Then it occurs to me, after a day of packing and cleaning, I really ought to have a shower. I don’t know why I thought it would be enjoyable to watch a movie, stewing in my own filth after all that hard work. A nice hot shower will make everything better. I’m certain of it. And this is what I continue to tell myself as I jump into the shower and wash all of my cares away.
18
Happy New Year
It’s New Year's Eve, and Jason spent the last six hours helping me move into my apartment. Before the move, I had fancied myself a minimalist. In the course of just a few months, I somehow accumulated enough sundry items to fill an entire moving truck — and that’s after junking all of my old, cheap furniture. I decided it would degrade my new apartment to furnish it with discount quality junk. I wanted an exceptionally plush couch where, unlike my futon, I wouldn’t have to adjust how I’m sitting to avoid hitting the metal frame through the practically non-existent cushion. Besides, the furniture would have only served as relics of a period in my life where all I seemed capable of was failure. I’m ready to move on from failure. From now on, I want every aspect of my life to represent qualities of the kind of person I aspire to be — a winner.
Jason, who seems to win at everything in his life, once again came through for me with a sizable discount at a high-end furniture store. He seems to know everyone, which is odd since I would never peg him as particularly sociable. Jason has always struck me as somewhat of a recluse, like myself. Unlike me, Jason has a talent for switching on and off his ruminative nature at a moment's notice. I’ve seen him use his infectious charm and wit to dazzle clients in meetings. He’s one of those unique personalities with the perfect balance of introvert and extrovert. I chalk it up to him being a Gemini.
“Where should I put these?” Jason asks, pointing to a group of boxes next to my entry way door.
“All the boxes should be labeled,” I reply absently, as I work to free my dishes from bubble wrap. “I think those are clothes. They go in the bedroom.”
“Hmm, I don’t see a label,” Jason says, inspecting the box before tearing off the masking tape to verify its contents.
I can’t help but smile. If it’s possible, Jason might be more fastidious than I am when it comes to organizing and cleaning. It’s only further evidence of how perfectly matched we are. Blake wasn’t exactly a slob; he just had a more laid back approach to cleaning. He’s the type to leave dishes in the sink for a couple of days until it looks like there’s enough to fill a dishwasher, or not vacuum for a month because the carpet doesn’t look like it needs it. Whereas I wouldn’t dream of allowing dishes to sit in my sink overnight — they could attract flies, and the very idea of allowing dust to build up in my carpet for a month is fear inducing; who knows what nasty critters are settling into the carpet. Jason, on the other hand, is just as meticulous as me, there isn’t so much as a pillow out of place on his couches, the only difference is that he employs a maid — but at least he cares enough to do that. Blake never would.
“This is interesting,” Jason says.
I look up to see Jason holding a sheer black robe in his hand. It’s one of the many lingerie pieces Blake purchased for me over the years. Jason must have opened the box where I packed all of my intimates. Of all the boxes not to label!
“That’s a robe,” I reply shyly.
“It looks cozy. It must be for those warm summer nights,” Jason quips.
“Well, you know, it gets pretty hot in August.”
“It looks like you’re prepared for a long, hot summer,” Jason says jokingly, as he rustles through the box where there are 50 or so other racy lingerie pieces.
“It’s not how it looks. I’m not some sexual deviant who gets off walking around in lingerie. I was … I mean, it’s…”
“No need to explain,” Jason says, suddenly beside me and kissing me on the cheek. “I just want to know if it’s too early to bring one of these outfits out of hibernation.”
“No, I mean it’s not too early.” I stammer, blushing so hard my ears are probably red. Jason has a knack for making me feel like it’s my first time with a man, and I’m not entirely sure how to behave. I’m stuck between my impulse to throw myself at him and take pleasure as he defiles my body in every way imaginable, and my more reserved, good girl roots, which tell me to take my time with him and not to let emotions cloud my judgment. Considering that my heart feels like it will beat out of my chest, every time Jason comes in proximity to me, I would say there’s a good chance my good girl roots will remain dormant tonight.
