Authors: Alice Severin
I moved my hands away and pulled my shirt off over my head. He stared at my breasts, barely encased in a cream colored lace bra I‘d thought to put on. I wanted him to…but no sooner had I thought it, than he was there, kissing me over the fabric, biting down hard on my nipple. I groaned. “I knew it,” he said and he moved away and licked my mouth. “I will lick and bite you—everywhere. And damn you, I am trying to slow down, but I need this. I want this.” And he returned to my breast, and pulled the bra strap off my shoulder. I thought I heard something tear and he had me in his mouth. That soft incredible mouth. It was so intense I wasn’t sure if I could take any more. He lifted his head, running his long dark hair against my breasts, then capturing my mouth with his. He was starting his hip rolling again, but this time more seriously, with certain intent. His fingertips began to flick my nipple with his fingernails, each touch painful but...but not. Our breathing was coming faster. “I don’t do this. But I can make you come. Just like this. And I’m going to do it. Look at me. Don’t stop.”
And I tried to focus on his beautiful eyes, even though every time he increased the pressure my eyelids fluttered closed. He grabbed my arms, and he pushed against me, sliding me down to meet him. “Fuck you’re wet for me,” he groaned. His breathing became more rapid, and he pulled at my nipple teasing me with his mouth and his hair. I cried out and all I could hear was his deep voice, emphasizing every word in between his breathing. “That’s what I want, that’s it darling...I am going to teach you to come for me. Only when I tell you to.” And he ran his tongue over my mouth and increased his rhythm. My eyes shut, I had lost control over my face, my limbs, my sex. And he closed his long fingers over my breast, and held me, hard. “Look at me, look at me, so close.” I felt a kind of trembling start in him that went through me to the core, he moved faster and faster and his eyes were now dark galaxies. “Oh fuck,” he gasped and he began to run tighter and tighter circles and suddenly all the sensations moved together, and his fingers on me were like fingers on my clit and he pulled me into him, holding a rhythm as he licked my mouth and I cried out moving against him as fast I as I could, unable to control my movements, taken over by the intensity of it all. He held my sex to his cock and I could feel him, huge, throbbing under me, letting off another round of convulsions through my entire body. “Oh god, yess,” he cried out, ragged, his eyes closed and his head falling back against the seat, his cock still pulsing between my legs, adding to the wetness I had drenched us in. He was still coming, his voice barely audible, “oh god, oh god.” And then he cried out, almost a sound of pain, and he pulled me to him, pulsing out another series of moans from both of us. I was trembling, shaking against him. I had no power over my limbs. His long arms circled around me and he pulled my head down to his shoulder.
“Oh yeah,” he muttered, and kissed my hair.
We sat together like that for a while, dreaming, our breathing slowing, outside of time. Every so often, he would hold me a bit tighter, or kiss me, softly. It was warm, and all my limbs were heavy, sleepy. Yet I felt lighter, as though a vast source of energy was pulsing through me, and with no effort at all I’d be able to float off. I started to fall asleep on his shoulder, breathing in his smell, the slightly bitter smell of sex and sweat that hit all my nerves.
Finally, he shifted. “Come, darling, sit next to me.” And he practically lifted me up, and placed me next to him, but he kept one arm around me. I needed that contact. As long as he was holding me, everything was ok. Nothing was going to stop. He handed me my glass and we both drank. It was quiet, and still dark. He spoke again. “You’re very quiet—now,” and he smiled at me. “Are you happy?”
I turned to look at him. It was such an unexpected question. Of all the things people had said to me after sex, this idea of happiness had never come up. I looked back at him. “No one’s ever asked me that.”
“Well, they’re idiots. What else matters? So, darling, are you?”
“It’s more than happy, it’s…” I couldn’t think of how to describe how I felt. “Yes. I’m very happy.” I smiled. “You are…a very sensitive…oh hell. You’re amazing. That was…”
He interrupted me. “I would have expected a writer to be better with words. No matter. We’ll work on that.”
I felt a smile coming up from the center of me. “We will?”
“Let’s not do games, unless we both agree.” He fixed that stare on me again. “I wanted you, you wanted me, I think what just happened between us was…quite unusual.”
“Unusual?” I bit my lip. What did this mean?
“You are very receptive, responsive. I’m sure someone’s told you that before.” He took hold of my hand, as though he could feel my nervousness returning.
I squeezed back. And smiled. “Yeah, someone told me that once. A massage therapist. That’s it though.”
