Then slowly and deliberately he sucked the tip of each finger. He could see on my face what that did to me.
“I want to make love to you,” he whispered.
I tried to snatch my hands back but he held onto them.
“Don’t give up on us, Caro. Because I haven’t.”
I tugged my hands free and this time he let them go.
“Sebastian, I’ll be honest with you—I don’t know what to do for the best so I’m kind of making this up as I go along. But … all this … this craziness—we’re getting swept away by it. Making love with you is extraordinary: I’ve never, never felt anything like this my whole life. But it was wrong of me to … to start this relationship with you—and I don’t mean because of what the law says, although that’s certainly an issue … but because it’s not fair to you.”
He tried to interrupt me but I was determined to finish.
“Please, I need to say this. I’ve had a lot of years of feeling inadequate, of not being good enough—I don’t need to paint a picture, I’m sure you can guess why. And every time, every time I see you with a younger woman, whatever the circumstances, it’s going to rip me up. I don’t want to see the best thing I’ve ever known soured by my insecurities—I couldn’t bear that. You’ve brought me to life—and you’ll never know how much I owe you because of that. But you’re only just starting out in your life. It’s not fair to burden you with me. You deserve better than that. I have to let you go.”
He stared at me in silence for some seconds as if to make sure I really had finished. He took a deep breath—and I held mine.
“You want honesty? Well, answer this: if I was 25 and you were 38, would we still be having this conversation?”
I shrugged helplessly.
“About you going off with your ex-girlfriend? Yes. Definitely.”
He shook his head impatiently.
“No, the age thing.”
“Maybe,” I said, cautiously.
“No, I don’t think so and nor do you—not really. That’s what I’m saying, Caro. Nobody would blink twice. It wouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Don’t you think that I don’t feel the same, that I’m not good enough for you? Hell, what can I give you? A shitty apartment and working two jobs while you try to put me through school. You think I feel good about that? Because it fucking kills me! I want to take care of you, not … I don’t care about going to college; I don’t care about leaving San Diego. I only care about being with you. And we have this same fucking argument over and over. You’re driving me crazy! I love you! If you left me now…”
But he couldn’t finish the words. He scrubbed away tears from his cheeks and looked down.
“Every time something goes wrong, you give up on us. You’re killing me, Caro.”
I sat with my hand over my mouth, unable to move or speak, appalled at what I’d done to him.
He looked up.
“You want honesty? Well, I don’t know what will happen … but neither do you. Maybe we’ll make it … maybe we won’t. But you’re giving up before we’ve even tried. I don’t understand. Why won’t you take a chance?”
Is that what I was doing? Had I found yet another way to be a coward? I’d thought I was setting him free, but he saw it as my refusal to take a chance … on him, on us, on love—maybe even on myself.
“What do you want to do?” I said, softly.
“Try. Just try.”
Yes. I could do that.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, I’ll try.”
“You’ve got to mean it, Caro. Promise me.”
“I promise I’ll try.”
His shoulders slumped with relief.
“I missed you last night,” he said.
I tried to smile but my face still felt stiff from our most recent fight.
“Shall we go to our favorite coffee shop?” I suggested, thinking neutral ground might be a good idea.
He shook his head.
“I don’t want to share you.”
We stared at each other across the kitchen table.
“Can we go to bed?” he asked. “I … I really need you, Caro. To touch you … to show you how much I love you. Please.”
It was breaking all my carefully constructed rules. What if someone saw my car in the driveway and came around? What if someone had seen Sebastian arrive? What if they saw him leave later? What if? What if? But I was tired of being afraid, and right now, I didn’t care. I needed him, too.
I stood up and held out my hand. For a second he continued to stare at me, then a huge smile lit his eyes.
We walked up the stairs hand-in-hand, each step measuring the distance from our argument.
He was surprised when I turned left into the guest room. He threw me a questioning look.
“I sleep in here now,” I said simply.
I saw him try to suppress a triumphant smile. He almost managed it.
Slowly we undressed each other, taking our time to reconnect.
He unbuttoned my shirt, pausing to kiss my chest, a little lower each time. He undid the cuffs and kissed my wrists, then let the material slide over my shoulders. I ran my hands down his chest, then tugged lightly on the hem, pulling his t-shirt over his head. I slid my hands over his skin, burying my face in his chest, breathing him in. He smelled of sunshine and the ocean.
He watched me, his eyes dark, filled with desire, as I slowly unzipped his jeans. He pushed them down his legs and stepped out of them, quickly sliding his briefs over his hips, so he stood naked before me, his love exposed.
He sank to his knees, and rested his hands on my waist, his eyes still fixed on mine. Then his eyes closed, and he kissed my stomach, nuzzling me gently.
I rested one hand on his shoulder, and stroked his head with the other.
He smiled up at me then turned his attention to my zipper. Carefully, he helped me step out of my jeans and panties. He kissed my body briefly, then stood up and pulled me into a tender hug.
