Chapter 5
Will is in the kitchen making me lunch and it’s awkward as fuck. I don’t know what to do or say.
The last time I saw him was a few weeks ago at my Aunt’s birthday party where we were sucking face and he had his hand on my tits. Now he’s in my kitchen making me lunch and telling me to clean my room.
It’s Saturday, but Kate’s had to go to work, which means Will is back to being my babysitter.
Like I need one (I know, I know, I’m single-mindedly repetitive on this fact).
Especially not one who makes me froth at the mouth and shake in my skin like some kind of rabies-ridden bitch in heat. But here I am, trying to pretend I’m normal, and here is Will being Mary-fucking-Poppins; and not even a word about what happened between us.
It is absolutely, the most mortifying situation. And to make matters worse? He looks utterly gorgeous. He walked through the front door this morning in a pair of jeans and a fitted t-shirt and all I can think about is how he looked in the pool…all shirtless and wet…and…and…
Urgh. Get a GRIP, Portas.
So much for keeping calm.
Lunch is an awkward affair, he’s just glued to files on the kitchen bench, and I can’t stand the awkwardness so I eat in my bedroom, staring at my slowly dying cactus on my windowsill. It was sad when I was watering it too much, and now that I’ve cut back to monthly watering like a magazine suggested, it still looks bad.
How did I manage to kill a cactus?
Will comes up to check on me, he’s silent and awkward and I barely know what to say.
“Thanks for Lunch, it’s nice,” Is the best I can manage. He nods and takes the empty bowl and turns to leave.
“I – ” I start to say something. I don’t know what though. Maybe something like: ‘Sorry for kissing you’, or ‘Do you want to touch my tits again?’ or perhaps most disturbingly, ‘I will let you screw me in the ass if you just talk to me again like everything is normal.’
Although, blessedly, at least the last one doesn’t come out. But then, nothing seems to want to come out.
Will stops and looks at me expectantly, but I shut my mouth. It always gets me in trouble and I don’t know what I even want to say. Will just blinks and leaves the room.
I feel my heart fall. I feel exhausted.
I feel something drain from my body, and flop back on my bed, a loud sigh escaping from my throat. it comes out high-pitched and anguished.
“You’re a fucking moron, Lucy.” I say the words aloud, tasting them in my mouth like I’m speaking for the first time in my life.
“I wouldn’t call you a moron,” The voice catches me out, my heart slamming into my chest so hard it pulls me upright from my bed, and I see Will leaning back in the doorway. I search his face, there’s no upwards mouth tilt, but there’s a brightness to his eyes which makes me feel like he’s laughing at me. Maybe he hates me, maybe he doesn’t give a shit, I don’t know which is worse. Despite not knowing what exactly he thinks about me, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief that he’s talking to me. At least a little bit. After the last few weeks of silence between us, I can feel relief surge through me and it takes me by surprise how much I actually missed the sound of his voice.
“Crazy, maybe.” Will continues, eyes squinting at me in mock-assessment, he shifts the dirty bowl into his other hand, finger stroking the edge of it, as if he’s in deep thought, “quirky, definitely.”
“Quirky?” I repeat like I’m brain-damaged.
What the hell does that mean?
Quirky could mean anything. It could be good or bad depending on the context. Although given my past behaviour, it’s most likely bad, catastrophic, terrible, tragic and any other synonym for ‘awful’ you can think of.
No one wants to fuck their coworker’s little sister, and especially not if she’s quirky. There’s precisely only one female in this world who can make quirky look sexy, and her name is Zooey Deschanel. And quite frankly it’s becoming tired on her too. What the fuck am I going to do with that?
Motherfucking QUIRKY!?
I could redeem ‘complicated’ or ‘individualistic’ or ‘outspoken’. But Quirky?
My grave is going to read: Rest in Peace Lucrezia Middlename Portas. She leaves behind no children or husband. Beloved to her sixteen cats. Murderer of Cacti. Extremely quirky and maybe crazy.
I will not outlive this label. It’s a part of me now.
“Stop overthinking it,” Will says, because – and I’m convinced of it now – he’s psychic, “Quirky is a good quality.”
