Paradise City (24 page)

Chapter Forty-Five

This was it. This was what I wanted.

I didn’t want Ballantine to get bored; I didn’t want to be the mousy, prudish farm girl. I was going to take control and now that we weren’t on a sandy beach, or wedged in an alcove of the Year Twelve common room, now that we were at Ballantine’s home, it seemed right. Ballantine moved to kiss me first, slowly, gently teasing with his soft lips. He cupped the edge of my neck, tilting my head to gain better access to my mouth, but I wanted more. I placed my hand against his chest, pushing him back into the couch, lifting my leg over to straddle him. ‘Where are your parents?’ I breathed past my kisses.

‘Asleep,’ he whispered, as he hitched the edge of my denim mini over my hips so I could sink down more snugly on his lap. I felt the heavy press of him against my now damp knickers. Would this ever be enough? This feeling? I crossed my arms, peeling my top up and over my head with Ballantine’s help, letting it fall to the side. Between tongue, teeth nips and moans, we feasted desperately on one another, full with the need to release and enjoy each other’s bodies. Ballantine had fulfilled me in the common room all those weeks ago, and now I finally had the chance to do the same for him. I didn’t let the voices in my head or the knots of anxiety in my stomach control me. I just wanted to get lost in his touch, engulfed by the pleasure I was feeling as I ground my hips against him.

Ballantine pulled down my bra, baring me to the light and his lips, as he grabbed and pressed the tip of my breast into his mouth, and then moved to taste the other. It was the sexiest thing I had ever seen, running my hands through his hair as he groaned, pressing his head into me. I could feel myself building, my hips were grinding harder, faster. I opened my eyes, catching our reflection in the mirrored cabinet across from us. I didn’t recognise myself – wanton, needy, desperate.

‘Don’t come,’ Ballantine whispered against my skin, as if I had a choice in the matter as his fingers dug into my hips, trying to stem my movement. Giving up the battle, he moved, flipping me onto my back on the couch. I could have cried if he hadn’t followed me down, filling my mouth with his hot tongue to sate my need. This was it, he was going to take my virginity. There was no going back and I didn’t want to. This felt so good. So right. I felt Ballantine hook his fingers into the elastic of my underwear, edging them down until I lifted for him so he could slide them down over my thighs and off completely. My skirt was all twisted and hitched up to my belly button, which meant I was exposing myself entirely to him; his eyes raked over my body, his chest was heaving as his dark eyes rested on the most intimate part of me. He leant back, grabbing my legs, hooking one over his shoulder. I readied myself for him to undo his zipper, but instead, he bent down and kissed my belly button, eliciting a shocked gasp at the unexpectedness of it. He glanced up, flashing me a knowing little smirk.

‘If that’s how you react to your belly button being kissed, I can’t wait to see what you do next.’

And before I could question him further, he lowered his head, kissing a slow, agonising trail, down . . . down, kissing me in a place I would never have thought I could possibly give to someone, but I gave it to him. He pushed my thighs open, my hands flew up to entwine in his hair, urging him to go deeper with his tongue . . . and he obliged. I was a writhing, panting mess, arching into him. I had thought I had felt the throes of pleasure by his clever, wicked hands, but his mouth was something else, to the point of pushing away from him as I felt I couldn’t take any more. My heart was racing. My skin had goosebumps all over. I could hardly get a breath.
Oh God.
His fingers dug into my legs, holding me in place and making me take the unrelenting pleasure of his mouth. Without the aid of his mouth or hand to quieten me down, I grabbed for a cushion, pressing it over my face as a muffled scream escaped me, until my body was spent and his mouth lifted from me. I lay there boneless, my chest heaving, my flushed face still hidden by the cushion, a cushion I didn’t want to remove as my senses slowly returned to me and I realised what the hell had just happened.

‘You okay?’ he asked, lifting the cushion from my face and looking down on me. I wasn’t the only one that was flushed – Ballantine looked most pleased.

And then it occurred to me, judging by the noises he had made as he’d made me come: Ballantine was all about making me happy, putting me first. Doing that time and time again, he’d probably lose interest and with that thought in mind, I bit my lip as I slowly sat up. Ballantine looked at me warily. ‘Lex, you okay?’

I didn’t want to speak; I didn’t want to break my intent, so instead I showed him. I pushed him back into a seated position and slid to the floor between his legs; he never asked again. Instead, with a heated stare, he watched me as I held eye contact with him while I worked on the top button of his jeans, then the zip, pulling it slowly down. I had never done this before, and I had no idea what I was doing. I pulled him free from his pants, running my hands up and along the hard, smooth length of him. I revelled in the way his entire body tightened as I touched him. He felt so soft, yet he was so hard.

