by Shayne Ford
“Language, Tara,” he barks.
All the emotions that I tried to bottle up to maintain civility, finally erupt.
“Listen, you fucking piece of shit. I don’t give a damn about what you want. You’re not my fucking father. And if you were, you’d hear the same fucking thing. It’s my fucking business who I fuck, and whose cock I suck. It’s not yours, Claire’s or her dimwit husband’s.”
“Tara––”
“Don’t fucking Tara me. It was a fucking mistake...Us. The time we spent together. It sucked balls. And it sucked the life out of me too. And all along, you did everything you could to make me feel bad about myself while you were busy rationalizing your stupid shit. You always made me feel as if there was something wrong with me. As if I wasn’t good enough or just not enough. Even now, you come to me with your bullshit and act as if you own me or I owe you something. I’m not yours. Get it in your head. I was never yours. And you know what? I’m happy that it ended that way. It turns out that it all happened for a reason.”
“Oh... really? What reason? Getting hooked up with some kid?”
“Stop saying that. He’s not a kid. He’s a man. He’s more man than anyone I know.”
“Oh, is he?”
He chuckles nervously.
“Yeah, he fucking is.”
“Clearly it’s not your head talking. He twisted your mind, didn’t he? Even if this is not about me, Tara, how can you give up on everything, for some fling? He’ll get what he wants, and then move on. Men like him have no interest in women like you. Not outside their bed, anyway. Is he worth it? Losing your job, me, and all the people who care for you…?”
His words fall through me like rocks, jolting me back to reality.
Is he delusional?
“Oh, Josh. I didn’t lose you. You were never mine, and to answer your question. Yes, he is worth every darn piece of grievance I get from you and everybody else.”
“He’s that good? Or is it about his money?”
“He’s that fucking good, Josh. He gave me the best time of my life. And no, I’m not after his money.”
“You’ll regret this, Tara.”
“I have no doubt. But not for the reasons that you think.”
The sound of a soft rap on the door travels to the terrace.
“I’d love to chat with you more,” I say sarcastically, “but I have to go now. A butler is waiting for me.”
It’s not the butler.
It’s a woman about Danielle’s age, who introduces herself as my assistant and my guide for the afternoon city walk.
She waits for me to put on a different set of clothes, and half an hour later, we both walk out of the hotel suite.
We take the elevator down to the lobby where we walk past the concierge and exit the hotel. A limousine waits for us a few steps away from the entrance.
The driver greets us, holding the door open for us as we climb in. Soon, the car glides away, heading for the shopping district.
We spend two hours checking several boutiques. I end up with a few summer dresses, a new pair of jeans, and cotton shorts, several T-shirts, and a colorful jacket.
Early afternoon, we make the trip back. My guide makes sure that I get back to my hotel before she says goodbye to me and pulls away.
I have a late lunch on the terrace.
I eat alone before I walk back into my room and start packing my things.
With a couple more hours to kill, I walk back on the veranda and take a seat at the table.
Reluctantly, I call my mom.
“Where are you, Tara?”
Worry beams in her voice.
“Zurich.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on a flight back home?”
“I’m not,” I say, dryly.
“Where are you exactly?”
“In a hotel suite.”
“Is that his place?”
“Who are we talking about?” I ask, pretending that I have no idea what she’s talking about.
She pauses.
“That young man you travel with.”
“How do you know about him?” I ask, pulling her into a conversation I know for a fact she abhors.
“Josh called me. Why didn’t you tell me that you broke up with him?”
“I didn’t break up with him. He did.”
“Oh, that’s not what he said. It was because of this man?”
“No, it wasn’t. Things didn’t work out between us.”
“I don’t understand... Josh is such a great guy. Why would he break up with you? I always thought that he was the more mature, experienced man you needed in your life. I always hoped you’d get married and start a family with him. He has a good job. He just told me that he is up for a promotion at the end of August.”
I roll my eyes. Typical Josh. He likes to score points with my mom no matter what.
“He could’ve made a great father and a husband,” she says.
“He’s with another woman, mom.”
“Why didn’t you fight for him? You two should’ve gotten married the first year you met him. These things–– if they drag on too long, they never happen.”
Maybe for a reason, I muse.
The logic behind her words escapes me completely.
“Before you know it, you’re going to be thirty. You have to start thinking about kids. Life is short, and not many good men sit around, waiting for you. You have to snatch one before you end up a middle age woman with a house full of cats. You’re not gonna get anything out of life if you waste your time entertaining young men. I thought you knew better than that. I’ve always taught you to rely on hard work and your brain. You’ve put so much effort into your school and your career, and things were going so well.”
I pull the phone away from my ear, her voice trailing off as I let my eyes roam over the beautiful sight.
She can’t be possibly saying the same old shit.
Moments later, I bring the phone back to my ear.