“Do you know how much you mean to me, how much I love you?” he whispered into my hair. “I hate fighting with you.”
“I hate it, too. Just kiss me.”
His mouth rested gently on mine and I felt the softness of his lips as they moved against me. His fingers drifted over my shoulders and down my spine where both his hands cupped my behind.
My hands trailed up over his ribs until they were twisted behind his neck, pulling his head down to deepen our kiss.
Here in this room, with our bodies entwined, I felt that I could trust this fierce love that had shattered and rebuilt my life. But outside, the world was a cold and dangerous place. I didn’t know if love would be enough, but I’d promised to try.
He bent down suddenly and quite literally swept me off my feet so I gasped. He cradled me in his arms and kissed me again.
“I’ve been meaning to do this for ages,” he said, his voice a soft murmur.
“Sebastian, you swept me off my feet our very first night together.”
He grinned.
“Yeah, but I’ve been wanting to do it properly ever since.”
Gently, he placed me on the bed and stood looking down at me, his gaze soft and loving.
“I want to kiss every inch of you,” he said.
“That sounds nice: which end are you going to start?”
He laughed lightly.
“Hmm … choices, choices. Today, I think I’ll start with your toes.”
“My toes?!”
“Sure, why not? You have beautiful feet.”
And, to make his point, he picked up my left foot and sucked my big toe, nipping the end playfully.
Why that was so erotic, I couldn’t say, but it made me desperate to feel him inside me. I reached out for him but he leaned away.
“Nope! You’re always saying you want me to go slowly … your wish is my command.”
“But…!”
“Nope—slowly.”
He kissed the front of my foot and ra
n his tongue up my shin. He sucked my knee, gazing up at me through his lashes, a wicked gleam in his eye. Just when I thought he’d be moving up to my thigh, he put my foot back on the bed and started again on my right foot.
Why the hell had I ever asked for ‘slow’? This was torture. Slow, delicious, unbelievable torture. Boy, he was a good student.
This time he didn’t stop at my knee, but hooked my leg over his shoulder and kept on going. And going.
My back arched and I gasped as his tongue flicked up to my sweet spot, then circled around and around.
I moaned his name and clutched at his shoulders but he just pressed harder and I felt myself begin to build.
“Sebastian,” I moaned again. “Please!”
I wasn’t even sure what I was pleading for: me, him, us.
Then he started teasing me with his fingers, slowly circling, massaging me inside and out. I didn’t think I could take much more and tried to push his hands away but he was relentless. My body shuddered and he sat up. I glimpsed a satisfied expression on his face between my frantic breaths.
“Slow enough for you?” he muttered, as he continued his kisses up my body, finally reaching my breasts, which he sucked and teased with playful bites.
I pulled my knees up and felt his erection pushing between my thighs, but he didn’t try to enter me. I ran my hand up and down him and he squeezed his eyes shut, momentarily losing his concentration.
“Don’t,” he said.
“But, I…”
“You have to wait, Caro.”
“Why?!”
“You wanted slow. I’m giving you slow.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” I whimpered. “I want fast. Please. Now.”
He arched his back away from me and grinned.
“No. I like slow. Who knew?”
And to make his point, he grabbed both my hands and held them above my head so I couldn’t touch him and he carried on kissing my breasts.
That made me mad. I didn’t like not being able to touch him.
“Let go my hands!”
He ignored me so I bit his neck and pushed against him with my feet.
“Wow, you want to fight me? I like it!”
“Stop teasing me!”
“I thought you wanted slow?”
“No!” I said forcefully, and he laughed.
“What do you want then?”
I shook his hands off me and grabbed hold of his erection, placing it at my entrance. If that wasn’t enough of a clue, I really didn’t know what was!
Thankfully he took the hint and allowed himself to slide into me. I was so turned on it was a relief and pain and pleasure when he was finally inside me. And that’s when his plans to go slow completely unraveled.
“Oh, fuck!” he hissed. “You feel so fucking amazing! Oh, Caro!”
I tilted my hips up and he started to really move—long, hard strokes that rocked the whole bed and sent the headboard banging against the wall.
I clenched around him, and that tipped him over the edge. He rammed into me urgently one last time, his muscles rigid, his breath hot and rapid on my neck. He rested his head on my shoulder and gently pulled out of me, collapsing onto his side.
Breathlessly, I inched back down the bed and nestled into him. He wrapped his arm around me and we lay there wordlessly.
Finally, we lay peacefully. My head was on his chest, listening to his heart beating, his breath rising and falling, and the distant sounds of the world outside our window. His fingers drifted rhythmically up and down my back.
I felt so content, I began to fall asleep. Then Sebastian brought me crashing back to the here and now.
“Did David say anything to you when he came home?”
I sighed. I really didn’t want to talk about him.
“Not much.”
“He must have said something.”
“He implied I drank too much.”
“What? Why?”
I laughed mirthlessly. “I think, because I offered him a glass of wine. I was trying to be … civil.”
