Girl After Dark

by Charlotte Eve

  The truth is, I’ve been hiding round the corner for the last ten minutes. But I want to enjoy this, so I want to make an entrance.

  Esme is already there, perched uncomfortably on the edge of a stool like she doesn’t want her expensive clothes to touch the surroundings, a drained martini glass in front of her.

  She looks furious.

  “Good afternoon, Esme,” I say as I sink into the plush velvet banquette opposite her.

  “I can see what you’re trying to do, Melissa,” she hisses through her thin lips, “Do you honestly think you can play me at my own game?”

  I smile. “I think your game might be a little … outdated?” I venture. “I might be playing by different rules.”

  “You crossed me once, and now everyone on both sides of the Atlantic knows what a tramp you are,” she spits. “You do not want to see what I can do to you next.”

  Just then, the waiter arrives and I order a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Then I gesture towards Esme and add, “You’d better get her another drink, too. I think she’s going to need it.”

  For the first time ever, Esme is looking slightly unnerved, like she isn’t in full control.

  The waiter goes off to fix our drinks, just as I reach into my bag and pull out the magazine.

  I slide it halfway across the table.

  “You might recognize this?” I say, as innocently as I possibly can. “But in case you haven’t got your reading glasses with you, it’s Playboy. The March, nineteen eighty five issue, to be precise.”

  In those few seconds, Esme has turned white as a sheet.

  She tries to grab the magazine off me but I’m too quick for her. And I begin to theatrically leaf through it.

  “Or perhaps,” I continue, “if the cover doesn’t jog your memory, how about the centerfold?”

  I dangle the magazine just out of her reach as I let it fall open on the centre spread.

  “Ah! Here we are!” I say. “Emma-May Ambrose, twenty-two years old, from Crystal Falls, Michigan.”

  I pretend to look as puzzled as I possibly can.

  “But hang on a minute? This looks an awful lot like you, Esme. This is you, isn’t it?” I say, raising my voice as I turn the magazine around, so she can see that I’m not bluffing.

  “Will you keep your voice down,” she hisses. And then, in the tiniest voice possible, “please?”

  The pleading tone in her voice takes me aback a little. She’s genuinely scared. I’m not here to publicly humiliate her, so I lower my voice and fold the magazine away, back in my bag and out of Esme’s reach.

  “Would you explain a few things to me at least?” I say in a softer, quieter voice. “How does little Emma-May from Crystal Falls, Michigan become Esme Amiel-Ashcroft, it-girl and new wife of Mr Ashcroft, one of New York’s top corporate lawyers?”

  “Please just tell me,” Esme pleads. “How did you find that? I buried Emma-May a long time ago.”

  “Funnily enough,” I say, “my dad was sixteen years old in nineteen eighty five. And Playboy was a prized commodity for any teenage boy. These days, he’s something of a connoisseur — a collector. He recognized you straight away. You might have worked hard to bury Emma-May, but a sixteen year old boy’s first ever centerfold isn’t something so easily forgotten. After all, you don’t look so different now. You’ve aged very well, haven’t you? Which brings me round to one more thing I wanted to clear up, Emma-May, sorry … Esme. If you were twenty-two in nineteen eighty-five that makes you fifty-two now. Which means you’ve been lying about your age by … a full seven years!”

  If she looked white before, she’s bright red now.

  “Clever girl,” she says quietly. “Touché.”

  “Listen,” I say. “You found out my secret, and you told everyone. You tried to destroy me, to ruin my life. And with this,” I wave the magazine at her, “I could ruin your life, too. But I’m not like that. I’m not like you. This magazine is going back in my dad’s collection: in between February 1985 and April 1985, where it belongs. And you are going to give your blessing to mine and Carson’s relationship. Understand?”

  Esme looks as if she wants to reach right across the table and throttle me. But instead, all she can do is quietly nod in agreement.

  Touché indeed, I think.

  Unsurprisingly, there’s a spring in my step as I head back up the front steps to Dad’s apartment building after my meeting with Esme.