“You can’t do this to me, Tara. If your father would’ve been alive––”
“Mom... mom. Listen. This has nothing to do with dad or me. It’s not Josh’s business or anyone’s at my workplace. This is my life. These are my decisions. Good or bad, they are mine, and I have to deal with the consequences. They’re part of my life, not yours. Or theirs. Okay? I hope you understand that and don’t take it personally. I have to go now. I’ll talk to you when I get home.”
“When do you come back?”
“I don’t know.”
13
TARA
The sound of birds chirping and quarreling in the trees falls in my ears as I teeter on the edge of awareness.
I crack my eyes open, push up to my elbows, and take in the view. The Mediterranean Sea sparkles in the distance, blue-green like a precious stone.
A warm breeze plays with the curtains while the view of a pristine empty beach streams through the patio doors.
Abundant vegetation lines the stairs, and wraps around the railing, stopping short of the threshold. Stairs carved in the stone descend to the double level swimming pool, tucked into the sea cliff.
A terrace stretches to my right, a round table dressed in azure linen, and styled with a colorful bouquet of lilac, sitting in the middle.
Tall glasses of orange juice, and bowls of fruit wait on the table.
In the background, the blue sky paints a memorable image of the Italian summer.
My head falls back into the pillow, a happy smile clinging to my lips.
I roll to my side and almost fall asleep again when the sheet slides off me, and the mattress dips behind me, a hard, naked body sliding next to mine.
His skin is cold and damp and smells like fresh mint. He slides his hands to my chest, his lips trailing my neck.
“Hey, baby.”
“Hey. What time did you get here?” I ask, grinning.
“Late last night.”
“You’re cold,” I say, my skin covered with goosebumps.
“I won’t be for long,” he mutters, pressing himself flush against me. ”You’re so hot.”
I smile again.
He slides his hand down to my stomach, and then lower until he brushes my slit, his fingers pushing slowly between my folds as he plants kisses on my neck.
“I could come only from this,” I murmur.
“Wait a little longer,” he says, his lips pressed against my hair.
“Only if you can teach me how...”
I start to moan softly.
“I can teach you a lot of things,” he whispers in my ear before he kisses my earlobe.
Goosebumps rise on my shoulders, a shiver falling down my spine.
He lowers his hand around my backside, and slowly slides his fingers between my legs.
He starts moving them, back and forth.
“That feels good…” I mutter.
He gets hard, and I get wet as I feel him pressed into me. His thumb goes up between my butt cheeks and starts rubbing me, spurring more pleasure inside me.
“I’ve never...”
“I know,” he says.
He keeps working the two sensitive spots, and then he coils the other arm around me so that he can stroke my clit.
“Please…” I mutter.
“Please what?”
I laugh softly.
“Don’t stop.”
He increases the pressure and pace while I start to move my hips with his hand. My chest begins to heave, my tension and my pleasure quickly heading to the peak.
He tilts my hips, presses his hard crown against my entrance, and shoves his cock into me, enhancing my pleasure tenfolds.
“Oh...” I groan.
He fills me up again.
“Oh, my… ”
He rolls me to my stomach and starts to thrust into me from behind as my center washes him with my arousal.
“What is it, baby...?” he breathes in my hair, his body hard and tense, his erection stirring inside me.
“It’s so good...” I mumble as he keeps entering me, over and over again. “I’m so wet,” I say, burning with passion.
His hand slips under me, his fingers touching my clit.
“And swollen,” he murmurs.
“I love this...” I say, swept in a trance as his body moves on top of mine.
“Me too. I love making love to you, Tara,” he purrs, the words alone throwing me into an ocean of pleasure, making me writhe beneath him.
He pounds me hard until he experiences relief.
Moments later, I roll to face him, and he takes me in his arms.
“Welcome to Italy, baby.”
His eyes reflect the sea.
Capturing the light, they shine, green-blue like the emerald water stretching in front of us. He rests his elbows on the table, his chiseled biceps straining against his shirt.
The wind blows in my hair, pushing my tresses over my face. I sweep it all with one hand and pull it back to tie it in a ponytail.
“Let it down, Tara,” he says, his lips curling into a soft smile that brings light to his eyes.
Running my fingers through my locks, I comb my hair and let it fall over my shoulders.
He studies me in silence, making me feel the warmth of a blush. Nervously, I start playing with a napkin.
His eyes drop to my hand, and then swiftly, to my body.
Today, I fashion a white gauze tunic that falls over a matching denim set–– a rhinestones studded bustier and shorts. The color sets off my chocolate brown hair.
He brings his hand to my face.
Unhurriedly, he runs the back of his knuckles along my jawline and his fingers across my cheekbones.
I hold his gaze.
Tilting his head to the side, he drinks me in as if he wants to lodge the image of me in his memory, forever.
