The Lovers (19 page)

Jack hasn't reached the beach yet, so I find a soft spot in the sand and lay my towel down, sit and look out at the water.

This place is beautiful, serene. But every nerve in my body, my brain, is lit up with that keen edge of awareness as I wait for Jack to arrive.

When he does I go sort of tense all over, but in some lovely way. There is something entirely sensual about being alone on the beach with him, both of us half-naked in our swimsuits. He sits next to me, close enough that I can smell his skin, which smells a bit of soap from his morning shower still, and very faintly of sweat. But I like it.

I like him.

I more than like him.

I sound like a fourteen-year-old in my head.

“I brought a bottle of water for you,” Jack says, handing it to me.

“Thanks.” I rub my thumb over the cool moisture clinging to the clear plastic.

“You're thoughtful today,” he says.

“Yes.”

I turn to him, and he's facing the water. Behind his dark sunglasses his eyes are narrowed. I can't tell what he's thinking.

“Jack, I'm sorry I'm being so moody.”

He shrugs, a magnificent ripple of shoulders. The skin there is tanned a little more than elsewhere on his body, with a few freckles. I want to touch them, put my fingertips on those small spots, trace lines from one to another. I shiver, clench my hands around my water bottle.

“Everyone's allowed an off day. Maybe you just need some exercise. Come on. Let's get in the water.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me up. I go without protest, quiet until he drags me into the ocean, which is a little too cool against my skin, and I yelp.

Jack laughs. “Come on. It's not so bad.”

“I know. I'm just a big baby about it.”

“Here, I'll help.”

He pulls my body close to his as he takes us deeper, reminding me of that day in the water with Audrey, but soon enough I forget all about her as the waves rush around us, pushing at the small of my back. Through his sunglasses I can see that his gaze is on my face. His holds a small smile. And I am entranced by him, as though he's put some spell on me.

He is every bit as magical as Audrey, in his way. My body melts all over as he pulls me closer, holding me tighter. I can smell sun and salt on him, that lovely whiff of his sweat. And when he leans in and kisses me, it is as though the impact of his lips on mine wipes out everything else.

His kiss is hot, powerful, his tongue delving into my mouth. I taste him, swallow him up, and he does the same to me. We are on exactly that same sensual page, and this time I know I am not imagining it.

Overwhelming. Beautiful.

The ocean flows and recedes around us and I no longer feel the cold. The sun overhead is not nearly as brilliant as the heat blooming between us. And the entire earth just falls away, leaving nothing but the two of us. No sand, no sea. Just our bodies pressed together, our lips, our hands.

I am lost once more.

A wave crashes into us, knocking us over, the salty water in my eyes, my mouth, and I am immediately back in my body. Jack hangs on to me, pulling my head up from beneath the water.

“I've got you,” he says. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

And I am. I want to laugh at the absurdity of it, that magical moment, just killed.

Or maybe not.

Jack pulls me back into him, and I can feel his erection hard against my belly.

“Good,” he says. “Because I have plans for you, girl.”

He presses his hips into me, leans down and kisses my neck, and pulls me a little deeper, until we are in the water up to our necks, my body floating in his embrace, my feet unable to touch the bottom. His hands reach beneath the sea and wrap my legs around his waist, and I feel open to him, even with my bikini on, keeping my not-quite-naked sex from touching him.

“Bettina,” he whispers into my ear, but if he says anything else it is lost in the ocean's thunder. In my blossoming need.

I'm quiet as he reaches down between us and slips his fingers inside me. Just a small gasp from between my lips as he begins to pump, his fingers curled to hit my G-spot, his thumb pressing hard on my clit.

I would be soaking wet if I weren't already, the sea washing away my juices, other than what hides inside of me, making his hand slippery, deep in my pussy.

His other hand is pushing my bathing suit top to one side, then cupping my breast, his fingers pulling on my nipple. Pleasure is like the water, heavy in my body, and I float on it, on the waves washing through me.

He pumps faster, and I arch my hips into his hand.

“Harder, Jack.”

“I need to make you come, baby.”

I feel helpless, weightless, his body and the salt of the water holding me up. My sex is beginning to clench already, but I don't want this to be over so soon. I bear down on his fingers, bury my face in his shoulder, taste the salt water on his skin. And still he pumps harder, faster, his finger squeezing my nipple. It hurts. And it feels amazing, pleasure shafting from my breast to my sex. Everything feels swollen with need: my nipples, my pussy. My clit is rock hard. I'm going to come.

When I do it's with a hard jerk, and my body spasms all over. I cry out, but it's lost in the sound of the gulls crying overhead, in the pounding of the surf. Pleasure flows through me, wave upon wave, hot and wet. The taste of his skin is in my mouth, some elemental sense of his fingers inside my body, as though I am hyperaware even as I'm coming, my climax fierce, unraveling me.

“Ah, that was good, baby,” Jack tells me as the last shudders roll through me.

