Undone (8 page)

I sniffed and nodded, easing back as Sol released his grip. I dusted the tear splashes on his T-shirt. ‘Sorry,’ I croaked.

‘No need.’ He smoothed my hair from my face and gazed down. Under his jutting brow, his once-twinkly eyes were now smudged with concern. The split on his lip sagged, a taut polished bead of bruises and blood. The injury seemed so decadent, a flagrant display of sensuality and excess bordering on the sordid. I wanted to kiss him there but doing so was forbidden. I might hurt him or open up the wound. And foolish to kiss where blood could spill into my mouth.

That his lips were off-limits made me desire to touch him there all the more. I raised my face higher, seeking and offering, my breath quivering with suppressed sobs. But I bottled out. Instead, I grated my lips over the rough, harsh stubble of his jaw, trying to inhale him. That was safer. I tasted my tears on my lips and I brushed harder, nibbling, kissing, smearing my saltiness against him, murmuring half-words of sadness. I couldn’t stop. The scouring on my lips was addictive.

I liked to think I was shredding tender skin on the burn of his bristles; that he was ripping me at the molecular level so the kissing, murmuring wreckage of me would lodge with him unseen.

I edged closer to his lips. Wasn’t it even more foolish not to kiss him there? A man was stone-cold dead. In the scheme of things, what did minor transgressions matter? Who cared about taking a chance on civility and health? So what if I tried and he was repulsed? Because wasn’t this, right now, what mattered most; this seizing of messy moments undaunted by a wagging finger?

I gazed up at him, and I wanted to vanish into his eyes. The hand cupping my head coiled my hair into a gentle fist and, oh, sweet, dirty joy, his cock nudged against my hip. A thick, slow beat throbbed between my thighs, three distinct pulses that wetted and widened me. I opened my mouth as if I were about to eat thin air. With great care, I reached up to take his injury in a soft, moist hold. As tenderly as I could, I ran my tongue tip over the taut, cracked plumpness.

A noise snagged in his throat.

I pulled back, concerned. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Everywhere.’ His voice was a throaty whisper. ‘But I can’t feel it.’

His hand tightened in my hair and I whimpered. Mild pain prickled across my scalp. I felt so protected and safe, that hint of force affecting me more profoundly than any affection could. He understood me; understood that I didn’t find comfort in the usual places. Slowly, he tilted my head back, his grip intensifying to prevent me moving my lips towards his.

‘What is it you want, eh, Lana?’ His voice was a low, sexy drawl. Evidently, he didn’t find comfort in the usual places either. My arousal pulsed. I ached for his wound, his vulnerability. I tried to edge close again but his clasp locked me in place, pain nipping when I tried defying him.

‘To forget,’ I breathed. ‘Just for a while. I want to forget.’

He nuzzled against my cheek. ‘I can make you forget,’ he whispered.

His voice carried a faint warning note and, oh God, that was it. Game over. I was demolished. I was a rag doll in his arms. A flood rushed to my groin. In my mind, those five little words whirled, dizzying me with their intoxicating promise.
I can make you forget
.

I eased forwards.

‘I can make you forget who you even are,’ he murmured.

My knees were boneless. I could barely stand upright.

We were in a twisted fairy tale, and his bust lip was the forbidden fruit waiting to punish us for our greed. But I didn’t care. Today already felt like punishment of the worst sort. Sol didn’t seem to care either. If he’d wanted, he could have stopped me from tasting him but he didn’t. He just let me feel the stabbing burn in the roots of my hair, his fist following my movements with a tension that stung.

‘You want to see if I’ll trust you?’ he asked. ‘Is that it?’

I pecked and nibbled near his injury again. ‘Do you?’ I whispered.

‘I don’t know yet.’

Leaves stirred around us as if the forest were drawing breath. I nudged at the bruised bud with gentler lips. He didn’t protest, so again I enveloped the lump as lightly as I could. For a moment, Sol was stock still, allowing me to explore the texture of his hurt, tracing the hard smoothness here, the ragged cut there. Then he groaned and began tentatively kissing back. His body rocked into mine as his grip slackened on my hair.

The suggestion of abandonment made me melt even further. I grew loose between my thighs and my limbs were watery. I hooked a thumb into the belt loop of his jeans, needing the support. We kissed in fluttering, fleeting touches, the bump moving with his lips, a strange, solid intrusion in the flow of slippery sensuality. He pulled me closer, cupping my buttocks with his big hands. Overhead, a breeze rippled through the canopy and a couple of blackbirds sang merrily. From far away, the cry of sirens reminded me this was not what we should be doing.

