The living room was dark when I returned. “Take off your dress, leave the lingerie on, and bring the crop here,” Ryan said. He was a dark shape on the armchair. I obeyed, my body tingling in arousal. He hadn’t even touched me yet, and my pussy was dripping, ready for him.
I slid out of my dress. I’d bought it and another for Gayla’s party the same morning I’d bought all the lingerie. I’d also bought Ryan’s Christmas present that morning, something I was eager to see his reaction to. It had been a very productive shopping expedition.
Dragging my thoughts back to the present, I walked forward to stand in front of Ryan, giving him the crop. “Ready?” he said softly, and turned on the Christmas lights. The room was suddenly glowing, twinkling with hundreds of small white lights. For a moment, I was distracted, as I gazed at the room, entranced. “It’s beautiful,” I muttered.
“Beautiful indeed,” he said in agreement, but he wasn’t looking at the lights. I bit my lips. He’d taken off his clothes while I was in the playroom. He was gorgeous, hard and ready. I wanted him so badly.
“Hold still,” he said, but he didn’t need to warn me. I knew to stay still.
He just sat on the chair, and watched me for the longest time. I blushed under his gaze. Finally, he broke the silence.
“Lie across my lap, Maya.”
I draped myself on him, trying to be sensual. He ran a light hand along my upper thighs, parting my legs, positioning me to his liking, my legs spread wide, one leg on the arm of the chair, another on the floor, as I braced for balance.
Whap. The crop came down on the back of my thighs. I clenched my fists, preparing for the pain, but there was none. Warmth flooded through me, as he continued using the crop on me, always in perfect control, focused on shaping my pleasure to a fever-pitch. I moaned as I writhed on him. I was so turned on.
The crop found my inner thighs. Instead of shutting my legs, I opened them wider. This was the most incredible feeling. I could feel Ryan against my skin, and the crop was making me dance against him in a way that was making me wetter than I’d ever been in my life. My panties were soaked through.
“Ryan, I can’t hold on,” I begged. I was teetering at the edge of orgasm.
“Then come, Maya,” Ryan muttered. His crop unerringly hit my pussy. I screamed, climaxing instantly in a whirl of pleasure. Ryan’s fingers were at my clitoris, prolonging my orgasm, squeezing every last bit from me. I slumped against him, exhausted.
“My turn,” Ryan said, moving me onto the carpet, swiftly rolling a condom on his dick. “Part your legs, hold the panties aside,” he ordered, thickly. He entered me in one swift, hard stroke.
“Ryan,” I moaned, biting my lips. I was in sensory overload. The carpet felt rough against my cropped ass. I could feel every inch of Ryan as he plunged in and out of me, stroking evenly, setting a hard, punishing rhythm. I buried my nails in Ryan’s back, and held on for dear life. Impossible tendrils of need were awakening again in me. My hips were rising to meet Ryan; I was matching him stroke for stroke. I was a silken contrast to his steel. Then I was coming again, and my quivers sent him over the edge, as he came with a shout, and slumped at my side.
“I think this qualifies as celebrating Christmas, don’t you, Maya,” he said mildly, as our breathing returned to normal. I blushed in the dark, remembering my words from yesterday.
We lay next to each other in silence. Finally, I roused myself. “So, in your family tradition, when do you open your present?” I asked him.
“I always opened my present on Christmas Eve,” he said.
“Good,” I said in satisfaction. I grinned gleefully as I pointed to the tree. There was a large square package under it, my present to him. I’d snuck it under the tree right before we left for dinner, he hadn’t noticed. I was thrilled that I’d surprised him.
“A present?” he said, surprise colouring his voice. He was looking at the present, then at me, a smile breaking out on his face. My heart melted. “Thank you. You didn’t have to get me anything.” His voice was soft.
“I wanted to,” I said. “Besides, you haven’t opened it yet; you might not even like it.”
“Why don’t you open yours?” he asked, a little shyly. He gestured towards the tree. Buried in the back, just barely visible in the glow of the Christmas lights, there was a box, the size of a paperback novel. It must have been there already when I placed my present to Ryan under the tree, but I’d missed seeing it. I looked at Ryan.
