by Dani Lovell
What is it about him that now makes me want him to be touching me all the time? What has allowing myself to get to know the real Sebastian Love, done to me? Is it because he has shown me just how perfectly he can satisfy me in the bedroom, having only known men to be merely adequate? That he recognises and furthermore – satiates my need for a more stimulating, diverse intimate experience? And why has he got me asking myself questions all the time?
When he joins me on the couch, he does exactly as I wanted, and sits right next to me, stretching one arm along the back of the furniture. He leans into my body and smiles, his face an intimate distance from mine.
He offers me a hugely sexy, natural smile and straightens his legs, crossing his ankles over the soft, spotless cream rug. “Would you like to listen to some music?”
“Sure, why not?”
He leans forward to his coffee table to retrieve his iPhone and has quickly synchronised with speakers surrounding the room. Immediately, the rhythmic, distinctive sound of reggae beats blares through the sound system, making us both jump.
“Whoa! I wasn’t expecting that, not exactly romantic, is it? I’m sorry…” he looks down at the phone to change it.
“Oh no, leave it – I like reggae music. You could turn it down a fraction though,” I laugh, “it might be good to be able to hear each other.”
He smiles with me. “You really like reggae music?” I nod and he shakes his head, grinning, indicating that I’ve surprised him again. But come on, it’s reggae! Who doesn’t like that every now and again?
I sway my shoulders in time to the beat, suppressing the urge to wiggle my ass as it’s beneath me, and Seb subtly nods along to the ever-popular ‘Boom-shack-alack’ by Apache Indian.
“One of my favourites, and I also love Uptown Top Ranking.”
“Uh huh,” he nods, grinning, “Everything I Own, Ken Boothe.”
“Oh yeah! That one! Pass the Dutchie… oh, and pretty much all Bob Marley of course.”
“That’s a given! You don’t love me, Dawn Penn; great song.”
“Okay, so you’re set for a night of reggae then, yes? Because you’ve just convinced me that’s what tonight’s about.” I laugh, reaching forward to the table to get my wine.
“I’m totally good with that, I was expecting to put on a little relaxing music, Katie Melua or Eva Cassidy’s Over the Rainbow or something like that.”
“Why be predictable, huh?”
“Indeed. Wanna dance with me?” he asks with a wink.
“Oh I don’t think I’m quite drunk enough for that – I wouldn’t want to endanger you.”
He laughs. “You’re not a huge dancer, are you?”
“Nope.” I shake my head, he’s absolutely right; I’m not one for making a mockery of myself.
“You did have a sexy little dance in ‘Escobar’ at Christmas, remember?”
I smile and close my eyes, nodding, remembering how incredibly drunk I got that night. “Yes, I remember a lot about that night.”
“I’m glad you finally have it all back, the next day you were a little lost.”
“I was, but it all came slowly back to me.”
“What do you remember?”
He’s getting naughty. I look up into his eyes, my own slightly hazy, and my lids heavy from the dim lights and delicious wine. “I remember a lot about ‘Escobar’, to start with.”
“Maybe you could refresh my memory?” His cheeky smirk sends an unexpected electric shock to my core. Maybe that, along with the adrenaline of recapturing the lewd, suggestive remarks he made as he indulged my wanting skin with kisses, that night.
I take a long deep breath to summon the courage to come out and repeat some of those things. “Well, I recall quite clearly that you told me you wanted to burst deep inside my tight body.”
His eyebrows shoot to the ceiling and his grin is superbly cheeky. He didn’t expect me to repeat that part, clearly. “What? Did I say that?”
“Yes, you absolutely did. You also told me that my – and I’m using your words here – ‘pussy’ was reacting to you.”
His eyes twinkle. “Yeah, sounds like something I’d have said to you that night.”
I’m on a roll, because although I could stop – I’m finding this unusually arousing, it’s about the only time I could use the word ‘pussy’ outside of the bedroom and I’m making the most of it – it’s fun. I want to continue. “Then,”
“Then?” he asks, “You’re going on?”
