SALT: A HEIGHTS NOVEL

by Mara White

  “How come you ain’t got nobody else to help you out? No girlfriends from prep school? What about the horse people? You can’t be all alone.”

  She turned to him and her eyes were bloodshot, filled with both sorrow and rage. She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her whole naked body into his. He froze, arms at his sides, then slowly pulled her into his embrace. She was so much, just too much, and what did her trust in him mean? Salana struck him differently than other people, other girls—made his emotions feel uncontrollable and his dick harder than he’d ever known. His feelings spilled forth, barely containable. He wanted to cry with her and then make love to her body, show her it wasn’t something to be ashamed of. Pregnancy ain’t a curse, just another part of life. You just keep walking through the tough shit. He hadn’t cried since he was a kid and now he felt tears prick his eyes.

  “You walk back into my life like a goddamned heart attack, Salt! I never thought I’d see you again—” Before he could finish his sentence, Salt was kissing him. She rolled on top of him, naked and tear-stained; he was fully clothed, still wearing his sneakers. Her kiss was ferocious, both passionate and petulant. Tiago had never been kissed like he was a hero, like he was someone’s reason for living. Most of the time when he got action he was high or drunk and so was the girl. Here he was stone cold sober, making out in the projects with the princess of Connecticut, the Queen of the rich girls.

  She was pure starving body and a tornado of emotion. She came at him with supernatural speed and her need was a black hole that he fell into head first—willingly, body and soul. Her mouth was salty; maybe it wasn’t a coincidence. He could taste her tears, the thick sadness at the back of her throat. His lips caressed hers gently while she fucking ate him up. Salana, a girl whose money and connections could buy her whatever the fuck she wanted. A Ferrari, diamonds, champagne, and caviar. But she was kissing him, a fucking nobody, another damn statistic, like he was the most important person in the universe, like she would die without his kiss. Like Tiago’s broke-ass shit was better than any of that pricelessness.

  She kissed him like she was in love with him.

  He gave it right back to her, pulling her tongue into his mouth. He’d show her what it was like to process all these feelings she threw at him. It made him crazy, lusty, stormy, and desperate, a powerful mix that felt insatiable. Urgency clawed at his back like a panic attack.

  Tiago wasn’t sure if he’d ever had sex with a pregnant chick. He’d heard from his boys that pregnancy made women horny, that they couldn’t get enough dick when they were knocked up. Salana rubbed her herself against the bulge in his jeans. She was hot and wet. Seemed nearly delirious with desire. She wrenched his white T-shirt up and pressed her swollen breasts into his pecs. She was taking control and Tiago didn’t even know what to make of it.

  “Please, please,” she whispered to his ear; he doubted she knew what she was asking for. She licked him, her tongue hot and heavy. His dick strained painfully. He sucked her breasts and as her nipples hardened she cupped the swells and fed them to him.

  He rolled on top of her, his gold chains falling across her neck; he toed his hightops off and with one hand undid his pants. Salana helped him pull them down, taking his boxers along too.

  Her body was so sweet and soft it felt like breaking the law to command it, indecent, illegal and coveted, an indulgence nobody like him should have.

  “We don’t have to use protection because I’m already pregnant,” she said.

  Jesus.

  She didn’t need to tell him twice, but he did think for a second she was stupid to trust him that much. He reached down to stimulate her and his own arousal spiked. She was plenty wet and swollen with desire, so much so that Tiago wondered if she’d had sex on her mind since she climbed into the bed. When he closed his eyes, he saw not red, not blue, but pink. Pink like cotton candy, pink like bubble gum. Salana would taste like a cupcake, he knew it. He pushed two and then three fingers inside her wet heat. She panted with need and pulled his lower lip in between her teeth, spread her legs underneath him and centered her pelvis so that he could penetrate her. She wanted to get fucked so bad, he felt the power of the upper hand rise to his head and make him giddy.

  He was slow in contrast to her haste, wanting to savor her ripe and eager body. He lifted up like he was planking and stared down at their two bodies. Salana was pale, with creamy skin that seemed to softly glow. Tiago was dark, rugged and sinewy, his muscles big, his body fat low. His cock was huge, thick and hard, already leaking pre-cum that dripped onto her belly.

  “You want me inside you?” he asked her. He knew she did, but thought maybe because of the pregnancy hormones he should make sure she wasn’t going to end up sobbing, feeling like she’d made a terrible mistake. He would fuck her senselessly if it was what she wanted, scratch that nasty itch, but he wanted to be sure before he let go completely. He’d never been with a white girl before, much less a privileged rich girl like this.

  “Please take me. Fuck me. Please, please…” It seemed to be all that she could say. Words were scarce in his brain too, replaced by want that scorched so hot he could barely keep from coming spontaneously just from looking at her body.

