by H. M. Ward
“Gina, I…” No, that’s the sound of regret and it’s creeping back into his voice. Pete takes a step forward as if he wants to say more, but I put up a finger, silently asking him to stay where he is.
“You said be me, but I’m nervous.” The butterflies are now threatening to fly up and escape through my mouth and I'm praying that they stay put. Now is not the time to be a sick drunk. What if he doesn't like what he sees? Is that why he’s backing off? I’m not begging, but this version of me wouldn’t let him leave either. “Don’t make it hard on me, Pete.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond. With the knot undone at the waist of my dress, it’s easy to push the fabric off my shoulders. The slinky fabric falls slowly from my arms, exposing my corset. Pete stands there silently watching.
I wiggle my hips and shimmy out of the dress, letting the fabric slide down my body and pool at my feet. One foot at a time, I step out of my dress and push it aside with my toe. My heel snags on the fabric and it gets stuck like a piece of toilet paper on a wet shoe. I smile nervously and try to shake it off, but it doesn’t let go. I look like an idiot in a corset. Pete watches me shake it once, then twice. On the third time, my arms are drifting up to cover my corset.
That’s when he drops to one knee and pulls the dress away from my foot. He stays there, bending on one knee like a knight. My heart pounds faster and I can’t believe he’s doing this. His cheek is so close to my leg I can feel its warmth, and when he gently sets my foot down, he kisses the side of my ankle. A jolt of lust races through me and I feel like I’m going to fall. My knees weaken and I make a small sound without meaning to.
When he stands again, his eyes are level with mine. “Continue.” It’s one word, one perfect word.
Shivering, I lift one foot, placing it on his bed. Reaching down slowly, I unfasten the garters one at a time. I wonder how I compare to what he’s used to, but I’m not sure if I really care anymore. Pete is watching me. He’s here with me. After both thigh highs are removed and tossed aside, Pete's eyes scan my body from bottom to top, taking in my pink satin and black lace outfit. After wearing the tight corset for hours the boning pokes painfully into my skin, but I'd take the pain any day to look like this in front of the man I’ve been fantasizing about for weeks. It makes me feel like the confident, sensual, sexual woman I want him to see me as and not the meek, mousy Regina Granz he saved only a couple of weeks ago.
That girl doesn’t exist anymore.
Pete eyes me, taking his time, drinking me in like he may never stop. Heart pounding hard, I feel like I may die. I'm trying to translate his body language, but he's sending such confusing messages. He's not saying or doing anything, just staring at me from under those dark lashes. His body shows his lust. The rapid breathing and the way his hands are clutching and releasing his shirt repetitively betray him. But his face. His face is what concerns me because he looks conflicted. I wish I knew why.
He walks closer to me so slowly. The controlled movements, and the way he draws them out, are driving me insane. All I can think of is having his hands and lips and tongue all over me. To have him push me down onto the bed and make me feel things I can't even begin to imagine. Things I've only read about in books and seen in movies and dreamt of many times over. He’s right there in front of me, but he’s not closing the distance between us. Just when I think I’ll scream for him to do something, he unfolds his arms, gently places his hands on my cheeks and brushes my cheekbones with his thumbs. It’s a caress as soft as silk.
“You’re so beautiful,” he exhales. It’s barely audible, but I hear it. Those words make my heart soar. He’s called me beautiful before, but never like this. This time it’s like an homage or adulation, it's like he’s talking about someone sacred. No one has ever told me I’m beautiful in such a way, not ever.
He leans in and the tip of his nose brushes along the side of mine, our lips almost touching. I lift up my chin, to close the distance, but he backs away ever so slightly. He’s holding back his kiss and I want to taste it so badly. There’s a struggle going on in his eyes like he’s deciding if he should do this or not. I wish I knew what to say or do to convince him.
I take a chance and say, “Kiss me, Peter, please?”