He raised his eyebrows, looking like he had made a discovery, and he nodded. “I think both our lives are about to…become a lot more happy.” He poured us both another glass of champagne. “There are some rules we’ll need to go over, but not right now. What I need to know,” and here he paused and drank half his glass down, “is whether you want to see me again, and if you can be discreet.”
I’d get to do this again. And more. I couldn’t resist, my eyes took in his body. The boots, his legs, the long arms, his talented mouth, his very mobile hips, the… He was waiting, watching me look at him. That smirk was back. I didn’t care.
“Yes. And yes.” I met his eyes. I would have to learn not to be afraid of this, and just thank the universe for it, no matter what it was, how short, how long. His presence was like a drug, and I was pretty sure I would do anything to feel him, more of him. I shuddered. I wanted him again.
“I can’t do girlfriend/boyfriend things. You know? Can you live with that? I don’t want you changing your mind, then feeling hurt. I don’t want to hurt you.” And he pulled me to him again. “I do like you.”
I whispered into his hair, soft and dark around my face. “I can.” I took a deep breath. “You make me feel incredible.” He kissed my forehead. I held him close. “Like something I’ve only glimpsed at.”
He hummed in my ear. “Then let’s toast to everything that’s going to become a lot clearer.” He moved away, clinked his glass with mine. When we had finished, he took the glasses again and put them down. “There.” He pulled me to him. “I’ll drop you at the same place. Better to keep the limo away from your house, unless you like being photographed.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s fine.”
“I’ve got your number.” He held my face up close to his and kissed me. I felt we were sealing some kind of contract, a kiss instead of a signature. “I will call you. And next time…well, maybe we’ll talk a little.” He chuckled. “Or maybe not. But there are some rules we need to agree to, ok?”
I nodded.
“Ok then.” He pressed the button. “Harry, can we drop off my friend at the same place?”
“Of course sir.” The window went back up, and after stopping at a light, we turned left. I couldn’t help but wonder how many times this had happened. I closed my eyes. I wouldn’t think about it. This was the real world. And I was happy. Harry was obviously a pro at this. There had to be a reason. It didn’t matter.
Tristan looked at me. “You’re brave. I see what you’re wrestling with. But you being you is what is so appealing.” He looked out the window for a moment, then back at me. “You’ll figure it out.”
The limo stopped. I looked up at him. This was it. I was happy, I felt incredible, but the idea of separating my body from his was painful. He was so…warm. Beautiful. He kissed the top of my head. “Go get some sleep darling.”
I nodded. “I’ll try.” He smiled at me as I pulled my coat back on, and moved away. Cold. So cold. I wanted to be back by his side. Without thinking, I slipped along the seat and hugged him. I didn’t care. He hugged me. “Naughty girl. Now go.” His voice was severe, but he was smiling.
I opened the door, and got out, my legs still slightly wobbly, and shut the door without turning around again. I’d manage to keep some dignity. The cold air hit the wetness on my jeans and pierced through to my skin. The difference between the extreme heat of only a short time ago and the wintry cold outside was shocking. And I realized my jeans were soaked, from both of us. I smiled. Some proof. I turned to watch the limo join the traffic heading downtown. I stood there for several minutes, feeling the wind whistling down Central Park West, chilling my overheated body. I could feel and see and hear everything. A small bird. A hair on my arm. My ears, reddening in the wind. The yellow taxicabs accelerating at the light. My mouth, chapped and swollen. The muscles in my legs, slightly sore. The sky, growing lighter, imperceptibly. I felt like I could hear the sky growing lighter. It made a sound. I smiled. Like every nerve had been polished to reflect the world. I wanted to stand there forever and feel.
But my jeans were becoming uncomfortably cold and stiff, freezing in the wind. And the wind was stronger now, with the sunrise. The first shoots of pink were streaking the sky overhead, the wispy clouds a mixture of colors—gold, and pink and blue and black. It was so beautiful. Like his eyes, changing, as he looked at me. I watched for another minute, then reluctantly turned down the street to walk home. I pulled my jeans down a little so they wouldn’t rub against me, tender from all the friction. A giant grin spread across my face. I could take a little pain. Oh. Did that just happen? I thought of Tristan, in his limo, and I hoped he was feeling good. Idiot! I never asked him if he was happy. I’d fix that, next time. I wanted him to be happy, so happy. I wanted to shout. I looked around and let out a whoop, and starting running down the street, hugging myself.
