The Gift (20 page)

‘Jesus, what’s happening to me?’ he whispered as he leaned on the door and wished he was back in the room, holding her in his arms, and, fuck, climbing on top of her.

Fully dressed, he dragged the shower screen open and turned the water on, running icy cold. His arm and the shoulder of his T-shirt were drenched, but he barely noticed it.

He stared at his face in the mirror and didn’t recognise himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d had that feeling since his surgery, far from it. But today, he knew himself less than ever before.

I look wrong. This isn’t me.

He felt a surge of horror, a panic that he squashed with difficulty. Turning away, he unzipped and urinated, trying not to think. But as he flushed, he stared back at himself, at his face. And suddenly he knew there was something he could do. He crossed to the mirror, reached for his razor and fiddled with the settings until he found the required one. Applying it to his face, he began to remove his beard.

Sandy lay on the bed, sipping her water, trying to relax, as Jay had urged.

Fat chance of that.

He’d been weird, slightly spaced out, and had as good as
run into the bathroom. What was the matter with him? One minute rampant sex god, the next, a distant and distracted stranger. OK, he was a stranger, but a few minutes ago he’d seemed even more unknown than ever.

From her spot on the bed she perused his belongings again just as she’d checked out his toiletries in the bathroom. A couple of beautiful jackets hung over the front of the wardrobe, and what looked like hand-made shoes were lined up against the wall. On the chest of drawers his laptop sat, intriguing her. It was probably crammed with his personal information but not even her raging curiosity about him could compel her to open it and have a snoop. He probably had it password-protected anyway, even if she could overcome her qualms.

Set beside the lappie, the pigskin attaché case was closed but its latches were popped open. Curiosity brought her to a sitting upright position. She bit her lip, then set aside her drink.

She listened to the sounds from the bathroom. The shower was running and had been for a while, and before that she’d heard the loo flush, and a buzzing sound, obviously the razor he used to trim his neat goatee.

She slid to her feet and stood beside the bed.

No, no, no!

Which was more dangerous, the attaché case? Or the bathroom, where the man himself was? She wanted to know about him, desperately, but she couldn’t bring herself to spy like a cheap little cheat.

Another, greater curiosity flared, one that made her feel even more uncomfortable. She thought again about his scars.

Obviously they bothered him, but she wanted to show him that they didn’t bother her.

But what if they did?

The only way was to face them. If she wanted more from him, and suddenly she did, his scarred body had to be dealt with.

Padding to the bathroom door, the thud of her heart almost deafened her. She dragged in a breath and placed her fingers on the handle, but lightly, so as not to rattle it. Looking back at the bed, she hesitated. She could return there, switch on the television, distract herself that way. Instead, she turned the handle and slid into the steamy room, stepping quietly and easing the door shut behind her.

Beyond the frosted screen, the figure in the shower turned towards her instantly, blurred by the pattern of the glass, but looking not quite as she’d expected. She could see marks on his body, even through the screen, but it was the face that made her frown, confused.

‘Well, come on then, now you’re here.’

Jay’s rough voice echoed around the tiled room, bouncing oddly.

‘Er … it’s all right. I’ll leave. I just wondered if you were OK. You’ve been in here a long time.’ No longer than she had, but she didn’t know what to say.

‘Liar. Are you afraid? Afraid my body might freak you out?’

Shit, he was so clever. He’d sussed her out completely.

‘What’s to be afraid of?’ she called out, flinging off the robe and marching towards the shower. When she reached it, she drew back the screen and joined Jay in the streaming water.

‘Oh my God!’

But it wasn’t his scars that made her eyes widen. She
noted them subliminally. They were extensive, and looked fierce, and spoke of agonising pain. No, it was his face, which she’d thought was becoming familiar to her, that caused her shock.

‘You’ve shaved your beard off!’

She almost swayed in the water, and instantly Jay anticipated it, and stepped forward, slinging an arm around her, holding her steady.

‘Give the lady a lollipop for observation.’ His dark eyes glittered, their brilliance refracted through droplets of water that hung on the tips of his long black lashes.

‘Why? Why did you shave it off?’

She could do nothing but stare at his face, tracking every detail, every feature.

