Authors: Alice Severin
“How do you know it’s him? There’s no name.” She looked at me quizzically.
“Song lyrics.” I didn’t mention that it was from a love song. No need, no need. I pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator for something to do. This was all mine. For once.
“Oh that’s clever. And no name, just in case it goes to the wrong place. Smart.”
“Yeah.” Oh, you have no idea.
“You’re happy, right?” Alice wouldn’t leave it alone.
“I am, hon, really,” I said flatly. She looked at me, shocked. “Really. It’s great. I’m just drunk and it’s been a long day. I think I’m going to go to bed.”
“Are you going to call him?” I looked away. That was the question, wasn’t it? To me, the answer was already clear.
“Yeah, sure. Probably not right now, though. Alice, I really need to lie down, the room’s spinning.”
She gave me a hug. “Don’t worry, babe, it’s going to be fine.”
“I hope you’re right.” I took the bag and my phone and watched my feet make patterns of the wooden floorboards. I placed the bag down on the bed and changed into a t shirt. It was soft and cool. It felt good against my flushed skin. My pulse was beating an endless rhythm. And I could only hear those words, in that voice.
“Loyal once, lost once, stand over me, no security. Maybe I got it wrong. Call.”
Over and over again, until sleep finally won.
I had a busy couple of days trying to do work, and pulling out the phone every so often to look at the text. I hadn’t called him yet. I wasn’t sure if I was going to call. I wasn’t sure any more about anything—if any of it had happened, if the text was legit, if I really was going to give in to something that unreal that easily. Alice kept giving me dirty looks every time she started to ask me about it and I would shut her down, and walk away. I didn’t want to talk about it. Letting go like that…I thought of crying in the cab, sitting by the door, holding the bag. It was stupid really. Silly. I wasn’t a teenage groupie, never had been. I had a job, didn’t own any four inch heels, like Alice did, or see-through tops. The last guy I’d gone out with had taken me out for a couple of nice meals, after getting over the shock that I wouldn’t sleep with him after the first one, then told me I was too complicated, and he liked 20 year olds because they were more flexible…with their time. I didn’t feel like being made a fool of, again.
So I went out that night for a drink in a club that was breaking new bands, chatted to the manager, made plans to come back and see “Worms”, or “Bugs”, whatever the name was, for my piece following the start up of different bands. It was something I’d been working on for a while—thought it might make a good book. And maybe I’ll get to see some of these people before the system works them over, I thought. Then I walked all the way home, only looked at the phone once, and looked forward to getting into bed, and not thinking about anything for at least a few hours.
But I woke up in the middle of the night. Something had made a noise. I groaned and fell back on the pillows. My head was starting to hurt. I grabbed the bottle of water by the side of my bed. It was cool and it felt good to drink. So thirsty. I grabbed some aspirin, and swallowed that down too. What time was it? I rolled over onto the other side of the bed and grabbed my phone. It was flashing. There was a text. I felt my heart rate increase as I opened it. Yes, that’s what had woken me up, sent 4 minutes ago at 2:21am. From “unreal”, the name I’d saved the last text under. I sat up as I read it.
Aren’t you going to call? I’m serious.
Serious. That was a strange word to use. But maybe he knew I didn’t believe it was him, or that he would want to see me. The frightened part of my mind said to wait until tomorrow, wait until I could think it all through clearly, and have a rational answer in the daytime. And then there was a reckless side that didn’t care about rational, or correct. Sense was getting yelled down by the need to start this. Whatever this was. I needed to know. I needed to find out what I wanted. I put down the bottle, and I texted back.
Some people sleep. But yes I was.
I pressed send before I could rethink it.
A minute passed. I put the phone down and was about to get under the covers when it beeped. I grabbed it.
Obviously neither of us is sleeping. I want to see you.
Well, that was quick and to the point. I tried to rearrange my mind in a way that I could play it cool. It wasn’t working.
Yes. When?
The reply came faster now.
Now. Or in half an hour.
