Ethans Fal (11 page)

MY BODY CLOCK
is all to fuck. Three o’clock in the morning and I am wide awake by five. I have had enough and make my way down to the beach. The air bites at my exposed skin and I pull my hoody over my head. Ridiculous when I am just about to dive into the ice cold Atlantic, only warmed a degree or two by the time of year. The beach is deserted, but when I look back across the sand I can see a hunched, dark figure walking half way between the advancing tide and the beach huts that sprinkle the edge of the bay. I thought there might be some crazy jogger up at this ungodly hour, but someone taking a stroll? Whoever it is must still be drunk or got locked out –probably both. I strip and strike a determined pace into the water. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! That. Is. Cold! In just my swim shorts, my skin feels like it is being flayed raw; my muscles seize and scream in outrage at the constricting temperature. I start a steady pull through the water, a punishing rhythm to warm me and clear my head.

I don’t know why Buddy’s secret whispering with Ada last night riled me so much, or why he is suddenly so protective. He knows me and he knows I love women, but more importantly they love me. I make sure of it. I have never had an ex that I couldn’t still call a friend. My Nirvana, the point when I am blissfully satisfied. It’s at that exact moment when a woman falls. They cry my name or a higher being. I’m happy with either but in that moment they belong to me. I have brought them to that point and I own them. What’s not to love about that? And where is the harm in wanting to draw
that
from Ada? There is none; no fucking harm whatsoever.

My head is not quite in the game, not even in the same ball park. I am struggling because that’s not all I seem to want. I get a nefarious kick from eliciting any reaction from her. It doesn’t really matter what reaction: anger, frustration, carnal desire. I crave each equally.

I stop mid front crawl and tread water sucking in big gulps of air. My chest burns from the exertion, my legs pulse with pain. I flick my dripping fringe and water out of my eyes. Who am I kidding? I fucking love the lust that flares in her wild blue eyes, and the struggle when she fails to hide it. I crave that and what I know is coming next.

Looking back, I can no longer see the dark figure on the beach, but then I am so far out I can’t see much of anything. The sweeping sand, the empty promenade, and the town at slumber, stretch and fill the horizon. I bob with the rise and fall of the swell before I kick off and swim with the tide back to shore. I carry my hoody, no longer needing its warmth and drip dry all the way back to my apartment. I stop mid step on the stairwell up to my apartment colliding with a small descending body. I am shocked by the force of impact and the pitch of the squeal from the girl, who has nearly knocked me flying backwards down the stairs.

“Shit!” I recognise the voice right away though. Ada grabs my hips to stop her from falling right into me, but snaps her hands away the moment she’s stable. “Shit!” she repeats more to herself by the quiet volume.

“And good morning to you. You are keen at least. Buddy did say you were a hard worker–” I want to try for a sterner tone but my smile spreads with unprecedented pleasure at this unexpected visit.

“I’m not here to clean!” She grumbles and moves to step around me. I block her descent.

“A booty call then?” I have to pinch my lips at the thought, but her scowl makes me laugh. “Maybe not?”

“Yeah…maybe not.” Ada tries again to get past, but my manoeuvre makes her step back. She loses her footing and once more grabs for me, this time pulling me onto her.

“Are you sure about that?” My voice lowers and I know she can feel me harden against her thigh, because her eyes dip to the non-gap between us, and she struggles to swallow. Oh, I fucking love this. I can’t resist a gentle roll of my hips into her soft frame and am rewarded with an inaudible whimper. I’ll take that. “Maybe we should take this inside.” My hands are holding her captive, placed on either side of her head, supporting my frame just out of reach, and she tilts her head leaning forward for contact. My lips skim hers, and she whispers against my mouth,

“Not a fucking chance.” Her lips curl but I crush the smile right off her face with a deep urgent kiss. I dip down on one elbow, so I can thread one hand into her hair to pull her head back, causing a groan to escape her throat, and her nails to dig into my side. I can feel her legs tremble as she fights her desire to spread for me. I want that. Fuck! My tired arse muscles are in agony and painfully protest at each deliberate slow thrust. I try and wedge myself between her legs, inching her wider. Fuck it! We don’t have to take this inside, we can go right here. I want to kiss her neck, her tits…Christ! I want to swallow her whole, but her lips taste so fucking sweet I’m not ready to give them up. Her tongue sweeps against mine, tentative and demanding, tasting me and taking from me. She is intoxicating and when she sucks my bottom lip into her mouth, I go just that little bit harder. Painfully hard right before she bites down and draws blood.

“Mmmm, now you’re just teasing?” I suck the swollen tissue to stop the trickle of blood. It’s not much–I’ve had worse. I lift myself enough for her to wiggle away and wrap her arms tight over her chest. A poor attempt to hide her arousal. It makes me all warm inside. “There’s no shame in wanting to fuck me, Ada. I get that a lot.” She rolls her eyes but her cheeks are still pink from our little heated exchange.

“Perks of being a slut, I suppose…Now if you don’t mind, I was just leaving.” I slap my chest with a mock wounded gesture.

“Why were you here if not to clean? Oh, wait! You came for your phone. Why don’t you come in and I will get it for you. We can discuss how many hours my wardrobe of clothes equates to?” I start to walk up the last few stairs but turn, because although she is not immediately following me, which I expected, she’s also not running away, either. “Ada? You came for your phone, yes?”

“Um…yes, but–”

“But?” She averts her eyes and the corner of her mouth curls with overt sheepishness. Oh, this just gets better and better. “You already have it don’t you? Did you really just break into my apartment?” I’m more impressed than shocked. I have pretty good security–well I thought I did.