Sebastian muttered an oath under his breath.
Well, now that he’d started this line of questioning … here was my starter for ten.
“How did you get home last night? I understood from Shirley that everyone was sleeping in the van.”
“Hitched,” he said, shortly.
And now for the six million dollar question.
“What did Brenda say to you, when you went off with her?”
He sucked some air in through his teeth. Yeah, should have seen that one coming.
“She wanted us to start dating again.”
I’d guessed as much. Hell, she couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d sky-written it with scarlet letters, then ripped his clothes off and mounted him on the sand in front of everyone.
“And what did you say?”
“I said I didn’t feel the same … I told her I’d met someone else.”
I inhaled sharply. “Was that wise?”
He shrugged. “I thought that would make her back off.”
“But it didn’t?”
He shook his head. “Not at first. She kept on and on asking me who it was.”
“And?”
“She kept naming all these girls we knew in school…” he sighed. “Then she said the thing with Jack was a mistake … and she started crying.”
All those girls…
I couldn’t help feeling he wasn’t telling me the whole story. Did I want to know? If he didn’t tell me, I’d probably just imagine something worse.
“How did you leave it with her?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when she started crying, what did you do?”
“You saw what I did,” he said, sounding annoyed.
“Yes, but after that: Shirley and Donna said you’d been gone ages.”
He didn’t answer straight away.
“We went for a walk,” he said at last. “Brenda was … embarrassed. She didn’t want to go back to her friends looking like she’d been crying.”
“She’s very pretty.”
He looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What happened next?”
“That’s it. I walked her back to her friends. She seemed fine. I went back to the fire pit, but you’d already packed up and gone. I texted you,” he said accusingly.
“I didn’t look at my phone.”
I could see he wasn’t fully convinced but he didn’t press me either. I was grateful for that.
“Why were you downtown so late?”
“I was dropping off the films I took of the fun day.”
“On a Sunday?”
“Yes, the editor wanted them early. I don’t know why.” Although I had a pretty good suspicion what the reason was.
He paused. I was glad he’d decided to let it go.
“Bill’s an asshole.”
Ugh. He wasn’t letting everything go. Now I was the one who should have seen that coming.
“You shouldn’t let him wind you up so easily.”
“I hated the way he spoke to you!”
“I know how that feels,” I said, calmly.
We lay quietly for a few minutes, letting the twin specters of our jealousy spiral further away.
I think Sebastian must have finally decided to try and put yesterday behind us, because he suddenly said, “I never asked: have you ever been to New York before?”
“Yes, a couple of times. You?”
“No. Mom and Dad went sometimes but they always left me with a neighbor.”
His voice was bitter. I wondered again if Shirley’s speculation about his parentage was accurate.
“What made you want us to go there then?”
He shrugged.
“Same reason you want to go back East—to get as far away from here as possible.”
“What shall we do when we get there?” I said, happy to try and imagine our future. “I mean, is there anything special you’d
like to do?”
“Have sex. A lot.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s a given. Anything else? Perhaps of an outdoor nature?”
“Have sex outdoors.”
I laughed.
“I don’t think they have a lot of beaches in New York City.”
“Yeah, they do! I checked. Well, not the city exactly but there’s a surf community at Rockaway Beach. If we lived in Brooklyn or Queens, we’d be less than 10 miles from it.”
I had to smile. “You’ve been doing your research.”
“Sure! And a guy I know who used to surf Long Beach said that it can get pretty gnarly.”
“I think you should write me a glossary of surfing terms so I know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, you’ve gotta know about Sex Wax, baby.”
“What?!”
“Yeah, you rub it on your stick.”
“Okay, you’ve got about five seconds to explain that or…”
“Or what?”
“No peanut butter for you!”
“Wow! You really do play rough!”
“You’d better believe it.”
He laughed and tugged my hair gently.
“Sex Wax is a brand name for the kind of wax you put on your board—your stick. It helps give you traction. Not as much fun as it sounds.”
“Preferisci una inceratura a caldo ... o a freddo?”
“What does that mean? Because it sounded really dirty!”
“I said, ‘Do you like it coated in hot wax ... or cold?’”
“Oh man! That sounded so hot!”
“Si è alzata l’onda, o sei proprio contento di vedermi?”
“Huh?”
“Is the surf up or are you just pleased to see me?”
“Fuck! It makes me so horny when you say stuff like that.”
“Sebastian, I could read a bus timetable and you’d say it made you horny!”
He smiled. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve got a tide table in my jeans’ pocket. Will you read that to me?”
“You want a bedtime story? Does that sound good?”
“Supra la luna!”
“You’re learning!”
“You’re a good teacher,” he murmured into my hair.
His stomach rumbled loudly, interrupting the mood somewhat.
“Are you hungry?”
“Hungry for you.”
“That is such a cheesy line, Sebastian!”
“Yeah, but it’s still true.”