Chapter Seventeen
Ethan
A fter we’ve finished with the second condom, I pull my jeans on and sneak next door to get the other pack. We still have one in reserve, but it pays to be prepared. It’s after one am, and there’s not a soul around.
When I let myself back into her room, Sadie is in the shower. How is a man supposed to resist a woman with lavender-scented soap suds trailing down her shoulders and across her breasts? I’m only human. If tonight is all I ever get of Sadie, I’m damn well going to make the most of it.
I drop my pants and step into the stall behind her. Grabbing a fistful of her tangled hair, I tip her head to the side, giving my mouth access to the tender skin of her neck, warm and wet from the water. I slide the other hand around her ribcage and find her already tight nipple, rolling and pinching it in my fingers. Her knees buckle for a second, and her hand comes around to grasp my hip, holding her steady against my body.
The shower stall is narrow and long, so I bend her over, hands braced against the wall like I did when we fucked on the front verandah of my house. I didn’t know her then. Other than she was funny and smart and sexy. But now I do. What I also know is this is not just fucking. But in true Ethan Carter style, I’ll deal with it later. Certainly not when I have a glistening pussy begging for attention.
The noises she’s making suggest she likes this position. A lot. Which is handy because I do too.
Her spine is a straight line down her smooth back, bracketed by sharp shoulder blades at the top and a pair of dimples at the bottom. Warm water slicks her skin as she pushes back, meeting me thrust for thrust.
Every moment of our first encounter is imprinted on my memory. I remember what made her explode. So I slide one hand from her hip across her belly, and my middle finger finds her clit. The sound she made when she came that first night, part snort, part gasp, erupts from her again, and I have a second to appreciate the spasming grip of her muscles before I lose my mind and explode into the condom with such force I wouldn’t be surprised if the end blew out.
We dry off, climb back into bed, and start to kiss. Nothing more. Just kissing. And more kissing. It feels warm and close and intimate and all the things a hookup shouldn’t be. It also feels right.
I haven’t kissed any of the women I’ve hooked up with since Jess. All three of them. Including Sadie. Tonight, I can’t get enough of her taste. Her full lips. Her smooth tongue. It also hasn’t escaped my notice that, for the first time in a long time, I’ve indulged in the intimacy of face-to-face sex. And I don’t regret a second of it.
It’s late. It’s been a long, demanding and emotional day. Our kisses slow, morphing into butterfly kisses, nuzzles, delicate brushes of lips, until we drift off, foreheads pressed together.
Years of working on digs have made me an early riser. The sky is beginning to lighten when I wake. Sadie is sleeping so soundly I put my hand on her chest to check she’s still breathing. Sadie does sleep exactly as does she awake. With total dedication. Deep and full and committed.
A curling tendril of hair is tangled across her forehead, and I brush it back. She doesn’t even stir. So I pull her tighter against me and go back to sleep, enjoying the long-forgotten simple pleasure of sleeping with a woman. Of physical closeness and affection. The joy of a cuddle. Of a simple touch. An emotional connection beyond release.
A few hours later, bright sunlight pours in through the curtains we never bothered to close, waking us from deep sleep. It’s still early, and we have plenty of time for a round of sleepy sex before we have to shower and check out.
We don’t have breakfast in the B & B, even though it smells divine and I’m starving, because we’re having brunch with the entire family at Will and Freyja’s at eleven. Which gives us time to grab a heart-starter coffee at a cute little café called Bangalay Beans. Okay, maybe I also slip in a delicious raspberry and pistachio danish because … I’m sure I don’t need to explain.
The woman behind the counter immediately figures out who I am.
“You must be Will’s brother. Ethan, is it? I’m Heidi. Did I hear the babies were born yesterday? In the barn?” Heidi brings our order to the table and leans a hip against it, settling in for a chat by the look of it.
The ensuing conversation means Sadie and I don’t have the opportunity to discuss what happened last night. Or this morning.
Sensing I’m about tapped out on intel about the birth and the family in general, Sadie finally interrupts.
“We probably should get going.” She picks up her bag and smiles at Heidi. “We’re expected at Will and Freyja’s, and I want to grab a little gift first. Is there somewhere I might get something?”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Heidi tips her head to the side, thinking. “Probably the best place is the little shop across the road and two doors down towards the pub. They have some cute stuff.”