“For crazy cat ladies, maybe,” I mumble under my breath.
“What?”
“It looks like it might rain,” I say.
If I’m trying to convince Will that I’m not quirky, I’m doing a poor job of it.
“You do weather forecasts now?” He says, one eyebrow raised. Normally Will would call me out on my topic-changing tactic, but I’m relieved he doesn’t.
“I read the news on my phone.” I say like a simpleton.
Will nods and leaves to room. This time I wait until I hear his feet treading down the stairs before throwing myself back onto my bed, smothering a pillow on my head and groaning.
What in the hell was that?
Our first conversation since what I have dubbed ‘the kiss’ (Because really, it was the kiss to end all kisses and there is no other title befitting of the event; except for maybe ‘The time I almost had an orgasm from a kiss’. But that’s a long and over-complicated name, so I’m stick with ‘the kiss’) and it’s about being quirky and the fucking weather.
Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. You dumb, silly bitch.
——–
Thursday night I find myself at the Precinct waiting for Kate to finish work. Both Will and her are working and, as we’ve covered previously, I’m not allowed to be at home by myself because a) I’m a slut and b) I am a walking catastrophe.
I busy myself in the break room, on the grimy couch, twiddling my thumbs and making conversation with some of the junior cops. I’m relieved to notice that Keith, a guy who was in one of the older years at school is working there now which is nice. We’re having a good conversation and it kind of lifts my day in an otherwise series or dreary weeks and poor choices.
“So Luce,” Keith is sitting on the couch opposite me, “How does it feel to be in your last year?”
Why does everyone ask this question? It’s the worst question. Usually followed by ‘what do you want to do with yourself after you finish school?’
“No idea. Just started,” I quip, “No direction anywhere.”
Keith nods, “I know the feeling.”
“And yet here you are, living the cop life. How’s that going?”
He shrugs, “It’s going.”
Will chooses that moment to walk in, and I feel myself tense. Keith keeps on talking, but all I can focus on is Will in the background, making himself coffee with a shit tonne of sugar as per usual.
He barely spares us a glance just moving around. I wish I wasn’t so tense around him, but all I can think of is our kiss and all the awkwardness. I can’t help but wish that things were back to the way it was before he kissed me because at least things were more comfortable.
“…You should come,” I hear the last part of what Keith has to say, and I just nod and smile.
Will leaves the room and I can’t help but stare after him. I realise I’m being rude to Keith and turn my focus back to him.
“You didn’t hear anything I said did you?” Keith asks, teeth glinting at me as he smiles. Keith, I notice, is actually pretty cute for a guy with red hair and freckles.
“Sorry, no.” I admit, smiling apologetically. I hope I haven’t offended him because I’m running low on friends right now and could use all the socialisation I can get.
“It’s fine, Decker has that effect on people. Kinda terrifying right?” Keith laughs and I want to tell him he couldn’t be more wrong; the only thing I’m terrified of is how obsessed with him I am, “He’s been hanging around you guys a lot though right? Are him and Kate a thing or something?”
Fuck, I hope not. Because then I’m even more of a Cunt-a-saurus Rex. I couldn’t stand it, couldn’t bear it if I broke Kate’s heart. Despite our differences, she is an incredible, loving and supportive sister and I’m lucky to have her. While I was recklessly tarting it up after Dad passed, Kate was dealing with everything, including being the only money-maker in the family, sorting out all our debt and organising his funeral. She did all of it without crying, making a fuss or carrying on like a pork chop. In one word, Kate is amazing. I know she is a one-in-a-million sister. She deserves love and she deserves to be taken care of.
“I don’t know” I shrug, “maybe.”
And if they are, I need to stay well out of the way. I know now that whatever transpired between Will and I at my Aunt’s birthday was a fluke, a mistake. Will clearly hasn’t thought too much about it, as evidenced by his lack of acknowledgement about the situation.
“Hey, you could have Decker as your brother-in-law.” Keith smiles wide, and I repress the urge to punch him.
“Yeah,” I smile in what I hope is a friendly way.
