At Last (3 page)
Summer was crying because Andie said Summer only slept with Iain to get back at her over the whole Stephen thing.
I started crying because Andie accused me of being a shit friend, and always backing Summer up, which isn’t true. I tried to defend myself and got told that I deliberately wanted to break Summer and Stephen up!
Andie gave up screaming at both of us to cry as well. It’ll blow over soon. No, it won’t. I just feel like a crap person and even worse friend. Are you still my friend? Have I screwed you over too? Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m having a pity party for myself. Sorry. How are you? Are you all right?
From: Ryan Klark
rudejoker@h
...
To: Courtney Phillips
yapalot@g
...
Date: 30 April 2010
Re: End of the world
Calling you in twenty minutes, babe. Okay? Ryan xxx
From: Ryan Klark
rudejoker@h
...
To: Courtney Phillips
yapalot@g
...
Date: 01 May 2010
Re: Chill
Just to reinforce the point, you’re still my friend, do not apologise about being upset about this, it will get better, and where are my sodding shirts? Ryan xxx
From: Courtney Phillips
yapalot@g
...
To: Ryan Klark
rudejoker@h
...
Re: Chilling
Date: 01 May 2010
Thank you for listening to me. When are you going to let me return the favour? By the way, how is Fran? Interrupting your love life still? Hehehe… On your recommendation I am listening to Jay-Z v Linkin Park. Good to sew to. At the moment, you’re the only friend I have! xx Court.
From: Ryan Klark
rudejoker@h
...
To: Courtney Phillips
yapalot@g
...
Date: 02 May 2010
Re: Nonsense
Your friend count will go up in the next few days, I believe. Ah, Fran has backed off in the understanding that I have been spending a lot of time alone with my iBook or on Skype in my room. Also given as every other word is your name, she is mourning the loss of me to you. So if anyone asks, we’re in a deep committed relationship. All right?
From: Courtney Phillips
yapalot@g
...
To: Ryan Klark
rudejoker@h
...
Re: Deal or No Deal
Date: 03 May 2010
What do I get out of it? I’ll call you later tonight and you can explain yourself.
* * *
3
rd
May 2010
“Phillips, what's up?” He sounded so playful I couldn’t help my immediate smile.
“Hello, you. So… Fran thinks I’m your girlfriend.”
“I talk to you more than anyone else on the planet. You kind of are.”
“Ryan. That makes no sense.”
“We either call each other, or email or chat almost every day. You’re a girl. I think you’re hot. The idea of you even talking to another guy really pisses me off. When you went to Paris and I didn’t hear from you, I had the idea in my head that some flash French wanker had seduced you.”
I started laughing; I couldn’t help it. “Ryan, I’m not like that!”
“Girls always say that,” he told me quietly. Note to self: Ryan has been screwed over by some girl.
“If I tell you something,” I said hesitantly, “you cannot mock me.”
“Go on.”
“That picture of you in your wetsuit, well, half a wetsuit with your surfboard under your arm? It’s my screensaver on my laptop and on my phone. My mum thinks you’re a very handsome young man, by the way.” I couldn’t hear anything, so I called his name.
“I’m still here, I’m just…wow.”
“Everyone thinks I’m having some intrepid long-distance affair with some dude in prison,” I said self-mockingly.
He really did laugh this time. “Doing twenty to life for bad surfing and encouraging Peggy Mitchell wannabes to feel me up.”
“When I say I’m not that type of girl, I mean it. Are you ready for a shock?”
“You found out where my tattoos are?”
“No, silly… I’m not that type of girl, because I don’t do that type of thing.”
“Not recently?”
“Not ever.”
“What? You…seriously? Court, you’re telling me, you’ve never had… The girl who’s ditched me in conversation to go and get waxed on a Saturday, you’ve never…”
“You sound so shocked.”
“Probably because I’ve just seen how much a flight back to London would cost me right now, but it’d be worth it.”
My stomach was doing funny turns. “Come to London and do what?”
“Take that V title off you.”
“You would?” Wasn’t this supposed to be the thing that made men run off into the immediate distance?
“With the highest honour. Gives me a chance to teach you some depraved things and call them normal. You won’t sit right for a month, but you’d enjoy it.”
“Not encouraging, Klark!” I admonished, touching my hand to my hot face.
“I’d kiss you first at least. I can tell how you’d like to be kissed.”
“From what, my sexual status?”
“No, from you. I’d like to press you against a wall, just so you won’t seem weak-kneed. I’d like to touch your face, just with the tips of my fingers, give you a few light kisses to see if you’re ready to open your mouth and when you do, you’d let me bite your top lip, not too hard. Then you’d let me pull you against me, let me slide my tongue against yours.”
