For pudding, they ate a gloriously refreshing combination of kiwi, guava, mango and passion fruit, all presented in the scooped out skin of a pineapple. It made a blissfully light end to a delicious meal, leaving Connie feeling pleasantly full but not overly so. As they walked out of the restaurant, Connie breathed in the hot, dusty, humid air, tasting its very different smell, tinged with the salt from the sea. The crickets were twittering when they arrived back at Ric's house, creating their own private melody in the still evening air. "As you came out here on something of a whim," Ric said, unlocking the door and going inside. "I'll assume you didn't have any of the relevant jabs." "No," She said a little sheepishly. "Even though I'm a doctor, it simply didn't occur to me." "Well, just be careful," Ric warned her. It being far too hot to even consider coffee, Ric unearthed some more wine from the fridge, and then retrieved something far more exciting from a drawer in the small, wooden sideboard. "Do you mind?" He asked her, holding up the packet of cannabis. "No," She said, her eyes slightly widening. "Not as long as you're willing to share." "I didn't know you liked an illegal smoke," He said in surprise, beginning to roll a joint. "Not since I was sixteen, which was far too long ago for me to contemplate, but why not, I am on holiday after all." Taking their wine, they went out onto the porch, Connie sinking down onto the wicker seat, and Ric moving to pull down the insect screen, fastening it in place. They could still see out, and they could still feel the warm, sultry air, what little of it there was, but now they were protected from the malaria carrying mosquitoes. Joining her on the seat that just about had enough room for two, Ric lit the joint and offered it first to Connie who took a tentative drag. "Nice," She said, after inhaling the fiery narcotic. Then something occurred to her. "I almost forgot," She said, handing the joint back to him. "I've brought something for you." "Oh?" He said, highly intrigued as to what it might be. "Take a hit of that while I find it," She said, getting to her feet. "You might want to be a little relaxed before you see it." Leaning back and taking a long drag of his own, Ric gazed out to sea, thinking that this time last night, he never would have guessed that he would be here, smoking a joint with Connie Beauchamp of all people. He was happy to have her in his space, he realised, also something he wouldn't have expected to feel. He could hear the different insects buzzing around the outside of his home, some of them propelling themselves against the porch screen, trying to get at the vulnerable human flesh beyond. He could also hear a faint rustling in the long grass that gently caressed each end wall of his house, their thin tendrils seeming to hold the little bungalow off the ground. He wondered idly if his adopted friend was out there somewhere, the beautifully marked, long-necked snake who usually appeared on his porch of a morning, knowing if she waited long enough that he would put out a saucer of fresh water for her.
When Connie returned, she was holding in her hand what looked like a photograph. Silently giving it to him, she sat down and took the joint from his fingers. The photo was a snapshot of Jess, looking tired and slightly drawn, with a very wrinkled, very red-faced baby in her arms. He gazed at it, not having known that she'd given birth, as any letter would take ages to reach him, and he still hadn't got round to installing a phone in his house. Glancing at the back of the photograph, he saw the date of two days before, followed by the words, "Weighed six pounds eight ounces. Still thinking of a name for him." "You have a grandson," Connie said unnecessarily. "So I see," Ric replied, still gazing at the picture of his daughter and her child, Zubin's child. "Diane thought you would appreciate it more, if the father wasn't included," Connie said quietly, taking in the almost complete lack of expression on his face. "She's right," Ric said philosophically. "It's funny," He added after a while. "But it all seems a bit unreal. It's probably because they're so far away." "I'm not sure if it'll make you feel any happier," Connie told him carefully. "But Zubin was there when he was born. He did at least get that right." "Was Jess...?" Ric hesitantly asked, not quite able to find the right words. "Is she...?" "She's fine," Connie reassured him. "Tired but fine." Taking one last look at the photograph, Ric rose from his seat and went to put it away indoors, obviously wanting to put it somewhere safe until he wished to look at it again. When he came back, most of his previously relaxed expression had returned. "I hope you're not going to try to persuade me to go back," He said, sitting down again and taking the joint for another drag. "I might have briefly considered it," Connie admitted. "But after seeing how happy and settled you are, I wouldn't dream of it. You've looked so different for most of this evening, more relaxed and more at peace with yourself than I ever thought possible. I'm not about to try and take that away from you." "Diane would if she were here," Ric said with a fond smile. "Which is precisely why I persuaded her to let me come instead," Connie amazed him by saying. "When the baby was born, Diane was all set to come out here and in her own words, "make you come home to where you belong, stop running away and grow up." But as I'd just had a monumental row with Michael, it occurred to me that I could kill two birds with one stone. Mind you, persuading Diane that my motives were remotely honourable was certainly something of an uphill struggle." Ric laughed softly, far too able to picture Diane and Connie arguing over this. "I think that I am home," He said into the resulting silence. "Because for the first time in my life, I actually feel as though I really belong. I'm doing the job I always wanted to do, no more, no less. I don't have to pander to the likes of Zubin, or your husband, not to mention any of my ex-wives, and I don't constantly feel as though I'm being asked to give something that I haven't got. I actually feel as though I'm doing something purely for me for a change, which is an achievement in itself." "Ric, you're preaching to the converted," Connie said with a smile, enchanted by the vehemence of his protestations. "Sorry," He said a little sheepishly. "But it occurred to me yesterday, that not once since I've been out here, have I even thought of trying to find a casino." "That's the best reason of all for not trying to make you come back," Connie said quietly, feeling the sincere magnitude of such an affirmation.