Sol was the first to withdraw. His eyes searched mine, a frown deepening between his brows. ‘We need to stick together on this, OK?’ He ran a thumb over my lower lip. I nodded. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s keep walking.’

Disappointment thudded. I was so horny that walking seemed an insurmountable challenge. Sol turned, reaching back for my hand as he began striding over compacted ground. My knees seemed not to exist and my senses were veiled, as if I weren’t fully present. I hurried to keep pace.

‘What should we do?’ I asked.

We released hands. His legs were longer than mine and walking single-file was proving awkward.

‘We just need to work out what to say and stick to it.’ He threw me a backward glance. The track narrowed, sloping gradually into denser woodland of beech trees, their smooth, grey trunks rising to a high mesh of green brilliance. Sol tramped up shallow steps edged by thick twigs. The forest floor was scattered with prickly husks of mast and dry, dun-brown leaf litter, friable and soft to walk on.

‘I’m in stupid sandals,’ I said irritably. ‘Will you please slow down?’

He stopped and turned. I read impatience in his silence but I may have been projecting.

‘I’m not dressed for this. Where are we going?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Somewhere quiet.’

‘If you ask me, this is pretty fucking quiet.’

‘A little further on, that’s all.’

He turned and continued marching along the low incline of the earthy, staggered path. I lagged behind, my breath quickening. Underfoot, the carpet of dead leaves muffled our tread and dulled the occasional crack of twigs. These makeshift steps hadn’t been used in some time.

‘You know that bit in
1984
?’ I called. ‘Where Winston and Julia go to the countryside? Is this like that?’

‘Never read it.’ He spoke loudly, turning to shoot me a fleeting look. ‘I’m a Yank. We do Steinbeck. Why, what happens?’

I laughed, and the relief of doing so brought a wave of pleasure that made me laugh again. I felt feeble and giddy. My calf muscles ached.

‘They go on a sort of date,’ I yelled. ‘And they have to keep walking through woodland, not speaking until they’re … till they’re past all the hidden microphones and bugs and whatnot.’

‘Then what happens?’

I paused, panting for breath. The gathering hush blanketed our voices, our words seeming to linger in a realm unused to speech. I drew a deep breath and said, ‘Then they sit down on the grass and have a lovely picnic.’

Ahead of me, Sol laughed. ‘Get outta here!’

‘OK, I lied.’ I grinned as I strolled on. ‘They fuck each other’s brains out.’

Sol laughed again. ‘Then yeah,’ he hollered. ‘It is like that. Because I totally forgot the picnic.’

The steps ended as the forest floor levelled out, the ground a deep bed of old leaves reminiscent of crumbled cigar skins. Sol stopped walking and surveyed our surroundings.

‘Seriously, I can’t go much further.’ I stood downslope from him, gasping for breath. ‘These sandals are useless. I’ll break my ankle. Then you’ll be sorry because you’ll be the one carrying me.’

He smiled and began sauntering off the track towards a toppled beech. His trainers created small flurries of leaf litter when he picked up speed in a boyish scramble of pleasure. At the tree’s base, a lattice of roots matted with earth formed a ragged wall, and the vast spread of dead, bare branches lay tangled on higher ground. Narrow sunbeams pierced the thinned canopy and saplings rose towards the patches of blue sky. Sol slapped the fallen trunk in a gesture of satisfaction; then he turned and leaned his backside against it. A bird rattled overhead before flapping away with a desolate cry.

Sol patted for his cigarettes, smirking as he watched me struggle over the lumpy terrain. I stopped a few feet from him, hands on hips, trying to catch my breath as I assessed our location. Ivy crawled over the horizontal trunk, the ground dipping in a small valley beneath the tree, thick with forest debris. Pale, filtered sunlight, dusty with forest air, gave the small clearing an atmosphere of reverence and myth.

Sol put a cigarette to his lips and tilted his chin. ‘Take your top off, Lana.’ The cigarette waggled as he spoke.

Lust slammed into my cunt. He cupped a hand to the cigarette tip, shielding his lighter. I laughed nervously, adoring his show of arrogance. A lock of his dark hair spilled forwards as he gazed at the flame. Smoke drifted up from his cigarette, swirling across shafts of light.

‘Here?’ I said. ‘Do you think we’re safe?’

He inhaled with long, luxurious pleasure, hard enough for me to hear the suck through his teeth.

‘I figure so.’ He released a slow trail of smoke, watching me steadily. ‘Haven’t seen any of those hidden microphones for a good while now.’

I laughed and caught a whiff of his cigarette. In the clean, fresh forest, it smelled illicitly industrial and modern. I could well believe we were the first to walk this way for years, that our voices were breaking an ancient silence. Secrets were secure here, the trees our only witness.

