PUSHING OPEN THE creaky wooden gate, I cut right along the line of trees, passing Lenic’s black Lexus, and head down the path towards the boat home.
Finishing off my hot cross bun, I check my channel on my mobile phone. The live-streaming video has reached over thirteen million hits in the last week, the number of views ticking up each minute.
I pondered for a day or two on whether or not our little showdown should be taken down. On one hand, it is a tad humiliating, but on the other good hand, a leading celebrity gossip magazine wants to sponsor JUICED. In addition, I created The Tempest playlist, which is fast becoming our most popular one.
Of course, as soon as Lenic stormed out of the studio, I edited the video and blurred out the necessary ‘part’ before someone copied it, and ensuring it stayed kosher within the website guidelines.
Reaching Lenic’s boat, my stomach turns over and over in excitement, as it always does when he is near. I do an external audit using my Mirror app, and quickly sweep a hand down my short white skirt, and check there are no crumbs down my blue-and-white striped crop top.
Climbing over onto the deck, I rap my knuckles on the door. He doesn’t answer and I don’t hear any footsteps thumping through the boat, either. I check my phone. It is nine o’clock in the morning. Maybe he isn’t in. I glance at the handle and shrug, shaking my head when it opens up in my hand.
Does he think he is such a badass that he doesn’t need to secure his home? Fair enough. There isn’t much crime in Stonebrook. It is a quiet coastal town, the kind of place you can pass through without noticing its existence. And I don’t think anyone is stupid enough to break into Lenic’s boat.
Quietly, I head through to the living room, finding it empty. His bedroom door is cracked open by an inch, and when I peek through, I see a leg extended out from underneath a black sheet on the bed. He is sleeping naked. And from what I can see, the sheet only partially covers his body. Dirty place number 669 opens up in my mind and it is beautiful. His sleeping face is a fresh fall of snow and I want to make a footprint.
A sex print.
I feel like a sinful angel entering the gates of Heaven when I glance at his bare arse. I am a little bit in love with it. It is huge, but solid, like you could smack it with a two-by-four and nothing would move or jiggle.
I should cover him up. The digital clock on his nightstand ticks as another minute goes by. Five minutes in and I am still staring at his bare arse, fighting back the temptation to trail my tongue over it. Eventually, I slide my fingers gently over the sheet and slide it over his arse, feeling like I am committing some sort of crime to women everywhere.
I sit on the bed, smoothing my hands over the crisp bed sheet, and consider my options since Lenic doesn’t appear to be waking up any time soon. I think about going home and calling later. I peer down at my nautical-styled outfit. I took two hours trying to look nice and I look … bloody gorgeous. Just one of those days. Clear skin. New shoes. Little bit sexy. I look too good to end it here.
I think about giving him a Felicity Special wake-up call. The part of me that would never, ever do such a thing, manages to get dominion over my internal whore and I remain rooted to the spot.
I dig out the clothes he lent us the night we stayed over from my tote bag and place them on his bed. He turns on his front, the sheet maintaining his modesty, unfortunately, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Impatient to get answers, I decide to wake him up.
“Lenic?” He doesn’t stir.
I glance over at the glass of water on his bedside table. A wicked grin spreads across my face as I pick up the glass and head into the bathroom. I fill it all the way up with water from the little sink and carry it back to his bedroom. At first I flick a few drops and hit his forehead. He scrunches his eyes tight and groans, shifting in his bed. I increase the flow. It dribbles over his forehead, reaching his hairline, running into his eyes, and down his nose and to his mouth, until he lurches upright, sputtering.
"The hell?" If he was functionally awake the protest would have carried more threat, but the force is lost by the groggy break in his voice. He runs his hands through his wet hair, slicking it to his head, and wipes his face with the back of his arm. "What the hell?” he growls. “What’d you do that for?"
I stand by his bed, coolly observant, the cup of water still in hand. "You weren’t waking up," I put simply.
“There are other ways to wake a man."