Now? But I had to shower, fix up…no. It was better this way. No time to think about anything. Still, I couldn’t resist teasing him. Just say yes, you idiot, my heart cried out. But I was already texting.
Do you always get what you want?
The answer came back almost instantly.
Mostly. Tell me your address and I’ll meet you in the car.
My body felt like it was going to explode. Was I actually going to do this? See him? I was grateful now for the buzz which still lingered in my head and was calming me down, just enough.
I texted him my address. That alone was breaking some rules. His text came back almost immediately.
Meet me at the corner of 93th and Central Park West. At 3.
I could only answer yes.
I rushed to the bathroom and quickly washed and brushed my teeth. I threw on some scented body cream and rushed to pick out clothes. 2:45. I didn’t have much time. I couldn’t over think it, which was probably a good thing. Jeans, a low necked t shirt, boots. Some lipstick. More perfume. 2:51. Time to go. I emptied my bag of everything but keys and some money and my phone and tried to be as quiet as I could, but I heard Alice’s voice.
“Lily, what’s going on?”
“I’m going out. I’m going to see him. I need to leave right now.”
She called out from her room. “Don’t think too much. Remember—‘je ne regrette rien.’”
And I was off, down the stairs as fast as I could. I half ran, half skipped to the park, my heart beating. Was this really happening? It had stopped raining, and everything was shining wetly under the streetlamps. A few cars went past. I reached the corner and looked around. Nothing. I tried to take some deep breaths of the cold night air. I felt more awake than I ever had in my life. I didn’t want to panic. I didn’t even want to think about it—who he was, any of it. I just wanted to act. I didn’t even know what he wanted, it occurred to me. Maybe I should have brought the notebook. Maybe he just couldn’t sleep and decided to finish the interview. And here I was, excited like a little kid. I shut my eyes. I could do this.
When I opened them again, there was a black limo slowing down. Holy fuck. It slid into place in front of me and the back door opened, ghostly. I stood there for a moment, stunned.
“Get in.” That voice, used to giving out commands and being answered, went through me, electric. My body had already answered, but I took one last deep breath to try and fight it.
I climbed in and shut the door. There was a bottle of champagne, opened, and two glasses. I turned my head to the back of the limo. And there he was, slouched against the back, his long legs tightly encased in black jeans, ending finally at black boots with a slash by the ankle. A white t-shirt and a black leather jacket. His hair was an artfully tangled mess. And his eyes, under his dark brows, were staring at me with a strange intensity.
“You came.”
“You asked me to.”
“I’m glad you don’t sleep either.” He pressed a button, and the dark window between the front and the back came down an inch. “Harry, just drive around. Maybe the Park. Wherever.”
“Yes sir, no problem.” The window went back up with a slight mechanical noise and the limo pulled into traffic. The only lights were the small strip lights along the side, and the street lights from outside, made dim by the tinted glass. There was a sunroof as well, which was letting in a rhythmic flash of lights from overhead. But that glass was tinted as well, so the effect was oddly soothing.
He rose up slightly out of his seat. “Champagne?”
“I thought you didn’t drink.”
“Sometimes, a little, for special occasions. This is special. You agreed to come out.” His 3am voice was like honey on fire. I wanted him to just keep talking. He came closer and poured us each a glass of champagne. It was a delicate rose color, with tiny bubbles. I held it to my nose, and inhaled. With the perfume of the wine I could detect his scent on him again, and I felt as though all my senses were being called from some other dimension.
“It’s Billecart Salmon 97. A very good year.” And with that he touched his glass to mine, and slid back along to the corner of the sofa-like limo seat. He looked at me. “I don’t bite. Come sit next to me.”
Feeling slightly foolish, I slid along the leather seat to sit next to him. I kept a small distance between us, and with a deep breath, I stretched out my legs and took a sip of the champagne. “This is one of my favorites; it’s been a long time.” I blushed, thinking of what I had just said, and glanced over at him. He was smiling.
