Chapter 10
David managed to find fault with everything that evening: my cooking, the clothes I’d packed for him, the way I’d ironed his shirt and pants; probably even the amount of air I was inconveniently breathing.
I tried to think if he’d always been so difficult. I honestly couldn’t remember.
He was particularly annoyed because I refused to come to bed with him, insisting instead on finishing up with my interview notes. During his bombastic huffing, I realized that he didn’t have a coping mechanism for dealing with my refusal—he wasn’t used to it and he didn’t know how to handle it. The thought was oddly liberating.
When he left the next morning, he didn’t even ask how I was planning to spend my weekend. Not that ‘screwing the brains out of my young lover in your bed’ would have figured high on my list of responses to that particular question, but I did think he might have pretended to take an interest.
I’d had one brief text from Sebastian simply saying that he was looking forward to the weekend. He hadn’t answered when I’d asked if he was okay.
I spent the day writing and also took a moment to look up possible photography classes I could take at NYU. Carl Winters had praised my snaps—it made me wonder if I could take that side of my work further.
During the afternoon, Donna telephoned to invite me to supper. I appreciated her kindness but I wasn’t going to be as alone as she thought. I simply told her I was enjoying the peace and quiet—she understood at once, checking only that I’d be at the annual Base picnic on Sunday.
I felt strangely nervous. I hadn’t seen Sebastian since yesterday’s ugly scene; it was also the first time that we’d been able to plan to be together for more than a few hours.
It was nearly midnight when I heard his light tap on the backdoor. I’d been dozing on the couch while I waited for him to finish his shift at the country club.
I made sure the kitchen light was off before I unlocked the door.
“Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.”
We stood staring at each other: he frowned slightly.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
I stood back to allow him to pass, then I closed the door and locked it again. When I turned around he was still staring at me.
“I want to kiss you,” he said, sounding uncertain.
“Do you?”
I didn’t know why there was so much tension between us.
“Caro, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing: just kiss me.”
He hesitated for less than a second then slowly walked forward. He held the palm of his hand against my cheek and lowered his face to me. He kissed me twice, his mouth lightly touching mine, then he wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned down to rest his forehead against mine.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
I smiled and felt my body relax.
“Have you?”
“Yes.” He pulled me in more tightly. “I’m really sorry about yesterday, about…what my mom said.”
I straightened up abruptly and his hands dropped to his sides as he gazed at me warily. We needed to have this conversation—now.
“Does she know? About you and me?”
He shook his head vehemently. “Of course not!”
I looked into his eyes. “Because she said some things that made me think she did.”
Sebastian looked horrified.
“What did she say?”
I shrugged.
“Please!”
I let out a long sigh, closing my eyes against the unpleasant memory.
“She said I’d been ‘flaunting’ myself and that I wasn’t ‘pure’, that she knew better. Sebastian, what does she know? She must know something or why would she have put it like that?”
He ran his hands over his hair looking angry and upset, but stayed resolutely silent.
“For God’s sake, tell me!”
My voice was louder than I’d intended.
He blinked and looked away. “I promise she doesn’t know anything, Caro. It’s just that…”
He paused.
“Just what?”
“Just some shit my dad was talking. It’s nothing.”
“Tell me!” I said forcefully.
Sebastian looked at me angrily.
“My dad said you were a hot piece of tail and that you wouldn’t be such an uptight bitch if your husband had been fucking you properly.”
I felt sick.
I walked to the kitchen sink, and leaned over it.
“Is that…is that what people think of me?” I murmured.
“No! God no! My father is an asshole, Caro. No one thinks that. Mitch, Bill, Ches—they all think you’re great. I mean, yeah, they think you’re gorgeous, who wouldn’t? But I promise they’ve never ever said anything like that.”
I straightened up slowly and turned around to face him. He was standing with his arms outstretched as if he wanted to touch me but was afraid to.
“Are you hungry?”
He was confused by the sudden change of topic, away from my self-flagellation.
“Hungry?”
“Yes. Did you eat at the club tonight?”
His hands fell to his side and for a second he closed his eyes tiredly, before walking toward me and taking me into his arms.