His eyes close and his lips finally come down on mine, gently. His hands move from my cheeks to my hair and he holds me in his kiss. His lips brush mine once, twice. His kiss is soft and tender, which knocks the wind out of me. I was expecting hard and passionate, but this is so much stronger. The tenderness makes my knees weak and as I feel his tongue stroke my lips I start to wobble. I open up to him and let him in. My hands tangle in his hair while his hands drift down along my shoulders, across my corset, his thumbs grazing the edge of my breasts and finally resting at my waist.
The kiss gets more passionate with each passing second. He’s exploring every inch of my mouth with his sinful tongue and I do the same to him. We’re stroking and tasting each other. I let out a little whimper and he squeezes my hips with his fingers before pulling me against him. I can feel how much he wants me through the layers of clothing, and it ignites a fire deep inside me.
There are too many layers between us. I want them gone. I want to feel my body brush up against his, skin to skin. As if reading my mind, his hands move to the back of my corset. Just when I think he’s going to unfasten the hooks, he breaks the kiss and steps back.
We’re both breathless, but his face looks pained, as if stepping away is causing him actual physical agony. Pete runs a hand over his face and exhales. “I can’t, Gina.”
He can’t do this to me, not again. I’m determined to finish this. “No.” With determination, I slowly, purposefully, unfasten the corset hooks, one by one. I need to get him to touch me. It’s the only way. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I think I may die before the night is through.
By the time my hands reach the last hook, Pete steps closer and reaches behind me. He puts his hands on mine to stop me, but it’s too late. I let the piece of lingerie fall to the ground, exposing my aching breasts to him. My nipples are so taut that they hurt. I want to feel his skin on mine so I reach for the hem of his shirt. He doesn’t hesitate to help me take it off and toss it to the side, giving me hope.
My breath catches at the sight of him. He’s perfect. All toned muscle and smooth skin. He is completely unmarred. Not a single tattoo to ruin the perfect beauty that is Pete Ferro. I run my hands along his chest, trailing the tips of my fingers down to his stomach, feeling every defined muscle.
I place a small kiss on his chest before I sit down on the bed and lean back. Reaching out, I hook my fingers in the waistband of his pants and pull him toward me. When I’m finally lying on my back, he climbs on top of me, propping himself up on one arm, while his other hand trails up and down my body.
When he reaches one of my breasts, he hesitates. His touch is feather light. His thumb brushes over my nipple once and I gasp, arching my back and clutching the comforter underneath me. I hold myself back from screaming out loud. That light touch gets me hot in places down below and I’m in serious danger of overheating too quickly.
Breathless, he starts to say, “Gina, we need to stop. I—”
I don’t let him finish his sentence. I push myself up with my hands and meet his lips in a hard, passionate kiss. Our tongues dance together once more. He lowers us down onto the bed and I part my legs so he can settle himself between them. He presses himself against my core and lets out a low growl from deep in his throat. It resonates within me, making me even hotter. I wrap my legs around his hips and push against him once, needing to ease the ache.
Our lips part and his kisses trail along my jaw and down to my neck. My breathing increases, the anticipation is too much. I need him so badly it hurts. I feel his tongue swirl around my nipple and a hand slides down in between us, cupping me, over my panties putting pressure right where I need it the most. What I have to say next is one of the hardest things I've ever had to say but I need this
. I have to tell him what I truly want and I'm scared. This goes against everything I am, everything I was.
Finally feeling brave enough, I say it. "Make me forget everything. Please, fuck me hard so I can’t remember."
His kisses stop and he removes his hand. I’m lost in a tidal wave of pleasure, waiting for him to give in. Pete pushes back up on his arms, face flushed, still breathing heavily. He looks at me confused, eyebrows pinched together.
With a gentle hand, he pushes my hair away from my face. “Remember what? What’s the matter? Gina, tell me. What were you doing at the club tonight?” His voice is soft, cautious, just like it was that first night we met, when he saved me and was worried about my safety.
A lump forms in my throat. I don’t want to remember. I just want to get lost in the feeling of him. “I just want to forget.” I don’t know why I say that to him but his eyes are searching mine and I can’t lie—not to him.
Pete reaches over. I’m assuming he’s retrieving a condom from his bedside table. It's when my mind registers the feeling of fabric sliding over my chest, that the thick cloud of lust dissipates from my head and the crushing sense of shame and mortification set in once more. He's putting a blanket over me.
