by Ashley Black
I continued teasing my rock star Thorn. And he was giving me some great lines! I’d started saving them in a file for future reference. My favourites so far had been:
If you don’t stop teasing me, Elena, I will have to rip your skin off with my teeth.
You are a dark exciting place inside of everywhere that matters
I plan to let you use my mouth. I mean this. I don’t know where Ashby is, but I will find it, and YOU. I want you to do with my mouth as you please.
He had responded with the message about the mouth, after I had said to him:
Do you mind me saying that I love your mouth? I love it!!! Nothing hurts my mind or fires it up and delights it more. I respect your mouth, Thorn. It is a fucking wonderful thing.
Thorn and I had other conversations outside the teasing as well. He would come out with random rants, about dickhead record producers, about nihilists, and how he loathed folk with sheep-like mentalities. I fucking despise people and their sheep minds! I despise how easily and so often they are manipulated by everything. But it seems to be too painful to think. And I hate that pain too, Elena.
Always thinking.
And thinking.
And thinking
I think TOO MUCH
My head is full of ME
And YOU
Mostly YOU.
ALWAYS YOU.
I invited him to come to Ashby, commenting:
Then you would never have to think again.
When he was despondent like this, we would jump on Skype and talk to each other. It was surreal to see him face to face. I spoke to him in my lingerie. It seemed a bit crazy, but very in keeping with my teasing of him. Besides, I wrote in my lingerie, and didn’t see a need to cover up for Thornton Darko.
The last few occasions, he had greeted me in the mask. I didn’t think anything of it. In fact, I thought it was kind of sexy. I didn’t even comment on it, though I did want to see that gorgeous face of his, to see that mouth, the way it moved so flawlessly over words. I had a thing for Batman. But Thornton Darko’s mask was so much more bad ass. He told me that even though it looked menacing, he actually had the mould done when he was reading something in thoughtful repose – if it looked menacing but calm, that was probably why. Didn’t matter. I loved it. I loved the black death tears, the mean black line across his generous mouth lifted at one corner in the slightest of smiles or smirks, depending upon your perspective.
I realized in horror, I was falling in love with him. An idea. A fantasy. My muse.
What I had intended to be bit of a harmless tease was having ramifications for my stupid heart. Shit. I don’t know how I had lost the upper hand here.
But lost it I had.
He just left me breathless and senseless.
Unlike me, whenever we spoke on Skype, masked or not, quite the contrast to my attire, or lack there of, he was always dressed in head to toe black. Layers upon layers of black
There were not a lot of photos of him without being dressed in head to toe black. In fact, I had only glimpsed one photo of his body, snapped at a distance, once in the magazines whilst he had been on tour. He had been standing in the middle of a field, head tilted back to catch the fading sunlight as it meekly slid behind the looming mountains in the distance. He’d been shirtless, his mask dangling from the fingertips of his right hand, a shiver of a scowl about to break across his beautiful face. I knew he was heavily tattooed, and had a confusing mess of angels and demons inked upon that wideset muscular chest of his, with a black cross dead centre. And I knew at least from that picture, he was in spectacular shape.
And only a week into teasing Thornton Darko, he did the impossible thing. Impossible, because most people told me he almost never allowed anyone to see his body like this.
Yet he allowed me to see him. He bared himself to me. I recorded it, of course. I wanted to show everyone I knew.
This was after I received this despondent message from him:
I wish I could turn my back on everything sometimes. Leave it all behind.
Then:
I want you to see me. The man behind the mask.
Well, I want to see you, hell yes, Mr. Sexy Rock Star! I smiled, but despite trying to reach him for two hours, all I got was nothing. Stage fright, perhaps? I thought of how impossibly beautiful he was, and shook my head. Unlikely.
Eventually, my messenger lit up with his name, and a link to a live video with a message:
*smiles … shyly* It seems only fair when you torment me with your beautiful flesh, that you should see more of mine. If you show this to any one, I will kill you. I mean this. To access the live Thorn show – use the password.
I grinned. Which is?
LOL. Prick.
I sent him a smiley face, and hit the link, taking a gulp of wine to embolden me. Holy shit, my own private show from Mr. Thornton Darko himself! Impossible! I was excited, and glad he couldn’t see me.
I typed into the comments box so he could see it. I’ve arrived.
At first, all I saw was an empty room, and text appeared before he made his entrance.
But I haven’t done a single thing to make you cum yet, love. I very much doubt you have arrived.
Then he came into view again in his characteristic head to toe black get up, with the shirt beneath a black vest buttoned right up to mid-throat. He seemed unusually keyed up, and kept touching his mask.
“Can you see me all right?” he asked, his green eyes flaring bright in the dark eyeholes of the mask.I sucked my bottom lip, and typed dazedly. Yes. Oh … yes.
He glanced to the right of me, I presumed at the comments box, and nodded, his shoulders trembling a little in what I assumed was silent laughter.
I never picked you shy … a big bad ass like YOU. So cute.
I couldn’t help myself.
“Then you don’t really know me at all,” he said quietly.
