“WHAT HAPPENED WITH you and West?” I ask from where I am sitting on his kitchen counter, watching him make late-night smoothies. We both need something to keep our strength up. Sleep is definitely not on the agenda tonight. The book of Karma Sutra is.
My question catches him unprepared, and I am greeted with nothing but that oh so familiar silence that comes with this touchy mysterious subject. I sigh heavily. “Something you don't want to talk about — got it.” I take off his Royal Marine beret that I’m wearing and look down at it.
“Something I don't want to remember.” He keeps his gaze pinned on the banana he is peeling and I watch his eyes glaze over, his jaw stiffening. I set aside his beret, and flick my finger over the fresh cream from the leftover main course, my bare legs swinging, drumming against the cupboard doors below.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not right now.” He turns on the blender and stares at its swirling contents to distract himself from my questioning. “What kind of name is West?” I hear him mumble.
“I don’t know, Lenic … What kind of name is that?”
“Fair point.” When he stops blending, his eyes meet mine. “Does West know? About your aunt?"
“Yes. I think that’s why he is so protective over me. Why he doesn’t want to see me hurt.”
He looks at me. “You sure it’s not something else with him?”
“What do you mean?”
He squares his shoulders. “Some guys are only after one thing.”
I sigh and drop down from the counter. “My aunt, the boys who spread rumours about me at school, even the town gossips — I would’ve had their foot on my neck for so many years if it wasn’t for Grandpa and West. I’d be nothing without them. Do you understand that, Lenic? Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you here? Because if you want me to be your girlfriend … West comes with part of that deal.”
There is a long moment of silence, my heart beating just a little bit faster. He turns from the blender, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me softly on the lips.
”I won’t fight with him,” he states with resolve. “I’ll leave it alone.”
“Except at the semi-finals of the Road to Redemption,” I say smartly, giving him a warm smile.
“That’s work.” I hear the grin in his voice when he says it.
“I’m worried…”
“About what?”
“You always risk your life when you enter the ring. One wrong hit in the head … and it could all be over. I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t. I promise you. I'm a man who's best at his work — number one. It's included in my work not to get myself killed.”
“You’re not Superman. You know that, right?”
“Yeah … but I’m damn close.” He kisses me again, but this time he is not gentle, biting my lip so hard I think it bleeds a little. He hoists me up, dragging my leg around the back of his thigh. I whimper into his mouth before he pushes me back onto the counter. He starts kissing me down my neck, yanking my dress down to expose one breast.
“You trust me?” he growls huskily, rubbing my mound slowly with his whole hand.
“Implicitly,” I hiss, when he tugs my hair back and runs his tongue over and around my erect nipple. I grip the edge of the counter when he drops his jeans to the floor and thrusts hard and forceful into my already tender sex.
“Don’t underestimate … my promises … I’ll always give you, what you want.” He thrusts into me with each accentuated words.
“Wait,” I breathe out, grabbing his beret from the side and set it on top of his head. “I want you to fuck me like a Marine — harder.”
His dominant thrusts and touches, mixed with the look of pure carnal desire in his eyes, while wearing his Royal Marine beret … it all sets me off and I cum instantly.
“Too easy … Way too easy, Felicity,” he smirks.
“This still doesn’t mean you own me.”
“We’ll see.” He thrusts into me as he bites down on my neck.
He goddamn owns me.
“WHAT’S THIS ONE from?” My fingertip traces a small white scar that criss-crosses the knuckles on the back of his hand, leaving droplets of water where my fingers touch.
We’re lounging deep in steaming water in his bathtub. I lean back against his broad solid chest, my hair tied up in a topknot.
“A fight, I think," he replies, as if he can’t quite remember. As if it could have been from a number of manly things: war, fights, fixing old beaten-down boats and showers.
“Why do you fight?” I twist around to squint up at him. He smiles down at me, all dimples and boyish handsomeness.
“I need the money. For food, clothes, bills. You know — to live.”
“But when you fight, you don’t appear to enjoy it. In fact, I would go as far as to say that it pains you.”
“You get hit in the face ten times and tell me you wouldn’t wince. Sorry, next time I fight and get punched in the face, I’ll be sure to laugh like a maniac to please you.” He chuckles, reaching up to brush the back of his hand affectionately down my cheek.
“Good,” I grin, turning completely over so I am straddling him. “It’s important to enjoy what you do. I’d like to think you’re living the life you chose and not the life that was chosen for you.”
“The hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean…” I sigh. “You seem like you’re fighting something. Internally. Every day. I can just see it, feel it whenever I’m around you. You got this wall up.”
“Maybe the wall’s to protect other people, not me.”
He curls a loose strand of hair around my ear. “I know girls want to over talk things and boys under talk, but somewhere in the middle is the Goldilocks Zone.”
“The what?”
“The Goldilocks Zone. Where everything is just right.” He smiles at me. “You’ll have to let your guard down one day.” I run my hands over his shoulders. The water is nearly scalding but everywhere I touch him, goose bumps rise.
“Why?”
“Because, Lenic, a relationship works both ways, doesn’t it? I know I’m new to this ball and chain—”
“Sounds hot.”
“—thing, but I don't think I can be with a man who won’t trust me enough.” I feel his chest rise and fall. “Look, I won’t push. Whatever it is, I know it’s hard. I’ve been there myself. Just tell me when you’re ready.”
Sometimes we need a little time to open up old wounds.
He remains silent for a beat. “What if I’m never ready? What if my story is one you don’t ever want to hear?”
We look at each other then — a long, close look. When his eyes dim with sadness, and the moment becomes awkward, I relieve the tension with my usual coping mechanism when life gets too serious.
Humour.
I steer the tone of the conversation in a more comedic direction, a talent I've mastered since I was a teenager. One I use to my advantage a lot, and one I am never called out on. I grab his hands and pull them over my breasts. “You wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise your relationship with the girls, would you?”
“Never,” he laughs. I lower myself over him when I feel his cock begin to harden, his hands gripping me by the hips underneath the water.
We spend the rest of the night lying naked in his bed — making love, fucking, talking, whispering things in each other’s ears that make us smile, blush. But I don't tell him I am determined to uncover the truth of what he is not telling me. The skeletons in his closet are rattling, and I can’t ignore them. I am sure, in time, I could persuade him.
I won’t rest until I uncover his secret.