I tried to resist, still raw from his father’s words.
“Caro, don’t push me away.”
He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and held me.
“I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry I told you what that asshole said. Hell, you should hear what he calls me sometimes…well, maybe not. I don’t listen anymore. All that matters is that we’re together, okay?”
I didn’t answer.
“Okay?” he said again, more forcefully.
I took a deep breath.
“Okay,” I agreed, quietly.
He kissed my hair and smiled down at me.
We stood there for some minutes, just enjoying a moment of peace.
“So, are you hungry?” I said at last. “Did you eat tonight?”
He rolled his eyes at me and I had to smile.
“No, we were slammed—I didn’t have time.”
“I’ll fix you something to eat: linguini, pesto and pine nuts okay?”
“You don’t have to cook for me, Caro,” he said frowning slightly.
“I want to. Besides, you haven’t eaten…and you’ll need your energy.”
I grinned up at him and he gave in with good grace.
“Well, in that case, yeah, I’m starving.”
He pulled out a chair and sat at the table watching me.
“So, how was work? Anything interesting happen today?”
I was determined that we would have some normal conversation.
“I did that First Aid training certificate this morning. It was all stuff I’d done at the surf lifesaving club, so it was pretty easy. I’ll be mostly working poolside with Ches from now on.”
“You don’t like waiting tables?”
“Not so much: I’d rather be outside.”
“Are you sure it’s not just a chance to impress bored, horny Navy wives with your gorgeous body?”
“There’s only one woman I want to impress,” he said, returning my smile.
“How’s that going for you?”
“Well, it was a bit touch-and-go for a while, but she’s making me dinner, so I guess it’s going okay. How was your day?”
“Good. I finished another article and have planned out three more. I was afraid I might run out of material, but I’ve got enough ideas to write a whole book, I think. Oh, and I looked up some photography courses at NYU. Have you decided which classes you want to take in the Spring?”
When he didn’t answer, I looked up from the chopping board—Sebastian was sitting, rocking back on the chair, a huge smile on his face.
“What?”
“I love it when you talk like that?”
It was my turn to be confused.
“Like what?”
“When you’re talking about stuff we’re going to do together: about our future.”
I dropped the torn basil leaves and looked directly at him.
“Sebastian, I didn’t have a future until you got me thinking about one. God knows how long I’d have carried on drifting. But you have to promise me something…”
“Anything: I’ll promise you anything.”
I took a deep breath.
“I want you to promise me that when you…when you start thinking about a different future…without me…”
His expression changed and his eyes darkened with anger.
“Jesus, Caro! How can you say that to me?”
“No, please! Let me finish. We can’t ignore our age difference and one day, when it starts to…change things, I’ll understand. I don’t want us to sink into indifference and dislike. Been there, done that. When you decide to go, just…just give me some notice. That’s all I ask.”
He stared back.
I was glad I’d said it—I’d needed to say it, but Sebastian looked really angry.
“Caro, don’t you understand how I feel about you? I love you: you’re all I want. I want a future with you—I want our lives to be together. I’m not a kid—I’ve had to grow up fast. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now. And I want to take care of you.”
“I’m just saying that I’ll understand when that changes.”
“Don’t patronize me, Caro,” he said, sounding even angrier. “You think I don’t know what it means to make this commitment, but I do. You think I’m giving up everything and that I’ll regret it later, but you’re wrong. I’ve seen what a bad marriage is like; I’ve seen how miserable my parents have been. But when I’m with you, I feel…so incredibly happy, like the world is worth it after all. I know how rare that is; I’ve seen how rare that is. Don’t dismiss how I feel just because…just because I’m younger than you. You’re beautiful and kind and talented and you have a gift…people are drawn to you—and you don’t even see it. And it’s just one of the things I love about you.”
I sighed, feeling his anguish in every word.
“And what about children, Sebastian?”
He blinked several times.
“What about children?”
“Well, do you really want to be saddled with children when you’re twenty? No, I don’t imagine you do. Well, what about when you’re in your thirties and you like the idea of having a couple of kids running around the house and I’ll be in my late forties and too old.”
He shrugged, trying to look casual but I could tell that he was rattled.
