The Offer

by Karina Halle

  With rough, eager hands he shoves up the tunic so my breasts are exposed and then pulls down my bra until my nipples are hardening in the air.

  “I knew you’d be so fucking perfect,” he says, breathing hard. The feeling makes my nipples even more sensitive and a low moan escapes from my mouth. “Oh, sweetheart, if you keep making noises like that, I’m afraid I’ll come all over you before I can come inside you.”

  Our top halves are still inside the fabric and he places his wide, hot tongue on my stomach, trailing a path up and over my breast and to my nipple. He swirls his tongue around before flicking it. I moan again, unable to keep it inside, my hands gripping onto this soft, thick hair like a lifeline.

  “It’s like licking a fucking buttercup,” he says between groans and I look down. My breasts, heaving and wet from his tongue, also glowing yellow from being inside the fabric.

  Now he’s undoing my jeans and sliding his fingers down the front of my underwear. I want to spread my legs to give him easier access but he’s pulling down my jeans and locking my thighs together. His finger pushes in through the slit and I close my eyes to the feeling, succumbing to him.

  When he finds me soaking wet, I’m almost embarrassed at how desperate my body is.

  “You’re gushing,” he says, in a low voice that connects with me on this primitive, visceral level. “Oh fuck, babe, you have no idea how badly I need to be inside your tight, pink little hole right now.” And with his words, two of his fingers slip inside me and I gasp, automatically clenching around him.

  “God, you’re greedy, aren’t you?” he whispers. “Totally underfucked and I’m about to change all of that for good.”

  Oh, God. Please do.

  He bites at my breast, plunging his fingers in further and my back is arching, wanting so much more, harder, longer, deeper. I want to be stripped naked, bare to the marrow, and I want him to take me so fucking completely I’ll never need anything else again.

  “Mommy?”

  Ah, fucking shit!

  “Damn,” I cry out softly and Bram immediately retrieves his hand, zipping back up my jeans. We exchange a wild, bashful look between us and then, once my shirt is on properly, he lifts the couch fabric up and over us.

  Ava is standing at the door to my bedroom, rubbing her eyes and looking sleepy. Thankfully from her position, she couldn’t have seen all that much.

  “Hi, sweetie,” I say to her, trying to catch my breath.

  She peers at me and Bram. “What are you doing? Your hair is all windy.”

  “Just putting the couch together,” I say, smiling way too broadly. “Bram stopped by.”

  “Hi, Bram.” She yawns and then plods along through the living room and sits down on the couch. The normal couch. The couch that doesn’t practically force two neighbors to have sex in it.

  I look over at him as he pats down his hair with a smile. What the hell just happened? I’m still turned on as hell, my breasts feel heavy with desire, my clit throbs from where his thumb was pressing. Good Lord, I need him to continue.

  But maybe this is a good thing that we stopped. Getting carried away would have been a bad idea.

  Right? I realize I’m just asking myself and I don’t have the answers. I just want to get fucking laid by this Scottish sex god beside me.

  “Well,” I say to Bram, clearing my throat. “Thanks for your help.”

  He nods and slowly gets to his feet, pulling me up to mine as he goes. “Sure. But I wasn’t done helping you, you know. I was just getting started.”

  I know what he’s saying and as much I want to ask for more, I’m not sure how and if I should.

  “Well, thanks for the help you did give. You know, with the couch.”

  He shoots me a wicked smile and then runs his fingers – his same fingers that were inside me just moments ago – underneath his nose and breathes in. “I’ll be back for more of this,” he says thickly.

  Then he turns and leaves and I’m standing beside an almost finished piece of shit couch, wondering if my legs are ever going to stop shaking.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Nicola

  I don’t see Bram for the rest of the night and when I wake up the morning, my body’s still groggy from the previous hangover and my insides ache for the brief moment that some part of Bram was inside me. It all feels like a dream, a really good wet dream, except I never got a chance to come and now I’m feeling embarrassed and sexually frustrated to boot.

