Self-indulgence over, I take a good look at myself in the dresser mirror, trying to ignore my swollen and blood-shot eyes. My complexion is pale and kind of dull, and my hair darker than its usual honey blonde. I suppose a bit of sun-baking won’t do either any harm. Spotting my swim-togs in the haphazard pile on the bed, I pull them on and wrap myself in a huge towel. Stepping into the elevator clutching my sunnies, I immediately push them over my eyes, hopefully channelling Kim Kardashian rather than the puffy-eyed Kim Jong Un staring out at me from the mirrored walls.
On the rooftop, I snag a bed with a little shade and unfurl my towel, finding myself appreciative of the early end to school days for the first time since my arrival. I don’t think I’ll everappreciate the early starts. Only masochists roll out of bed at 5 a.m. with a smile.
The pool is quiet, just a couple of women lounging on the far side and no sign of the guys Niamh mentioned. I plug in my earphones and pick up my trashy novel. There’s nothing like indulging yourself in a bit of chick-lit to while away the hours. Though as this is a book I’ve borrowed from Niamh, clit-lit might be a better match, especially judging by the buff-bloke-hint-of-butt-crack cover.
Damp heat tingles against my skin almost immediately and my last conscious thought is that my iPod is playing Nickelback again.
It’s dark in the classroom, the metal ladder cold at my back. He’s pressed tightly against me, the length of him hard against my thigh. Like a villain about to seduce the damsel, he arches a brow, the hot drag of his fingers suddenly between my legs.
My breath hitches and I begin to mewl, but not at all in distress.
‘Shh.’ His breath brushes my neck. ‘You must stay quiet...if you want to come.’
I bite my lip, the words curling and exploding in pure sensation inside. My body begins to bow and shift as I grind against him, seeking satisfaction, an ease to the aching as I’m . . .
Awake. Jerked upright. On the edge of the bed.
Flushed, panting and...
I’m wet.
Soaked through.
Yes, I’m wettherebut I’m also soaked to my skinexternally.
A sheet of wet hair lies across my face, ear-buds dangling from my shoulder as my book lies limp in a puddle on the tiles. I shake my head in an attempt to dislodge the lustful miasma, to calm the pounding inside as whispers and images barely linger,unlike the throb between my thighs.
‘Hey, sorry,’ splutters an amused voice.
‘No worries,’ I answer half to myself, peeling away the wet blanket of hair. Through the heavy strands, a guy in board-shorts smiles down. I don’t really take in his appearance other than the tan and the blond, but I get the impression he’s not very sorry at all.
‘Rob, you idiot,’ he shouts in the direction of the pool, which now seems to be filled with bodies. Not dead ones, thankfully, but bodies messing about and generally having fun.
‘No worries,’ I repeat almost by rote as my equilibrium continues to teeter, still coming down from, well, coming. I touch my lip, finding I’ve actually bitten it.
‘You’re Kate, right? From 3E?’ Board-shorts casts a sidelong look at the pool.
‘What? Sorry. Yeah, I am.’ I shake my nebulous head once more as his hand extends through the haze.
‘Matt Jarrow,’ he announces. ‘And the ass responsible for the soaking is my roommate, Rob. We’re on the same floor, friends of Niamh?’
‘Niamh’s friends,’ I repeat in a mumble, blood still pooling in my groin, starving my brain of its conversational capabilities.
‘She said to come say hi.’ His gaze flicks from my head to my toes and back again.‘Wanna join us in the pool?’ Evidently a game of something is taking place, involving a ball and a lot of noise.
‘I’mgood, that is...no thanks.’
As far as first impressions go, I’m making a poor one, but I doubt my legs even work just now.
‘So, Kate from 3E, you’re a teacher, like Niamh?’ Matt flops down on the adjacent bed not waiting for a response or an invitation. Linking his fingers behind his head, he stretches out. ‘You new to Dubai or just this part of town?’
As he flexes his biceps, he reminds me of a bird fluffing plumage, but he may as well be a dodo in light of my recent remote detonation from a man probably not even in the same zip code.Wait—maybe the school uses this building to house all its expat staff? He could be here, assuming he does actually work at the boys’ school, and not that it would mean anything but...
‘Cat got your tongue?’
Bugger. He’s still here.‘More like the sun frazzled my brain. Sorry, I’m new. Just moved from Brisbane. Are you a teacher here, too?’
‘Nah, I work in engineering. Project management for one of the sites off Sheikh Zayed Road. Another mall, more office buildings, you know?’ I don’t, but I pretend I do, nodding where it seems appropriate. ‘Brisbane, Australia? I’ve never been, but I hear the country is truly beautiful.’