I let myself in, quietly. I really didn’t want to talk, and I tiptoed down the hall to my room and shut the door behind me. I wasn’t tired, not really. I felt hyper-excited, delirious, slightly drunk from everything that had happened. I sat down on the bed, then jumped up again. My jeans were really wet, and as much as I didn’t want to, I’d have to take them off. I removed my coat and flung it in a corner, then started unpeeling my jeans. Ow. I knew without looking I was swollen, but I didn’t care. It was a reminder, his touch had marked me, and I was changed. I stripped off my jeans finally and shook them out. His smell filled the room, sending a wave of heat between my legs. I turned and looked in the mirror, and felt slightly embarrassed. My hair was wild around my head, and there was a certain animal intensity to my eyes that hadn’t been there before. Whoever said sex was the best makeup was so right, I thought. And at the same time, I had a moment of doubt. He wanted this? Me? All my flaws and shortcomings? I was sort of pretty, but…
I knew I didn’t completely understand his reasons for doing this, whatever this was. And there were the rules. What were they going to be? And how long would I have to wait to find out? There was no point even thinking about it. It was completely out of my control. And I took a deep breath, and sat down on the bed. It was freeing, in a way, to not have to worry about when to call, or if I should, or anything else. Because it was all going to be agreed upon in advance. Games. Would I be able to handle them?
I pulled my bag over to me, and hooked up the headphones. I needed to finish this article, and that was something I could control. But I couldn’t control how I became instantly wet, again, the moment his voice started up. I tried to focus. I would not touch myself. I wanted it to just be him. I wanted to be desperate, even more desperate for his touch than I already was. I drifted off again into my daydream. Were we going to fuck? Really? The idea of that…what I’d seen…holy hell. I had a vision of his hips, curving under me, rhythm, complicated, swaying, more than one beat. I pinched myself, hard. Stop.
I wrote a few paragraphs, really just transcribing what he’d said to me, interspersed with some descriptions of his room, but not too many, I thought to myself, and I left out the way it smelled, the way he smiled. Oh that voice. He said he’d teach me. What did that mean? I was frightened by all the things I didn’t know. He was obviously much more sexually experienced than I was. But I wasn’t a complete novice. I’d tried a few things. Just no one ever took responsibility. I was shy. They thought it was too much. Just wanted to get off. Were all men like this? I rubbed my eyes. Why was I having this argument with myself? Why couldn’t I just admit what I wanted? And accept that he was in charge?
I wrote another few lines. I was growing sleepy now, and my neck hurt a bit. My neck! I jumped up to look in the mirror. Yes, there was a small, very neat and very precise bruise from his sharp teeth. I smiled. Oh yes, I liked it. I liked it a lot. I could never understand when women complained about the kisses with teeth. I liked the way it felt when it was happening, and the way it felt afterwards when it was sore. It suddenly occurred to me that I’d never really finished that thought before, I’d just known it. I tapped it lightly with my fingertip. It stung, just a little. I smiled. Well, discreet it was not, but it could be covered up. I felt sorry that I had to. I’d like people to see that he’d chosen me, taken hold of me and…
I squeezed my legs together. This was pointless torture. I needed to rest. I had no idea when he would call. For I all knew, there were going to be a lot of 3am trysts. And I wasn’t going to back out of any of them, no matter how tired I was. I’d never, ever get this chance again.
I looked at my phone. Nearly 9am. I called and left a message at the magazine, and gave them a glowing update, told them they’d have the interview over the weekend. Checked my messages. Nothing important. I called back my agent and said I was working on something, and asked about a royalty check that should have turned up by now. It was only a message, but I was surprised by my voice. Almost as though I’d taken some of that power into me. I leaned over and buried my face in my jeans. The scent of us, together, was dizzying.
I laid out the jeans close to me, and crawled under the covers. Go get some sleep darling. I was obeying.
• • •
I woke up with a start. The sun was streaming in the window. For a moment, I couldn’t remember anything, then it all rushed at me at once. Images, sounds, smells, feelings. Tastes. Like a drug that takes all your senses and concentrates them into one explosive drop. I felt the tension rising in me again and my heart sped up. God, had he called? What time was it? What was I doing? I threw off the covers and turned on my phone. 1:30. Not too bad. Had anyone called? Texted? I looked at the texts. Nothing. One message from the magazine, call them, no rush, glad it went well. One message from the agent. Check in post. We’d see.
I pulled on a pair of sweat pants, gently. A little less sore, but I could still feel it. It hurt, but I liked it. Since when had I been so into pain? Always, I thought. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure I recognized myself. Really? As I made coffee, I reflected on some of my past experiences. There was a certainly a case to be made for looking for situations that might cause me pain. Not dealing with the subconscious, I thought. Maybe this would be different. I touched my neck again, and shuddered. I am insatiable. I need to calm down.