  Jesus, the things he said to me were so fucking hot, I don’t think any guy had been so explicit and we had barely gotten started. I wanted to see where that filthy mouth would have taken us – figuratively and literally. I wanted him to come back for “more of this.”

  But as the morning stretched on, I’m stuck with one almost finished couch, another in a box I can’t even fathom putting together and I’m this close to taking the largest blunt object I have – probably my dildo – and smashing the shit out of both of them. Fucking IKEA! But it’s not really the store’s fault (not really), it’s mine for getting so wrapped up in him already. It’s like one little touch, one little taste, and I’m ready to give him more. Although, I would say neither his touch nor his taste was little. His tongue is strong and long and his fingers even more so.

  Even though it’s Tuesday, Lisa can’t make it in to cover my shift today since it starts at 3pm but luckily my mother can. I’m starting to feel awful for dragging her out here more often. Shift work just isn’t as predictable as the jobs of my past but she’s a trooper and loves spending time with her granddaughter as much as possible.

  “Hey, darling,” she says to me as she comes inside. She stops and immediately eyes the IKEA crap in the corner before waving at Ava who is lying on the original couch, buried in cushions and mindlessly watching TV.

  Ava gives a half-hearted wave back, as if she can’t muster the energy. Normally I’d freak out that there’s something wrong with her but I just measured her blood levels and she’s in perfect range. She’s just a bit blah – must be picking it up from her mom.

  Yet my mother says to me, “You’re looking good.” As if it’s a surprise, as if I normally walk around looking like a bag of crap. Hmmm. Maybe I do.

  “Oh, thanks,” I say. I’m just wearing my normal bar uniform of black cleavage-producing tank top and jeans but she’s peering at me like I’m hiding something.

  “Really,”’ she says, pinching one of my cheeks, something she hasn’t done since I was a little girl. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. Don’t forget you’re still young, you know, no matter how old this troublemaker makes you feel.” She jerks a thumb at Ava who pays no attention.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I tell her. I grab my leather jacket I’ve had since the Dark Ages since SF decided to be a real asshole this week and drop the temperatures to about minus a million. I’m getting ready to head out the door, when my mother says, “Should I expect a visit from Bram?”

  Even though the door handle is in my grasp, I let go and step back to face her.

  “Mom, listen,” I tell her. “Bram’s a very nice guy.”

  “A gentleman,” she says with a weirdly knowing smile.

  “Sure,” I say. “I mean, he’s a real good guy. And also, not…anyway, my point is, I don’t care if he brought you over a kettle or seems to show an interest in me and whatever, he’s just my neighbor. He’s never going to be anything more than that.”

  “Oh, Nicola…” she goes on, throwing her hands down at her sides.

  I grab one of her hands. “I know you and this is pretty much the first guy you’ve met since I’ve been with Phil, other than that guy Ben, but he didn’t stick around much either, but really…Bram and I? We are just friends. I don’t know what the future holds but for now, he’s doing me a favor and I’m trying to make it as easy as possible on him.” I pause. “You know what I mean? And don’t do any of your mom meddling things that you usually do. That’s not going to work, okay? It may jeopardize the landlord-tenant rel
ationship we have going.”

  “What makes you think I would do any of that?”

  “I can see it in your eyes,” I tell her. “I see it in my eyes too, sometimes.”

  She throws her hands up in the air and walks over to the couch, plopping down beside Ava. “All right. I understand. Mom can’t have a little fun. But I’ll tell you, one day your daughter will be old enough to be dating boys and you’re going to care as much about the process as she does. Only she won’t let you.”

  “Sounds fabulous.”

  “It’s true. It’s what happens to all us moms. Time keeps chugging by and you all keep changing but the love never does. You’ll always be my little angel and she’ll always be yours. And all mothers just want their angels to find men worthy of them. Even more than that, someone that will look at them like they’re magic.” She looks at me, plopping her legs on the couch. “If you find a man who looks at you like you’re magic, you hold on to them. I had that with your father and I never should have let him go.”

  I swallow hard. “But you have to think the man is magic, too. It goes both ways.”

