by Vawn Cassidy
‘What seriously?’ I blink in shock, sure I’m misunderstanding in some way.
He nods and sighs loudly. ‘You have no idea what it was like growing up the way I did. I went to a private school, and all the kids were the children of my parents’ friends. It was so cliquey and judgemental. I was too scared to do anything in case it got back to my father. He has very vocal views on ‘poofs’. Nat raises his fingers and makes little quoty signs. ‘He said it was wrong.’ He frowns as he looks up at me, and for a second, the naked vulnerability on his face almost breaks me. ‘Is it wrong? Is there something wrong with me?’
‘No, baby,’ I whisper reaching up and touching his face, feeling the rasp of his stubble catch beneath my fingertips, making me shudder. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you.’
He sighs loudly. ‘Uni wasn’t any better, same circles, same people. Everyone knew everyone. It was like living in an episode of Gossip Girl.’
I drop my hand, taking a step back and sucking in a shaky breath. He has no idea how potent he is right now. Even though I try to focus on his words, the thought pounds through my mind... he’s never had sex.
If I’m understanding him correctly, he’s never had any kind of sexual relationship with a man. I try not to think about his virgin arse or how tight it would be around my cock, but the minute the thought occurs to me, my cock throbs with need. I desperately want to teach him everything, I want to show him how good his body can feel. I close my eyes briefly and take a slow breath trying to calm my body. I’ve never been so grateful for the darkness, otherwise Nat would have a full-on view of just how much my dick likes the idea of being his teacher.
‘So... you’ve seriously never…’ I leave the sentence hanging as I shake my head, unable to comprehend how he’s gone so long denying who he is. ‘How have you coped?’
He lifts his right hand and gives it a little wave with a flushed laugh. ‘It’s not so bad, you kind of get used to it. Why do you think I have this lean build? I run… a lot… take cold showers.’ He counts them off on his fingers. ‘…watch gardening programs.’
‘Gardening programs? I choke back a laugh
‘Sure.’ He grins. ‘Nothing like some twat in tweed reciting the Latin names of shrubs to kill a boner.’
‘To kill a Boner,’ I snort in amusement. ‘Sounds like a literary classic.’
‘One of the most underrated Agatha Christie mysteries.’ He nods.
I laugh loudly and it releases some of the tension in my body.
‘That’s why I left,’ Nat says quietly after a moment. ‘It wasn’t ever just about sex. Once I left home and got my own place, I could have gone to an anonymous club or even paid for it, I suppose, but it seemed so sordid, and I wanted…’
‘You wanted the connection,’ I say quietly.
‘Yeah,’ he whispers. ‘I wanted to matter. I wanted it to be special.’
‘Nat,’ I breathe aching for him.
But he steps back and grins. ‘But that’s what I love about this place,’ he says enthusiastically, and my brain struggles to keep up.
‘What?’
‘I’m free here.’ He spreads his arms wide. ‘Here, there’s no more lying, there’s no more pretending. Here I can shout it from the roof tops.’ I watch with a smile as he turns toward the ocean. ‘I AM GAY!’ he yells at the top of his voice.
‘Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure they can hear you all the way in Truro.’
‘Dance with me, Beck,’ he laughs happily as he spins in a circle, and I’m utterly entranced by him. ‘Dance with me in the moonlight, or better still we should get naked and go skinny dipping.’
He reaches for the bottom of his shirt, and I dash forward and grab him.
‘Not sure that’s a good idea while you’re under the influence, unless you really do want me to have to save you again.’ I grin.
He spins in my arms wrapping his arms around my neck, and I stumble back, my heel catching an uneven mound of sand as we both topple to the ground.
‘Whoops,’ Nat laughs as I roll him over pinning him beneath me. The laughter dying in his throat as he feels my painful erection pressing up against him.
He moans and rocks his hips against me, setting every nerve in my body on fire. I can feel the steel ridge of his cock bulging in his jeans, rubbing against my dick, and fuck, he feels huge. My mouth is watering, and I want to taste him so badly. I’m desperate to slide down his body, pop the buttons on his jeans and swallow his cock. I want to watch the pleasure move across his face as I make him come so hard he loses his mind, he deserves nothing less.
