Implicit, p.10
Implicit, page 10
Eliza’s hands glide over my body and my skin is nothing but fiery nerve endings. My jacket and shirt hit the floor. I break away from her lips and hold her hips, my chest heaving and my heart hammering. And I take hold of that little string and slowly pull on the end to reveal her body at last.
Black lacy underwear clings to her curves beneath the silky fabric of the dress. I groan my quiet appreciation as I push the material from her shoulders and watch it fall to the floor. My eyes flick to hers, dark and dangerous, as I run my index finger up her arms to her shoulders and release her bra strap.
She unhooks my trouser fastening and pushes them down until the material pools around my feet and I step out of it. And her bra joins the pile of discarded clothing. Her fingertips dip under the waistband of my boxers and she sucks in a sharp breath when she is immediately greeted by my eager cock. She licks her lips, as I ease down her underwear, and wraps her hand around my length, her thumb circling the head.
“Oh... shit.” I exhale on a groan as my cock throbs at the sight of her. She’s perfect.
She releases me for the few seconds she needs to get the boxers off, and then I walk her the step back to the bed and lower her down beneath me.
“Condom,” I breathe. “Before we get too carried away.”
“Don’t you have one?” Her body arches into mine as she brings her mouth to my neck, licking, sucking, and turning me on to max.
“Fuck! Are you on the pill?”
“Birth control, yes,” she says. I can hear her smile as her hands roam over my back and shoulders. “And safe in every other way.”
“Me too.”
“Thank God!” She pushes up against my chest and, somehow, I’m on my back beneath her, her fingers spread wide over my abdomen. She leans forward, kisses my clavicle, and traces the tip of her tongue down my sternum. The sound she makes has me in overload. That groan of pure wanting. The torture of making us both wait.
My hips move of their own free will as her weight settles on my pelvis. She peeks up at me and shakes her head with a sphinx-like smile.
“Eliza!” I cry out, my teeth gnashing together and my muscles and cock straining as she slides her sex along my length. I can feel how ready she is. But when she moves back up again, I could fucking cry. So close!
I grab her waist and still her. Enough playing around.
The corner of her mouth kicks up and she shifts, just a fraction, positioning me before sliding back down, slowly and seductively. Her eyes are on fire as she takes me inside her. Her mouth drops open as I stretch her. Fill her. My fingers dig into her hips as she starts to lift up.
“All of me.” My head drops and my eyes roll back in my head as she bears down. “Fuck, that’s good.”
She starts to move her hips in small circles, contracting her muscles and squeezing my dick tight as she moves. She rocks in a different rhythm and direction, grinding against my pelvic bone. I trail one hand down over her soaked flesh.
She cries out when I reach her clit and I circle my thumb slowly as she grinds. “Harder.”
I don’t need asking twice. I flip us over, not losing a second of our connection, and bring her knee up to my chest and give her harder.
“Ooohhh. God. Yes.”
Her fingernails bite into my shoulder blades as she hangs on to me, meeting me thrust for thrust. I release her knee to the side and she brings them both up to my elbows, tilting her pelvis and sending me in deeper.
“Eliza!” I call out, unable to stop my hips from nailing hers to the mattress. I can feel the bed shifting with every forward movement, until it starts thud-thud-thudding against the wall. I’m so close, and I can’t get a handle on it to hold on.
She groans and her muscles tense and quiver, before she releases a long and loud exhale and her body lets go into ecstasy. Just as mine does.
On and on. I pump into her and ride the wave until we both crash to the shore.
“Wow,” I pant, trying to catch oxygen. Eliza giggles, breathless and satisfied, her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling as hard as my own.
“Wow,” she agrees. She blinks her lashes open and focuses her gaze on mine, before threading her fingers through my hair and raising her head to claim my mouth.
“That was incredible.” In more ways than one. I came. I came and came. Hard. And I never once doubted that I would. She is everything I need.