“If you want kids we can have kids.”
I smiled sadly and shook my head.
“It doesn’t work like that, Sebastian: we’d both have to want them—and time isn’t on our side. Do you see what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I see what you’re saying—and I see what you’re doing: you’re trying to think of every reason under the sun why we shouldn’t be together. But none of that matters—if you want to be with me.” He took a deep breath. “Do you, Caro?”
I sighed. I wanted him more than air, but I had to make him think, really think, about what we were doing.
“Sebastian, how long do you think these physical feelings will last? Six months? A year? Two, if we’re lucky. And then what? What about when you make friends at college and you introduce them to your older girlfriend? What about…”
But he interrupted me.
“None of that matters. And I think you’re wrong anyway—I can’t imagine not wanting you—not ever. You’re smart and funny and I enjoy being with you even when we don’t…when we’re not…making love. When I was eight years old, I used to imagine that you were my girlfriend and that we’d run away together. And then you left and I’d lost my best friend, too. I used to dream about you coming back. As I got older, I…I began to understand the…the nature of my feelings for you better. I didn’t think dreams could come true—but they have for me, Caro. Why are you so scared? I mean, forget all that legal bullshit…why do you keep trying to…I don’t know, make me change my mind? What do you think I’ve got here that I wouldn’t give up in a heartbeat to be with you? There’s nothing to keep me here. I’ll go anywhere, do anything to be with you.” He sighed. “I know you have more to lose and I hate, hate that I’m responsible for that, but…do you want to be with me? Forever. Sempre.”
I didn’t have any words of opposition or defiance left in me. The future was unwritten: maybe one day I would be too old for him and he would leave me—it seemed inevitable. But wouldn’t two or three years of love be worth having, regardless? I knew my marriage was over: it had been over for a long time before I’d met Sebastian—I’d just been too much of a coward to admit it.
Was I prepared to take a chance on the future…a chance on love? I looked into his lovely face, tension and fear and anxiety holding him rigid. I thought again about the question he’d asked me: did I want to be with him?
“Yes. I do.”
He exhaled deeply as if he’d been holding his breath.
“That’s all that matters.”
He pushed his chair back and walked over, draping his arms around me. He rested his chin on my shoulder and nestled his face in my neck, his breath warm on my skin.
We stood like that for some moments, allowing the fear and tension to drain away.
“You’ll have to let go if I’m going to finish making you supper,” I said gently.
I felt his smile as he tightened his grip momentarily and then let his hands slide away. He sat back at the table and grinned at me.
“It’s good to know you want food more than you want sex,” I couldn’t help commenting.
He laughed. “It’s about even at the moment, but you told me that I’d need my energy so I’m just following your advice.”
I loved to see him like this, happy and relaxed, teasing me. I felt guilty for causing the tension in the first place, but relieved we’d talked it through—for now, at least.
I finished making the pesto and served up the linguini with toasted pine nuts and freshly grated parmesan.
“Aren’t you having some?”
I shook my head. “I had mine hours ago.”
“It smells great.”
He ate rapidly, shoveling in huge mouthfuls. He was clearly ravenous. I thought it was rather poor that the club hadn’t ensured that their young staff had had a proper meal break.
“What’s this photography course that you’re interested in?” he said, between mouthfuls.
“When I met up with Carl Winters at City Beat he really liked my photos of Base life. I thought I might try and take a course in photojournalism. What do you think?”
“That sounds great. I haven’t seen your photos—I’d really like to.”
“Would you?”
He rolled his eyes at me as he chomped through another enormous mouthful.
“Okay, well, I’ll show you later if you like.”
“Later, like tomorrow,” he said assertively.
A thrill of anticipation ran through me at his words. Yes, later.
“I’m going to have a glass of wine. Would you like one?”
“Isn’t that illegal,” he smirked at me. “Plying a minor with liquor!”
I glanced over my shoulder at him as I retrieved the bottle of red wine I’d opened earlier.
“If I’m going to go to Hell, I may as well do it thoroughly.”
He laughed. “I’d rather have a beer, if you’ve got one.”
I pulled a face. “Beer doesn’t go with pesto. Here, try this.”
