Chapter 4: Soph

All four of us hit the market the next day. Jeremy and Mark dawdled behind, giving us space and privacy without letting us out of their sight. I soon forgot about them, but I could sense Ed's wandering eyes.

He claimed he craved freedom, but after nearly ten years of bodyguards, there had to be an element of vulnerability in the back of his mind.

When I paused at a jewellery stand, his attention shifted back onto me, and his palm lifted to rest at the base of my spine.

In public, he was constantly touching me: threading our fingers together, a hand on my back, an arm around my waist. Maybe it was affection, but more likely it was protectiveness. He'd been trained to associate being out in public with risk, and while we hadn't faced any security threats here, the instinct would still be present.

I picked up a silver ring, the band a continuous circle of tiny turtles.

"That's nice," Ed said. "A memento of our time here."

To test it for size, I tugged my existing ring off my finger and eased the turtle one into its place. Ed stiffened beside me, his palm tensing against my back. I glanced up at him to gauge his expression, but when he caught my eye, he just smiled.

"Looks nice. Does it fit?"

"Yeah." I cast my gaze back down to my fingers, tilting my hand back and forth to examine the ring. It was beautiful.

"I'll treat you." A twinkle had returned to his eyes, and his touch dropped from my back to pull out his wallet. "How much is it?"

"Ten," I said.

Ed sifted through the array of colourful notes and plucked out a purple one.

"The green one," I said under my breath.

He ignored me and passed over the 50 Mil note with an easy smile. The vendor began to search for change, no doubt thinking this clueless tourist didn't understand the local currency.

"Tell her to keep the change," Ed said to me, shoving his wallet into his back pocket.

I relayed the message with a reassuring smile, but her face blanched and she furiously shook her head, pushing two orange 20 Mil notes towards us. Ed held up his hands and shook his head back at her. A flurry of Spanish followed, too fast for my mediocre ear to decipher. I mumbled something about my boyfriend being kind and again told her to keep the change, and then we scurried off.

"Is that your definition of keeping a low profile?" Mark's distinctive unimpressed voice came from behind us.

Ed rolled his eyes. "I was just being generous."

"Usually people haggle for lower prices at markets. They don't pay five times the asking price," I said.

He nudged me. "Hey, show some gratitude. I bought you a present."

"It's flashy," Mark insisted.

"Those fifteen-hundred-dollar sunglasses you're wearing are flashy too, but you're more than happy to parade around in them."

To defuse the growing tension, I slipped my hand into Ed's and squeezed. "Thank you for the gift."

He directed a smile down at me and squeezed back. "You're welcome, guapa."

We continued to amble through the market, and he never once let go of my hand.

*

Back at the house, Ed and I played a round of Uno—I won, as usual—and then snuggled together on top of the bedsheets for our daily afternoon nap.

"What are we going to do when we're back in the UK and have to get through whole days without a siesta?" I murmured into his t-shirt. It smelt of cologne, and sunscreen, and laundry detergent.

His chest vibrated beneath my cheek as he chuckled. "Caffeine. Lots of it."

For once, he didn't dwell on our return. Maybe he'd come to terms with it, or he was putting on a brave face for me. The prospect of going home didn't consume me with joy either, but I didn't have as much to go back to as him.

My career was somewhat up in the air; Helen wasn't letting me anywhere near the PR stuff now we were a couple, but at least my newfound fame had breathed life into my blog posts.

Gabby and Mac stayed in touch each day, sometimes separately and sometimes on our group chat, and my relationship with Faye was in a good place.

Other than that, I didn't miss much about home.

As we lay together on the bed, Ed smoothed his thumb back and forth over the new ring. Turtles had become such an intrinsic part of our experience here, and having that connection with my parents' past too filled a void that my secret tattoo had strained to achieve. For such an inexpensive piece of jewellery, it held significant value.

