“No, Dad. Not yet.”
Another lump of ice hits me and, with my eyes still closed, I smile as genuine happiness and the sunshine warm me in equal measure.
—
I can feel something landing on me gently, a sort of strange, warm feeling, and I gradually wake on my lounger awhile later to find George hovering over me, spraying me with sun lotion. I blink slowly, stare up at him.
“You were starting to burn,” he says, “and I didn’t want to wake you.”
I nod, a bit confused and sleepy, as George is still kneeling at the side of my lounger. “OK,” I say slowly.
“And now,” George says, “I realize I probably should have woken you, because I thought this spray would just sink in, but it’s sitting on your skin and needs rubbing in and…” He is rambling, and I’m still looking at him. “If I’d rubbed it in while you were sleeping, wouldn’t that be…” he asks. I narrow my eyes behind my sunglasses. He looks at me; a worried expression has taken over his face and he finishes, quietly, “…assault?”
I can’t help but laugh at the unexpectedness of what he’s said. He’s still kneeling.
“Do you want me to rub the lotion in?” he asks slowly.
A huge part of me wants to say yes, but I’m worried about what might happen if he does. I don’t answer immediately, but instead I sit up and reach for the bottle still in his grasp. “No, I’ll do it.”
“Sure,” he says, moving back to his lounger.
I’m still hazy from my nap and am putting my confusion down to that. I steal glances at George every now and again. His eyes are open behind his sunglasses, but he’s not looking at anything in particular, just straight up to the sky. What’s he thinking? He’s such an open book that if I ask him, he’ll tell me. I’m not going to ask him. That way leads to danger—I can sense it.
I spray lotion onto my hands and try the inelegant task of rubbing it into my back. Why have humans still not developed a magic way of applying lotion to our own backs?
George turns his head and then gestures to the bottle. “Want me to do it?”
No. But I really need to do it. Unless I don’t turn over all day and simply bronze my front, like an egg that’s sunny side up. Oh, that’s going to look weird. “OK,” I say reluctantly and pass George the bottle. I move on the lounger, turning so that George resumes his kneeling position. I enjoy the feel of his hands moving slowly over my back far more than I should. He’s meticulous, slow and I am clearly sex-starved without realizing it until this moment, because this is the most sensual way anyone has applied sun lotion to me, ever. And now I just want it to be over, but his hands keep moving over my shoulders and neck and I stiffen. This is so innocent, isn’t it? Ahead of us another couple are rubbing sun lotion into each other’s backs, but it’s vigorous, purposeful. I realize that’s what George should be doing. But he’s not. OK, he needs to stop now. And, mercifully, he does, but his hands remain on me.
“Hannah,” he starts from behind me and I stare straight ahead.
“Yep,” I say in a clipped voice.
But he doesn’t continue and so I turn to look at him, which is a huge mistake, because he’s right there, all blue eyes and tanned skin. There’s a look in his eyes that I recognize, because I’m sure it’s what my own are doing to him. I know what’s about to occurnext and I know it’s going to be a huge mistake, but I don’t care because it’s happening.
I am too chicken to make the first move, even though I want to. I look at George’s mouth and he looks at mine, but only for a second, because then his mouth is on mine and he’s kissing me so fiercely that I’m temporarily stunned at what he’s doing, at what I’m doing. But I let it happen, I encourage it by kissing him back and I turn fully into the kiss. Our bodies are pressing into each other and after a moment it’s George who pulls back, looking at me with an expression that says everything.
“Jesus Christ, we can’t do this here,” he says throatily. He’s breathing fast and so am I.
I move almost immediately, gathering my book and lotion, putting on my sandals and my wrap, which I tie around my waist quickly. George stands up, looks down at his swim shorts and laughs, saying, “I’m going to need a minute.” He smiles at me and then changes his mind. “Fuck it, let’s go.”
We walk back in the direction of our rooms, George holding me almost in front of him as we walk. We’ve automatically chosen his room and he spins me by the door, pressing my back against it before he inserts the key card. His mouth is on mine, his tongue pushing into mine over and over again, and I’m aware that I sigh deeply as his mouth moves to my neck. I can’t concentrate as my hands find his hair and his face moves to mine again, as he both manages to kiss me and unlock the door and we both fall into the room. He kicks the door shut and immediately we’re pulling at each other’s meager clothes. My hand reaches the waistband of his swim shorts, teasing the line of it as he pulls at my bikini ties, untying them deftly. He picks me up, takes me over to his bed. I briefly note that George has equally natty towel-art, as he swipes his towel-swan to the floor and lowers me onto the bed. And then my bikini briefs are being pulled from me and I’m pulling George’s swim shorts off him and he’s over me, nudging my legs apart.God, I’m so ready and he pauses as he hovers over me. I glance down at him. He’s as ready as I am, but he says from his position above me, “What are we doing about contraception?”
I am a bad person. In the haste of all of this, contraception has completely gone from my mind. It’s been so long since I’ve had sex or been in a relationship. I came off the pill ages ago.
“Condoms,” I say. This is George. He must have brought a million out here with him.
“OK,” he nods, getting up and going to his wallet. He puts on a condom and I’m entranced by the action, which only serves to turn me on even more, and then he comes toward me, nudges my legs open again and sinks inside me, making me moan. All that chat about him being epic in bed was categorically not just chat. He really, really knows what he’s doing and we move so rhythmically, so in tune together, that he brings me to orgasm within minutes, following me over the edge seconds later. We lie there, covered in sweat because neither of us thought to turn on the air-con. I turn toward him, trace the line of his abdominal muscles with my fingertips.
“That was…” I start, because I feel I have to say something but I don’t know what.That was greatis surely the most clichéd thing you could say to someone after you’ve had sex with them.
But George speaks. “That was…a long time coming, Gallagher.”
I laugh. “Was it?”
“You don’t think? I’m usually better than that. That was a good few months of foreplay and then about five minutes of actual sex.”
“Good sex,” I say, a little wide-eyed. “Great sex. A shame it’s a once-only event, really.”