“Anyway, I was saying if you’re interested and want to take a break from those studies of yours you should come and watch my band play,” Keith says. I realise he must’ve told me all about this band when I was zoning out before and I feel embarrassed. Here Keith is, being nice and friendly and I couldn’t even give him the courtesy of listening to him.
So, I nod, “Sure, sounds like a plan. Although…” I pause, unsure of how to put it, “I’m super grounded for some not-so-great choices, so we might be waiting a while on that.”
Keith laughs, “I reckon I can convince your sister. Anyway I better get back to work, I hope Decker’s a better friend than he is a boss. He’s really riding my ass right now.”
I practically have to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying ‘I wish he’d ride mine‘.
Keith bids his farewell and I’m left to try and make use of what left I have of the evening. Tonight I’m supposed to be finishing off an English essay but I cannot be bothered. If I make it through my final year with a pass mark, I’ll be surprised.
——–
I wake up with a start, only to realise I’d fallen asleep on the cop couch, which is a little bit gross that my face touched it considering all the stains on it.
“Hey,” a deep, soft voice says.
I manage to focus, rubbing my eyes, the world around me slowly coming into view. I turn my head, wiping residue saliva from the side of my mouth. My eyes connect with deep brown, warm and kind; Will’s eyes. I sit up properly, noticing Will is kneeling next to the couch. For a moment I’m dumbfounded, my voice sucked out by the proximity of him.
“Your sister is still on shift,” he continues – I realise his warm, large hand is resting on my lap and my heart trembles at the contact.
I nod, “When will she get back?”
“Her team’s been held up by some issue in the Cross. When she’s back there’ll be paperwork she’ll need to complete, so I reckon another 5 hours.”
“What time is it?” I try to look around for my phone, but I’m still sleepy and can’t quite coordinate.
“It’s one am. I’m going to take you home.” Will’s smiling gently and my heart soars.
That information finally processes and I start to panic, “Are you serious? I was supposed to finish my assignment! Fuck, fuck fuck,” I clamour around for my laptop, flipping it open to see a half finished essay on Romanticism in literature.
“Lucrezia,” Will says firmly, large hands slipping the laptop out of my hands and closing it. He grabs my school bag and slips it in there, “You can do it tomorrow, let’s get you home and in bed.”
“I need to do it now, it’s due tomorrow…well, today. I can’t hand it in late, I’m already behind on my grades.”
“Come on, kiddo, don’t make me carry you out of here. It’s been a long day, I want to get some sleep too.”
“Oh, sorry.” I manage to remember myself. I take a deep breath and pull myself together. We make our way out the car and before long we’re speeding down the motorway towards home.
Will clears his throat, and I stare at him as he drives, the lights of the street lamps creating a mosaic against his face as we drive through the streets. It’s a strange experience being on the road at this time of the morning, it’s so quiet and surreal.
“It’s weird driving at this time of the morning,” I say, because these days I have a hard time keeping my thoughts in my brain.
“How do you know McGrady?” Will says, ignoring my statement.
“Hm?”
Here I am, pretending I didn’t hear him. Not sure why I’m doing this, but I guess I feel this is a moment that necessitates coyness.
“McGrady, Keith McGrady. You were talking to him before at the station. How do you know him?”
“School,” I reply, “He went to my school.”
I imagine myself to be some kind of film noir femme fatale – aloof, sexy, vague and distant. If Will notices my sudden demeanour, he doesn’t comment.
“He was asking a lot of questions about you,” Will’s staring at me from the corner of his eye.
Is it me, or is he sounding kind of jealous?
“He’s a good cop,” Will adds, completely overhauling my theory/hope that my friendship with Keith would make him jealous. But then I remember that my life isn’t some kind of Gossip-Girl-esque show. Actually, if my life were a show it’d probably be more like Bananas in Pyjamas.
But I digress.
“Yeah, I’m going to go see his band play.” I say, “If I can somehow get out of being grounded.” I add darkly as an afterthought.
Will purses his lips, then turns briefly giving me a wide smile, like he’s super proud of what he’s about to say. It catches me off guard, and I feel my cheeks redden at the way it lights his entire face. I’m thankful it’s dark and he’s distracted with driving.
