I AM RUNNING late.
I am always in a frantic rush on Monday mornings, and today is no exception. I am trying to figure out how to use the new camera we purchased for the studio. I glance at the clock on the wall and groan. I’m due to host a live-streaming event, a Q&A with my subscribers, in just under an hour, and I still need to shower and get ready.
With all the hype generated from the ‘Hook, Line, and Sink Her’ video, we hit our milestone to reach one and a half million subscribers. The video reached over five million views in just two days.
So far, there’s been no word from Lenic, and I wonder if he has seen it yet. Popular celebrity gossip websites are going crazy with it. And pictures, gifs, and memes of him bending over in the shower are plastered all over the Internet. Only the blind could miss it. My body thrums with excitement, anticipating the aftermath from the raging Tempest.
Setting up the lighting and connecting the camera to the computer, I bound upstairs and jump straight into the shower, before applying dark glamour make-up and blow-drying my natural long loose soft curls. I decide on wearing my new Victoria Secret outfit. A pair of cute black capri shorts, and a strapless black-and-white-chequered crop top that buttons down the front.
Grabbing a quick chocolate muffin and a hot brew of coffee from the kitchen, I dash downstairs and glance at the clock. Thirty seconds left. I click on the Start Streaming button, smoothe down my hair, then quickly reach over to open the blinds—
My heart rate skyrockets like a racehorse is galloping a mile per second inside it. Lenic is storming over across the Square, heading straight for my front door, with a look that would back off a charging rhino. I can literally see steam coming out of his ears and through his nose. He is like a charging bull and I am the red flag.
Bad timing, Tempest.
Wait…
Make that good timing.
“Change of plans, my lovelies,” I quickly say to my viewers through the camera. “Seems like I won’t be able to answer your questions today, but I promise, you are going to be blown away with what is about to happen.”
I grab the door handle, but it is thrown open, my eyes tracking the bull’s path. Lenic barges past me so hard, I’m not sure if I opened the door, or if he broke through it.
We are being watched by maybe tens of thousands of viewers from across the world, so I know I should remain prudent. But this goes out of the window as soon as he storms inside. My heart races, my body heats up, while I stare into Lenic’s dark eyes. Furious Lenic is absolutely gorgeous, and angry sex with him pops into my mind again.
He stands in the centre of the room, facing the camera, and glowers down at me. I have the patience of a saint, despite my less than pious past, and I take it in stride. An intimidating glare — whatever. I can glare back with the best of them, and I never stand down from a challenge like this, never blink or avert my eyes.
Time passes and he is yet to utter a word. His glare soon turns into a strained expression.
Is he OK?
“You look real pretty today,” he says in a gruff voice, like he is vehemently annoyed at himself for finding me attractive in my cute Victoria Secret outfit.
Not what I was expecting…
“Um … thank you—”
“Christ, Felicity,” he suddenly spits out. I jolt. “There is something so wrong with you.” He rakes his hands through his hair and locks them behind his head. The furious look in his eyes could pierce a hole in the sky.
“Hey, with those killer looks, relax a bit.”
“The hell you think you’re playing at?” Tossing his hands down, he curls them into fists.
He is right. There is something so wrong with me. I am getting turned on by all of this angry testosterone emanating from him. Lenic is rude and hotheaded, but it can’t be denied that he is the most stunning man I’ve ever seen in real life. The kind of face you have to blink a few times just because it can’t be real. It just can’t. But he is. Something flitters in my tummy just thinking about how he stands there in a pair of motorcycle boots and tight, low-slung jeans. He’s wearing a navy-blue T-shirt that seems to emphasise his dark eyes. The icy glare in them makes me all the more smitten.
“In the future, if something is bothering you — give me a call. Talk it out like a normal damn person. Don’t film me in the shower and show it to the goddamn world because you’re pissed at me.” That jaw of his tightens.
Adrenaline starts to hit my bloodstream in anticipation of a true fight — in front of a live audience. I smile devilishly towards the camera, then step towards him with my hand on my hip. “I’ve seen the towel shots on Men’s Fitness magazine. It’s not like he’s shy to the world.” I shoot a glance at his crotch, then turn quickly to wink at my viewers.
