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She was thinking of Marco again.

Nike sighed. Leaning forward in her seat, she tried to engage in the buzzing restaurant table conversation but her mind kept wandering. She felt restless and exhausted all at once. She hadn’t slept properly for weeks; suffering from the kind of insomnia she’d usually get during the first few days of a vacation. But she wasn’t on vacation. Not anymore. Monaco had been almost a month ago but if she closed her eyes, it felt like she was right there, right in the middle of the glittering heat of excess.

It had been Dean’s idea. Everything was always his idea, she realised, and wondered if it should anger her. It didn’t. She cast a sideways glance at him as he laughed with her brother. She felt more detached than anything.

Dean was the decision maker. Ideas. Plans. Excitement. Let’s go away. Let’s take a break. Let’s throw a party. And then the most marvellous idea of them all; let’s have an open relationship. Nike agreed like she agreed with everything. She was beginning to realise she was just a very agreeable person. It didn’t seem to matter that the whole idea was one-sided; they both knew she didn’t have the personality for casual sex but it didn’t matter. The option was equal. So what if Dean exercised his a hundred times over while hers lay unutilised? It didn’t matter.

Nike shifted in her seat. She listened to him tell the same story he’d told the last four times they’d been out in public. She didn’t hate him. She didn’t love him either. She wasn’t quite sure whether or not she even liked him anymore. He started it. He started it. It was his idea. She tried to find solace in blame and then wondered why she even felt guilty anyway.

Maybe because Marco was more. More than just a one night hook-up. She’d known it from the second his voice had drifted into her ear and since then, the night had come back on relentless replay. She thought of him every day, every night, her mind constantly flickering with vivid, desperate memories.

“So did you guys enjoy Monaco?” her father asked across the table.

“Yeah,” Dean cut across to take the question. “The weather was great. And there’s so much to see. It’s like the ideal getaway. We spent every second together.”

Except for the night you decided to fuck Julia, Nike wanted to say. But she didn’t. Sometimes she wondered what would happen if the words came out without permission. She had so many lines inside, and maybe by some terrible accident one day she’d screw up and her mouth would move before her brain could stop it. And then what? She almost liked the idea.

“Nike?” Her brother eyed her. “Did you enjoy it?”

She tried to look animated.

“Monaco? I loved it. It was unbelievably hot.”

*

“She is unbelievably hot,” Dean’s voice was awestruck. “God, look at her.”

Nike looked across the marble-walled hotel lobby at the object of his attention and felt her heart sink. He’d been talking about Julia all day but seeing her in the flesh made everything real. She didn’t know any of the other women Dean hooked up with. She didn’t have to see them. There was no way to compare herself to any of them. But Julia was right in front of her. Blonde and golden and a sparkling haze of manicured perfection. She must have been forty but she looked like a supermodel.

Dean was infatuated. It might have been funny if it didn’t make Nike’s stomach turn. Julia. She and her husband were staying at the same hotel as them and Dean had met her on the last day of their stay. He spent most of the morning trying to figure out how to approach her and when he finally worked up the courage, Nike felt sick. She watched from across the lobby as they flirted. The bellboy eyed her sympathetically.

Nike went shopping. She read a trashy romance novel. She walked on the beach. The day finally wound down into evening and Dean reappeared long enough for them to eat dinner together at the hotel restaurant. Everything seemed suddenly lifeless and withdrawn. The entire vacation had been idyllic until Julia had arrived. Now Dean seemed preoccupied and all the things Nike wanted to say to him seemed too blunt, too argumentative. They were sitting at the bar when he dropped the bombshell.

“I’m seeing Julia tonight,” he said it very casually like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. Maybe in his mind it was.

Nike looked at him.

“What, just like that? You don’t even know her.”

“I feel like I do,” Dean frowned. He looked at her. “Hey, you’re not jealous are you? This isn’t one way you know.”

But it was. He knew it. She knew it. They were wired differently, different circuits, different switches, different diodes and his lit up to something infinitely brighter and more dazzling.

He knocked back his shot of vodka and exhaled. He was turned on in a way Nike couldn’t remember. He could barely sit still. She gazed at him both transfixed and appalled. He didn’t look at her. His eyes were on the door, impatiently scanning the people exiting and entering until Julia appeared, in conversation with a taller man.

“That’s them,” Dean caught Julia’s attention and signalled her over.

“What, she’s just gonna come over here?” Nike asked, panic-stricken. “Isn’t that weird?”

