Tonic

by Staci Hart

  He came right behind me, throbbing and hot, grunting in a way that hit me deep in my stomach as he pumped his hips.

  We were both panting as he collapsed on top of me, and I wound my arms around his neck and cupped the back of his head, my fingers in his silky hair, his breath against my skin hot and huffing. I could feel his heart hammering through his shirt, through my shirt, through my ribs and into my own, which matched his pace, beat for beat.

  “Mmm,” he hummed and kissed my collarbone.

  “Mmm,” I echoed and shifted my fingers in his hair.

  “I told you you’d thank me later.”

  I chuckled. “I didn’t thank you.”

  I could feel him smiling against my skin. “Yeah, you did.” He rolled over, pulling me with him by way of a strong hand on my hip. “Come on. You hungry?”

  I found myself frowning. Okay, maybe I was pouting a little. “Wait, was that it?”

  He laughed at that, the flash of his white teeth and boom of the sound making me smile, despite my disappointment. When he’d finished, he popped me on the bare ass, and I yelped.

  “Princess, that was just the warm up.”

  Joel

  I climbed off the bed, the smile on my face threatening permanence as I kicked off my boots and dropped my pants, then pulled off my shirt. I glanced over my shoulder and caught her looking, watching me with admiration, her eyes scanning my body, and I winked before walking out of that room stark naked and a few inches taller than usual. The lights in the bathroom were off, and I left them that way, cleaning up quickly and anxious to get back to her. As if I would go back to my room and she’d already be gone.

  But she was there, her silk shirt untucked and skirt back in place, sadly. Her heels stood next to the bed, and I realized she’d re-twisted her bun, setting herself to rights.

  Too bad I wasn’t going to leave it twisted for long. No, I wanted it down, brushing her shoulders, fanned out around her. Free.

  Her cheeks flushed, and she smiled knowingly — I hadn’t realized I’d paused in the doorway as I looked her over. So I snapped into action, moving for my dresser.

  “I’m glad you decided to come over,” I said as I rummaged through my drawer for a pair of jersey pants.

  “Me too,” she answered, though she didn’t offer anything else.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking about as I tugged on my pants, but I was too afraid to ask. So I turned to her and smiled, reaching for her hand.

  “Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.”

  She smiled and slipped her soft, long fingers into my hand. “You cook?” she asked as she stood.

  “I wouldn’t call eggs ‘cooking.’”

  She laughed and followed me into the kitchen, her hand still in mine until she sat at the kitchen table, crossing her long legs underneath. I moved around the kitchen, gathering supplies and utensils. I’d never been comfortable with silence — I was much more at home talking, telling stories or jokes — but there I was, with the girl to end all girls, and I had nothing to say. The silence was deafening, and I scrambled, deciding to hit the classics.

  “So, I’ve been wondering, have you ever lived in Russia? Like, are you from there?” I already felt a little better, and cracked an egg on the side of the pan, satisfied with the sound it made.

  “No, my parents are.”

  I nodded and cracked another egg. “How long have they lived here?”

  “Since ’89. They settled in Brighton Beach.” She let out a sigh when I didn’t ask another question, continuing on. “They were … extracted by my uncle, who’s been here since the 70s. They couldn’t get out on their own. The whole Russian Jew thing.”

  I frowned as I popped some bread into the toaster. “I’m not overly familiar with Russia’s history.”

  She chuckled. “It’s okay. Russian Jews have been the most persecuted group of people in just about all of history. It was hundreds of years in the making, the Russian government moving toward communism, uniformity, including religion. During World War II, millions fled into Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and some to America. My parents were small children during the war, and their families were friends, leaving Russia in a group. My grandparents were freedom fighters in Hungary during the revolution in the 50s. They eventually ended up in Israel, but went back to Russia to try to help my aunt. Their papers were confiscated.”

  I listened soberly, trying to imagine a life of running, of persecution. I couldn’t grasp it. “That’s incredible.”

  “It is. We’re survivors.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “So when they were stuck in Russia, Papa called my uncle in America, Roxy’s dad. He has connections and was able to get them all out, set them up in Brooklyn, help them buy a house and start their business.”

  “What do they do?” I stirred the eggs, fascinated.

  “They run a dry cleaning shop. I’m actually trying to get them to retire — they’re not young. They didn’t think they could have kids — they were both forty-six, and it had never happened before. But just after they moved here, whamo. Guess it just took them not being afraid for their lives for it to happen.” She chuckled softly, and I glanced back at her. Her chin was propped on the heel of her hand, fingers on her cheek. She looked young, soft and innocent, the chill gone, melted. For the moment, at least.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “I’ve got this massive box of paper ledgers to go through in an attempt to figure out how much the business is worth so they can sell it and hopefully use the money to invest and retire. They’ve earned it, as hard as they’ve worked, as much as they’ve been through. Papa would work until his last breath without thinking twice about it, but I want more for him. For both of them. So, I’ve just got to puzzle through these ledgers, but I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “I can help,” I said as I plated the eggs and grabbed the toast. “I’ve been running the shop for almost twenty years, and I started back before we had QuickBooks. Ledgers and paper receipts used to be the only way.” I set her plate in front of her and sat down across from her with mine.

