You Don't Own Me(173)

‘Say goodbye to everyone,’ he says firmly.

Some of the men jokingly tell Jaron not to spoil the party by taking me away.

‘See? They don’t want me to go,’ I tell Jaron.

‘Sorry, guys, but it’s my bedtime,’ Jaron says good-naturedly.

I stand on my tiptoes and whisper in Jaron’s ear, ‘I ain’t going to bed until you show me all kindsa shit.’

‘Right you are, beautiful,’ Jaron says coolly, catching me as I stumble.

Noel grins at me. I say my bleary goodbyes and let Jaron lead me to the boat. I have to admit the return journey on the boat is not nearly half as much fun as the journey there. I lie at the bottom of the boat feeling quite sick. Instead of urging him to go faster I yell at him to slow down. ‘Oh God! I’m going to throw up.’

The man is pitiless. ‘Just hang your head over the side and throw up,’ he shouts. Fortunately, it never gets to that and thankfully the ride is fairly short. The engine is cut. As I loll about at the bottom of the boat in a state of inebriated self-pity, Jaron comes to me. He stands over me with his legs spread wide to steady himself in the rocking vessel. I squint up at him.

‘Give me a hand then,’ I groan.

His answer is to heave me up like a sack of potatoes onto his shoulder.

‘Whoa,’ I cry.

He walks me up the path and opening the front door takes me directly into the bedroom. The cool air from the air con makes my sticky skin tingle. It feels wonderful. He puts me on the bed and I look up at him. His hair is messy with the wind and a whole shock of it has fallen on his forehead.

I raise my hand and pinch his rough cheek. ‘You are so cute,’ I tell him. ‘I could take you to bed.’ I spoil it by then yawning widely.

‘You’re totally wasted, aren’t you?’

‘No, I’m not,’ I insist, but my words are slurring so badly they are almost indecipherable.

‘Bed for you, I think.’

I snake my arms around his neck before he can straighten. ‘No, no, no. I want to fuck…you.’ I smile feeling inordinately proud of the way I left that pause between fuck and you.

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

I let go of his neck and start trying to wriggle out of my pants, but it’s difficult to accomplish in my condition. I look up at him. He is standing over me, stone cold sober, just watching me.

‘Help me then,’ I demand.

He holds both the ends of my trouser legs and tugs hard just once, and my trousers slide out from under me like water.

‘Smooth,’ I tell him in an impressed voice. ‘Now my top.’

He makes even shorter work of that. I slide a finger into my knickers and look up at him with flirtatious eyes.

‘Last bit,’ I say invitingly.

He slides them down my legs and off my feet. His eyes inspect me. I like that! I open my thighs wide and say, ‘Come and get it, big boy.’





Sixteen


I wake up in a very uncomfortable position. In fact, it is surprising that I managed to sleep in such a position at all: on my back totally trapped under Jaron. One of Jaron’s legs, bent at the knee, is under my butt and the other is lying on top of my stomach. One of his arms is under my neck and the other is thrown across my body, the hand possessively covering my breast, and his head is buried in the crook of my neck.

For a few seconds I don’t move. Then I slowly start to extricate myself, mainly by bringing one of my arms up to remove the hand that is stuck on my breast. The moment my hand wraps around his wrist, his grip tightens and a small protesting sound comes from under my chin.

‘You owe me,’ a sleepy voice says.

I swivel my eyes down to the top of the dirty blond head. It looks very silky, like the head of a boy. ‘Owe you what?’

He lifts his head and looks at me. His eyes are green, but calling them green would be like calling Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa a painting. His eyes are like the carpet of moss that grows only on certain stones. It is fresh and bright and only found in secret gardens where humans don’t bring their business.

‘Don’t you remember?’ he says slowly. Right before my eyes, the colors of his gaze change. They seem more liquid and blue-green like the tropical ocean seen from the sky. He can’t decide if I am serious.

I shake my head. The action properly dislodges the headache that was hovering at the edges of my consciousness. Damn hangover.

He gets his arm from under my neck, lifts himself on his elbow and looks at me with surprise.

‘What is the last thing you remember?’

I dig through my mind. ‘I know I had a great time and that I absolutely love Bahamian people. I remember coming back on the boat. Oops, and nearly being sick overboard.’