Read What Love Looks Like Online
Authors: Lara Mondoux
Relieved that the
lights were low and that I could blush without his noticing, I smiled and
glanced at him from the corner of my eye, feeling my cheeks redden. “Thanks.”
“How does your
wine taste?” He looked into my eyes attentively. His intensity was disarming. I
had to constantly remind myself that he was just a man, not a mythological
deity.
“Excellent.
Would you like to try it?”
“Sure.”
He took my glass and sipped the wine with the elegance of a sommelier. “Red
wine’s never been my thing, but that’s not bad. You have good taste.”
“Well, I know
how to order a good bottle because of my job. A few years ago, I was clueless
about wine, but now I have an appreciation for it. I like a full-bodied red.”
“That’s sexy.”
He was still staring into my eyes. “Maybe you could teach me about the body.”
Of course he was being suggestive, but he seemed so relaxed that all I could do
was giggle.
“I’d be happy
to.”
“In
New York?” he asked, winking at me.
“So
we’re still on that subject?”
“Yeah.
I really want you to come and see how I live. I think you’d love it.”
“Okay.” I was
unable to disagree with him about anything at that moment. He could have told
me the world was flat, and I would have said okay. He wanted me to see how he
lived
. There was something so passionate
about his request. His eyes did all the convincing needed for me to succumb to
his invitation.
“Really?” he
asked.
“Really.
You’re here, and I see that you aren’t a psychopath, so I’d feel comfortable
making the trip.”
“That’s
awesome. We can start planning it when I get back.”
“I
do want to get to know each other better,” I said.
“I’m
glad you feel that way. This isn’t something I’ve really done before.”
“What
isn’t?”
“The
long-distance thing. In fact, I don’t have a whole lot of experience with the
relationship thing, period.”
“Why
do I find that hard to believe?” I asked, smirking.
“Don’t
get me wrong, I’ve dated. A lot.”
“You
don’t have to explain.” I involuntarily put my hand up in the air. The last
thing I wanted to hear about was all of the women he’d bedded before me.
“Well,
I felt a connection with you, and I’m just glad we’re to see each other again,”
he said. I half thought that his words sounded like just another line from a
bona fide smooth talker, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
“Me too.”
“Going out for
dinner one night just isn’t enough to really get to know someone, so New York
will be great.”
Of course I knew
that one dinner wasn’t enough. I also knew that I was hooked on him, and I
hadn’t even kissed him yet. I got a rush just from being at the restaurant with
him. I observed other women at the bar trying to make eye contact with him, and
I felt so powerful as the woman that Jay Conrad had decided to spend his
evening with. He could have had any of the single girls in the restaurant and
probably some of the married ones too. For the first time in my life, I had something
that every woman around me wanted.
After two
glasses of wine and three cocktails between us, he finally inched closer to me.
“I’m having a great time tonight,” he whispered, placing his hand on my bare
right thigh.
His hands were
cool on my even chillier skin, and we were talking so intimately that his
flawless face was practically glued to mine. We talked for hours with
intermittent touching and very few lulls in the conversation. We talked about
things we already knew about each other from endless hours of communicating in
the weeks leading up to that night. It felt as if we were a bona fide couple,
even though our date was the first real time we’d spent together.
And then, out of
nowhere, he kissed me right there at the bar, in front of the other patrons,
with his hands in my hair and his eyes closed. I was so lost in the moment that
I forgot to close mine. When Jay kissed me, time stood still. Nothing else
mattered. I lusted after every inch of him. Every cell in my body was blazing,
and I was so turned on that my nipples became erect and I was wet between my
legs within seconds of our lips uniting. I hadn’t felt that in ages, at least
not from just a kiss. I instinctively leaned into him, placing my hand gently
on the back of his head and twirling my fingers through his rippling golden
hair. The kiss lasted long enough for me to foresee what it could lead to. I
envisioned physical satisfaction beyond comprehension.
Dinner consisted
of minimal eating, a lot of touching and kissing, and being told to get a room
by a drunk girl and her even drunker friends. The check took forever to arrive,
or maybe it just seemed like it because of how badly I wanted to get out of
there and into somewhere more private with him.