  She nods. “Yes you do. It has to be both ways and when you find it, it’s alchemy in its purest form. Don’t cast it aside for anything else.”

  I don’t know what else to say. I tell my mom to call if there are any troubles and I leave.

  I don’t see Bram in the halls. I don’t know what I’d say if I did. I’d probably ask for a ride and would end up getting more than I bargained for.

  ***

  Unfortunately I don’t end up working the shift that night for very long. The night is slow and at around eight, James tells me I can go home. It’s great I still get the tips and a few more hours of my paycheck, even if I’m not there – he can be a really good boss sometimes. But the hassle of public transportation doesn’t help and also, I guess I just really wanted to be out of the apartment for a long time. It’s easy to forget about Bram when I’m so far removed.

  I walk down the hall to my apartment, shrugging off my leather jacket and am about to stick the key in the door when I hear laughter.

  My mom’s laughter.

  Ava’s laughter.

  Bram’s laughter.

  Oh, hell no. I silently whip out the powder compact and give my face the once over. Hair is disheveled a bit but I look okay otherwise. I take a deep breath and open the door.

  Inside my apartment are Bram, my mom and Ava. They are all sitting on the same couch.

  Only it’s not my old couch and it’s obviously not the yellow shit piece. The yellow shit piece and the other box are stacked up by the door, right beside where I’m standing. All three of them are on this sleek, dark grey sofa that I’ve never seen before.

  Actually, as I shut the door behind me and peer at it closer, it looks like the same futon Bram had his eye on in the store.

  Oh my God, did he buy me a new fucking couch?

  My eyes fly to his and from the way he’s grinning at me, the tip of his tongue held devilishly between his teeth, I know that’s exactly what happened.

  “You’re home early,” my mom says and she looks bashful, as if I caught her doing something she shouldn’t be doing. She adds quickly, “Bram came by with this couch for you, isn’t that so nice of him?”

  “It’s very nice of him,” I say, walking over the couch and kneading the top of it between my hands. It’s soft but sturdy. I like it a lot, but God how his charity is starting to make me uncomfortable at times. I think that’s why he does it. Screw the Richard Branson aspirations. I think Project Nicola Price aka Eliza Doolittle is more because he enjoys how much it bothers me. He’s becoming a regular old sugar daddy when I sure as hell never asked for one.

  I look over at Ava who is smiling at Bram like he’s her damn hero. “How do you like the couch, angel?”

  “I like it very much,” she says emphatically.

  All right, so I guess that settles it. “Where’s the old couch?” I ask him, oddly sad I never got to say goodbye.

  “A charity organization came to take it away, going to a half-way house,” he says. “So don’t worry, it’s going to a good cause. And tomorrow we’ll just return the other couches to IKEA.”

  Oh, so we have plans for tomorrow now? I do my best to keep a stupid smile from showing on my lips.

  “Well, now that you’re home, I better be going,” my mother says, easing herself off the couch. She gives Bram a flirty look. “Nice talking with you, Bram.”

  “Always a pleasure,” he replies, his brogue extra thick. Extra hot. Damn, he needs to stop showing off his accent.

  My mom gives me a quick hug, says bye to Ava and just as she’s out the door, she winks at me.

  I totally pretend not to see it.

  But once the door closes, it feels like I’m being locked in a tomb with Bram and suddenly I want my mother back because I am afraid like nothing else at what could happen tonight.

  Because he’s here. He’s sitting on my couch – my new couch – and he’s staring at me so intently that my bones feel like melting away. That look can only mean one thing.

  “Mommy,” Ava says, snapping me back to attention. “Can I stay up with you guys and watch Dora?”

  “No, sweetie,” I quickly tell her, grateful for the opportunity. “You have to go to bed now. How about you go brush your teeth. Did your grandma use the spindle and give you the ouchie?”

  She nods and then runs off to the bathroom.

  “You know what’s going to be nice?” I say to Bram. “Her starting kindergarten in the fall. She’ll be so tuckered out, there’s no way she can stay up late.”