  I can’t believe my dad managed to solve my problem after all!

  Even if it did mean I had to find out about his vintage Playboy collection, which is a little gross for any daughter to know about.

  I’m so happy that I managed to deal with Esme in a way that means she has to be nice to me from now on. And best of all? I did it all privately, without dragging Carson into it.

  Actually, I’m lying.

  Best of all was that I had a little fun while I was doing it.

  I find Dad in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in front of him, as usual. When he looks up to see me, there’s a huge grin on his face.

  “All sorted, Honey?” he says.

  “All sorted,” I reply.

  And I know that we will never need to speak of this again.

  “Oh, a package came for you,” he adds nonchalantly. “I’ve put it up in your room …”

  “Thanks Dad!” I say as I head out of the kitchen, excited to find out what it could be, imagining another beautiful bouquet of flowers from Carson.

  But when I push open the door to my room, I’m not in the least bit prepared for what’s waiting there to greet me.

  “Mummy!” I exclaim, dashing across the room to give her the biggest hug in the world.

  §

  “I still can’t believe you’re here!” I say, and I mean it.

  We’re sitting in a corner booth of a cosy bar round the corner from the apartment, sharing a bottle of wine.

  “I was so worried,” Mum says. “I was tipped off about the latest stupid gossip, and I knew just how upset you were last time. So when you didn’t answer any of my messages, I just had to get on the plane. I am your mother, after all.”

  I feel a huge pang of guilt. I was so caught up in myself that I hadn’t stopped to think about the impact on my family.

  “Mum,” I say. “I was fine, really. I was just crying in my bedroom like a teenager …”

  “I know,” she replies with a knowing smile. “I’ve been speaking to your father. But I just sensed that you needed me. Even though you’re an adult, and you’ve obviously dealt with this on your own. I just want to be here to tell you, in person, how proud I am of you.”

  “Thanks Mum,” I say, reaching over to give her another huge hug.

  “Well, Melissa,” she says. “Since I’m here, how about we hit the shops?”

  “I’d love to!” I reply. “I mean, Dad’s been great and all but …”

  Mum laughs and finishes my sentence. “But shopping’s torture to him, right?”

  “Right,” I say with a grin. “Actually? Your timing is pretty perfect. I want to buy a present for someone special and I could do with a second opinion …”

  §

  I’m getting ready at the Gramercy Park hotel. The room I’ve booked has a gorgeous, regal, pale blue and red color scheme. And there’s the most beautiful royal blue velvet regency chair in the corner, too. There’s even a bar — not a mini bar. A real one, fully stocked with every spirit you could think of. And a good thing too. I take a quick nip of brandy to steady my nerves.

  Then I glance over at my present, sitting wrapped up on the bed.

  Is he gonna like it?

  Because I’ve done something totally stupid and spent a crazy chunk of my book advance on a vintage Patek Phillipe watch. He had that beautiful key made for my locket, and I felt like I wanted to make a similar gesture too — to show him just how much he means to me. I just hope the night I have planned for us is enough …

  Just then, there’s a soft knock at the door and m
y heart leaps.

  I throw off my robe. I’m wearing nothing beneath it. Well, nothing except my locket.

  “The door’s open,” I say.

  In walks Carson. I watch him scan the room for a second before he sees me. I’ve positioned myself in the blue velvet chair, draped in as sexy a pose as I can muster. And when he sees me, I feel a flash of pleasure as his eyes widen hungrily.

  I remain where I am, my bare skin tingling, my breath shivering past my lips as he approaches, kneeling reverently at my feet like a knight before his queen.

  “M’lady,” he says, obviously enjoying the part he’s playing, just as much as me. “What a beautiful room you’ve chosen …”

  He takes my hand and kisses it, tenderly.

  “But there’s nothing in it so beautiful as you …”

  With this, he kisses me again, first on the calf, then the knee, then the inside of my thigh.

  I spread my legs wide for him, feeling myself throbbing and yearning for his touch.