“I think I should break down the boxes in the living room,” I say, casually moving out of Jason’s reach. I’ll never get anything done if Jason need only whisper a few husky words in my ear to get me all hot and bothered. As I busy myself in the living room, I suddenly feel Jason’s hands circling my waist from behind. I turn around to face him and see his beautiful green eyes sparkling with undeniable intent.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
I can barely get the words out of my throat. All those games I used to play with Blake, enticing him, making him miserable with desire for me, it’s as though Jason stole my game and turned it around to play on me. The violent pounding of my heart echoes in my head and I know, that he knows, exactly what I’m thinking.
“I think … I need a shower,” I finally manage to say.
“How about I join you,” Jason says, not bothering to beat around the bush.
I wrap my arms around his neck, looking at him, wide-eyed. “If you want to. I mean, I want you to. So If you want to, it would be okay.”
Leaning in, he lightly brushes his lips with mine. I push my mouth against his, wanting to feel the full firmness of his lips, but he pulls away. I can tell he sees my confusion. He gives me a look as though to say trust me without saying a word. I know that look; it’s the same one he gets when he’s about to close a client. Indeed, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
Jason runs his hands under my shirt, sliding it upwards along my waist. He stares at me the entire time, as though studying my reaction. He doesn’t have to say anything, his eyes tell me what I need to know, I lift my arms up, and my shirt goes over my head, falling to the ground. I do the same to him, albeit along a different route. I touch his rippling abs, his rock hard chest, then move my hands to his back, all the way up until his shirt joins mine on the floor.
A topless Jason is truly a magnificent sight to behold. A fact, I’m sure, he’s well aware. He continues to watch me with the same penetrating stare, which means there’s no way he missed my eyes hungrily raking over every inch of his body, or my foolish grin that reveals just how much I appreciate the view. Then it occurs to me, the view Jason and I are providing to a potential voyeur. Granted, we’re on the twenty-third floor, and the windows are tinted on the outside, but they also take up the majority of the exterior wall. Jason nods, seeming to understand that a change of venue is in order. Grabbing his hand, I hurriedly lead him to the bathroom.
I barely have a chance to turn the shower dial to hot before Jason pulls me in his arms. His lips touch mine and this time they stay firmly in place — each kiss more ardently sweet than the last. Somewhere in the midst of our kisses, the room fills with steam, and our clothes find their way to the floor, but we never make it to the shower. Jason pushes me against a full-length mirror and props my leg around his waist. I ready myself for him, expecting, even hoping, that he’ll be cruel, relentlessly vicious, taking me roughly and with force. I want to submit to him entirely as he asserts complete dominance over me. That’s an urge for which I never thought I’d succumb, but then I’ve never been ravaged by a demigod.
But to my astonishment, his kisses don’t let up, and when he thrusts into me I don’t feel the wild, untamed stallion that I had anticipated. I feel so much more. His lovemaking is as clear and decisive as his words. And if ever I thought his words lacking, I can depend that he’s now showing all there is to tell. He tells me of his longing, blind a
nd directionless he roams in pursuit of something even he doesn’t fully grasp. He doesn’t try to define or identify it. He trusts his intuition and submits wholly to that which drives him. All this time I thought he had me under his spell, when in fact, I had him under mine. And in his longing, I feel not only his passion, but his pain.
My arms close around him as I begin to shiver all over. What he does to me without trying. That I can feel so vulnerable and yet, I know the only safe place for me is in his arms. Everything he’s telling me he wants, I want too. He tells me again and again; I feel like he’s singing the sweetest song just for me. And when he finishes, and I hear him say my name with such relief, tears flow from my eyes. Holding me close, he kisses my tears away. With Blake, I always tried to maintain some semblance of control. I could never be open; I could never let him have me. With Jason, that’s not possible. Control is not mine to give or take. He has me in his thrall, whether I like it or not.
As we stand together, holding each other, Jason whispers in my ear, “Maybe we should have that shower.”