Soft lips grazed my forehead, and I instinctively tilted my face to capture Ed's mouth in mine. We kissed under the breeze of the air-conditioning unit, hands sliding over each other's bodies, feet knocking together, noses brushing.

Remnants of mint from his chewing gum passed from his tongue to mine as I hooked my knee over his hip to bring us closer. His palm spanned my thigh, fingertips biting into bare flesh beneath the hem of my shorts. No sooner had the brief pain registered, his grip loosened and his hand coasted up to curve around my waist instead.

With a gentle push, he lowered me onto my back and shifted to hover above me. His lips still moved over mine with tender caresses, but when I tried to deepen the kiss, he broke away and fixed his mouth to the sensitive pocket of skin below my ear.

I breathed out a contented sigh and relaxed back into the pillow. A succession of kisses floated down the column of my throat as my fingers twisted into the silky, overgrown strands of dark hair.

Goosebumps tickled my skin like tiny sparks of a smouldering fire. I tried to resist the temptation to grind up against him, but with his biceps bracketing me on both sides, caging me between slabs of hard muscle, his spicy cologne wafted over me and each kiss, lick, and suck on my neck pulled me further away from restraint.

"I love you so much." His words were hoarse against the base of my throat, and they reset my thoughts.

Had he ever said that during sex? I certainly hadn't. I said the word 'love' enough, but usually in the context of his dick or his tongue. The affection normally stayed separate from the physical—not because we didn't want to blur the lines, but just because our tastes in the bedroom leaned more towards dirty talk or banter than declarations of love.

Just two days ago, we'd been bickering in the kitchen when I'd resorted to underhanded tactics to win the argument. While he was pushing his point of view across, I'd torn off my top and stuffed my hand down the front of his shorts. He'd then bent me over the kitchen Island and fucked me so hard I'd bruised, before shoving me to my knees, tearing off the condom, and finishing in my mouth.

So despite my best intentions, he'd been the one to come out on top, but I'd still loved every second and the petty argument had been forgotten, so what did it really matter?

That wasn't to say that every time we had sex it was rough or dirty or mindless. There were plenty of times when we'd fucked slow or lazy. But sex remained a predominantly physical act between us. With a very clear end goal. As someone who struggled expressing affection at the best of times, that suited me just fine.

"Gonna leave me hanging, guapa?" Ed lifted his blue eyes to meet mine.

They sparkled with his teasing, which left me to wonder if he was trying to lighten the mood. Every fibre in my body drew me towards that path—the playful banter, rather than the serious affection—but he'd taken a step, and I was determined to meet him halfway.

"I love you, too." I tightened my hands in his hair and urged his face back up to mine.

This time when he kissed me, his tongue stayed firmly inside his mouth, so I knew it was a deliberate choice. Every tentative sweep of my own tongue past his lips went unanswered. He clearly had a strategy of some sort, but I couldn't decipher what or why.

The unfamiliarity of it sparked a familiar excitement in me. It wasn't unusual for him to keep me guessing during sex; his dominant nature thrived off it. But this was different, and being unable to tell what he'd do next lit that fire of anticipation in my belly.

Sitting up on his knees, he pulled me upright too, and his hands slid down to the bottom of my t-shirt. The fabric crinkled against his palms as he gripped the hem and dragged it up and over my head. Then his fingers reached behind my back to flick open my bra clasp. Normally he'd sit back and demand I do it myself—another way of exerting control in the situation and having me submit to his every request.

Not today.

In fact, I was momentarily impressed, and turned on, with how fast and easily he unclipped it.

Rather than instantly attack my nipples, though, his fingers dipped to my shorts and popped the button. I raised my hips to help him pull them down my legs, and swallowed hard as my underwear came off in the same swoop.

Completely naked in front of him, while he was still fully clothed, a different kind of vulnerability simmered through me. I still didn't know what was driving this shift in behaviour, and that unknown added to the blind anticipation. Most of the time I couldn't predict his next move, but I still had a range of familiar experiences to draw from. This, however, was totally new.

