“Micky told me about your clubs.”
I’m going to fucking kill Micky.
“He shouldn’t have done.”
“He knew you needed an outlet.”
“He enjoyed it too. I saw many demonstrations of just what a butt plug can do.”
I feel him laugh.
“And paddles. And various engineering concepts put into practice.”
“I don’t need anything but my hand and the odd tie.”
“So you’ve proved.”
He starts to move in me again, slowly, shallowly.
“I want to be your secret. Like we were when we were kids.”
“Okay.” I’m not okay with this but I don’t know why, because there isn’t anything else we can be, other than a quick, hidden fuck.
“I want to keep you safe.” He’s moving quicker now, hands on my breasts, gripping them.
I hold onto the tree, needing stability. I don’t know if this is keeping me safe, because I’m pretty sure he could break me into fractured piece of porcelain, only suitable to be ground into sand.
“I want to make sure you’re looked after.”
He’s going faster now, sharper. I’m pulled back from the tree and we drop to the floor, my hands and knees on the ground and he fucks me hard from behind like we’re animals. My breasts swing with his thrusts and my cunt swells with his words which are now all about what he wants to do to me and how. He slaps my arse and I come, my groan wild and uncaring.
He pulls out and ejaculates over my back, spraying his territory. I turn my head and watch his face as he comes, eyes hooded, bottom lip bit.
“Next time it’ll be over your tits.”
He pulls me up off the ground and looks at me. “Fuck those dresses you wear, Blair, and when you have your hair up all fancy, this is when you look fucking beautiful.”
“You have an odd definition of beauty.”
His smile is shy, boyish. “I was never taught what beauty was supposed to be. I only know what I see.” He leans in and kisses me, softly, not one that lingers.
“The sea is that way. I should probably swim.”
He nods and I pull on my bikini while he dresses back in his discarded trousers, not bothering to button up his shirt. The sea when we get there is warm and I swim out far and fast, the waves kind. They wash away the evidence of what we’ve done, the semen from my back and the thick wetness between my legs. I kick and push against the water, cleansing everything but my mind.
August
August is that last flicker of fun and heat before everything fades and dies. The final moment of fun before the freeze. In the winter, everything changes.– Rasmenia Massoud
Chapter Eleven
August has just slipped in when my parents arrive, both tired and relieved to be somewhere out of the focus of the media. I’ve spent the end of July with all the books I’d never read, lazing on sun loungers and swimming in the sea, swapping sun tan lotion with Elise who didn’t run back to Scotland in search of Lennox.
The island’s privacy and calm pushed away any political goings-on and I forgot about reunification or hard borders or walls. The sun has become our centre and our days fixed around it; early mornings bring yoga sessions by water or in the trees and the evenings when the sky is black and dark, speckled with a million stars, is when Ben comes to my room.
If anyone has noticed, they don’t care or say anything. Elise has either not picked up on how I spend my nights or why I’m sometimes walking too stiffly, or she’s ignoring it. The former makes more sense.
My parents’ arrival pauses the island. Security is discreetly stepped up, but it changes the molecules in the air and even the sea birds hold their distance as the yacht anchors and a small entourage exit. They travel light; most dignitaries carry more than they do, and they’d rather wear a cloak of anonymity but that isn’t the life they have.