Oh my God. “You, er…you sound like you’ve kissed me before.”
“In my head, every single day since seventeenth February. A lot more than kiss but, like I said, easing you in.”
“I wish I could kiss you now,” I admitted, shaking still from his melodious description of our fantasy kiss. “What does your face feel like?”
“Growing a bit of stubble.”
“Is it pretty new?”
“No, no, babe. It’s softened up.”
“So you wouldn’t give me beard burn.”
“I wouldn’t say that. You let me get my hands on you, and you’ll feel it. Not just on your face.”
I put a hand over my mouth; where was he going with this? “Really? Where else would I feel it?”
“I’d want to kiss your neck, but I don’t know if you’re wearing something that gets in the way.”
“I’m just wearing a vest top and shorts. For bed.”
“Appropriate…” he teased. “Are you wearing underwear?”
I shook my head, then realised he couldn’t see me. “No. I’m not. Before you ask, I’m a thirty-two F.”
“Oh God,” he groaned. “I feel pretty fucking lucky right now.”
“Why?”
“It’s just you and me—it doesn’t feel like anyone else in the world exists.” His breath caught. “Tell me what your skin feels like.”
“Umm…on my arms, a little goose-pimply, but smooth. Just above the neckline of my vest it’s really soft like silk, the fine-spun type, not the rough one… On my legs…umm…I had a shower before I called you and with oil on my legs, the skin’s a little slippery and just as soft as on my…my breasts.” I removed my sleeveless top and ran my hand over myself.
“Would you let me kiss you there?” Ryan asked in a low voice. “Tell me you’d let me pull that vest down so I could see you, properly, so I could touch your nipples with my mouth, let you feel my stubble over your skin.”
“I’d let you,” I admitted on a soft intake of breath, “If…you were…if you weren’t wearing anything on your chest.”
I heard a rustle of movement and realised that Ryan was stripping. “T-shirt gone. Are you lying down for me, babe?”
“Yes. I took off my vest.” I closed my eyes against the light in my room, calling up in my head how the weight of him next to me in my bed would feel.
“I’ve looked at that picture of you in a bikini so many times, I can trace your figure in my head. Your body is unreal with your beautiful dark skin.” He breathed out deeply. “You’ve got the most perfect hourglass shape. What does that little tattoo say?”
I traced the raised flesh just above my hipbone, which had hurt like a bastard.
“All you need is love,” I murmured, slightly embarrassed that I had marked myself with
The Beatles
’ lyrics. I ran the tips of my fingers along the top of my pelvis, brushing the pad of my thumb over my navel piercing.
“I’d kiss that as well, give your piercing a little bite too. Talk to me, Court, tell me how you feel?”
“I wish you were here, right now. I think I want you…to…touch me.”
“Reach into your shorts; what does it feel like inside?”
My heart thundered in my throat as I closed my eyes and slipped my hand inside my shorts, gasping to find my outer lips coated in wetness.
“Are you wet?” he demanded gruffly.
“Yes, I’m all swollen and you know I wax everything there, so…”
“Jesus,” he whispered.
“I’m imagining it’s your hand, Ryan. That you’re rubbing my…”
“Say it, babe. Say it, you won’t shock me again, promise.”
“You’re rubbing my pussy. Ah, I’ve never been like this.” The tops of my thighs were nearly sticky, I was so wet.
“Taste it,” he insisted. “You need you to tell me what you taste like—I need to know until I can do it myself…”
I brought my hand to my face and was intoxicated by the smell of my own arousal. It was intense, musky. I drew my tongue over my damp fingers and gave another sigh of pleasure. “I’ve never tasted myself before. I taste sweet, a little like a floury, tangy cream with a hint of salt.”
“I’d lick that off your fingers, then I’d spread your legs and taste you right there. Can you feel me brushing my nose over your clit? Just before I’d slip my tongue inside you. You’d be so tight just on my tongue.”
He must have heard my gasp. My hand had delved back inside my shorts, my legs spread wide as I stroked my clit, to the near hypnotic rhythm of his words.
“You’d like that, my tongue deep inside your pussy.”
“It would feel so good,” I moaned. “Please, I want to touch you,” I begged. “I’ve never touched a penis before. I don’t know what it would feel like.”
“Fuck… Babe, tense your forearm, near your elbow. Put your hand around it. That’s kind of what it feels like, but just as hot as your pussy, and harder.”
“How long…”
“Don’t worry about that.” He gave the barest of laughs.
“Why? Will I freak out?”