Shit. He sounded really fucking angry. Lest he call the whole delicious show off, I removed my recalcitrant fingers from the keyboard. I realized I was trembling.
He removed the mask first, slowly, and tossed it aside.
He came close to the camera so his entire face filled the screen and simply stared out at me, blinking slowly.
I found myself leaning closer. My elbow typed and commented nonsense:ssssssssssssssstttttttt
He glanced at my comment momentarily, a shiver of a smile touching that mouth of his. He had the most mesmerizing set of dark green eyes. The ring below his unrelenting flirty bottom lip flashed.
I found my hand rising to touch the screen.
I wanted to touch him for real.
He sighed, and pushed back his dark hair that had fallen into his face, and then moved back from the camera, and undid the buttons of his floor length form fitting black coat. Unlike the mask, he carefully laid this over the arm of a plush red velvet window seat of arched stain glassed windows. He ran his large white hand reverently over it.
Holy shit. So beautiful. He was breaking my heart right now, and he had only just removed his damn coat. This was more than I could bear. My hand shook on the bottle of wine as I refilled my glass.
Thornton’s hands then moved to his vest, his fingers moved nimbly over the buttons, and then he shrugged out of it and laid it on top of the coat.
The shirt clung to him in all the right places. I took a moment to appreciate him just standing there in those black tight pants, crazy boots, and that shirt hugging his huge pecs, flaunting his amazing physique.
He nodded slightly, and smiled. “Proceed?”
I almost knocked my wine glass over in my excitement to respond. YES! Please do!
He laughed softly, and then simply ripped his shirt. Hmmmm, obviously he didn’t hold it in the same regard as the vest and coat.
It fell to the floor.
He was shaking, I realized.
My stupid wine sloshed mind tried to tell me it was for me. For my attentions.
He looked down, and moved closer.
<
br /> I gave a squeal of excitement at the sight of him. I was recording all of this of course – his stupid private room be damned. I had a good program hack, and this was the absolute fucking best! I needed to keep it forever.
Holy fucking shit. Unbidden, I felt my thighs part. He was… magnificent. Physically, much bigger than my Brett. Huge chest, he was muscle and hard flesh with dramatic contrasting shadows, and his ink was so exquisitely beautiful. The designs of the demons and angels were rendered more intricate in this light. I realized my mouth was hanging open. I loved the rippling muscles at the V of his hips; his obliques looked as sharp as knives. He had a beautiful body, but like his face, he insisted on covering the fucking thing up. Why? I wasn’t about to ask him now. I was interested in what he would do next.
I considered my response carefully. There seemed no other word that was adequate. WOW.
His head was still lowered. He had not seen my message.
Look at me. I typed.
I knew the messenger would be pinging him in an infuriating way, signalling that I was indeed responding!
Finally, he looked up, straight into my eyes, and his gaze was blistering fucking hot; I felt a little senseless from the intensity of it. His trembling arms came to rest by his sides.
I typed furiously:
You are beautiful. But of course you know this. Why do you cover yourself up? If I had a body like yours, I would flaunt the thing 24/7! Actually I’d be so turned on by myself I would find myself infuriatingly distracting
He snickered. “I’m not aroused by myself because that would be next level narcissism, and whilst I have an ego, it’s not ready for that jump.”
Then he reclined in a black high-backed chair that meant business – his throne I assumed.
I bit my lip, disappointed. Was the show over already?
“I want to see you,” he breathed.
I sighed, annoyed that I couldn’t just speak to him directly. I engaged the microphone of the little Thornton show room, knowing it was against his instructions, but not really giving a fuck right now. “Thorn I would like that very much.”
He jolted a little at the sound of my voice in wherever the hell he was, and blinked into the camera. “Then I will come and find you so you can tease me in the flesh.”
I didn’t really believe him, so I humored him. “Sure. I should be down at the pier with my friend around midnight.”
“Who is this friend to you?” His voice held an edge.
I shivered. His jealousy and possessiveness had led to many a violent stoush splashing his furious brand of beauty all over the news. I always hated these traits in my men, and was extremely grateful that my Brett did not seem to possess these.
“Aaron is my gay literary agent,” I explained.
“You don’t write literature,” he smirked and reached down for a moment, then held up a book. It was from my best selling paranormal erotic romance series featuring extremely naughty witches and wizards who were up for a fuck at least every second chapter. I blushed.
“You’ve read my stuff?” I was mortified and gratified all at once.
He waved his hand a little. “I am truly sorry, Elena, I know this shit is not really for my audience. I tried, I really did. But you write in a way that is so blistering intense and quite insane actually – your energy distracts me from the story, I feel it reaching out to me from the pages, you don’t linger, you’re as subtle as a fucking tomahawk lodged between the eyes.”
I gulped down the rest of my wine, glad he couldn’t see me. “That was very mean,” I said in a small voice.
“Which is a surprise?” he sneered. “Besides, I am the fucking devil. One of Lucifer’s children, didn’t you know this already? I heard those motherfuckers are very mean.”
I laughed at that.
He did not.
He set fire to my book.
Jesus.
I jumped back.
He dropped it somewhere out of view, and the flames from it lit his dramatic face with shadows.