"Anyway," He said, finally stubbing out the end of the joint. "We've talked quite enough about me. What are you going to do about Michael?" "Ric, we've done nothing but talk about me all evening," Connie protested, though she was touched by his continuing concern. "But to answer your question, the only thing I can say is, other than to chop his dick off without an anaesthetic, I really don't know." Ric tried not to wince. "Connie, if I didn't think I knew you better than that, I would be seriously concerned that you might actually go through with that threat." Connie laughed evilly, and then said in the most deliciously sexy drawl she could muster, "Ah, but then you don't know me all that well, now do you, Mr. Griffin." "I'm learning," He assured her, their eyes meeting in a promisingly smouldering caress, that immediately turned up the heat in both of them. After a long, almost explosive stare, Ric went inside to roll another joint, more than anything to give him some time to think. He wanted Connie, even more than he'd wanted her on her first day back in June last year. But that didn't automatically mean that she felt the same. He could feel that she was hurting, far more than she was willing to admit, therefore sleeping with someone else really might not be on the cards for her. He would have to be very gentle with her, he realised, and allow her to set the pace.
When he sat down beside her again and lit the joint, he laid an unimposing arm along the back of the seat, close enough to be able to touch her if that was what she wanted, and far enough away if she didn't. Connie's long, beautiful legs were stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles, and she really was beginning to look relaxed. "You know, I wouldn't mind having you fulfill my curiosity about something," He said, after taking a long and satisfying drag. "Why wasn't Michael there to give you moral support, when we were trying to get you all out of that fire?" "Oh, that's very simple," Connie said disdainfully. "We'd had a row, about my coming into work on Boxing Day, even though I tried to explain that hearts don't just become available in the middle of the working week. Michael seems to have accused me of putting my job first for the greater part of my life. So, presumably he went off in a sulk and either didn't find out about the fire until it was all over, or simply couldn't give a damn whether or not his wife came out alive. It was just one of those questions that I could never quite be bothered to ask. The other possibility is that to spite me for going into work, he was with one of his secretaries, or any other nameless individual." "But I thought that your job was what gave him his hold over you," Ric put in, clearly trying to fight his way through the confusion. "Precisely," Connie told him with a mirthless laugh. "But I believe they call it the politician's prerogative, to have things any way one wants them, even if it means contradicting oneself in the process. Don't try to understand the workings of Michael's mind, Ric, you'll be there for the next decade, and it won't serve any useful purpose." They were silent for a while, passing the joint between them and listening to the buzz and twitter of the nighttime insects. Then, leaning slightly closer to him, Connie surprised him with, "something I should have done at the time, and have been putting off ever since, was to thank you for getting me out of that fire. I wouldn't be alive today if you hadn't done your damnedest to talk me out of there." "And that would have been a waste of positively criminal proportions," Ric said silkily, though greatly appreciating her sentiment. "I'm serious," She insisted. "So am I," He said, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth.
