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“Or maybe this?” I repeated the move, this time taking his left nipple into my mouth and pulling at it with my lips.
“Oh definitely…”
“Not this one then?” I slid my hands down Finn’s hips to steady myself as I knelt on the shower floor and took his erect cock into my mouth.
“Oh God, yeah that one,” he managed to whisper.
I worked to a rhythm that brought Finn closer to orgasm with each move. I had just felt the muscle under my hands begin to tense when he tucked an index finger under my chin and brought me back to my feet. “Whoa, whoa… You first.”
Before I had chance to argue, he deftly slipped two fingers inside me and applied just enough pressure to my clit with his thumb that I was there in moments. All the while he held me close to his chest, so that when I came I was pulled ever further into him, wrapping my arms around his chest and burying my mouth into his shoulder to muffle the cry of ecstasy that he drew from me.
“Jesus, I’ll have to count my fingers,” he said, once the last wave had died away. “I had five on that hand when I went in…”
“Bastard,” I grinned. “If you weren’t so bloody skilled, there’d be less chance of you losing a digit.”
“Good to know all that practice I got is good for something.”
I watched as Finn suddenly slipped away to somewhere I couldn’t follow, and then shook his head. It was over in no more than a second, and then he gathered me in his arms again and planted kisses in my hair as the water cascaded over us. “And now it’s your turn,” I said, and dropped to my knees once more.
*****
“No, please, don’t…”
The anguish in Finn’s cry dragged me from my sleep. We’d made love again after our shower, this time at a more leisurely pace in my bed, and he had finally managed to doze next to me with the aid of half a dozen temazepam washed down with the rest of the bottle of Tempranillo.
I knew without looking at a clock that it would be three in the morning or thereabouts, because every single night I had spent with him had ended in this way. “It’s okay Finn, I’m here, you’re safe,” I soothed, hoping that there was something in my tone that might be carried into his thoughts and break his nightmare.
“No. Please…” He thrashed into the duvet, wrapping himself up in a winding sheet in his panic. Every night, the same desperate entreaties, the same cries of fear. Perhaps more frantic now than they had ever been, if I was honest. And even though I knew it was coming, the ensuing howl of despair clawed at my soul. Next to me, Finn sat upright, his eyes wide open but unseeing. A slick of sweat already shone on his forehead despite the relative chill of the Spanish spring night, and his breath came in ragged gasps.
I helplessly ran my hand down his rigid spine in slow, steady strokes as he awoke and finally focused on my face. “You’re here,” he murmured.
“I’m here, and you’re here. In Santa Marita. My bedroom. It’s safe.” To anyone else it would have sounded like I was stating the bloody obvious, but I’d soon learned that Finn existed in a terrifying limbo for long, agonising seconds until these simple answers had been given.
“Jesus.” He buried his face in his hands. “There was a fire, and Coyle had you, and you were screaming and I could hear you but I couldn’t get to you. Fuck…”
This was the latest theme. Sometimes it was the surfacing memory of a long-forgotten rape, or a beating that had left him with more than the physical scars, but for now, Finn’s mind was betraying him with endless alternative endings to our tenure at Albermarle. “No. You saved me,” I affirmed. “You fought Coyle and stayed with me, and you saved my life. We got out.” The words meant less than the sound my voice made. It served as a beacon, bringing Finn back to the now.
“We got out,” Finn repeated, and I knew he was with me again. I also knew what his next question would be. Sure enough, “Did I hurt you?”
During the trial, we’d often spent our nights in different rooms in our hotel suite; I’d needed Finn to know that being with me was not synonymous with sleeping with me without option. On one occasion when we had started the night sharing the same bed, he’d had a ferocious nightmare that was so vivid that he’d seen me as some faceless attacker and thrown me from the bed – ever since, he’d been terrified that he’d do the same again, or worse.
“No. No you didn’t.” I kissed his bare shoulder and he touched his forehead to mine.
“Good. That’s okay then.” He swung his legs out of bed. “I’ll go and get myself a drink and leave you in peace.”
“You want company?”
Finn shook his head. “Nah, I’ll be good. Get yourself back to sleep, a chuisle.”
*****
I dozed for another hour or so but failed to settle and I finally gave up on sleep and went to look for Finn. I already had a pretty good idea of where he would be: at twenty five years of age, Finn Strachan had discovered the wonders of round-the-clock streaming services.
Sure enough, he was curled up under a blanket on the sofa on the ground floor, engrossed in a documentary about wolves. Neither of us watched much television during the day, but a wildlife channel had become his insomniac’s companion.
He looked up as I walked in. “Hey, d’you think we could get a wolf pup?” he asked. “Reckon it’d make a bloody good guard dog. Aww, and would you just look at their little faces?”
I sat down next to him and he wrapped an arm around my shoulder so I could rest against his chest. “I have a feeling that Señora Majedas next door might have something to say about it,” I replied. “Especially once her Siamese cat mysteriously started to disappear.”