I laughed. ‘If that’s your reaction when I touch you, I can’t wait to see what you do next.’

I took him in my mouth. Slowly and gently at first I tasted him, holding the base of him. I groaned when his hands threaded through my hair.

‘Lexie,’ he breathed, his head falling back against the couch as his hips involuntarily bucked. His hoarse voice guiding me through only excited me more as his hands on the back of me directed my speed. ‘That’s it, Lex, take me deeper, all the way.’

He wanted it faster so I went deliberately slowly, teasing the tip with a swirl of my tongue. I smiled up at him as he looked down on me like I was the devil, or maybe even an angel – it was hard to tell.

‘You keep doing that and I’m going to come,’ he breathed.

I hesitated a bit, not knowing whether to pull away now or keep going, so I let instinct take over and took him deep, drawing him in and hollowing my cheeks.

‘Fuck me, I’m going to come.’

And just as I went to repeat the trail with my mouth once more, there was a knock on the rumpus room door and muffled voice spoke through.

‘Lexie, you have a phone call.’

•

‘Abort! Abort! You have to go home right now,’ Laura’s voice whispered down the phone.

By some act of God, there was a phone extension in the rumpus room. Ballantine yelled out to his mum that I would take the call in there. We madly scrambled to make ourselves decent; it was safe to say that the close call took ten years off our lives.

‘What are you talking about?’ I snapped, flustered and still in shock, more so when Ballantine handed me my knickers with a smirk.

‘Amanda is here hanging out with Boon.’

‘So?’

‘So, you’re supposed be here, too. Yes? That’s the cover story?’

Shit!

Ballantine stood beside me, looking on in concern, and mouthed, ‘What?’

‘Okay, no worries, I’m leaving now. Thanks for the heads-up,’ I said, before hanging up the phone.

Fucking Amanda.

•

Ballantine walked me home, both of us smug in our silence and exchanging knowing sideways glances on how bloody lucky we were not to be discovered.

‘You okay?’ he asked for the hundredth time.

I laughed. ‘Never been better.’ And I did feel good. Liberated somehow. Proud of myself for being able to elicit such a raw response from Ballantine.

A response that had seemed to please him.

When we said our goodnights in the shadow of the neighbour’s tree, Ballantine looked down on me, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb; the look and his touch felt so tender, like there was something different to us than there had been before. I grasped the hand at my face and turned his palm up to the sky, highlighting the lines underneath the streetlight we stood near, the same one that shone through my bedroom window. I was studying the braided strips of leather bound around his wrist when I noticed something of interest. There, underneath the knotted threads that had slipped down his wrist, was a marking. I lifted his arm to the light and gazed in amazed wonder.

‘I didn’t know you had a tattoo,’ I gasped.

Hidden beneath the bracelets on the inside of his wrist was a tattoo of the sun; it was something I couldn’t believe I had missed. Even if not openly on display, seeing it now for the first time was like seeing Ballantine for the first time.

I smiled, looking up at him. ‘How appropriate,’ I said.

‘What? That it’s black and twisted?’

I rolled my eyes at his reference to the blackened ink. ‘You are the sun, Luke. To me, you are all the things Paradise City is about.’

‘Ha! It depends on your definition of what Paradise City is; some might not think that a compliment.’

‘Well, I can only tell you what my definition is,’ I said, lacing my fingers with his.

‘Oh, yeah? What’s that?’ he asked, cocking his brow.

‘Warm. No, make that hot!’ I grinned. ‘Unpredictable, exciting, beautiful . . . life-changing.’

Ballantine’s face sobered. I worried I might have gone too far, but when he lowered his head to kiss me sweetly on the lips, I knew I hadn’t.

He smiled, as he backed away. ‘Now that is one hell of a character reference,’ he said, winking at me. ‘Goodnight, Lexie Atkinson.’

‘Goodnight, Luke Ballantine.’

I felt really bad that Luke hadn’t finished. After all, in terms of orgasms, I was way ahead in the tally. It was so hard to reconcile the myth to the actual man. How could someone so cocky, so self-assured, so
experienced
, be happy to simply make me come without getting any for himself? It didn’t make sense. For the times we had spent together and talked, I felt like I could see past the facade presented to the rest of the world. What Laura had seen in him was true. But, he was still a boy and must have a serious case of blue balls right about now. Yet he’d smiled and kissed me so sweetly. He was the definition of a paradox. I only hoped I would continue to be enough for him.

