Page 40 of Something Real with the Sea Monster
Jack’s hands tighten around my waist. “Does that feel good?”
“Amazing,” I gasp as the water hits just the right place.
Quickly, Jack turns me. He wraps one tentacle around each of my legs and hoists me up, spreading them, parting me further. Then he takes the showerhead, and I hang on around his neckas he keeps the pressure where I need it. I feel my body starting to shake, but he holds me steady. One tentacle slides over my belly and another across my breasts. God, he has so many limbs. There is so much potential.
I’m already so close. There’s something about being with Jack that sends me soaring almost straight away. Maybe it’s that I feel so comfortable around him. There’s no need to be anything other than what I am. No need to try to be something I’m not. Not that I ever lie, but we all adjust to please people.
As I come this time it’s slow and languid. It ripples through me while he holds me spread out under the water. When it’s done, I rest my head back on the cold tiles.
Jack sets my feet carefully on the floor and waits until I can stand on my own. He’s still rock hard. I’m not surprised. He might have taken care of me completely, but he still hasn’t had even a single orgasm. I feel a bit bad.
I reach for him, but he stops me. “You don’t need to do that.”
I turn. “Are you sure?”
He nods.
“Why are you so lovely?” I lift on my toes to kiss the end of his nose and then wash myself quickly.
Jack hands me a towel as we both get out of the shower. “Would it really be so bad if Mia and Luke knew you were here?” he asks softly.
“Well no, but I thought you didn’t want Luke knowing.”
“He wouldn’t have to know that. We could just say we’re dating.”
There’s an uncomfortable pause. I thought I’d been clear about what this was. I didn’t think we needed to have this conversation because I thought he got it. “Jack…”
“Tegan, I like you. A lot. I will wait as long as you need, keep things as low key as you want, but couldn’t we give this a chance?”
I want to. I really want to, but that’s just hormones and too many orgasms talking. I can’t stay in Kraken Cove forever, and I know Jack. He belongs in this small town. It’s a part of him.
I can’t imagine him in Sydney. “Oh, Jack. I’m sorry. I just don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It could be. It could be a great idea. Look how good we are together.”
“I never said we weren’t. But are you going to follow me back to Sydney when it’s time for me to go home?” I fold my arms across my chest and wait for his answer.
He just looks at me silently.
I sigh. “I’ll let myself out.” I turn and hurry out of the bathroom before he can stop me, throwing on my clothes and snatching my phone off the floor. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, OK?” I call on my way out, but nearly bump into him in the corridor. He steadies me with a hand on either arm.
“Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad.” But I am. Why’d he have to go and ruin it? Couldn’t we have lived the fantasy a little longer? Explored each other?
Oh god, listen to me. I am the fuckboy because I want to keep stringing him along when it’s clear what he wants and has been from the start. We have to rip the Band-Aid off now before the wound festers. Before I catch real feelings.
Seems like he already has. Because of course the one guy I could actually see being so, so right has to live in a place that’s so, so wrong for me. Of course.
I storm out into the night and fling my hands up at the sky. “What the actual fuck, universe! Why’d I meet someone like that here?” I’m sullen all the way up the hill back to Mia and Luke’s house. All the oozy relaxation from my orgasms is gone, replaced with bitter frustration.
I storm straight to my room and fling myself on the bed like a dramatic teenager and cry. This is why I need to detox from men, I remind myself. This is why I shouldn’t be trusted. Once again, I’ve let myself get wrapped up in it and forgot that I can’t have this. It never works out for me. I’m so upset, I pull out the three tiny bottles of scotch I borrowed from room one’s minibar and pour myself a drink into the half-finished glass of water I had on my nightstand. Then another when the icky thoughts haven’t gone away.
Then I make the mistake of opening Instagram and see that my latest photo only got two hundred likes. In the comment section, my friend Isla left a comment:cute.
I scowl at the comment. Is she deliberately trying to patronize me? She hasn’t messaged me back all week or looked at any of my other posts. None of my friends have. Or maybe they’ve just all forgotten about me since I’m not in Sydney.
TWENTY