I watch Lenic strip the wet pillowcase from the pillow. “I should have given you the special,” I mumble under my breath.
“What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
He looks at me. “What’s worrying me here … is you appear to be sober.”
"I assure you, you weren't responding to voice and shoves,” I lie. “And this glass was right here." I shrug innocently.
He shoots me a sideways glance. “I didn’t hear you. I was sleeping,” he grits out, sitting on the edge of his bed expectantly.
Angry Lenic is beautiful.
“Are you saying I didn’t try?” I mock offense.
“I’m beginning to suspect it, now, yeah. Pretty sure I drank most of that water last night … What if I was thinking?”
My lips curl upwards, cognizant to the double meaning. “I would get my camera and film it. My viewers would love—”
He gets out of bed.
Towering over me, goose bumps pinch all over my body. “Do you think a lot about me thinking?” His voice is raspy, commanding me to speak the truth or be punished. I freeze, overcome with nervousness.
I bite my lip as my gaze roams up his muscular legs, pausing at his gorgeous penis. I let myself have a good long look before I continue my personal porn moment, and use every indentation in his abs as a roadmap to his chest.
His eyes centre on mine. “Like what you see?”
I softly clear my dry throat. “No,” I say, a little too quickly.
“No? Well, thanks for the boost to my self-esteem.”
“I mean yes. It’s good.”
It’s good?
His eyes rake over my form and I stagger under his gaze. “I definitely like what I see.” He fingers the end of my top. “Is this for my benefit?” His mouth twitches, his gaze becoming more assessing. “Because it’s doing what I know you want it to do.” I shake my head, and then nod slightly.
He is in control of me.
And I am getting off on it.
He slowly trails one finger down my neck and stops just short of my cleavage. My cheeks flush and I feel like a born-again virgin as arousal swarms through my veins and settles between my legs. His gaze fixes me in place, and then he leans in, our lips close enough to share more than words.
I let myself feel that body, so warm and visceral, move above mine, let it grind against me and fill me up with want and passion and lust.
I wait for him to kiss me.
My breath hitches in my throat, and my eyes shut in longing, my lips parting just a little. The slightest stirring of his heated breath touches my lips, and my body begs for his physical contact.
Every second feels like an eternity, and the suspense of his touch intensifies the heat between my legs and causes my heart to thunder in my ears. It burns me up just thinking about it. The heat of his mouth, his lips, the rush of his body touching mine, the naked thrill of his skin … I don’t know how long I stand, waiting, licking my lower lip, moaning a little. This is not the reason why I came here, but he is a virtuoso in sexual dominance.
I can’t deny him.
“Felicity…” My eyes flutter open, ready for his lips, his taste. I swallow hard, but he doesn’t kiss me. My tease has nothing on his, and I don’t understand why he is doing this to me now. He damn well knows how addicted I am to his body — he sure as hell doesn’t have to use it against me in every damned circumstance. “Can I put some clothes on?”
I realise I am standing in front of his closet.
I close my mouth, biting my lip. I can tell by his deep dimples he is amused at my expense. I flush like the virgin I am becoming.
“Yes. Yes, of course … Go ahead and cover it. I mean, cover your … It’s quite hot outside…”
I brush past his faultless body to give him access to his damn closet. Stifling yet another shiver, I watch him grab a pair of jeans from a hanger.
His face alone could give me an orgasm, I think, while I watch him pull on a pair of briefs and his jeans, and I find myself divided. Do I spend time looking at his unrivalled upper body? Or do I bask in the glory of his this-was-made-for-Felicity-to-sit-on face? In all honestly, as much as I love his gorgeous biceps and his eight-pack, his face wins every time.
“Is this holy water?” he asks, dipping his fingers into the glass I am holding and flicks water on my face.
I back up and laugh. “Holy water?”
“You’re a vampire, Felicity. Once you’re in, you think you can come in any time."
