The Lovers (3 page)

“Come on. Time for bed.”

Yes, please…

I follow her silently over the dunes, my legs working against the sand, my muscles fatigued. We reach flatter ground, the sand turning to gravel, and then we're at the door to my cabin.

“'Night, Bettina. See you in the morning.”

She waves and is gone, disappearing down the dark path to the main house.

I stand there, stupefied. I realize I'm barefoot, the gravel biting into the soles of my feet. My sandals are on the beach somewhere. I should go get them, but I don't.

What had I expected? Wanted? I don't even know.

Shaking my head, I step onto the small porch, open the blue door. Inside, I turn on a bedside lamp, then go into the
bathroom to wash my face. But the splash of cold water doesn't help. My body is on fire.

I know what will help.

I strip my clothes off as I walk from bath to bed, pull open the nightstand drawer and grab my flesh-colored vibrator. In moments I am on the bed, naked, my legs spread wide, as the cool night air plays over my skin, seducing me, taunting me. My nipples are two hard points, red and swollen.

I turn the phallus on and lower it between my thighs. I often tease myself, let the buzzing instrument play around my pussy lips, lovely, light touches. But I am already so turned on I hurt. I go right for my clit, turning the vibrator up high and pressing down hard.

God, it feels good, that humming going through my system, a sharp, stinging current. Desire builds, my entire sex engorged, painful. I need to come so badly.

I press harder, moving it slowly from side to side, rubbing my hard little clitoris with the textured head of the vibe, closing my eyes and thinking of her.

Her face. Her lush red mouth like sex itself. And her saying to me, a wicked smile on her beautiful face, “I can make you come, Bettina.”

So hot, those words. And I imagine her lowering her face between my legs, her wet tongue lapping at my wet slit, her fingers sinking into me.

Oh, yes…

I spread my legs wider, welcoming her. And she pulls my clit between her lips, sucking hard, her fingers pushing into me. My hips arch into the vibrator, and my climax is shattering, like a hard current in my pussy, my belly. My thighs are shaking, I'm moaning. And in my mind is her face, her wicked mouth.

She's smiling at me as I come, saying, “I told you so.”

 

Mornings on the beach are different than they are anywhere else. There is the slow process of coming out of my dreams to the muted roar of the surf, the gray, fog-dimmed light coming through the windows as soft as a whisper.

I stretch, trying to remember my dreams, as I do each morning, but today they are nothing more than a dimly lit memory of my parents at a dinner table piled with books, a flash of hearing a baby crying as I ride a train. And Audrey.

I have to stop thinking of her. I tend to be obsessive. I know this about myself. I don't like it, but I haven't been able to change it.

I want to go back to sleep, to lose myself, but it's too late. I'm wide-awake.

Throwing back the covers, I get out of the warm bed, slip my feet into my fuzzy blue slippers and pad to the window. The beach is lonely in the morning, but peaceful. I watch as a gull swoops in, low over the waves, nearly skimming them, then is joined by another. The water is a chilly gray this morning to match the early sky. I shiver and reach for my soft, gray knit robe, which I left draped over the chair last night.

Last night…

Last night I made myself come over and over, my trusty vibrator held between my aching thighs, sweat pouring off me by the third climax, every muscle in my body tensed and hurting.

Maybe I should start writing erotica.

Fuck.

I push my hair from my face, my fingers tangling in the tight curls, snarls left over from my late night on the beach.

Stop thinking about her!

I shake my head as I make my way to the shower. Ridding myself of my robe, I step under the hot spray. The water is
soft here, like silk gliding over my skin. And it is everything I can do simply to take a damn shower, wash my hair. Not to slip my hand between my thighs, pinch my clit, plunge my fingers into my pussy, get myself off again.

I have spent far too much time alone, Terry is right about that.

This is ridiculous.

I hurry through the rest of my shower, pull on some clothes and shut the cabin door behind me. The morning air is still gray and cool, though the sun is beginning to cast its golden rays through the cypress trees, and my damp hair grows cold around my shoulders. But I don't mind. I need to cool off. Literally and figuratively.