“You didn’t have to.” I echoed his words. He didn’t. He’d already given me so much; he’d opened his home to me, escorted me around Paris, and most of all, he’d given me a sexual confidence I’d never had.
His lips twitched. “I wanted to,” he said, repeating my words from earlier. “Open it.”
“You go first.” I insisted.
“Okay,” he replied good-naturedly. He tore the package open, the wrapping paper flying everywhere. I grinned a little at him. He was like an excited kid.
“Oh wow,” his voice was soft. “Maya. This is… perfect.”
I’d given him a painting I’d stumbled upon in the window of a little antique store on the Left Bank. It was a painting of the ocean, seen through a window, in the gathering twilight. It had reminded me strongly of the view I’d had from Ryan’s cottage, the first time we’d slept together.
“It reminded me of your cottage,” I said quietly.
He looked at me, his eyes level. “Thank you. It’s the best present anyone’s given me in a long time.”
I blushed. He wasn’t lying; there was too much honesty in his eyes. “Good,” I mumbled, my eyes dropping. He couldn’t look at me like this; every emotion unmasked in his eyes. I couldn’t take it. Why won’t you date me? I screamed inwardly. Gods, I needed to hold it together.
“Open yours now,” he said. I reached for the box. I removed the wrapping paper carefully, to reveal a box. A beautiful box, made of wood, inlaid with gilt, painted with colours that reminded me of the sea. “Wow,” I said softly. This box was a work of art.
“Open it,” Ryan said.
Inside the box were a couple of sheets of paper. I looked at Ryan, mystified.
“You’ll need a light,” Ryan said, reaching for the switch. The lights came on. My lips twitched, looking at Ryan. He was naked; I was wearing a bustier and a thong. We were a strangely clad duo.
“Your neighbors are going to get an eyeful,” I remarked ruefully, gesturing at the windows.
“The windows are tinted,” he said, a little surprised. Of course, I thought to myself. More than once, Ryan had shown how carefully he guarded his privacy.
I transferred my attention to the sheets of paper. I started reading. “Maya Martinez, Apprentice Brewer Program.”
“A couple of college friends run a brewery in San Francisco, Twelfth Night, you might have heard of it,” Ryan said. I could hear the hesitation in his voice. “I told them you’d enjoyed learning how to brew, and they offered you a job as an apprentice brewer. They’ll teach you to brew, every Saturday morning, all year long, if you are interested.”
I looked at him, stunned at his thoughtfulness. In the year it had been open, Twelfth Night had quickly built a great reputation for brewing amazing beer. I would learn a ton. “Ryan, this is brilliant,” I said, my voice excited. I hugged him hard. “Thank you so very much.”
He hugged me back. I lay there on the carpet, feeling his body next to me. I felt fragile. Hold it together, Maya, I told myself. I felt like weeping. Everything was so lovely and perfect, and it had an expiration date. The first evening of the New Year, a plane would take me back home. And I would have to say goodbye a second time, and this time would be so much harder than the first. Hold it together, Maya… I repeated to myself like a mantra that would, unfortunately, not protect me against the coming heartbreak.
Chapter 13
If I had one wish, I would have wished for time to slow down, to stretch the hours of that final week. But, instead, perversely, time
sped up. The days went by in a blur. Paris was thoroughly explored; the playroom, even more thoroughly so.
Before I knew it, it was New Year’s Eve, and we were getting ready to go to Gayla’s party. I was a little nervous. I hated going to parties where I didn’t know anyone, and from the memory of Gayla’s excited squeal into the phone when she’d talked to Ryan, I guessed that I might be under some scrutiny. I stood in Ryan’s bathroom, putting on more makeup than usual, as if the makeup would serve as armour.
At least the nervousness is a change from the usual misery, I thought wryly. As the date of my departure got closer, I got increasingly heartsick. I’d been fighting the urge for many days to burst into tears.
“Hey,” Ryan’s voice interrupted. “You look gorgeous, Maya,” he said, eyes smouldering. I swallowed in arousal, the look in his eyes instantly distracting me from my gloomy thoughts.