“I want you to write something for me,” he smiled.
“Well I need to finish the last book in the ser-”
“I want you to write about us.”
I licked my lips. “Us?”
“Yes, this exact scenario. You teasing me.”
“What is the genre?” I asked nervously.
“Horror.” Thorn’s dark eyes flashed mischievously. A lightness and playfulness had come into his face that made my shoulders, bunched up somewhere near the tops of my ears, relax and slide down to normal resting yet high strung position again.
“All right,” I agreed slowly. “But I saw it more of a romantic suspense myself.”
He saluted me. “I will see you at the pier, and I am going to take you away with me.” He then threw his head back and released one of his dramatic bellows of rumbling laughter. The sound of it thrilled and chilled me all at once.
“Sure,” I agreed. “You’ll just commandeer a boat to Ashby and see me.”
“I am serious, Elena.” He looked straight into the camera. “If you don’t want me to take you away to the dark side, then you should stay away from that pier tonight.”
“You’re beginning to freak me out, Thorn,” I admitted. “What has gotten into you?”
“I already said it. YOU.”
“Well, clearly I am not good for you.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Thorn reached for the camera, he gave a little wave, and a smile that showed his perfect white teeth.
My Messenger beeped as I was kicked out of the private room.
See you at the pier.
Five
“Well, clearly we can’t go to the pier tonight,” Aaron pouted, looking disappointed.
“Why not?” I asked him. After our business meeting, we had smeared our faces with some expensive facial masks – this one shimmered like gold, and we were wrapped up in bathrobes watching-not-watching some terrible romantic comedies.
There was much to discuss. Like the idea of having Thornton’s millions of followers and fans, possibly jumping on the Elena bandwagon and getting even more visibility. Whilst I did all right for myself, this would be some fucking A-grade oxygen for my writing.
“Because Thornton Darko is not someone you seriously want in your life, Elena. I mean, come on. Sure, as an internet boyfriend, you flirt with from time to time, as a fantasy, as a fuck dream, but not for reals.” Aaron’s brow quivered, and save for the mask holding our faces near expressionless, I believe he would be frowning at me right now.
“I don’t think he is seriously going to turn up at the pier.” I almost laughed.
“If we see the Black Eagle, we’re out of there,” Aaron snapped his fingers. “Like that.”
I felt my forehead try to scrunch in confusion. “The Black Eagle?”
“Thornton’s bad ass boat of sorts. He brought it for his father Bob the fisherman, but he hated it and insisted Thornton take it back. So it’s one of his many toys out at that castle of his.”
“Right,” I found myself nodding. “Not the least bit concerned he is seriously going to turn up, though.”
“Liar,” Aaron said flatly.
I remained silent lest I incriminate myself.
As we watched some folk trying to act like they were vaguely interested in what they were actually doing , Aaron asked me the question I had been dreading since our business meeting ended, and our friend time started.
“How is the separation going with Brett?”
“It’s still going,” I answered quickly, too quickly.
“Do you think it’s a permanent thing?”
I shook my head furiously. “No, not a chance.”
“Ooooh I like your confidence Elena.”
“No,” I felt my voice almost fall to a whisper. “Brett said so himself. We’re going to meet tomorrow afternoon for coffee. He wants to see me again. He said he missed me.”
Aaron brightened beside me, almost bouncing up and do
wn on the bed.
“That is great news hon! I am so pleased to hear that. How do you feel about that?”
I found myself looking down at my hands spread before me, palms up, feeling helpless. I could not stop thinking about my muse… Thornton Darko. My mind was stuffed full of him. As much as I loved Brett, and I knew with a powerful sense of inevitability, that he was my future, Thorn had been incredibly distracting.
“I feel good about it,” I admitted finally. “I can’t imagine life without Brett. I love that man so damn much.”
“Then we should definitely not go to the pier tonight,” Aaron sighed. “Come on, Elena, you know Thornton Darko is crazy enough to turn up.”
I couldn’t think about that possibility. What I would do. I was scared. “No.”
“Well, I don’t want to go, we’re having fun here. “ Aaron was pouting again.
“I want to get out for a walk. The pier philosophising is our thing,” I shook his arm, hearing my voice take on an unattractive wheedling tone. “Come on, Aaron.”
“All right, only because you are so damn gorgeous,” he groaned. “Come on let’s get this stupid shit off our faces. You’ve got to look fucking hot if you are going to dance with the devil tonight.”
Close to an hour later, our faces shiny, bright, and momentarily clear of imperfections, we sat on the edge of the pier, giggling in the warm night air, drinking a bottle of whisky Aaron had pilfered from Daniel’s stash. We had dressed like we were going to the theatre, Aaron looking all dapper in a charcoal suit, me in a long red heart shaped neckline gown that clung to me like a nightie. I even wore a sparkling bauble around my neck Brett had given me last Christmas; the thing reminded me of a decoration and rested snugly between the swell of my breasts. Aaron had put the curling iron through my hair, and now it fell about my bare shoulders in glossy honey brown soft waves. I realized my friend was not giggling, and was appraising me with a faintly concerned look.