“Maybe you can if you go with your best friend?”
“What, with Ash? You reckon?”
I’m simultaneously surprised by his sudden good humour and also surprised that he thinks the presence of Ash will make a difference as to whether Kate allows me to go out or not.
Surely it would make Kate less likely to allow me to go. Kate likes Ash, but when we both hang out together and combine our powers things can get rough pretty quickly. Almost all of my out-of-school expeditions with Ash in year 8 ended with me getting a broken bone.
“Nah, not the high maintenance one. The nun.” He gives me another glance, grinning like a madman, and I just about what to punch him in his annoying, loveable face. I briefly wonder how Ash would feel if she knew she’d just been called ‘high maintenance’. And then I panic for a moment and ponder if she’s high maintenance then what the hell does that make me?
“Piss off,” I then add, “So fucking proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” Will sighs, grin demoted to a slight upwards tilt of his mouth, “Yeah, I was waiting to use that one.”
His gaze shifts back to the road, focusing on driving.
“I’m glad you can find humour in my misery.” I sigh dramatically.
“Is Sister Crick still an asshole?”
“Yeah. You know her? I thought you were from Adelaide.”
“I’ve lived in and out of Sydney for a few years. My kid used to go to St Chesterfield’s before she moved back down to live with her mother.”
That is a punch in the gut. He has a kid? This little tidbit is so incompatible with my knowledge of Will that I just don’t know what to do with it. A million questions rush to my head; including many about his ex, but I know I can’t just ask those.
I can’t even pretend to be coy about this information, ” You have a kid?”
Will’s eyebrows raise, although he keeps his eyes on the road, “Yeah, you didn’t know?”
“No, you’re not the only topic of conversation in our household.”
“I’m surprised Kate hadn’t mention anything considering the kid was at the cop shop everyday over the summer holidays. Went on a few rounds with Kate as well in the car.”
I can’t stop the thread of jealousy from weaving it’s way passed my ears and into my gut. It’s a feeling so intense that the only phrase that can describe it is ‘intense rage’. I don’t know what I’m jealous of here: the fact he had sex with someone else and produced a child with her, the fact Kate got to meet his kid and didn’t even tell me, or the fact that some random spent more time with my sister over the school holidays than I did.
“What’s your kid’s name?” I stick with this question as it seems like a safe and normal thing to ask. I am an adult, I repeat to myself, and not a raging psychopath. This is how normal people have conversations, right?
“Chloe,” Will’s smiling again, and the rage dissipates, and is replaced by a sudden wash of calm and delight. It’s clear he loves her so much, you can feel it in the way he says her name and it melts my heart into a puddle. He adds, “She’s cute as a button. Or was, she’s fourteen now and at that horrible stage.”
Calm now goes to anxiety. What the actual fuck, I am a mere four years older than his kid. All emotions and thoughts are now placed with one thing: INTERNAL SCREAMING. In a matter of moments I have gone from Intense rage, calm, then anxious. My brain is freaking out and I can practically hear my hormones working overtime just to keep up with my moods.
No wonder he’s been weird around me after the damn kiss, no wonder he doesn’t want anything to do with me; and it is now apparent that he actually isn’t attracted to me. I am too close in age to his kid. Why? Why? WHY?
“You had her pretty young,” is my statement. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is the next sentence out of my mouth. Endeavour to be impressed by my ability to converse.
“Yeah. I was pretty stupid. But I wouldn’t take it back; Chloe was worth it.”
Suddenly the car stops and I realise we’re home.
I open the door, it’s all I can do to stop myself from going from internal screaming to actual screaming.
“Thanks for the lift,” I say, because I’m not a monster and was raised with some manners.
“Hold up, you aren’t going in there alone. Your sister isn’t home for another few hours, I’m coming in with you.” Will stops the engine and come out, following me to the front door.
“Aren’t you tired, Decker?” I sigh, “It’s so late, and you’ve been working all day. Don’t you ever rest?”
“It’s fine.”
His hand rests on my back as we step into the house, I practically almost sigh at the touch. I’m clearly struggling with the concept of keeping things in my brain and away from my mouth, because the internal sigh turns external.