“Is it?” Dean asked vaguely.

“Is that her husband? Does he know?”

“Yeah. He’s called Marco.”

They watched silently as the couple approached. Nike felt supremely mortified. She wanted to go home and curl into a ball and hide forever. But home was a taxi, a plane, a train and 650 miles away. She could hardly believe Dean was acting so normal. As though they were doing a normal, decent thing. As though he wasn’t about to fuck a married woman. Nike couldn’t take it.

“I have to run to the bathroom,” she said and she got up and quickly headed out before Dean could stop her. It took her a few minutes to find the restroom but when she got there it was thankfully vacant. She locked the door and leaned against it.

Everything seemed surreal. The bathroom was lit with yellow sconce lights and the walls glowed surreally. Her head spun a little. She walked carefully to the sink and turned on the water. She washed her hands. Her eyes flicked to the mirror. She looked different. Paler.

Nike sighed. She leaned her palms on the cold marble counter and closed her eyes. Breathed in the smell of bleach and hand sanitizer. Is this my life? It seemed implausible that after all the years of dreaming she should end up here. He was going to fuck Julia. It was a fact. She shouldn’t have been so affected by it. It wasn’t the first time but this time it was right in front of her.

Nike looked into the eyes of her reflection. Her irises looked darker, more brown than green. She blinked. They didn’t change. Is this my life? Is this really my fucking life? She felt insufficient. Why else would he want to fuck other women? She wasn’t enough. She’d spent so many years fighting the thought that it was almost a relief to let it through. I’m not enough. I’m not good enough. I’m not pretty enough or smart enough or interesting enough or hot enough. She pressed her lips together hard.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was home in the cool safety of her tiny Camden bathroom with burnt out candles and the crack in the window. But she wasn’t. She was in the bathroom of a Monaco bar and her boyfriend was about to fuck a stranger.

The age thing hit her hardest. Age was the only thing she had. Maybe she wasn’t beautiful or brilliant but she was young. Wasn’t youth what people loved? How could Dean want someone older? It didn’t make any sense.

Nike sighed. She shook out her hair and reapplied lip gloss, steeling herself to return to the bar.

“They went upstairs already,” Marco said when she finally got back. He was sitting where Dean had been sitting and watching a sports match on the cracked screen of his phone.

“Couldn’t wait, right?” The words didn’t come out lightly enough and Marco glanced up, surprised. Nike tried to think of something to soften the effect but it was too late. Besides, why should she care what he thought? It was his stupid, perfect wife who’d started everything. He seemed amazingly unaffected. She narrowed her eyes. They were all a bunch of freaks.

“Do you want a drink?” Marco asked after a beat. “You look like you could use it.”

Nike didn’t look at him.

“I think I’ll go upstairs,” she said.

He caught her wrist.

“You can’t,” he said and then, a little awkwardly, “They’re in your room.”

“Oh.” Nike flushed. She pulled her hand away. “Right.”

The time on her phone read 21:12. What was she meant to do for however-many hours? She sat down beside Marco. Her vodka from earlier was still waiting. She frowned at it.

He’d be touching her by now. His hands would be all over her. Nike frowned hard. She breathed in slowly, trying to calm the heat behind her eyes. Was this jealousy? She couldn’t bear it. She didn’t know what to do about it. She wanted to hate him and she almost did but there was something stopping her. Something about him that always made her fall all over again. It’d be the same lines. I don’t love her. I only love you. It’s just sex, Nike. And he said them so many times she’d even started to believe them.

Nike picked up her shot glass and swallowed the vodka in a single burning gulp. She considered going up to the room and wondered if she’d be able to hear them fucking from outside the door. Maybe. It seemed like an outrageous thing to do but she felt perversely tempted. What would it achieve? To see if he made more noise with other women? To hear what they were doing? To find out what he wanted? What more could he want?

She couldn’t understand him and the more she tried to, the more irritated she became. He was selfish. Was that it? She felt guilty for thinking badly of him. Nothing was ever his fault. All she ever did was try to hate him and wind up hating herself. She’d become sick of how desperate she felt, how desperate she must look. He must find her pathetic. Weak. Easy. Did he even like her at all or was she just an object, the neat, presentable girlfriend reserved for work parties and family dinners?

*

Family dinners. Granted it was her family and not his for once. Nike wondered idly whether he’d pick up the bill and figured he’d probably try if only to make a point. Nobody would notice but her. Everybody loved him. It was easy to love the side of him he sold. He seemed funny, charming, generous. If she broke up with him, no one would understand why. But going along with the pretence seemed insane.