It surprised neither of them when their lips met, because they both knew that they'd been working steadily up to this all evening. They could taste a combination of the wine and the dope on each other's lips, their tongues silkily entwining, all Connie's internal muscles twitching in anticipation. Ric thought that it was a very long time since he'd found a simple kiss so erotic, but her taste, her soft, pouting lips, and her delicately flickering tongue, were all sending the most primeval signals straight to his groin. In having his left arm round her, he could reach up with his hand to gently play with the soft strands of her hair, occasionally twisting them round his fingers. When they eventually came up for air, Connie leaned her cheek against his, also needing a brief moment to regroup. Was this what she'd come out here for, to be treated to some of Ric's particular kind of seduction? When it worked, and when they weren't arguing, the sex was fantastic with Michael, because she wouldn't ever have stayed so long with him if it hadn't been. But Ric made her feel so explosive, erotically charging her to the point of flashover, and making her feel as though she might internally combust. It wasn't long before their mouths were hungrily seeking out the other's once more, all their hitherto buried memories of last June far too easily resurrected. Ric had stalked her like a predatory cat in his office that day, when she'd been shamelessly offering her body to him on a plate. Connie laughed slightly as he nibbled at her lower lip, and soon retaliated by briefly trapping his tongue between her teeth. Taking his right hand in hers, she led it unselfconsciously to her breast, sucking in a breath through her teeth as his thumb grazed luxuriously over her nipple. "Does that hurt?" He asked in concern, briefly detaching his lips from hers. "I wouldn't care if it did," She said very unsteadily. "It's almost too good." "Nothing, can ever, be too good," Ric told her between kisses, his voice becoming deeper with his own arousal. "Can we take this somewhere with a little more space?" Connie asked after a while, desperately wanting whatever else Ric might do to her, though not entirely wanting to admit it. "I'm sure that can be arranged," He told her, getting up and pulling her with him, standing with her held fast to him just for a moment, as her arms went up around his neck. Their kisses were becoming hungrier if this was at all possible, and Connie could now feel the true extent of his arousal. "Now that's one thing I couldn't ever forget," She said with a smirk, teasingly moving her thigh up against him. Ric laughed a little smugly, his favourite physical attribute beating Michael Beauchamp into insignificance, any day of the week.
Ric's bedroom faced the same way as his lounge, and through the open blinds they could still capture the beauty of the sea, glistening in the fiery glory of the setting sun. They made fast work of each other's clothes, wanting to be skin to skin as quickly as possible. "You're beautiful," Ric said, as he finally surveyed her completely naked body, framed in all its sensuality by the half-light coming in through the window. "And you're stoned," She said a little mockingly, though nonetheless appreciative of the complement. Far too often these days, Michael forgot to tell her such things, seeming to think that she knew it already. "I'm not that stoned," He insisted as they moved over to the bed, Connie's eyes making a sweeping assessment of his body from head to toe, smirking to herself at the enormity of his arousal. When he joined her on the bed, their hands began wandering in earnest, each following the familiar paths of couples everywhere, seeking to prolong and maximise their pleasure with every touch. "You know something," Ric said, simultaneously nibbling on her neck and gently coaxing her nipples to full hardness. "I've always thought that women were made for receiving pleasure." "That's not quite all they're made for," Connie admonished him, her feminist hackles rising in protest. "At times like this it is," He insisted, finding a particular spot just below her ear that made her gasp. "You see, whilst every female body might look fairly similar at a glance, they're all undeniably different. They all feel different, they certainly all taste different, and they all react differently to various forms of stimuli." "Whereas all most men really need is anything that constitutes a glorified wank," Connie said, loving the way he seemed to have slipped into lecture mode at the same time as touching her. "Perhaps," He admitted with a smile. "Though it all depends on the skill of the woman giving it, not something I should expect you would need to brush up on." "Flattery, will get you everywhere," She drawled huskily. "Oh, that's good," He teased her. "Though it ought to be remembered, that practice makes perfect every time." "How do you do that?" She asked, her breathing noticeably quickening. "Use your mouth to drive me wild and lecture me at the same time?" "Ah, that happens to be a trade secret," He said evasively. "Why, is it having the desired effect?" "Just a bit," She admitted with a laugh. "And the secrets behind such a talented mouth really ought to be guarded most carefully." "You've seen nothing yet," He promised her, kissing his way down until he was delicately suckling on her left nipple, gently tugging at the hard little nub, before soothing it with his agile tongue. Connie groaned luxuriously as the coil of pleasure seemed to spiral right down to her toes. Ric took his time over her, wanting to coax every ounce of pleasure from this beautiful body of hers. He paid the same homage to her other breast, knowing how women hated it when one of them was unintentionally left out.