The beard had been a small one, and not really covered a great deal of his chin, but he looked astonishingly different. Younger. Less ferocious, yet still uncompromising, and strangely beautiful. Yes, there were scars, and some newly revealed ones around his chin, mostly on the left, but somehow they only highlighted the evenness and perfection of his features.

This was a face that had been quite literally sculpted and reshaped. And while doing so, a great surgeon had naturally created the best work that he could. High cheekbones, firm jaw, a nose that was almost unnaturally straight. He’d have the face of a fairytale prince when the scars eventually faded, as she guessed they would.

She really did sway then, but he held her, held her hard against the firm packed muscle of his chest and torso, the long strength of his thighs and, yes, the thickening jut of his erection.

Sandy drew in a deep breath, gathered herself, then put
a hand onto Jay’s wet shoulder, further steadying herself.

Why had she thought that? Jay wasn’t a bit like her Prince Charming. No, not a bit like him. And yet why, when she looked up into his grey eyes, did the strange impression persist?

‘Hey, are you all right?’ he said softly, smoothing the water-logged hair back from her brow and slicking it over her shoulders.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Still holding onto his shoulder, she took a step back, looked into his face and then down his body, at his scars.

They were fierce and reddened, twisting over his chest and flanks and belly, and across one thigh. Not pretty. Not pretty at all. The thought of what he’d gone through, the pain and presumably immobilisation while he healed, made her heart twist with sympathy. And when Jay frowned suddenly, she knew her face had shown her feelings.

‘Not a pretty sight, eh?’ he said, his mouth hard as he spoke, as if there was more than just this moment making him bitter. ‘Enough to put even the horniest bitch off.’

Her knee-jerk reaction was anger, and she cried, ‘No! They’re not pretty, but then I’m not just some horny bitch. I like you. And I thought you liked me. I thought we had something.’

Jay glared. But just for a second. Then his face twisted, playing out a complex series of emotional shifts. All even clearer now for his features being shorn of the beard.

‘We do have something. I don’t know what. It’s early yet.’ Sandy stood on tiptoes and reached up to kiss his face, pressing her lips to his chin, the corner of his mouth, his cheek, feeling it, knowing it. She ran her hand down his body, exploring raised and crimped skin, touching
it lightly in case there was pain, but not flinching from it.

Cupping her hand around his cock, she felt it throb and thicken and grow.

‘I don’t want a pity-fuck,’ he breathed roughly, mouth against her wet hair.

‘Why the hell would I pity-fuck you?’ she growled back at him. ‘What I’m interested in is a “best sex of my life”, “never realised what I was missing” fuck, that’s what.’

He bucked against her, rubbing his cock against her hip, circling his pelvis.

‘OK, you’ve got scars. And yes, they look like pretty bad ones.’ She looked up and met his eyes, making hers as hard, and uncompromising in their own way, as his. ‘But there’s nothing wrong with this, is there?’ She ran her fingers up and down his cock, astounded that it could feel hotter and harder than ever before. ‘This bloody great thing is in perfect working order as far as I can tell.’

Jay’s laugh was a broken, bitter bark, and he shook his head.

‘If only you knew, Princess. If only you knew.’

‘What do you mean?’ She strummed the head of his penis with her thumb, caressing the groove beneath, and then smiling as he hissed through his teeth, his fingers gouging her shoulder involuntarily as he rolled his head.

‘Jesus, Sandy … Oh God …’

He pumped his hips, then stilled, clearly fighting for control.

‘What did you mean?’

‘Fucking hell, Sandy, if you want me to admit it, I will!’ As she looked up at him, he closed his eyes, and a muscle in his jaw jumped. ‘The first time I was with a woman after my
accident, this “bloody great thing” wasn’t in such perfect working order as it is now.’ He gritted his teeth momentarily in an obvious battle with his every alpha male instinct. ‘I was pretty much a non-event, a dead loss. I wasn’t a man.’

A wild clamour beat in Sandy’s chest. Awe. Wonder. How much had it cost him to admit that to her? A man’s greatest fear, and yet he’d shared it, with her. A woman he’d known less than a day. A woman he wanted to impress.

She wanted to kiss him and hug him and tell him everything would be all right, but that probably wasn’t the response he wanted. Instead, she gave him another long lingering stroke with her thumb, cherishing the supreme hardness that hadn’t wavered despite his confession.