“Ah, ok, a connoisseur. I like that. What other pleasures demand your refined tastes?” His voice was a low murmur again. I could feel his breath against my ear. I didn’t dare move. “You’re too tense, but I think I like that.” He moved away slightly and drank some of his champagne. I felt cold where he had been that close to me, and I wished he would come back. I started to speak.
“I’m…I wanted to thank you for that afternoon.” I turned to look at him. His eyes were beautiful; that mix of colors, grey and brown and blue. I realized I was staring, and turned to the front and drank another sip. My mouth was dry again.
Then his mouth was at my ear. “My pleasure. But don’t thank me yet.” I inhaled, trying to have some control over my body. I pulled my leg in, and rested my hand upon my knee as an anchor. I felt like I was falling into him, and his body was turned towards mine, I could feel it. His mouth was closer, and then his nose was against my ear. I gasped, and I felt him smile against my hair. “I like you.” I took another gulp of champagne. Oh god. What was happening? His hand reached over and took my glass and put it down. “There’s time,” he whispered. Then his mouth was just touching my ear lobe, running down to my neck, his face on my shoulder. His full lips were soft, just like I remembered. My conscious mind was floating away. There was only the heavy liquid blackness that I wanted to sink into. He broke my reverie with a nip, fine sharp teeth biting at exactly the most sensitive junction between shoulder and neck. I moaned, and stopped myself.
“No,” he said. “Go on. I like it, that’s why I like you, you’re all nerves.” He turned me towards him more fully. With my shoulders facing him, I needed to move my leg to steady myself. He extended his long arm and placed a hand on the top of my boot. I could feel the heat of his hand through the leather. “Look at me.” I raised my eyes to his. “I meant what I said. You are beautiful. You have a quick mind. And I think you would like to play games with me...” He drawled out the last vowel until it was a rumble in his chest. Oh god. Those words, in his voice. Like raw silk, the wind before a storm, fresh running water… “And you like me, don’t you?” He lifted my chin with his fingers. I could just feel the slight callous on his fingertips.
“I do.” His eyes softened slightly but kept their level gaze. He managed to move my hand up to touch his face.
“Touch me then.” I tentatively reached out my fingers against his skin. A tiny bit of stubble, the raised moles by his ear. I let my fingers drift across his face as slowly as I could, letting each sensation take time to reach my fogged brain. He closed his eyes and smiled. I wanted to touch his mouth. To feel it, the heart shaped upper lip, soft, but unyielding. Capable of extremes. Only focusing on the lower half of his face, there was that violence there that I had seen before, something dangerous and wild. I ventured my finger to the center of his lower lip. His eyes opened, and they were dark, almost black. I ran my finger over his lips again, and then moved to my own mouth, just to see the difference. His eyes followed my hand, glittering. “I knew you’d be like this,” he whispered. He caught up my hand in his and moved his fingers over my mouth, moving closer until he was touching my lips and I was touching his, softly. My tongue licked my lips, they were dry, but his fingers were there. I couldn’t stop myself and my eyes closed as I darted my tongue in between his fingers. I had just lightly touched him with my tongue, but we both breathed in sharply. His voice juddered like a ship hitting sand. “Ah, that’s good. Very good. I wonder if you won’t teach me something.”
My heart was pounding and I opened my eyes to look at his face. He had a roughened look to him, a dark determination. But he suddenly moved away, and reached for our glasses and handed me mine. “Drink,” he commanded, and we both took large swallows of the delicate champagne. The taste on my tongue, the sweetness of the wine, the slight bitter saltiness of his fingers, was making me dizzy. But I made my decision. I needed to kiss him, I didn’t want to wait, and I couldn’t wait. I turned to put down my glass and placed my hands quickly on his shoulders. He was faster though, and his hands grabbed mine. His fingers circled my wrists and held them, firmly. “No,” was all he said, and he looked away from me for a moment. My heart failed. Rejection? Already? My blood was pounding, everywhere. I looked at him, about to speak.
