The Arrangement

by Jennifer Hartley

  “So, Spencer, I’m sure you’ve been to places cooler than this in your day,” Karim said, nodding at him.

  “I’m not much for clubs, I’m afraid,” Spencer admitted. “I spent much of my life in boardrooms.”

  “Well, I’m sure if you’re the boss, it’s loads of fun,” Minette told him. Sasha had to hide a sigh of relief. They were friendly and trying to make Spencer feel comfortable. So far, they were succeeding.

  “So, end of term, guys,” Eric said. “Where are you off to?”

  “Just hanging around. Working,” Minette replied. “By the way, I was in the Rogue Museum the other day. You have a painting there. ‘The Break of Day,’ it was called?”

  Sasha wasn’t familiar with the painting. Eric, still holding her hand, suddenly gripped it.

  “Yes.”

  “She’s beautiful. Was that your Mom? I notice you look like her.”

  “No, it wasn’t my Mom. It’s my best friend.”

  Oh, fuck, Sasha thought. Spencer shifted in his seat.

  “Best friend?” Karim glanced at Sasha. “You never mentioned that. Have we met her?”

  Spencer looked grim. Eric cleared his throat. “Um, she passed away.”

  “Alright!” The singer from Jeremiah’s band suddenly bellowed in the microphone. “I want people on the right to go, ‘Say,’ and the ones on the left, ‘Ooh,’ got it? Can we try it out?” She had beautiful, dusky skin and delicate, doll-like features. Her voice also had a sexy, whispery quality that was a caress to the ear. She was attractive to a point where it was impossible to say if she was real or a figment of the imagination.

  As the crowd went, “Say, ooh . . . .” Minette looked at Karim then said, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. She must have been so young.” She looked horrified at bringing up what was clearly still a difficult subject. Sasha gave her a reassuring look.

  “Yes. She was.”

  “I’m sorry,” she told Spencer.

  “Thank you,” he replied.

  Eric seemed to recover faster from the moment. He was smooth in turning the conversation towards the safer topic of music. Karim’s eyes lit up and he was soon in a deep conversation with him, making Minette roll her eyes in amusement. Spencer, from whom Eric must have learned the skill, asked her and Sasha about their exams. But Minette would rather have Spencer talk about the rigor of running his empire. It was clear it pleased him to find out that she was well - versed in the language of business and stocks. Minette then confessed she was first an economics major in college before shifting to music.

  During a break from their performance, Jeremiah joined them. He called a waiter over so they could order drinks. Eric and Sasha stuck to club soda while everyone else ordered the harder stuff. As the intermission came to an end, Jeremiah began to egg Sasha to join him onstage.

  “What? No way!” She exclaimed, flushing and shaking her head vehemently.

  “Sasha, everyone here in this table has heard you play, and you’re fucking great - uh, excuse me, sir,” Jeremiah told Spencer. “Sorry. My mom’s been washing my mouth with soap for years, and it’s not working at all. Come on, Sasha. Don’t be greedy.”

  “I’m not being greedy!”

  Spencer suddenly spoke up, “I don’t believe I’ve heard you play, Sasha.”

  “What?” Minette screeched. She turned accusing eyes at Sasha. “I don’t believe you! Your father-in-law has never heard you?”

  Jeremiah grabbed Sasha by the arm, grinning. “Alright. Now there’s a reason for you to play.”

  “Eric - ” Sasha looked at him. “Do something.”

  His smile was positively angelic. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I sure will, sweetheart. Jeremiah, put her on the stage.”

  “With pleasure,” Jeremiah said, pulling her up.

  “Traitor!” Sasha growled as everyone laughed. Her eyes were murderous as she stomped after Jeremiah. Unbelievable.

  “Hey, Enya,” Jeremiah greeted the singer. “This is the friend I’ve been telling you about.”

  Enya beamed at Sasha and held out her slim arms. “Ah, you’re Sasha? My, you are terrifically tall, aren’t you? Come here. Don’t be shy, hon. Give me a hug.”

