Commitment Issues by Ali Ryecart
Chapter Nineteen
Freddie
If I don’t smother myself in factor fifty, I end up with a frightening resemblance to a savoury cheese flavoured snack, so getting Elliot to rub his strong, warm hands, slick with cream across my back, is, of course, purely for practical reasons.
I make a pillow for my head with my arms, and close my eyes. Above me, I hear the flick of the bottle top and then what seems like an obscene squirt as Elliot releases the lotion, dripping it along my back, and I suck in a breath at the sudden coldness. I bury my face deeper into my arms as more cream splatters over my skin. Deliciously filthy thoughts fill my head as I bite down on my lower lip, forcing back the traitorous groan that’s fighting to escape me, telling myself it’s sunscreen, only sunscreen.
Thank God I’m on my front, because my dick’s rock solid, and I can only pray he doesn’t ask me to return the favour in few minutes, or even a few hours. I wriggle around a bit, to try and relieve some of the pressure on my aching cock and balls, but it’s a bad move, because the friction only makes it worse, and I try to think of something, anything, that might help tap the valve that’s threatening to burst between my legs.
I jump as Elliot’s hands slap down on my back. He’s not rubbing the cream in, but massaging it into my skin. His palms push up along the valley of my spine, in a long slow sweep, before fanning out over my shoulders, moving down along my sides to the small of my back before repeating the journey. The smooth, strong slide of his hands relaxes my muscles including, I’m happy to say, the one pressing into the sun bed, and I sigh long and loud.
“That feels amazing. It’s like having a proper massage. How did you learn to do this?” I murmur.
Above me, Elliot chuckles. “My brother’s a massage therapist, and he taught me some basic techniques.”
I turn my head and squint up at him. I can’t see the expression on his face because he’s no more than a dark shadow against the bright blue sky. It’s another little piece of the picture, to add to what he’s already told me, which in truth isn’t much, that goes to make up who he is. I want to know more, I want to be able to see and know all of him. And it shakes me, with how much I want to know.
I nuzzle into my arms again, and close my eyes. Because what’s the point in knowing more? By this time next week, I’ll be home with a healthier bank balance than I’ve known in a long time, a tan, and some good memories of a man I’ll never see or hear of again.
“You’re very tight.”
My eyes snap open. “What?” Words I’ve heard before, but in a very different context.
“Around your neck and shoulders. Your muscles are very tight and tense.”
And is that any bloody wonder? Elliot, in arse-moulding shorts and torso hugging T-shirt, is rubbing cream all over my skin, in front of a captive audience. It’s a scene worthy of soft focus porn before the main action, and one I’ve engineered, because aren’t we meant to be putting on a show? But I’m definitely the support to Elliot’s lead role in this particular act.
More lotion squirts over my hot skin, and the shiver that rocks through me has sod all to do with our performance.
“I need to get into a better position so I can really push into you,” Elliot says above me.
The innuendo’s excruciating but, honestly, I don’t think he has a clue. I’m tight… He needs to push into me… He’s got to get into a better position… My dick’s woken back up and is ready to rock ’n’ roll.
In one quick move he straddles me, and I grunt in surprise as his thighs clamp on either side of mine. And I’m whimpering, I’m sure I’m whimpering, as I push my face harder against my arms.
“That’s better. Now I can really go to work on you.”
My only answer’s some weird, strangled squeak.
The heels of his hands push hard into my knotted muscles. What started out as something deliciously sensual has turned excruciating, and I gasp as he presses down upon me, his strong hands kneading, rubbing, and massaging.
“Feeling better?”
“Bloody sadist,” I grunt, and he answers with a laugh.
As his hands continue with their punishing work, his body rocks with him. The pressure in my dick’s mounting as he sweeps down my body, tugging at the waist band of my cut-offs, pulling them down a tiny bit so he can get to the base of my back above the swell of my arse. Jesus, if he carries on much longer, I’m in serious danger of coming, and there won’t be a thing I can do to stop it. When I think I can’t take any more and resign myself to the inevitable, everything stops.
“There you go, I think that’s enough.” He moves off me, leaving me both relieved and resentful of the loss of his weight pressing down on me.