I passed him a small glass of red wine.
He tasted it hesitantly then smiled. “That’s really good: what is it?”
“It’s a ten year old Barolo. It’s better when it’s not too fruity. Most people like the oakier-tasting ones but I guess I get my old-fashioned ideas from my dad.”
Sebastian looked impressed.
“Do you know a lot about wine?”
“A bit. Well, only what Papa taught me. His family used to grow Moscato grapes.” I shrugged. “Maybe they still do.”
“Let’s find out!” he said, his eyes sparkling with adventure, “when we take that road trip.”
“Can you ride a motorcycle?”
“Sure! Well, I don’t have a completion certificate from the motorcycle training course, but I took a few lessons, and I’ve ridden Ches’s. It’s cool.”
I saw that he’d cleared his plate and was eyeing the fruit bowl.
“Help yourself.”
“Thanks!”
I stood up and carried away his empty dishes. I liked listening to music when I washed up so I put on a CD of my favorite arias.
“Puccini?”
I smiled. “Of course. Do you know this opera?”
Sebastian shook his head. “I recognize it but I can’t remember what it’s from.”
“It’s ‘O Mio Babbino Caro’ from Gianni Schicchi.”
“Caro! Like your name, except that’s the male way of saying it, isn’t it?”
“I don’t mind: I like that you’re the only person who calls me that.”
His answering smile was huge.
“Papa used to call me ‘mia cara’.”
The music swirled around us and I was swept up in a deluge of memories.
“What’s this song about?” asked Sebastian after a couple of minutes.
“It’s an aria sung by a girl to her beloved father, begging him to let her marry the boy she loves.”
“It sounds very Romeo and Juliet.”
“Yes, except it’s a comedy.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, right!”
I laughed at him. “It is!”
He listened to the music a bit more. “I can pick out some of the words—something about buying a ring?”
“That’s right: and if he doesn’t let her, she’s threatening to throw herself off the Ponte Vecchio bridge.”
“Sounds a bit over the top.”
“Well, it is opera.”
“I’d like to buy you a ring.”
He sounded so serious I turned around from the sink. Sebastian was staring at me.
“I want to marry you, Caro.”
I gasped and dropped the glass I was holding. It slid down into the soapy water but didn’t shatter.
“Sebastian…”
“I mean it. I want to marry you. Will you, Caro? Will you marry me?”
I shook my head. “Sebastian…I can’t talk about this now. I am married—to David. And anyway, I wouldn’t do that to you—you’re too…”
“Too young? Is that what you’re going to say, because if you are, don’t bother.”
He rested his head in his hands then looked up again.
“In just over three months, I’ll be 18. I could enlist and a few months later I could be sent to the Middle East. I’ll be old enough to fight, to die for my country, but you don’t think I’ll be old enough to marry you?”
He didn’t sound angry, just determined.
My brain had ceased to function—I simply carried on staring at him.
He looked at me accusingly.
“You met David before you were 18—and you got married almost straightaway.”
“Yes, and what a disaster that’s been,” I said, bitterly.
Sebastian looked like I’d slapped him.
I immediately regretted my words.
“I’m sorry, but…”
“But what?”
“Sebastian, we’ve been together for just a couple of weeks—under the most intense circumstances. Can’t we just…spend some time together? Get to know each other properly. Sometimes I feel that we hardly know each other at all.”
“I love you and I want to marry you. What else do you want to know?”
“Everything! What’s your favorite book? What’s your favorite movie? What was your best subject in school? Who was your first crush? What CD have you got in your player at home right now? What do you eat for breakfast? Do you prefer football or baseball? Were you a jock at school? Did you ever date a cheerleader? Do you remember your dreams? What’s your favorite color? Have you ever cried watching a movie? I don’t know—everything!”
He let out a deep sigh.
“Okay, I get it. I’m rushing you.”
I frowned.
“That’s not it—well, not entirely. It’s just…we’ve done everything backward.”
I walked over to him and laid my hand on his chest. “I want to know everything: inside as well as out. I want to know you.”
He held my hand and played with my fingers but he still couldn’t look at me. He was really upset. I guess being turned down when you ask someone to marry you would get you that way. I’d hurt him—and he was the last person in the whole world that I wanted to hurt.
