CHAPTERTWELVE
Sated and drained of all energy, Owen languidly nuzzled against Bethan’s neck.
With a small murmur of pleasure, she arched against him, pressing herself into his flesh. Her naked breasts flattening against his bare chest.
It felt good. He was feeling good; exhausted and drunk but good, content even, and he whispered her name as a thank you.
She murmured his name in return and let out a slow sigh. Half joy, half sadness.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sighing again, running her fingers down his chest. ‘I can’t stay all night.’
He nibbled her ear, his teeth catching her lobe and his tongue tasting the shell-like curves before he realised he probably should say something.
Shifting to place himself face to face with her, their warm breath mingling, he brushed her curls away from her damp forehead and asked, ‘Why?’ Her blue eyes focused on him and he, not waiting for her reply, returned his attention to her ear.
‘My father’s collecting me early tomorrow morning,’ she said, her breath gentle on his neck.
Still only half listening, Owen mumbled, ‘Hmm, nice.’ And slid under the cover, his tongue exploring her shoulder, then her collarbone, then the softly rounded tops of her breasts, taking his time as he created a wet trail towards her nipples. Bethan’s skin reminded him of marshmallows–floral, sweet and soft. A feast.
Bethan said, ‘I’ll miss you over the holiday.’
It was his turn to sigh. Much as he was enjoying her body, he had to take a break. He shouldn’t have drunk so much. Nature and more pints of beer than he could remember were leading to an inevitable distraction from his downward journey. He stopped before he arrived at her nipple.
‘Got to go,’ he said. ‘I need a pee.’ Rearing up from under the bedding, he stretched his long legs to the floor, stooped to retrieve the discarded condom from the floor and staggered upright.
‘Come back soon.’ Bethan squirmed beneath the duvet. ‘I’m cold without you.’
‘I’ll make you warm when I get back.’ Leaning over, he dropped a kiss on her lips, then turned and staggered a zig-zag path to the bathroom.
On his return, Bethan was sitting up in his narrow bed, the duvet wrapped around her as high as her chin. Her hair, coal-black, wildly curly, flowed like a lion’s mane, shimmered in the dull light from his bedside lamp, while her blue eyes followed his movements, watching him with intense interest.
Bethan’s expression was all too familiar. Girls seemed to enjoy seeing him naked. Why? He was the same as any other guy. Wasn’t he? Did his fellow students get stared at in the same way? He didn’t know–it wasn’t the sort of thing you could ask. But here he was with Bethan, eating him up with her eyes like she was starving. Legs, arms, torso, head. Penis. Bethan’s eyes landed on that part of his anatomy. Not unusually large. (As far as he could tell). Not even especially hard, due to too much beer and the fact he was post coital. He arrived at his bed and their eyes met. Must be my scintillating personality, he thought self-mocking, and grinned at her as he slid under the duvet.
‘Ooh, you’re cold.’ She shuddered, but undeterred, she wrapped herself around him.
They kissed, winding legs and arms together, toes tickling. Her body warmth dispelled the chill on his skin, and she rested her head against his shoulder.
He ran his long fingers through her dark curls and asked, ‘What time is your dad arriving?’
‘Six a.m.’
‘Thatisearly.’
‘It’s a long drive to Laugharne.’
‘Dylan Thomas called it the strangest town in Wales,’ Owen said, shifting his hips to get closer to her.
‘Did he? I didn’t know.’ Her hands took ownership, and she guided him nearer.
‘See, my little anthropology student. You learn something new every day,’ he said, thinking his Welshness always came to the fore when he spoke to Bethan, a kind of kinship, he supposed.
She clasped his member in one hand, drawing it into the warm space between her thighs and pushed his shoulder, saying, ‘Lie back now. It’s my turn to do the work.’
Owen didn’t argue. He smiled, hot breath lifting her curls as he shifted for her. This was the best bit. When Bethan, emboldened by passion, took control. Straddling him while he reclined and admired her. He imagined it was near to being in heaven. Perhaps it was then he returned the hungry fascination she held for him as he appreciated every contour of her beautiful body. Maybe it was then it got closer to love–of a kind. Owen frowned at this new, unwelcome thought and lifted her away. His mood broken irredeemably.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Too much beer tonight … can’t manage anymore. Must sleep.’ In consolation on seeing her disappointment, he pulled her into his arms and held her close. That was another warning sign … he cared–didn’t want to hurt her. ‘Time for some shut-eye, my cariad. You mustn’t be sleepy when you see your dad. He’ll wonder what you’ve been doing.’
She snuggled against him, uncomplaining. ‘I wish you could come with me tomorrow. You could, you know. Mum and Dad wouldn’t mind.’
‘I can’t. I told you, my mum needs me.’
She sighed again. Owen closed his eyes, thought bleakly of the Christmas to come, and soon asleep, he didn’t hear her leave.
