by Shayne Ford
What does he want from me?
I smile.
The things I see in him might be nothing but the work of my imagination. He may in fact be nothing but a mere illusion.
But sometimes an illusion feels as good as the real thing. It serves a purpose, keeps you afloat, and helps you pull out of the bed in the morning.
If the effect is the same, what’s so wrong with my illusion?
With this last thought, I finish drinking my smoothie and check the time. I should get back to work.
My gaze shifts back to the few occupied tables in the coffeehouse. The man in front of me is concentrated on his work. The older gentleman still has his nose stuck in the paper.
I rise to my feet and make a beeline for the bathroom.
Five minutes later, I walk to the counter and buy a bottle of water. I could spend a few more minutes here, I figure, so I go back to my table.
A leaflet sits on it.
I glance around, assuming that someone else sat at the table when I was gone.
I see no one in the shop other than the two men.
I take a seat and start leafing through it. It’s a real estate booklet with properties for sales and rental, all located around the park––my neighborhood in other words.
Single-family houses, studios, and apartments. Townhouses like mine. Their value has significantly appreciated in the last five years or so, I notice.
A few properties catch my eye. Apartments for rent on this side of the park, only a block over. The places look nice, the buildings brand new, located near the million dollar homes.
The rent is high, and so are the selling prices.
One of them captures my attention. One bedroom, ceiling height windows, decent square footage, fantastic view. Furnished.
A different thought puts a stop to this, panic rolling over me.
Why am I looking at these places? I have a home.
I lift my gaze, a bit dazed, and leap to my feet, the bottle of water in my hand.
Suddenly in a rush, I dash to the exit door, the leaflet still in my hand.
13
TESS
Thursday comes with the first snow of winter.
Big, feathery snowflakes sift from puffy clouds. They float in the air, and swirl over the sidewalks, dressing the street, and the park with white glitter.
For the very first time in months, I wake up early in the morning and work through the day without interruption except to take a brief lunch. Somehow, I manage to finish my project ahead of time, way before the deadline.
Close to five o’clock in the afternoon, I turn the lights on.
A small beep makes me pivot back to my desk. I slip back into my chair and check the laptop screen. A message prompts me to check that private website again.
I type in the password and click on the link. My pulse picks up as I reach the landing page.
The screen is white except for a link inviting me to play a video clip. I’m tempted, but swiftly crush my impulse, staring at it for a few seconds.
I slide the laptop shut.
I can’t do it.
I shouldn’t do it anyway.
I pull out of my chair and dart out of the room as if my ass is on fire. I need to go out, and clear my mind, let some of that arctic air bring me to my senses.
Still grappling with my thoughts, I dart into the walk-in closet, run my hand over the hangers and pull out a pair of black pants. I slip them on and zip them up. From another hanger, I pick up a soft and fluid, silk blouse. I button it up and put the boots on.
With a few expert moves, I coat my lips with a dark shade of red. Black Mascara goes on my lashes.
In the hallway, I shrug on my short, double-breasted wool coat. I glance in the mirror on my way out. Absently, I run my hand through my hair and slap a wool muffler around my neck before I snatch my phone and keys from the hallway side table and slip my pocketbook inside my coat.
I toss a last glance around before I step outside and lock the door.
Cold air kisses my cheeks, a swarm of snowflakes landing on my hair. Shielding my eyes from the falling snow, I let my gaze sweep the street.
Faint lights glow in the windows, trees heavy with snow arching their branches above the sidewalks.
The winter scenery looks like a fairy tale.
I ponder for a few seconds which way to go before I veer left and walk up the street, heading toward the busiest part of the city.
A few cars roll by. I don’t pay much attention to them.
A couple of blocks later, a black limousine catches my eye. It enters the main street coming from a secondary road that runs across the park.
It looks like the limousine that man vanished in, last week. In all fairness, they all look the same, and yet, something nudges me to pick up the pace and follow it.
The car takes a right turn, heading in the same direction as I am, slowly crawling up the street. I rush and catch up with it at an intersection. I almost pull next to it when the traffic lights shift, and the car starts rolling.
It gets ahead of me, and yet it doesn’t seem to pull away too quickly. Keeping my hands tucked in my pockets, I breathe faster as I start walking briskly.
It doesn’t take long before the glimmering lights and the animation signal the proximity of downtown. Restaurants, clubs, and pubs lined the streets, flashing colorful, throbbing lights.
The traffic gets busier and before I know it, a few cars, all dark, begin to trail that limousine.
I almost lose track of it, so I crane my neck out, trying to catch a glimpse of it.
Damn it.
I have a hard time keeping my eyes on it, and just as I suspected, it vanishes from my sight as it takes another turn.
I start running.
A different scenery unfurls in front of my eyes as I round the corner. More cars, streetlights, and pedestrians.
A carousel of sounds and lights rushes through my senses.
Dazed, I look around. Lit up entrances invite people to go in. Couples, groups, and occasionally, single people do just that.