She felt so detached. Before Monaco, she’d become adept at writing off his flaws and blinding them out with all the good things he did. But it wasn’t easy anymore. Marco had changed everything. Every time she closed her eyes she thought of him. The way he felt. The way he spoke. The way he touched her. Nike swallowed hard. She tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear and pressed her legs together hard.

She picked up her wine and sipped.

*

She picked up her fourth cuba libre and eyed Marco over the rim of the glass.

He caught her eye and smiled, his eyes creasing at the corners. He seemed effortlessly good-looking, unshaven and uncaring. His t-shirt was smudged with clay from the tennis court and his arms were tanned and strong. Idly, she imagined touching them. He looked more warm than anything. Warm and attentive and heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

“Why should your boyfriend have all the fun?” he was asking. “I can’t believe you’ve never done this. Pick someone. Anyone.”

He moved closer to her, his arm bumped up against hers. Nike scanned the bar crowd without enthusiasm.

“I don’t know,”

“C’mon, Nike. You could fuck any one of these guys and you don’t know?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. They all look drunk.”

He laughed.

“Anyone,” His mouth was so close to her ear, she could feel the warmth of his breath. It felt like his voice was inside her head. “Don’t you deserve this?” he asked.

Did she? Nike felt too hot. She thought about Dean without wanting to and frowned, setting her glass down.

“Stop. Thinking.” Marco said. She looked at his arm beside hers, tanned and strong, warm and alive. Skin to skin. She looked at his face, inches from hers. He was still assessing the crowd, his eyes quick and alive and when he looked at her, her stomach hurt.

“What?” he said but it wasn’t a real question. His eyes went to her mouth and he swallowed. Understanding seemed to hover between them before an idea had even formed in Nike’s head.

“You know I’m twice your age, right?” There was a faint strain of humour beneath the question. She looked at the line of his mouth and bit her lip hard.

“Would it be weird?” she asked and she couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“It already is,” Marco said and he leaned in and kissed her, open mouthed and aggressive. She gasped into his mouth as his tongue found hers. He caught her ponytail and tugged, pulling her head further back so he could kiss her properly. He tasted like whisky. She tried to steady herself but ended up spilling off the stool and leaning into him.

He kissed wonderfully, deep and long enough to make her head spin. She pulled back for breath but he didn’t let go of her, the tip of his nose touching hers. His eyes were like liquid gold. He didn’t stop looking at her as his hand moved to press against the small of her back, holding her close to him.

She was suddenly aware of the hem of her skirt skimming the back of her legs. It felt shorter than she remembered. She blinked. She pulled back a little further and looked at the line of his jaw, the dark stubble, the way his t-shirt fit his broad shoulders.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asked.

Nike swallowed hard. No one was watching them. Nobody cared.

“C’mon,” Marco said. His voice was like warm, dazing sunshine. “Why not?”

*

“Why not?” Dean frowned. “You’ve always loved dessert.”

Everyone was too slow. The restaurant was alive and buzzing with conversations and Nike couldn’t focus. All she wanted to do was go home and pretend nobody existed. Outside, rain was pouring, hammering relentlessly against the windows. Dean’s hand was resting on her leg beneath the table.

“I’ve already eaten way too much,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “I really can’t.”

“Oh, come on,” Dean coaxed. “You love cake.”

“I really don’t feel like it,” she protested but he was looking expectantly past her. And it was too late, far too late; everything was happening in sick, slow motion and the waiters were bringing out a birthday cake with goddamn candles and everyone was looking at her and singing and the rest of the restaurant was staring and she tried to look surprised and pleased but all she wanted was to escape.

It was torture. Her face felt frozen into a parody smile. They finally stopped singing. The cake was an exorbitant frenzy of whipped cream and strawberries. Nike tried not to look at it. Her brother smirked at her like he knew exactly how she was feeling and it gave her enough of a grateful rush to blow out the candles.

“This is crazy,” It was like someone else was speaking. “I can’t believe you did this!”

Drew laughed. “Do you like it? We should have champagne, shouldn’t we? You want champagne?”

“Uh,” Nike stared at the cake. She didn’t think she could bear to eat it. “Champagne? Uh – I – I don’t know.”

