40. Surfing the Fear
40
SURFING THE FEAR
Mitch had stayed with Tayla for the rest of the week while she arranged for her Vespa to be shipped, and packed her remaining few things.
They’d booked into a B&B for the last two nights, and both evenings, strolled along the Bondi shoreline, hands entwined as easy conversation flowed. Afterward, they’d dined at a nearby eatery, then walked home again, eager to make up for lost time between borrowed sheets and tender moments.
Without the hum of the packing shed, the workers coming and going, and Ned calling in for cups of tea, their time together had felt like a honeymoon. Like lazy Sunday mornings spent in bed enjoying mind-blowing sex while drizzle dampened the earth. Exactly how she’d imagined honeymoon sex to be.
Now, back at Lime Tree Hill, the days blurred into each other as Mitch slipped into his work routine, and Tayla started her second stint as a locum at Clifton Falls General. However, when the weekend arrived, he relaxed again. So when he suggested a surfing lesson, despite the overcast day, Tayla took a deep breath and agreed.
They drove to the northern end of Petrie Bay, to the spot where a local surf school held lessons. With the Pacific calmer than usual, the waves rolled quietly into shore, and her stomach didn’t flip as much as she’d expected. They’d had a few lessons since their return, each one building on the next as her confidence increased, but she still hadn’t ridden a wave.
He cut the engine and took her hand, his gentle squeeze reassuring. Independence aside, Tayla enjoyed being part of a couple. That comforting feeling of someone having your back.
“Ready?”
Tayla nodded. She could do this—would do this—no matter how long it took to stand on that board.
When she first entered the water, those familiar feelings surfaced. But as they waded through the breakers, she reminded herself of everything he’d taught her so far. Chin up, one foot forward, ditch the head trash .
“Right, let’s go over what we did last time,” Mitch said.
Her first few attempts were a disaster. She spent more time off the board than on it. And as Mitch offered advice in his usual calm manner, displaying the patience of a saint, Tayla wished he’d step away for a while and leave her to it. She’d never been a team player, preferring to learn on her own terms and in her own time.
“You’re too far back, and the nose is lifting. Find your sweet spot on the board when you paddle out. Let’s try again. Once you hit white water, stay prone while you paddle in to get used to the feeling. Don’t try to stand yet, okay?”
Tayla lay on the board while Mitch held it for her. “Okay.”
“And remember to lose yourself in the landscape and ditch the head trash. You’ve got this.” He pushed her forward.
She followed his instructions. Found her sweet spot and made it to the shore several times without incident while Mitch stood waist-deep in the water, watching her.
“Okay. That’s good. You want to try to stand now?”
Standing up was all she’d thought about for the past half hour. She squinted against the sun. “I’ll try. ”
Mitch waded beside her, staying close as she paddled out to find that perfect stretch of white water. He kept talking, his instructions precise, but often distracting.
Tayla stood on the board, barely finding her balance before the wave threw her off. She hadn’t even lasted a few seconds. As saltwater rushed up her nose and into her throat, strong arms grabbed her from behind and pulled her upright. Although the water was only chest deep, by the way her heart raced, it felt like a twenty-foot swell.
Mitch dipped his head to meet her gaze. “You okay?”
She nodded, trying to catch her breath, a sudden cool breeze biting at her face.
“You’re doing great, but you were looking down again,” Mitch said. “We’ve discussed that, and your front foot’s still too far back. Let’s go again.”
“There’s just so much to remember.”
“It’s all about muscle memory, you get that, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I get it.” She wanted to add, ‘It’s my field, remember?’ But it wasn’t his fault she couldn’t master the board. And it wasn’t fear messing with her head, more her desperation to succeed.
She tried a few more times, the results always the same. Mitch watched intently, pointing out where she was going wrong as any good coach would. Once, he raised his voice in frustration, and after that, her resolve increased.
I can do this. I can do this. “I’m going again.”
“No, you’re not. It’s time to get out.”
“I don’t want to get out. Just once more!”
Mitch stood tall, his arms folded over his chest, reinforcing his point. “No.” He stretched the word out. “You’re tired and cold, and if something does happen, you won’t have the strength to fight it. Listen to your body and you’ll be fine. Ignore the warning signs and you’re screwed.”
“I’m fine. I’m going again.” She went to paddle away, but he grabbed hold of her board and pulled her back .
“You want to learn to surf, then know when to call it quits. Stop being so pigheaded and get your pretty butt out of the water.”
“Fine.” Tayla leaned forward on her board, turned, and paddled swiftly toward the shore. Smart people say you should never ask your husband to teach you to drive. It seemed surfing lessons fell into the same category.