  Sasha awkwardly hugged her back, blushing heavily. “Hi. I’m sorry for this loser dragging me here. You have a great voice, by the way.”

  “You’re sweet to say so, darling. Thank you. Now Jeremiah tells me you are one hell of a cellist?”

  Sasha cringed and glared at Jeremiah. “He exaggerates.”

  “He told me you’re shy. The good ones often are. So.” Enya swept a slim, graceful arm toward the band. “After you.”

  Sasha gulped. “You can’t be serious?”

  “Of course I am, darling!” Enya drawled. “Now, aren’t you with that delicious blond god?”

  “My husband,” Sasha mumbled, a fresh wave of blush starting on her cheek. “Eric.”

  “Don’t you want to play for Eric?”

  God, this woman was a smooth operator. Sasha turned back shyly to the audience and saw Eric right away. He waved at her and blew her a kiss. Jeremiah grinned and pretended to catch it. Eric gave him the finger, making Karim and Minette laugh. Spencer shook his head at his son.

  “Alright,” Sasha agreed, biting her lip. “Thank you, Enya.”

  “That’s my girl! Alright. So, you just follow my lead and play however you like.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. If you’re as good as Jeremiah says you are, you can surely catch up with everyone. Now go park your little tush by that cello. Go on, darling. Go on.”

  Enya took the microphone and greeted the crowd again. To Sasha’s mortification, she was introduced to the crowd, accompanied literally by a spotlight. The loudest cheers came from their table, and she was pretty sure she heard Eric shout, “That’s my wife!” It drew a shy, happy smile from her, and she firmed her hold on the bow.

  Sasha knew next to nothing about jazz, but Enya, who would give her encouraging smiles at the beginning of the number, made it easier for her to learn how to follow and play. And it really was play. It was like a disciplined sort of surrender, getting lost to the beat and crescendo of the music. Classically trained her whole life, she was surprised that she took on to playing jazz easily, laughing as she stroked the strings to coax notes that ranged from sweet to sharp. Her eyes veered to the crowd, and there was Eric, smiling and looking proud. It was just the encouragement she needed to do more.

  When she finished, she leaped off the stage. She barely heard the applause that Enya cajoled the crowd into giving her. She walked past the tables and acknowledged with an absent nod praises thrown at her. Her eyes were dancing, and her grin was wide and gleeful. She scanned the crowd, looking for only one person.

  Eric was on his feet when she reached the table. Still high from her performance, she was bold in throwing her arms around him, and even more when her mouth slanted over his. She cupped his face in her warm hands, moaning as he pressed her tightly against his chest. They kissed for a wonderful eternity. When it ended, the noise and activity of the club came whooshing back. She gazed into his beautiful moss eyes, feeling for the first time that at last, she belonged. It was a feeling like no other. She had always felt like a stranger even among her friends. But this feeling wasn’t even comparable to it – not in the least. It was like being bundled up in a warm blanket and hugged tight on a cold night. The feeling of him so close and intimate was something that made her feel like she finally knew her place in the world. In a place where she was always too much of something – too big, too quiet, too loud, too much – she felt perfectly at home being exactly who she was, in his arms.

  “You were magnificent,” Eric said, still holding her. Pride warmed his gaze.

  She pinked and dropped her eyes to her shoes.

  “You belong on the stage, Sasha.” His voice was so tender and honest. He meant it when he said that about her. He wasn’t trying to be kind or big-hearted, but he truly believed in her. It had
been the case even when even she herself didn’t believe in her own self worth and capability.

  She shook her head. “No. I’m with you.” She touched his cheek, her heart beginning to race. Eric gave her a strange look. He could feel it beating against his chest too. It was loud and rumbled like a car starting – like something rearing to life.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” She said truthfully. Her heart was racing faster by the minute, but they felt like airy flutters in her chest. It felt like there was something stuck in there – right in the very center of her chest cavity – waiting to be set free at long last. She listened to what it told her and spoke the words. “Nothing at all. I just love you, Eric. That’s all.”