*

“I don’t know,” Her hands were flat against the cool wood of the hotel room door and Marco’s hand was already under her skirt and trying to push between her legs. “I really don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

“You don’t?” His voice was perfectly cool. Calm and patient. “He’s fucking her right now, Nike. And what? You don’t deserve this? You don’t want me to make you come?” His foot moved to the inside of her ankle and pushed, widening her legs so he could press his fingers against the heat of her snatch.

“I just – I never do this kind of thing.” Nike said and she had to close her eyes because his fingers were already moving against her in a way that made her knees feel weak.

“You came up here,” Marco’s voice was almost playful. “You wanted it, Nike. You still do. Look how fucking wet you are. Stop being so uptight.”

His fingers slid inside the lace of her underwear and touched roughly. Nike’s hands clenched into fists. She tried to turn but he was leaning into her, his weight holding her in place against the door. His free hand caught hold of her ponytail and tugged hard so he could kiss her neck, his mouth wet and hungry.

“Marco, we really shouldn’t,” She didn’t know why she was protesting. It felt good. She wanted to disappear into the wonderful weight and warmth of him; to know nothing but the drug of his voice for the rest of her life. It was so good. Too good. Things couldn’t be too good. There was always a backlash – a hangover, a crash, or even just living with the realisation that the good time was over and never coming back. The grounding grey reality after a whirling rollercoaster high.

“Turn around,” Marco said and he stepped back a little to give her room before he leaned in again, catching her wrists and pinning them behind her. He held them there with one hand, the other disappearing beneath her skirt again. He pushed her legs further apart with his own so he could touch her freely, his hand progressing into her underwear and stroking relentlessly. His thumb found her clit and moved against it until she gasped.

“You like that?” She couldn’t look at him but she could hear the smile in his voice as he applied more pressure, his forefinger moving to ease inside her.

“Marco,”

“What?” His voice was a groan. “Jeez, you’re so fucking tight.”

She clenched around his invading finger but he didn’t stop stroking it in and out. She felt impossibly wet against his hand. She leaned her weight against the door, her hands trapped in his behind her, hips tilted forward like she was asking for it. Maybe she was. He didn’t say anything. He watched the way her body moved with every slide and stroke of his fingertips.

He pushed his finger deeper inside her and curled it to stroke her on the inside. Nike’s eyes closed. She bit hard on her lip and he leaned in to kiss her, his hand still working her persistently. He let go of her wrists and touched her throat, feeling the pulse hammering beneath her skin. His hand curled around her neck.

“You wanna come?” His voice poured into her like warm, golden alcohol. “Is that what you want, Nike? You want me to make you come? All over my hand?”

“I – please.”

It was building inside her, had been since he’d first touched her and it was eventually coming to something incredible. Something aching and enormous, just waiting to be set free. Every motion of his hand brought her closer. Closer. Closer. She was gasping against his mouth, her body tensing in desperate anticipation. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this way. Her entire world felt centred around the motion of his fingers.

“You feel so good,” he whispered the words against her mouth as her head spun and then he’d let go of her and stepped back, leaving her stranded on the edge of nothing.

Nike stared at him in disbelief as he stripped off his t-shirt. She was still breathing hard, her entire body covered in a sheen of perspiration. Her hair felt damp, her eyes glassy. The room was stiflingly hot, the air-conditioning off and the windows closed. Marco looked at her.

“Take it off.”

It took her a few seconds to realise he was referring to her dress and she stepped away from the door uncertainly. She found the zip behind her neck and slid it down as far as she could before reaching around her waist to tug it the rest of the way. She slid her arms free of the short sleeves and let the dress slip down around her feet. She stepped out of it, reaching down to undo her heeled sandals and slip them off. Her underwear felt indecently wet against her and she caught the waistband of it, hesitating a fraction too long.

“Everything,” Marco said and she looked up to see he was watching her, paused in the process of undoing his own clothes. His eyes felt like they were all over her all at once, drinking in the weight of her breasts, exploring every angle and curve of her lithe body. Nike swallowed hard. She pushed her underwear down before she could over think it and then she was naked and his eyes were on the smooth shape of her pussy.

He didn’t stop looking at her even as he divested of the remainder of his clothing. He came closer. His cock was hard, jutting upwards. It seemed indecently large and seemed to grow even larger the closer her got. Nike almost laughed at herself. She was being ridiculous. But still. She kept looking at it, almost nervously.

“What, you’ve never seen a dick before?” Marco’s voice was warm with amusement and she flushed.

“No. I mean, yes. Just – not like. Y’know.”