He crosses his arms, lifts his chin. “I got paid.”
I empty all the loose change in my grandpa’s penny jar on the desk. “Here. One pound … and thirty … three pence,” I count. I raise a smile that is meant to get under his skin like a tick, and by the way his jaw clenches and his dark eyes go almost black, I'm guessing the smile and the gesture of payment does what I intended them to do.
“You told me you did make-up tutorials and shit.” His eyes burn into mine, all liquid ice, angry and cold.
“I like to broaden my horizons. I’ll try anything once.”
“It’s humiliating.”
“Your fans love it. There are loads of comments expressing how much they love you. Love ‘The Tempest’. Is it really all that bad?”
He looks at me. “That’s not an angle you wanna see yourself doing. Nobody should see that. I don’t even wanna see me do that. And I definitely don’t want five million people watching me do that.”
“It’s amazing ... You wouldn’t think a man the size of a mountain could be that … flexible ... It’s impressive. You’re a real inspiration to the big guys.”
His voice crackles with growing temper. “I don't know if you're doing this because you took some medicine or haven't taken your medicine.” His chest rises and falls, and he remains quiet, glaring at the smirk on my face.
Then I look at him sharply.
He sort of laughs, like a chuffing sort of sound. It puts me on edge. Then all of a sudden, he runs his tongue slowly across his top teeth and around the side of his lips, grinning devilishly, like he knows he is a sex-god badass. And he is. Oh God, he is. And his eyes are…
Holy Mother of God.
He is eye fucking me.
His dark eyes have locked on and they are fucking every inch of me.
Hear that sound? That distant boom...? Those are my ovaries exploding.
I think I feel … maybe … is that? … Oh, yes. An orgasm.
He must make women cum all the time just by flicking those full-of-dirty-carnal-desire eyes their way, and sliding his tongue around his lips like he’s ready to taste every inch of you until you die. The sensation is so intense, so deep, I am sure he could get me pregnant solely by this one perfect sexual manoeuvre.
“Quit denying it, Hazelnut.”
Hazelnut?
“You’ve got a thing for me, real bad, huh?” His words are slow, almost teasing, smug in his certainty. “Could it be you’re the one who’s lonely and miserable? Is that why you want my attention?” He looks at me as if I’m his deepest, darkest sexual fantasy.
I don’t like this. I can’t read him and I sure as hell don’t know all his motivations. I do know I’m being watched by thousands of viewers so I force myself to keep eye contact, force myself to school my face and keep it blank. But his relentless eye fucking makes me drop the ball.
“That’s … not why I, uh, uploaded it,” I manage. He moves closer and places a hand caressingly on my arm. I shiver, unprepared for the charge passing through me at the slightest touch.
“I think it was.”
Lenic is damn tall, and this is something he is using in this situation. I don’t like the fact I have to look up to him — in the literal sense. I want to look down at him.
I step back and knock my shoulder against the camera tripod. He studies me with a contemplative look that borders on illicit. It’s that look a man gives a woman — the one you either slap them for or go home with them.
I am already home with him.
He steps forward confrontationally, and I feel his hand brush slowly down my waist. Those fingers drag over my skin, so hot, and it feels like they leave abrasions.
“I’ll let you into a little secret...” He grips me by the hips. “That arse of yours … noticed it the day you moved in and … I haven’t been able to stop … thinking … about it.” I can hear the raw sexuality pour into his voice.
I don’t think he is suggesting he’s been thinking with his brain. I feel a rush of heat between my legs. Love isn’t on the cards for us, but I am falling in love with the idea of Lenic lying in his bed thinking to fantasies about my arse.
I watch his mouth lean in towards mine … and then I catch the movement. Oh, such a tiny movement. Compulsive. The slightest twitch of his mouth. It is so quick, I almost miss it.
Almost.
Something about Lenic Reevus needs to hold all the power. He is a man who has to be in control. He wants me to shy away and feel embarrassed because I embarrassed him. This might have worked on other girls. But I am not like other girls. I am armed with a functioning bullshit metre.