I smile. “And I’m surprised you’re still in bed. I expected you to be awake for four a.m. press-ups.”
“Five a.m. Cross upped my training.” He lands on the palms of his hands and starts doing press-ups. I think about him doing a press-me instead. Press me down and fuck me. “Last night felt like a goddamn war zone. I was trying to clock in some much needed sleep.” He switches to one-hand press-ups. He is a slave to his routines and I am all for it. The sight of every single sinew, muscle, and vein straining in his arms, literally cause me to feel faint.
He gets up, rolls his wrists, and slides on his silver Rolex watch before vacating the room. Setting the glass down, there is a bounce in my step as I follow his trail, chewing on my bottom lip as I get a full view of how those damn jeans hug his sensational arse.
When he enters the bathroom and shuts the door, I amble around the living room, noticing something I missed the first time I was here. No photographs of family or friends hang on the walls or sit on end tables.
How strange...
My phone pings with a text message from Delphine.
Delphine: Get out of his boat. x
She must have read the note I left her.
Me: I’d rather he put his big boat in me ;) x
Delphine: TMI. X
Me: What girl doesn’t love to play with hot seamen? x
Delphine: Behave. Don’t forget to buy milk x
I smile to myself, picking up the Bloke magazine on the table by the sofa, and leaf back and forth through it. A minute later, Lenic comes out looking so damn handsome in a black collar shirt that strains against his muscles.
I glance back at the magazine in my hands and laugh when I read out the article heading, “‘Get to know your penis.’” I shoot him a look. “Lenic.” I chuckle softly.
He grunts. “I read it for the nutrition and fitness guides, alright.”
“Sure…”
Thanking and declining my box of hot cross buns, because they don’t meet his dietary requirements and daily macro goals, he kindly offers to make me breakfast. I also decline his offer, opting to eat something sugary instead of ‘proper’ food, like I always do.
It is a beautiful Sunday morning so we sit outside to eat breakfast on the deck. I kick off my sandals and glance across at him. “You are the only guy to have made me breakfast that I didn’t have to sleep with first.” He makes a non-committal grunt and clenches his jaw with jealousy.
Moving the conversation on, I tell him about the brand-new Mini Cooper I am buying in light of my recent success. His response is fair. “Feels like you’re whoring me out and earning cash for it. And I’m not benefiting.” He chugs down his protein shake.
“My grandpa told me once that you shouldn’t go through life worrying about money. It’s not good for your health.”
“You profiting from my humiliation isn’t good for my health.”
I smile. “Do you really want payment?”
His lips form an amused slant, his eyes twinkling with something dirty. “Maybe.”
I will pay you in so many different ways, Lenic, in so many different positions.
After we finish our breakfast over light conversation, he brings up two mugs of hot coffee, and I fish into my tote bag for my bag of sugar.
He shoots me a look as he sits down. “You’re kidding, right?”
I exhale loudly. “Last time I stayed at Hotel Le Boat, you only had something called Shit—”
“Stevia.”
“—to sweeten my coffee.” I grimace at the memory. “I’m grateful for everything you did, but honestly, it tasted like the sour intent of you trying to kill me.”
“It’s better for you than that processed stuff.” He points at my white-powdered drug. “You seem to have an addiction to sugar. It’ll harm your body.”
“My body looks good, doesn’t it?”
He inspects me, then nods. “Something tells me, you know how good you look.” I smile at his unerring observation. “Still. It’s more to do with good health than good looks.”
“You are lost in all this sky and water, Lenic.” He gives me a long look, trying to make sense of what I just said. “It is bad for me, yes, but it’s beautiful.” I pour my usual three heaped teaspoons of sugar into my coffee and stir it with the spoon. “The way I figure it, it’s our vices that make getting out of bed worth it. You shouldn’t forget to take the time out to enjoy the beauty in life. Sugar-based drinks and desserts are what I enjoy, so I eat them pretty much all of the time instead of what I’m supposed to eat. What’s the point in living if you don’t allow yourself to enjoy … living?”