He touched the side of her face. Slid his hand down her sweat-damp collarbone and further to grope the weight of one breast.

“Is it bigger than his?” The question had a tone of conspiracy. “Is that it?”

“I – I really -” Words failed her. She reached out and touched it, her hand wrapping around his throbbing flesh. He felt hot, heavy, ready. She’d never consciously wanted to give anyone a blowjob before but something about Marco changed all that. She dropped to her knees and looked up at him.

“You wanna suck it?” His hand caught her ponytail and he wrapped it around his hand, holding tight. “You sure?”

Nike looked at his cock. She opened her mouth and leaned forward, taking in the head. He let out a long breath. She could taste him already and she steadied her hands on his legs, her tongue swirling against his stalk as she sucked him. He didn’t make her go further and when her eyes flicked up to his, he didn’t speak. He just watched, like he was silently assessing how much she had to give. She went further, taking in more of him with each stroke until she’d gone as far as she could.

“You know,” he said conversationally. “As soon as I saw you, at the bar I mean, I knew this was gonna happen. I just knew, Nike.”

He took over then, one hand still holding her ponytail and the other at the back of her head as he guided her deeper and deeper. Nike’s eyes watered. Her fingernails dug into the muscle of his thighs. He made her take it until saliva spilled over his cock and down her chin and still he didn’t stop.

“There,” he said very kindly as he eventually managed to fit the entire length of his cock into her mouth and throat. “You see? I knew you could do it.”

He pulled back and Nike sucked in desperate lungfuls of air, trying not to glow with pride at his praise. He made her take it again, longer this time and he even thrust a couple of times until the urge to gag overcame her and he mercifully withdrew. Then, h crouched down to her level and kissed her hard and wet, his tongue hungry and searching.

His hand went down between her legs to curl against her pussy and she ground against the heel of his palm. He stood up, not letting go of her and tipped her onto the bed. She looked up at him expectantly but he didn’t move. He fisted his hand around his cock and stroked it deliberatively.

“Touch yourself,” he said. They looked at each other silently. Nike swallowed hard. Nobody had ever watched her before. And the lights were bright, unforgiving. Yet the ache inside her didn’t seem like it was going anywhere without help. Marco‘s eyes were still on hers, patiently waiting. He didn’t back down. She shifted her legs apart and slid her hand almost protectively over her wet pussy.

“Wider,” He grasped her ankle in his strong hand and pulled her legs wider apart so she was on display for him, open and vulnerable. He didn’t let go of her ankle and she unthinkingly drew her free leg inward.

Marco laughed. “Don’t even think about it.”

She stopped. His eyes were between her legs, watching as her fingers moved. They felt suddenly unsubstantial after his and she focused on the white, white ceiling and the blinding array of spotlights. She’d never felt so seen. It was like he wanted to drink in every last part of her. His hand tightened around her ankle as she spread her lips with one hand and found her clit with the other. She didn’t want him to let go. Being touched made it less lonely.

Her clit felt swollen beneath her circling fingertip. Sweat flushed anew across her body. Her hips lifted, shifting into a better place as she stroked herself recklessly. Her thighs protested the position but she didn’t dare try to close them. She could feel Marco’s eyes on her as her fingers travelled down to her dripping entrance before slicking back over her clit. She breathed out impatiently and he made a sound in his throat, some kind of hum.

He was breathing hard; she could feel the warmth of his breath against her leg. She bent the leg he wasn’t holding, her toes curling against the white sheets. Her eyes closed as her finger moved in tight, insistent circles, finding the perfect spot and focusing on it with every fibre of her being. Nothing else mattered.

“Is this what you do?” Marco’s voice was like a headlight in the dark. “When he’s out fucking other girls? Is this what you do, Nike?”

She didn’t open her eyes. Half of her feared everything would stop if she did.

“Sometimes,” Her voice sounded breathless and soft.

“You look like a fucking dream,”

She moaned. Her fingers slicked harder, faster. The sweet light of satisfaction was getting closer and she chased it recklessly, her body tensing and twisting as it came within touching distance.

“Stop.”

She didn’t – couldn’t - and his hands caught hers, pulling them away. She whined, trying to free herself but he was stronger than her and held fast until she gave up. He moved between her legs, pushing them up so he could lick her completely with one stroke of his tongue. It wasn’t enough but it felt sublime. His finger moved to press against her pussy, his tongue lazily swirling around her clit until it was throbbing.