And we are live on air. If someone is going to be humiliated, it will be him.
The heat leaving my cheeks, I place my hands on his chest and tilt my head up, confidently meeting his eye-tactic head on, and weave my deception with a perfect smile.
“You want to have sex with me, Lenic? Is that what you’re telling me?” I give him a playful, casual smile, praying he won’t use his Royal Marine skills and see beyond my mask, my carefully arranged demonstration of outward control. “I’m so glad you offered. I’ve been starving.”
His heated gaze suddenly widens in shock, and the hold he has on me breaks. “What?” he asks, with a hesitant perturbed chuckle in his voice. And then he steps back.
Gotcha.
“I would probably have had to go hungry for a much longer period.” My voice is clinical, toneless, sexy as cold feet.
“Hungry?”
“Yes, I have a big appetite. It’s been a dry season. I've been on a mancation. Shall we have a three-course meal? Don’t worry, I don't need every Karma Sutra position, but more then ten will suffice.” I start to stretch my arms and legs with exaggeration, pretending to warm up for a marathon. He glances at me as if I’ve gone off my rocker. “I’m limbering up. You’re Lenic ‘The Tempest’ Reevus, after all — I’ve got high expectations considering you’re ‘unbeatable’.” He just continues to stare at me, puzzled and a little mortified. “Or is that only relevant to inside the ring?” I stop stretching my arm and mock a frown. “How disappointing.”
His eyebrows draw in, and he lengthens his spine. “I’m the best you’ll ever have, sweetheart.”
“Superb. I’ll remember to leave you a review. OK, enough chitchat, let’s get started. I need to put the dinner on soon.” I hold a hand up, palm upwards. “Anal is still off the menu — don’t go getting any ideas from behind. I know how much you Royal Marines like the element of surprise, so just leave your work away from home. Us female civilians don’t take too kindly to it.” I give myself a mental thumbs up — that line alone should get me at least a thousand likes on this live stream.
His eyes are wide and he watches me unbutton my crop top, revealing a strapless red lace bra. My viewers have seen me in much less during self-tanning videos. It doesn’t bother me. I am body confident.
Hovering anxiously, he slips his hands into his pockets. I glance at him. “What? Are you being shy? I thought you didn’t do shy?”
He blinks a few times, sniffs. “Here?”
“Why? Are you scared?” I pull off my top and fling it across the room. I’m enjoying the fact that the nervous energy is coming off of him instead of me, for once.
Clearing his throat, he pulls out a hand and gestures to the window. “People are gonna see us from outside.”
I reach across and pull the blinds closed, then lock the front door. “Don’t worry about Delphine either,” I add, before he can make another excuse. “She’s in France for a few days.” I start to unzip my shorts.
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Thanks for the heads up,” he mumbles. A smirk tries to force its way onto my lips, but I hold it back. He nods nonchalantly, still not undressing.
I start to pull my shorts down over a pair of red French underwear. No ‘Back Entrance’ today. I am all sophisticated and classy this Monday morning.
“What? Is The Tempest really banana-less? Should I alert the media and get a Kickstarter project started to get you one?”
He is going to admit defeat any time now, and leave with his head buried in the sand—
Suddenly, a shiver runs straight to my bones.
His chuckle is masculine and throaty, and there is a certain edge to it that sets off alarm bells in my head. He only laughs lightly and for the briefest of moments, but the small laugh is unsettling. I don’t know if he knows something or thinks he does, but I don’t like it, like it is the calm before a storm or something. And being a girl who nearly drowned, storms are something I don’t much like.
He squares his shoulders, and there is a smile on his face like someone who is waiting to settle a score. “I see,” he says, wearing a grin that can only be described as one the Joker in Batman wears right before doing something unspeakable.
My jaw goes slack, and the hands on my shorts pause mid-way across my buttocks when he starts to unbutton his shirt. My heart is racing, trying to keep pace with my speeding thoughts.
What is happening? What does he think he is doing? Does he really think I am going to have sex with him, right this moment?