My thoughts are humming as I blow my hair dry before bed. Reveling in the memory of what Jason and I just did has my body tingling all over. I can’t help but compare Jason with Blake: what Jason and I have is vastly more intimate than anything I ever experienced with Blake. Or perhaps our relationship only seems that way because it’s more mature. Unlike Blake, Jason can get the job done without all the bells and whistles. And on top of that, Jason doesn’t consider every act of nudity a prelude to sex. Take our shower, Jason and I just showered like an average couple. If Blake ever bothered to shower with me, it wouldn’t be to get clean. He’d want to watch me lather myself with soap until his General Johnson was standing at attention, and he was ready to go to battle. That’s how he’d put it anyway. I always felt like sex was a one-way street, for his pleasure, not mine. I shouldn’t think so poorly of Blake. It’s not his fault that Jason and I just happen to be more compatible.
Jason decided to stay the night, which is a surprise. What’s more shocking is that I’m not freaking out. It feels like it’s the most natural thing in the world that we would spend the night together. He conveniently brought an overnight bag, a presumption that would have landed Blake on the couch, without sex. Jason has a way of feeling out where I am and what I’m comfortable doing.
“Honey, are you coming to bed?” Jason calls.
He must have noticed the blow dryer stopped. “Just a second,” I call back.
I smile as I look in the mirror. While Jason retrieved his duffel bag from the car, I grabbed a surprise for him from one of my packing boxes — the sheer black robe. I turn around, admiring myself in front of the full-length mirror that Jason had me pressed against when we made love. It has smudge marks everywhere. I’ll make washing it one of my top priorities tomorrow. Tonight I have more important things on my mind. I never got around to wearing this robe for Blake. I suppose there were just too many other options. With a length going just below my buttocks, the robe is entirely see through when light shines on it, and I’m not wearing anything beneath. Jason will love it!
When I walk into the bedroom, Jason is sitting in bed reading a book, with the lamp turned on beside him. “What are you reading?” I ask, while standing in the bathroom doorway. Jason looks up at me and smiles his brilliant smile that always gets my heart racing.
“One of your books,” he replies.
I walk around to where Jason sits, acutely aware of his eyes following my every movement. Taking a seat beside him, I push back the book to see the cover. The Heart of the Buddha’s Teaching, I say raising my eyebrow. “Are you looking to become enlightened?” I ask, playfully.
“I don’t need a book for that,” Jason says, smiling as he closes the book and places it on the floor. He leans in and kisses me. “It looks like August in December.”
“January,” I say pointing at the clock. “Happy New Year!”
I pull down the comforter covering Jason, “Did you forget your boxers?” I laugh.
“Every night is like August for me,” he replies, his erection on full display, a fact he seems proud of as he lays against the headboard with his hands behind his head.
It’s maddening. Watching Jason lie before me, so brazen and without a care, showing off his perfectly chiseled body that could easily rival that of Apollo. I feel my pulse racing, my heart beating, my lips moistening. I lean in for a kiss and slowly make my way on top of him. I stroke his penis, not that he needs any help, there’s not so much as a flaccid limp that needs straightening, and lead it into the moist lips between my legs. He watches me. Everything in his face showing his eagerness for me to continue, yet his hands remain steadfast behind his head. I playfully thrust at him while stroking his chest, doing everything I can to tease him into relenting, and putting his hands where they belong — on me. As I bounce around, the sash on my robe comes undone, causing it to fall open, removing all obstruction to what lies beneath. His eyes light up, and it is undeniable that he thoroughly enjoys the view. Still, he doesn’t lay a hand on me.
I wonder what game he’s playing. I make another attempt to entice him, removing the sash from my waist, wrapping it around his neck. Part of me expects that, at any moment, desire will overpower him and he’ll grab me, taking over, just like he did in the bathroom; that he’ll take charge and ease my yearning in the decisive way that only he can. But he just smiles and shakes his head, refusing to make a move.