He shifts me, moving my legs down a little lower, closer to his body, until I feel his rigid cock poking at me through his swim trunks and my bikini. I want him to fuck me, but I don't know how it's possible, out here in the ocean.

“Jack, I want you to come, too,” I tell him when I can speak again.

“Here, Bettina.” His voice is rough as he guides my hand inside his shorts, and his cock fills my palm. So hard and full, and I want him inside me so badly it hurts, my sex pulsing, filling with need once more.

“That's so good,” he growls in my ear. “Let me come into your hand.”

“Yes,” I gasp, wrapping my fingers around him, and stroking.

“Hey, Jack! Bettina!”

Fuck.

Audrey is waving to us from the shore. Charles is with her. I let go, but Jack murmurs to me, “No, don't stop,” and guides my hand back to his cock.

I keep stroking him, and he smiles at me before turning his head and yelling back to Audrey, “Hi!”

“God, Jack,” I whisper.

“Just keep going.”

He pushes my body from his and turns, until I am behind him, my arm wrapped around his waist, my hand fisted around his cock. His hips pump into my palm, between my grasping fingers.

“What's up?” he yells to Audrey and Charles.

“We just wanted to say hello,” Charles yells. “How's the water?”

“Great! Isn't it, Bettina?”

He slips a hand behind him, dipping beneath my suit, and
immediately finds my hungry sex once more, pressing his fingers into me in one hard thrust.

I nod, trying not to gasp. I can't speak. He's really pushing into my hand now, his cock growing harder by the second. And I love it, his silky, hard flesh, his fingers moving inside me, the knowledge that I am doing this to him, that he is doing this to me. That a few yards away people are watching us, without knowing. Or maybe they do. I don't care. I pump him harder, hear his quiet groan above the crashing waves, and smile.

“Maybe we should join you,” Charles yells to us. But Audrey slips an arm through his, whispers something in his ear, making him smile. “Perhaps another time,” he says.

“We'll see you guys later!” Audrey calls, and she and Charles wave again and turn to go.

As we watch their retreating backs, Jack groans, his hips jerking hard, and he comes. Heat fills my hand for a moment before the sea takes it away. His fingers slide from my pussy, and he turns me again in the water until he's facing me once more.

He holds me tight as we float, both of us panting a little.

“I need to really fuck you,” he tells me, his green gaze on my face, his brows drawing together. There is something there, maybe just the aftermath of his orgasm. It's too hard to tell, with my heart still pounding so fiercely I can barely breathe. “I need to rest first,” he says, “but then I need to be inside you. Come with me, Bettina. I want you naked on my bed, laid out on the sheets so I can see you.”

“Yes…”

“Let's go.”

We make our way out of the water, the waves dragging at us, as though they want to reclaim us, make us part of the
sea. And I'm not so sure I'd mind, to be lost on the ocean with Jack.

I feel weak as I stagger onto the sand. Jack grabs my towel and his, our water bottles, and somehow manages to juggle it all so he can hold on to my hand as we walk to his cottage.

Once in the shade of the bent cypress trees, I'm cold, shivering, even in the afternoon heat. We go into his cottage, and he drops everything and brings a towel from the bathroom, strips my suit off and dries me.

He is tender with me, gentle, as he kneels in front of me to rub my legs with the towel. The rough texture of it is wonderful on my skin, the sight of his damp, dark curls, his strong back. He pauses to kiss my belly, and I am wet again, needing him.

Standing, he runs the towel over my shoulders, then my breasts, and my nipples go hard.

“I love your breasts,” he says, palming them, and I surge into him, my eyes fluttering closed.

I can't get enough of him. I really can't.

He lets me go and quickly dries himself, and I can see that his cock is half-hard again already.

I want him. So badly my mouth is watering, my sex clenching, my thighs tense.

He comes up close to me and begins to dry my hair with the damp towel. But I just want him to finish. I want to be laid out on his bed, as he said. I want him to fuck me there.

Finally, he drops the towel.

“Lie down with me, girl.”

He takes my hand and pulls me with him onto the bed, onto my back, the cotton quilt cool and soft on my naked flesh. I think he's going to spread my thighs, to settle between them. But he lies on his back, one hand in mine.

“Christ, I'm tired,” he says, closing his eyes.

I am filled with disappointment. Which doesn't really make sense. At least he wanted me here with him.

But my body is aching, tight with need.

I take a deep breath, try to calm down.

“Do you want to nap?” I ask him.

“A nap would be perfect. I need to sleep for a while.”

“Should I go?”

“What? No, of course not.”

His hand grips mine tighter. My chest knots up and suddenly I want to cry.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I bite my lip, try to breathe, deep calming breaths: in through my nose, out through my mouth, as I learned from the antianxiety tapes my therapist gave me.

“Bettina, tell me a story,” Jack murmurs, his voice heavy with sleep.

“A story? What do you mean?”