Live on air?
Not expecting this, I am thrown completely off-guard. I take a deep breath and exhale, steady my nerves, and maintain my confident façade, forcing a wide smile. But when he suddenly jerks off his T-shirt, I flinch back, blinking a few times. The studio had been pleasantly warm, but it now feels like a damn furnace.
He blindly tosses his T-shirt up in the air behind him. My eyes track its trajectory, watch it land by the rubbish bin in the corner. Suddenly, I am very fascinated with staring at my bin.
“Why’ve you stopped?” he asks. “Let me help you.”
Wait, what?
He reaches out and grabs my shorts at the side. I jerk back in shock. His eyes are light, so innocuous. Seemingly friendly. Almost, but not quite. He shrugs with a smirk, then grabs his belt instead.
Sexy bastard.
I waver, slowly pulling down my shorts, unsure of what is happening, and step reluctantly out of them. It must be obvious to him that I’m setting him up for another joke, so what is he up to?
I shoot a nervous smile at my viewers and force a grin, because not reacting is good, and playing along should confuse him, and that way I get to have my fun too. I catch myself and lift my shoulders.
It’s not good.
He yanks off his belt, flinging it to God knows where, and charges towards me like a man with intent. “I’ve got no problem with nudity, Felicity,” he says confidently.
I freeze on the spot when he starts to unbutton his jeans. He wouldn’t dare. His dark eyes dance with amusement.
Oh God, he would.
He shoves his jeans down and…
O. M. Lenic.
My hand leaps to my mouth as I let out a shocked gasp. I’ve always wondered if it was true about Royal Marine Commandos going commando. OK, that answers my query. I’ve only seen it through a viewfinder or a computer screen, but nothing compares to the live version.
He.
Is.
Gorgeous.
A fever surges hot through my body. I never contemplated a penis could be gorgeous. Big, maybe. Good, maybe. I suppose it will do for tonight, even. But Lenic Reevus’ penis is gorgeous. I bet he asks every girl he sleeps with to just say when.
OK, Lenic, I get the message loud and clear.
This little — big — stunt is his way of telling me that his issue with my upload isn’t about the nudity. It is the power play. He wants to be in charge. I curiously like the idea, which is strange. I've always been the aggressive partner in my dating life, but Lenic gives me the desire to be sexually submissive for once. He makes me want to be thrown over his shoulder and taken any way he wants it.
My cheeks hurt a little from all the forced grinning and smiling I’ve been doing, but now my grin gets wider and it is real. I gain a lot of respect for him in this moment, weirdly, despite his modesty in the trash bin. I thought he was a miserable tight-arse who couldn’t relax and have fun. Nice packaging, not worth the unwrapping can only get you so far. But I was wrong. I realise there is so much I want to get to know about Lenic other than his perfect body and even more perfect face.
Trying to keep my breathing even, he wraps his arms around my waist, his mouth inching closer, and closer, to mine.
“This. Is. Me,” he says in a husky, dominating tone. He curls a piece of my hair around his finger, then pulls on it, hard. My head arches back and I gasp. The pleasure is almost on the cusp of pain, and he looks down at me, like he knows he has control on just how far to take it.
More, I want to scream. I want more.
“You can't take me down, Felicity. Because if anyone is doing the taking…” He pulls me close to his body and I let out another small gasp. “…it will be me.”
We’ve just met, but the attraction is painful, undeniable, and now it’s like I am Eve and Lenic’s lips are the apple, and damn if his tongue isn’t the snake, pressing me with clever words for just one taste to seal my fate.
My nipples tighten underneath my bra, and I arch my back to press them against his rock-hard chest. I’ve seen him fight in the ring, and I realise the lethal potential in his body is yet to be unleashed.
Towering above me, he leans down, and slides his hands a little underneath my underwear, just faintly touching the swell of my buttocks, almost in a promise of what is to come. His lips touch mine, lightly at first, then a little more when I lean into the kiss, hungry for the taste of his mouth … but then the beautiful bastard pulls back.