  “I couldn’t bother you with that, Joel. You’re so busy with the show.”

  I shrugged and picked up my toast. “So are you. We can work on it together.” I took a bite.

  She laughed, the flush in her cheeks back, turning her eyes an electric shade of blue in comparison. “I’m not sure how much work we’ll get done.”

  I smirked. “We’ll set a timer. One hour of work for an hour of play.”

  “At that rate, it’ll take us a year to get through the paperwork.”

  “But just think of all that playing. I’m just saying, pretty sure it’d be worth it.”

  She laughed again, shaking her head as she picked up her toast and took a bite. Somehow, she made it look elegant, delicate, even with the harsh crunch of the bread between her teeth.

  “Seriously, Annika. Let me help you.”

  She set the bread down as she chewed, rolling the crumbs between her fingers, and they fell like snowflakes on her plate. “You’d really do that?” she asked once she’d swallowed.

  “Of course. It would take me a fraction of the time it would take you. I bought a business — I know how this works and what an inspector and loan officer will be looking for. I’d be happy to pass some of that knowledge on. Plus, it’s not like I don’t have otherwise selfish intentions.”

  One brow rose. “Oh?”

  “Play time. Remember?”

  More laughing. The sound was maybe one of my favorite sounds in the world, just as light and free as I hoped it would be. She was a woman with two sides, behind a wall of determination. I’d just had to scale the wall to see it, and what I found was the valley of the promised land, green and lush and full of sunshine.

  “So, when do you want to start?” She slipped her fork into her mouth, and I watched her lips as she pulled the fork out clean.

  “You say when. I’m around.”

  �
��Tomorrow, then. It’ll give me a good excuse to come over without having to sneak, too.”

  Worry niggled the back of my mind, knowing she was putting herself at risk. “What happens if someone finds out?”

  She shrugged and took another bite, buying time to respond. “Technically, nothing. Laney suspects something, and it’s not forbidden, as long as I do my job.”

  “Which means potentially manipulating me.”

  She nodded. “It’s why she didn’t tell me about Hal. She didn’t think I’d pull the trigger on bringing him in.”

  The memory burned in my chest. “Would you have?”

  She didn’t answer right away, but looked me in the eyes. “I don’t know for sure. But I think I would have come up with an excuse to postpone it.”

  The thought gave me comfort. “I guess I should have known he’d be used as a match to strike. But please, tell me you’re not dragging Liz into this.”

  Her face was still open, honest. “I have no plans to.”

  I drew a breath and let it out slow.

  “Tell me about her.”

  I rested my forearms on the table and shifted in my seat. “Off the record?”

  “Of course,” she said, looking surprised.

  I brought my fingers up to touch my beard. “We were so young. I was on my own for the first time and I met her and it was like … I don’t know. We were inseparable. She was crazy. I was crazy. We got married in Vegas a month after we met.”

  She didn’t respond, but watched me in a way that told me she wanted to know more.

  I sighed. “I don’t really talk about it a lot because it wasn’t pretty. My parents died back to back in the middle of it all, and we took Shep in. The stress of everything just imploded something that was already burning down.”

  “She was almost charged with assault, right?”

  I nodded, hating that she’d dug around on me when I knew virtually nothing about her. “It used to get physical a lot. With her, not me. I just want you to know that. I never laid a hand on her in anger.”

  “I believe you,” she said quietly.

  “I mean, I wrecked shit, it stands to note. Many a lamp, a couple TVs, and a damn good couch were sacrificed to our fights. But I never touched her. I’d wreck the apartment instead. We’d drink, and she’d come at me, ready to fight. She’d push every button, point at every flaw, tear me down. But don’t look at me like that,” I said when I saw the trademark pity that accompanied this story. “I wasn’t any better. We’d yell, scream, hurt each other with our words. She’d slap and scratch and throw things at me. Once, she came at me with a baseball bat.”

  Annika was still. I smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Don’t worry. She didn’t get a shot off. I caught it and threw it off the fire escape.”

  “I don’t even know how I’d handle that.”

  “I dunno. We were married. It wasn’t simple — she was there for everything, a part of me. A part I hated, sure, but she was a part of my life. Sometimes I just had to get her still long enough, and she’d kiss me, or I’d kiss her. It was the easy way to switch gears, put all that adrenaline into something less destructive. But it was hell for both of us, this cycle we found ourselves in.”

  “I’m so sorry, Joel.”

  I realized my smile had fallen and resurrected it. “Don’t be. I learned a lot about what I want, about who I am and what I want out of a relationship.”

  “Which is?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing. I haven’t had a girlfriend since.”

  Her mouth fell open a hair, her brow dropping as she did the math. “Fourteen years?”

  I nodded.

  “I mean, certainly you’ve—”

  I laughed. “Oh, yeah. I’ve done plenty of that.”

  She didn’t look overly amused.

  “I just haven’t been interested in anything deeper. I’m not going to say Liz ruined me for that, but …”

  “Yeah. I can imagine.”