I lift my head to look at him, ready to say thank you, but the words catch in my throat.
He’s pulling off his T-shirt, dropping it to the deck before he lays back on the sun bed next to me, and closes his eyes.
God, but he’s beautiful. He’s darker complexioned than me, his olive skin hinting at southern European heritage, Italy perhaps, or Spain. The hair on his chest, though sparse like mine, is dark and my mouth waters as I follow his treasure trail, over the honed muscles of his stomach, before it disappears beneath the waist of his shorts. He’s muscled but there’s nothing bulky about him and I suspect his build has more to do with happy genetics than to long and gruelling sessions in the gym, or running across Hampstead Heath in all weathers. He murmurs something, and I go to ask him to repeat it, before I realise that he’s slipped into sleep.
The gentle rock of the yacht and the background drone of voices is soothing and I close my eyes. My erection, thank God, has finally decided to subside and I’m able at last to shift around onto my back safe in the knowledge I’m saving my blushes.
The bottle of sunscreen lays abandoned on the deck next to me and I reach down to pick it up and smear some over my front. Instead of settling back down again, I look out to a sea that’s so dark blue it’s almost purple, sighing as the hot sun saturates my skin and sinks down into my bones. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the heat of a foreign sun on my skin. And that’s the reason why I agreed to this, isn’t it? The promise of sun and a much-needed cash injection? But, I’m also here for Elliot, because I like him. I like him a lot, and could like him a whole lot more — if I let myself.
No.
I can’t let my thoughts drift down that road. Older, urbane, sophisticated, everything I want in a man. It’s also everything that once broke my heart so completely I’d feared it’d never mend again. It has, but it’s still fragile.
I’m suddenly restless. Many in the wedding party, like Elliot, are dozing in the sun. Others have expensive-looking headphones clamped to their ears, including Gavin, sprawled out and easy-looking on one of the bench seats. But he’s not easy. His eyes are closed, but his face is stiff and his fingers are beating out a staccato rhythm on his thigh. I’d meant the show with the suncream to be two fingers up to him, but as soon as Elliot laid his hands on me, I’d forgotten Gavin even existed.
My gaze shifts to Andrew and Marcus, sprawled out on another of the benches, Andrew a big furry cushion for Marcus’ much smaller frame. Both have their eyes closed and one of Andrew’s arms lies loose and relaxed on Marcus’ stomach, his thumb stroking an exposed band of Marcus’ skin. They’re such an odd looking couple it’s almost freaky, but as they lie curled up together, I see contentment and happiness on their faces, and a little spear of jealousy shoots through me.
I look more closely at the other men scattered around on the deck. Everybody’s a couple, with the exception of Gavin. None of it fake, none of it contrived, none of it for show, as hands unthinkingly caress an arm or thigh, or trail fingers along a cheek. Shared smiles and light kisses, the telltale signs of people who fit together like jigsaw pieces. I flex my shoulders. Coupledom, that’s for other people, not for me. My boyfriends have never lasted more than a handful of dates. Except for one, but I shake my head, to shake him out of it.
Padding over to the steps leading to the lower deck, I make my way to the back of the yacht. I don’t see anybody, not even a sign of the small crew I know are onboard. Finding a shady spot, I gaze out at the impossibly blue sea and the thin strip of coast that’s far, far away, before letting my eyes drop to a close.
I jump out of my skin when a heavy hand lands on my shoulder.
What…?
I blink hard, not at the empty sea but at a small sandy bay that looks like it should be a centre spread from a luxury holiday brochure.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Elliot says, smiling down at me. “But we’re here. You’ve time for a swim before lunch, if you want.”
Swim, lunch… His words don’t seem to make sense because all I can make sense of is his warm hand on my shoulder.
“Er, yes.” I stagger up to standing.
“Are you okay?” he asks, concern creasing his brow. “You were fast asleep.”
My skin’s very warm; at some point the shade had melted away.
“I—”
My heart all but leaps out of my chest when Elliot pushes my hair aside and rests a hand on my brow.
“You’re hot,” he says, his frown deepening.