The ghost of a smile flits across his lips.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Tara.”
Tense, I smile.
He notices it.
“What is it?” he asks, tucking a strand of my hair away.
“Is this going to end once we get back?” I ask quietly.
He narrows his eyes, flashing a warm grin.
“Do you want it to end?”
I shake my head slowly.
“No.”
“Me, neither.”
A few moments pass by as I struggle to voice the next question.
“Why me? You could’ve had any woman.”
He looks down for a moment before he raises his eyes.
“Because you love me.”
“Do I?” I smile, blushing, his words taking me by surprise.
“Mmm-hmm.”
He nods, amused.
“That... and you give badass head.”
“Shade...” I scold him, grinning as the chef walks on the terrace.
“Hai finito signore? Finish?”
“Si, grazie,” Shade says.
A server clears the table before the chef brings out a plate filled with a variety of desserts.
I opt for a cup of creamy Tiramisu. Shade chooses a round shaped frozen dessert.
“What is that?”
I point to his plate while I get a taste of the coffee-soaked ladyfingers and silky mascarpone cream dessert.
“Tartufo di Pizzo, a Calabrese dessert,” he says, sinking his spoon in layers of ice cream.
He gestures to the layered core.
“Hazelnut and chocolate ice cream, melted chocolate, cocoa powder, and sugar,” he says before he scoops out a small portion and brings it to my lips.
I lick the teaspoon clean.
He smiles, amused.
“I told you... badass...”
“Shade,” I scowl at him jokingly.
He breathes out a chuckle.
We finish our desserts, just as the chef brings him an expresso.
“Are you sure you don’t want coffee?”
I shake my head.
“I’m fine.”
The chef and the server walk away.
Another gust of wind throws a handful of Bougainvillea petals over the table.
“So when do we go back?” I ask, feeling nostalgic as I brush them off.
“Sometime next week.”
“You know, they’re gonna kill me,” I say.
“No, they won’t.”
“They can’t wait to get their hands on me and sack me,” I say before I relay to him the conversation I have had with my ex.
The more I dig into the story, the darker his face becomes. He leans back against the chair, pulls out a cigarette and places it between his lips.
He listens for a moment before he flips the lighter open, brings the flame to the tip, and sucks in a short draw.
“So the wolves came out of the den,” he says, his eyes glinting with emotion as he learns about the gossip that has spread around like fire.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts scrolling down, sifting through numbers before he places a call.
The phone rings a couple of times before the other end picks up. He looks at me, his finger held up in the air.
I stay silent.
“Hi, Roger. Hi... Yeah. Mmm-hmm. Italy. How’s Hong Kong? Oh, I see... When do you come home? I need to talk to you about something... Yeah. Okay. Cool. I’ll see you then.”
He ends the call and tosses the phone on the table.
For a few seconds, he stares at the ashtray, shaking his head.
He puts out his cigarette and rises to his feet, and then he stretches his hand out and grabs mine.
“Let’s take a ride. I want to show you the coast,” he says, leading me into the house.
“Only me?” I ask as I put my helmet on.
He nods.
Balancing awkwardly, I near his motorcycle.
He looks at me, his eyes flooded with a smile.
“Why am I the only one who wears a helmet?”
He chuckles, entertained, taking a picture of me looking like a bug.
&nb
sp; “Because I say so. And plus you are fucking adorable,” he says, manning my head as if I am a robot girl and kissing my squeezed cheeks.
He kick starts the bike and revs it up.
“Hold on to me, baby.”
I straddle his motorcycle and move closer to him–– my crotch glued to his butt, my arms curled around his waist, my breasts crushed against his back.
I slide my hands to his chest and start kneading his pecs.
“We’re not gonna make it too far if you do that, baby,” he says amused, shifting in his seat, and adjusting his erection.
I pull back a little.
“No, no. Not that far. Come back. I don’t want to lose you.”
“You’re not going to lose me,” I say as it feels as if we’re not talking about a motorcycle ride.
A few moments later, we pull away.
Suspended between the mountain and the sea, and following the natural contour of the coast, the road snakes through rugged landscape and wild scenery.
The turquoise sea beams with light, the mountain plunging steeply into the water.
We pass through towns with century-old buildings, beautiful terraces, whitewashed houses, luscious gardens and picturesque staircases.
We make a stop in a fishing village where we taste local food, and then in another town where we take a stroll by foot and eat a slice of pizza on the terrace of a small restaurant.
There’s so much to absorb and process, and everything is so beautiful. We talk and laugh as he takes pictures of me and the surroundings. And then, he asks people to take pictures of us, and sometime between all that, I have to remind myself that this is real. That I’m not dreaming.
From time to time, I gape at him.
Tasting the freedom to be himself, he looks relaxed and beams with happiness, his spirit shining through.
