‘Come down to the orchard with me,’ Sam suggested, running a finger up the inside of Bea’s forearm.
‘I can’t. I should listen out for the boys in case they need me,' she replied, withdrawing her arm.
They’ve never needed you before. They’re asleep,’ he retorted, smelling the sweat on her body and feeling once again the ache in his groin.
‘It’s not safe. Anyone could discover us.’
‘Don’t be silly. Mum’s on the cliff painting, Dad’s in his study where he always is, the girls are at Federica’s house and Nuno, well, who cares about Nuno.’ He chuckled.
‘I don’t want this to get out of hand,’ she said, trying to sound sensible. ‘You’re just a boy.’
‘You’ve made me into a man,’ he teased.
‘I shouldn’t have done.’
‘Well, nothing can stop me now. I desire you.’
‘You desire anything in a skirt and I’m the closest thing available,’ she replied.
‘That’s not true, Bea. I like you. I really do,’ he said, trying to sweet talk her into the orchard.
‘Sure.’
‘I do. Look,’ he said, taking her hand and putting it on his trousers.
Bea sighed and smiled at him fondly. ‘There’s more to relationships than him,’ she said, shaking her head and retracting her hand.
‘Don’t pretend you don’t want him. You taught him how to satisfy you. Now he can’t get enough of you. Doesn’t that make you feel desired?’
‘Yes,’ she conceded. ‘But I have to keep reminding myself that you’re only
‘Almost sixteen, actually.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Sometimes you’re so adult you could be any one of my friends. But you’re not.’
‘Does it matter?’ he asked. Bea wanted to tell him that she was falling in love with him, that she lay awake at night pondering on the ten-year age difference and trying to figure out how a real relationship might work. But she knew in her heart that he wanted her only for sex and that he didn’t love her. He wasn’t even in love with her. He’d grow up and be off, breaking hearts all over the country, she thought wistfully. She gazed into his shallow grey eyes that had yet to deepen with the experiences of life and onto his mop of sandy hair that fell over his trouble-free forehead. His grin was mischievous with the charm of a monkey and yet his gaze was lofty, as if he knew he was cleverer and more beautiful than everyone else.
She sighed and ran a hand down his cheek. ‘I may as well enjoy you while I can,’ she conceded, smiling at him thoughtfully. He returned her smile with a twinkle in his eye as he followed her down the stairs and out into the garden.
It was evening. The scent of hay lingered in the cool air as the dew stitched her diamonds into the freshly mown lawn and surrounding flowerbeds. The sky was pale and receding as the sun was chased away by an impatient moon. The distant roar of the ocean and the sad cry of seagulls faded into the background as Sam opened the gate into the walled orchard and pulled Bea into his arms to kiss her. She had no time to savour the melancholy of the twilight or taste the scent of ripe apples, for at once Sam was pressed up against her, his mouth on her neck and her shoulders and then on her breasts that he released from her brassiere with one swift movement of his fingers.
He liked her breasts. They were large and soft like the marshmallows Molly and Hester were always toasting over fires. Pale, pink and pert, they were always enthusiastic, always responsive. He knew how to run his tongue around them. She liked it gentle. She barely liked to feel anything at all except a rapid teasing sensation that she had told him sent the blood rushing straight to her belly. She was large and curvaceous, all woman, every bit of her, and he enjoyed exploring again and again those female places that never ceased to fascinate him. She released him from his trousers to find he was as alert and impatient as ever. Falling to her knees she took him in her mouth with the enthusiasm of a woman desperate to do anything to keep her man. It was at that
moment that Nuno trotted up from the other end of the orchard on the balls of his feet. Neither Sam nor Bea noticed him for his footsteps were light and his amusement such that he didn’t want to disturb the sensual scene being played out before him.
Sam stood with his eyelids fluttering with pleasure, his mouth open, his jaw loose. Nuno thought he looked quite beautiful, like a golden youth from mythical times, a young Adonis or Hercules. He turned discreetly to face the rose bed while his grandson reached the moment critique, he didn’t want to ruin the boy’s pleasure. He felt immensely proud that his grandson had discovered the joys of the flesh. About time too, he thought, it must have been the influence of Zola’s Nana that stirred his budding sensuality.