It's been forever (actually it's only been six weeks) but finally, my stitches have healed, and now I'm all set to learn how to bodyboard from David, if you catch my drift.
I've never f*cked in the sea before, but as long as the water isn't too salty, and the sand settles at the bottom so that I'm not birthing sand for days, I think I'll be fine.
"You sure you'll be okay to swim?" David asks me in an uncertain voice, hauling a suitcase behind him and a duffle bag over his shoulder; he's refusing to let me carry anything, even though I've insisted repeatedly that I can carry a bag on my own.
Oh, I'm planning on much more than that, honey.
"Yes, I'll be fine."
Still looking uncertain, he goes into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee before we leave.
If he keeps this attitude up, I'm f*cked; if he has reservations about me swimming, how would he feel about me fucking?
He'll be completely against it. He'll probably even laugh at me.
With my head held straight, I walk into the kitchen behind him, pretending that nothing is wrong; I really don't want him questioning me right now.
Instead of focusing on my dismal thoughts, I look up at the refrigerator in front of me, and look at the small magnets decorating it, look at the pictures of him... and a few of his sister.
"How do you do it?" I ask quickly, before he can say anything to me.
"Do what?"
"Look at her every day, but know that you'll never be able to see her again?"
I ask him this, because I know that it can't be pain free for him; I watched him cry over his sister the morning after we slept together for the first time. He did so openly in front of me.
He bites his lip and looks down, and for a second, I wonder if I've overstepped my mark.
"I mean—"
"Because I love her. Eventually, I've reached this point of acceptance, where it still hurts... but it isn't unbearable anymore. I can look, I can remember how happy I was with her, I can smile, I can laugh, I can even cry, and darkness won't consume me. That's what I want for you. So when you reach there, you can put their pictures right there, too," he finished, smiling at me, pointing at the fridge.
Well, I never intended to have such a deep conversation this early in the morning, and these thoughts are already beginning to bum me the fuck out.
"Thanks. Let's go," I say, with a neutral expression, and walk off, hoping that he realises that it's best not to say anything else.
We exit the house and as he locks up, I force myself to think about other things. I go back to thinking about sex, but instead of moping about David's reluctance, I decide to devise a plan.
How am I going to get David to fuck me?
Even after thinking about this for over an hour straight, looking out the window of the moving car, I'm still blank.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks; I turn to look at him, and he is stealing glances at me as he watches the road.
"Beaches," I answer smoothly, and it isn't a complete lie; I was thinking about convincing David that sex on a beach was a good idea... and how good it would feel when he'd finally agree.
"Really? So why are your pupils so dilated?"
"I was looking outside the window into the sun, then I turned to look at you in the shade of a car. Yes, my pupils are going to be dilated. I'm not a psychotic nympho, you know," I joke. I'm surprised that my answers are so on point.
"Makes sense," David states, sounding amused, but I know that he doesn't buy it.
We drive in silence for a few minutes before he interrupts my train of thought yet again.
"Leah?"
"Yeah?"
"Careful what you wish for."
His words leave me thinking only one thing:
How the fuck does he do that?
***
"Wake up, baby," I hear a familiar voice say to me.
I open my eyes, and I'm met with his brown ones inches from mine.
"Are we here?"
"Yep," he replies; just as the word leaves his mouth, the scent of salt rushes up my nose, followed by the sound of waves crashing against what I'm presuming is the seashore.
By now, it's probably just past midday since we left early and didn't stop on our drive across the island; this is Jamaica. It takes less than four hours to cross the country, and less than eight hours to circle it. By car, that is. Despite how tiny it is, there's always something else to explore, another new place that you've never seen, but you'll always want to return to.
This house feels like it will be one of those places.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and shut the car door, following him after he locks the car, and when the house comes into view, I gasp.
It's not the size of the house that baffles me — although it is large for one person, and I'm only seeing the back — it's the fact that the house is made of stone, giving it a medieval vibe.
Maybe, he has a dungeon, and he can tie me up, and—
Shut up, Leah.
"Come," he says, walking toward the house.
Oh, I want to.
I follow him to the front and see a veranda with two rocking chairs and a boulder table, leading into the house.
Inside of the house is, well, quite... cozy.
The lounge has two couches with a woven mat and a flat screen television on the stone wall, with a bathroom in the hallway between the lounge and the kitchen.
The dining room is right behind the lounge; they kind of just blend into one another. The dining table is long and made of a dark, smooth wood, and has eight chairs, all with red cushions at the seats. The chairs at either end of the table have arm rests, while the others do not.
The kitchen is average sized, with a fridge and freezer separate from one another up against the wall, the stove in one corner, the sink and then a big cabinet to house the appliances on the other side of the kitchen.
I caught sight of a few items — a toaster, a microwave, a kettle — but David dragged me out before I could get a better look.
The laundry room has two huge basins, a washing machine, various cleaners, buckets, and brooms and mops.
Another thing that I love — there's a clothes line on the opposite side of the house — the side that I didn't see originally. I personally prefer clothes lines over dryers. Call me cheap, I just think that the sun does it better. Yes, it's inconvenient when it rains any your clothes get wet all over again, but that isn't usually the case.
Upstairs, the house has three bedrooms — I don't know why the hell a single man would need a three bedroom beach house in the country — and each one has an en suite bathroom; each one has a window that opens with a view to the Caribbean Sea.
His bedroom is the same size as the others; the only major difference that I can see is that his bed is bigger.
The bed head is made of wood; it has to large columns on either side, with intricate carvings on it. They're at the foot of the bed, as well.
Maybe, he could tie me to them and—
Leah.
Shut.
Up.
Now.
"You're so quiet. What's on your mind?"
"Stuff," I answer him shortly, going to sit on the bed, the sexual frustration getting to me.
I came prepared; I brought condoms — Durex this time — as well as my horny ass clít and vagina, attached to my horny ass self.
The only problem now is that I don't know how to get him on board with this.
He raises his eyebrow, as if he knows that I'm horny.
And I'm sure he does.
It's as if every time I get turned on, I unintentionally send some message to him via telepathy.
"Okay. Well, you just stay there and continue to think about your "stuff". I'm going to shower. We're having guests over."
"What?" I ask with a frown. It was supposed to be just us.
"Two of my friends are coming over for dinner, and before you start bitching about how much you don't want to see them, when is the last time you properly socialised with another human being?"
"I do it with Marcus all the time!"
"That doesn't count. He's your agent. Socialising with him is crucial to your business relationship."
"I've slept over at his house when my house was flooded."
"You had no choice; it was that, or wake up to a gully for an apartment, and lets face it, no one wants to do that."
I hate how he keeps coming up with these smart ass remarks, bouncing back so easily.
But the truth is that he's right. I don't socialise enough.
"Fine."
"You didn't have a choice," he replies, going into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
I let out a sigh as I watch him walk into the bathroom alone. I want to follow him in there so badly. Under ideal circumstances, that's what I would do.
But right now? Right now, he's treating me like a fucking figurine, and I hate it.
What am I going to do? I can't live like this anymore. I have to act.
Don't do anything stupid. Don't embarrass yourself.
I lie down on the bed and squeeze my eyes shut, opening them again.
"Fuck," I curse at the ceiling, still having no idea of how to deal with my issue.
This is going to be one long weekend.