A waitress was hovering between the tables, chatting busily with the regulars as she jotted down drink orders and handed out change. She acknowledged Stefan with a wave and crossed to where he was sitting.
She was a tall woman, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She looked to Stefan to be in her early thirties. She had the willowy frame of a dancer, and the all-American smile of someone who might have been a cheerleader back in high-school. She was wearing a tight-fitting grey uniform, cut high on her thighs.
The waitress’s smile was friendly. “Hi, I’m Tammy,” she said. “What can I get you?”
“Whisky,” Stefan said. He threw a handful of crumpled banknotes onto the tabletop carelessly. “A bottle – and a glass.”
The waitress picked up some of the money and jotted down his order. She turned away from the table, and then spun back suddenly. “You’re new here. Are you just passing through?”
Stefan nodded. The woman looked him carefully up and down, appraising him. There was something incredibly sad in his eyes and Tammy felt a stab of compassion. “You look tired.”
Stefan shrugged. “It’s been a long day.”
Tammy jotted another note on her pad and handed it to Stefan. “My name’s Tammy Lowe. My family owns an all-night diner just outside town. If you need a decent meal…”
Stefan folded the note and tucked it into his pocket. “Thanks.”
When the whisky arrived, he unscrewed the cap and filled the glass.
Then he began to drink.
For a long time Stefan sat darkly at the table, drinking quietly, watching the level in the bottle steadily dip. He wasn’t aware of anyone or anything – until he heard a young woman’s voice at a table to his left.
“Well, well, well…” the woman said to her friends loudly, turning in her chair to face Stefan, her flashing green eyes admiring the broad shape of his shoulders with open interest. “A man.”
There were two other women sitting at the table. Instantly they changed, each of them moving in their chairs. One of the women tugged at the hem of her short skirt, crossed her legs and smiled brightly at Stefan. The other touched at her hair and licked her lips.
All three of the women were young and sleek – glossy with youth, and keen for any distraction from the small town boredom that was their lives. The woman who had spoken was the prettiest of the group, with long shiny black hair, wide painted eyes and perfect white teeth as she smiled.
Stefan turned towards the women, remote from their stares until the dark haired woman slowly uncrossed her legs to change position in her chair, successfully flashing a wide triangle of white panties before crossing her legs again.
She blew Stefan a soft pouty kiss and said quietly to her friends, “Back off, girls. He’s mine.”
She stood slowly, with languid feminine grace, and carried her drink to Stefan’s table. “Hello,” she said softly, her voice breathy and her gaze simmering as she stared at Stefan with a steady appreciative sweep. She turned to draw out a chair and Stefan noticed the swing of her hip as it swayed beneath the tight fabric of her skirt – and saw the cheeky teasing way she rolled her backside as she set her drink down on his table.
“My name is Samantha,” the young woman introduced herself. She was drinking a cocktail and she made a display of taking the straw between her bright painted lips and sipping.
Stefan nodded. He upended the glass of whisky in a single burning gulp and refilled the tumbler. “Stefan,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
He glanced quickly over the young woman’s shoulder. The group of women celebrating together had spread out onto the dance floor. Someone had thrown coins into the jukebox and the haze of smoky air in the bar swirled in long tendrils around the women’s heads as they danced and chatted over the jazzy blasts of saxophone on an old Joe Cocker number. Around the fringes of the dance floor, men turned in their chairs and watched the women with hungry eyes.
Samantha’s two friends were glancing at him over their drinks. One of the women lit a cigarette and turned away, her attention drawn to the long counter where a man in a business suit was eating peanuts and chatting to the barman. She elbowed her friend in the ribs and whispered something in her ear. The women giggled.
“And it’s nice to meet you,” Samantha purred, drawing Stefan’s eyes back to her smiling face. She leaned over the table and reached out to rest her hand lightly on Stefan’s forearm. “We don’t get many good-looking men around these parts. You look like a gift from Heaven.”