  “That will be nice,” he says. “And easier on you, especially if you start working days. You think you’ll still be with the Lion?”

  I shrug, glad that we’re talking about other things and ignoring the throbbing elephant in the room. “I’m just taking each day as it comes, to be honest. But yeah, I guess I should keep looking shouldn’t I?”

  He purses his lips and drums his fingers along the back of the couch. “Since bartending wasn’t your career choice, you can always start incorporating your dream job back in. You know. Your passion.”

  I nod. “I’ll try.” Actually one of things I’ve been wanting to do lately is start sewing again like I used to do as a teenager, but I’ll have to save enough money to get a sewing machine. It’s funny how much I feel like a teen again with Bram around. I want to sew, I want to listen to 90’s trip hop, I want to just let my hair down and be a bit wild and free.

  For the first time in a long time, I wouldn’t mind losing my heart. Just as long as I can get it back. When you’re a teenager and you fall in love, you think you’ll never move on once it’s been lost. But you always gain it back, you always fall for someone else. No boy holds it for too long. Your young heart is a wild, elastic thing. Now, I fear that age and time and experience stretches it too hard, too far, and it will never snap back.

  But why am I even thinking about love. My mind should be in the gutter, if anything.

  “Do you hate the couch?” Bram asks as I go into the kitchen to put on some decaf.

  “Not at all!” I tell him. I shoot him a sheepish glance over my shoulder. “Sorry, I’m just surprised. Like, really.”

  I look back at the coffee grounds I’m trying to measure and I can hear him get off the couch. I can feel him come toward me. The man carries his own force field and maybe it’s just my hormones or my deprived imagination, but I swear I can feel every hair on my body standing to attention as he approaches.

  “It’s a really nice couch,” I say meekly, talking for the sake of talking. Oh man, when I get nervous, I can talk anyone’s ear off. “I think we saw it in IKEA, right? I guess you could have returned the yellow couch earlier.”

  “Aye,” he says and now his voice is like a growl. He stops right behind me and I can feel his breath on my neck. “I could have. But I wanted your approval. I told the half-way house that you may change your mind, so they
’re holding it somewhere.”

  I swallow. “Okay. Um, well, no. It’s for a good cause as you said and I guess we can return to the store tomorrow or some other day for the rest and…”

  I trail off because his lips are on the bare spot between my neck and my shoulder and his kiss, so soft, so slow, is literally stealing my breath and my thoughts. I am pure silk in his hands and I have to brace myself on the counter so that I don’t slither to the ground.

  But he has me too. He places those warm, large hands around my waist, making me feel so impossibly dainty and one hundred percent his. I lean back into him and he presses his pelvis against my ass. I can already feel the hard contours of his erection, straining for me.

  “Mommy,” I hear Ava call from the bathroom. Kid has the worst timing I swear.

  I raise my shoulder, trying to shrug Bram off. “I don’t want her to get the wrong idea,” I tell him.

  He takes his lips and hands away and I can feel his eyes on the back of my head. He clears his throat. “There is no wrong idea, Nicola. There’s only a right one.”

  I twist around to face him but he’s already halfway across the room and going for the door.

  Shit. Did I scare him off that easily? The expression on his face is tense and I wonder if I somehow offended him.

  “Good night,” he says and just like that he’s gone.

  Holy moly. I stare at the closed door a few seconds until Ava runs over to me. “Mommy, can I have toothpaste that tastes like bubblegum? I saw it on the TV.”

  I absently ruffle her hair. “When you finish this tube you can.”

  I’d never seen Bram so moody before though it doesn’t surprise me. Beneath that easy-going exterior, sometimes I can see the darkness in his eyes, hinting at something underneath. We all have that in us.

  Later on, after I put Ava to bed, I find that I can’t sleep. I toss and turn, staring up at the ceiling, pulling the duvet over me as the chill from the Bay wafts into my room. I masturbate soundlessly, getting off to Bram everything – Bram on me, inside me, around me – but that doesn’t help at all. It just makes things worse because I’m so aware of how there’s no substitute for the real thing.