  Five

  All the kissing and twirling around the loft trying to get to the stairs, the bed, was hell on Sasha’s balance, but Eric’s arms and kisses kept her upright and moving towards their goal. Along the way, she lost her sweater, he got rid of his, their shoes rained on the floor. They nearly tripped on her skirt.

  They flopped down on the bed, their bodies bouncing and knocking Eric off her momentarily. Sasha lay on her back, blinking and trying to make sense of what was happening when he was back on top of her, his tongue in her mouth and his erection against her thigh.

  She felt drunk and exhilarated, floating yet grounded. As she grabbed his face, at his hair, he pushed her t-shirt up her throat. The buttons of his shirt dragged across her breasts, dug in her chest. Their tongues thrust desperately towards each other. She heard the sharp, ripping sound of fabric, and another, followed by the sensation of warm mist settling over her bared thighs, her pussy.

  Eric suddenly pushed himself up. She froze at the heat of his stare, the expression on his face that seemed furious. “Say it,” he gritted out. “Again. Tell me again.”

  Confused, she panted, “What?”

  “Tell me you love me.” He looked pained, then he was swooping back down for a kiss. A clash of tongues before he sucked hers. Her nails carved crescents on his arms before he grunted, “Please.”

  “I - ” she managed to gasp during a too-brief reprieve from their kiss. It was almost violent how she ripped her mouth away from him, her grip on his hair fierce and causing him to draw a sharp breath. As he ran his teeth down the tensed line of her neck and sucked on her collarbone, she cradled him between her legs. Her pussy swelled at the press of his cock. “I love you, Eric.”

  It was almost a relief to say the words, a most satisfying exhale after holding her breath for so long. The fullness in her heart didn’t abate. It was also painful. But it was pain that she welcomed. “I love you,” she whispered again, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as his lips wrapped around her nipple. He drew on the tip harshly, pulling it away from the mound. She whimpered, her head turning swiftly from side to side.

  “Again.” He begged, suddenly lifting a little away from her. He couldn’t move much due to her embrace. She thought he sounded close to tears.

  “I love you.”

  She heard the soft rasp of a zipper being lowered, the rustle of lace on linen as he pushed aside the scraps of her panties. Then he was inside her, hard and warm. He felt like something that had always been a part of her, always in her. She froze, eyes widening with shock. They had always been rough. But rough came after much initial gentleness.

  Eric didn’t ram into her, not immediately. Instead, he just stayed inside her. He cupped her face and kissed her sweetly. She clung to him, and he groaned. He thrust deeper into her. “Love. Sweetheart. Sasha.”

  “I love you so much.” She couldn’t stop herself from saying the words. He never had to ask her. She would give, no questions asked. For Eric, it would always be like that. “So, so much.”

  “Sasha.” There was so much need in his voice. It sounded like heartbreak.

  No. She wouldn’t allow this. She grabbed him by the face and forced him to look in her eyes.

  “Eric, I love you. I love you. I love you.”

  He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. Then she read the recognition in them. And the need. Her husband. The strongest person she knew. Stubborn, willful, impulsive. Her light. She tightened her legs around him, and they cried out.

  They fucked with her holding tightly to his face, their eyes boring deeply into each other. He held one of her legs over his shoulder, the depth and angle of his thrust drawing rough whimpers from her throat. Through the wild ride, Eric would grunt, almost harshly, to hear those words again. “Tell me. Say it.” And they spilled from her lips, sometimes like rivulets, sometimes a wave upon a wave.

  Eric was relentless. He asked her to repeat those words through the night, fucking her, kissing her. She wanted to be with him in every way possible, wanted him to know she was his, really his. Her face was red down to her neck when she suddenly reached in his nightstand and pulled out a familiar white tube. She stared at it, feeling her heart leap in her throat before meeting his eyes. Then she handed it to him and turned on her hands and knees.