‘Beck,’ my name on his lips is a plea and a promise. He’s like the original sin sent to tempt me. He’s the fucking brightest, shiniest apple, and Christ, do I want a bite. ‘Beck, please,’ he whispers, sliding his warm hands down to my hips and pulling me into him, grinding against me, the pressure a sweet agony. ‘I want you. I want you to be my first,’ he pants softly. ‘I want you inside me so badly.’
‘Nat,’ I gasp hoarsely as I try to pull away. I’m trying so hard to do the right thing and not take advantage. He deserves more than a drunken shag that he’ll barely remember in the morning.
The good angel on my shoulder is telling me to pull back, to take him home and let him sleep it off, but unfortunately, my libido is currently trying to punch my angel unconscious.
‘No,’ Nat moans, letting go of my hips and sliding his hands into my hair, gripping tightly as he rolls his hips against me, and I swear to God I almost see stars. Who knew having your hair pulled was so fucking sexy. One guy tried it with me before and I hated it, but with Nat, it makes me want to sink my teeth into him and bite hard.
‘Kiss me,’ he breathes pulling me closer.
My lips almost graze his when I pull back sharply. ‘No,’ I breathe hard. ‘Not like this, not when you’re drunk.’
His head falls back against the sand, and he closes his eyes. ‘Beck,’ he exhales slowly. ‘Everything’s spinning.’
‘Come on, Nat.’ I stroke his face softly. ‘Let’s get you home.’ But I know he doesn’t hear me, his grip has already loosened as he passes out.
‘Fuck my life,’ I whisper on a breathless laugh, knowing damn well I now have to carry him back up the fucking hill.
Chapter Thirteen
Nat
I’m beginning to think apologies are like buses, you can go ages without a single one in sight, and then suddenly, several come at once, which is fine I suppose unless you’re the one doing the apologising.
As I gradually come awake, I hear someone groaning loudly, and for a moment I want to tell them to shut the hell up until I realise that the noise is actually coming from me. Cranking one eye open tentatively, I promptly shut it against the bright daylight seeping into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
I must have dozed off again because a short while later I come awake, and this time, I can hear the repetitive patter of rain against the window, and the light filtering into the room has shifted into a gloomy grey montage of undefinable shapes. I pull the covers almost up to my chin and try to swallow, but my tongue feels like cardboard as I attempt to peel it from the roof of my mouth, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, I appear to have a small headache in my left eyeball.
Groaning, I roll over gingerly, ignoring the sharp pain in my head and stare aimlessly at the bedside table until it finally dawns on my foggy brain that there’s some painkillers and a fresh bottle of water with a piece of paper neatly tucked underneath sat there.
I take the painkillers, gratefully, first, downing half the contents of the water bottle in the process before setting it down on the table and picking up the note. Blinking a few times before my eyes are able to focus, I begin to read and with every syllable and sentence I want the ground to open up and swallow me.
Good morning, Princess! (Or afternoon…)
Please note the abbreviated use of Princess, this is due to the fact that last night you insisted on being called Princess Marigold Ab
ubu Sexy Pants Alpha Zulu Foxtrot Ping Pong the third. (Don’t ask I have no clue)
I managed to get you back to the B&B, where you proceeded to tap dance the fandango (not sure if that’s an actual thing, you weren’t making much sense by then, but well done on the jazz hands. I give it a score of 8, excellent artistic interpretation but lacking slightly in technical execution)
I feel I must also inform you that due to the fact you were stripping rather enthusiastically, (Magic Mike would be so proud) Ms Molly may or may not have seen you half naked, which I fear may have only fanned the flames of her ardour.
You may also have ordered 6000 miniature cocktail umbrellas and an inflatable flamingo from Amazon (sorry, I did try to stop you after you ordered the, kiss the hot as fuck chef apron, not sure you can wear that to work btw).
And finally... just kidding! None of the above is true!
Beck x
Ps love the Mario pants…
PPs make sure you take the painkillers and stay hydrated.