He settles back into his seat, his eyes working me over as if in contemplation. He chugs his coffee down, eyeing me with every swallow. The coffee is extremely hot. Any other person would scold their mouths. Even the way he drinks hot coffee is sexy.
“You worked hard to get where you are?” he asks. “With your online video … career thing.”
“It really does baffle you how I make a living, doesn’t it?” He nods, smiling. “I worked my fingers to the bone. My grandpa told me, ‘The world is your oyster. Step up and take your pearl.’ So I did. I love my life. I love getting out of bed. I love the work I do. I love that I’m not in a 9-5 job serving coffee to a man or woman who are old enough to serve it themselves. How many people can say the same?”
“Not many.”
“And it isn’t luck. People assume I’m lucky to do what I do. I’m not. And it isn’t.”
“That’s something we can agree on.”
“You agree? With me?” My surprise must show on my face.
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “A miracle, huh?” He leans forwards in his chair. “I see it like this: luck doesn’t get in the ring and fight hard to win that belt. I do.”
“Exactly.” I cross my legs and lean forwards. “And how did you get there?”
“Hard graft. Determination. A little faith.”
I nod my head in agreement. “I believe if you truly want something, and you’re willing to do whatever it takes, you can achieve the impossible.”
I smile wide, the salty breeze ruffling my hair a little. It feels good not to clash with him for once, and I really do feel passionately about this subject. “It wasn’t easy, but Delphine and I worked our cute little butts off to get where we are today. I never take it for granted though. I owe a lot of it to my loyal subscribers. They’re the best.”
“You like being in the public eye?”
“Yes, I do. I think I was born to be in front of the camera.” I flash him a winning smile. “It’s only fair I share this beautiful face to the world, right?”
“That’s very commendable,” he chuckles.
“I should be asking you the same thing.”
“About sharing my face? I’d like to think the public care more about what I do with these hands than how pretty my face is,” he laughs.
They care about both, Lenic. Both.
“Being famous doesn't bother me, but don't care for it either,” he adds.
Lenic is only England’s greatest icon. You’d have to be under the age of … I don't know, dead, if you don’t know who he is.
“Last time I checked, you had over six million likes on Facebook. You must care a little.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “I've got Facebook?”
“Yes,” I laugh. “How can you not know?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Well, how about that…? Cross must've set it up. Probably his way of getting the girls’ phone numbers.”
I chuckle softly with him, enjoying his company, and the slight morning breeze on my face. The June air is warm with a faint chirping of birds from the woods nearby, and the conversation keeps flowing. I feel at ease with him, and there is never any awkward silence. It feels natural, like I have breakfasted on his boat for years, rather than one morning.
A little green fly lands on my knee, near a long thin white scar. I got it falling off my bike as a teenager. I gently blow away the little insect.
“Nice scar,” Lenic says. My head shoots up. The way he is looking at me makes me feel nervous. He stares into my eyes until my body hums, and then leans back, hands behind his head. “Your scar. It’s sexy.”
I still for a second, surprised. “Sorry … it’s just when someone sees my scar, the first thing they do is ask how it happened. Like it’s a big deal. Like I died and went to Hell to get it.”
“It's hot.”
I smile, my head crumpling under the strain of the compliment, and I have to look down at my coffee mug. My skin is so hot I can hear it sizzling.
I stand up to stretch my legs and lean against the boat rail, glancing into the water on tiptoes, wondering if my bracelet is hidden at the bottom, or if it has been dragged out, lost at sea.
I pivot to face him. “What made you choose to live on a boat?” He shrugs his shoulders and moves to stand by my side, his gaze suddenly taking on that far-off quality as he stares across the sun-kissed water. “Please don’t misunderstand me. This view is breathtaking. But, it doesn’t seem like a permanent way to live.”
