Chapter 23
I’m in a good mood while I shower. The shampoos have been replaced by super fancy ones, although who splashed out for them, I have no idea. The hot water feels heavenly, and the citrusy Aesop shower gel makes me sigh.
I’m rinsing conditioner from my hair when the lights cut out. A second later, the glass door slides open. I spin round and gasp. Mark is standing inches from me.
Naked. Erect. Enormous.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to satisfy a long-standing curiosity.’
He climbs in under the spray, forcing me backwards. The steaming water bounces off his solid shoulders and turns his hair black. He pushes forward until my back bumps against the cool tiles.
His gaze rakes up and down my body, then fixes on my mouth.
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered about this.’ He palms my breast, and my nipple hardens. ‘Because I have. And do you know what I think?’
He presses his slick body against mine and brings his mouth to my ear.
‘I think it’ll be the best fuck either of us has ever had.’
His words draw a moan from my throat, and he smiles in satisfaction.
‘Turn around, Nella, and let’s find out if I’m right.’
I swallow, desire making me monosyllabic. ‘Here?’
He nods, then his hands wrap around my waist, and he spins me so I’m facing the tiles. Strong fingers grip my hips, and he leans forward until our bodies are crushed together.
‘You wore those fuck-me heels for me, didn’t you? I was hard all night thinking about fucking you in them.’ His finger lazily circles my breast. ‘But we can’t ruin them in here.’ He rocks against me, his hardness nudging uselessly at my lower back. ‘On your tip-toes, beautiful.’
I do as I’m told, then he bends me forward. My knees are weak with desire, and if it wasn’t for his hot hands on my soapy skin, I’d collapse.
I am aching for him, for the sweet release only he can give me. I need it more than I need air, but he doesn’t move.
‘Do you want me, Nella?’ he murmurs, his breath at the nape of my neck. ‘Do you want me deep inside you?’
I gulp, feeling like I’m going to explode. I nod.
‘I can’t hear you.’
My words are guttural, desperate. ‘Please, Mark.’
His voice is hot in my ear. ‘Please, Mister Marino.’
I wake up panting.
Sweat has plastered my hair to my neck, and my heart’s about to jump out of my chest.
Jesus Christ. That was … unexpected.
I kick off the covers and pace the narrow strip of carpet next to my bed, waiting for my pulse to slow.
What the hell was that?
I don’t need a PhD in psychology to know that dreams shouldn’t be taken literally. I don’t actually want to have shower sex with Mark. I was stuck in Yan’s bathroom with him on Wednesday, and he talked about taking a long shower at dinner.
Mark probably represents general male energy, so the dream is telling me something about Rich.
It makes sense. After the horrible shock of what Rich did, this is an attempt by my subconscious to remind me that I’m desirable and attractive and that better times are around the corner.
Better times that include fulfilling sex, which, admittedly, has been lacking recently.
Sitting down, I pull my baggy sleep tee away from my neck to get some air. But the tented cotton slides against my breasts like a lover’s caress and it jerks me back to standing again.
I exhale slowly and try to think unsexy thoughts.
Genital warts. Pubic lice. Herpes blisters.
I picture the vividly illustrated leaflets we have at the clinic. They’re enough to put you off sex for life.
After a couple of minutes, I climb into bed. But every time I close my eyes, all I can see are Mark’s impatient fingers pressing into my skin, and all I can hear is the wet slap of our bodies.
I give up and surrender to the images, unsure if I’ll be relieved or disappointed if there isn’t a second act.
Mum is already up when I come down at seven-thirty. I’m grumpy from lack of sleep, and sexually frustrated, and on top of everything, my ten o’clock has cancelled which means I could have stayed in bed an extra hour.
Mum’s hard-boiling an egg and asks if I want one.
‘I’m good, thanks.’
She turns back to the hob. ‘Anthi rang to thank us for last night. She liked seeing you, darling. It reminds her of happier times with Leo.’
I try to ignore the guilt that pools in my stomach. ‘That’s nice.’
‘She’d love for you to visit her sometimes. I’ve got her address if you want it.’
I’m about to say, ‘Sure’, but I stop myself. Why hide how I feel about this?
‘I try not to think too much about Leo.’
‘Of course, darling. It hit you very hard when he died.’
I move to the opposite counter to put a physical distance between me and this conversation.
She takes the hint. ‘Mark is moving to Venezuela. Did you know?’
‘Yan mentioned it.’
She swipes her phone. ‘I looked it up. Listen to what it says here: Do not travel to Venezuela due to crime, civil unrest, kidnapping, wrongful detentions, terrorism and poor health infrastructure.’
She puts her phone down again.
‘Anthi is very worried. She kept asking me why is he always chasing excitement?’
‘Sounds hellish to me, but in his defence he’s going over to help improve their hospitals.’
‘He had to have anti-kidnapping training. They take a lot of hostages in Crackers.’
Crackers?
‘I think you mean Caracas, Mum.’
‘Anthi’s terrified he’ll get captured and the kidnappers will send his body back to her bit-by-bit in the post.’
She crosses herself three times.
I know Anthi’s being ultra-Greek-Mum about it, and that the idea of fingers in jiffy bags is ridiculous, but she’s worried about losing the only child she has left, which makes Mark’s decision to go pretty selfish.
But it’s typical of him. Chasing adrenaline has always been his MO.
After Leo died he took compassionate leave from the army and went travelling for six months.
He left his mum alone while he got his kicks swimming with sharks, hiking up snowy peaks, and bungee jumping.
I’d hear all these stories from Mum, who’d constantly have Anthi on the phone.
I’d never put my parents through that.
And that’s the difference between him and me.