“Yeah. About you. A true story. Something important.”

Am I imagining how intimate a situation this is? Because that's what it feels like. And it's good and terrifying at the same time.

Calm down.

“Okay. Let me think a minute.”

What bit of truth do I want to tell him about? I find I want to tell him everything. Partly as a sort of experiment, to see if he'll still want me. And partly simply because I want him to
know.

“Okay. Here's a true story about me, Jack. I've been in therapy for almost two years.”

“Mmm…why?”

“Because my writerly neurosis goes beyond the point where it's healthy. Because for much of my adult life I've barely been able to force myself to leave the house most days. Because I
have difficulty with intimacy. Because while I've done my share of sleeping around, I do it for the wrong reasons. And I don't allow myself to really care for anyone but a handful of old and loyal friends.”

“What else?”

I laugh, a small, harsh sound. “Isn't that enough?”

“I don't know. I've never been to therapy.”

“Yes, it's enough.”

“I guess it's enough if the therapy helps.”

“Yes.”

“So, does it help?”

“Yes, it has. Quite a lot. I doubt I'd be here now if it didn't.”

“Then I'm glad. I'm glad it makes you feel better. I'm glad you're here.”

He pulls my hand to his lips, kisses the back of it, drops it to his chest. And I lie there with my heart hammering.

Will he think I'm crazy? Will he judge me? But it doesn't seem as if he's judging me. Or maybe he's already half-asleep and hasn't really heard me.

Maybe I need to give him more credit.

His breathing shifts, becomes shallower, and I know he's drifting into sleep. I doubt I'll be able to sleep, with Jack lying next to me, both of us naked, the afternoon sun shafting through the window, making the dust motes dance, lighting up his beautiful skin in a warm golden glow.

His lashes are so dark against his cheeks. So long, for a man. I want to touch them, to run my fingers over the tips. But I don't do it. Instead I lie still beside him and watch him breathe, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, understanding how alive he is. He is more alive than anyone I've ever known. Stronger. Even more so than Audrey.

It always comes back to her, somehow. I don't know how
to make it stop. Maybe it won't stop until I'm away from this place. But that'll mean I'll be away from Jack, too.

Too soon to think about that.

No, right now I'm here with him. He is right here next to me, and anything is possible. I'd like to believe that, anyway. Maybe I will, if even for a while. Maybe I need to try to stop all my usual dissection and enjoy what's happening here.

I think about some of the teachings of the Tao I've read about in my search for serenity. About letting go the inevitable, not struggling against it, because doing so serves no purpose other than to exhaust me. Maybe now would be a good time to put that principle into practice.

Because the truth is, I am absolutely powerless over what Jack does or thinks, or how he feels about me. I hate it, but that's the reality of the situation.

Somehow, this idea comforts me, rather than making me feel more frustrated, and I bask in that comfort as I let myself drift off.

Plenty of time to dwell on my control issues tomorrow.

 

When I wake up, the sun is setting in a blaze of orange and pink. The colors are flooding in through the window. I realize immediately that I am alone on the bed. I sit up.

“Hey.”

Jack is standing there, smiling at me, and I am awash in relief.

He's dressed in a pair of army-green board shorts and nothing else. Lovely.

“I went up to the house and grabbed a picnic. I didn't want you to get dressed. I didn't want you to leave my bed.”

I sit up, and he frowns at me, although he doesn't look too serious about it.

“Just stay there,” he says.

“What? Why?”

“Don't move. Hang on.”

He goes to the small dresser on one side of the room, rummages around a little, comes back with a camera in his hand. It's not one of those small digitals everyone uses, it's the real thing, an old Olympus, I can see from the name engraved on the front, with a long, heavy lens.

“Oh, no,” I tell him, grabbing a pillow and pulling it over the front of my body.

“Why not? You're too damn beautiful, Bettina. And this light is flawless. Come on. Just a few shots.”

“I'm not beautiful,” I say, hugging the pillow tighter.

His brows draw together. “You really don't know how beautiful you are, do you?”

He's coming closer, moving slowly across the floor, his bare feet scuffing on the wood.

I shake my head. “I'm not.”

“But you are.” His voice has gone soft as he sits down on the bed and runs a hand down my spine. His palm is warm and dry. “You're beautiful, girl. Your skin. Your hair. You know I love your breasts.” His hand finds one beneath the pillow, his fingers stroking gently, and I arch into his touch; I can't help myself. “But it's your eyes that really get to me. They're like quartz, but shadowed. I can see all the way down into you through your eyes. I can see your pain. I can see your strength.”

“I'm not strong.”

I feel so damn vulnerable, with him saying these things to me. But he seems so certain, so sincere, I no longer really know how
not
to believe him.

“You don't perceive yourself in the same way others do. Most of us don't. It's okay. But let me show you what I see, okay? If you don't like the pictures, you can tear them up.
Burn the film. Whatever you want. But let me show you the incredible girl I see.”