I realise my error and turn the sigh into a yawn.
“Right, well I’m going to bed.” I add, to make my weird yawn-sigh realistic.
I gratefully accept the Nobel Prize for dumb-fuck of the year (women’s category). I am humbled and honoured by this accolade and promise to continue my work for all the skanks and dropouts out there who also struggle with foot-in-mouth disease and other brain-mouth disorders.
Will’s gone back inside of himself, and I noticed the bags under his eyes are puffier than normal. He must be beyond exhausted.
“Why don’t you stay the night and sleep over? I’ll get you some pyjamas, even make you up the spare bed.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, Mr stoic-I-don’t-need-sleep-I’m-a-macho-man, if you change your mind I’ll just leave out some blankets at the top of the stairs.”
Because I’m super mature and trying to convince Will I’m a viable sex partner, I stick my tongue out at him before strutting upstairs.
The moment my head hits my pillow, I’m out like a light.
——–
“Lucy bear, Lucy bear, do you have a care in your hair, Lucy Bear?” Dad smiles at me, throwing a towel at my head.
I catch it, shoving it away and groaning. Why does he always do this to me? I’m not a kid anymore.
“You know I hate that song.” I yell back, “Stop treating me like I’m six.”
“Why don’t you share that care in your hair, Lucy Bear.” Dad sings out playfully, stopping to stand in front of me, before saying “I love you Lucy Bear, have a good day at school.”
I roll my eyes, snatching my lunch off the bench.
“Whatever”
…
“Whatever”
…
“Whatever”
….
The word echoes and echoes and echoes until the world around me starts to shake and blur…
…and when I look back up, there is Dad.
Except this time he’s angry and covered in blood. His face, actually, is barely recognisable, covered in bruising and swelling, uncovered bone on the side of his jaw. His face is kind of melting off, until all that’s left is a terrifying skeleton which sends terror through my body.
“Lucy Bear, why are you such a bitch? Why are you such… a fucking disappointment?”
“Why are you such…a fucking disappointment?”
——–
I wake up, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, a tense shiver curling slowly through my body. It takes me a second to realise that I’m sitting upright in my bed, the sheets pooled around my waist. I’m shivering which is weird because I’m utterly soaked in sweat.
Fuck, that dream…it was so…real…
I bring my hands to my face and wipe at the moisture there, except I can’t properly swipe away the tears as my hands are shaking. Suddenly, everything is too hot; the room, the air, my brain. It’s all too hot.
I manage to stumble out of the bed – almost collapsing to the floor, but just at the last second my legs start working.
The window is my target and I reach to fumble with the latch, trying with everything I can to jerk it up and open it to let some cool air into the impossibly hot room.
A sensation of dread comes over me and I get the thought that if I don’t open this window I’m somehow going to combust, that my skin is going to set on fire. I can’t breath, it’s too hot and the latch won’t yield; I start to panic. All I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears, the pressure in my brain feels so high I’m scared it’s actually going to explode.
I’m frantic, like a wild animal.
I know in the back of my mind that this is ridiculous, I’m not going to die, I’m not going to set aflame, my brain isn’t going to explode. But my heart is hammering in my chest and I can’t think properly.
All that bounces is those last words in my dream
Why are you such…a fucking disappointment?
I’m desperate now, breathing hard and fast, trying to get the latch up but it’s still stuck and won’t budge. My fingers are aching from the use.
I can’t see, I know I’m crying again, I try and rattle the window open. Still nothing budges.
Nothing budges, and I feel my chest exploding, I feel panic rise into my throat choking me until I can’t see straight.
Suddenly, a presence is behind me. Suddenly, arms come either side of me and yank the window up, the latch cracking.
Cool evening air bursts through the room and the relief is instantaneous. The night sky seems endless, the cool air almost feels like it’s pulling me to it. I don’t know if it’s intentional or not, but my body launches through the window, like going through it will save me.
“Christ, Luce.” the strong arms grab me around the waist and pull me out of the window.
I struggle for a moment, the thought that I am being stopped from joining the air is terrifying. I need to be air. It’s an absurd thought, but a need nonetheless. The arms tighten, pulling me into the walls of strong, male flesh.