I pulled my hand free and held his face until he had to look at me.
“Sebastian, I feel like you’ve woken me from a dream. But I barely know who I am, let alone…I’m sorry I hurt you. I would never want to do that.”
I rested my lips on his, two, three times, trying to convey a message with my light touch.
He pulled away and looked at me.
“Old Yeller.”
“Excuse me?”
“That was a movie that made me cry…when he had to shoot his dog.”
“How old were you when you saw it?”
“Ten, maybe. I’m not sure. I always hoped we’d have a dog, but Mom said they made too much mess. Do you like dogs?”
“Yes. When I was growing up a neighbor had a little Jack Russell terrier called ‘Tano’. He said the name meant ‘number five’ but I don’t remember what language that was. She was so sweet. I cried for three days when she died. Dad wanted to buy me a puppy but Mom wouldn’t let him, so I got a goldfish instead.”
“A goldfish?!”
I grinned at him. “Yes, not quite the same thing! I called him ‘Splash’—not very original.”
“We could get a dog.”
“What, and take him on the back of our motorcycle through Italy?!”
“Yeah! A biker dog! That would be awesome!”
I laughed.
“What’s your favorite movie?” he said.
“I can only think of animal movies now. I don’t know, ‘White Fang’ maybe or ‘Call of the Wild’. Oh, but I love ‘Gone with the Wind’.”
He pulled a face.
“What was the last movie that made you cry?”
“I cry at most movies. Um…‘Edward Scissorhands’—that always makes me cry.”
“Who was your first crush? It had better be a movie star though or I might have to hunt him down.”
“Better get your gun then!”
“Why?”
“Anthony Kiedis.”
“Who?”
“The vocalist from the Red Hot Chili Peppers.”
“You like rock?”
“I like all sorts of music.”
He laughed happily.
“God, I love you!”
I couldn’t help smiling back at him. “What?”
“Just when I think I know you, you surprise the shit out of me.”
I sat on his lap and put my arms around his neck.
“Okay, your turn: favorite book?”
“Heart of Darkness.”
“Ugh! Why that? It’s a horrible story!”
“I guess because it shows how…how far a man can go when he’s in a place without limits.”
“Hmm, I don’t think you’ll turn me into a Conrad fan. Okay, first girl you ever kissed?”
He reddened and looked down.
“Go on, tell me. I won’t be jealous. Well, maybe a bit.”
“Brenda Wiseman.”
“And how old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
I couldn’t help thinking that wasn’t so very long ago for him. And then my overactive brain imagined him making out with her and…
“What happened to her?”
“Nothing.”
“Well what happened with her?”
He shook his head, clearly embarrassed. I was intrigued.
“Come on, tell me. It can’t be that bad.”
“We dated for a while…”
“And…”
“We broke up.”
“When was this? When did you break up with her?”
He shifted uncomfortably beneath me.
“Four months ago.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.
“You went out with her for two years?”
He shook his head. “No, not…about ten months.”
“Oh.”
I stood up and he looked at me helplessly.
“I’m sorry, Caro…”
“No, don’t apologize. I’m just…surprised. I got the impression that you hadn’t…”
“We didn’t sleep together.”
“Why not? Most teenage boys…” the words burned my throat, “most teenage boys would have been desperate to…”
He shifted uncomfortably.
“We were going to—then I heard that she’d been screwing Jack—that guy you met once.” He shook his head. “But I’m glad I didn’t—with her. I didn’t love her. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved: it’s always been you.”
I found it hard to take in. Where did his certainty come from?
“Caro?”
“I’m okay. I’m just…surprised.” There was that word again. “What would you have done if I hadn’t come back?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
But I knew. One day he would have met someone his own age, someone special, and he’d have fallen in love; he’d have had a chance of a normal relationship. And if I hadn’t met him? I’d still be sleepwalking through my life.
But I had come back and we had met again. And I couldn’t go back to the way I was: I didn’t want to.
I held out my hand to him.
“Come on, it’s late. Let’s go to bed.”