Where did the car go?
I randomly pick a direction and walk toward one of the clubs. Just as I lose hope of spotting it again, I notice a limousine cutting its way through groups of people and slipping onto a narrow pathway between two buildings.
I jostle my way across the street and follow its trace.
It takes too long for me to get to the spot where the car seemingly vanished. By the time I leave the crowd behind and walk onto that alley, there’s no car in sight.
I growl with frustration.
Buildings rise on both sides of the pathway, metallic doors carved into the gray walls gleaming under the faint lights. They seem to be the emergency exits, or perhaps the back entrances for the employees.
At one point, one of the doors swings open, and a few couples slip outside. One of the pairs lags behind, the man and the woman starting to make out.
Oblivious to me, the man runs his hands up the woman’s skirt. She giggles, and leans into him while I take a step back and hide in the shadow.
Moments later, they spin around and vanish down the alley.
I pivot to the metallic door. For some reason, I expect it to be locked. To my surprise, it slides open when I shift the doorknob.
A dark hallway sprawls in front of me, diffuse red lights guiding my steps. I hear doors opening and closing and even hear a few voices. Music plays somewhere in the distance.
A few steps in, I begin to warm up.
I open my coat, and quietly walk toward the other end of the corridor, a soft rug absorbing the sound of my steps. My gaze flicks left and right as I take in the mirrors hanging on the red painted walls.
My reflection stares at me.
I quickly move away from it.
What is this place?
A moment later, I reach the end of the corridor. A door stretches in front of me. I glance around, making sure there’s no one else nearby before I muster enough co
urage to crack it open.
Slowly, I turn the doorknob.
A round shaped foyer greets me. It’s not exactly what I thought it would be. Draperies conceal what I believe to be another door. A ribbon of light slithers from between them, and muffled sounds travel to me, voices again, but I can’t tell where they originate from, and whether they echo in front of me or seep through the walls.
Struggling with quick, shorts breaths and a racing pulse, I erase the small space between those drapes and me. The dark red, velvet curtains match the walls.
I slip my fingers between them and slowly pull them to the side. A wall of glass stretches in front of me.
I peek inside.
A chamber sprawls behind the glass. It looks like a lounge room with diffuse light, a divan, armchairs, and flowers in a vase. The color sticks to the palette of red which seems to be the theme of the venue. The only exceptions are the golden lights and the espresso finish furniture. The white flowers break the scarlet theme too.
Slowly, I run my fingers over the glass. The room seems to be empty, but I quickly learn it’s only an illusion. As I flick my gaze to the side, I notice two silhouettes in a dimly lit corner.
My first instinct is to pull back, but I immediately realize that they can’t see me. The man sits on a plush couch, his legs spread open.
A watch wraps around his wrist, a tight shirt hugging his muscular arms. His head is tilted back, his face out of my sight, so I dip my eyes to his chest. The undone shirt reveals his carved chest and the top of his well-cut abs.
Kneeled in front of him, a woman wearing lacy lingerie brushes her long, dark hair over one shoulder and works his buckle open. Deftly, she opens his belt and runs his zipper down. Her hand goes down his pants, her hand wrapping around his full erection.
I gasp, and jerk back but stop short as I hit a wall of muscles. A scream gets muffled in the stranger’s hand as he smoothly palms my mouth and snakes an arm around me.
My heart explodes.
I writhe against his body and keep screaming against his hand until he brings his lips close to my ear and murmurs something.
“You found me, Tess. Calm down. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
His voice slices through me, rising a wave of panic, not to say that it makes my insides melt.
But his words are still not enough to calm me down.
He does the unthinkable next, his lips locking a small patch of skin right below my ear. A sharp breath rolls into my lungs as my whole body vibrates with pleasure.
Registering my reaction, he de-tenses his arms. I slacken in his embrace, waiting for that second kiss.
It never comes.
Instead, he traces the column of my neck with soft, warm lips that smell like expensive cologne.
“Do you like to watch...?”
His smoky voice rolls in my ears.
I open my mouth beneath his hand and try to talk, but all I do is push out a shaken breath.
He lowers his head again, his mouth on my neck this time, his hair brushing my cheek. It’s thick and soft against my skin. I close my eyes and try to speak again.
He softens his grip.
“Um, I don’t know...” I say with a quiet voice.
“Open your eyes.”
I do.
His head is still tilted down. He hasn’t even looked at me.
“How did you know I had my eyes closed?”
He raises his head, his hot breath rolling over my hair.
“I just know,” he murmurs with a low, quiet voice. “Look now,” he says, his fingers gently tipping my face to the side.
I freeze in his arms.
Propped on her knees, the woman leans toward the man, her bare chest crushed against the man’s lap. Her fingers locked around the man’s shaft.
I jolt back. The man behind me doesn’t move.
“What are you afraid of, Tess?” he asks with the same smoky voice that puts more goosebumps on my skin.
I get hot.