With a blur of quick movement, Stefan snatched the girl’s wrist, restraining her and pushing her palm flat down on the tabletop instead. He covered her hand with his own.
Samantha gasped in surprise, and then her eyes became enormous with a reckless flash of erotic excitement. The breath hitched in her throat and she felt a thrill of something sensual and wicked tie a knot in the base of her belly.
Stefan recognized the look. It was an expression he had seen in dozens of women’s eyes when they had come to him for submissive training and caught a glimpse of the dominant that lurked hidden within.
Stefan tossed back another shot of whisky. He stared at the girl, his eyes smoldered. She was slim, with large breasts. She wore a high collar, but the gossamer stuff of her blouse was almost sheer. Stefan could see the shape and a shadow of her nipples through the silk. She wore heavy make-up, but she wore it with rare skill, so that her skin looked flawlessly smooth with just the right amount of color on her cheeks to emphasize her features.
Stefan stared at the woman, his mind beginning to fuzz and thoughts becoming dulled from the alcohol. He refilled the glass tumbler and the woman watched him carefully from the corner of her eye under artificial eyelashes. She dipped long tapered fingers into her glass to pick out a slice of fruit and nibbled at the morsel. Then she dabbed slowly at her lips with the pink tip of her tongue, transforming the gesture into something unmistakably sensual.
“How old are you?” Stefan asked. His voice in his ears sounded thick and woolen.
“Twenty-two,” Samantha said brightly and then she leaned disconcertingly close, enveloping Stefan with the heady scent of her perfume. “Old enough to be fun, and young enough for you to have fun with.”
Stefan sipped his whisky to distract himself. When he looked up again suddenly the woman was gazing openly at him, her huge eyes slanted with sexual invitation, her glossy lips parted slightly.
Stefan swallowed the rest of his drink quickly.
He knew what was happening. And he knew what was about to happen – even though he had concealed the certainty of it from himself until now. It was as though the alcohol had dulled his will to resist, leaving him without the desire to avoid the inevitability of it. The woman’s face was just inches from his, her mouth a soft wet promise of oblivion. Stefan’s sense of right and wrong – his moral compass – spun out of control. He sighed and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
Samantha turned round to the table where her two friends sat and winked with sly cunning. Then she spun back to Stefan and her smile was bright and breathless with triumph. “Sure!” she said. “I have an apartment right around the corner.”
Fifteen.
The first-floor apartment was small and dingy. The carpet in the living room was threadbare and stained, and there was paint peeling from the walls. Samantha pushed open an adjoining door and Stefan saw a big double bed, the sheets unmade and clothes and shoes scattered on the floor. Samantha ducked into the room, threw her handbag on the floor and came back to Stefan smiling.
“Drink?”
Stefan stared at Samantha for long moments. Her face was flushed, her eyes glittering. She was breathing with quick excitement so the swell of her breasts rose and fell. Stefan nodded.
Samantha went through an open archway into a small kitchen and filled two glasses with whisky. Stefan glanced around the room looking for somewhere to sit. There was a lumpy sofa against one wall, its pa
ttern faded and worn. On the armrest was an ashtray, stuffed with discarded butts. On the floor beside the sofa were empty beer bottles. There was another ashtray, brimming full, on top of the TV set.
Samantha came back into the room and handed Stefan his glass.
“To memorable adventures,” she said, arching her eyebrow provocatively.
Just then another door opened and a second young woman stepped into the room. She had a dazed, dreamy look on her face, walking as though she were still asleep, barefooted and stepping silently. Stefan saw that she was young – perhaps just eighteen – although her face was heavily covered in cosmetics that had smeared and smudged on her face. There were dark rings of mascara under her eyes and her lipstick had been blurred around her lips.