Chapter Forty-Six

I didn’t regret not sleeping with Ballantine. I had later asked myself the question: did I really want my first time to be on Ballantine’s couch in his rumpus room? I didn’t exactly expect for it to happen in a canopied, four-poster bed with candles or anything. In fact, I didn’t know how or when it would happen, I just knew it would and really soon. At least, that’s all I could think about, morning, noon and night. If I wasn’t obsessing about every aspect of all the wicked things we had done, then I was daydreaming about Ballantine and when I would get the chance to do it all again. Flying under the radar was getting more difficult to maintain. The more I kept away from Ballantine the more brazen he seemed to become. Deliberately standing behind me in the canteen line, albeit minding his own business, but I could still feel the warmth of his breath on the back of my neck. He stood so close. Or how he would brush past me in the corridor with a knowing wink that would make me blush. I even went as far as pretending I wanted to learn how to surf after school. It seemed like a legitimate way to spend time with each other.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

We stood away from the others down the beach a little but still in view. Ballantine let his board fall to the sand, squinting against the sun with a broad smile.

‘What?’ I asked, wondering what he found so amusing.

‘You’re so pale,’ he said with a laugh, his eyes wandering over the pink-and-white striped bikini I wore.

‘I’m not that pale,’ I said, frowning at my shoulders and examining my lily-white legs.

Yeah, okay, standing next to Ballantine, I looked like a milk bottle.

‘Shut up!’ I snapped, trying to disguise my smile.

Ballantine chuckled, moving to stand beside me, clearing his throat. ‘Okay, you see this line here?’ He pointed to the board. ‘You want this line going right down the centre of your body; your toes should be touching the back here. That’s called the sweet spot.’

‘Oh, I like the sound of that,’ I said, lying face down on the board, smiling up at him.

‘Settle down,’ he said, trying not to smile as he kneeled in front of me. ‘All right, when a big wave comes I want you to pop up. Now I’m going to show you four steps. You’re going to put your hands down right next to your chest, push all the way up, go back to your knees, bringing your front foot forward.’

I moved in every position he described, concentrating intently.

‘Now your back foot’s already back there so we’re going to leave it there, because you’re going to stand up on it. All right, stand up.’

I stood a little shakily on the board that rocked on the uneven sand. Ballantine stood to move next to me. ‘Okay, stand exactly where you are. You see this line? You want this line to go down the middle of the arches of your feet.’ He placed his hands on my waist, guiding me over the line.

‘Now bend your knees, arms out like a gnarly surfer dude and shoot the waves screaming “Cowabungaaaaaa”.’

Through fits of laughter and trying not to fall off the board, I screamed, ‘Cowabungaaaaaaa!’

‘
Yeah!
’ Ballantine clapped, laughing and moving to high-five me. By now, the others were looking at us as if we were a pair of freaks, probably not helped by the double thumbs-up I gave them. Yeah, so I was excited. Sue me.

‘Very good. Okay, in the water.’

My head snapped around, my laughter quickly dying. ‘What?’ I asked, my eyes wide with fear.

‘You didn’t think that would be it, did you?’

‘Umm, yeah, kind of.’

‘Lexie, Lexie, Lexie,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘If you’re with me, it’s nothing but all the way.’

Well, that had my blood pumping.

I curved my brow with interest. ‘Are we still talking about surfing?’

Ballantine laughed, like really, really laughed. ‘Bloody hell, Atkinson. Get your mind out of the gutter, we have waves to ride.’ Even though he said that while laughing, I could see the definite lusty interest my comment had created.

Does he want that too?

In some ways, I wasn’t sure. But then he would look at me like that and I would melt a little bit more.

•

The next day marked so many things: the last day of school for the Year Twelves (yeah, I didn’t want to think about that), and my parents arriving to take me back to Red Hole for the summer holidays (yeah, I 
definitely
didn’t want to think about that). I was completely and utterly miserable at the very thought of being taken home for ‘family’ time. I had tomorrow night for it all to count, to tell Ballantine how I felt about him, to show him what he meant to me, that he was the one, the one I wanted to give my all to. We hadn’t been able to have any decent alone time together since the night we nearly got caught. Tomorrow night had to be the night; only then could I go back to Red Hill for Christmas and feel as though I had something to come back to in the New Year – finish off Year Twelve and come back to Ballantine. I felt all giddy inside just at the thought of such a future. Me, Ballantine, and Paradise City.

