Unbind (61 page)

He appeared shy for a moment, his mouth so dry he had to lick his lips and choke forward some spit. I giggled behind my hands while he rolled his eyes. Eventually, he took my hand, and it got serious. He slid the ring from its box, waiting for my approval.

“I got a call earlier when you were in the bathroom and they delivered it to the hotel. I thought I’d surprise you… so this is me, asking properly. With a ring, with my heart on my sleeve, beneath the stars.”

Tears poured from my eyes, the reality all the more clearer now.

“I didn’t want to admit it and couldn’t see it ’til you showed me, but I am capable of love. Some part of me must have loved you that first day you walked in the office, with your mouth and your smile, your eyes, your heart. I don’t know what I would be if you hadn’t have had the balls to come into my gallery that time. I only want you to say yes to letting me carry you for a bit, because we both know you deserve it. If you let me carry your heart, your worries and cares, your pain and your joy, it’d be my honour for the rest of our lives to call you my wife.”

There was barely a pause before I shouted, “Yes! Yes! Oh my god!”

He got up off his knee and slipped the ring on, before kissing me with all that fierce passion he had coiled in his heart. It quickly became so heated we had to head inside the vehicle.

On the back seat, behind the tinted windows, his hands slipped under the skirt of my dress, caressing my thighs and buttocks as I straddled him.

My heart was pounding as I licked and kissed his throat, taking his scent and the outdoors from his hot, slick skin.

I felt feverish and so much hornier than usual, the blood flow in my belly outrageous. I whipped off his polo shirt and feasted on the hard planes of his pecs, his six-pack and the thick shoulders which encased me safely every night, making me feel safer than I’d ever felt. I got lost kissing his body from wrist to shoulder, across his chest, then back down the other side. He sat back and let me enjoy him, his hands still enjoying the curves beneath my clothing.

I popped a couple of buttons at the top of my frilly summer dress, letting my cleavage spill out. He nuzzled his nose in between my breasts, kissing and licking until slipping a hand beneath my lace bra cup, popping out my full tit. My hands held his neck reverently, pushing him gently toward my nipple. The feel of his skin and tense muscle beneath my hands, his sweaty hair… I was dripping. He freed my other breast and took the weight of both in his hands, running his thumbs over my nipples, sending a rush of sensations right down to my core. I tipped my head back while he ran his mouth up and down my throat, still flicking my nipples in his hands.

“Oh. I love you so much, Cai,” I moaned.

His eyes widened for a moment and I saw a flash of anger as he tore my panties at the gusset seam, exposing me. He pressed his whole hand to my entire heat, no specific touch—his only desire to savour my body’s reaction to him.

I bit his top lip, snarling into his mouth, “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours, I always was,” he replied, his eyes flaring as two fingers slid through my molten tissues, easily finding a path inside.

My eyes fluttered shut and I held onto his neck while riding his fingers, the urge to take him deep and quickly, so overpowering. I came recklessly, slaking his digits with my cum.

“So wet for me, I love watching you come.”

He wriggled his wet finger toward my other orifice, drawing juices there. Carefully, as we’d practiced, he stretched that tight pucker until it gave, his digit slipping in easily. Such carnal knowledge existed between us, without words. I saw the flicker of animalistic pleasure in his flashing eyes, his gusto at knowing I loved him touching me, everywhere. I lifted up and down on his index finger and gave him a moment while he added another, his middle finger. He stretched his hand so he could add his thumb to my clit and while my ass rode two fingers, I felt the burn hit my clit a second time, my body finding release again so easily.

“Baby, you’re so hot tonight,” he groaned, “so willing. I’m in love with making you come but I can’t stand it much longer.”

Noticing his pain, I reached for his jeans and opened them, pulling him free. I slid my fist along his length and spread pre-cum along the shaft, ensuring he was slick. I spat into my hand and added more, pulling him tight into my palm until he moaned. All the while he continued to fondle my ass, pushing juices up and into my other hole, stretching me.

I moved closer and he helped position me, his head at my anus. I lowered gently as he fed the wide crown into the initial depths of my bottom, my body shaking violently as I accepted the first part of him.

He moved in closer and kissed my mouth, settling me, calming me. I held his shoulders like I might shatter into a million pieces if I didn’t. He pulled open the rest of the buttons on my dress and removed my bra, his hands holding my bare back as the dress bunched around my waist.

I sighed and let myself fall so gradually, the pressure of our joining immense. He was there right with me, every inch, by perfect inch. His eyes grew wide, his breathing rapid, mirroring my own. He looked fit to burst.

When I’d lowered completely, he suckled my nipples until I rippled at my core, the onset of orgasm nearing again. Beneath me, he moved gently, easing in and out with only minute movements. I leaned forward and licked his nipple.

“You’re in my ass,” I groaned.

“It’s the most amazing thing,” he responded, his eyes rolling, his hands clinging to my back tightly. “A first for us both.”

“I feel so fucking full, Cai.”

“Oh, baby,” he ground out, his teeth clamped tight together.

I reached between us and stroked my clitoris, offering him a taste in between. His head rested back against the seat, his large body so still, his urge to savour this immense.

“Buck for me,” I told him, my crisis so close. “You won’t hurt me, pump me.”

He took hold of my thighs and lifted me up and down, the pleasure beyond belief, as we moved together. I fell so my chest and his were pressed together but he was still heaving me and I was still rubbing myself senseless. I looked straight into his eyes and demanded, “Spill your cum in me, Cai. In my ass.”

