39. Millie
Millie
She’d told him about the apps, hinted at what turned her on, and he hadn’t run. He’d held her.
They ate in silence, their hands interlinked as much as possible while they scoffed the last of the food from Joyce’s hamper.
Then he handed her the bag of letters and left her alone. She felt his presence as she unfolded each one.
The first couple were filled with his cheeky humour. She touched her smile as she read them.
Hey Sunset,
It feels weird to write a letter to you when you’ll never read it. I miss you. Every morning, I wake up and I wonder how your studies are going. Bear said you seem sad. I wish I could be there and make you smile.
How are your university applications? Are you still applying to Birmingham Uni for medicine?
I met a new member of my team today. We’ve called him Nails, although his real name is Cameron. He asked if it was because he was as hard as nails. It’s because he has perfectly manicured fingernails. He’s posher than the rest of us, but I like him, and when we go off base, the women flock to him.
I’m not jealous because I’ve already met the woman I’m meant to be with.
One day, I’ll come back to you. You’ll be a doctor, and I’ll be your messed up boyfriend.
It’s a silly idea because you’ll never speak to me again.
But when I’m struggling here, I imagine us living by the sea, fairy lights surrounding us as we eat sweets and stare at the sunset.
Well, you stare at it. I’m too busy staring at you.
I hope you’re having fun.
Miss you,
Caleb
But over time, they changed. They weren’t in order, but she deciphered a timeline from the stories.
Some made her laugh. There were tales of squaddies fumbling over walls getting blasted for incompetence, as well as others about the drinking games they played before the team were shipped out, which usually ended in someone throwing up in a place they shouldn’t.
Some letters made her needy for his touch.
Others made her cry because Strike suffered.
Days before he’d joined up, he was a cheeky teenager, surrounded by love from his family and Bear. Millie adored him and showed him every day, but within years, he’d seen death, unending suffering, and famine. He’d witnessed things she couldn’t imagine.
Every word made her understand him a little more.
Finally, with a tear-strewn face, she opened the last letter.
Hey Sunset,
How are you, beautiful?
I finally got my nickname.
You’ll never guess it. The lads call me Strike.
Every time a woman tries it on with me, she strikes out.
We were in a bar, and this woman bought me a drink.
When the barmaid brought it over, one of the lads, Stal, who’s such a player, shouted, “Strike doesn’t want your drink.
He’s saving himself for the one.” And so the name started there and hasn’t stopped.
I’ve found the one, I’ll never meet another.
You’re my one.
Mum and Dad told me you’re off to university.
You’re going to break so many hearts. The men will climb over each other to earn a second with you.
But promise me you won’t forget me. The idea that someone else gets to hold your hand, kiss you, or enjoy the stories from your day makes me hate myself.
You deserve happiness. The world shines from your heart, and I wish I could see you again.
I’ll always love you, Millie.
Yours forever,
Caleb
Millie gripped the letter and stepped out of her room. It was two a.m., and darkness filled the corridors.
She walked to Strike’s bedroom. His door was wide open, and he sat up in his bed, staring at the painting of a stormy sea on the opposite wall. The edge of the duvet rested above his hips.
“Can I join you? I don’t want to sleep alone anymore.”
His smile was tentative as he held the duvet back for her.
She slid into the bed, and he snuggled up behind her. She pulled his arm around her like she had in the tent. “And Strike, it’s always been you. I’ll always love you, too.”
He kissed her neck. It brought the stirrings of desire.
“Will you tell me about your sexting? I want a future with you, if that’s what you want. I’ll have whatever you give me, whether that’s chaste kisses or more. But I want to understand you.”
“Okay,” she stuttered. She sucked in the air and released it slowly. “I started using the app because I was curious. Even when I couldn’t be touched, I loved dirty talk in books. I joined anonymously. It seemed wrong, which made it more exciting.”
“More of a turn-on?” His voice was deep and growly.
“Yes. At first, I didn’t say much. People would post images from television or porn or share fantasies about what they wanted to do. That did things to me.”
“Good things?”
“So good, but after a while, it wasn’t enough.
I’d had messages, but I’d ignored them. One night, when I couldn’t get myself off, I replied to a few.
” Her voice dropped. “I always checked they were single and made sure they knew it would only be chatting. Hearing what these strangers wanted to do with me made me needy. It still felt wrong, though.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d searched for this kind of connection out of fear.”