“Yes,” I say smoothly, “would you rather I didn’t?”
“Oh, no,” he responds immediately, “I just didn’t expect you to want to.”
“Well, if you will continue to put me in a box…”
“No, I would never want to do that! Please, go on…”
I smile with some seriously sexy, teasing eyes. “Well, you again told me that I wanted you to lick me dry, following it by confirming that you did in fact want to do that yourself.”
He chuckles, clearly a little embarrassed, although - thankfully, he doesn’t appear to regret saying those things. I think if he did, it would take something away from the person he has so established himself to be, in my head, and I think I like him.
“You also told me – before you thoroughly devoured my face in front of everybody - that I wouldn’t forget those things that you had said, and guess what?”
“You really didn’t.”
“I did not.”
He is so close to my face, our eyes hiding nothing about our desire for each other, Bob Marley melodically repeating words of love in the background against a contagiously rhythmic beat that sees my foot bouncing uncontrollably.
My heart races as I look down at his pouting, soft lips, framed by a wholly masculine and perfectly grown beard. He’s going to kiss me, and I’m going to wrap my hand around his neck, I’ll run my nails over the very short stubble on his head before threading them through his facial ruff as his tongue and lips capture mine. I’m so ready for it.
Surprising and utterly disappointing me, he slowly creates a little distance between us and clears his throat. “You also danced with me, the Christmas before. Remember that?”
“Huh?” I ask, confused. What, now?
“We were talking about dancing…” Oh – so we were. “The Christmas before last when all of your British friends first visited Aspen. We had that very messy night that seems to be becoming an annual tradition.”
I’m back in the room now, mentally. I totally succumbed to weakness back there. “The night we all went back to my place and you taught us those appalling drinking games?”
He laughs. “Yes, that night. I recall you quite enjoying those games.”
I wave my hand to dismiss the subject; I don’t want to remember. “Anyway, so yes, dancing?”
“Yes, do you remember dancing with me that night? Another ‘Escobar’ encounter.”
“I do, actually.” I smile as I recall the sexy little grind we shared, before I had changed my opinion of him, before anything sexual had happened between us. I was inebriated, of course, mortifyingly.
“You know, for someone who doesn’t dance so much, I still recall how well you can move. You had me so hard that night when you were grating my pants with your butt.”
“What?” I cry, “You were hard?”
“Yeah, I had trouble controlling it. What I would have given to have kicked Luke and Tilly out of that bathroom and locked myself in there with you.”
“Well, that would never have happened! I don’t ‘do’ bathrooms.”
“And I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, Alexia. But I wanted you, either way.”
“Sebastian, you’ve told me that from the first time we met.”
“I know. It took me a long time to get you to crack, huh?”
“I didn’t ‘crack’. I simply… got to know you is all.”
“Okay,” he smiles. “I missed you.”
I frown; nose deep into my wine glass. “Hmm?” I ask, swallowin
g the smooth sanguine velvet that even now, after a couple of glasses, warms my chest.
My approval must be written on my face, because as Sebastian watches, he’s inclined to collect his own glass from the coffee table to take a large gulp. As he swallows, he turns to look at me again, in close proximity, as before.
“I missed you.”
“When?”
“This past couple of weeks since our night together.”
It’s my turn to create a little distance, pulling back slightly, frowning. He missed me? That makes no sense. I call bullshit.
“You missed me? How? We didn’t exactly see each other frequently before.”
“I know, but spending that time with you, talking so intensely about so many different topics, enjoying you as I did… I wanted more of it.”
“Really? So why didn’t you get in touch before you began to miss me? Why wait until today?”
He looks away again to take another sip of wine and focuses on something ahead of him on the balcony. “Like I said, I’ve just been busy with work... we added to the fleet which always creates an abundance of work, and I was flying, too.”
“I appreciate that – I know full well what it’s like to be busy with work, believe me, but if I want to send a message to somebody or speak to them – I do so during a break or in the evening. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
He chuckles. “You’re right, Lexie. I guess I just got swept up with it all, I’m not too sure myself.”