I snort, I can’t help it. Elliot rolls his eyes but his lips tug up in a smile. “You know what I mean. But you are. I mean, your forehead…”
Two red patches colour his cheekbones. I know exactly what he means, but I’m kind of enjoying seeing him flustered, because hadn’t he flustered me, earlier? I rather like turning the tables on him, yet I suppose I should put him out of his misery but the yacht has other ideas as it gives a sudden sharp lurch, throwing me against Elliot.
His arms encircle me, holding me tight. Our bodies are warm and slick with suncream, and I breathe in deep, the aroma making me dizzy. The vaguely chemical smell from the suncream, the tang of salt on the breeze, the ghost of his sharp cologne and underscoring it all, the aroma that’s the man himself.
I melt into him, just as I had in the cottage. And like then, I don’t pull away. He’s so close, nothing more than a heartbeat away, and I ache to kiss those full and pouty lips, to take possession of his mouth, to dive deep and dark and taste his warm wetness. His eyes darken beneath heavy lids, and my lips part as his arms grip me harder, and he pulls me in closer.
“I think there’s one couple who need to jump into the sea and cool off.”
We jolt away from each other, as though we’ve been shocked by an electric bolt. The same guys we’d briefly shared the breakfast table with are making their way towards us, followed by Andrew, who raises his brows in a kind of wry amusement. Behind him, I can hear Marcus, chivvying everybody along, but he’s hidden by Andrew’s bulk.
“The dinghy can take us all over to the shore in one go, but it’ll be a crush,” Marcus calls out, as he squeezes around his fiancé. “The crew will set up lunch on the beach in around an hour’s time. Come on everybody, follow me.” Marcus clambers down a ladder into the dinghy.
“Better do as he says,” Elliot mutters, and I nod. I shoot him a quick glance. His cheeks are still red, and I don’t catch his eye.
Marcus is right about it being a crush. Somehow Elliot and I get separated and I find myself squashed up against Andrew and one half of a couple who I’ve noticed just seem to sit and hold hands in silence.
A couple or so minutes later, we reach the beach and I jump out, the warm Mediterranean swirling around my ankles. It’s glorious and I long to strip off everything and plunge, naked, into the warm water.
“This is beautiful,” I say to Elliot as we make our way up onto the beach.
“It is indeed.”
It isn’t Elliot who answers, but Gavin, and I turn around. He’s just a couple of feet away, looking every bit as if he owns the place, a dark smile pulling at his lips.
“We spent many happy times here, didn’t we Elliot?” Gavin drags his cool eyes away from me and settles them on Elliot.
I look at Elliot, a glib comment ready and waiting on my lips but it dissolves into nothing, and I want only to weep.
Elliot’s gaze is locked on Gavin, swirling with memories and emotions I can’t even begin to guess at, memories and emotions I have no part in. My stomach turns to water, because for each of them, the world contains no other. They’ve forgotten not just my presence, but my existence.
I start to turn away, no thought about playing the role I’ve been hired for, wanting only to escape the raw emotion that’s binding them tight.
Elliot’s hand catches at my wrist, holding me fast.
“Good memories as you say Gavin, but memories are all they are. It all happened a long time ago,” Elliot says quietly, before he swings around and all but drags me along the sand.
I don’t say anything because what can I say? Whatever it is I’ve just witnessed, I’ve been an interloper. I cast a glance at Elliot, and my stomach clenches hard. There’s no hint of sadness or regret, or yearning, for the life he’s had, and lost, with Gavin. Instead, his jaw’s hard and tight, his lips pressed into a thin and severe line, and those eyes, those gorgeous blue eyes, are dark and savage.
“Elliot?”
He lets out a long and jagged sigh, and flings his bag down on the sand, under an overhang of rocks.
“This place, this bloody place. Yes, it’s got memories all right.”
His eyes and his words are brimming with fury, but’s there’s hurt there, too.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes losing their anger-filled heat. His brow scrunches up, and he rubs hard at it as though he’s fighting pain. “This place,” he says quietly. “It’s where I proposed to him. This is where I asked Gavin to marry me, and he said yes.”