Jay paid for
dinner when the bill finally arrived and led me out of the restaurant as if on
a mission. He took my keys and drove my car (though probably he shouldn’t have)
back to the hotel in ten minutes flat. He whisked me through the lobby and
pulled me into the fancy elevator, kissing me the entire way up to the ninth
floor. His hands wrapped around my waist, he pulled me in, tilting my chin
gently upward as his mouth made love to mine. He kissed with complete control,
and his slender body melded seamlessly with mine against the elevator wall.
Jay slid the key
card into the tiny slot and opened the door of his hotel room. He led me inside
and seized me again by the waist. Before I knew it, I fell effortlessly down
onto the bed, with his hands all over my body and mine all over his. Both of us
were still fully clothed but exploring one another’s God-given crevices. Our
lips found each other’s once again, and he kept one hand cupped on my rear end
while the other held my face, seemingly fixed there permanently.
I hadn’t felt that
turned on for as long as I could remember, and I savored the sensation of his
tongue digging into my neck, thrust after thrust, each time more stimulating
than the last
. His scent was incredible.
It was clean but a little naughty, a fresh-from-the-shower essence with a hint
of his natural pheromones. The slight stubble of his five o’clock shadow gently
scratched my face, as if to remind me that he was a man and I was a woman. He
began to slip his hand up the inside of my thigh, but I intercepted it before
he made it all the way there.
“I hate to sound
like a cliché,” I said breathily, “but I think we should take this slow.”
“You’re so
fucking hot. I want you now. And I can tell you want me too.” He grabbed
between my thighs forcefully, indicating precisely how he knew I wanted him. I
was primed and ready for him, and he was aware of it.
“I do want you,”
I said, gasping for air.
“Okay,
then have me. I’m yours, baby.”
His
mouth was inches from mine, and he kissed me vigorously between every word.
Every nerve in my body was on alert. My nipples were upright, and I was
drenched between my thighs. My body temperature rose as I contemplated how to
react. His words,
I’m yours, baby,
were enough to send me into the female version of premature ejaculation. We
were close enough that I could feel his erection through his clothes. He pushed
it into my leg, causing my objections to fade away more and more with each
passing second.
He touched all
of the most sensitive parts of my body, not just the obvious places. He was
playing me like an instrument and hit every note with perfect pitch. I felt him
still throbbing beneath his pants, and I suddenly needed him inside of me. As
if on cue, he lifted my dress up and peeled it off my body, revealing just my
undergarments. I kicked my shoes off, flinging my legs through the air. He
kissed the whole of my neck and shoulders, and in the dim light I saw goose
bumps all over my skin. He unhooked my bra and pulled the simple black thong
I’d worn down my legs and tossed it into the darkness. He kissed me from my
décolleté all the way down to my navel. Then he performed seven minutes of
rapturous oral sex on me, which resulted in the purest orgasm I’d ever
undergone.
“Holy shit,” I
said weakly.
“Did you like
that?” His voice deep and raspy, his head peeking up from between my legs.
“Uh huh.” I was
at a total loss for words.
He
took a moment to remove his pants and underwear. He was naked now. His body was
incredibly sculpted and the only thing that protruded from it was the bulge
between his legs. He flipped onto his back, pulling me on top of him. I sat on
his lap, his erection beneath me, and after a moment of kissing and stroking
each other, I willingly slipped him inside. His penis was what I expected for
the size of his body. He wasn’t enormous, but he certainly got the job done. He
squeezed my breasts together hard and said how much he loved them. He
aggressively guided my hips as I moved up and down on top of him. I loved being
so close to him, and when he finally finished, his gratified look was enough
for me to know I’d satisfied him.
The hour that
followed was positively dreamy. We lay in between the sheets together,
completely entwined. My legs had no strength left, and his thin, well-formed arms
encircled me as he traced circles up and down my spine with his fingers. Every
now and then he’d plant a cool kiss on my cheek or my shoulder, and he
repeatedly told me how incredible he thought our sex was.
“I knew it would
be, though,” he said.
“You
mean you thought about sex with me before tonight?”
“Well, yeah. I’m
a guy, Elle.” He laughed. “I just thought you were so hot, and I kicked myself
for not seeing you last time I was here. I figured it had to happen this time
because of the connection we had.”