His mouth tugs at the corner, ever so slightly. “Now, is there anything you want to say to me?”
I am breathing so hard I can feel my heart thumping in my chest. He wants me to back down. He wants me to curl into a ball and cave in with an apology.
‘Never back down. You can be down but not out. Understand, kid?’ Grandpa Joe said this over and over again. ‘Down but not out.’ Like some cliché, one I’ve remembered all my life.
But now his advice is worth shit.
Because I surrender.
I wave the white flag.
Winning, saving face, are no longer my driving force. Bed-breaking, back-arching, throat-bursting sex with Lenic Reevus will be the only thing I live and breathe, until it consumes me.
I can hardly breathe enough to speak, feeling his strong hands squeeze my buttocks, and my resolve dissolves into the total freedom of giving myself over to him completely. I will give it to him, any way he wants it, and whenever he wants it. My pulse pounding, I capitulate, “I … I…”
And then something red and bright and small catches the corner of my eye.
I snap back to reality.
Holy shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My heart wedges into my throat. I completely forgot we are live on air. Oh my god. The second he gave me the full Monty, my upper brain switched off leaving only my lower brain to function.
He is going to kill me.
Gasping, I whirl around, and smack my hand down on the mouse and end the live stream, cursing aloud. I start to turn around to face his complacent expression.
“Now you know who is in control,” he says, picking up his discarded jeans and covers himself up. “So don’t think you can humiliate me and get away—”
“I was live-streaming.”
He furrows his brow. “What do you mean ‘live-streaming’?” He slips back into his jeans.
“I mean — this whole love affair … was recorded live.” I point to the camera and watch as his eyes narrow into slits. “I was doing a live-streaming event when you broke through my door ... and … I thought it would be … entertaining … to record us...”
His hands pause over the buttons of his jeans, and in the deafening silence my heartbeat thuds in my throat. He glares at me, his jaw set tight beneath his skin. He is going to bite my head off.
“Is this some sick joke?”
I shake my head. “I swear, I didn’t know you would go that far…” The room goes silent for a moment, and I feel an anxious sensation building in my stomach.
“Fresh meat to the slaughter?”
“Isn’t it always… between us?”
When I glance over at him, across the gap between us, I can’t help it. I am barely holding myself back from laughing, and it is all I can do not to double over. I expect the raging bull of The Tempest to reappear and blow his horn in fury.
But then Lenic surprises me.
He laughs too.
Thunder rumbles in his throat, rushing out of his mouth in the form of a laugh. His entire face is lit up, his head thrown back. His bright brown eyes spellbind me, and the rest of the world dims in the brilliance of his laughter. I love the lines around his eyes when he laughs like this. I love this carefree Lenic with the gorgeous dimples. His face changes when he laughs. It is almost as if a layer of skin has peeled away, revealing another face, an even more gorgeous face, hiding beneath a hard stoic mask.
“You know, you should be registered as a weapon with the Ministry of Defence,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “This isn’t funny. It’s damn humiliating. Like I need another scandal in the tabloids.”
I smile. “Then why are you laughing?” He clears his throat and tries to look serious, but a ghost of a smile plays at the corner of his lips. “Be truthful, Lenic, you love it. Your serious dark side is glowing with light and you frigging love it.” He barks out a small laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. I want to bottle his laughter into a glass jar so I can listen to it forever.
“This — you — you are the craziest thing to happen to me,” he says, scrubbing his hands down his face, and just like that, the laughter starts to die.
“Why do you do that?” My voice is quiet.
He picks up his belt. “Do what?”
“You never allow yourself to let go and laugh to your heart’s content.” He looks a little taken aback, then a tense expression tightens his features. “I like it a lot better when you’re laughing. You don’t do it often enough—”
The sound of the door unlocking interrupts me.
West.
“What the hell is going on here?” West spits out, his teeth bared like some kind of hound. “Get the hell away from her.” West squares up to Lenic. Although West is shorter by a head, he isn’t intimidated by Lenic’s size.
I have never seen West this angry before. He doesn’t get agitated easily. Normally, he is the epitome of collected.
