Chapter 9
‘Will you come and visit me?’ I asked on the last night of my five-day work cycle.
‘You could come up here?’ Jock tried. ‘Even without a group.’
‘Or, you could come down and see me? We could go to the beach, hang out at the campsite, or spend time in my room?’ I suggest.
‘Now that,’ he smiles, ‘is very tempting.’
‘Tomorrow?’ I ask. ‘Are you painting?’
‘It just so happens,’ he replies, touching his lips to mine briefly, ‘that I have the next two days off too.’
‘Yay!’ I exclaim. ‘See you tomorrow then?’
‘You will,’ he smiles. ‘I’ll meet you at Biot station at 1 pm.’ He plants a final kiss on my lips before he disappears into the Monaco crowds.
Thursday, 31st July - 1 pm
‘Over here Bella,’ I hear Jock’s voice.
I look around, squinting my eyes in the bright sunlight that my Rayban sunglasses covering my pale blue eyes aren’t dimming enough.
I’m wearing a pink bikini just visible under the white cotton kaftan I’ve got on to protect my Scottish skin from the burning rays.
I spot Jock lying on a huge blue and white striped beach towel halfway between the road and the water.
‘Are you really Scottish?’ I ask him, seeing for the first time his very tanned and very muscular back.
He lifts himself off the sand, jumping up to give me a quick, nearly naked, hug.
His chest is as tanned and as muscular as his back and has a smattering of dark hair between two very tasty-looking nipples.
A trail of dark hair runs down between a defined set of abs into his Hawaiian print board shorts.
‘I will die if I stay out here too long,’ I laugh, pulling a tatty towel out of the beach bag slung over my shoulder and laying it down beside his luxurious-looking towel.
‘I know you delicate thing.’ Jock picks up a beach umbrella lying next to him, erects it and plants it deep into the sand. It casts a cooling shade over the space next to his towel.
I lift my protective kaftan over my head, fold it carefully and place it next to my bag, which I’ve dropped to the sand. Jock watches as I lower my slim, bikini-clad frame belly down onto the towel next to him. I raise my arms, cross my hands and lay my head down with my face turned towards Jock.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he smiles, briefly lifting his hand, brushing it gently down the bulge of my breast alongside the fabric of my bikini. That familiar tingling sensation unleashes inside my bikini bottoms.
‘Thanks,’ I blush. ‘You’re pretty beautiful yourself.’
We gaze into each other’s eyes for what feels like forever.
His jet black hair is probably kept in place by some kind of extra-strength gel, I analyse.
I wonder if it will stand up to the sea.
Small beads of sweat line where his hair meets his forehead.
He licks his lips slowly. He could be indicating thirst for water, or me. I hope it’s the latter.
‘Will you stay with me tonight?’ I ask, hoping I don’t sound desperate.
‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he smiles. ‘As long as I can have you all to myself, though. No making small talk with your colleagues. No spending time in the bar with all those tourists. Just you… and me.’
‘Don’t you like people?’ I ask, concerned.
I do like people.
I like people a lot.
I think a lot of them are idiots, but still, I’d say I’m a people person.
Being around people gives me energy and fills my cup.
I can’t imagine being in a relationship with an introvert.
‘Are you an introvert?’
‘I wouldn’t say I’m an introvert,’ he replies thoughtfully.
‘Sometimes I enjoy huge cheering crowds. Like at a concert, you know?’ he asks.
‘Where thousands of people chant and move as one cheering for a band… or a sports team,’ he adds.
That energy is amazing. But when I’m not working, I like not talking to anyone.
Except you.’ He moves and kisses me gently.
When he’s not working? How many people does a painter have to speak to, I wonder?
‘Want to cool off?’ he asks.
Hand in hand we walk towards the Mediterranean - the sand hot underneath our bare feet.
‘It’s freezing,’ I exclaim, the very moment my toes touch the water.
‘Come on,’ Jock encourages pulling me by the hand to follow. ‘Much warmer than the Gare Loch’.
‘Oh. Ah. Oh! Ah!’ I breathe as the cool blue water covers my bikini bottom and then my bikini top.
‘There you go,’ Jock smiles pulling me towards him then moving into water too deep for me to touch the rocky bottom.
Weightless in the water, I lift my legs, wrapping them around Jock’s waist. He puts his arms around me, his hands under me, cupping my bottom. With my arms around his neck, I pull his face towards mine, touching my lips gently to his, but only for a second.