We walked up the stairs, hand-in-hand. He stood awkwardly in the doorway while I turned on the small bedside light.
“You want to use the bathroom first?”
“Okay.”
“You can use my toothbrush if you want. The blue one.”
He fidgeted for a few seconds then went into the bathroom. I turned down the sheets, wondering if it would have been better if we’d gone to the guest room. But then again, what difference would that really make?
We swapped over and as I cleaned my teeth with the damp brush, I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror—the face was familiar but that was about all. Everything else had changed.
When I came out Sebastian was sitting on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed.
“By the way, where do your parents think you are tonight?”
He blinked and looked up; clearly his thoughts had been somewhere else entirely.
“They won’t notice I’m not there. They’ve probably passed out drunk again.”
He sneered the words.
“Ches dropped me off at home and I jogged over here—that’s why I was a bit late. I didn’t want him to know where…he’s picking me up at 10.30 AM, so I’ll have to be back by then.” He sighed. “That doesn’t seem very long from now.”
“What if your parents see your room is empty and that your bed hasn’t been slept in?”
I felt a bit panicky at the thought.
Sebastian gave a half-smile. “I didn’t make my bed this morning: if they look in—which they won’t—they’ll just assume they missed me. Honestly, they won’t notice.” He scowled. “They never notice anything about me anyway—except my fucking hair.”
Unconsciously, he ran his hands over his head as he spoke.
“But it got us here, didn’t it,” I said quietly.
He looked at me seriously and nodded slowly. “Are you sorry?”
I shook my head. “No. You make me feel…alive.”
I leaned down and kissed him—a soft, gentle, loving kiss. He responded immediately and passionately, kissing me until we were both breathing hard.
“I…I have to go downstairs,” he said, standing up.
“What? Why?”
“I left the condoms in my jacket pocket,” he mumbled, embarrassed.
“Oh, well, I meant to say something about that.”
He flashed a nervous glance at me.
“I told you I was going to start taking birth control pills—and I did, I have. We don’t need to use condoms anymore.”
“Really? You’re sure?”
I smiled. “Yes, no more playing hunt the lost condom.”
He laughed softly. “I kinda liked that game.”
“Well, I didn’t. Anyway, we’re good to go,” I said, arching one eyebrow. “Oh, but I should mention…I don’t know if this will bother you…but I got my period. That’s why I know it’s safe for us to stop using condoms. Does it bother you? I mean, will it bother you?”
I felt suddenly anxious—we were reaching for a new level of intimacy and I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be.
“Can you? I mean, is it okay to…while you’re…? I don’t want to hurt you…”
I stroked his cheek. He looked so worried.
“Yes, we can still make love. I was just checking that you were okay with…a little bit of blood.”
His eyes were huge. “I want to make love to you, Caro. God, I want to.”
“Then I think you’re wearing too many clothes.”
He responded immediately, kicking his sneakers off his bare feet and tearing his t-shirt over his head. I thought I heard one of the seams rip.
“Hey, it’s okay! We’ve got all night. I want to take it slow with you.”
He looked confused for a moment, then smiled shyly.
“Okay.”
I pushed him down so he was sitting on the edge of the bed again, and sat astride him. His arms encircled my waist, pulling me toward him.
“Mmm,” I said, nuzzling his chin as I wrapped my arms around his neck, “this is my happy place.”
Using my teeth, I tugged gently on his earlobe and was rewarded with a soft moan. I let my fingers ripple across his back, enjoying the feel of his skin and the tautness of his defined muscles. I used my fingertips to massage him lightly and he groaned again.
“What’s your favorite color?” I whispered against his neck.
“What? Um…blue. No, green. Red—maybe.”
“That sounded definite! So, football or baseball? Or maybe basketball? Hockey?”
“Basket…base… um…”
“Are you finding it difficult to concentrate?” I teased him.
“Caro, I can barely remember my own name when I’m with you!”
I chuckled quietly. “What do you like for breakfast?”
“Jeez, I don’t know!”
“Tell me!”
“I don’t usually eat breakfast.”
“Well, what would you like tomorrow?”
“You!” he said.
He stood up suddenly, taking me with him, then threw me down on the bed.