We take a last gulp of our coffees and head across the street.
“You don’t need to buy them something,” I say as we wander into the crowded little store.
“I know. I want to.”
And I don’t know how it happens, but in one of those strange moments of serendipity, Sadie finds a gorgeous picture book about Egypt and two cute little knitted rattly things. A llama and a camel. The woman behind the counter enquires about the birth while she gift wraps the present. The gossip in this town is faster than the internet speed.
Finally, after a quick stop at the bottle shop to pick up something to wet the babies’ heads, we’re in the car and heading up the mountain to Will’s.
“We should talk about what happened. But now is probably not the time,” I say, conscious we’ve got five minutes tops before we pull into Will’s driveway.
“We have a two-hour drive back to Sydney. I think that ought to be enough.” Sadie fiddles with the ribbon on the gift bag. “Until then …” She doesn’t need to continue.
“Absolutely. This stays between us. Nobody else needs to know.”
Which is great in theory. Except my family have noses like bloodhounds. They’re too polite to say anything in front of Sadie, but I can tell by their furtive glances and shifty smirks when we arrive, they have theories. Theories that will be discussed and dissected and reconstructed the minute we drive away.
“Oh, Sadie, you’re so sweet. You shouldn’t have,” says Freyja as she unwraps the gift.
“You really didn’t need to get us anything.” Will grins, shaking the little llama in front of one of the babies, even though they’re both sleeping soundly. “You could’ve put your hand in your pocket and brought something though, dickhead,” he directs at me.
“I guess you won’t be wanting this to wet the babies’ heads, then.” I pull the disgustingly expensive bottle of aged whisky I picked up out of my satchel.
Ben swoops in and grabs the bottle from behind. “He might not, but I do.”
“You don’t even like whisky,” Will argues, trying to grab the bottle.
“I find I’ve developed a taste for it. The good stuff, anyway.” Ben dodges out of reach and into the kitchen, where he rifles through the cupboards before emerging with a handful of glasses.
When my family get together, there’s a lot of noise, and it’s often hard to make out who’s saying what.
“Isn’t it a bit early for whisky?”
“It’s never too early for a wee dram.”
“Can someone check on the frittata?”
“I can’t believe how placid these babies are.”
“You should’ve been here at three this morning. Not so placid then.”
“Has anyone seen Isla?”
“She’s with Ansel feeding the cows.”
“Can I help with the food?”
“You should go and have a nap, Freyja, while the babies are sleeping.”
And on and on and on. At least it means I don’t have to contribute much to the conversation.
After we’ve eaten, I sit back with the glass of whisky Will pours for me and observe the familiar yet somehow alien dynamics. Dynamics that have changed subtly with the addition of Freyja and Rosanna. And the loss of Jess.
It’s taking me a hot minute, okay, maybe a hot month or two, to acclimatise to being part of the family again without Jess as the buffer.
It’s a family of big personalities, big opinions and big emotions. I’ve always felt slightly intimidated by them, if I’m honest. Mum always said I’m like her father. Quiet. Thoughtful. Reserved. Whereas the others have always been a bit—or a lot—on the dramatic side.
Will and Ben were always in trouble at school. Will because he was too smart for his own good and got bored. Ben because, funnily enough, he was too smart for his own good too, only his dyslexia masked his amazing brain, and he acted out.
Being between them in birth order felt like being the meat in the volatility sandwich a lot of the time. Keeping my head down and doing the right thing seemed like the safest option. And the kindest thing I could do for my mother, who was overwhelmed with their antics, our little sister being bullied, and my father being a workaholic. If she didn’t have to worry about me, there was one less problem for her.
Sadie seems to be revelling in the noise and activity. If something needs doing, she jumps up and offers. She chats and smiles as though she’s known everyone forever. And when little Isla, aptly nicknamed Isla the Wonderchild, who I guess is two or three, insists Sadie needs her hair ‘done’, she submits with a delighted laugh.
A laugh that hits me right between the eyes. Or maybe lower. In the chest. Knocking the breath out of me and throwing off the rhythm of my heart. Because that’s exactly what Jess would’ve done.