“I’m nervous,” I confessed. “It’s a bit intimidating to go to a party where I don’t know anyone.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Ryan said, reassuringly. “Besides,” he laughed, “you can tell Gayla how much you love her cottage; how thrilled you are that I bought it.”
I giggled. He was dreadful.
Ryan had ordered a limo for the evening. “Gayla lives in the country; it’s a long drive to get there,” he said. “Normally, I’d drive, and then crash at her place, but we need to get back; you have a flight to catch.” Was that sadness I saw briefly in his eyes?
My levity drained away in an instant. “I do.” My voice was level. I might have been fighting the urge to cry, but I was determined I wouldn’t beg him to date me. I’d made all the moves to this point; I needed him to make the next move.
I grabbed my purse. “Let’s go.” Ryan surveyed me for a few seconds with troubled eyes, and then, he was expressionless. “After you,” he muttered with unfailing courtesy, as he let me precede him.
We spent the drive in silence. The skies were dark already as the car sped on, leaving the crowds of Paris behind, entering the countryside, slowing down in narrow, curvy roads. We were both conscious of the fact that we weren’t alone. Besides, what was there to say, really?
Ryan had reached out at the start of the drive and tucked my hand in his. I concentrated on the feel of him; trying to imprint his touch in my brain.
I hadn’t expected to like Gayla, but I did, immediately. She was slender, tall, in her late thirties, very chic and elegant. But she also had a warmth about her that was very comforting. “Maya, how nice to meet you,” she exclaimed, the instant she met me. “Come on; let’s introduce you around, everyone’s dying to meet the girl that’s made Ryan a social recluse the last two weeks.”
I blushed. I had no idea I was keeping Ryan from social engagements. I shook hands with people, kissed cheeks in the French way. Everyone seemed friendly enough, though many of the women’s eyes were cool and appraising. I felt very much on display. Just when it was all beginning to get a bit overwhelming, Ryan came over, put his arms around my shoulder, and drew me into him. “Gayla,” he scolded, sounding amused. “Leave Maya be. Come on, Maya, I’ll get you a drink.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled to Ryan.
“You were looking ready to flee,” he laughed. “I’m learning something new about you, kitten. I hadn’t figured you to be shy.”
“Come on, I’ll show you around,” he said. “It’s a mild enough night and Gayla’s garden is lovely, let’s walk through.” He handed me a glass of red wine, grabbed one himself, and we wandered outside.
He was right; Gayla’s gardens were lovely, even in winter. There was a small porch, set with a few chairs, candles blazing everywhere. The music, louder inside, was faint here. The night was cool and clear, the stars more visible away from the bright lights of Paris.
Ryan moved towards me, shrugging out of his jacket, draping it over my shoulders. He drew me in towards his chest. “It’s been an amazing two weeks,” he said, his voice soft, slightly pensive.
I said nothing. Was there anything to say? I tried furiously to hold it together. I would not cry, not here. There were too many of Ryan’s friends, maybe even former lovers in the room next door. I had my pride.
He didn’t say anything else, we sipped our drinks quietly. The silence stretched on. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m going back inside,” I said, handing Ryan his jacket. I fled.
I spent the next couple of hours avoiding Ryan; talking to Gayla’s guests instead. Once I was over my initial shyness, I found them an extremely interesting bunch. I was chatting to Jeremy, a man with laughing black eyes, who was telling me hilarious stories about the publishing industry; stories that had me giggling, when I felt Ryan behind me again.
“Jeremy, I’m going to cut in,” he said easily to Jeremy. Jeremy looked amused as Ryan whisked me away.
He pulled me back outside, where we had a semblance of privacy. “Okay Maya, what’s going on, why are you avoiding me?” His voice was harsh.
“Seriously?” Anger suddenly flooded through me, and I gave him a glare. “You want to know what’s going on?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow.” My voice softened, turned doleful. “I’m madly in love with you, I’m leaving tomorrow, and you don’t care about any of it.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Oh, Maya,” he said. There was heartbreak in his voice. “What do you want me to say?”
I shook my head, as I strived for composure.