“Please,” Her voice seemed like it came from another world. “Please.”

“You wanna come?” His breath was tortuous against her. “Is that what you want, Nike?”

He didn’t let her. He brought her to half a dozen edges, to the place where the world was an unfocused haze of sweat-soaked desperation and every part of her was tensed, clenched, wound unbelievably tight. And then he’d stop. He’d touch the damp curves of her body and fill her with enough compliments to make her want to scream in frustration.

When he was done, he guided her own hand to her pussy and had her stroke herself until her head spun and the eventual end seemed inevitable.

“Stop,” he said and he even had the nerve to sound sorry as he said it. Nike didn’t buy it. She turned onto her front, her hand still working urgently between her legs until he pulled it away.

“You’re really bad at this,” he said and he brought his hand down hard enough on her ass to make her eyes water.

“Fuck!” Her ass stung and flushed with heat and he slapped her again and again until it felt like fire was breaking out across her skin. She wondered hazily if the people in the next room could hear as her knuckles turned white, bedsheets bunched up in damp fists. Eventually he let up.

She felt him move behind her and then, finally, the head of his cock was pushing between her legs. It slipped wetly against her pussy and further down to brush against her throbbing clit. His hand went to her waist, the other getting a hold of his cock and pushing it inside her. He was big enough to take her breath away and he didn’t go easy, pushing inside her hard so she had no choice but to take it and shift to accept him.

He didn’t push in all the way but pulled back to go deeper every time until eventually he was fucking her with long, urgent strokes. Nike pressed her face against the bed, almost presenting herself to him. Each thrust sent pleasure rippling through her body. Most of her hair had escaped her ponytail, and dark strands were plastered across her face. She pushed back at Marco, almost encouragingly and he took the initiative to go harder, his fingers digging into her narrow waist as he speared into her with a barrage of forceful thrusts.

“You feel so good,” His words were gasps and he pulled out of her suddenly, so he could turn her over. Nike blinked, disoriented by the ceiling lights but she lifted up automatically so he could fit back into her grasping pussy and they watched each other breathlessly as their bodies collided in an endlessly desperate rhythm. He leaned over her and her legs hooked around him as he kissed her mouth. It felt like they were finally even; both hungrily searching each other for release. Each thrust brought her recklessly closer to the edge. The need to come was everything and she pushed back at Marco with every thrust, feeling the quickening tension wash over her.

“God, Nike!”

She reached for him instinctively, touching his sweat-damp skin, her hands wanting to feel all of him all at once. He felt so male, so essential; strong and unstoppable. His hand moved between them, touching her until there was no way back and all the pent-up need finally pushed through into the night. She came so hard it was almost painful. Almost. The pleasure dragged through her like pouring sunshine and she clenched around him, her body wrenching beneath his. Marco’s rhythm faltered, becoming jerky and uneven and just when she thought he’d never stop, he shoved hard into her, groaning out a long, spurting release.

For a while, they didn’t stop moving against each other, still chasing the lingering ends of pleasure. And then there was nothing. Stillness. Sweat and satisfaction. Nike became aware of how fast she was breathing. She reached to push damp strands of hair from her face and Marco shifted to look at her.

He smiled almost regretfully.

“You’re really beautiful, you know,” he said.

*

“You look beautiful,” Dean said. “That dress really suits you.”

Nike blinked.

“Oh. Thank you.”

She felt painfully awkward around him. After Monaco, she didn’t think he’d hooked up with anyone else and part of her felt disappointed. She almost wanted him to continue, to be the bad guy, but if anything, he’d been hinting that he’d prefer to stop seeing other people altogether. She wasn’t quite sure where that left them.

Nike sipped champagne and tried to eat cake.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dean said and he stopped, waiting for her to prompt him. She didn’t want to prompt him. She felt incredibly irritated. She wanted to walk out and disappear and start a new life somewhere far, far away. But she didn’t.

She felt the need to please, to cover awkwardness to pretend everything was fine, everything was perfect. She’d been doing it all her life and it wasn’t an instinct she could switch off. It was almost like a survival technique. If she pretended everything was fine, maybe it was. Or maybe it’d become that way.

“Oh?” she asked. “Thinking about what?”

“About us,” he went on and she wondered if he was breaking up with her and how fucking hilarious that would be. She almost felt relieved.

“What about us?” she said, forced nonchalance, forced niceness, forced fucking everything.

“Well,” Dean went on. He seemed palpably nervous. “I actually have a question to ask you.”