“Enough with the slow,” he said, his eyes dark and serious.
A pulse of desire and lust and need surged through me.
I sat up slowly, hooking my fingers into his belt loops and pulled him toward me. He trembled as I ran the tips of my fingers under his waistband. With bold hands, I traced the outline of his erection through his jeans. He inhaled sharply.
Watching his face the entire time, I opened his jeans, one button at a time, and pulled them down his long, strong, tan legs. His eyelids fluttered closed and he breathed deeply as I pushed the jeans past his knees.
They tangled around his ankles and he nearly fell over trying to kick them off. I smothered a laugh. Sebastian didn’t have an arrogant bone in his body, but he was a man, and all men have their pride.
“Come and lie down next to me,” I said, still smiling.
I wiggled out of my skirt and tossed it onto the floor. Tonight was not a night to worry about creased clothing.
We lay facing each other: he in his briefs, me in my t-shirt and panties. He scooted down the bed till our faces were at the same level and he smiled at me.
“Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.”
“What’s your favorite color?” he said.
“I have absolutely no idea.”
He laughed happily and ran his warm fingers down my arm.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed.
“So are you,” I countered, “and so sweet.”
He frowned slightly and let his hand drift over my body until he was cupping my backside. He squeezed gently and I responded by hooking my leg over his hip.
He flexed automatically, pushing himself into me and another delicious shiver ran down the entire length of my body.
He rolled gently so I was on my back, and he was hovering over me.
“You still want to go slow?”
I nodded, stifling a chuckle.
He smiled reluctantly. “Okay, I’ll try.”
He slid down the bed and used his teeth to pull my t-shirt up off my stomach. He ran his nose across my body and kissed me slowly on every exposed inch of skin while he supported himself on his arms.
I ran my fingers over the front of his briefs and he groaned.
“I won’t be able to go slow if you do that again,” he said in a warning voice.
I laughed quietly, unsure whether or not I wanted his slow, delicious torture to continue.
“I want to get this t-shirt off you.”
I sat up briefly so he could pull it over my head. When I lay down again, he nuzzled my breasts, running the tip of his tongue along the junction between my skin and the fabric of my bra.
I stroked my hands over the bunched muscles of his biceps, luxuriating in their hard tension.
Carefully he fastened his teeth over the fabric of my bra and pulled the cup down, then ran his tongue over my nipple, sucking hard. The sensation was exquisite, almost painful.
I pushed the waistband of his briefs over and down his hips. He rolled off me to kick them free and I sat up to undo my bra.
“No, I’ll do that,” he said confidently.
For several seconds he tugged futilely on the elastic straps. “Fuck! Turn around—I can’t see what I’m doing.”
Smiling to myself, I turned my back to him. A heartbeat later, my bra was dumped on the floor and I shimmied out of my panties, tossing them down with the rest of our clothes.
“How slow?” he whispered as his body loomed over mine again, lightly pressing me into the mattress.
“How slow can you go?” I said, teasingly.
I pulled my knees up and slid my hand along his erection. He trembled and bit his lip.
“You’re not helping!” he said, accusingly.
But I didn’t care anymore: I wanted to feel him inside me—all of him.
I pulled him toward me and I felt the mattress move as his weight shifted on the bed. He used his knees to open me wider, then, with aching slowness, he sank into me, pulled out, then sank in again, circling his hips, stimulating me everywhere.
I tilted my hips up to meet him—the movement seemed to push him too far.
“I can’t! I can’t!” he suddenly gasped and started moving faster.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and gripped his arms with my hands.
His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and I felt his body turn rigid then he collapsed onto me with a soft moan.
“Sorry,” he mumbled into my neck a long moment later.
I stroked his hair, smiling to myself. “It’s okay. Practice makes perfect. And we’ve got all night.”
He raised himself up and kissed me softly and sweetly. Then he pulled out gently and rolled off of me.
“Oh, wow!” he said, looking down at the blood on his dick. “That really didn’t hurt you?”
I shook my head, suppressing a smile. “Do you want to take a shower?”
“Um, yeah, if you don’t mind.”
He looked stunned.
“I don’t mind—not if you let me scrub your back.”
