I threw him a filthy look. “That’s your great solution? Sex?”
“Hear me out,” he said, and to my surprise he remained resolutely serious when he proceeded to explanation. “You said that your dickhead boyfriend was your first in everything. Since you two broke up tonight, I guess you never had a second. You need a second, and better now than never.”
Folding my arms, I gave him my arch, annoyed look. “And what makes you think I’d never have it again?”
“Because you strike me like someone who would rather be independent and free for a while until you even open up to the idea of something new,” he said, and I hated to admit it but his argument was good. “It’s like airplane pilots; if one goes through a plane crash and comes out of it alive and well, they put him back on the plane the next day so he wouldn’t have time to get trauma. I think this method will work for someone as stubborn as you too.”
While I was scowling, I couldn’t help but go over his words, then I almost wanted to slap myself. Was I actually considering having sex with a stranger, at some beach, after I broke up with him? Was I really considering to take this guy to be my second guy ever?
As he was watching me closely, eyes smoky gray, I knew the answer. I was considering it. I was seriously considering it. “Don’t you think you needed to ask me for my name before suggesting to have sex with you?” I asked, deflecting the previous subject for the time being.
This complete stranger seemed extremely attuned to me, that he gave me a knowing look like he knew what I was doing. I’d never had someone understand me so thoroughly, let alone a stranger. “I believe that names give a misguided first impression,” he replied, to my surprise, “if you told me you were called, hypothetically, Amy, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from beginning to write your mental file then, probably saying rude stuff I assumed upon hearing your name.”
“So you’re an anti-name kind of guy,” I concluded and gazed haughtily away, “maybe because yours suck?”
He chuckled. “I don’t mind my name,” he answered, and when I returned my gaze to him, his eyes were amused. “I just mind others.”
“Let’s use fake names, then,” I suggested, “I don’t really want to give you my real name anyway, and I have no need to know yours. But just for tonight, let’s give ourselves an alias.”
He leaned his head back on the couch and gave me a contemplative, lingering look. After a few silent moments, he grinned. “I’m Steve.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please give yourself a sexier name.”
He laughed. It was a low timbre kind of laugh that made my stomach turn to knots. “Fine,” he said, “then I’m Wayne.”
“Are you a reformed gangster or a hardcore rapper?” I arched my eyebrow.
He shrugged. “It’s Batman’s last name and much better than Bruce.”
Giving him another eye-roll, I shrugged. “Fine. Be fucking Wayne. I’ll be Cleo.”
“Short for Cleopatra?” this time he arched his eyebrow. “Someone’s thinking highly of herself.”
“Said Batman,” I shot back, grinning when he chuckled.
When he saw my grin he stopped and seemed to stare for a moment or two before turning serious again. “So,” he said, and I saw him shifting, beginning to close in on me. Suddenly the tension filled the air again, that same tension from before, a tension I’d never felt until tonight. My stomach, still in knots, somersaulted when he smoothly placed himself right beside me, his thigh touching mine, his arm sprawled on the back of the couch, behind me, and his face so close I could smell the Corona on his breath. “I have to say, Cleo, not a lot of women manage to grab my attention after one second of talking to them, let alone all night.”
Trying not to show how much of a mess I was, I forced my muscles to relax on by one. “And I have to say, Wayne, you’re one hell of a piece of work.”
He smirked. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
I gave him a condescending look. “I didn’t mean it as one.”
He gave short chuckle, low and undeniably sexy that made my breasts feel suddenly heavier in my chest. “I never knew I would be such a masochist,” he murmured, his face mere inches away from mine now.
My heart pounded so loud my ears threatened to explode. “A masochist?” I forced out, to keep the conversation still going, because I was beginning to lose focus. I wasn’t ready yet to lose focus.
“I steered away from women like you,” he said quietly and a shiver went down my spine when his hand sneaked behind me to untangle my very neat ponytail from its binds. Suddenly my hair was everything in its usual tousled golden knots, flying to my waist. His fingers weaved through it, almost brushing it, before his hand cupped the back of my head. He brought my face even close to his, his forehead touching mine and sending a shock of electricity through my body. “Women of your type usually clash with me,” he continued, speaking only an inch from my lips, “they never bend, never give in, and since I’m just like that, we butt heads. But you’re different. I can feel a kind of softness women like you usually lack.”