“You’re safe, you’re safe.” Will’s voice whispers in my ear over and over again, “Sweetheart, you’re safe.” he pats my hair, pulls it from my neck allowing the cool air to sooth my sweaty flesh, somehow in the fray it must’ve come undone.
My heart starts to slow, my body begins to relax; trembling from the adrenaline burst. I concentrate on my breathing, on the blood draining from my ears.
“You’re safe,” his voice says softly in my ear again, breath tickling my cheek. A press of lips form against my temple, then my cheek, “I have you, you’re safe.”
The arms never yield, holding me up to the window so that the air can cool me.
I try to speak, but all that comes out is a sob, followed by more choking sobs which wrack my entire body.
I cry until my eyes are sore and my throat is dry. I cry until the sound is foreign and I feel like my body has flown away from me. Will just holds me, strong arms wrapped around my waist, holding me up to the window. There’s a constant music playing my my ears and I realise it’s Will speaking.
If I had any sense in my brain I’d realise how profound this moment is. How, out of anything that’s ever happened between Will and I, this is the most special thing. My heart swells with love for him and it makes me want to cry more, but finally, I have no tears left.
All that I can do is breath – trying to catch oxygen into my starving lungs.
“Sweetheart, I’m going to bring us to the floor now, I want to grab your water bottle.”
I nod, I don’t think I can trust myself to speak.
He slowly brings us both to the ground, sitting himself up against the wall, propping me up to sit with my back to his chest. One arm is still wrapped securely around my waist, as if he can’t trust my body’s ability to sit up on it’s own. Actually, it’s probably wise, I’m not sure my body can do anything right now, I’m so exhausted and drained.
I feel him shift behind me, realising he’s stretching out to grab the bottle off my bedside table. Successful, he undoes the lid and hands it to me.
“Can you hold it?”
No judgement, no frustration. If I were more perceptive, I’d realise in this moment that he’s done this before. In another space, another time, he has had to deal with this situation. I don’t know what to think about that.
I bring my hands up to grab the plastic, and bring it to my mouth. I suck the water down greedily, some of it doesn’t quite make it into my mouth, dribbling down the front of my chin and onto my pyjamas.
I can’t believe how thirsty I am, the water is refreshing, cooling for my aching throat and burning stomach. Once I’m done I pass the bottle back to Will and he puts it to the side.
We sit in silence for god knows how long – I feel like I’m in a daze and time is just a fly on the wall of stretches and stretches of space.
I’ve managed to catch my breath, my heart has resumed it’s normal pace and I can start to feel my body again. I notice with an alarming lack of emotion that the world is still, and everything is peaceful. But that’s weird, should it feel that way when I just tried to throw myself out of a window?
Will brushes my hair off my face, tucking my hair behind my ear and I feel his lips at my cheek.
“You want to talk about what just happened?” the question is soft, kind, followed by a gentle kiss on my jaw, the soft sweep of his hand brushes up my shoulder and down my arm in a soothing pattern.
“I don’t know if I can.” my voice is hoarse and foreign to me.
“Okay,” I can feel him nod, his head brushing against my cheek, his face rubbing into my neck. He pauses and inhales, the soft tickle of his breath sends shivers across my skin.
I can’t help myself, I bring my hand up to touch his head, perhaps to check if he really is here, sitting behind me, holding me in his lap, burying his head into my neck.
It feels surreal. The Lucy from earlier today would have been over the moon but right now all I feel is exhausted.
But then, Will surprises me further; his hand leaves my arm to gently clasp my hand in his and brings it to his lips. I realise he’s placing delicate, little kisses upon my fingers and my heart just bursts.
Something is happening in the magic of the night. Something is happening here, like an rhythm of a dance that we both must follow.
My head turns, Will’s turns and we’re looking at each other. It’s the first time I’ve really looked at him properly since he came into my bedroom and stopped me from jumping out of my window like a penguin diving for fish. I notice the lines at the corner of his eyes, the wrinkle across his brow, the little flashes of silver in his hair which glint in the moonlight. How can these things be so perfect to me? It’s irrefutable; I’m falling in love with Will Decker.