I pull back and look at him.
Smiling, I move my lips back to his, but again only for a second before releasing, moving back a little, looking into his eyes again and smiling.
I can’t get enough of the sight or the taste of him. And greedily, I want to get my fill of both.
Each time I kiss and then release, his expression changes a little.
His eyes darken, each time it’s like he’s seeing me for the first time.
He tries to hold his lips to mine for longer, but teasingly, I wriggle to escape, rocking back a little to push my groin against his so I can look at him again.
‘What are you doing to me, Bella?’ He asks, his voice husky with lust.
Rocking forward, I press my breasts against his chest and kiss him again, a little longer this time, before rocking back again to take him in.
This time, he doesn’t protest.
Our blue eyes stare deep into each other’s souls.
I feel his hands move underneath my bottom.
One releases its grip, and his other moves so the forearm supports my behind.
His other hand touches my neck, gently squeezing either side of my throat momentarily before his fingers trace a line between my breasts.
I feel his fingers move slowly down my stomach and the front of my bikini.
A jolt of lightning shoots through me as a finger goes between my legs, touching the gusset of my bikini bottom. This time it’s my turn to groan as the finger moves slowly back and forward. I try to kiss Jock but he turns his head away briefly before returning to stare at me.
I glance around to check if there is anyone close enough to see what is going on under the water.
There are a couple of families splashing around in the shallows, but no one is near us. We are alone, in public.
The pace and the intensity of the rubbing increase.
‘Jock,’ I breathe heavily, ‘oh God, Jock.’
My head falls back in surrender.
‘Look at me, Bella,’ he commands. ‘Look at me,’ he demands again when I don’t move. ‘I want to see your face.’
Slowly, I lift my head, my thick red locks now soaked, my lips apart, my breathing fast .
‘I want you so bad,’ he says.
He stops his finger over the epicentre of where my pleasure is emanating from, changing his front-to-back rubbing to gentle flicking. My body lifts higher out of the water like it’s trying to escape the touch, or maybe the touch is making me float, my mind is foggy, I can’t think clearly.
‘Jock you have to stop,’ I protest. ‘I’m going to… I’m going to…oh fuck I’m going to.’
The flicking gets harder. And faster. My body begins to tense.
I curl my toes to try and stop the wave of pleasure crashing into me.
But it’s no good, I’m past the point of no return.
I put my mouth, slightly open, as nose breathing is not possible at this point, close to his.
Our eyes are still locked together. He watches my every expression as he pushes me to the edge.
‘I’m c… I’m c…,’ I breathe, ‘oh God.’ I moan as every nerve in my body ignites like a Catherine wheel spinning and sparkling.
My body slumps, my head falls to rest on his shoulder as I gasp, trying to catch my breath, his finger resting still on the gusset of my pink bikini, which I’ll never be able to look at the same way again.
He kisses my shoulder gently until my breathing eases.
‘Don’t you just love swimming?’ He smiles. ‘It’s my new favourite sport.’
…
After sharing a pizza at a beachside restaurant, we make a stop at the local supermarché.
As the sun sets, we carry our supplies, walking as far away as possible from the campsite bar.
Jock has on his mirrored glasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his face, we also keep our heads down to avoid any accidental eye contact with Tim, Monica, Tara and Brain we spy sitting outside enjoying the very last of the day’s light.
Of course they’ll be wondering where I’ve been all day, and maybe even worried if they don’t see me tonight but Jock is very clear, no chatting.
‘Your castle, My Lord,’ I say dramatically, swinging the door to my room open. ‘Make yourself at home, I’m just going to have a quick shower and freshen up.’
Jock puts the bags of groceries on the floor and removes the items one by one as I grab a dry towel, clean underwear, my shower bag and slide plastic sandals onto my feet.
‘What the hell are those?’ he asks, pointing to my footwear.
‘Well, Kiwis call them jandals, the Ozzies, flip-flops,’ I explain.
‘Gross,’ he rolls his eyes.
‘Not as gross as getting a fungal foot infection from the communal showers,’ I raise my eyebrows at him, then slip from the room, closing the door gently behind me.
When I return, my wet hair is wrapped in my towel high on my head, and I’m wearing the same cotton kaftan that I wore to the beach, but this time over delicate white lacy underwear. Jock has four paper plates laid out on the bed.
‘Not quite as grand as a tiered tray,’ he beams, ‘but pretty good if I say so myself.’