My thongs made suction cup sounds against the glossed tiles as I squelched a path to the bathroom, blissfully singing the Easybeats’ ‘Friday on my Mind’. My hair was a matted heap of salty tendrils. I marvelled at the fact that, yes, I had stood up on a real-life surfboard (for two point five seconds) and secondly, I had lived to tell the tale. I had surfed! I was as good as a local now. Red Hole was a distant memory, I thought, towelling my hair dry as I pushed through the bathroom door, flinching at the unexpected sight of Amanda at the sink.

‘Bloody hell! You scared me,’ I breathed, clutching my heart. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know you were –’ I paused.

She tried to avert her gaze, wiping her cheeks, but the sniff kind of gave it away.

‘What’s wrong?’

I moved to stand beside her, taking in the streaks of mascara running down her cheeks and her bloodshot eyes; she was so upset she couldn’t even swallow her sobs long enough to tell me to leave her alone. Instead, she did something that really scared me; she threw her arms around me and cried even harder.

‘I’m in so much trouble, Lexie.’

My hands slowly lowered around her, feeling the shuddering vibrations of her frame. I caught the reflection of my troubled eyes.

This is bad. Really, really bad.

•

At first I thought she might have done a bank job, spilt red wine on Aunty Karen’s Axminster carpet, scratched the Volvo, or maybe cheated on Boon? I was trying to equate what would mean ‘trouble’ to Amanda, and what would elicit a meltdown of such epic proportions. As I sat next to a very shaken Amanda, rubbing her back, waiting patiently, I gave her time, to the point that she literally had no more tears to cry. She leant forward, cupping her face in her hands for the longest time, so long that I thought she’d forgotten I was even there. Just when I was about to break the silence, she beat me to it.

She straightened, inhaling a deep shuddery breath. ‘I think I’m pregnant.’

‘Whaaaaaaaaat?’ I breathed out.

Okay, that was probably not the reaction she needed. Her face crumpled.

‘Oh, no, no. Please don’t cry. I’m sorry.’ I patted her quickly. Apparently she had a lot more tears to shed; hell, I even felt like donating to the cause. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, no . . . I don’t know.’

‘Well, what makes you think that –’

‘I’m late! Really late!’

Watching Amanda’s despair was enough to make me want to wear a chastity belt and join a nunnery. I didn’t need to know the details. They wouldn’t change the fact.

‘D– does Boon know?’

Amanda’s eyes snapped up, wild and alarmed. ‘No! God, no and if you tell
anyone
–’

‘Hey,’ I said, reaching for her hand. ‘This is between you and me, okay?’ I looked her dead in the eyes, refusing to break the contact until I felt with no ounce of uncertainty that she believed me. It took a long moment but she finally conceded, nodding her head.

I breathed deeply, rubbing my clammy palms on my thighs.

Okay, think, Lexie, think!

‘All right, well, I have read a few
Cleo
magazines, so I think I am pretty much an expert in these situations so –’

‘Lexie, please, now’s not the time to be funny,’ she said.

‘I’m not, I’m deadly serious. We’re going to have to go to a doctor, find out if –’

‘NO! No way.’

‘Okay, okay. But we need to know . . . for real. Okay?’

‘I’m not going to a doctor, Lexie. No way.’

‘All right, then, we have a plan B.’

‘Plan B?’ she asked, wiping her eyes.

‘We’ll get a pregnancy test, lock ourselves away while the parentals are out, and just find out. They’re like ninety-nine point nine per cent accurate, right?’

‘Oh God! I feel sick.’ Amanda’s face disappeared into her hands again. ‘What if I am, Lexie, what will I do?’

‘Let’s cross that bridge when, and if, we come to it. Now, come on, we’ll go and get a test and get this over with.’ I moved to stand but was stopped by Amanda’s white-knuckled grip on my arm.

‘No! I can’t. What if someone sees me? Peter and Karen Burnsteen’s daughter up the duff. Great,’ she scoffed.

I canted my head, wondering how small bloody suburbia really was, but her fear was reasonable enough. She was fairly well known here.

‘All right. Stay here, I’ll go.’

Amanda’s eyes flicked up. ‘Really? You’d do that?’

I shrugged. ‘It’s not my preferred way to spend the afternoon, but that’s what family’s for, right?’

Amanda’s chin trembled as more tears welled in her eyes. ‘Thank you.’

My lips pressed into a thin line. ‘No sweat.’