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part 1

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PART ONE

I'm sorry Philip. I didn't want this life, I didn't want this child. But now I'm here, I'm going to be selfish and keep you with me.

Yours,

Alana.

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In the dark, you wouldn't see two bodies, one arm distinctly male as his strong arms pushes the female down on her bed, which emits a slight creak in protest. You wouldn't feel the warm body of another hovering above yours as you played with the hem of his shirt and your lips press and play against each other.

I like the dark, I like watching his silhouette illuminated by the moonlight glowing from outside, I like being able to touch his abs knowing he couldn't see my blush as his lips went lower from my lips to my shirt that covered the bikini. I like the taste of his skin which was sandy and foreign on mine. It is exciting, it is thrilling, it is also a one night stand.

Or not.

You see, I met Philip on the beach, he wore a shirt and shades and had a cute smile as he asked me for the ball that a few moments ago had fallen on my stomach when I was sunbathing, a glance to the left told me he wasn't alone, but I still smiled and flirted and told him he could have the ball back if he spent some time with me.

He laughed (he had a sexy laugh) and told me he was flattered.

To be fair, I didn't expect him to come back, to fall gracelessly on the sand next to my mat and watch me beneath his shades, lips curled in amusement. You couldn't imagine my surprise when he offered to walk me home.

Or for that one afternoon of sex between two foreigners in Australia to evolve into more sex, and more time spent on my bed than in the beach.

But my favourite time is always at night, when his body would hover above mine, and when I could unwrap his clothes like candy and throw them on the wooden floor of the beach house, when my lips could trail down from his and to the hard stomach underneath his fitted shirt, and the gasp that left his lips when I kissed the hard member beneath his pants. 

I like how he always had a condom in his pocket and how he always wore one without me asking. 

Or how his body melded with mine till he lay on top of me a sweaty heap. 

Or how he rolled over and kissed me on the cheek when we were done, eyes far softer than when we started.

Or our after sex conversations.

"Do you miss Ireland?" He asks, naked beside me on my bed, one hand resting on his chest. I couldn't make out his eyes in the dark but I could see the glimmer of light that highlighted his features, like the arm on his chest and the uneven terrain of his stomach.

"I do," I whisper back, "But my dad's working here and mums content to stay with him."

"Where did they go tonight?"

"Some dinner," I roll till I'm on top of him, kissing his lips. I could feel him smile as our lips met and I don't think of the day when he will leave.

Two foreigners in a bed.

One on a holiday.

The other stuck here.

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