Laying my head to the side, I watch Marcus as flashes of houses pass through the quarter glass by his head.
As soon as the music begins to play, I freeze and so does Marcus.
We suddenly swerve as his foot hits the brakes hard and we pull abruptly to the side of the road. He blows harsh air from tightened lips. “Turn it off.”
I cringe at his tone. “It’s okay.” I run my hand the length of his arm, which bulges at the bicep. The song “Dreams” by The Cranberries plays freely as his knuckles whiten from the strength that he uses to strangle the wheel. “Breathe, Marcus.”
His head shakes in small movements.
“It’s okay. I remember. The day of my fall. I remember.”
His head turns robotically and I’m greeted by eyes that are pained…tortured even. His bottom lip quivers and I don’t think it’s caused from anger, but grief.
“You proposed.”
The driver’s door flings wide, his seat belt unclicks, and he steps out. He’s pacing back and forward through dirt.
“No. No. No,” he mumbles.
I don’t know what to do. At first I stare in shock then slowly, I too exit the car and approach him. His hands fly to his head and pull at the strands of his hair.
“Marcus, it’s okay.”
He doesn’t reply.
“Come here.” I reach my hand out, but he steps away. What did I do wrong? “Maybe we should go back to the villa.” My annoyance with his reaction is obvious. “I’ll drive.”
Adjusting the driver’s seat to accommodate my smaller legs, I wait. It takes a little time before Marcus closes the door and sits next to me. His expression is stone cold. His eyes stare forwards. He says not a word.
Lost in roads that appear to never end, I become even more annoyed to the point of anger. Marcus offers no assistance, so I pass the same large rock face with a dented side at least five times.
“Are you going to help me?” I yell.
He doesn’t offer a single word.
Blood boiling mad.
Taking a left turn, only because I couldn’t change lanes, has me back in familiar territory and the villa shortly enters my view. I managed on my own, you arse.
Pulling into a park close to the straw topped hut, I slam the door on exit and stomp the short distance to the villa. I don’t have the key, which makes me even more enraged and I’m forced to stomp back to the car where Marcus still sits buckled in.
“Key.” My tone is sharp.
His hand reaches into his pocket and holds it out, then drops it into my palm. I snatch my fingers shut and storm off again.
Fuck you.
Despite jiggling the door handle, I’m unable to get it open, mainly because my mind is not focusing on the task at hand. Instead it’s berating the man who just became comatose on the side of a bloody road.
I plonk down on the pillow of the lounge and drop my head to my open palms.
Why did he react like that?
Once my panicked state lessons and I rein in my wild breaths, I go looking for Marcus to urge him to come inside. He’s not in the car.
He left! You’re shitting me!
Running through the car park, I spin in a daze as the panic I only just settled returns, and my heart thumps too hard for my chest.
“Marcus!” I scream.
On re-entry of the villa, I flick open cupboard doors and crouch down beside the ensemble bed. He’s not a mouse, Abigail. He isn’t going to fit in a two-centimetre gap, you idiot. What are you doing?
As a last resort I pull the glass patio doors open and forcefully approach the rail, scanning the soft sand. He stands at the water’s edge, with his hands on top of his head. His back is my only view.
Whatever sparked this was something serious.
Rushing back out to the car, I remove my mobile phone and wallet. Pressing the number for Mar-Mar’s house, I plead softly that she’s home. Mar-Mar doesn’t carry a mobile phone, and I need her right now because she’s probably the only person who can approach Marcus this way.
It rings out. With desperation I call her once more.
Ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…ring.
“Hello.” She’s puffing.
“Mar-Mar, it’s Abigail. Something’s wrong.”
“What happened?”
“It’s Marcus.” It’s then I hear the fear in my own voice.
“What happened to Marcus?”
“Come to the villa. I need you.”
“I’m on my way.”
The phone goes dead.
Mar-Mar might just be a supreme athlete because it feels like only seconds pass before she bursts through the door huffing and puffing.
“What happened? Where’s Marcus?”
Tears burst from my eyes. I wrap my arms around her neck and squeeze her with the little strength my limbs seem to have.