He’s not going to go through with it.
I watch as he pushes himself off of the bed, and walks over to pick up his shirt on the floor, and puts it back on. I don’t know if I can muster the courage to get him back. Not after this. I’ve already exposed so much of myself, did things, said things. If that wasn’t enough to entice him, maybe I really do suck at this whole sex thing.
I sit up on the bed and keep myself covered with the blanket, keeping it tucked under my arms and I stare down at my fingers, completely humiliated.
“Talk to me. What happened? What are you trying so hard to forget?” he asks, his voice is full of concern. It’s not the arrogant, condescending tone I’m used to hearing from him. When I don’t answer, he sits next to me on the bed and lifts my chin up with his finger, studying my face. I don’t look into his eyes. Instead, I look at his shirt. His tight, black tee that hugs his toned chest so perfectly. That same chest that I was touching with my bare hands and bare breasts only moments ago.
“You didn’t answer me before. Where’s your boyfriend, Gina? Talk to me. What did he do to you?” A tear escapes my eye and rolls down my cheek. The longer I stay quiet, the angrier Pete gets, his fists balling up and his jaw clenching tight. I might as well tell him the truth before he gets the wrong impression and goes off on a rampage, giving Anthony free dental work.
“I caught him with another woman tonight. We’re through.” I still can’t look him in the eye. The humiliation is too much. Now he knows just how much of a failure I really am, more than ever. I smirk, wanting to lash out. “It doesn’t matter. It’s the same old story twice in one night.”
Pete lets out a rush of air and, from the corner of my eye, I see him angrily stomping away towards the door to his room. He’s leaving again.
He jumps in surprise when a black stiletto shoe hits the door, only an inch from his face. He’s even more surprised when the second shoe hits the same spot. “I didn’t have to miss. Don’t you dare walk out on me without an explanation. I pour my heart out to you and I get the back of your head. What the fuck is that?”
He rounds on me and he’s in my face, all fury and rage, “What I do is my business! And stop attacking me. You’re acting like a lunatic, swaying whichever way your emotions blow.”
I kneel on the bed so that we are eye to eye. “No one is getting blown tonight. As for the shoe to the head, you walked away. Again. Thanks for making me feel like I’m not good enough—not for you or anyone!” I’m yelling in his face and holding the blanket tightly against me because there is no way I’m ever letting him see me naked again.
He straightens and pulls at his hair with both hands in obvious frustration. “I’m not doing this,” he yells back. He walks back toward the door to his room, grabs his black leather jacket and puts his hand on the doorknob to leave.
I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. The words rush out between tears, “What's so wrong with me?”
He turns his head, looking over his shoulder with a pained expression. “Nothing's wrong with you. That’s the problem.”
The door closes behind him and I want to cry. I mumble into my hands, “Then why’d you leave me?”
UNDERCOVER JENNY
August 10th, 8:14am
Smoke.
Screaming.
Hands pulling at me, scorching my arms. I try to pull away, but I can’t. I cry for help, but nobody hears me. Only the dead and the dying can hear me, but they can’t save me. In fact, they’re trying to bring me down with them. I’m going to burn. I’m going to die. Somebody help me, please!
I jump and realize it was only a dream. I feel like there’s a vice around my head, squeezing my brains out through my ears. Not to mention the constant pounding in my head. It’s like a ceaseless drumbeat with its loud thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump! I’m never drinking again! Fingers are gently stroking through my hair, combing through the tangles. The feeling is soothing but a little unnerving as I realize I’m supposed to be in bed alone. A soothing voice is lulling me back to sleep. I’ll figure all of this out later as I’m pulled into a dreamless slumber.