Thinking became tough act to do, but somehow I managed to utter out a little breathlessly, “Softness?”
He gave me one last look before murmuring, “In all the right place, baby.”
There were no more words after that. His lips met mine, and like it’d been sleeping for so long, my body came to life, awakening. My skin went taut when his lips cajoled mine to open up, to let him in, and when he gained access and his tongue brushed against mine, my entire body shuddered with pure thrilled joy.
This was what I’d been missing on when I settled for a man who meant absolutely nothing to me.
I couldn’t wait to explore the new sensations that filled every part of me, and I didn’t bother to torture me so. Putting my hands on his shoulders, I leaned closer to him, turning the kiss more eager, more impatient, and he responded in kind, devouring my lips just as much as I ravished his, the beach and the night’s air brushing against our clammy skin.
And it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed to change this night’s events, and not because they were bad and humiliating. No, there was a different reason to this.
It was June the fifth. There had been no gala night. Instead, my ex had thrown an extravagant birthday party for me, including his family and mine, my friends, his friend, our shared friends, every living person I knew and loved on earth. I’d just turned twenty-two, after all. It was a big deal.
Because he’d wanted to get married not so long after our fourth anniversary, which was set to be in only five months.
Then everything went to shit and my birthday became... nothing, I guess.
But this, this with this guy, this right now... I felt like God sent me a consolation gift, and not a bad one at that. A pretty much good one.
I needed to get myself closer to his body, because just making out didn’t cut it. I needed everything he had to offer. Like a starving woman, I used all my force to make him sit straight and I straddled him, putting my most intimate part on top of the rigidness in his pants. He didn’t seem to mind much that I took charge. I certainly didn’t mind it.
His lips left mine then and, his hand still holding the back of my head, he made me tilt my head and expose my neck for him. He kissed and licked it, and I sat there, dazed, letting him do whatever he wanted to me. My breaths and soft moans filled the silence of the night as he traveled down my neck, his hands suddenly grasping the straps of my dress and lowering them down slowly down my arms.
My chest met the air, the wind making my nipples even tauter than before. He didn’t waste time once he had them out; he licked and nipped one while fondling and pinching the other. My throat was dry and I felt him getting even tighter in his pants, while my panties were almost soaked by now. Using my very strategic position, I began rubbing against him, dry-humping him. I’d only ever done that with a pillow of mine when I was younger and more desperate. I’d never done it to a man before, especially not my ex. Dirty hadn’t been part of our relationship vocabulary.
I felt him almost growling against my skin, and suddenly his lips were on mine again and his hands cupped my butt. He guided me deeper onto him, rubbing harder and faster against him, until neither of us could take it anymore. He pushed the hem of my dress up to my waist, pushed the panties away, freed his raging erection, and without any more foreplay, he plunged up inside of me just as I lowered myself on him with everything I had. The joint enthusiasm caused a friction that made me shiver uncontrollably and him to freeze as he got adjusted to me and likewise. Because it’d been a while since I had sex – a few months, if I recalled correctly – and he was... He was big. Really big. Not just long, I could tell, but also thick enough to make me feel full to the point of breaking. My ex had a much smaller one.
My hands, as they were still on his shoulders, felt it when he tensed, trying to let me get used to him. But I wanted him to move. I needed him to move. I needed this to be perfect. So I tried rocking against him, but his hands grabbed my butt cheeks tightly, warning me not to move just yet. Just when I was about to scream in frustration, I found myself pushed to my back, him looming on top of me, and then he pulled out and shoved with such sturdiness back inside me, my back arched and I moaned so loud, it echoed through the deserted beach.
Grabbing my hips, he hoisted my entire lower body up as he on his kneed began pumping in and out of me so fast, the friction it created turned me mad with lust. My hands curled around the blanket on the couch, and moans left my lips one after another, turning the air bluer than it already was. The knots in my stomach grew to be impossible to bear. He needed to do just one more thing and I’d break –
I cried out when he suddenly rubbed his thumb against my clit, my entire body exploding from inside out. Spasms took over my legs, my hands, my entire body, and I felt myself liquefying, coating him with my juices. He groaned deep in his throat, and he need to pump only two more times before he pulled out and came on my abdomen. Then he looked down at me, eyes shining silver. I was sure my blue ones looked the same.