“No?” I ask, confused. “You don’t want to?” I can feel myself becoming vulnerable, the threat of rejection looming.
His piercing green eyes gaze into mine as he touches my lips with his fingers then strokes my cheek. There’s a hardness in his face, and I finally understand. He doesn’t want to play my game.
“Then what do you want?” I ask, fully at his mercy.
He pulls the black sash from around his neck. “Put this on,” He says. “No, not there,” he shakes his head as I go to tie it around my waist.
“Where?” I ask, my eyes wide with puzzlement.
He touches my face. His smile, triumphant.
“You want me to blindfold myself?” I ask.
“Yes,” he answers with a brusque whisper.
That he would make such a request drives me insane; I can feel myself dripping wet with a lecherous fervor for him. I obediently place the sash over my eyes and tie it in the back.
“What would you like me to do now,” I ask. I desperately want to obey him. I would do anything if only he commanded it. But he doesn’t say another word. I can feel his hands lightly touching over my body. His fingers circle and pinch my nipples. His hand strokes my neck, my stomach, and my thighs. It feels like he’s everywhere at once. As his fingers touch my lips, I push my tongue out to lick them. I suck his finger then nip it with my teeth. And suddenly, all of my diffidence is overtaken by a ravenous desire to have him. With my vision obstructed, all I can do is feel. My groin tightens as though by reflex. I thrust and swivel, taking his hands and pressing them to my breasts, he firmly grabs them, intensifying my rapacious hunger.
Our breath grows heavier, and my thrusts become wilder and more urgent. “Don’t stop touching me,” I beg, as I continue riding him, faster and faster until finally, I feel all the tension release from my body. I cry out at the end.
I feel Jason’s hand on my face, pulling off the sash. He sits up and holds me in his arms. “I love you,” he says.
And without a moment’s hesitation, “I love you too,” I whisper back.
19
Paris
“We should go to Paris,” I say, staring dreamily at the ceiling as I lay on the bed next to Jason.
“Paris?” Jason asks, his eyes not moving from the laptop screen in front of him.
“Yes, Paris, the city of love.”
“The city of lights.”
“I think it’s both,” I laugh.
“Why Paris, honey?”
I can’t help but smile. It’s been six mont
hs since Jason and I officially declared ourselves a couple. In that time, the somber grays of winter have given way to the bountiful hues of spring and my heart still skips a beat when he calls me honey.
“For the same reason everyone goes, of course. So we can sip a cup of exorbitantly priced espresso as we idle outside a French bistro, and talk for hours about absolutely nothing of consequence. And stroll along a cobblestone park path, hand in hand, on a warm summer day. And languish in the sun for hours on an exotic half nude beach. And share a passionate kiss in front of the Eiffel Tower at sunset, when the city is alive and resplendent with light.”
“It sounds like you’re in a romantic mood.”
“I thought you would say I remind you of one of those French Vanilla Cafe commercials.”
“That too.”
“Well, I am in a romantic mood, but I’m serious about Paris. What do you think?”
“I think that you don’t drink coffee.”
“No I don’t, but I might sip it. Besides, I’m sure jet lag from the flight will have me welcoming a warm caffeinated beverage with open arms. Not everyone can get five hours of sleep and wake up looking like they spent the weekend at a luxury spa.”
Since Jason and I started dating, he has, for all intents and purposes, moved in with me. It would seem that he’s marked his territory in every corner of my apartment: from filling half of my walk-in closet with his suits, to allocating cabinet and drawer space in the kitchen and bathroom for his personal belongings. We never actually discussed living together, it kind of just happened. He started quite innocuously, only leaving his soap and toothbrush over, then a change of clothes, then half his wardrobe. The change was so gradual that I didn’t have time to do what I normally would — obsess about it until I’m hyperventilating at the mere mention of the topic. What’s more remarkable is that, for all of my misanthropic proclivities, I don’t mind living with Jason whatsoever.
Jason: The Philistine Heart (Book 1) Page 14