I shrugged off
that he was so confident he’d get me into bed because he was so sweetly
distraught when I told him I wouldn’t be spending the night. I had a strict
policy of always leaving guys wanting more. I wasn’t sure if it was too late
for that (after all, we’d already had sex and pillow talk), but I certainly
wasn’t going to linger around for a sleepover. I wanted him to think I wasn’t
too emotionally invested—even though I utterly burned for more of him.
We put our
clothes on, and he walked me down to the lobby. His unbuttoned shirt looked so
sexy that I was half-tempted to take him back upstairs and have my way with him
again. But that would have defeated the purpose of leaving in the first place.
He had to think, at least for a while, that I had better things to do than just
spend time with him. We held hands all the way down the elevator and to the
hotel’s front exit, where my car was valet parked. He faced me, holding me by
the rear end, and kissed me goodnight. “I’ll see you in New York,” he said.
“Yes you will.
Thanks for dinner.”
At home, I
walked Luna, who had been dropped off by the dog sitter a few hours earlier. In
the dark of night, everything was clear. Jay and I would be something
significant. Upstairs, I crawled with Luna into my bed, imagining I was still
in bed with Jay. To some degree I regretted not staying with him, but I
couldn’t have left Luna alone all night anyway. It would have been nice to hold
onto him for hours, but I rationalized leaving when I did as an investment in
the longevity of our relationship. By not staying with him that night, I was
ensuring that I’d sleep with him again in the future. If I’d stayed for an
awkward waking up together, preceded by the mandatory morning sex, than he
would have believed that I was wrapped around his finger. Instead, I'd left him
in the throes of pleasure and hopefully wanting more.
And then I
realized I wasn’t making any sense. It was all just a bunch of words. Every
ounce of my flesh and blood hungered to see him again, and if I didn’t, my
heart would be broken.
6
Following
Jay’s visit, I lost any desire to eat or drink to fill my void. In fact, had
almost no appetite for anything other than him. Whenever I met a guy I was even
a little captivated by, I’d lose my hunger for anything consumable. With Jay,
this was extreme. My hollowness had been eased when part of his body entered
mine. I felt as if I finally knew the meaning of the phrase
falling in love
. Falling alluded to the
involuntary and inevitable vulnerability of one’s heart; in this case, mine.
I wanted to be
my paramount self, because the best version of me, Elle Coppola 2.0, was the
only version that was worthy of Jay. He deserved so much more than the former
outcast with emotional issues left over from an agonizing adolescence. And I
never wanted him to know who I used to be.
Jay made me want
to be impeccable in everything I did. Consequently, I was meticulous at work,
and my event sales directly reflected my diligence. Maureen watched as I
perfected myself in the name of love. She suggested that I should be the one
being chased, the one on the pedestal—not Jay or any guy for that matter.
While I appreciated her opinion, I couldn't pay much attention to anything
other than improving myself for him.
I repeatedly
played back the night of our tryst in my mind. I closed my eyes and returned
over and over again to the heights of bodily pleasure he’d taken me to. He’d
dominated me and made me go against a rule that I followed faithfully. I’d
slept with him on the first date, but I didn’t care. Given the opportunity, I’d
have submitted to his every whim. As far as I was concerned, he was calling all
the shots, and that was exactly how I wanted it.
In addition to
pursuing personal excellence, my new agenda included ensuring that Jay found me
interesting and exciting. He was out doing something
all
of the time. His constant comings and goings took me outside my
comfort zone. While I’d always scored high on the introvert scale, I found
myself wanting to seem just as popular as he was. Jay also spent an inordinate
amount of time playing sports and exercising at the gym, activities that were the
foundation of his absurdly lean and sculpted body. I didn’t want to be soft the
next time I saw him, so I ran several miles every morning before work and
started working out at the gym three blocks away. It was as if Jay had awoken a
dormant overachiever in me, one that I never knew was there. My quest for
superiority was for him and him alone.
From the moment
we left each other in the hotel lobby, Jay and I communicated every day, though
if I’d had my way he would have phoned more often rather than sending a
never-ending stream of text messages. I didn’t think a solid relationship could
be built solely on text messaging. But he did call on occasion, and at least he
was consistent in his attempts to get a hold of me. On good days, our text
conversations went on for hours at a time, each of us sending a message when we
had a free moment at work. On bad days, I heard from him only very
sporadically. I questioned why he texted me more some days than others, but I
chalked it up to his busy work and social schedule.
