I dug out some short, tight white cotton pants and a thin baby blue vest. To them I added a white bikini top. I tried to avoid my eyes in the mirror as I dressed, rationalising it away as simply a fishing expedition.
But under the platitudes, I burned. Having him masturbating next to me, in my bed, had lit a fire inside me that had been banished for a long time. Sex is something for other people; I’ve never had much luck with it, and the occasional urge I do feel can be dealt with with a vibrator or my fingers.
This, however… I couldn’t remember this aching before. This consuming need to touch myself. To be touched.
I shed my sleeping clothes and snuck a brief, pensive look at myself. My ribs were showing more. I struggled into my bikini top, then pulled on the white linen shorts, briefly enjoying the sensation of the seam against my bare lips. I pulled on the vest, grinning at the way it accentuated the flatness of my stomach and the curve of my breasts.
Finally, I tied my hair up into a ponytail with a baby-blue hairband. The effect was everything I’d hoped it would be.
I held tightly to the rail as I walked downstairs, and didn’t miss the way he froze and stared for a moment.
“It’s a lovely day,” I said, stretching my arms above my head. “What do you feel like doing with it?”
He cleared his throat. “How about we lurk?”
“More wine, more sun?”
“Books and the umbrella maybe? We could set up the deck chairs in the shady corner.”
“Mm. That sounds nice.” I sauntered over to him, then turned side-on to stare out the window. “It looks like the wind will blow later.”
“Later is later,” he said, softly. I glanced down at him; his expression was strange, almost intense, and I felt a zing deep in me as I realised that he was trying to fight down the urge to stare.
.:.
He dragged the deck chairs over into the shade, and set up the big canvas umbrella to give us more screening. I noticed he’d set the chairs up next to one-another but elected not to point it out. Instead, I sat, trailing my feet in the water and listened to the birds.
“The lurk spot is ready, mistress,” he said, bowing.
I grinned up at him. “Don’t do that, I’ll start expecting it. Help me up, will you?”
He reached down, took my offered hand, waited till I’d lifted my feet and placed them, then pulled me smoothly to my feet. I stepped into him and wrapped my arms around him, squeezing myself against him. “Thanks for last night. I was terrified after that.”
“You and me both,” he whispered, squeezing back. “I had visions of 3am emergency room trips. Not fun.”
“Mm. Well. Thanks for holding me during the night. I slept well.”
“Don’t mention it,” he answered, and I smiled at the blush that spread over his neck. Oliver has no poker face, and I love him for it.
I sat down on a deckchair, and tucked my legs up to the side as I leaned back. “So.”
“So,” he agreed, sitting next to me.
“Tell me what you’ve been doing,” I said softly.
“I thought this was lurk time.”
“It is. But I haven’t talked to you in what feels like ages, and I’m curious.”
“Curious about what?”
“How you are.”
He glanced at me; I replied with a shrug. “You know the state of my life, Olly. It doesn’t change much.”
“We need to get you a boyfriend.”
“I need a boyfriend like I need a clit-piercing.”
He choked on his coffee.
“I don’t have one,” I added. “In case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t. It’s not something I’d ever wonder about,” he coughed, slightly wild-eyed.
“Well, regardless, I don’t need a boyfriend.”
“Everybody needs someone, Shannon,” he said softly. “Even you.”
I stretched my arms up, clasping my hands behind my head. “I need love, not distractions. Boyfriends come with drama, with the inevitable Oh-I-tripped-and-put-my-cock-in-her.”
“You’re still angry over that.”
“Still? Always.”
“He’s done his time, Shannon. Maybe you should let it go.”
“Why?”
“Guys do stupid things when they’re turned on.”
I eyed him. “There’s stupid and then there’s fucking your best friend. Would you do that to a girl you said you loved, Olly?”
He glanced away. “No. No, I wouldn’t. But not everyone has my iron will.”
I laughed. “I’ve seen you unable to resist sweets for more than ten seconds.”