*

“Can I ask you a question?” Marco’s voice came through the haze of lazily swirling clouds. They were still lying on the dishevelled hotel bed. Nike opened her eyes and turned to look at him.

“What?”

“Are you gonna tell him about this?”

Nike laughed because if she didn’t, she’d probably have cried and maybe Marco noticed because he eyed her a little oddly. He went to the mini-bar and drank scotch and brought her orange juice. She drank it and lay in the mess of sheets and thought about how she should probably get dressed and leave. She didn’t. She stayed up and drank some scotch and talked to Marco about home and his life and how everything felt like it always happened too fast and in some ways she still wasn’t sure she’d grown up.

“I’m pretty sure you have,” Marco said and he was laughing but not in a bad way and he looked years younger when he laughed. If she looked at him in a certain way, he almost seemed like perfection.

“I don’t think I’ll tell him,” she said, finally answering his question.

Marco was in the en-suite, switching on the shower.

“Really?” he asked, reappearing.

Nike sat up. “No. I don’t think so. It seems like something I’d want all for myself.”

“But I think I might have bruised your ass,” he said. “How’re you gonna explain that?”

Nike stood up and looked over her shoulder, trying to see if he was joking.

“I’ll say I fell on my butt.”

He appraised her.

“He’d believe that? The bruises may or not be handprint shaped.”

Nike laughed. “Marco, I don’t ever do this kind of thing. He’d believe I’d been in a plane crash before believing this.”

They looked at each other and without warning, Marco leaned in and kissed her again. His hand fit around the curve of her ass and she knew he wasn’t kidding about the bruises.

“You left the shower on,” she said against his mouth.

“So maybe we should use it.”

The small bathroom was filled with steam and Nike tried not to wince as she stepped under the pouring heat of the water. It took her a moment to get used to it and by then, Marco was stepping in. He turned the pressure up a little.

“You know,” he said, “I think he’s just insane.”

“I don’t know,” Nike gave up on trying not to get her hair wet. “I mean, your wife is pretty hot.”

“Yeah,” Marco acquiesced. “I guess so.”

He was smiling almost bittersweetly as he kissed her again. Nike felt the cool tiles of the shower wall against her back as his hand travelled down her body to ease between her legs again. He didn’t tease her any more. His fingers moved quickly and knowingly, bringing her to orgasm before she thought she had a chance and before she’d even stopped feeling it, he was tracing a path further back to her ass.

“You’re not,” she gasped uncertainly, still breathing hard from the rush.

“Is this another thing you don’t ever do?”

His fingertip massaged her asshole insistently, before he pushed it inside. Nike clenched hard and he waited for her to stop before he pushed it further.

“You want it?” He studied her face, his finger gliding in and out. It felt like nothing else. Half of her wanted to tell him to stop but the other half was prickling with curiosity. Besides, his cock already seemed to be getting hard and she didn’t like the idea of saying no to him.

He released her and she turned around instinctively, hands pressed against the tile wall. The water rained down steadily, steam curling. She heard him flip the cap of some bottle, shampoo maybe and then he was shifting her legs wider and smearing whatever it was over the tight, resistant bud of her asshole. Nike swallowed hard. She smelled coconut. She heard him set the bottle down and then he was pressing the slick head of his cock to her ass. His hand grasped her waist, holding her steady. Nike looked down at the water around her feet. He pushed, gently but firmly.

“Just relax,” he said. She tried to. Her pussy felt like it was dripping in anticipation and even though she’d just come, she had a crazy urge to stroke her clit until the world collapsed. She pushed back recklessly as the head of his cock finally fit inside her. Her heart was beating so hard, she was sure she could hear it. The water poured down, relentlessly hot and cathartic.

“Please,” She clenched her teeth. “Just do it.”

He shuddered out a laugh and pushed, going deeper. He felt slick and almost unbearably hot. Nike’s eyes prickled at the sensation and when he pulled back, she felt like the world was dropping out of her. It took her a few strokes to acclimatise to the feel and then it was just motion; his cock getting progressively deeper as his hand flattened against her stomach, holding her hard against him.

His free hand groped her breasts, tugging at the nipples until she didn’t know where all the feeling was coming from or where it would ever go. She breathed in desperately, hands clawing against the tile wall as he fucked her ass. He wasn’t gentle anymore. He gripped her waist with both hands and gave it to her; deep, lasting thrusts. It felt like he was splitting her open and soothing her back together with every word in her ear.