The girl was completely naked, her dull blonde hair a tangle down her back, her breasts small but firm and well-formed, with tiny ruby-colored nipples. She smiled wanly at Stefan and crossed to the sofa. Between the cushions she found a pair of pale blue lace panties. She stepped into them without a word, and pulled them up onto her waist. Then she smiled at Stefan again, this time her expression more interested, her lips curling into a grin that was somehow depraved and secretly knowing.
A whore’s smile.
Samantha touched Stefan’s arm. “This is my flat-mate, Veronica. Ronnie, this is my friend, Steven.”
Stefan didn’t bother to correct the woman. He glowered at the new girl, his face grim, his expression equally knowing and understanding. The young girl waved her hand at Stefan and yawned – then disappeared back into the room she had come from.
“You don’t have to worry about her,” Samantha said with reassurance. “She’ll sleep until midday. She won’t disturb our fun. I promise.”
She stepped away from Stefan and kicked off her shoes. She walked to the bedroom door and then without turning to look back at him, she unbuttoned her blouse and let it slip off her shoulders and drop to the floor. She reached round behind herself, drew down the zip of her skirt and wiggled it over her hips until she was standing in just a pair of red lace panties. For a long moment she stood staring at the bed. Her back was shaped narrow at the waist with a womanly flare to her hips, her buttocks firm and neat and rounded. Then Samantha bent to pick up her clothes. Her feet were spread slightly apart and she did not bend her knees. Stefan’s eyes were drawn instinctively to the long shapely lines of her legs as she folded at the waist to give him an explicit view of the damp silk between her thighs.
She turned her face to glance over her shoulder at him, and her glossy dark hair shimmered and rippled in the soft light.
“Are you coming to bed?”
Stefan remained standing in the tiny living room, his feet rooted to the spot. He wiped the palm of his hand across his forehead, feeling unsteady, swaying slightly. There was no air in the room, and he felt lightheaded.
“I don’t think so,” he said. His speech was shaky and slurred. The punch of the alcohol began to hit him like a hammer. The sexual tension – the woman’s invitation and his uncertainty – made the space between them crackle.
Samantha turned back to him, thrust out one of her hips in a provocative stance. She folded her arms underneath her breasts, deliberately pushing them up so that Stefan could not ignore their shape. Her nipples were tiny, like perfect rosebuds.
“I want you,” Samantha said softly, but her tone determined. “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met. I want to feel you on top of me. I want you inside me.” As she spoke the color of her nipples darkened, the skin around them puckering as they stiffened to erect aroused buds.
Stefan felt his own flesh harden, despite his reluctant uncertainty. Samantha saw the swell of his erection in his trousers and her gaze was shameless. She chuckled lightly. “You’re a man,” she said. “So take me like a man. No one need ever know. It will be a one-night stand we will always remember. Our little secret.” Her lips parted and she looked squarely into his eyes. Her breathing quickened.
Stefan took a single step towards her, and then stopped.
“No,” he said. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Samantha stepped close to him, her head lifted, and her lips were ripe and glossy. “You can,” she said. “Don’t listen to your head. Follow your instincts. I’m all yours – and you can do anything you want with me. Anything…”
Stefan heard the blood sounding in his ears as a roar. He screwed his eyes tightly shut and clenched his fists, teetering against the almost magnetic lure of the young woman’s overt sexuality.
Here was the escape he craved – the fleeting temporary respite from the pain that tore at his heart. Here was the chance to hide and dull his anguish, even for just a few short hours in blissful oblivion.
This was a chance to regain some control – to take this woman and bend her to his will and his needs; to command her to obey his every desire and re-create the illusion that he had control once more – that his life was in his hands and not resting in the reckless will of a God that seemed so cruel.
He made to reach for her, but at the last instant an image of Renee came swirling out of his inebriated haze. He stopped himself.
He had left Renee – and escaped to deal with his heartbreak. But was this the way?