Cold and upset, Tayla reached the truck before him. She’d tried her hardest but still couldn’t master the gentle white water, let alone something bigger. By the time Mitch joined her, she’d peeled her wetsuit half off and was towel drying her hair.
“What’s got up your nose?” he asked.
“What, besides saltwater, sand, and you? Nothing!”
He chuckled. “So, it’s my fault, is it, Princess?”
“I wanted to try again. But you’re the coach. And don’t call me Princess.”
“Fine.” He tugged down his zipper. “Find someone else to stand in the freezing water all afternoon if I’m so hard to deal with.”
“I will. Tim’s offered, more than once.”
“You want Tim to teach you? Knock yourself out.”
Tayla dropped her bikini top at her feet and pulled his hoodie over her naked chest, then peeled off her wetsuit and flung it onto the tray of his truck. She wrapped a towel around her hips and waited in the front seat, her arms crossed and face tense.
They drove home in stony silence. The sun had dipped behind the hills, and her skin bumped with the cold. She couldn’t wait to have a hot shower and warm up. When Mitch parked outside the packing shed, she flung open the door and stormed off without a word.
Standing in the shower, Tayla wondered why she was mad at Mitch instead of herself. As usual, he didn’t come inside straight away. Having an orchard meant there was always something to check on, but maybe he was giving her space to calm down.
She’d just washed her hair when he opened the shower door and slipped in behind her. She had to step aside as he positioned himself under the flow from the showerhead, his body hard against hers. She turned, and despite her annoyance, the sight of him naked and engulfed by steam almost took her breath away.
Mitch glanced down at her, no trace of softness in his expression.
“You’re taking my water,” she said.
“Get over it.” He squeezed shampoo into his palm and started washing his hair, not bothering to look at her. “You’re trying my patience, so I guess we’re even. You need to learn to do as you’re told.”
“I can’t believe you said that when you know my history. You’re so insensitive.”
“I’m not being insensitive to your fear. But when I told you to get out, you didn’t listen. There’s plenty of time to be perfect, but no, you want to surf like a pro without learning the basics first.”
“I got out when you said.”
“Yeah, and you’re still mad about it. If you want me to teach you, you have to do as I say, understand?”
“I don’t have to do anything. You men, you’re all the same.” Tayla seldom raised her voice, but she wasn’t opposed to a little agitation creeping into her tone. “It’s always about you.”
“Hey.” Mitch lifted her chin with his hand, his dark eyes staring into hers. “Let’s get one thing clear.” He bent and kissed her, his tongue firm against hers, then pulled back. “I’m not like any other man you’ll ever meet, and you’re not like any other woman I’ll ever meet. And you know why? Because we fit. Understand?”
She understood, so much so that she struggled for a comeback.
Needy lips found the side of her neck—one hand on her breast, his touch wild and urgent. “So, let’s cut the crap,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “Because the moment you dropped that scrap of fabric you call a bikini top and pulled my hoodie over your naked breasts, I wanted to pin you against my truck and fuck you until your knees buckled and your heart pounded in your chest. To make you breathless and wet for me until I controlled your thoughts and your body.”
She tried to suppress her smile, the effect of his words immediate. Like gravel on velvet.
“It’s not your hoodie,” she said, her last attempt at defiance. “You gave it to me, remember?”
He gently pushed her against the wall. Another desperate kiss followed as he eased her legs apart with his. “I did. Now, I want something in return.” He dropped to his knees and buried his face between her thighs, his hands pinning her hips against the tiles. He pulled back, looked up. “And I’m going to make you come so hard, you won’t know what’s hit you. If you don’t want this, say so now.”
“Yes!”
“Yes?”
Raking her hands through his hair, Tayla braced herself against his intention. “I want this…so bad.”
When they’d left the beach, she could hardly speak to him. Now, with his hands holding her still, and his lips and tongue reducing her to a quivering mess, she forgot about the surfing lesson, his attitude, and finally, why she was even mad in the first place.
Mitch moved his lips and hands up her body. “You have perfect breasts. Small and firm and just begging to be touched.”
She trembled, moaning his name softly, her legs turning to jelly and her heartbeat racing in her chest as he reached for a condom from the vanity drawer and rolled it on. He turned her to face the wall and rubbed himself between the cleft of her buttocks in hot, even strokes. And as he plunged into her from behind—thrusting harder with every stroke until they both came—she felt exactly how he’d said she would.
Controlled. Beautifully, utterly controlled .
Mitch collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor, taking her with him as the water streamed down on them.
“Wow.” Panting for breath, Tayla stayed in his lap, her hands braced on his thighs. “That was… What actually was that?”
He wrapped his arms around her and chuckled. “Best make up sex ever. Holy shit!”