“I’m not afraid,” I say with a trembling voice.
Gently tugging at the muffler, he tears it away from my neck.
Cold air kisses my skin.
“Better?”
I nod.
He pulls the sides of my coat open, his fingertips brushing the lapels. I want them on my blouse.
“Look,” he says, slowly sliding my coat off.
My focus shifts to the couple behind the glass as if I’m under hypnosis.
“What do you see?” he asks with the same raspy voice.
My eyes get filled with the image of the man and the woman.
She lowers her head.
“A man.”
I pause, distracted for a moment by the smooth motion of the woman’s lips as they slide onto that man’s erection.
“And a woman...” I breathe out, my voice trailing off.
He breathes hot air on my neck.
“What does she do to him?” he asks before he swirls his tongue.
I gasp and moan, already panting.
“Don’t do that,” I murmur.
And he does it again.
“Please,” I beg.
My head tilts back, my hand sliding on top of his knuckles while his arm drapes around my waist.
He starts kissing my neck at a slow pace, reviving every nervous ending woven in my skin. My body tenses, my nipples turning into hardened buds.
“Please,” I say when all I want in fact is him to continue.
“Watch,” he says.
I do as I’m told.
The woman holds the man’s hard cock with both hands, her mouth rolling down on him. Up and down. Again, and again.
He groans with pleasure, and opens his legs even wider, giving her access to his groin.
I bite my lips.
My mouth begins to water.
“You like it...?” he asks.
I tip my chin down again.
“Yes... I think I do,” I say, surprised by my confession.
His fingers start exploring the neckline of my top. He works a couple of buttons open, my skin already flaring with pleasure beneath his touch.
He slides it off my shoulders and lets it drape, exposing my neck, and collarbones. My chest. His hands move smoothly, learning the contour of my neck, and the lines of my shoulders before they slide toward my breasts.
Instinctively, I arch my body, eager to press myself into him.
He keeps his distance but doesn’t tear his hands away. One wraps around my neck while the other explores the skin around my waistline.
“You’re so beautiful, Tess,” he murmurs, inhaling the scent of my skin.
He comes closer, close enough to feel his chest against my back.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says, the shred of a smile sneaking into his voice.
No words come to my lips as he runs his hand up, his palm sweeping the swell of my left breast.
“How does he touch you, Tess?”
A switch flips in my head.
“What??”
“Your husband... How does he touch you?”
“Um... I...”
“Just look at them,” he says, cutting me off.
Sounding a bit annoyed, perhaps?
I shift my focus again, but I have a hard time to maintain it as his fingers touch the sensitive area around my nipple. The flesh tenses beneath his touch, making my body tingle with more pleasure.
“Tell me... Spell it out for me... What do you see?”
He lines my body with his frame, his hard cock pressing into me.
My words and thoughts become a cloud of dust.
“She’s, um...”
“Yes?”
He starts kissing my neck again while he scoops my breasts out of my lacy bra. His hands become my new cups. They’re warm. Their touch is tender and gentle, and somehow it feels as if it’s the most natural thing in the world––the man I have become obsessed with, touching me this way, right now.
“She’s taking him
into her mouth...” I murmur, my eyes glued to the hard flesh that’s sliding between the woman’s lips.
“She’s...?”
“She’s sucking his cock.”
The words alone coming from my mouth give me a spike of pleasure.
“Would you like to suck him too... ?”
“No, no.”
The words push out fast as if building my defense.
“Would you like to suck a stranger’s cock?”
The thought spins in my head for a moment, wrecking a bit of havoc. A stranger like the one sitting on that couch, or someone like him?
More thoughts spark in my head, weighing every option.
I can only imagine the intimate contact, and the lack of connection, the secrets sealed by a carnal act. The pleasure fueled by the absence of commitment, the self-limiting restraints or moral judgment. The contact without future or past.
The answer comes to me, taking me by surprise.
My shoulders shudder.
“You would, wouldn’t you?” he asks, nudging me, perhaps, to say it out loud.
His hand wraps around my neck, heavy with tension. I don’t think he’d like it. Me sucking a stranger’s cock. Unless it’s his cock, of course.
The thought makes me feel good.
Momentarily.
“I wouldn’t,” I say.
“You’re not a good liar, Tess.”
“Would you like watching me suck a man like him...?” I ask, turning the tables on him.
I think my question takes him by surprise.
He laughs softly.
“You learn fast, don’t you?”
He gently pulls me into him, my skin getting hot beneath his thick erection. I find myself arching and thrusting my bottom out as I grind against his hardness.
“Watching it makes you wet, doesn’t it?” he murmurs in my ear, his lips touching my earlobe.
I quiver again.
The buckle of my bra falls open under his touch.
“Does it?” he asks, but only to distract me, his fingers already sliding down my zipper, his hand slipping inside my pants.
He presses his fingers against my panties, crushing my swollen, heated flesh beneath the lace. The fabric gets drenched between my legs.
A moan rolls off my lips.