Well that’s hardly an explanation, how ridiculous. But I don’t know the ins and outs; maybe he was flying a lot of nights… But he’s not my boyfriend, I don’t need him to justify anything to me, however much I might want it, and I don’t want to go on, even though my stubborn side wants to explain why his reasoning isn’t washing. Just be cool, Alexia.
“Okay, well, whatever happened, we’re having another pleasant evening tonight, aren’t we? No need to miss me, now.”
“Exactly. I’m so glad things eased up enough and I was able to invite you over.”
‘Well, good. It’s ideal that I was available and could make it,” let him believe you do have a social life, Lex, “tonight has been very nice, thus far.”
“And it will continue, so.”
“Great.”
We clink glasses and take yet another sip as the music takes over from the slightly awkward conversation. Hopefully he’ll say something in a minute to detour. I can’t really think of anything while I internally dispute his absurd explanation and I’d like a distraction because I feel I might just have to say something else about it, and that just wouldn’t be cucumber-cool-Alexia.
On a more positive note, though, he definitely seems a little less lecherous, of late. He’s acting and speaking more ‘adult’ with me, which is very welcoming. Maybe I’ve just gotten used to his lewdness… maybe I’m becoming immune to shameless smut. That’s an unsavoury thought…
“How about…” oh thank God, a distraction. He leans forward to return his glass to the table. “We watch a movie?”
A movie? I haven’t watched a movie with a boy since… well, since I dated boys. “Um… sure… if that’s that you’d like to do?” I ask, slightly perturbed.
“I think it could be fun.” He says, smiling, and he stands up, his bare feet flat on the floor with his oversized pants swathing them, somewhat – sexily. He turns the music off, creating a still in the room, a slightly uneasy change of atmosphere.
I look up at him from my position on the couch, wondering if I’m supposed to be getting up, too, as he is standing there, smiling down at me, expectantly.
He holds his hand out to me. “Oh,” I say, now understanding that – yes, I am supposed to be getting up. I uncross my legs and shuffle forwards in my seat until my feet rest on the floor, and I take his hand and stand up. I could have gotten up all by myself, I am a big girl, but I didn’t want to be rude and spurn his tactile offering.
Still clutching my glass as if it’s my only clarity right now, I allow myself to be tugged along behind him, deeper into his apartment. Why are we moving? Surely one watches television in the living room? I remember that there is a painting where the T.V. should be though, so he must have a separate room for television.
It’s a little insulting, wouldn’t you say, though? I mean – I’ve been invited over to his home for dinner and instead of talking with me like most other sophisticated, interested men do; he wants to sit in silence to watch some movie? What a way to sweep a woman off of her feet!
I can’t tell at this point what his intentions with me are, does he want to be ‘buddies’? Does he want to use me for my vagina? Does he want a serious relationship? I’m pretty sure it’s not the latter, but I was mindlessly hoping for at least somewhere between the last two, purely because – well, I’m not a guy and do not need a ‘buddy’ to watch movies and games with.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THURSDAY 2ND APRIL CONT.
His broad back in the crisp white t-shirt is my view as I walk closely behind him. I haven’t really had much of a chance to look around me to take in other aspects of his apartment.
I feel a sudden contrast beneath my feet, the cool wooden floor replaced by a very soft, very deep pile carpet, and as he releases my hand and steps further into the room, I realise we are in his bedroom. His bedroom!
A very simplistic, if not smaller than I had imagined - room, with dark brown leather accents and rich, brown wooden furniture. The bed is, of course, large, and extremely comfortable looking – I can imagine myself curled up and cosy in there of an evening, but that’s really not something I need to be picturing right now… is it? Why are we in here?
“Is this your bedroom?” I ask, maybe it’s a spare room, but even so – it’s still not clear why we are in a bedroom at all… unless he’s raring to get me naked, of course. I’m not sure I’d be so opposed to that, peculiar as it may seem.