  And as his kisses move ever closer to the centre of me, he rests a hand lightly on my belly, his thumb softly brushing the cropped fuzz of hair above my sex, getting closer and closer to my twitching clit with each movement.

  I push my hips forward, so desperate to feel his mouth against my sensitive nub of flesh, but he’s enjoying teasing me now, his teeth nipping the sensitive skin at the very insides of my thighs, his thumb millimeters away from my clit.

  And then the pleasure hits me all at once, as his tongue grazes my swollen lips and his thumb finally touches against my clit, brushing it at just the speed and pressure I like, causing me to gasp and shudder.

  He works at me in slow, sensual kisses, his tongue lapping at my folds, his thumb encircling the tender bundle of nerves that’s throbbing so hard for him now.

  And then he changes positions, his mouth moving up to my clit, sucking it confidently right between his lips, while his fingers slip inside me, delving so deep, fucking me so slowly.

  I cry out again, my hands moving urgently into his thick, silky hair as I grind myself hard against his mouth, my legs spread wide, my back arching, my hips bucking, as I start to come against his face.

  I moan out my pleasure, not caring who might hear me. And Carson stays there, knelt between my legs, working every last flash of happiness from by body until I’m spent and trembling.

  “Wow, thanks,” I say with a smile, once I’m finally able to form coherent sentences again.

  “The pleasure was all mine,” he says, bringing his mouth up to mine for a happy, hungry kiss, and I can taste my own sweetness on his lips.

  “I’ve got you a present,” I say, finally catching my breath. “I wanted to thank you for standing by me through all this. And to say sorry for doubting you.”

  I push myself up from the chair to retrieve it, all the while feeling his hungry eyes burning against my bare skin.

  I present him with his gift, my heart thudding, watching in apprehension as he opens the small display case.

  “It’s perfect,” he says, his eyes widening. “This must have cost a small fortune!”

  “It did,” I reply, “but trust me. It was worth it. Besides, the book advance was more money than I’d ever dreamed of getting and it was burning a hole in my wallet. I couldn’t think of anything better to spend it on.”

  I take the case from his hands and lift out the watch, unclasping it.

  “Hold out your arm,” I say, and he does as I command, obediently holding out his wrist so that I can fit the beautiful watch around it. It fits perfectly.

  As I watch his eyes sparkle with pleasure at receiving my gift, I feel certain that I’ve done the right thing. My gesture — the watch, the room, me here tonight like this — might be over the top, but it’s no more OTT than anything Carson has done during our courtship. And I’m so grateful that he’s stayed with me. And tonight, here, now, well I finally feel like perhaps we’re equals …

  And pulling aside the cuff of his shirt to see the watch has given me other ideas. Before I know it, I’m tugging at the rest of his clothes, impatiently, wanting them off his body as soon as humanly possibly.

  First his shirt comes free, then his pants. And then, finally, his briefs are sliding down his muscular thighs, leaving him just as naked as me.

  I push him backwards towards the bed, wanting to be on top of him now. And as I straddle him, I decide that this time, I’m going to be the tease. I grab his cock and rub it gently between my legs, then drop it again on his belly, leaving him gasping beneath me, his hands on my bum as I move upward, now dancing my breasts softy in his face, feeling my nipples graze against his hungry lips before I pull them away again, savoring the control I have over him.

  Next I focus on his chest, my tongue lapping at his nipples, first one, then the other, enjoying feeling them harden like little bullets with my licks. I slowly work my kisses downward, over his tensed, muscular abs, then further down, feeling the sheer animal heat of him as my hair falls into his lap, his thighs spread wide, as I take his thickness first in my hand, brushing him tantalisingly against my parted lips, flicking my tongue gently against the sensitive little patch on the underside of his cock, eliciting a fresh gasp from his lips.

  And just when it seems as if he can’t take the teasing any more, when he’s really squirming and groaning beneath me, his hips thrusting pleadingly towards my face, I finally take him all the way into my mouth, deeper than I’ve ever taken him before, wrapping my lips around his thick shaft, my fingers moving to his full tight balls, massaging them as I suck him, slowly and sensuously, savoring each groan he makes, feeling him grow even larger in my mouth.