“It can’t be so bad,” she whispers softly into my ear.
Oh, but it is.
“Abigail, where is Marcus? Please tell me you didn’t stab him.”
I place my hands on her shoulders and pull myself away.
“Mar-Mar, I’m not crazy,” I scoff.
“Abigail. Marcus...”
Taking her hand in mine, I lead her to the rail I stood at not long ago and point to the horizon. He still stands afar.
“Oh, thank God. What happened?”
“I don’t know. We were in the car. He was taking me somewhere, but he didn’t say. A song played and he just stomped on the brakes and fled the car.”
“‘Dreams’, right?”
“How did you know?”
“Abigail, I know it all. Let me handle him. You sit.” She points to the deck lounge.
I do as I’m told and I know my mouth is hung open. The sound of the door closing makes me startle. Why did he trust all his thoughts with Mar-Mar, instead of just telling me?
Her hand lands on his back. Mar-Mar is so much shorter than Marcus. He stays just as still in place.
What is she saying? This is a time I wish I had superhuman hearing. If I could possess any superhero quality right now, it would be to hear sounds miles off in the distance. No. Actually I change my mind. It would be to read thoughts.
Marcus turns and falls into Mar-Mar’s embrace. Her hand rubs circles on his back. They stay like this for what feels like an eternity before he kisses her cheek.
“What are they saying, dammit?” My hands grip the rail as my feet leave the ground and my arms prop me up.
They begin walking towards the villa. I can’t wait another minute. Kicking my legs, I barrel over the rail and fall at least three metres to the sand that I’d hoped would be much softer on impact.
“Fuck! It hurts.” My arse pounds and my ankles might have just snapped. I should definitely think things through before I act. Frick!
Quick pants push through teeth that clamp together in agony.
“Why, Abigail?” Marcus cradles my face. “You are insane.”
“And you are an arse, you arse.” I grimace.
“Abigail McMillian. That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. You child—” She doesn’t finish. Instead she shakes her head wildly.
“Abigail McMillian action hero.” I try the art of joking to lessen their disappointment.
“My rounded hiney,” Mar-Mar spits, causing me to half laugh and h
alf cry.
Marcus pushes the hair that rests over my eyes to behind my ear before brushing my cheek.
“You are covered in sand.”
“I’m sure one hundred percent of me is covered in sand, Marcus.”
A gentle smile touches his lips before his eyes stare intently into my own. “You’re making my job really hard, you know that?”
I nod.
“Where are you hurt?”
“Everywhere,” I groan.
Placing his long arm under my knees, he lifts me from the ground. My ear presses against his heart, which races in a sprint. “No more leaping from heights, okay?”
“Promise.” I nuzzle into his chest.
Birthday
Four days of resting two sprained ankles and a bruised backside has been boring. Marcus has waited on me hand and foot. I was treated like a queen placed upon a throne, whose every request was delivered at a whip of my tongue.
Bonus.
“You’re very lucky you didn’t break your legs or your tail bone.” The doctor at the local hospital explained after being told how my injuries occurred.
I learn very quickly that strong pain medication far out ways liquor, and ‘Scrooge McControlling’ must sense my realisation because he allows me only the minimum dosage. Of course, I plead for more, but this request is never granted. It’s probably a good thing. Those head whirlers could easily become a vice for any person who believes she is hexed.
The majority of the last four days have been spent between the villa and Mar-Mar’s beachside cottage. Marcus never spoke of why he reacted the way he did, and I took Mar-Mar’s advice of never asking…even though a small part of me still really wants to know.
On Wednesday afternoon, Mum’s mole was removed. Evan kept us updated on her progress…the report was she was sore, but okay. After a quick conversation, we all decided it would be best to withhold my leap of fate from the rail from Mum. She has enough to contend with.
The good part about being bored crapless is that I have spent plenty of time catching up with my friends by phone. Sammy gave me so much shit over what happened that I was forced to revaluate all the silly things I do, and have done, in my life…in full detail and long conversations. Taking responsibility for them is apparently the only way I’m going to learn. Wise words from the ginger ninja that has managed to keep me afloat long enough to ensure that I haven’t drowned.
