My Kind of Woman

26. Between And Below,

26. Between and Below, the Taste of Salt Water

(Seemed too long to put in the header, but above is the full title of this chapter. Enjoy!)

For a few hours, I didn't touch anything soft. I thought it might set me off. I could still then feel her skin on my hands and the weight of her breasts. My heart had been beating incredibly hard since the moment we left the cove, and it hadn't stopped. I thought the way she'd so quickly pulled her bikini ties back up behind her neck and knotted them was incredibly sexy. She managed to compose herself quickly, I, on the other hand, didn't know if I was doing so well. I was trying hard to ease the throbbing in my chest, and between my legs, but it was proving to be difficult. I couldn't think, I could barely eat, everything that evening passed by me in a blur. The only thing that did stand out to me was Mr. Reed's sudden surge in affectionate behaviour.

It was sickening to watch, him touching her waist and trying her pepper her neck. At first, I just looked away and conjured up the images I had of her bare upper body, and her lashes fluttering with satisfaction. After a while though, they started to only make me spiral into doubt. As I watched him try and kiss her neck for the fourth time that evening, I started thinking of the 'what if's. After all the time I'd spent watching them be so distant and the arguing, seeing them so close made my stomach churn.

I remembered thinking, 'if he loves her again, what'll be my purpose? What can I give her that he can't?' And I didn't want to think too much, because I knew the answer would be 'I won't have one. I can't compete.'

I watched him stroke her thigh a few times before I decided I would leave the room. We'd all been watching television, but I excused myself. Jackie was passed out on the end of the couch, head hanging over the side awkwardly. Rockpool fishing had tired her out greatly, obviously. I was completely the opposite. I thought it wasn't possible for me to be more awake. I was assured I wouldn't sleep at all that night. My heart was still beating wildly.

Once in the bedroom, I closed the door with the flat of my back and sat down on the edge of my bed. There was a whistling breeze coming from under the bathroom door; its gentle chill made the little hairs on my legs stand. I was thinking. It was so quiet that I could really hear my pulse thrumming then. I lay back, drawing circles on my stomach with my fingertip.

It would be inappropriate to do it there, I knew that, but I didn't know what else would ease me. Her hand instead of mine? I sighed shakily, trailing my hand up my midriff. How would her fingers feel? Would they tremble against my skin, would I feel her worry while she tried to please me, or would I feel her longing? For me. My hands rose higher, pushing up the material of my top over my chest. It slid, slowly, up to my collarbones, leaving my breasts exposed to the same chill my legs had felt. How shameless! In a house that wasn't my own, on a bed that wasn't mine, thinking about a woman I couldn't have. For a bit, I swore it was for the sake of comparison - I wanted to see if I'd felt as soft as she. The skin was smooth, especially on the underside of my breast, but mine were smaller with the pressure of sports' wraps and strenuous exercise. I'd never had that spurt of chest growth in my teens, but I'd never wanted it. Until I knew then that they could feel so wonderful. I wanted that weight on my palms, the feeling of not being able to grab enough, that my hands couldn't be fuller. Mine were only handfuls. I could cup them and have my fingers halfway up to my collarbones.

The staircase groaned. Someone was coming up. I was breathing heavily, still laying back on the bed with my shirt pulled up. I didn't move. Why didn't I move? It could've been Jackie, what would she have said? But I knew it wasn't. Or I thought I knew.

The door to the master bedroom opened then closed. I'd thought for a moment that it was Mr. Reed, perhaps with Mio too, but there was only the soft padding of one pair of feet. And I was almost certain they were hers. I hadn't pulled my top down yet; I was just watching the swell of my breasts rise and fall with my breath. There was humming coming from behind the two doors, and I wondered if she was a good singer. Singing in her slight accent would be nice to hear, would probably make me smile. I wouldn't laugh at her, but she probably wouldn't take offence if I did.