He grinned and looked up at me. “Oh, definitely up for that.”
I turned on the hot water and led him into the shower.
“Did you have a long day at the office, dear?” I said as I ran a soapy sponge over his back.
He chuckled, stretching out his arms.
“God, that feels so good!” he sighed.
He rested his hands on the tiled wall and let the water rain down on his head and back. When I reached around and ran the sponge over his front he jumped slightly. Gently, I swirled the sponge over his stomach and thighs and everything in between; he groaned loudly.
I felt his erection stir again. I guessed that’s what they called a fast reloader. I was impressed—and a bit shocked.
He turned around and kissed me hard, his tongue demanding access to my mouth. He pushed me back against the chilly ceramic tiles and I almost slipped.
“Careful!”
“Sorry! God, sorry,” he muttered, barely moving his mouth from my lips.
I was slipping and sliding all over the place—suddenly shower sex didn’t seem like such a good idea.
I left the hot water running and pulled him after me. He looked confused as I leaned over the sink and grasped the rim with both hands.
“From behind,” I whispered.
I heard the breath hitch in his throat then a second later his hands were gripping my hips. When he entered me it felt amazingly deep. Truthfully, I’d never felt anything like it before.
“Oh fuck!” he hissed.
I glanced up into the mirror—his eyes were wide with wonder and his lips were parted. Our eyes met—and locked on each other’s.
I clenched around him and watched his face as he cursed again.
He rotated his hips slowly and this time I was the one who cried out.
“Hand!”
“What?” he grit out between his teeth.
“Give me your hand!” I half-gasped, half-yelled at him.
He leaned onto me, his weight pressing me into the cold, hard porcelain, and I groaned but he gave me his hand. I pushed it between my legs and against my clitoris. He caught on fast: the thought crossed my mind that he must have got good grades in school. My orgasm began to gather and I felt the delicious trembling inside.
I knew Sebastian felt it, too, because he swore again and started moving faster, his hand in rhythm with his thrusts.
I screamed out his name. The sheer relief of being able to be as loud as I wanted, to show vocally how much he was pleasing me: it felt fantastic.
He kept moving, his hips grinding into me. I could barely stand, my thighs were shaking with the effort of staying upright.
What? No? Surely not! I couldn’t believe it! My eyes opened wide as a second orgasm began to build. I was shocked to my core—I didn’t even know I could have two orgasms so close together. And then I lost all train of thought as my body became nothing but sensation.
I was vaguely aware that Sebastian had stopped moving and that we were both lying on the floor, gasping.
It was desperately uncomfortable on the hard surface but I felt too weak to move. A giggle escaped me—I was, quite literally, well fucked. That expression would never again have the same resonance for me now I’d actually experienced it.
I started laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
But I couldn’t reply, I was laughing so hard. I pushed up onto my hands and knees, vaguely aware that there was blood on the floor.
“What are you laughing at?” said Sebastian, sounding aggrieved.
I crawled into the shower, slightly hysterical.
“What?!” he said, starting to laugh despite himself.
“I. Am. So. Thoroughly. Well. Fucked!” I finally managed to spit out.
Sebastian was laughing, too, as he came and joined me in the shower.
We sat in the shower tray and I leaned back between his legs, letting the hot water soothe and restore us.
Eventually I managed to stop laughing but I felt too weak to stand.
“That was amazing,” Sebastian whispered into my hair.
He sounded slightly awestruck.
“It certainly was. But I can’t stand—you’ll have to help me up!”
Sebastian laughed and stood up easily, pulling me up by my hands.
I managed to turn off the shower as I staggered out. I grabbed a clean towel and tossed one to him. I made a few quick passes with the towel and, still half-soaked, collapsed face down on the bed.
“Hey,” said Sebastian, following me to the bedroom. “You’re all wet.”
Gently, lovingly, he dried me with the towel, doing his best to get the moisture out of my hair as well.
“I’m so tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open,” I mumbled.
“Go to sleep, baby,” he said softly.
I rolled onto my side and felt Sebastian’s warm, slightly damp body curl up behind me. He wrapped his arm around my waist and I was asleep in seconds.