Something flashed in his eyes then, something unreadable. Whatever the emotion was, it made his jaw lock and he looked away, tucking his cock safely back inside his pants, and sitting on the couch rigidly, like we hadn’t just done anything. Like the proof of what we’d just done wasn’t covering my abdomen.
But what had we done anyway? It was just sex. A casual affair between two strangers. I was pretty sure that he’d been gunning for it, and the whole helping me shit was just a unique way of getting me out of my panties. But whatever his methods were, I agreed and it was consensual. Hell, I’d taken more part in this sexual intercourse than I ever had when I’d been with my boyfriend. Back then I’d always just laid there and waited for it to be done with. Now... not so much.
I sat up, despite my body’s leisure protests, and pulled back my panties on, adjusting my breasts back into my dress and pulling my straps back up. I then braided my stupidly long hair and tied it. Then I looked at him. “You were right,” I told him, “I did need this.”
He glanced at me, his gaze inscrutable. “I bet you never had good sex with your boyfriend.”
“Ex now,” I corrected, and then shook my head. “With him it was just some other step in our relationship. Didn’t mean anything, didn’t feel like anything. This...” I pointed between us, “was something else. For the first time, I felt my body. I felt everything. I felt human.”
He grinned then. “I always knew I was good, just not that good.”
I rolled my eyes and stood up. “Don’t give yourself so much credit,” I told him, grabbing my high heels, “it could’ve been anyone tonight and I’d still come as hard as I did. Now,” I looked at him with a small grin of my own, “I think it’s time for me to get home.”
His grin remained intact as he rose to his feet as well. “As you wish,” he said, eyes suddenly dancing with mirth, “I think we both achieved what we came here tonight for, don’t you think?”
It was a rhetorical question, but as we made our way back to the main road, I couldn’t help but answer it in my mind. Yes, we both achieved what we came here for. I got a closure and a sweet memory to erase the previous one of my birthday night. I got to talk about all the nothing I buried deep inside regarding that relationship with my ex. I got to be myself again, demanding, stubborn, aggressive, me. I got to turn back to who I was, to what I was four years ago.
And I loved every moment of it.
Eventually it appeared he parked his own car at the beach. It was a big black Land Cruiser the made some tough-guy noises as it quickened down the road. The drive was mostly silent, with only radio music filling the space. I didn’t mind it much. In fact, I was glad for the music and silence.
He asked me where I lived when we got into the city, and I told him to just drop me off at the pub we’d met in, since it wasn’t so far away from my apartment. Then, as he stopped there and pulled the arm-brake up, he turned fully to me. Our eyes met, and I saw his were searching mine for something intently. I didn’t know what he was trying to find there or if he found it when he blinked and the only thing remained was his overwhelming intensity. “You’re a special woman, Cleo,” he said softly, eyes never leaving mine, “don’t ever let a guy take away who you are and making you a less person than the potential you have to be.”
I cocked my head, a small grin playing at my lips. “Thanks for the pep talk, but I’ve already figured it out by myself before you came along,” I informed him, and saw he was surprised at my response.
Then he chuckled and shook his head. “You’re something else.”
Still grinning, I opened the door and gave him one last look. “Good night, Wayne. And thank you.”
He gave me another look I didn’t understand and smiled back. “Good night, Cleo. Promise me you won’t give up on us men just yet.”
I blinked in surprise. After he took me to that beach, all malicious thoughts I had about men didn’t turn my mind bitter so much as when before he came to that pub and it’d been just me and my Whiskey. Another wall the mysterious, elusive stranger managed to bring down. “I won’t,” I said, meaning it. I wouldn’t give up on the male as a gender just yet. Not after what this man showed me was possible tonight.
Then I was out of the car, walking down the street, while he drove away, each of us returning to our own life.
That was only the beginning, though. That night had been an aftermath and a trigger, and little did I know that the ball had only started rolling.