  And I lied again, carefully cultivating the words, slipping them into her brain. It was the only way I knew to keep her coming back to me until I figured out what to do next. “This is why what you and I have here is perfect. You do your job. Come here when you want me and I’ll take you when I want. And when it’s over, it’s over. That’s the deal, right?”

  Something flitted behind her eyes, but was gone just as soon as it appeared. “Exactly.”

  I smiled. “I’m glad we’re in agreement. Now, tell me you’re finished eating.”

  She laid her hands in her lap. “I am, thank you.”

  “Good,” I said as I stood, and so did she. But when I stepped into her, she turned her head.

  “Wait,” she said softly, and I froze.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I … this is weird, but …” she paused and pursed her lips. “Can I, um, use your toothbrush?”

  I laughed a little louder than I meant to. “I didn’t peg you for the type to share toothbrushes with anyone.”

  The flush deepened. “I have egg breath. Egg breath trumps germ sharing. Plus, it’s not like your mouth germs aren’t already well acquainted with mine.”

  I leaned in, wrapping my arms around her waist, running my nose against her temple before kissing it. “Sure. Mine’s the purple one.”

  “You have a purple toothbrush?”

  “Asks the girl who’s worried about egg breath.”

  She chuckled. “Thank you.”

  I let her go. “You’re welcome.”

  “Maybe you should brush yours too,” she said as she turned for the bathroom. “Just saying.”

  “Why, does your pussy care?”

  Her jaw popped open, and she laughed, the sound full of embarrassment, tinged with amusement and shock. “Joel!”

  I shrugged. “That was my intended destination, so if your little lady doesn’t care, you shouldn’t either.”

  “Oh, my God. Please don’t call it that ever again.” She stepped into the bathroom and turned on the light.

  I leaned on the doorframe and folded my arms across my bare chest. “So, pussy is preferable?”

  She picked up my toothbrush from the cup and opened the medicine cabinet. “I’d prefer you not call it anything. Just ravage it.”

  I laughed. “I can do that. You have no idea how I can do that.”

  She smirked and loaded the toothbrush with paste. “Oh, I think I have an idea.”

  I pushed off the door and stepped behind her, looking at the two of us in the mirror. “No, you don’t.”

  That blush. That blush was the best thing to ever happen to me.

  She slipped the toothbrush into her mouth, and a new objective manifested: distract Annika by any means necessary.

  I leaned back as she started scrubbing, looking down her back as she watched me in the mirror. First, her hair, my big hands making quick work of the hair tie holding it together. I shook it out — the bun had left it in soft waves that fell over her shoulders. My head tilted, hands running from her waist to her hips, then around to the back, to her zipper. I unzipped it and slipped my hands inside, down her hips, the band catching on my wrists, and I pushed until the material was a pile around her long, white legs.

  She braced herself with her free hand on the counter, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

  The white silk shell had tiny straps, and I slipped one off her shoulder, bowing my head to kiss and lick in the wake of my fingers. The strap fell to her elbow, exposing one breast, sheathed in a nude, strapless bra that I wanted out of my way, but there was plenty of time for that.

  I noticed her hand had stopped scrubbing.

  “Keep brushing,” I said into her skin and kissed down her back.

  She did as she was told, though the motion was slow. It had maybe been twenty seconds. I had a full minute and a half left, according to the American Dental Association, and I’d take advantage of that time. I smirked at her over her shoulder as I ran my han
ds down her hips and around the front of her thighs, sliding them up until I found what I was looking for and slipped a finger inside.

  Her lids fluttered, and her hand faltered.

  “Keep brushing, egg breath.”

  She let out a small, muffled laugh, and spit into the sink before she got going again. With my free hand, I pressed my hand to her back and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

  “Spread your legs.”

  She hinged at the waist and widened her legs as I dropped to my knees and grabbed her hips, pulling her toward me until I connected. She was so soft, so warm against my tongue, and I moaned, the sound rumbling through me.

  “Oh, fuck,” she breathed and dropped my toothbrush in the sink, opting to hang on for leverage. My lips were too busy to protest.

  I buried my face in her, squeezing her hips, guiding her to move just how I wanted her to until she moved on her own, telegraphing to me what she liked, what she wanted, rocking against my tongue. Her back arched, and I reached up to grab a fistful of her shirt.

  “God,” she whispered into the basin, but I couldn’t see her and didn’t care what she looked like, not with all of my attention focused on making her come. She pulsed against my tongue and I knew she was close. I used my fisted hand to guide her, moving the hand on her hip between her legs, finding the sensitive spot with my thumb, circling it as she gasped. Then arched. Then shuddered against me, her body releasing. I slowed my lips, my tongue, easing her down as I hoped she wasn’t tired. Because I was nowhere near done with her yet.

  I kissed her long and slow as she panted, her legs trembling as I kissed the soft skin of her back, my hands skating up her ribs under her shirt, wanting it gone. She took the cue and pulled it off, and I spent a long moment kissing the skin between her shoulder blades as I flicked the snap of her bra open with my thumb and forefinger.

  And just like that, Annika was naked, looking over her shoulder at me with wild hair and burning eyes, spread eagle in my bathroom.