Then, just then, in my bedroom on the floor, Will leans forward, or maybe it’s me who leans forward.
It doesn’t matter, because then his lips are moving against mine and we share a sweet, lingering kiss.
We stay like that for too long and not long enough. Long enough that the numbness is washed away with curls of desire and need. I feel my body respond to the flick of his tongue against mine, to the caress of his hand against my ribcage.
For a moment we pull apart, Will’s gaze intently focused on my mouth. He brings a hand to caress my cheek, his thumb tracing the bottom of my lip.
“Why do you have to be so beautiful?”
I don’t know if I imagine that he says this or if he actually says it. Either way, it doesn’t matter, because his lips are back on mine and his hand trails from my cheek down my neck, sending little tremors of delicious arousal straight to the aching nub between my legs.
Will’s hand slips further down, the warmth of his hand curving down my collar bone, further down to cup a breast through the silken fabric of my pyjamas.
I release a sound of what is, I think, a grunt and a moan. His clever fingers tease and pluck my nipples through the fabric until I know I’m begging him for mercy, for release. He is a kind tormentor, his hand trailing from my breasts, down further, passed my stomach and into my pants. His fingers make contact with the soft flesh of my pussy and I do everything in my power to stop my hips from jack-knifing in response.
I moan and I swear; I can’t help it. I need him to touch me, it’s no longer simply a desire but a necessity – if I don’t have him I know I will whither and die.
He does not disappoint, Will’s fingers begin a rhythmic dance between my thighs, circling the hard bundle of nerves, moving further to delve between slick, plump pussy lips; long strokes, followed by faster, more shallow thrusts which make me catch my breath and squeal.
I throw my head back, my mouth parted, I can only focus on the sensations being imparted on my body, on the way his fingers delicately caress my clitoris, before more firmly rubbing my clitoral hood, the pressure mounting in the base of my stomach.
His lips are at my throat, sucking on the tender flesh; his fingers now no longer delicate, but determined, stroking my clenching cunt into a frenzy.
I know I’m wet, I can feel the arousal seeping out of me at alarming rates. Will takes the opportunity to trace the slick arousal over my sensitive clit and I feel myself coming close to release.
I’m bucking against him now, riding his hand, wriggling my ass against the growing lust of his cock, against my back. Will is breathing heavily, hips thrusting against me, rubbing his erection against my ass; I am only too happy to rock against him, to feel how his length pulse against me. There are too many clothes between us, but I don’t care, I’m too far gone into my own desire that it doesn’t matter to me.
His fingers are urgent against me, normally it would hurt, but I’m so wet and aroused it only serves to spurn me on. Two long fingers thrust inside my pussy, the flat palm of his hand slapping my clit as his fingers fuck me and fuck me and fuck me. The sensation narrows into a searing delight, the focus of pleasure solely between my legs. I buck up against him, once, twice, three times and my orgasm comes crashing through me, my entire body convulsing violently, as my pussy clenches around his fingers – an attempt to milk the cock that isn’t there. Will catches my moan with his mouth and we feed each other with urgent kisses.
Will thrusts against me, pressing his hard arousal against my ass. I come down enough from my own orgasm to realise that he’s been so selfless in looking after my pleasure that I’ve completely neglected his.
I reach down quickly behind me, before he can decide that this was a bad idea. I fumble around, managing to find the button and zip of his pants. I undo them which is a real feat from the angle that we’re in. I shift in his lap, so I can have better access and reach into his underwear pulling his erection out. His cock is staring out angrily; thick, large and throbbing. I grasp him in my hand and begin moving it up and down his hot length.
“Fuck, yeah.” Will hisses through his teeth, as he buries his hand at the nap of my neck and brings me forward to kiss him. His kisses are rough and demanding, the stubble on his face rubbing raw against my own. But I don’t care, all that I need now is to give Will pleasure.
I alternate between firm, quick strokes and longer, softer ones – I want to draw out as much from this as I can because in the back of my mind I somehow know that this memory is going to need to feed me for a long time.