“Yep.” He says, strolling over to his bed to retrieve the T.V. remote control, as if that’s explanation enough.
“O-kay… so, why are we here?”
“This is where my T.V. is,” he says, patting the side of his bed to gesture for me to sit as he fixates on the screen.
“Really? You only have one?”
“Yeah, I’m not a huge television kinda guy, and the only place I ever really need or want to watch anything, is in bed. I like the sitting area to remain just that -somewhere to sit and socialise.”
“Don’t you ever watch a game with the guys or anything?”
“Meh…” he shrugs, “not here, we usually go out for a beer if we’re going to watch something. I don’t have the guys over here so much, only Cole and we don’t watch a whole lot of T.V. together. There’s more to life than that, you know?”
Well, I’m standing here thinking, ‘yes’! I really do know, I feel exactly the same way – so why do you want to watch it with me?! “Yeah, I know. I’m not so big on television myself.” Hint, hint.
“I think you’ll like this though, come – make yourself comfortable. Sit!”
I’m doubtful, and slightly flummoxed, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he wants to get romantic – although I don’t see him as a ‘Sleepless in Seattle’ kind of a guy.
I walk over to the bed, and perch on the edge with my wine, crossing my legs. Sebastian turns to look at me with a raised eyebrow. “Lex.”
“Uh huh?”
“That’s not what I meant. Come on, shake the prim and proper – climb up on my bed and sit against the pillows, get comfy.”
“Well,” I look down at my body and gesticulate with my hand, “I am wearing a suit, Sebastian.”
“So what?” he cries. “You were wearing a suit when we fucked our way along the monkey bars. Get up on the bed!”
He has a point. I guess this guy is just determined to enable my inelegant side. I wasn’t aware that that side had continued to exist after 1995, but it’s rearing its ugly head again. I suppose I’ll just hav
e to embrace it.
I walk around the bed to the other side and hitch my skirt up to gracelessly clamber onto the mattress. I plop down onto the pillows, tucking my legs to the side and lean back against the headboard. It is extremely comfortable, I have to admit, it’s just not all that normal for me to relax in this way - in a suit, with a gentleman.
He backs up and joins me, sitting close and stretching his legs in front of us, reaching an arm around my shoulders. “Okay?”
“Yes, I’m okay, thank you.”
“Great.”
He dims the lights using a switch on his bedside unit and points the remote control at the television, before dropping it to the bed and relaxing back. Suit or no suit, it is actually very comforting to be tucked into his side like this, on his soft, warm bed in the near dark. I’m beginning to think that maybe this is quite a nice idea, and maybe I shouldn’t be so closed off to… er… oh my God!
I raise an eyebrow as the movie starts, giving it a moment or two before I let my instincts tell me how right they are. ‘Orifice Office’. If the ridiculous title wasn’t enough to give it away, the terrible, cheesy opening music certainly is. “Um, Sebastian…”
“Sh, sh… wait a minute.”
I sit up, away from his arm and the headboard, wine in hand, just staring at the screen in amazement. Does this man honestly think I’m going to sit here and watch a cheap, 1990 pornographic movie with him?
A 1980’s-style office - full of girls, is the opening scene. Girls that appear to be wearing high-gloss ruby nail polish as lip-gloss and skirts that I’m sure started their lives as Hunza bandeau bikini tops, given their coverage.
See-through white shirts, four sizes too small - unbuttoned to mid-rib, and toes dangling over the edge of heinous, clear plastic, peep-toe platforms - seems to be the uniform at… ‘Orifice Office’. They obviously haven’t heard of bras, given the energetic freedom and bottle corks inside those shirts.
The walls in this office are a charming shade of ‘1984’ blue/grey, and the desks trimmed with a very coordinating pastel peach. It’s pretty clear for anyone watching this obscene trash that the budget was so low they had to borrow a set from some failed 80’s soap opera. I suppose the only thing giving the actual era in which it was made away, are the very chunky 90’s computer monitors.