PPPs don’t drink any more of Ryan’s beer.
I blink slowly, dropping the note and grabbing the covers, I lift them and peer down at my body, my very half naked body… my very half naked body that is only wearing one sock and a pair of skin-tight Super Mario boxer briefs with a large colourful depiction of Mario riding Yoshi emblazoned across the crotch.
Shit, I mutter, flinging myself back against the pillows and throwing my arm over my eyes in utter mortification. Why the fuck couldn’t he have seen me in my Calvin Klein’s? Why did it have to be the Mario ones… although, to be fair, it could’ve been worse. It could’ve been the Kermit ones.
I know… you’re thinking why do I even have such childish underwear right? Because it amused the shit out of me. Every time I was stuck at work in that boring as hell office, listening to my father and the partners talk down to me, it tickled me no end that underneath my perfectly fitted and very expensive suits, Kermit the frog was peering at them from my crotch flipping them the finger and smirking.
I’m a very low-key rebel. I don’t like confrontation, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know when someone is treating me like an asshole. Which happened pretty much on a daily basis back home.
I drop my arm from my face and stare up at the ceiling, my brows wrinkling as I try to recall the events of the previous evening. I definitely remember the cute kittens, and I remember meeting Beck’s family at dinner, but it’s after that things get a little blurry.
My eyes narrow solicitously, I’m pretty sure I had a dream last night about Freddie Sinclair, my school crush, which is weird… why was I even thinking about him, when I…
Oh my god!
My eyes widen in horror, and my mouth falls open as the night’s events crash back in on me with alarming clarity.
Oh my god! I told him I was a virgin!
I cover my face with my hands, even though there’s no one else in the room to witness my complete humiliation.
Oh my god! I asked him to be my first!
I grab a pillow and shove it over my face, my voice thankfully muffled as I scream loudly.
Oh my god! I tried to kiss him, and he said no!
I roll over with the pillow over my face intending to bury myself and my non-existent dignity as deeply into the mattress as I can where I may not come up for days… possibly ever, when I misjudge how close I am to the edge of the bed.
There’s a brief, terrifying moment of freefall, then a loud thump as I hit the floor. My face is thankfully protected by the pillow I’m clutching in shame, which prevents me from breaking my nose on the hard wood floor, but the air whooshes from my lungs, and my elbow clangs sharply against the edge of the bedside table making bright sparks explode behind my eyelids.
Ow… I wheeze into the pillow.
At that precise moment, my bladder, having been so rudely awakened by being slammed against the floor decides to inform me that I have two seconds to make it to the bathroom before I humiliate myself further. Therefore, with a groan of abject misery, I release the pillow and crawl to the bathroom with my dignity trailing mournfully along the floor behind me.
Once I’ve relieved myself, I turn the shower on and climb in, soaking my aching head under the warm trickle of water. What I wouldn’t give for a waterfall shower head and decent water pressure right now. That way I might be able to drown myself to avoid ever having to face Beck again.
I brace my hands against the generic white tiles and let the water slide down my back, and even the bright, smiley yellow ducks on the stupid shower curtain seem to be laughing at me.
Bloody Ryan and his bloody bad decision beer.
Tilting my head back, I scrub my face, wishing I could erase the film reel of images in my mind, which is at this moment cranking out a continuous loop of my greatest hits, and I swear somewhere my self-respect has got his feet up on an imaginary coffee table whilst shovelling popcorn in his mouth and avidly watching my most mortifying moments.
Shutting the water off, I climb out and dry myself off, wrapping the towel around my waist as I brush my teeth, trying to avoid my reflection as I literally don’t think I can even look at myself right now.
Deciding to just forgo shaving as my hands are shaking, I wander back into the bedroom and flip the kettle on to make myself a coffee and busy myself with dressing. I go with the grown-up boxers today, not that anyone’s going to be seeing me in them anytime soon as I’m heavily leaning toward joining a monastery. I mean, at least I have the whole celibacy thing down.