Eliza
I can feel him trembling beneath my hands. I can feel every square inch of my own body as though I’ve been electrified. Seth’s euphoria as it courses through him and into me. And I’m starting to panic. Where is that blissful, orgasm-induced amnesia?
My skin is singing. My feet are tingling. My heart is pounding. Shit! What the hell is wrong with me? What happened? Something must have gone wrong somewhere.
Seth pulls out and lies beside me, breathing hard with an arm flung over his eyes. “Come here,” he says gruffly as he stretches the other arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer. His hands on my bare skin make me feel exposed. Vulnerable. I yank the duvet up to my neck and make myself wait.
It must be coming. That... numbness I crave. I need. That fog I don’t want to lift.
Please!
The minute he’s asleep, I snatch up my clothes and pull on my dress as I flee, painfully fog-free and unsure of where I’m running to, even as I push my arms through the short sleeves and stoop to grab a pair of shoes and my bag, before running out the door barefoot and hitting the lift button. I just need some space. Some perspective. He doesn’t really want me. He got what he wanted now. We both did. He’ll probably leave and be glad he doesn’t have to say goodbye whilst I’m gone.
We’ll simply pretend it never happened at work. Yes. That’s the best solution.
My chest is aching from the rate I’m trying to breathe at. My head is spinning. I need air. Some distance between us. I need it to stop! I can’t have this. I keep running with no clue where I’m heading to.
I rush into Dr Nielsen’s office, since her secretary isn’t here—it’s late—and realise I should have knocked. She whips around to face me, a clinical assessment happening right before my eyes, and it seems I’m deemed critical.
“I have to go, darling,” she says into the phone when her wide eyes find mine.
“I’m sorry... I... I should have... I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Ellie, what happened?” she says, a soothing tone to her voice as she stands and walks cautiously towards me.
“I... I need it to stop! I can’t... I don’t know how to... Shit! Make it fucking stop!”
“You need what to stop, Ellie?”
“This! This... feeling! I can’t... I don’t know how to do it!” I’m panting and squealing. I can hear that. I know it. But I can’t stop it either.
“Ellie, you’re having a panic attack. You’ll be okay. You just need to breathe. With me. In, in, in annnd out, out, out.”
“I don’t need to breathe! I need medicating! Something! Please!”
“Breathe. Breathe.” She nods and takes hold of my hands, watching my face as I slowly regain the ability to inhale and exhale without thinking about it. “Good. Sit down, please.”
She guides me to the sofa and I sit. And realise I still have my shoes in my hand. God, I must look a mess. She doesn’t ask; she simply takes her seat and looks across at me with that expression she has.
“I need it to stop,” I repeat.
“The feeling?”
“Yes.”
“What feeling? Name it.”
“I... feel...” I drop my gaze as ridiculous tears cling on my lashes. “...overwhelmed. Overloaded. I have no idea what it is. Just that I don’t like it.” I swipe at the tears furiously.
“It’s just a feeling. It will pass.”
“But it’s not! It’s not passing! Please, make it stop!” I beg in desperation.
“Focus on the here and now. Tell me three things you can see.”
“You. The cushion. The sofa,” I reel off.
“Three things you can hear.”
“My heart. My voice.” I pause and listen. “Traffic.”
“Three things you can feel.”
“I can feel my heart racing. The... the leather of the sofa. The carpet. Under my feet.”
“Good. Now take a few more deep breaths. Feel the air as it flows in and out. Iiiin and out.” After a pause of a good few minutes, Dr Nielsen says, “What made you feel so overwhelmed, Ellie?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea. I... I just... that’s not supposed to happen! It doesn’t work like that!”
“What doesn’t?”
“Sex. It’s supposed to be...” I wave a hand through the air, trying to catch the right word. “Anaesthetic. Not bloody... turbo-charged consciousness!” I look up after a long silence, and she’s watching me intently.
“I want you to consider something. Really think about it very carefully.”
I nod. Anything. I’ll do anything. Just make it bloody stop!