  But now I’m the one that needs more — I’m so ready for him, and I just need to feel him inside me now. So with a final gasp I pull him out of my mouth, leaving him wet and shiny and throbbing, before I climb up on top of him, throwing my leg once more over him, straddling him and guiding him easily inside me.

  Then I lean back to ride him, arching my back, grinding myself hard against him at just the pace and speed I like, my hands resting on his thighs to steady myself, his moving to my breasts, his fingers tugging and pinching at my nipples, both of us rocking steadily in unison.

  I can tell he’s close now — his eyes are locking onto mine and his breath is becoming shallow. I feel him tense, and I realise that he’s trying to last as long as he can, trying to wait until I’m ready too, but right now I just want to push him over the edge, I just want to feel him explode, and so I move my hips even faster, grinding him, urging him to come with my body.

  I move to kiss him, my breasts now brushing against his chest, his cock buried so deep inside me, and between urgent kisses I whisper to him, “Come, baby. Please. Come for me.”

  He moans as his pleasure throws him. I hug him tight as his body bucks and shudders, his cock pulsing inside me, and then a moment later I’m coming too, my arms wrapped tight around him, every nerve in my body and flashing with fire.

  “That was amazing,” he murmurs afterwards, brushing the tangles of hair from my face.

  I answer with a kiss — soft and gentle. It’s crazy how completely comfortable I feel here with him now. There’s no place I’d rather be in the world.

  “Actually, I’ve got something for you as well,” he says, suddenly pushing himself up off the bed, and retrieving something from the pocket of his pants, laying discarded on the floor.

  As he comes back towards the bed, I see it: a small red velvet box.

  It can’t be, I think ... Can it?

  Six Months Later …

  It’s a crisp, bright morning, the leaves falling from the trees, scattering the sidewalks in a beautiful patchwork of Autumnal colours.

  I’m dashing up the steps to NYU — after all, I don’t want to be late for my very first class. But you know me by now; there’s no chance of that. I’m fifteen minutes early, but I’m just keen. My brand new oxblood red Cambridge satchel is packed full of books and brand new stationary
. I know most students these days work from laptops, but I’m taking a break from mine. I’m going to do this the old fashioned way for once.

  I’m holding a takeaway coffee, too. And each time I lift it to my mouth to take a sip, I can’t help but notice the sparkle of light from the ring on my finger.

  It makes me so happy — I still can’t quite believe it.

  But even so, I try to refocus my mind on today. Today is about my brand new start.

  I follow the directions I’ve been given up to the second floor, where the Creative Writing seminar group is meeting. It’s 9:45 and our class starts at ten. The room is empty and the door is locked, so I guess I’ll just wait outside in the corridor. But it seems like I’m not the only person who wanted to get here early.

  Also standing outside the room is a pretty girl with beautiful dark skin and an abundance of luscious, shiny black curls.

  “Are you here for Creative Writing?” I say.

  “Sure am,” she nods, shooting me a friendly smile. “What’s your name? I’m Asia.”

  “Hey,” I smile back. “I’m Melissa. And I’m really nervous.”

  She laughs. “Me too. You wanna sit together, when we go in?”

  “Sure,” I laugh back, feeling so much better already.

  As we stand in the corridor and chat, more and more people arrive — all strangers for now, but as I scan their faces I know that soon they’ll be my friends and colleagues.

  We all agree how nervous we are, and compare our new bags, pens and clothes, and laugh about just how similar it is to the first day of Kindergarten.

  Just then, the professor arrives — a beautiful older woman with amazing long white hair. She comes strolling past us to unlock the room, holding the door open so we can all file inside.

  And while I still do feel a little nervous, at the same time I feel excited, too. I sit down in a chair next to Asia and we both exchange excited, nervous smiles and I think I might have just made my first friend here.