  She panted and gasped, fighting through the white and silver sparks filling her gaze as he fucked her, thrusting past her stubborn resistance, imploring her to ease as well as how he wanted her, wanted her above everything, in her ear, on her shoulder. Tears fell from her eyes, not from pain but from the intensity of their joining. She should no longer be overwhelmed. She had felt him like this inside her before. This was Eric. She knew him. But something was different. Not just with tonight’s repertoire, that now came with her declaration and him grunting and gasping behind her, his hard body pressing her down on the mattress. Something had shifted. It felt like the night they first fucked, and the day when she began to trust him in bed by letting him get on top of her.

  She was a limp mass on the bed afterward. She was briefly roused with the gentle caress of a towel as he cleaned her up. Then she felt herself being turned on her back. He lay down beside her, his breath rasping her ear. But his fingers slid down to her pussy, brushing the curls back before he entered her in one thrust and had her moaning against his lips.

  This night was far from over.

  “I don’t want to sleep,” he told her, struggling with the words. He looked in her eyes, his finger fucking her pussy with increasingly rough strokes. “I don’t know if I dreamed you told me you loved me.”

  He kissed her, and she whimpered against his lips. A second finger joined the other thrusting in her pussy. She raised her hips, awkwardly matching the pace of his fucking.

  “I really love you,” she gasped.

  “Say it again,” he begged before taking a nipple in his mouth. His fingers went in and out.

  She spread her legs wide. “I love you, Eric.”

  “Again. Again.”

  “I love you.” She moaned. “I love you.”

  The somber notes from the cello were not exactly lively morning music, but Eric liked the melody. As he squeezed fresh orange juice, his ears tried to identify the composition.

  “What’s that?” he asked, bringing the pitcher to the table.

  Sasha looked up, keeping her bow poised over the instrument. Her cheeks turned a darling shade of pink.

  “Um, it’s . . . it’s an original composition,” she replied, the lovely pink shade now covering her neck. “I’ve been playing around . . . more like tinkering, really.”

  Eric smiled. “No kidding?”

  She shrugged.

  Sasha just standing in the same room as he was enough to fuck with his brain. Sasha with her cello, with her pale hair a halo around her head, her blotchy skin hugged by the sunlight streaming from the skylight, and her body covered only in a t-shirt and boxers, just about killed him. She looked sweet and innocent. Not so innocent, Eric reminded himself; for once, he was just content feeling his cock stir. Her pussy was still wet from their fucking, the insides of her freckled thighs pink from his beard. His eyes warmed as they gazed at her extra-puffy mouth.

  “Is that the only one you’ve done? I l
ike it,” he said. And he did. If she could be captured in a melody, she was smooth, somber notes, gentle rhythm.

  She froze. “R - Really?”

  “A bit . . . quiet for the morning, after the night we had,” he told her. You love me. I refused to let you stop saying it. Don’t stop saying it.

  She blushed and bit her lip.

  “I hope for more nights like it,” he added huskily, gazing pointedly at her nipples through the t-shirt and the sweet peek of her inner thigh behind the cello. “Days too.”

  The best thing in life was not fucking a woman who wanted to be fucked by you. It was fucking a woman who loved you. No, not just a woman, he amended. Sasha. Fucking Sasha, who loved him, was the supreme gift. Last night, he felt alive for probably the first time in his life.

  “Me too.” She mumbled.

  He longed to kiss her, suck her tongue, bury himself deep in her pussy that was still soaked with semen. But he remained by the table, too in awe of her in the light and her talent with the cello. Somehow, controlling himself fueled his desire.

  “It’s really good, Sasha. I hope you do more.”

  “Th - thank you,” she mumbled. She glanced at him and resumed playing.

  He smiled at her, for once just content to look at the gentle line of her neck now bent as she watched the bow caress the strings. No subject had intrigued him as much as Sasha had. It wasn’t that he couldn’t capture the real her on canvas. He had. But every finished sketch was another revelation of his wife. It was like looking at a diamond and discovering its many facets.

  His wife.

  He finished preparing their meal, finding comfort in their role switch. He did like having Sasha prepare their breakfast and how she had taken over running their household. She took on the responsibility without question, but he didn’t want to take advantage.