When we did talk
on the phone, subjects ranged from phone sex to watching TV together and
beyond. For the first time in ages, I had something to look forward to. There
was a man in my life, he was gorgeous, he was into me, and I was consumed with
him. I was so concerned with Jay that I’d let my relationships with everyone
else fall by the wayside—something I’d never done before. Fortunately,
most everyone (apart from my mother) seemed to understand that I was in that
honeymoon phase—when a relationship is fresh and everything feels shiny
and new. I never wanted that feeling to end.
Late one night,
we gazed at each other through our computer screens during a rare but welcome
Skype session. He sat before me, shirtless, smoking a cigarette, and I before
him, wearing a lacy black chemise and sipping red wine. We were face-to-face
for nearly ten minutes when Jay brought up what was taking place between us.
“The way that I
felt with you that night in Columbus . . . it’s almost scary how good it was,”
he said. Of course I felt the same way, but double standards dictated that I
couldn’t be so forthcoming.
“If something
feels good, then why label it with words like scary?”
“Because it
was
scary. And I’m not sure that’s a
good thing.” I was stunned. He didn’t think we were a good thing? He must have
sensed my dismay, as he corrected himself almost instantly. “Of course fucking
you was crazy good. That was off the chain good. But feeling this way is alien
to me. I told you, relationships aren’t my thing.”
“I don’t know
what to say to that.”
“It’s
nothing against you. I just wasn’t looking for anything serious. This Skype
shit, this isn’t, like, something I’d
ever
do with a girl.”
“But
it’s fun, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,
it’s cool,” he said. “I like seeing your face, and that hot body of yours.”
“I
like seeing yours too.”
“What
I’m trying to say is that I think about you in a sick, irrational way. I just
want to do things to you. Like it’s an obsession.”
“Obsession’s
a powerful word,” I said, trembling faintly.
“It’s
the truth, and it’s fucked up.”
“What’s
so fucked up about it?”
“I
can’t put my finger on it.” He exhaled smoke with his words.
“I think that
unquenchable lust that you’re referring to—that’s what all the great
movies are made of. Romeo and Juliet. Harry and Sally. Edward and Bella,” I
said. Finally, he cracked a smile. “And I feel it too.”
Our Skype
meeting ended with both of us touching ourselves and saying erotic things to
one another. Though mildly humiliating, it was better than Jay going out and
finding real-life satisfaction somewhere else. It got me thinking more about
obsession: the domination of one’s thoughts by an idea or desire, a compulsive
unreasonable idea or emotion. Some of my favorite stories were based on
obsession.
Lolita
and
The Great Gatsby
were examples. My
feelings for Jay reminded me of such narratives. They combined the deadly sins
like gluttony, lust, vanity, and pride. They were the very things I’d always
been spellbound by. I was drawn to fixation. It drowned out my inner void. And
though the focus changed (from booze to men to overconsumption), the tone
remained the same.
My days at the
office seemed to keep ending later and starting earlier. It was a patter that I
was growing increasingly tired of. I worked more and more every week, and yet
my income didn’t change all that much. I tried explaining to Maureen one
morning over coffee that there had to be a better way to make a living. But she
was the more conventional of the two of us and insisted that we were both wise
to play it safe in such a bleak economy and collect our measly paychecks. My
mind drifted regularly into a vision of owning my own event-planning company in
New York, one in which I’d make my own schedule and earn more money than I knew
what to do with.
Income was
important, but even more than that, I longed for freedom from the constant
drudgery of feeling like I was making rich men even richer. If I had my own
company, I could actually enjoy my work and make more money. Plus, I’d get to
do things my way. With the way that my job was structured East Coast Prime
crept into every part of my life and didn’t allow for any autonomy. I had to
face the facts: my life consisted mostly of connections made through my job:
Maureen and Jenna, friends from work, and Jay, a guy that I’d met at work, and
of course work, work, work.
And because of
work, visits to my parents' house had become infrequent. My plate was full, but
that didn't justify avoiding my family. I felt guilty for my prolonged absence,
and incessant e-mails and voice mails from my mother only intensified my guilt.