Will’s groans are a melody I want to hear for as long as I can. I occasionally move further down his shaft to squeeze his balls, which seems to drive him wild; his hips bucking in approval, little grunts coming from deep within his chest, followed by the occasional curse.
My touch seems to push him on, his hand manoeuvres back into my pants, fingers almost violently thrust into my aching core. I gasp at the surprising intrusion, momentarily pausing my ministrations. He adds a third finger, penetrating me more roughly than before, hand determined to fuck me until I scream. I do just that, I come again in a wave of utter, consuming bliss. I come so intensely, I’m fairly sure I’m squeezing Will’s cock too hard.
He doesn’t last much longer, thick ropes of cum splattering onto my legs, a growl tearing from the base of his throat as he finds his release.
For a moment, the room is silent, loaded with spent tension and the distinct smell of sex. Nothing but Will’s breathing can be heard.
“Oh Luce,” He pants, “Oh God, Luce.”
I can see his throat move as he swallows and my brain finally starts to come back to me. I notice that it’s beginning to become light outside and I wonder what time it is. It’s obviously still early, but I’m hoping not so close to morning that Kate is going to be back soon. I so don’t want to deal with the problems that will inevitably follow if she finds out what Will and I just did. I can’t even process that right now.
Then Will starts, “I’m so sorry, Lucrezia,” he’s shifting, zipping his pants back up, wiping the cum off my leg with the hem of his shirt, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what the hell…”
He trails off. I’ve done it, I’ve broken Will – he can’t even complete his sentence. A feeling of dread overcomes me.
“It’s fine,” I find myself jumping in, “We were just caught up, It’s my fault. I was caught up in…in everything. I needed intimacy and you were there for me. That’s all. It’s okay.” I do my best to reassure him, but I can see in his eyes that Will is freaking out.
“It’s not okay, sweetheart,” I don’t know if he realises the little endearment has slipped out, but it makes my heart flip, makes me feel hopeful that maybe Will likes me, “It’s not okay. You were vulnerable. You just tried to throw yourself out of a fucking window and I just- I just- I can’t believe I did that.”
“Will, stop.” I turn to face him, kneeling in front of him, watching as he grips his hair in frustration. He stops to look at me, momentarily, face drawn and anxious.
“I can’t believe I did this to you, and your sister.” he shakes his head.
And awful thought crosses my mind, so painful I can’t stand it and I need to ask him.
“You…do you regret doing it with…me? Am I…” I don’t know how to finish the sentence but I try anyway, “Did you wish I was Kate?”
“No,” Will grunts, “No I didn’t bloody wish you were Kate. I wanted you to be you. That’s the damn problem.”
The relief washes over me like a wave. He desired me. Even if he regrets it, his desire was for me. It shouldn’t mean so much to me, but it does.
“You were there for me when I needed you,” I shrug, placing a tentative hand on his knee, “I can’t thank you enough for that. What you gave me was everything that I needed and wanted.”
Will shakes his head, “If I was even half a man, I wouldn’t have done it to you. No Lucrezia, I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again. I should’ve been more careful, especially after what I did at your aunt’s party.”
It’s the first actual acknowledgement from Will about our kiss in the pool, and even though I don’t like what he’s said I’m relieved to here him acknowledge what happened between us that that. It gives me slightest hint; the slightest hope that I am not the only one with this intense attraction. I don’t get a chance to say anything else, to beg him to stay and talk, or to even ask him to hold me. Will seems to be angry with himself, getting himself up from the floor as quickly as he can, leaving me on the floor of my bedroom alone.
I stay there until I hear the front door slam shut and the screeching of tires against pavement. When the sound of the car engine is long gone; a bitter memory almost; I get up off the floor, go to the bathroom and vomit.
What just happened?
———-
AN: heeeeeeey guuuuuuyssss. It’s been a while. I had initially taken down TM for some edits. I had edited it, then lost it, then moved house, then blah blah life blah. It’s not that interesting. Here we are. Good to be back. Thanks for all your lovely comments and messages. I’ve missed you all.
I will be updating some other stories and taking others down for some rewrites over the next few weeks. Stay tuned.