THUNDERBALL: by Ian Fleming

Bond knew how much it would be hurting. He said, “It’s all right, Domino. You’re doing fine. Last mouthful.” He gave the sole of her foot a reassuring kiss and then, as tenderly as he could, put his teeth and lips back to work.

A minute or two later and he spat out the last section of spine. He told her it was over and gently laid the foot down. He said, “Now you mustn’t get sand into it. Come on, I’ll give you another lift into the hut and you can put your sandals on.”

She rolled over. Her black eyelashes were wet with the tears of small pain. She wiped a hand over them. She said, looking seriously up at him, “Do you know, you’re the first man who’s ever made me cry.” She held up her arms and now there was complete surrender.

Bond bent and picked her up. This time he didn’t kiss the waiting mouth. He carried her to the door of the hut. His or HERS? He carried her into HIS. He reached out a hand for his shirt and shorts and threw them down to make a scrap of a bed. He put her down softly so that she was standing on his shirt. She kept her arms round his neck while he undid the single button of the brassière and then the tapes of the taut slip. He stepped out of his bathing trunks and kicked them away.

19.

When the Kissing Stopped

Bond leaned on one elbow and looked down at the beautiful drowned face. There was a dew of sweat below the eyes and at the temples. A pulse beat fast at the base of the neck. The lines of authority had been sponged away by the love-making and the face had a soft, sweet, bruised look. The wet eyelashes parted and the tawny eyes, big and faraway, looked up with remote curiosity into Bond’s. They focused lazily and examined him as if they were seeing him for the first time.

Bond said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

The words amused her. The dimples at each side of the mouth deepened into clefts. She said, “You talk like a girl who has had it for the first time. Now you are frightened that you will have a baby. You will have to tell your mother.”

Bond leaned down and kissed her. He kissed the two corners of her mouth and then the parted lips. He said, “Come and swim. Then I must talk to you.” He got to his feet and held out his hands. Reluctantly she took them. He pulled her up and against him. Her body flirted with his, knowing it was safe. She smiled impishly up at him and became more wanton. Bond crushed her fiercely to him, to stop her and because he knew they had only a few more minutes of happiness. He said, “Stop it, Domino. And come on. We don’t need any clothes. The sand won’t hurt your foot. I was only pretending.”

She said, “So was I when I came out of the sea. The spines didn’t hurt all that much. And I could have cured them if I’d wanted to. Like the fishermen do. You know how?”

Bond laughed. “Yes I do. Now, into the sea.” He kissed her once and stood back and looked at her body to remember how it had been. Then he turned abruptly and ran to the sea and dived deeply down.

When he got back to shore she was already out and dressing. Bond dried himself. He answered her laughing remarks through the partition with monosyllables. Finally she accepted the change in him. She said, “What is the matter with you, James? Is anything wrong?”

“Yes, darling.” Pulling on his trousers, Bond heard the rattle of the little gold chain against the coins in his pocket. He said, “Come outside. I’ve got to talk to you.”

Sentimentally, Bond chose a patch of sand on the other side of the nut from where they had been before. She came out and stood in front of him. She examined his face carefully, trying to read it. Bond avoided her eyes. He sat with his arms around his knees and looked out to sea. She sat down beside him, but not close. She said, “You are going to hurt me. Is it that you too are going away? Be quick. Do it cleanly and I will not cry.”

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