I move around the side of the house and step tentatively through the kitchen door. Immediately I am hit with the lovely, rich scent of coffee. Viviane and Patrice are sitting in the chairs by the fireplace, a low fire burning. The room is warm, the acrid scent of the fire mixing with the coffee. Nothing has ever smelled so inviting.

“Good morning, Tina,” Viviane singsongs, waving me in. “Get yourself a cup and come sit.”

“Good morning,” I answer, following her gesturing hand to where a coffeepot sits on the tiled counter, a row of cobalt blue and red mugs lined up next to it. I pour, find sugar and cream next to the mugs, a spoon to stir. I like my coffee sweet. I like it to be dessert. A bad habit, I know, but it is one of my little indulgences. That, and endless hours of orgasms, apparently, alone in my bed.

Stop it.

I take a moment to calm myself, pretending to taste test my coffee, but it's already perfect. I breathe in the steam from the mug, exhale, then turn around.

“'Morning, Patrice.”

She nods silently. I decide not to care, and go to sit on one of the woven-leather chairs. It's more comfortable than it looks, the brown leather straps cradling my butt.

Viviane is in a pair of hot-pink sweatpants and a black thermal top with a skull and crossbones on the front. She looks adorable. Patrice is wearing khakis and a sweatshirt with a kitten on it. She looks…odd. I never expected “cute” to be her thing. But I am constantly surprised by what I don't know about people. I always question if I'm reading anyone right.

I am questioning how I'm reading Audrey. I wish there was someone I could ask. But Terry says I have to learn to trust my instincts, to trust myself.

“Did you sleep well, Tina?”

“What? Oh, yes. I love the sound of the ocean. It lulls me.”

That, and being completely worn-out from coming so much, like some sort of nymphomaniac.

“I find it irritating,” Patrice says, frowning. “I always wear my earplugs when I'm here.”

“It's not for everyone,” Viviane soothes.

Kenneth wanders in then, looking rumpled and sleepy in his plaid cotton robe tied loosely over a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, Sid following at his heels.

“Ah, there you are, Sid,” Viviane says. “Traitor.” She turns to me. “He always sleeps in Kenneth's room.”

“Don't worry, I'll hand him back over at the end of the summer. He won't even miss me.”

“Ha! We'll both miss you, as always.”

Kenneth looks pleased as he pours himself a cup of coffee and wanders out to the patio.

“Is Audrey up yet?” I ask, then immediately wish I'd kept my mouth shut.

“She usually sleeps until noon, that one,” Patrice tells me.

“Oh, she does not, Patty!”

Patty? Only Viviane could get away with that.

Patrice just huffs and sips her coffee, staring into the fire.

“She'll be up by ten, I'm sure,” Viviane says. “I was thinking we could all do some brainstorming on the beach today. Do you have a pad of paper with you? If not, I have piles of legal pads. I always stock up for the summer.”

“Yes, sure. That sounds great. I could use some brainstorming.”

“Good. Just throw your suit on. I'll bring a blanket and towels and something to drink. Don't worry, it'll warm up soon. Okay, who's ready for breakfast?”

“Kenneth always is,” Patrice remarks. “Might as well get started.”

“Can I help?” I ask.

“We can handle it. You relax.”

Viviane smiles at me, and she and Patrice get up and start pulling things out of the big brushed-steel refrigerator: eggs, milk, bread, a side of bacon. Soon the kitchen is filled with the aroma of food cooking, the bacon snapping on the flat grill built into the stove. I feel helpless and sort of foolish sitting around doing nothing while they do all the work, but too shy to insist on helping.

I watch Viviane and Patrice work together, and it's almost like a dance as they move around each other. They don't talk much. Viviane is humming quietly, and Patrice is absorbed in mixing eggs, cheese and mushrooms into an omelet, taking charge of the pan, flipping it like a professional chef, and I am surprised by her once more.

I get up only to refill my coffee mug, and when I pass her, Viviane gives me a quick hug. She is so sweet.

As I take my seat again, I have to wonder why her touch is so different from Audrey's. She is every bit as beautiful, in
her own way. But my body responds differently, with nothing more than a warm fondness. A feeling of security. It's different with Audrey.

Everything is different with Audrey.