“Maybe... that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be, with the right person. Ecstasy.”
“Ecstasy,” I scoff. “It’s bloody agony.”
“That’s because you’re fighting it. What would happen if you let it in? Let it flow?”
“What... what would happen?” Oh, God. I know what would happen.
“Maybe that’s why it’s called making love.”
“Love?” The whisper of the foreign word falls from my lips. “You think... I’m in love... with him? No. I don’t think so. I...I don’t do....that. I don’t think I can. I’ve never been in....you know, once, Stu told me that he loved me. I remember just staring at him. Waiting to feel it too. But there was nothing there. I felt nothing. At all.
“And if I were in love with anyone, it should be him. Right? Because I’ve known him for years. He’s perfect for me. Made for me. There’s nothing he doesn’t know. But...Sven? He doesn’t know me at all. He certainly wouldn’t love me if he knew. But, Stu...he already knows. So, why can’t I just...I don’t know. Feel something like this for him? Because that makes much more sense. Doesn’t it?”
She just gazes back at me with a soft smile on her lips, as though she hasn’t just annihilated my perfectly safe little bubble of self-isolation with the very idea. Seth? Not Ru?
How could I be so stupid? I’ve just set myself up for more heartache. I can’t take any more of that. Loss after loss follows me around like a gypsy curse. My heart sinks like a stone as the icy cold reality slaps e in the face. He’d never love me. Not when he finds out.
Good job, Elizabeth!
“I...erm. I have to go,” I choke. “Thank you for your time.” Her face breaks out in a brilliant, beaming smile and I pick up my shoes and bag, my movements robotic as I make my way to the door, shutting down every thought and feeling as they float to the surface, popping them like a child with a pin and a pile of bubble wrap.
As I walk towards the entrance of the building, still on autopilot, I stop to slip my shoes on and then head out, with no idea of where I’m going.
I stop again outside, the fine mist of drizzle clinging to my skin and hair as I try to think of locations. The only thing that comes to mind is my hotel room, so I hail a cab and make my way to my bolt-hole.
***
I can’t sleep. I’ve tried. So when my ringtone permeates the black cloud I’m sitting in, curled up in an armchair as I watch London come to life below me, I reach for my phone.
Seth. I can’t answer it. I have no idea what to say to him.
Seconds after it’s rung off, the message tone beep-beeps. I glance at it, unable to stop myself.
Where did you go? XX
And about an hour later, according to the timestamp:
Please let me know you’re okay? I’m starting to worry. I have to leave now. I’m supposed to be going home for the weekend, but if I don’t hear from you in the next thirty minutes, I’m coming to find you. XX
I need to reply, so I send three words:
See you Monday.
His response is instant.
Are you okay?
Yes.
And then another message comes through. From Ru.
Seth
I reread Eliza’s messages, trying to figure out if we have a problem here, or if she’s just being... Eliza. I pace around her kitchen with its spaceship of a coffee machine, granite worktops, solid marble floor, and sky-high ceiling and notice for the first time how generic it is. Classy, elegant. But totally impersonal. Not a knickknack to be seen.
I leave the almond croissant I got her for breakfast on the worktop and am about to replace the spare key on the hook, when the devil on my shoulder advises me to keep it. So I slip it into my pocket along with the security card and close the door firmly behind me.
I take a step, only to rip my phone from my pocket when it rings. “Eliza?”
“Nope. But now I want to know who Eliza is.”
“Hey, Zach.” I sigh.
“Hey yourself. Who is she?”
“My girlfriend.” A wide grin stretches my mouth.
“Do tell.”
“Oh, man. She’s...” How do I describe my girl? Incredibly smart and sharp-witted? Knock-out beautiful? The least judgemental person I’ve ever met? Empathic? As invested as I am in my product? “Incredible.”
“Soooo...?”
I laugh. “Oh, yeah. I’m leaving hers now.”
“You’re... sure?”
