Chapter Eight
Orson
My head is spinning.
I couldn’t believe it when Scarlett kissed me. And I can’t believe that now she’s lying on top of me, still kissing me, and not fighting me off with a stick.
Jesus… she’s so incredibly soft all over. She doesn’t possess a single angle. Her breasts are two small pillows squashed to my chest, my erection is pressed into her soft stomach, and when I run my hand down her back to her bottom, my fingers automatically clench the plump muscles there.
Something hits me then, and I run my fingers up her sides, feeling for any elastic at her hips or in the middle of her back. I don’t find any.
She lifts her head and gives me a mischievous look.
“You’re not wearing any underwear,” I say flatly.
She shrugs. “It was a warm day.”
“Holy fucking shit.”
“Orson!”
“I’m so fucking turned on right now.”
She laughs, her expression lighting up at the thought that I desire her. I lift both hands to her face and hold her as I kiss her. She responds with such enthusiasm that it only serves to fire me up even more.
My senses feel heightened, turned up to eleven by the wind and rain, the sensation of the wet clothes against my skin, and the way her hands moved across my face, neck, and shoulders, stroking and massaging. I know I’m probably imagining it, but the ache in my right shoulder and even in my head has vanished. But then that’s probably because all the blood in my body has flown south for the winter. Her hands on my face warmed as she held them there, and it’s impossible not to believe she was somehow drawing on healing power, even if it was only internal.
Fuuuuck… I have no idea why, but this girl drives me crazy… Her sundress—scarlet with white swirls—is short, loose, and flowing and looks like something that might have been worn at Woodstock. Her bare legs are smooth and brown. She was wearing red lip gloss when she first walked up, and when she kissed me, her lips stuck to mine, then peeled away in such an erotic manner that I nearly came on the spot.
She’s shifted up my body a bit, and I don’t know if she realizes she’s doing it or if it’s unconscious, but she’s moving her hips slowly, arousing herself on my erection. The head of it nestles in her softness and slides up to the top as she moves, and she gives a little groan and circles her hips, presumably feeling it pressing against her clit. Ahhh… that’s incredibly erotic. I slide my hands down her back to her bottom and pull her toward me, moving with her to encourage her.
“Ohhh,” she says softly, just an exhalation really, her breath whispering across my lips, and her teeth tug on her bottom lip as her eyes close, so I know she’s feeling the ripples of pleasure like shockwaves through her body.
“Mmm,” I murmur, kissing her jaw, her neck, her throat. “Slowly…”
I stroke up her body to her breasts and fill my palms with them. They’re probably a C cup, generous but still high, and they fit my hands perfectly. It’s not cold exactly, but the rain is cool, and her nipples have tightened where her wet dress is clinging to them. They’re like buttons on her dress, and when I tease them with my thumbs, she moans softly against my lips.
This is like heaven, the rain falling around us like a curtain on a four-poster bed, shutting out the world. I’d worry that someone might be watching, but there isn’t going to be anyone else out here in this weather, and anyway we’re surrounded by ferns and palms that shelter us from prying eyes.
Her breathing has changed, her breaths coming faster; I don’t think she’s far from coming. I hold her in place with one hand at the base of her spine and tease a nipple with the other, and she lifts her head, her eyes wide and unfocused.
“Orson,” she whispers, “oh my God… ”
“Come for me,” I murmur, lifting my hand to the back of her head to pull her mouth back down to mine.
She mumbles something against my lips and puts both hands on my chest as if she’s about to push herself up, but I deepen the kiss, and instead she moans and circles her hips. Her fingers clutch at my T-shirt, and I return my hand to her nipple.
I take a chance and slide the other hand beneath her dress, up her silky thigh, and onto her bare bottom. Her skin is velvety soft and damp, like rose petals. In response, she parts her legs so she’s astride me, then positions herself so the tip of my erection is pressing against her entrance through my jeans, and moans. Ah, fuck… I lower my other hand to clutch at her bare ass and hold her as I rock, and that does it—she shivers, goes still for a second, then gasps against my mouth as she comes.
Aaahhh… the beauty of a woman’s orgasm, sweet as a whole bowl of strawberries and cream. I bet she tastes like it, too. I wrap an arm around her waist, wishing I was inside her and could feel her clenching around me. But this is pretty good too, her mouth hot on mine, her soft body draped over me. Fuck me, she’s hot.
She collapses on top of me and pries her eyes open, and stares straight into mine.
“Oh,” she whispers.
“Mmm.” My lips curve up, and I kiss her gently. “You’re right. This place does make you feel better.”
She gives a shy smile, moving her hips against mine. Her big brown eyes study my face, and she lifts a hand to stroke my forehead. “How’s your headache?”
“What headache?”
Her smile widens. She brushes a thumb over my mouth, her gaze turning sultry. “You’re incredibly handsome.”
“Thank you,” I say, genuinely flattered. “I feel like I’m making love with a water nymph. With Kahukura herself.”
“Making love?” she teases.
I shrug and slide a strand of her silky hair through my fingers. “Did you know that another name for the New Zealand red admiral butterfly is Kahukura? It makes me think of you.” It symbolizes Scarlett’s fragility and lightness of spirit perfectly .