And as though she's sensed me thinking about her, she shuffles into the room on bare feet. Her hair is tousled, her face a bit pale in the morning light. Her eyelashes are so dark against her skin, it makes her eyes blaze, that pale, hazy blue a sleepy glow from beneath her half-closed lids.

“Hangover, Viv,” she mewls, slumping into the chair next to me.

She is wearing a white cotton baby-doll chemise, her tanned legs looking long under the short hem, her pink cotton robe open, doing nothing to hide the fact that the nightgown is nearly see-through. I can see the rosy circles of her nipples beneath the fabric, the dark strip of her pubic hair. And I go hot all over, my pussy drenched.

I sit up and take a long sip of my coffee. The newly poured liquid scalds my tongue and I cough.

“You all right, Bettina?” Audrey asks me.

“Yes, sure. I just…I should have waited until it cooled down.”

I
need to cool down.

“Poor baby,” Audrey murmurs, taking my cup and blowing into it. After a minute she stops, takes a sip. “It's better now,” she says, smiling at me. She takes another sip. “Mmm, this is good. Like candy.” Then her pink tongue darts out and she licks the rim, smiles again at me before returning my coffee to me. “You like your sugar, don't you?”

“All writers do,” Viviane says, carrying another mug of coffee over and handing it to Audrey, along with a couple of aspirin. “Drink up, babe. You'll feel better.”

“Thank you, Viv.” She takes the mug and squeezes Viviane's
hand, flashing her one of her dazzling smiles, despite her hangover.

Audrey flirts with everyone, it seems, not just me. Maybe I've imagined that spark of chemistry between us. What would I know about it, after all? I've never felt attraction to a woman before. Or from one. I've never felt this intense chemistry with anyone.

There are reasons why.

Viviane lets Audrey and me help set the table on the patio, and Kenneth joins us as we all sit down to eat. The food is wonderful and plentiful, comfort food, and I eat too much. I feel lazy after, sitting in the morning sun. Everyone else seems to, as well. We all lounge around the table, drinking gallons of coffee, picking at the big bowl of fruit.

They're talking about past summers at this house, and although I wasn't there, I feel that lovely sense of camaraderie, can enjoy it with them. They talk a bit about Jack Curran, who will arrive at some point in the next week or two. Jack is a mystery to me. He participates in the online group in fits and spurts. I know he travels a lot, that he lives in Portland, which isn't far from Seattle. I am familiar with his work. But otherwise, he's a vague figure I know little about.

“Leo is coming today, by the way,” Viviane announces.

“Oh, I can't wait!” Audrey is effusive, her hangover disappeared at some point during the meal. She turns to me. “Bettina, you know him already, though, don't you? Isn't he from Seattle, like you?”

“He is. He's a friend of my best friend at home. Calvin is a comics artist, too. That's how he and Leo know each other, but I've never actually met him in person. We've only talked online. He introduced me to the group.”

“I'm glad he did.” Audrey is smiling at me, and under the table she reaches over and pats my thigh.

Her palm is warm on my skin, even through my cargo shorts. It's all I can do not to pull away. Or to spread my thighs to invite her touch.

“So am I,” Viviane says, smiling at me. “More coffee, anyone? No? Then why don't we go down to the beach. I'll clear the table and meet everyone down there.”

“Let me help you, Viviane,” I volunteer, and she smiles and nods her head.

“Sure.”

Everyone wanders off, and Viviane and I carry plates and platters back into the kitchen, making several trips. She rinses the dishes and I load them into the dishwasher.

“Thanks for the help, doll,” she says.

“I'm glad to help. I wanted to earlier…I feel like being allowed to help is part of the initiation.”

“And so it is.” She smiles, then begins to hum again as she washes the pans and hands them to me to dry with a thick dish towel. “How is it going so far for you, Tina?”

“Everything is so wonderful. I find myself wishing I'd met everyone sooner, that I'd come here sooner. Maybe my hermit tendencies would never have become so…exaggerated if I'd had someplace like this to come to.”

“I'm glad.”

“I think even my discomfort with Patrice is good for me, challenging me in a way I've needed, maybe. It's good for me that I have to deal with those feelings in order to be here, if that makes sense.”