I’d always had a strong relationship with my parents, and there was no excuse
for putting them off. I wanted to blame it on my job, but in truth, all the
time I was spending exercising to be hot enough for Jay, being on the phone
with Jay, and daydreaming about Jay were my only opportunities for family time.
I’d finally
solidified a date to see my parents, and for once, I actually had good news on
the relationship front. The day before I planned to visit them, I was spending
my Saturday relaxing for a few hours before heading into work for an event
downtown. As I fixed myself a bland salad for lunch, I received a welcome phone
call.
“Hi!” I said
excitedly.
“How are you,
sexy?” Jay asked.
“I’m fantastic,
how are you?”
“I’m great,
now,” he said, as I blushed through the receiver. “So I booked your ticket.”
“That’s amazing.
Thank you!”
“Oh, my
pleasure
.”
“How
ever
will I repay you?”
“Oh, I know
exactly
how,” he said, arousing me.
“You’re flying into LaGuardia on a Friday morning and staying until Sunday.
Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.
I can’t wait.”
“Neither can I.”
“So how was your
weekend?”
“You know, same
old,” he said vaguely. Sometimes I got the impression that he was unwilling to share
details of what he’d been up to. I knew he liked to party, and maybe he sensed
that I wasn’t exactly a wild child and toned it down so as not to put me off.
“Care to
elaborate?”
“Not really.” He
chuckled.
“Come on, I want
to know what you do when I’m not around!”
“All right, all
right. I was up till about 4:00 a.m. last night at my buddy’s house playing
poker. Just a bunch of dudes. After, we went to this place, Café Citron. And
tonight I’m going to a preseason Yankees game with some people from work.”
“Sounds like a
fun weekend,” I said with envy.
Our
conversations never lasted long. Truth be told, we didn’t have a whole lot to
talk about other than how we felt about each other. Of course I found that fact
mildly alarming, but the moment I remembered his face my fears always quelled. In
the very beginning, every new discovery about him was like uncovering a hidden
treasure. But now that we'd answered most of the basic questions about one
another, we were struggling to maintain interest in each other’s daily lives,
which we really knew so little about. But before hanging up the phone, we ended
all of our conversations with “I miss you,” which was a huge step in the right
direction.
Later
that night, I was back at work. The dinner I’d arranged was for a group of
financial advisers who ordered our top-of-the-line banquet menu, which rang in
at $125 per person. I projected a roughly $11,000-event after calculating in
the wine that I sold them, which meant a decent payoff for Maureen and me. The
event was held in our Board Room. It was an impressive space that sat up to
forty-five comfortably. The two large flat-screen televisions appealed to our
largely male clientele. White tablecloths adorned sixty-inch round tables, and
the elegant burgundy and aubergine chairs were both plush and decorative. The
deep colors of the room lent themselves to both intimate and corporate-style
events. I had spent a lot of late nights in that room and had grown to know
every inch of it well.
When
the event ended, I stuck around as I always did and helped the servers tidy up
the room. Most of the guests had made their way to the bar. One man lingered,
though. He was one of the younger guys in the group and was a quirky sort of
handsome. He timidly asked if I was allowed to have drinks with clients after
work. Part of me wanted to oblige him, if only because I almost never had any
stories about my social life to share with Jay (lately I’d taken to making up
stories up just so I wouldn’t seem boring). But I declined. Somehow I thought
that having a drink with the financial adviser would be disloyal to Jay, even
though there’d been no mention of exclusivity.
“Why didn’t you
take him up on his offer?” Ryan asked, startling me. Evidently, he’d heard the
entire conversation.
“That guy? Oh I
don’t know—I’m not really in the mood.”
“Are you sure
it’s not because of the other guy from New York?”
“Well, yes
that’s part of it too,” I said.
“You’re going to
have to turn down a lot of guys right here in Columbus if you stay with him.”
“What are you
talking about?”
“Elle, I’ve
worked tons of events with you, and I see how often the guys here hit on you,”
he said. Strangely, I sensed frustration in his voice.
“You’re crazy.”
“You just can’t
tell when it’s happening. When they’ve had a few drinks and come over and start
talking your ear off at the end of the night, it’s not because they want your opinion
on mutual funds.”