I glance at him to find him staring up at the sky, but I can tell from his troubled expression it isn’t the bright white clouds chaining down his thoughts. He lets out a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Don’t know what I’m doing with my life, to be honest. The winner of the Road to Redemption championship will get the chance to be signed with a top-dog American sports agent. There’s a million pound deal on the line. But it’ll mean moving to America.”
I stand up a little straighter, frowning. “You’re leaving Stonebrook?”
He pauses. “It’s a pretty big deal to pass up.”
“Yeah, of course … that’s great news.” I watch a pair of seagulls take flight over to the right, and wonder why West never mentioned anything about America. “I mean … of course. All that fame and fortune … who would turn that opportunity down?”
Silence stirs the air, the subject of the competition reminding me of the real reason I came to visit. I open my mouth, then pause to steady myself, feeling a faint film of sweat clinging to my skin all of a sudden.
“What is this feud between you and West?” My question catches him unprepared. I wait, watching something change in his eyes, a hard edge that hadn’t been there before, and I wonder about the layers that are concealed within him. “Please don’t be evasive and say it’s because you two are fighting in the ring soon. I know there is something else, something that happened between you two.”
His expression flat-lines and sombreness settles, offsetting the effects of sunshine falling upon us both. His whole body goes rigid, and I can see a vein pulsing in his neck. Guessing from the way he is reacting, he isn’t going to let me in the loop.
I scoff lightly in frustration. “Were you two in a secret relationship that ended in a bad break-up?” I suggest, like a last ditch effort. Only silence greets my bumbled question.
I try to fill the silence but the next response on my lips dies — the sarcastic and clever thing I want to say, that I can no longer remember — because Lenic’s mouth is over mine, and the short distance between our faces has been bridged. I feel the bruising force of a blistering kiss; there is no finesse beyond pure lust that takes less than a second to react to. It only takes half a second to react to.
There really is no moderation with Lenic. He is all hot or all cold and now … now he is searing hot, so damn hot. And I feel the heat from his mouth shift into my core, and I am quickly forgetting about the reason why I came here, and only thinking about how his mouth is all over me, and how I want him to rip my clothes off and take me … and bloody hell…
He kisses me like he’s trying to break into every inch of me; bare his soul to me, like it’s a secret between us. His tongue invades my mouth like a Royal Marine, all armed and dangerous. It isn’t tender or merciful, in the least.
My hands roam around his hair, and when I tug hard at the long length on top, I hear his sharp intake of breath. When he pulls back, I draw in a stuttering breath.
“You’re a fruitcake but you're driving me crazy,” he groans out, the throaty tone of his voice sending a shiver down my spine, despite the scorching summer heat.
For a fleeting moment, he seemingly drinks in the entirety of my face, the full length of his body still pressed against mine, and the primal need in his eyes threaten this isn’t the end.
He is going to kiss me again or die.
I have a split second to stop him, but I’m too frozen by shock to make my mouth move. And then he captures my lips again with his, surprisingly, in a gentle kiss. Something kindles inside my heart, something urgent and unrelenting, and suddenly we are kissing like long-lost lovers, deep and firm, with no sight of an end. I’ve kissed before, but not like this, not with such tender desire. I am realising I have never been kissed the way a man should kiss a woman. When he releases me enough to come up for air, I have to hold on to him or fall.
I hear him breathe out a throaty groan, treading backwards, away from me, as if he doesn’t trust himself to stop at a kiss. I am left dumbfounded on the spot. His kiss had the power to touch my clit.
It was … magic.
My skin is flushed, tingling in the open air, and I feel as though I haven’t breathed for a lifetime. I try to speak, but all that comes out is a throaty sigh.
My nails dig into my palms and I will myself to stand there and wait. Say nothing. Just breathe. That, in and of itself, is made more difficult by my racing pulse, until it seems like all I can hear is the rush of my own blood in my veins and the frantic hammering of my heart.
“What was that for?” I ask quietly, my eyes searching his dark gleaming ones.
His lopsided grin melts my heart. “Payment accepted.”