‘Well? I’m waiting,’ said Sol.

I faltered. Ordinarily, I’d have participated without a second thought. Sol and I had the hots for each other and seemed to be on the same wavelength. This was just a bit of fun, some casual sex at a weekend party. But we were fleeing a scene of death, so sex couldn’t be easy and meaningless anymore. Indulging in pleasure seemed disrespectful to Misha. I knew too that, although we concealed it well, emotions were running high.

All these doubts flitted through my mind. But Sol looked at me and I looked at him, and my cunt didn’t want to pay heed to my brain. And my overburdened brain, desperate for a break, wanted to relinquish control to my lust. I’m not sure what my heart was doing. Cowering in fear, most likely.

‘So?’ said Sol. ‘You don’t strike me as the shy type.’

He looked such a hot mess. Strong hips, worn jeans, cool way of smoking. I once read that women desire bad boys because they want to be the one who’ll fix him and make him good. What are we? Zookeepers? I’ve never wanted to tame a man in my life. On the contrary, I’ve welcomed the excuse to become more like him, to have a bad influence foisted upon me. In my youth, I longed to be swayed off the straight and narrow. I’d wanted the dangerous, corrupting guys because they legitimised me acting like an archetypal man, reckless, hedonistic and selfish. I’d wanted Sol, carefree, randy fool that he was, because he made me believe I could fuck it all to hell. I wanted to join him for the ride.

But I learned the hard way that these are the guys who cause heartbreak and pain. I was quite certain I’d grown out of them. As an adult woman, I thought I preferred adult men who didn’t fuck you about; who were able to take responsibility for their own lives and treat fellow human beings with respect and decency.

I thought I had it sussed. And then all of a sudden here was Sol, wild, intriguing, pleasure-hungry, and quite possibly implicated in a man’s death. He was too much, way too much.

And at that moment, too much was what I craved. So, grinning, I lifted my top over my head and cast it to the ground. A faint breeze tickled my skin. Sol watched with wry interest but barely moved a muscle. All he did was stand there, cool as a cucumber, his cigarette tip glowing as he smoked. When I removed my bra, he gave a tiny smile, nodding to himself in approval. I dropped my bra to the floor and stood, shoulders back. The woodland shadows chilled, making sensation rise in my nipples.

‘And the rest,’ said Sol.

I glanced about. ‘I’m not sure. Supposing someone comes?’

His shoulders hitched with a grunt of amusement. ‘That’s the plan, Cha Cha.’

Damn, I was starting to like this man far more than was good for me. ‘Are you going to strip as well?’

He drew on his cigarette, his head tilted at a thoughtful angle. ‘Probably.’ Smoke streamed from his lips, making silvery patterns in the wooded low light. ‘It’d be a shame not to.’

‘You promise?’

‘OK, I promise,’ he replied, grinning. ‘Just let me enjoy a smoke and a little floor show first.’ He urged me to continue with an imperious flap of his hand.

‘You cheeky bastard,’ I murmured.

I unzipped my skirt, let it fall to my ankles and stepped free. Sol’s gaze rolled up and down, slow, scrutinising and arrogant. His lips twisted in a smug smile and, damn, his attitude got me right in the groin. I glanced around, half expecting goblins and fae folk to be peeping from behind tree trunks.

Confident we were alone, I pushed my knickers down and stepped out of them. I stood proudly in nothing but my sandals, allowing him to see all of me as leafy air curled around my wetness. The thrill of misbehaving exhilarated, as did the thrill of Sol eyeing my naked body from several feet away.

He took another long draw on his cigarette. I felt awkward, just standing there. So I kicked back one foot, giving him jazz hands and a wide, cheesecake smile. He laughed. Smoke spilled from his lips and glittered across needles of light. Without a word, he tapped out his cigarette on the trunk behind him and dashed the butt to the ground.

Still watching me, he tugged his tee over his head. He vanished briefly in a stream of fabric and then emerged, torso bared, dark mop of hair askew. He shook his head as if to rearrange his hair and dropped his top onto the tree trunk. Even though it was mere hours since I’d seen him naked, the beauty of his physique was enough to stun. His muscularity was strong rather than sculpted, his chestnut-brown body hair clouding his pecs and running to a neat line down his belly. His skin tone was uneven, decades dark on his forearms, paler on his chest, reddish bronze on his brawny shoulders. The stem of the tattooed dandelion curled down the side of his torso, the seed heads drifting from the fluffy globe of the clock. I thought of him as an impossible forest creature, a grizzly bear or a satyr, who would eat me all up.