She kisses me. Then she kisses me again. I sigh, opening my mouth so she can slide her tongue against mine. I’m still hard, and as she moves against me, it’s hard to stifle a groan.
She lifts her head again and studies me for a moment.
“What?” I ask, amused at her hesitancy.
“Do you have a condom?”
I blink. “Yeah… in my wallet.”
She just meets my eyes, breathing fast.
My lips part, but no words come out. Heat rushes through me. “Here?”
She nods and glances around. “There’s nobody around.”
“Scarlett…”
“Please,” she whispers, rocking her hips again.
Christ, what’s a man to do? How can I turn down such a beautiful girl when she’s actually asking me to fuck her?
I wrap both arms around her, lift up, and flip her onto her back, and she laughs, looping her arms around my neck as she says, “That was smooth.”
Then she can’t say anything else because I crush my lips to hers.
On top, I can direct the action more, and I make sure I leave her in no doubt as to how much I want her. I kiss her until we’re both breathless, until her breasts are heaving and she’s moaning against my lips. She tugs up my wet T-shirt and slides her hands onto my skin, and both of us sigh as she strokes all the way up to my shoulders, then drags her nails lightly back down to my hips.
I raise my head and look into her eyes. “Are you sure about this?”
She nods, then gives another shy smile.
I lift up, extract my wallet from my back pocket, and take out a condom. She’s looking at my jeans, her eyes wide as she stares at my erection.
Opening my arms, palms up, I say, “You want to do it?”
Her eyebrows rise. Then she quickly starts unbuttoning my jeans. Carefully, she slides the zipper over my erection, her lips parting in wonder as it protrudes through the opening, coated in the black cotton of my boxer-briefs, eager for action.
I hold the condom out to her, but she shakes her head, so I take off the wrapper, push my underwear down, and roll the condom on.
Next I slide her dress up her thighs, exposing her to the summer air, and exhale at the sight of her smooth light-brown and pink skin glistening with her moisture. Lowering a hand between her legs, I slip my thumb down to make sure she’s lubricated, and pause to circle it over her clit, making her moan. I guide the tip of my erection down to her entrance. Then I lean back over her, a hand on either side of her shoulders.
“You’re sure?” I say again. I feel kinda dizzy, high on lust, my heart racing, blood speeding around my body at a million miles an hour, pooling in my groin and making my erection rock hard. The breeze sweeps a layer of rain across us, but neither of us reacts.
She moistens her lips, then nods. Fuck me, she’s so beautiful. Consumed by lust, I lower onto my elbows and kiss her deeply, and at the same I push my hips forward and bury myself inside her.
“Ow!” She jerks and squeals, an involuntary action that startles me and makes me stop in alarm. We stare into each other’s eyes for five seconds, and I register her horrified face before I lift up, sit back on my heels, and ease myself out of her.
There’s blood on the condom.
For a moment I can’t think straight. My brain spins like a centrifuge, flinging thoughts to all corners of my mind. In the end, all I can come up with is: “You’re a virgin?”
She covers her mouth with a hand and bursts into tears.
“What the hell?” Anger flares inside me as I strip off the condom and shove it in my pocket, stuff myself back into my underwear, and zip up my jeans. I yank down her dress. “What’s going on? Did the commune send you here to seduce me?” Scenarios flit through my head like bats—of George and his cronies sacrificing her virginity in a scene reminiscent of The Wicker Man because they want me to pay more for the Waiora.
But Scarlett shakes her head, tears pouring down her face. “I liked you,” she says through her sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m twenty-four. I didn’t think it would hurt.” She moves back against the bench that looks out over the pool, wraps her arms around her knees, rests her forehead on them, and cries.
Slowly, my anger dissipates like mist. Ah… shit .
“Hey…” I move to sit beside her, then put an arm around her shoulders and try to pull her toward me. She resists, her body stiff and unyielding. “I’m so sorry I got angry,” I murmur. “Come here, honey. It’s okay. ”
Eventually she lets me lift her onto my lap, and she curls up there and cries into her hands while I hold her.
“Shhh.” I rub her back. “It’s all right.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart. But why didn’t you tell me?”
She tries to wipe her face, which is pointless because we’re both wet from the rain and she’s crying too much. “I thought you wouldn’t want to if you knew.”
I frown, cradling her as if she’s a wounded animal. “Well, you’re right, I wouldn’t have, but only because your first time should be in a comfortable bed with someone you like and trust.”
“I like you,” she says. “I trust you. That’s why I wanted to do it.”
I’m so taken aback, I don’t know what to say.
I rest my lips on the top of her head and hold her as her sobs turn to snuffles.
“I can’t believe you’re still a virgin,” I murmur.
“Well, I’m not now.”
“You know what I mean. You’re beautiful and warm and funny. How have you got to twenty-four and not had sex? Are you not allowed in the commune? Do they make you wait until you’re married?”
She shakes her head, wiping her face again. “No. There’s just nobody there I like, and I don’t get out much.”
I think about how it must have been for her, isolated in the small community, and not attracted to any of the limited number of young guys in there. It’s a world away from my teenage years at university. My lifestyle was a lot more conservative than some, but there were still nightclubs and parties and a scattering of girlfriends.