Lenic’s eyes are angled. Dark. Like he is battling a war within. I see red haze fill them, his jaw clenching, his lips forming a thin angry line.
“What’s going on? Why are you two so angry?” I ask.
“You know this guy?” Lenic directs the question at me, his face a barely contained mask of pure resentment. It sends cold chills down my spine.
I nod wordlessly, confused, as I watch Lenic and West glare at one another, like they’re both actually thinking about grabbing one another by the neck to try and break all the bones with their bare hands. “He’s family to me…”
Lenic closes his eyes, his chest rising and falling with a slow, heavy breath. When he opens them, his eyes darken even more at West before he snatches up his shirt, and storms out of my house. I wince when the door slams behind him, and I don’t breathe until West sets a hand on my shoulder.
Just great.
This will send tongues wagging across the neighbourhood. ‘Lenic Reevus was seen walking out of Felicity Saint James’ house — shirtless and jeans undone.’
But thinking about it … I don’t quite mind being gossiped about over Lenic Reevus.
WEST AND I enter the busy riverside pub a few blocks from my home, later in the evening. He hands me my glass of red wine, steers me into a booth at the back of the bar, and starts to tell me about the sports motorbike he has just bought himself.
I notice a group of young women checking him out in the far corner. They eventually come over and ask for his autograph. This happens a lot. Over the last few years, West is one of a few who have risen to the top in bare-knuckle boxing. He is the only fighter they say has any chance in defeating the reigning champion — The Tempest.
West always signs with a smile, takes the usual group selfie. A real sport. But behind the camera, away from his fans, his eyes seem to carry the world’s woes.
I brush a hand down the thin white scar on his cheek. “Does it bother you they never found the ones who did that to you?” I ask West, two bottles of wine later. A long time ago, he was brutally attacked by a gang of youths in his current hometown, Queens Oak, a city twenty miles from Stonebrook.
He sips his black coffee. “No,” is his succinct answer, staring at the collection of pottery jugs hanging on hooks around the top of the pub. I get it. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He never does. He told the police he never saw the assailants who attacked him. He’s never been the same since, but after the incident, he has put his heart and soul into his boxing career. I wish he would let himself have a life outside of it, though. Two years older than me, he looked out for me like a big brother would while growing up in Stonebrook. Grandpa Joe loved him like a son too. His happiness means everything to me.
He fiddles with a coaster, tearing the edges off it. I sense he wants to talk about something. “Did Lenic hurt you?" He studies me closely.
I take a sip of my wine. "You already asked me that," I tell him with a gentle smile, "and my answer is still the same. No. It was nothing like that."
West shoots me a tired sort of disapproving parental look that makes me chuckle. "Why was he there? Are you two—?"
“No,” I snort into my wine. West is overly protective of me. Now that Grandpa Joe has gone, I don’t mind so much. It is nice to have someone watch out for me.
I glance at him, his blue eyes watching me warily, but there is something else in his eyes also. “Then what was going on?”
I shrug. "It’s a long story.” I pour more wine into my glass and take a sip. “So. What’s the deal with you and Lenic?”
His brow creases and he polishes off his hot coffee. Twirling the mug in his hand, he lets out a heavy exhale. When his gaze meets mine, he smiles, but it doesn’t warm his features. An uneasy feeling starts to spread through my stomach. There is something like festering rage bubbling away in his eyes.
He lifts a shoulder. “You know I’m fighting him in the semi-finals. That’s all,” he says sternly, as if that is that and there is no other possible answer.
“I know, but that looked like more than boxing rivalry. Did something happen between you two?”
The crease in his brow deepens. “Leave it, Flick.” From his tone, I can tell he doesn’t want to discuss the subject further. Another person might have probed deeper, but I respect him enough not to push.
We spend the rest of the night drinking and reminiscing on the good old times we shared with Grandpa Joe. But the entire night I can’t shake off that nagging voice inside my head, the one that keeps swirling thoughts around about West and Lenic. Whatever this drama is between them, it is more than boxing rivalry.
If West won’t tell me, then there is only one other person who can.