Once I have my jeans and t-shirt on, I chug the coffee plain and black and it doesn’t even come close to hitting the spot. I briefly wonder if I might get more of a hit if I just spoon the Nescafé granules straight into my mouth. I never thought I’d say it after yesterday morning, but I’d kill right now for a cup of Lucifer’s dark blend from Florrie’s coffee shop.
I vaguely recall where the coffee shop is, and deciding I need to break out the big guns to get through the day, I pull my socks and shoes on. Glancing out the window, I see the rain has let up and is now just a little overcast. Grabbing a hoodie, my key, and my wallet I head out.
Now, I may have been heading toward the coffee shop, but it seems that my subconscious has other ideas, none of which include allowing me to lick my wounds in private, because before I know it, I’m ambling along the bluff when a sweet, familiar little shabby sea cottage comes into view.
Jesus Christ, I’m a sucker for punishment. I may require counselling before this is all over. I stop dead in the middle of the trail, and to anyone looking, I must look like I’m twitching when in reality I’m having a fierce internal debate. It’s literally like my confidence and paranoia are armed with giant inflatable paddles and are about to go at each other in an epic fight to the death.
I could leave, it’s not like Beck knows I’m here. I don’t have to face him right now. I turn around sharply, determined to head back down the craggy incline but stop again with a loud annoyed sigh.
But you behaved really badly last night, and you need to apologise for it… my conscience decides to remind me. I hate my conscience right now, he really is an overbearing twat, but I’m forced to admit he does have a point. My stomach is just going to keep churning and heaving, making me feel nauseous until I go and face it head on. I just need to do it fast, like ripping off a plaster… unless it’s one of those stupid fabric ones that leaves behind a sticky layer of nastiness that even a blow torch wouldn’t remove.
‘Okay, fine,’ I hiss to no one in particular, turning back toward Beck’s cottage. I’ll just go and apologise… how bad can it be? I feel a sudden wet plop of moisture splat against my cheek, and as I look up, the heavens open with a heavy deluge, drenching me within seconds.
‘Okay, I get the message,’ I say sourly as I start marching purposefully toward the cottage. I reach the cute little white gate, but it won’t budge. Glancing down, I realise that it’s not locked, but the wood has swollen, leaving the gate firmly wedged closed. It’s
not that high, only reaching up to mid-thigh, so I grasp the edges of the ornate rose archway surrounding it and climb over. I move to drop down the other side, but one of my shoelaces tangles on the latch and letting out an obscenely loud yelp, I tumble into the nearby Buddleia bush.
Ow…ow…ow, I roll off and hit the ground with a thud, pressing my face into the wet grass. That’s okay at least no one saw.
Then I hear the front door open, accompanied by a low amused voice, ‘Nat?’
‘It’s like the universe hates me,’ I mumble into the grass, breathing for a few seconds before pushing myself to my feet and brushing the damp grass from my face with as much dignity as I can manage.
I look up to see Beck leaning against the door frame, watching me with those beautiful hazel eyes, his lips curving at the edges. He’s wearing light grey sweatpants slung low on his hips and a plain white tee, his feet are bare, and his hair is loose. He looks so sexy and tempting, and my heart sinks. What would such a beautiful and confident man want with a mess like me?
‘Nat.’ Beck smiles slowly. ‘You’re getting soaked, come in.’
‘No, it’s okay,’ I say miserably, knowing the quicker I get this over with the better.
‘Nat?’ Beck’s smile fades. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ I shake my head, blowing out a breath as I search for the right words. ‘I just wanted to apologise… for last night.’ I press the heels of my palms into my eyes in mortification and feel the burst of light behind my eyelids.
‘Nat,’ Beck calls again, and his voice is a soft rumble beneath the clattering of the rain, and when I look up, he’s stepped away from the door and onto the porch.
‘No, just…’ I hold my hands up and take another step back further into the rain, needing to put some distance between us. ‘I’m sorry for last night, for trying to kiss you.’ I press the tips of my fingers to the bridge of my nose steepling my hands as I breath heavily and close my eyes. ‘Oh my god, this is so embarrassing,’ I mutter, ‘Where’s a stray bolt of lightning when you need one?’