He kissed his way down her torso and along her thighs, breathing in the heady, musky scent that emanated from her, which he found was further inflaming his need for her. "Ric," She said with a laugh. "I'm hardly a bitch on heat." "Don't you believe it," He teased her. But as he gently parted her legs, clearly intending to bury his lips at her centre, she stopped him, laying a hand on his shoulder and saying, "Ric, no, you can't." "Why?" He asked, looking up at her utterly perplexed. Connie tried to think on her feet, which was made doubly difficult for her by the fact that most of her brain seemed to have shut down. "Because I'm not especially in the mood for returning the favour," She said, thinking this a particularly good reason in her intellectually challenged state. "I'm not asking you to," He assured her. "Ric," She said, turning her face away from him. "I haven't been near a shower since I left England." "Trust me," He said, the tip of his tongue just tracing the outer surface of her labia. "You taste incredible, so just relax and enjoy it." Taking his word for it, Connie lay still and let him continue, feeling the tiny butterfly kisses he was leaving on her, for the moment avoiding the pinnacle of all her desires. When he delicately inched his tongue inside her, she felt as though her entire soul was open for all to see, and that not one, single shred of her personality could be hidden from him. He perpetually alternated between flickering his tongue over her clitoris, further sampling her essence and returning to nibble her bud with the fullest, softest lips she had ever encountered on a man. It was as though he was worshipping her, trying to consume her entire self. But when he settled into a contented rhythm of swirling his tongue around her entrance, and using the tip of his nose to massage her clitoris, Connie cried out, the dual sensation feeling almost unbearably erotic. She bit down on her right hand, trying to stifle the sounds that were now coming from her, but Ric gently reached up to remove it, wanting to hear every reaction to his ministrations. "I don't want to frighten off the wildlife," She said with an unsteady laugh. "You're one of them now," He told her, his voice slightly muffled by its proximity to her flesh. Too true, Connie thought ruefully to herself, thinking that communing with nature was bringing something new out in her, making her go that extra mile to achieve her goal. As the speed in his oral endeavours increased, Ric caressed both her nipples, trying to give her as much stimulation as was humanly possible. Connie's entire body tensed as she climaxed, and this was followed by the slight tremor as all her electrical impulses sent random sparks around her body, causing all her muscles to twitch with little aftershocks. But Ric didn't stop, his languorously sweeping tongue taking in every drop of her sexual secretion, as though it were the finest wine he'd ever tasted. Before Connie knew it, she was heading for another orgasm, his persistently wandering tongue making her highly sensitised flesh react immediately. She thought that she just might internally combust with this second peak as it swept over her, as a cry of pure, sincere pleasure was torn from her lips.
She lay spent, her body sprawled over his bed, and her skin glistening with perspiration. Her legs were slightly parted, but she couldn't move so much as a single muscle. That second orgasm had been so intense, so utterly mind blowing that it had brought brief tears to her eyes. As Ric moved to lie beside her, he could see that her eyes were thoroughly glazed and that she was breathing hard. She attempted to turn onto her side, presumably to be closer to him, but the effort required was simply beyond her at that moment, so Ric put out his arms and turned her towards him, so that her cheek rested against his chest. "Are you trying to commit murder, by making me overdose on pleasure?" She asked eventually, her voice much deeper with post-orgasmic exhaustion. "It's hardly my fault that you taste so delicious," He told her, his own voice slightly deeper than usual. Summoning the necessary strength, she lifted her head from his chest and leaned up to kiss him, taking in her exotic taste that flavoured his lips. "Not bad, I suppose," She said grudgingly, after kissing him thoroughly. "It beats anything a man can produce any day." Ric laughed. "I will have recovered in a while," She promised him. "Just give me a minute." "You take your time," He said, perfectly happy to let her regroup at her own speed. He softly ran his hands over her back and shoulders, occasionally making a detour to her breasts, delighting in the feel of her silky soft skin.
But when she appeared to return to the land of the living, her right hand trailed down until she was running it tenderly over his erection. Her touch was half way between firm and gentle, in other words perfect. He made a sound deep in his throat as her thumb grazed over the drop of moisture at the tip, his own hands again beginning to wander. But as his left hand crept between her legs, to ascertain that she really was ready for him, she moved to lie on her back, and to encourage him to move over her. But instead of following her lead, he turned her back onto her side, their legs entwining as he slid inside her. "Far more civilised in this heat," He said by way of explanation, though thinking that he would surely be scalded by the boiling, bubbling cauldron that was raging away inside her. Instead of being hard and furious as they might otherwise have enjoyed it, their lovemaking was long, sensitive and above all gentle. Ric could see that this was what Connie needed tonight, the feeling of being cared for rather than the feeling of simply matching her partners exuberance. Their arms were around each other, and he could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest. They exchanged deep, lingering kisses that moved in perfect synchrony with their swaying bodies. When they gently rocked themselves to completion, Connie briefly clung to him, just for that moment showing her vulnerability.
As they lay there in utter contentment, slightly apart because of the heat, no words needed to be said. They required no explanation for what they'd done, and any thought of what would happen on the morrow was neither welcome nor necessary. Through the insect screen that covered the open window, the only sound to break the silence of the night, was the soft caress of the sea, rocking to and fro just as they had done moments earlier. Advance, and then retreat, advance, and then retreat. This was the rhythm of the water that lapped against the sand, gradually lulling them both into a deep, exhausted sleep.