13 October
Laurie
Oscar Ogilvy-Black. It’s quite a mouthful, isn’t it? I don’t think he and I would have crossed each other’s paths in the normal course of things back in London, but here in Thailand the dating rulebook has been ripped up. He tells me he’s a banker but not a wanker, and I confide my hope of gaining my first foothold in the world of magazine journalism one day soon. I have to admit that I judged him when we first met. But underneath the undeniable poshness, he’s funny and self-deprecating, and when he looks at me there’s a kindness in his eyes that warms me.
‘You’re not going to be one of those awful gossip column queens, are you?’
I gasp, mock offended, and then sigh, a little giddy because his fingers lace with mine as we walk along the cool sand after dinner. ‘Do I look like I care about worst- and best-dressed celebs?’
He takes in my denim cut-offs and black vest, then the lemon toggles of my bikini top visible around my neck.
‘Umm … maybe not,’ he laughs.
‘Cheeky, you’re hardly suited and booted.’ I raise an eyebrow as he looks comedically down at his ripped shorts and flip-flops.
Laughing, we reach my shack, and I kick my shoes off on the deck. ‘Beer?’
He nods, leaving his shoes outside beside mine before he flops down on my huge beanbag, his hands folded behind his head.
‘Make yourself at home,’ I say, and I drop beside him with the cold beers.
‘Are you sure about that?’ he asks, rolling on to his side, propped on one elbow to look at me.
‘Why? What would you do if you were at home?’
He reaches down and drags his T-shirt over his head, leaving him in just his shorts. The moonlight shades his skin coconut-shell brown. ‘I’d get more comfortable.’
I pause for a beat, considering just laughing at him – I mean, what a line – but then I follow suit and pull my vest off. Why not? Oscar is everything that my life is not: light-hearted; uncomplicated.
‘Me too.’
He holds out his arm for me to settle in beside him, and when I do his body is warm and vital. I am as free as one of the small, blush-pink birds that wheel through the sky above my shack at dawn.
Through the window I can see the black spindle outlines of the long-tail boats anchored just off the shore in readiness for the morning, and the pitch-dark sky overhead studded with a myriad of diamond stars.
‘I can’t remember the last time I felt this peaceful.’
Oscar takes a long drink then puts his beer bottle down on the floor before he replies.
‘I think I might be insulted. I was hoping you were outrageously turned on.’
I laugh softly into his chest and prop myself up to look at him. ‘I think I could be.’
One arm still bent behind his head, he slides his free hand round the back of my neck and tugs slowly on the string ties of my bikini top. It falls when he lets go, and he doesn’t take his eyes from mine as he reaches lower between my shoulder blades to finish the job.
‘Now I’m outrageously turned on,’ he says, tracing one fingertip from the dip between my collarbones to the button on my shorts. He swallows hard as he looks at my bared breasts. A breeze catches the wind chime hanging from the corner of my shack, a soft glitter of bells as he shifts slightly, pressing me back into the beanbag as he draws my nipple inside the heat of his mouth. Jesus. Aching, spiralling lust unfurls octopus-like inside my body, its tentacles licking fast along my limbs, heavy in my abdomen, fast in my chest as I push my hands into the thickness of his hair and hold him to me. I never thought I could feel like this for someone other than Jack, but something about being here with Oscar has freed me.
He reaches for the button of my shorts, lifting his head to look at me before he goes any further. I’m relieved he’s that kind of man; even though his breathing is shallow and his eyes are begging me not to stop him, I know that he would, and that’s enough.
‘Do you have a condom?’ I whisper as I stroke his hair, praying he says yes.
He moves over me, his chest on mine, and his kiss is so unhurried and exquisite that I wrap my arms round his shoulders and hold him to me.
‘I think so,’ he breathes, then laughs shakily. ‘I just hope it’s in date.’ He reaches into his back pocket, kissing me some more. Laying his wallet on the floor beside the beanbag, he flicks it open and pulls out a silver foil packet, checking it before he presses it into my palm for safekeeping.
He sits up, and this time he doesn’t pause over the business of unbuttoning my shorts. His fingers are sure and steady, working them down my hips until I have only my small, yellow bikini bottoms left.
He spreads my thighs and kneels between them, then splays my arms wide and pins me lightly in place. ‘Do you know what you are?’
I stare up at him, unsure what he’s going to say.
‘A fucking sexy starfish.’
I close my eyes and laugh, and then I gasp, because he’s lowered his face between my legs and I can feel the heat of his mouth moving over the silky material of my bikini.
There isn’t one atom of me that wants him to stop as he discards what’s left of his clothes. For a second we hold a silent conversation with just our eyes. I tell him that I know he’s running away from the responsibility and stress of the city life awaiting him back in London, and he tells me he can paper over the cracks in my heart and make me better again. We make each other promises even though we pledged that we wouldn’t, and then he settles over me and I forget about everything but now.
Later, I wake and find him sitting on the steps of my shack watching the beginnings of another pink and purple dawn.
I sit beside him, an elephant-patterned throw pulled round my shoulders, and he looks at me sideways.
‘Marry me, Starfish.’
I laugh softly and get up to make coffee.