“Look at me,” he said, quietly. His hand stroked the side of my cheek, tilted my chin up so I would meet his eyes. I kept mine lowered. I couldn’t take this; I couldn’t deal with this rejection without falling apart. Just till you get on the plane, I begged myself desperately. Hold it together, just till the plane…
“Maya, look at me.” His voice was insistent. I looked, and was nearly undone by the look in his eyes. There was anguish in his eyes, but there was also love. “I’m so sorry, Maya,” he said, his voice filled with despair. “You deserve so much better.”
“No.” My voice was ice. My survival instincts had finally kicked in, after two weeks in hiding. “No. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to have this conversation. Not here. Not ever.” I turned and walked away.
It wasn’t the end, of course. Nothing was that simple. I still kissed Ryan at midnight, the merest touch of lips brushing across each other. It was expected; it would have looked odd if I had avoided him. In the limo ride back, we were silent as well. I entwined my hands in my lap, so that Ryan wouldn’t reach out and take it. Ryan laid back, his eyes closed.
Back at the apartment, Ryan looked at me evenly. “Where would you like to sleep, Maya?”
Fuck. I was hoping he wouldn’t do this; wouldn’t leave this choice up to me. I cursed myself for my weakness. As much as my heart was breaking, I also craved his body one final time.
“The playroom?” My words were reluctant. My self-preservation instinct was urging flight, but my need for him was deep and powerful.
He shook his head, expressionless. “I don’t think either of us can deal with the honesty of the playroom right now, can we, Maya?” His voice was bitter. “My bedroom or the guest room. You pick.”
I shut my eyes in pain. Gods, I wasn’t going to survive this. “Your bedroom.”
Our lovemaking was silent, hard, and fierce. We didn’t talk, we didn’t kiss. My nails ground into his back as he brought me to orgasm with his fingers, while he pounded into me. It left me feeling empty and drained. I rolled over when we were done, refusing to snuggle into Ryan. I fell asleep.
Ryan wasn’t in bed when I woke up. It was late, almost noon. I scrambled up, headed into the shower. He was in the kitchen when I came out, dressed in a sweater and jeans, typing something on his laptop at the kitchen table.
“Happy New Year, Maya.” His voice was careful, as he got up to hand me a cup of coffee. It was freshly-made and perfect, of course.
“I’m going to catch a cab to the airport.” My voice was flat. “I have to
leave in an hour, ok? Can you call one for me, please?”
“I’m happy to drop you at the airport, Maya.” His voice was level. We were leaving so much unsaid.
“No,” I said reflexively. “No. Please. I just need to go.”
“Okay,” he said softly. His eyes were troubled.
An hour later, I was packed and ready to go. I’d refused Ryan’s offer of help, and left him at the kitchen table. I was hiding from him, of course. As much as I knew I needed him to make any next move, I wasn’t entirely sure if I would be able to stop myself from begging. The cab came; I hugged him briefly; I left.
My tears started falling.
***
I was sitting at a café a month after I returned from Paris, having lunch with my best friend Patrick. I’d met Patrick in college; he had no money and dreamed of being an artist; I was a trust fund kid who, upon graduation, would work in the family business. We couldn’t have been more different, but we couldn’t have been better friends.
“Maya, you look like hell.” Patrick’s words were blunt. “What the heck’s going on?”
Patrick had been away in Alaska all summer and fall, working on fishing boats to make some money. I hadn’t seen him since the summer.
I sighed. “Nothing really,” I said, but my voice was despondent.
“Nothing, my ass,” Patrick snorted. “You have dark circles around your eyes, you’ve lost weight, something’s clearly going on. What?”
Maybe talking about this would help. I hadn’t been able to talk about Ryan to my usual confidants – Rosa and Julia. “Okay, but this will take a while,” I warned Patrick.
“I’ve all the time in the world,” Patrick said, waving the waitress over, and placing beer orders for the both of us.
“When Anthony and I were dating,” I started, and told Patrick the whole story. How the sex was never pleasurable with Anthony, how I’d propositioned Ryan, our time together, how unhappy I was that he didn’t ask me to stay. I left out the details of the sex – those were private memories, but I told him everything else. It was so very cathartic to talk about this. I’d kept everything bottled up for so long, and the sense of release was powerful. I looked at Patrick.
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