“God damn it, I love you,” he barked, yelling, “fuuuuckkk!”

I don’t remember much of what happened next, only, to not remember it must have meant it was out of this world. I knew I was throbbing afterwards, a painful climax having torn its way right through the centre of my entire being.

“I’d die before I lost you,” he told me, as I nestled against his wet chest. We stayed in that embrace for a long, long time, the pair of us thinking about how intense it had been.

I was bursting with love for Cai, ready to split at the seams. I felt closer to him than I’d ever felt to any other human being.

I didn’t know why but while my hands stroked his hair, while I let him clean me up, I had this horrible feeling of not wanting to go back to New York. It was more than just our trip—it was a fear of something waiting for us when we got back.

IT WAS STRANGE. We arrived back to a number of newspaper columns still digesting Cai’s show… and every one speculated when the next would be. We didn’t know why—but there was very little backlash. If anything, the whole thing had been a total success! My suspicion that we would face recrimination from Jennifer was totally blown out of the water when a journalist quoted her as saying, ‘Kincaid had an underwater camera in his hand when he emerged from the womb. I mean, please! He’s a natural!’

As a precaution, however, I returned to work
sans
ring. Just in case. We didn’t tell a soul even though I was dying to tell Kayla—and more importantly—I was dying to tell her about the monumental sex we had in the desert! Yet I kept schtum and knew it was our best bet. Jennifer still seemed to be under some illusion that we wouldn’t last. I had this confirmed when he showed me the odd text or two along the lines:

Bored of the buxom broad yet?

Please tell me who to write the check out to when she realises you’re an ass.

It seemed ludicrous, I know, but she didn’t let up. This woman who was meant to be his mother/aunt—did actually talk to him like that when everybody else’s back was turned!

Around this time, Cai locked himself away to start work on another project and I was forbidden from entering the gallery. I was inquisitive but respected his need for privacy if he wanted space to produce his next collection. Anyway, I had matters of my own to attend to…

The day I walked into the therapist’s office, I felt like I was at the dentist. Even though I couldn’t smell that clinical smell and that god-awful wash they make you swill your mouth with, I felt ill at ease. That was until I got talking to Dr. Theo. He put me right straight away.

We immediately got to the OCD issue and I explained that I’d contained it so well that nobody could see the true extent of it. I explained I often sat vacant while I worked things through my mind obsessively. I said sometimes the issue manifested in those notes all over the house, or if it got a little bit worse, I’d rearrange my whole house to see if I could get it straighter or neater. I explained the littler things: the pavement thing, the cutlery thing and all that other stuff. Fads like buying an apple a day, from the same grocer, just one apple—at the same time every day. I admitted sometimes I made sure to take the exact same route home I had done the day before—while timing myself. I was told what I was dealing with was mild OCD because my behaviours weren’t always set by a schedule and it only seemed to hit me during times of stress. Mine was set off by triggers and it was those we needed to work on. In fact, the therapist encouraged me to write notes or a journal, to explore my feelings whenever I felt stressed or hopeless. We both agreed I wasn’t depressed because I still found enjoyment in sex, in reading, in food—in clothes too—all those things that made me happy. I told the doctor my relationship with Cai was stronger than ever, in ways I hadn’t imagined possible.

Even if I never sent it, the doctor said I should write a letter to my father explaining how I felt. He said it could prove useful and I agreed, I would give it a shot. I didn’t have much faith in it working but I would try.

I admitted to the doctor that in the immediate aftermath of having my head bashed in, I used to lie in bed at night and run scenes through my head. A bit like
Sliding Doors
: ‘If only this factor hadn’t been part of the equation, it wouldn’t have happened…’ and the storyboard would mutate into something else then. Perhaps for a while, I convinced myself it hadn’t really happened, to me. Yet it had. Focusing on the little things had re-focussed my mind away from the big matters, the ones that I thought I had shelved from sight. Obviously not. Bad stuff happened to me but I was denying it, all the time. I was chasing away from the reality, trying to convince myself I was still the same girl. I wasn’t. My mind was strong but I couldn’t quite escape what happened.
It did happen
, a little voice always reminded me.

I
was
there, that night. I happened to see my sister with a gang of dealers. I confronted Sonny because that was the type of person I used to be. That was the person I had to be, to get myself free. I was once someone who fought, like I’d told Cai in the diner that time as I pleaded my case like I never had done before. For so long, my mind wasted time erasing chunks of memory and re-editing that night in a bid to get my head round it. To make it logical.
What if it had never happened?
Instead of just moving on, I questioned myself over and over and over again.

Even as I spoke to the doctor—a stranger I’d never met before—my long-buried pain lessened. By the end of my first session, Dr. Theo and I were in total agreement: my issue was that I needed to forgive myself. End of.

The breakthrough came when the doctor said to me, “Therapy isn’t a game of personality pulping where we lay out what’s wrong with you, it’s a journey of discovering what you’ve forgotten is right.”

WHEN I realised it had been a year since we met, I decided to mark the occasion with a candlelit dinner at home. I had to drag Cai away from that studio—whatever was occupying him in there was serious stuff. I had to force him into the bathroom to shave and wash.

Sat at the kitchen island, which I’d dressed in cute leather placemats and matching napkins, coasters, candleholders—all that kind of stuff—Cai looked at me and asked, “When do you want to get married?”