“Sweets are different from spice.”
“Spice?”
“Sugar and spice and everything nice,” he answered in the sing-song nursery rhyme of our youth.
“Slugs and snails and puppy dog tails,” I echoed him, softly.
“I miss being a child,” he said, after a while. “It was easy.”
“It was.”
He finished his coffee and lay back.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” I said after a while.
“I’m single, if that’s what you’re digging for.”
“Why? It’s been, what, a year?”
“Roughly.”
“And there’s been nobody in that time?”
“Honestly? I had a one-nighter but it left me feeling so dirty I never want to do it again.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Excitement. Adventure. Mischief. A partner in crime.”
“Sounds nice. Maybe you can find me one too.”
He eyed me. “You just need someone to fuck you silly once or twice.”
I blinked. “You profane fucker. That’s gross.”
He grinned, and after a while I laughed at him. “Yeah, fair enough, I guess you’re right. I do need someone to fuck the fun into me.” I shifted my leg slightly, and took a breath. “It’s been so long for me.”
“How long?”
“I stopped counting at three years.”
“Three…” he said, disbelieving. “What the fuck?”
I sighed. “Guys have it lucky. You get hard-on, you put it somewhere warm and moist, you come, you move on, probably without much introspection or self-doubt.”
“Sometimes, maybe…”
I straightened my legs and pointed my toes. “I can’t do that. I can’t let a stranger inside me.”
“When you put it like that…”
“It’s a physical thing, Olly. I lock up. It’s horrible. It hurts like hell.”
“You’re right, it’s easier being a guy.”
“Must be nice.”
“It has its ups and downs.”
We laughed at the pun, and I reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get so intense with you.”
“No, I… I like when you open up, Shan. You are too closed.”
“This doesn’t weird you out, does it?”
“What?”
“Talking sex with me,” I said, softly.
“I’ve had weirder conversations, Shan. You’re my twin. You’re my yin. I’d feel pretty shit if you didn’t feel like you could talk to me.”
“Yes, but…”
“Shan, stow it.”
“Yes, sahib.”
He snorted back the laugh.
.:.
I leaned on the counter next to him, watching him work at the stove. Olly was an efficient, competent cook, and most of what he touched came out nicely. I tried to ignore the frequent glances he shot at me; I also tried to ignore the way he’d occasionally brush against me. Every time he did I felt electricity crawl up my legs, and it was becoming very difficult not to reciprocate.
Something was happening. Something about the night before was fucking with me in a big way. It was no longer just a fishing expedition for me; now I wanted to see how much I could get from him. Talking even briefly about sex with him had done things to me I could not understand; I’d been uncomfortably damp by the time we came inside to organise lunch.
So now, I teased myself and likely him as well; I knew how tight my pants were on my bum and my pose was chosen to make them ride up further.
I found myself thinking about him, about his body. I wondered what he was like; and I flushed..
“Sorry?” I realised he’d asked a question.
“I said, can you get the vinegar?”
“Sure.” I stood, moved over to the corner cupboard, and bent to rummage.
“Got it,” I said, straightening.
“Shit,” he swore, snatching his hand back from the pan.
“OK?”
“Yeah, splash of hot oil.”
“Need ice?”
“Yeah,” he said, wincing. “Please.”
I dug out the ice cubes, wrapped several in a wet dish towel, and then took his hand. I wrapped it in the dish towel, and then just held it; conscious of the goosebumps on my shoulders. I squeaked as he pulled me to him.
“Sorry you burned yourself,” I managed after a moment of breathlessness.
“My own stupid fault, I should know better by now. It’s not the first time.”
I pulled back the cloth and winced at the red burn mark. “That’s a nasty one.”
“Bit more time in the ice and by tomorrow it will be a bad memory.”
“Time heals all wounds.”
“This coming from you?”
“I didn’t say I believed it.”
“Shan?”
“Yeah?”
“I need my hand back.”
“Oh? Oh, right. Sorry.”