‘Well, as far as I can see and feel it’s an insatiable monster now, Jay, and that’s a fact.’ She pumped him, slow, slow, then faster. ‘Whatever happened before must’ve been a post-traumatic blip. There’s nothing wrong here now. Nothing at all. In fact everything’s right apart from the fact we don’t have a condom handy.’

‘Damn,’ Jay growled, but it was a happy sound. Confident and primal. ‘I’ve got condoms aplenty, but they’re all in the bedside drawer.’ He laughed, thrusting with his hips again, sliding her grip. ‘And the way you touch me makes me want to come. And now, you sexy little tease, right now!’

‘What are we doing to do?’

‘Here, hold onto the rail,’ said Jay suddenly, turning her in the stall. ‘We’ll just have to improvise.’

She grabbed the chrome handhold with one hand while Jay manoeuvred behind her, pressing his erection against her hip and swirling it against her skin. He too gripped the hold with one hand, and the other arm he slung around her belly, holding her tight.

‘Touch yourself,’ he commanded, his mouth against her hair as he began to work himself against her. ‘Make yourself come as I get off rubbing against you.’

The words were raw and no-nonsense, but they excited her, as did the feel of his hot slippery penis, gliding against her bottom and her flank, coasting on the streaming water and its own lubrication. She swirled her own hips, trying to follow his, and stay in sync.

‘Touch yourself,’ he repeated again, his arm tightening around her as he moved in an up and down jerk, right in her bottom cleft.

It was rude and delicious, and her clitoris pulsed as she pressed a fingertip against it. Jay’s cock was tantalising delicate sensitive forbidden areas, and he was hard. It was like having a warm silky dildo rubbing and teasing her. The sensations were delicious and perverse, but now, with this man, she was hungry to try anything while the fires were hot, before they parted.

A little pang, a prefiguring of the loss she knew may well come, made her lose her thread a moment, but, when Jay kissed the side of her wet face, she found it again. Gyrating her bottom, teasing him back as he teased her, she got their groove back.

She barely needed to touch her clitoris. It felt as if it were simmering beneath her fingertip, ready to detonate. That was the way she seemed to be always, around Jay. As her pussy jerked and fluttered wildly, she cried out incoherently and pressed her forehead against the tiles. They were still cool despite the tropically hot water sluicing down.

Her orgasm was rough, hard, too soon really. She’d wanted to last out longer. Moaning, she pressed forward,
jamming her hand against the wall with the weight of her body, still circling, trying to drag out the last pulses of pleasure as long as she could. Jay followed, pressing and moving too, rocking against her, not with all his weight, but adding force and more momentum. He was pleasuring himself, but working with her, sensing her needs.

This was a strange way to fuck, have sex, make love. But then nothing about Jay was common or usual. He’d blown into her life like a volatile dark storm, gathering energy and yes, with every hour that passed, wreaking havoc.

‘Come again,’ he urged, his penis sliding rhythmically in the cleft of her bottom. ‘Come again for me, baby. You can do it!’

‘I – I’m not sure I can,’ she gasped, suddenly feeling exhausted. Hellfire, she’d had so much sex in the last twenty-four hours, more than she’d had in the previous twenty-four months. Slumped against the tiled wall, she seemed to have no energy in her.

Whereas Jay had enough for two.

Turning off the shower, he wrenched open the glass screen, and half lifted her out of the stall. Then, still manhandling her, he took the pair of them down onto their knees on the bath mat. There was a towel on the rail just in reach, and he snatched it and slid it underneath her as a makeshift pillow over the side of the bathtub. Following his lead, Sandy folded her arms on top of it and rested her face on them, the natural dishing of her back bringing her bottom up.

Sliding around behind her, Jay rubbed himself against her thighs and her bottom as before, but this time with his hands free to reach around and beneath her, to give pleasure.

Sandy drifted, didn’t try to rouse, just let Jay ‘happen’ to
her. It was a gentle liberating state, free from responsibilities and expectations, no performance stress. Floating and listening to Jay’s breathing and her own occasional grunt of pleasure, she closed her eyes and surrendered to the moment.