“But you gained from it. It helped, and you kept yourself safe.” He entwined his hands with hers.
“I suppose. But it became an addiction. I don’t miss it as much as I thought I would.
It taught me about my needs, things I’d read in books that made me horny, and I liked hearing from real people.
But I don’t know if that’s who I am outside of what I’ve read.
Would I want to do that with someone, and would anyone be willing to do that with me?
I don’t know why I’m saying this. I can’t let a guy touch me. ”
“You let me,” he murmured, and she nodded. “What sort of things did you like?”
“Promise you won’t judge me.”
She held out her hand, and he signed his name with his finger against her palm. She shivered at the caress. Millie turned to look at him. His eyes were dark and filled with a desire that made her gasp.
“I have dark needs, too. Maybe because I’ve seen the worst things in the world, but maybe they’ve always been in me. It’s escalated since I’ve been protecting you. I’m terrified something will happen to you, but that’s meant I want to control you.”
She gulped. He studied her throat as she swallowed. “How?”
“Promise you won’t judge?” he said.
She nodded.
“I fantasise about making you get on your knees and fucking your pretty mouth. I fantasise about pinning you to a bed, using ropes and ties and playing with you, taking you to the edge of orgasm again and again but always denying your climax. Is it fucked up?”
She kissed him, and his lashes fluttered. “I don’t think so. And if it is, then I am, too, because the things you said are things I want. But if you’ve never had sex aside from me, how do you know these are things you like?”
“I don’t, not in practice. I have others, more gentle ones, but when I’m stressed or struggling, those are the fantasies that help me get off the most.”
“And is it always me in your fantasies, or were there others before this week?”
“It’s always been you. I’ve dreamt about you for years.”
“What sort of dreams?”
He tipped his head as he stared at her. “A couple of months ago, I dreamt about planning a date with you. I was excited to buy you flowers, book the restaurant, and arrive at your door. I imagined you squealing as the doorbell rang because you were just as excited.”
“That’s sweeter than I expected.”
“I have romantic, chaste fantasies about you, too, but sometimes my dreams change into something else. Like that dream. In it, you had two types of dresses: ones suitable for nights out at restaurants and ones that meant you’d get bent over the sofa.”
Millie hummed at the way his voice dropped at the last sentence. “Which one was I wearing when I opened the door?”
His eyes turned darker and full of promise.
“The second kind. It clung to your body, and the neckline revealed a tease of your tits. You opened the door and winked. You told me you were ready. You turned and reached for your clutch, bending over, your curvy ass in the air. You had no panty line, baby. I growled at you that you’d been a very bad girl.
You laughed and went to walk past me, but I grabbed you, walked you toward the sofa, and told you that you wore a bent-over-the-sofa dress, and that’s exactly what I was going to do. ”
Her fingers trembled against her lips.
“Then as you were over the sofa, I yanked up your red dress. You weren’t wearing knickers. You were soaking and all mine.”
Her voice pitched. “What did you do?”
Strike smirked. “I stared at you, waiting for you to beg me.”
Heat burst between her thighs. His eyes locked with hers as she waited. He thumbed his lower lip as hers parted.
“And then?”
Strike toyed with the strap of her pyjama top. He twisted it around his finger. The top tightened around her breasts, her nipples pebbling against the thin material.
“And then,” he groaned in her ear, “I spanked your butt and told you how naughty you were and that your punishment was your mouth wrapped around my cock.”
“That wouldn’t be punishment.”
“Is that right?”
She writhed against him.
“Fuck, I want to play with you and do the things I’ve imagined. But you’re not ready yet.”
She reared back, and he grabbed her hip and yanked her closer.
“I’m not going to go straight from hearing you struggle with touch to fucking your mouth.” Wetness collected in her pyjama shorts. “I’m going to build you up until you’re begging, until all your panic and fears are so overwhelmed that you crave my touch. I want to make this work.”
“Promise?” She held out her palm.
But he pushed it away and signed his name against her nipple. She gasped at the sensation and ground herself against him. “I’m going to have fun with you tomorrow.”
“But what if I’ll never be okay? What if your touch is too much?”
“Then we keep trying, or we’re a couple who spends time teasing in the ways we need.”
“That won’t be enough for you.”
“Millie, I don’t care if it takes a lifetime, but I’m going to prove that whatever you give me is enough for me.”