He was already drowning in despair and guilt. In his own mind, it made rational sense, but to Renee it could only be betrayal, and he knew, with terrible aching guilt, that he had devastated some part of their marriage by abandoning her. Now he was uncertain, unsure about how much he had destroyed, and if it would ever be possible to explain, and for her to understand, or at lest accept.
Stefan knew he was standing at the very point of no return. If he gave in to the weakness of his temptation and the desperate need for solace, he would lose Renee forever.
Clarity came to him, stark and shocking.
This was not the way.
This was not the answer.
The respite could only ever be brief, and yet the consequences would be irreparable.
He shook his head, and his face turned to stone. “No.”
“Yes!” Samantha insisted. She moved quickly, crushing herself against his hard body, flattening the warmth of her breasts against his chest and the hollow between her thighs against the thick swell of his hardness. There was a fierce intense passion blazing in her eyes and her hands went up to bury themselves in the thick hair at the back of his head. She pulled Stefan’s face down and her mouth opened hot and slippery across his lips as she arched her back and groaned. Her hips bucked frantically against him, grinding.
For a brief startled moment, Stefan stood locked within her embrace, then tore himself free.
“I said no!” Stefan pushed her from him. He was much taller and stronger, but Samantha was inflamed with desperate confused passion and determination. She fought her way back against him, reaching out for his trousers, her eyes wild and reckless.
“You won’t regret it. Just one night. You can’t leave me like this, damn you! I’ve thrown myself at you, you bastard! You can’t walk away now.” Her voice rose, becoming breathless as Stefan tried to fend her away. She was trembling.
“Get away!” Stefan grabbed Samantha’s shoulders and pushed her. Her back hit the wall, and the sudden impact seemed to shake her senses. She stopped cold, staring at him in terrible confusion and disbelief. Her breathing was ragged, the shape of her breasts rising and falling.
“I don’t want this,” Stefan said, his anger rising so that his voice cracked like a whip. “I don’t want you.” His eyes flashed cold and black. His lips drew into a thin grim line, and the rims of his nostrils flared and turned white.
“Why?” Samantha groaned softly. “What’s wrong with me? What more could a man want?” Her hands tightened into frustrated fists. “Do you want me to beg you, is that it? Is that how you get yourself off?”
Stefan crossed to where she stood. He grabbed her shoulders and pinned the girl against the wall. “I’m in love,” he said through gritted teeth. “This
is a mistake. I don’t want it.”
Their faces were close. Samantha saw the dark sudden glitter of disgust and loathing in his eyes and her own anger flared. She lashed out at him with her hand, her nails like a claw as she tried to gouge at Stefan’s cheek. He pulled back just in time, his head rearing away and tensing. He squeezed Samantha’s shoulder until her face twisted in burning pain. She went suddenly weak, still shaking her head in confusion and disbelief, the spark of her outrage flickering out at last.
She slumped against the wall. Stefan felt the tension slide from her body. He let go of her shoulders cautiously and stepped away. Samantha glared at him for long seconds, then she turned and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door shut with enough violence to lift a framed print off the wall and send it crashing to the floor.
Stefan sighed. He felt himself swaying. He slumped down onto the sofa and hung his head in his hands.
Sixteen.
Renee Stared at doctor Raynor, and her gaze was icy with defiance.
“I want to go home.”
The doctor shook his head. “I can’t recommend that course of action,” he said. “It’s only been twenty-four hours.”
Renee folded her arms. “You told me last night that all the tests came back negative. No broken bones.”
Doctor Raynor nodded reluctantly. “Yes…” he admitted. “But you have been through a terrible ordeal. You need to give yourself time to heal. The last thing you want to do is rush your recovery. And I’m not just talking about the physical trauma, Mrs Blake. There are emotional issues that you need to be prepared for – feelings that you and your husband are going to need to deal with. That’s why you need to be patient. I’d like a counselor to come to you and have a chat. We have a lady at the hospital who is very good. I’ve arranged for her to visit you tomorrow.”
Her Master's Kiss Page 28