Something shifts beside me and I’m pulled out of my sleep once more. I’m lying on my side, curled up in a ball with my head resting on a very firm, very warm pillow of... muscle? My body is cuddling into someone, our legs entwined, and that someone is awake because he--oh shit! I hope he’s a he. Judging by muscle tone, the hair on his legs and the masculine, musky smell on his skin, he must be a he. He is still combing through my hair with his fingers. Am I in bed with some stranger? I can’t be with Anthony, he cheated on me and he doesn’t like to cuddle. The feeling of warmth and closeness is nice and I could easily stay like this all day but my foggy brain keeps trying to put the pieces together. I remember leaving Anthony’s to go to the club, drinking insane amounts of rum with Ricky, dancing, and a... frat boy?
Panic starts to bubble up when I realize that I may have just hooked up with some random guy and possibly made one of the stupidest mistakes of my life. But then I remember something else.
Pete. He was there too. We went back to his place and I—
Oh.
My.
God.
The memories come rushing back as fast as that slinky sports’ car of his. I stripped, very clumsily I might add, in front of him and asked him to fuck me... I’ll never be able to look him in the face again. My best bet to live down this humiliation would be to move to another state.
At least I’ve solved the mystery of who the man lying next to me is. Maybe, if I pretend to sleep, he’ll eventually get up and leave. The man has to get up eventually and when he does, I can sneak out. Yeah, that’s it. I can be all super-secret agent and leave without anyone seeing me. Undercover Jenny. Dun-dun-dun.
“Good morning. How’s the hangover?” I feel his voice vibrate in his chest.
So much for my secret agent plan. He must have noticed a change in my breathing or felt my body stiffen or something. I blink a couple of times to chase off the sleep in my eyes. I’m treated to the sight of his flawless torso gently rising and falling with his every breath and I’m suddenly very aware that I have my head resting on it, as well as a hand. I need to stop touching him, now, but he feels so comfortable. I feel like I’m on a diet and staring at a triple chocolate cake topped with ice cream and sprinkles.
Just when I think to look up, I’m struck by another big question. What am I wearing? Last thing I remember I was topless and, well, pretty much wearing only my skimpy panties.
With one very shaky finger, I lift up the sheet that’s covering us and find I’m wearing a t-shirt, most likely one of Pete's, and my underwear is still on, thank God! I sigh in relief and let the sheet drop. How the shirt got on me is still a mystery, but at least I don’t have to cov
er up.
“Trying to sneak a peek? You never cease to surprise me, Jenny. You’re quite the little nympho, aren’t you?” Pete chuckles. “Sorry to disappoint you though. None of that for you this morning. I’m cutting you off before you become too addicted.”
I slap his chest and say, “Dick.”
“See? I told you. You have a one track mind. No, you cannot have my dick this morning.” And, of course, he laughs and it’s a beautiful laugh, which irks me even more.
I was right. He’s never going to let me live down this embarrassment. There’s no way to avoid this conversation any longer because, embarrassed or not, I need answers. I look up and see him staring down at me with that irritatingly, sexy, stubbly smirk of his. He’s got messy bed hair and there’s a scratch on the wall by the door. Another memory comes back—flying stilettos.
In his other hand, the one that wasn’t combing through my hair, he’s holding a book. Reluctantly, I move over so that I’m no longer touching him. I move slowly to make a general assessment of my current physical state. Since I’m not feeling too queasy, I sit up in bed, pulling the sheets around me to cover my underwear. Being upright sends pounding pain into my head and I wince. Seeing my reaction, Pete places a bookmark in his book, closes it and places it on his chest before reaching over to his bedside table. Lucky book. I was there only moments ago and it was... nice.
Pete hands me a bottle of water and two little white pills. “Here. I thought you might need these this morning.”
I take the water and pills from him, our fingers touching and bringing back memories from last night. Memories of entwined fingers, soft touches and passionate kisses. He must feel it too because his eyes dart to mine with an intensity that conveys too much and too little at once. Something happened last night, I can feel it. Something shifted, but I can’t, for the life of me, remember what.
I swallow the pills and put the cap back on the bottle. My fingers pick at the label on the bottle nervously as I say, “Thanks. Um, Pete? Last night, did we...?” I purposefully leave the end of the sentence hanging. After everything else I said to him last night, I don’t really want to say more this morning but I need answers. Pete shifts to lie on his side, head propped up on one hand.