“I just took my phone. You were being an arsehole about it and I don’t have time for games, so yes I…did…break in …but just to get what was mine.” I feel an inordinate amount of power at this moment, but it has a sudden unpleasant taste when her eyes cloud with water. She blinks them away and I can feel this painful swell in my gut, insidious and disconcerting. I hold her steely gaze, uncomfortable that I have caused her sadness.

“It’s early. Why don’t you come in for breakfast, and we can talk about your ever-growing list of infractions against me. You know, if I wasn’t sure you hated me, I think you might be trying to get my attention.” I unlock the door and motion for Ada to lead the way.

“No, not attention. I
really
do hate you.” She pulls her oversized sweater close around her, the cuffs of the long sleeves are stretched to cover her hands, hiding as much skin as she can. She storms inside.

“No.” I shake my head, and laugh at her absurd notion. “That can’t be true; nobody hates me…everybody loves me…ask Sky?” I push the door shut and motion for her to take a seat at the stool by the kitchen island.

“Yeah, she did mention something like that, and no offence, but all evidence points to the contrary as far as I’m concerned.” She hops onto the stool, all bright and feisty. Any shadow of sadness gone; I’m glad.

“How about I win you over with my Full English?” I flip the coffee machine on and start to assemble the ingredients, confident no one in their right mind would turn down a cooked breakfast.

“Why would you want to win me over?” Her tone is derisive and she snorts with incredulity. “Not your type, remember?”

I am glad I have my back to her, because the smile that flashes across my face couldn’t hide how happy it makes me that my throwaway remark obviously struck a discord. “You’re not, but I’m just not used to people hating me. It’s new and I’m not sure I’m a fan.” I put an empty plate in front of her, cutlery, fresh orange juice, and a fancy latte with a foam swirl, which looks like rolling waves. Her face lights with instant joy and I get that fucking pinch in my chest again.
Why do I care that I can make her smile this way? Why should I care that I want to make her smile like that all the time? Enough!
I shake my head to stop my thoughts. Christ at this rate I’ll be opening the post to a brand new vagina, a special delivery just for me. “Besides not being my type doesn’t mean I am not going to fuck you. In fact, it just makes it easier to keep it to just fucking–not so messy.” She laughs out loud.

“And you hate messy.” She points her foam filled spoon at me and then sucks it clean. I have to turn to check the bacon and adjust myself.

“That I do.” I shift awkwardly; the sand in my shorts is chaffing me raw with the tent I’m sporting. “Look, do you mind finishing breakfast while I take a shower?” I pull the material loose, but there is no hiding my arousal. She licks her fucking lips–yeah that helps.

“So, you invite me for breakfast, but I have to cook it. I can see why you’re such a hit with the ladies,” she mocks.

“It’s your fucking fault.” I stride up to her and pull her off the stool. Her shock is quickly replaced with something much baser, when I take her hand and slide it down the front of my shorts. “And
this
is why I’m such a hit with the ladies.” Her tiny hand grasps my cock, and it twitches and swells with appreciation. She twists her grip and strokes my length, her lids close and she takes a deep breath. She opens her eyes and it might only be a flash of a memory, but I can see she’s a million miles away. Her hollow glare falls on me, but her eyes hold none of their shine or fierceness. They hold no desire for me. Fuck that! She checks herself with the slightest shake of her head, tightens her grip, and presses her body to mine. I tip her chin and pinch the end to get her focus back to me. “Watch the breakfast.” My tone brooks no discussion, even if her eyes fill with hurt once more.

“So much for saying you would fuck me. I guess I’m really
not
your type.” She pulls her hand roughly, causing the elastic to snap hard against my skin.

“I said I will fuck you, Ada, and I will; but only when you are with
me
. I have no fucking idea where you were just now, but you sure as shit weren’t holding
my
dick in your hand.” Her expression is a mix of sadness and shame. Neither are emotions I care for. I snap the towel from my shoulder, spin it into a thin coil, and whip it across her backside. She yelps and jumps away toward the cooker. “That’s the idea. Now, don’t let it burn. It stinks like a bitch in heat when you burn something in this open plan space. It stays in the furniture, rugs, you name it. And I’m having a party tonight, remember?” She narrows her eyes at my comment. It’s not like she isn’t invited–everyone’s invited.

My shower takes a little longer than usual, and when I return, she has reset her place on the small table. She has put me at the far end and has even got a small vase with a single pink rose. Where the fuck did she steal that from? The food has been served, and she has even put a plate over my dish to keep it warm. She nibbles on her toast and frowns when I pull my chair and place setting directly beside her. I nod toward the flower. “I little early for light fingers?” I quip.

“I didn’t steal it, arse-hat. Burt, in the next building, gave it to me over the balcony.” She snaps and points in the direction of my elderly neighbour with the adjoining overhang. Burt really shouldn’t be living on the fourth floor when it takes him so long to climb the stairs. I might have to suggest putting in a lift just for that stubborn old bugger.

“You’ve met my neighbour already. You’ll be doing bake sales and selling homemade lemonade next?” I laugh, because this whole scene feels comfortingly domesticated. Her lips turn down into a thin line and she drifts away, but only for an instant and then she’s back, all indignant energy.

“That’s me, domestic Goddess without a domicile just waiting to serve you.” She pulls her fringe in mock servitude, but her humour is wholly misplaced and she knows it when she regards my face. I am just about to sweep the breakfast feast onto the floor and take her on the table, when she fills her mouth with a huge serving of bread and beans, moaning with distracted gratification. My mouth drops and
damn it
I’m hard again. “Look, I will clean your place for the party, and I’ll do some more washing–if you want to risk it–but only because I pay my debts. I don’t want to be beholden to anyone and that includes you.” She waves her fork at me, but quickly gets back to devouring her meal like a starved woman.