“You didn’t want to save your virginity for your husband?” I ask.
“It’s not nineteen-fifty.”
I chuckle. “No, I know.”
“I hate it,” she says fiercely. “It’s like an anchor weighing me down. Any man I meet would want a girl who knows what she’s doing. I wanted to get rid of it.”
The elated feeling I got when she said she liked and trusted me sinks a little. That might be true, but for her those feelings were just a means to an end. She was attracted to me, and maybe because of my position and status and the fact that I’m respected in the community, she felt she could trust me, and therefore I was a suitable contender to rid her of her innocence. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I feel as if I’ve somehow despoiled a fresh mountain stream by washing my dirty clothes in it.
But I don’t say that. I hold her, lending her my warmth as she shivers and cuddles up close to me.
“You smell nice,” she whispers.
My lips curve up. She lifts her face to look up at me, and I study her mouth, with the beautiful Cupid’s bow, then lower my head to press my lips to hers.
It turns into a smooch, and then she raises an arm around my neck and opens her mouth to slide her tongue against mine.
I lift my head and say, “Whoa.”
She blinks and looks confused. “What?”
“Honey…”
“Don’t stop. Please.”
I summon every ounce of willpower I own and kiss her forehead. “No, love. Not here.”
She moves back a bit and frowns at me. “I don’t understand. You were happy to do it five minutes ago.”
“Yeah… but my ardor has cooled somewhat since I made you bleed.”
“I’m okay.” She sends me a pleading glance, but I harden my heart.
“Scarlett, it’s not going to happen, not now.”
She looks upset again. “Why not? I want you to.”
“I know, but it’s not right.”
She stares at me. “You’re serious?”
“I am.”
She shifts off me and gets to her feet.
I rise quickly, and we face each other across the gazebo. She stands there defensively, her arms wrapped around her body. The wind blows a sheet of rain across us, and we both shiver.
“I don’t believe this,” she says. Her face has reddened. “We’ve gone this far, why not go all the way?”
“Because a) you’re going to be sore, and b) I don’t want your first time to be in a public place like this.”
“So it would be okay if it was my second time? Or fifth? Tenth? What’s the appropriate number of fucks I need to have had before I advance to public sex? ”
I put my hands on my hips. “I understand why you’re angry, but you’ve just admitted I’m your first, and you need to think about how that makes me feel.”
She blinks; she hadn’t considered that at all.
“I’m not a robot,” I tell her. “I hurt you, and it shocked me. We shouldn’t have been having sex anyway, but I got carried away because you’re gorgeous and I was turned on.”
“You think I’m gorgeous?”
“Of course I think you’re gorgeous. You’re stunning, Scarlett.”
Her eyes are huge, and I feel a brief flicker of regret. Am I doing the right thing? She wants me. And she’s right—we’ve gone this far, why not go all the way?
Then I feel a sweep of shame. “Look, I know that many girls’ first experience of sex is at a party or in the back of a car, but yours shouldn’t be. You should be wined and dined and taken to a top-class hotel, undressed slowly, and laid in a soft bed so you can be kissed all over, before the guy tenderly and gently makes love to you.”
“What if I don’t want that? What if I just want to get it over with?”
That makes me glare at her. “Oh, how romantic.”
She looks around the gazebo, then sends me a sarcastic look. “I didn’t think this was about romance.”
I look at my shoes, a tad embarrassed as I think of how I just unzipped my jeans and slid inside her. “Yeah, well, it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“So now I’m a mistake.” Her eyes fill with tears.
I close mine for a moment. Then I open them again and move toward her. “No, of course not. I’m just saying—”
“It’s all right, I know what you’re saying.” She turns and jumps down from the gazebo.
“Scarlett…”
But she’s already running up the bank in the rain.
“Scarlett!” I yell, furious at her. I jump down as well and follow her, but she’s quick, and by the time I reach the top, she’s already halfway across the stepping stones.
I stop, watching her leaping from stone to stone. She reaches the other side and jumps onto the bank, and then she heads down the hill. In less than a minute, she disappears into the undergrowth, heading for the commune.
Shit .
It’s still pouring down, and I stand there, completely soaked, feeling upset and angry. I run a hand over my face, then through my wet hair. Now I’ve hurt her and made her feel worthless and unwanted. Could I have fucked this up any worse?
I think about what my father would say if he knew what I’d done, and wince. If she felt vindictive, Scarlett could report me to the police and accuse me of assault, and I wouldn’t be able to offer a defense, because they always believe the woman in situations like this. At the least, she might tell the commune, who could then make life very difficult for me, and they would probably refuse to sell the Waiora, too.
But although I feel anxious about what my father’s reaction would be if he knew what I’d done to his enemy’s daughter, more than anything I feel terrible for what I’ve done to her. I hurt her and embarrassed her, and that was unforgivable. There’s no way I could have known she was a virgin, but that doesn’t excuse what I’ve done. I shouldn’t be screwing any girl in a public place where anyone could have seen us. I’m not eighteen. I’m a pillar of the community.
What the fuck did I think I was doing?