Eventually she couldn’t take it any longer and leaned her weight recklessly on one hand, the other moving furtively down to the wet heat of her pussy. She was still sensitive but she pressed her forehead against the tile and worked herself relentlessly until it was too much. Something had to give. Marco was grunting with every thrust, his hands so tight on her waist she figured he’d leave bruises there too. The orgasm finally spilled through her, fast and hazy, overheated, and draining and as her body clenched and shuddered, Marco came too, unable to hold on. She felt him jerk deep inside her, flooding her with bursts of violent release.

His hand pressed hard against the tile, his weight leaning into it. She could hear how hard he was breathing.

“Fuck,” he said, eventually.

“Fuck,” she said and he groaned out a laugh and released her so he could turn her around and kiss her hard.

The shower was still on and he let go of her long enough to use it. He washed quickly, methodically and watched her watching him.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

He shook his head but he was smiling. He slid open the shower door and stepped out.

“I’m gonna have a drink. Don’t take too long.”

She took forever. She washed her hair and soaped the sweat off her body and scrubbed herself thoroughly until her skin smarted. She blow-dried her hair and combed it and tied it into a sleek, high ponytail. Back in the room, Marco had fallen asleep. Nike put on her clothes and picked up her bag. She walked out of the room, feeling impeccably clean and shut the door quietly behind her.

And it should have been over.

It was only on the flight home as she searched her bag for chewing gum did she find the crumpled scrap of hotel stationery and the phone number scrawled onto it. She knew instinctively it was from Marco. She stared at the eleven digits numbly before stowing them guiltily back into her bag.

In the seat next to her, Dean was fast asleep. He looked disarmingly innocent when he slept. She took out the piece of paper and tore it into small pieces and drowned it in her foul-tasting airline coffee. But the sequence of numbers had already landed in her memory and refused to shift. It was ridiculous. She couldn’t remember birthdays. And yet Marco’s phone number ran on loop in her head like a summer pop song. She couldn’t forget it.

She leaned back in her seat and tried to stay calm.

*

Nike tried to stay calm but panic threatened to spill over. Everyone had gone quiet. Dean was holding out the ring, and she wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow her up whole.

“I mean, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you the moment we met,” he was saying. “And every day just feels so right. Things can go wrong but nothing matters so long as we’re together.”

Is this my life? Is this really my fucking life? Nike didn’t dare glance up. Dean kept talking. She briefly considered saying no but the entire restaurant was watching now and why not give the answer the entire world seemed to want instead of causing a scene? He finally stopped talking. Nike looked at the ring. Impractical and over expensive.

“Yes,” she said. “Of course.”

And everyone was happy. There was no stunned silence or moment of disbelief. She’d played her part and everybody was delighted and yet her head was aching with the need to figure everything out, to sort the mess into something that made sense.

“I have to run to the bathroom,” she said.

Her chair scraped quickly against the hard floor, almost knocking into a waiter. She hurried through the dining area, down a set of stairs and finally made it to the Ladies. She locked the door and exhaled. She looked at herself in the mirror. Déjà vu. If she closed her eyes she was back in Monaco, hiding from Dean’s decisions all over again. She opened her eyes. The same imperfect face. The same hair, the same eyes, the same mouth.

Recklessly, she considered calling Marco. But why? Why? Nothing good would come out of it. He was married. Even if they did stay in touch, it would be nothing more than sex. And yet, sex suddenly seemed like more than enough.

She typed out the number and stared at it, feeling desperately out of control. She hit call and marvelled at herself. She couldn’t look at the screen. Couldn’t bear the sound of the ring tone. She set the phone down and walked to the other side of the room so she wouldn’t hear the soft purr of each ring. She told herself the number was probably wrong anyway. She couldn’t have realistically remembered it. It was just a mind trick and nobody would answer or some total stranger would answer and she’d laugh at herself and hang up on the whole ridiculous fantasy.

And then,

“Hello?”

Nike blanched. She walked hesitantly to the phone and picked it up.

“Marco?”

“Hey,” His voice felt like a dream. She leaned against the wall, her heart pounding. “Nike? I’d almost given up on you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said automatically. She didn't know what else to say. She held out her free hand and looked at the dazzling engagement ring, hardly able to believe what she was doing. "I just - I'm sorry.'

“That’s okay,” Marco said and his voice was so him, so full of the blur of Monaco’s memories that Nike's knees felt weak. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me.”