“Mate. If I die today, I’ll die a very happy man. I’ll see ya soon.”
“Soon. Bye, Seth.”
I grasp my phone, typing and deleting messages with my thumbs as I enter the pub a few hours later, in danger of getting frostbite. Did I do something wrong? Is she regretting us? Oh, fuck. I type fast, horrified by the idea filling my mind. I got so carried away...
Did I hurt you?
She’s half my size. Less, probably. I went too hard. Fuck!
“Oh, here he comes. Mister Bigshot himself.”
I look up from my screen and Eliza’s monosyllabic denials of any pain caused, and two of my four brothers are assembled around the largest picnic table in the crowded pub garden.
“Glad you could make some time for us little people, Seth,” Joe teases, his faded jeans even more washed-out than the last time I saw him.
“I had a gap in my schedule.”
He stands and holds his arms out as I approach and duck under the salmon-pink parasol. As I expected, he makes a jab at my ribs.
“Nice try, arsehole,” I mock as I twist and lock his arm to my side.
“Dude.” Matt slaps my back as I sit beside him, suited and booted. He must have been working this morning. Or all night is more likely. “Congrats. Really. Huge, huge congrats. Mum has been keeping us all well updated.”
“I bet. Cheers.” I pick up the ice-cold pint waiting for me and sip.
Blue sky. Sun. And a beer with the boys. Yup. Today’s gonna be a good one.
“How’s the corporate London nightlife?” Joe asks, his jumping eyebrows alluding to the real question: Am I getting any?
“I’m not complaining.”
“Yeah?”
I nod and take another sip.
“What’s her name?” Matt prods.
“The important question is... did she make you come?” Joe interjects.
“Her name is Eliza. And I have zero complaints. Or further comment.” I set the glass down and lower my chin as I wait for the catcalls and jeers to subside, chuckling and shaking my head until they do.
“You got a photo?” Matt asks.
“If I did, I wouldn’t be showing it to you.”
Joe tries to look offended, but only laughs harder. “I wouldn’t either. Not to you bunch of losers.”
“Seriously, it’s good to see you so happy,” Matt says in a way that’s more of a question than a statement.
“Thanks.”
His gaze probes mine, ever the detective, trying to decide if I’m really happy or pretending to be. I give him a wink and turn my attention back to the teasing and joking around the table while getting in my fair share of digs. I’ve missed this. This lighthearted fooling around. Everything seems so life-or-death serious for me far too often these days.
“We’d better go, or Mum is going to roast us,” Joe says, tapping his phone and glancing at the time.
“Sure. I can give one of you a ride.” I stand and pull out my keys from my pocket and am instantly set upon by two ogling, drooling maniacs.
“A fucking Ferrari! You’ve gotta be shittin’ me!” Joe makes a grab for the key in my hand but, as ever, is too slow.
“Well, that’s your luck out. You’ll have to walk,” I taunt.
Matt tosses his keys to Joe, who catches them on reflex but frowns. “I’ll ride with our baby brother. I need to have a word.”
“You have my deepest sympathy,” Joe says soberly, placing a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “I’ve just had my ear bent all the way here.”
Matt gives him a reproachful look but chooses not to pursue the topic and we all make our way to the car park, behaving like a pack of teenagers, jabbing and jeering at each other. Until they set eyes on my temporary car. Parked in the shade of a huge oak tree. Then they both take off running.
“Fucking hell, Seth!” Joe breathes, his hand hovering over the bodywork.
“Not bad, is it?” I grin, looking her over again.
“No wonder you’re getting laid. Fuck me! Can I borrow it?”
“Not a cat in hell’s chance.”
“Wanker.”
When we finally make it into the Ferrari, with Joe safely installed in my eldest brother’s car, Matt turns to me and says, “So. Dexter Randell... somehow broke his face.”
I cast a glance in his direction, taking in his accusatory glare. “He should be more careful.”
“Hmm. That’s what I told him. He said he really needed the money.”