His warm palm flattened against my stomach and applied the lightest of pressure. I reclined on the bed again as my heart jackhammered in my chest. My thighs trembled as he slowly parted them, spreading me wide until I could feel the cool gust of the AC drifting over the scorching flesh at the apex of my legs.

He peppered light kisses along the quivering skin. When he reached the top, he didn't tease me, and that took me by surprise even more than if he had dragged it out. His tongue brushed over my tingling clit, and then he sucked the swollen nub into the heat of his mouth.

A jumble of curses flew past my lips as I threw an arm over my eyes and bucked my hips. He was so slow and deliberate, taking his time to lick me all over, alternating between precise circles over my clit and probing inside.

I came hard and fast, tipping my head to the side to bury my scream into the pillow. Ed's face didn't retreat from between my thighs. Instead, a thick middle finger pushed inside me, instantly choked by my clenching muscles.

His mouth was gentle against the sensitive bundle of nerves that were still throbbing with the aftereffects of an orgasm, but when his finger curled inside me, hitting the exact same spot as his tongue, tension began to build again.

"Fuck." I whimpered into the pillow as I shamelessly rolled my hips to chase the climax.

"You don't have to be quiet."

It was the first thing he'd said to me, and the first parallel between normal sex and whatever this was. Even though he was behaving differently, he didn't necessarily want me to.

The coil of tension snapped, and hot ripples exploded between my legs. This time I didn't hold back. The pleasure drove a euphoric cry from deep in my throat as I spasmed against his face.

Hazy fog clouded my consciousness as I came down from the high. I briefly registered Ed slipping off the end of the bed and rustling through his bedside drawer. Still fully clothed.

I scrambled to sit up, but as I reached for him, a wave of hesitation hit me.

What if I somehow ruined this? Did something wrong? That was stupid because I knew there was no 'wrong' with Ed. But usually I had such clear direction from him, and having that dominance stripped back was disconcerting.

Sensing my indecision, Ed cocked a brow at me. "You okay?"

I swallowed. "Yeah, I just..."

He dropped a condom onto the bedside table and bent to press a kiss to my lips. One broad hand cupping my jaw, he rested his forehead against mine, our humid breaths mixing in the short space between our mouths. I kissed him again. And again. And again—until my hands were searching for his top. He broke from the kiss so I could tug it over his head.

Confidence returning, I sank to my knees in front of him, fingers fumbling with the button on his shorts. They fell to his ankles. The thick length of his erection strained against his tight boxers, and when I flattered my palm against the heavy weight and cupped him, a low groan rumbled from his chest.

Reassurance warmed me. I pulled the boxers down his thighs and over his calves to join his shorts. Then I ran my tongue over his glistening tip.

One set of fingers nestled into my hair, but he didn't tug or grip or pull me deeper. He didn't shove his cock as far down my throat as I'd let him. He didn't thrust into my mouth. I had total control.

So with the roles switched, I tried something new. I took my time, kissing up and down his shaft, swirling my tongue around his crown, sucking him deep before giving myself a break by licking his balls instead. And apart from quiet moans and the occasional hiss, he did nothing.

I'd never thought a blow job could be affectionate, but I enjoyed the change in pace. I liked loving him this way. It wasn't about chasing an end goal. It was just about him.

"God, I'm close..." He pulled out of my mouth and curled a hand around my shoulder to restrain me.

Fuck. He wasn't even swearing.

I sat back on my heels and peered up at him. Something far deeper than physical attraction passed between us as our eyes clung to each other.

At some point between that look and Ed rolling on the condom, the penny began to drop. Maybe it was when he lay me gently back down on the bed rather than flipping me onto my stomach. Or maybe it was when he pushed slowly inside me and whispered that he loved me rather than gasping about my tight pussy.

But most likely, it was the moment he threaded our fingers together and brought our joined hands up to his mouth to kiss my new ring.

***

Thank you for reading :) xx