He brought each of my hands to his mouth, and kissed them. “You’ve been mistreated. Someone’s made you feel you had to do all the work. They misunderstood you.” He laughed. I stared at him. He held my wrists tighter. “What if I saw something in you that would respond to me?” He pulled me closer, the current running through me intensifying. He suddenly pulled me up by my wrists onto his lap and put my arms around his neck. He held me to his chest, and moved his lips to my neck, beginning a series of warm kisses and bites. I could feel the rough wetness of his tongue, as he slid up to my ear. I shuddered involuntarily. “That’s it. That’s what I want from you. Nothing else. Just hold on.” And he pulled me more tightly to him, until I couldn’t avoid feeling his arousal, evident even through his jeans. I made as if to move, but he pushed my hips down against him. “You won’t break me, darling. I like it, I like the way you feel on me. Very much. You can feel that, right?”
He bit me again, and the warmth between my legs felt like a flood. He moved me again slightly, and I was just where I could feel him, warm and rock hard against where I was wettest. I lifted my head. I wanted to see his eyes. He seemed to know this, and moved his kisses around to my cheek, then held me away from him for a moment, staring at me. “Please,”…I didn’t know what I was saying. The hypnotic quality in his eyes was back again. “What?” His voice insistent. “What? Tell me what you want. Never lie to me.” His jaw was set.
I faltered. “It’s not much…please kiss me…I want to feel your mouth…” He stopped my words by pulling me down on his cock again, which had shifted, pointing towards his stomach, the shape and size of it clearly visible. So all those rumors were true, I thought for a moment. Another burst of wetness flooded out of me and I wondered if I was soaking him through our jeans. He moved me slightly, and I shut my eyes again, shaking. Then without warning, his mouth was on mine, gentle, biting my lips, then pressed against me , his full lips overpowering mine, changing pressure, first nipping at me expertly, now full against me. He moved his tongue, softly slowly against me, looking to enter. He pushed in the tiniest of amounts then ran his tongue over my mouth. I gasped again, and he took advantage to invade my mouth, exploring, It was like being fucked—and the second I thought that he rolled his hips against me. This time we both groaned. He stopped for a moment and leaned his forehead against mine. “Fuck me, when you do that it makes me want to come.” He plunged into my mouth again and I fought back, licking his mouth, that mouth which seemed to respond to everything instinctively, wanting to touch. Our breathing was like the need, insistent, repeating, endless. He suddenly stopped and lifted me up again. “Get on me.” And he moved my legs so that I was kneeling on the seat, spread over him. He pulled me down, hard, and I moaned. I felt like I was burning, something was taking over my entire body, I had no thoughts. He did it again. “My god,” he murmured into my hair. “Imagine what it’s going to be like when we actually fuck, darling.” I closed my eyes. I didn’t know what was going to happen and didn’t care. And then he began to rotate his hips in a kind of dancing samba like motion, and his hands went around my waist moving down to hold my hips, designing ticklish patterns over my ass, then pulling me to him, tighter. I moaned from the increased pressure. It was like torture, close, so close, but not close enough, then he pulled me to him so hard it almost hurt. A sort of sharp pain and I gasped again. Nothing had ever felt like this in my life. I didn’t want to think, I wanted him to fuck me until I lost consciousness. I moved to touch his chest and ran a finger tip over his chest; and finding his nipples hard under the t-shirt I squeezed one. And he moaned. “Yesss,” he hissed and he buried his head in my shoulder, and bit down on my skin. It went through me like a flash of lightning. I was delirious, I was soaked. This pleasure so close to pain was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I couldn’t think… He was moving under me again and his mouth was against my ear, his dark voice gloating. “I can make you come…just like this I think.” And he pulled me hard against him, dancing with my body. His hands moved my shirt away from my shoulder, and he continued a trail of light kisses and bites, but this time he was heading towards my breasts when he stopped. “I don’t usually do this,” he said. “Take this off.” He pulled at my shirt.