  Salana was needy. Tiago understood that she needed him to comfort her, to make her come, to touch her with concern and affection until she could feel whole again. Maybe she’d lost part of herself and needed Santiago to call her back, bring her home again. If she were vacant and empty, Tiago would fill her up with roughness.

  “How do you like it?” he asked her. He was gruff, his voice laden with heat.

  He pushed inside her to the hilt and reached down to grab her ass and tilt her pelvis. She wrapped her legs around him and her head lolled from side to side, blonde hair spilling over his pillow.

  “Oh, my God, Tiago, I’m coming!” she cried.

  Holy shit, already? He was used to working for it, Jesus Christ, at least a little bit. He hadn’t even stroked once. Salana exploded around him, her soft warm muscles clenching down hard on his dick. She arched her back, her legs around his waist, ground her pelvis into his, riding out the high; he almost came too, just from the sheer surprise. He knew she wasn’t faking it because her muscles told the truth; her stomach quivered and she was crying, but they sure didn’t seem like unhappy tears.

  He used just his lips to caress her nipple and she cried out. It wasn’t silent in his room—he had a fan, the window was open and the sounds of traffic, horns and sirens from the street reached up to the twenty-fifth floor. His grandmother’s television was on, and they could hear the neighbors quibbling on the other side of the wall, a baby crying, the radio counting down the top hits of the week. He swiveled his hips, still hard and still inside her. Salana shuddered.

  “Can you go again, or are you an only once kind of girl?” Tiago asked her. He was smiling and his pleasure made Salana smile in return. Her face made him feel safe and her scent made him come alive with lust. She had red blotches all over her face and chest from the blast of the orgasm.

  “I can try,” she squeaked out. Tiago laughed. He slid down her body, dragging their mixed arousal hot and slick along her leg. Kissed her lower stomach, forcing from his mind the detail that the child inside of her wasn’t his. With both hands, he pushed her thighs apart and paused at the shocking white of her thighs in contrast to him. She was shaved clean, so pink, wet and swollen, just textbook perfection. Santiago slowly fused his lips and tongue to her swollen and sensitive flesh. She came again almost immediately in his mouth, his dick was so hard that cum seemed to leak from the tip with each of her cries.

  “Holy fuck!” she exclaimed as her center arched and pressed into his mouth to absorb the aftershocks.

  “I can’t hold off any longer,” he said apologetically. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, signaled for her to flip by tapping her hip to the side.

  “What?” Salana said, nearly lost in a dream state. She looked confused so he guided her, pushed
her to all fours until she was ass and pussy in his face. He used his hand to spread her cum and then took his place and entered her from behind. He slapped her ass playfully and gently fisted her hair, slid his cock in, reaching even deeper than he had before. He was thick and rock solid, but took his time. With one hand on her hip and the other in her hair, Santiago ruled her with a slow and steady rhythm until he couldn’t take it anymore; he took her like a fine wine. He always muttered dirty shit when he was about to come, without failure. Although he thought to try to rein it in, it turned out to be impossible.

  “You like it like this, Salt? You like to get fucked from behind? What about those prep school guys? The dick ain’t good enough for you over there?”

  God, what kind of shit was he talking? She probably wouldn’t be down for it and he’d traumatize her for life.

  To his surprise, Salana just said, “Yes!” She kept repeating “Yes! Oh my God, I’m coming again!” until he blew his load, pulled out and came all over her ass. Her knees were trembling, her body entirely flushed. Tiago grabbed his T-shirt and wiped up his cum and her arousal. He spanked her butt again and she collapsed to her side, giggling uncontrollably. This time, he got under the covers and pulled her into a loving embrace. He rested his chin on top of her head and both of her arms encircled his chest like she was holding on for dear life.

  “We’ll deal with the other shit tomorrow, Salt. Just get some sleep.”

  He fetishized the shit out of their light and dark limbs tangled together. He didn’t give a fuck, sure he loved women with dark skin, but this whiteness was a first for him. It was the forbidden, the taboo that intrigued him. It felt like a giant “No Trespassing” sign, a “stay the fuck away from our daughter,” a “you are not her kind.” So he fetishized it all, the creamy skin that felt like silk, the blue eyes, the colorless hair, the blossoming red spots that looked like they could turn into welts. He silently spoke to that baby in her stomach. The fact that she sought him out, that his shitty-ass room was her real refuge and his arms, her protection; it all made his chest swell with a surge of pride. He was so drunk on the power of it all he nearly professed his love to her sleeping form. He never expected to be anyone’s superhero, but now that he’d had a taste, it was an addictive feeling.

  He drifted in and out of sleep with Salana in his arms, their two bodies somehow managing to make love two more times during the night. Physically she was so sensual and loved passionately for an uptight, spoiled and privileged rich girl. And Tiago couldn’t get enough of how her body responded to his, like it was made for his own. He’d never been so connected, so in tune with another. Because flesh doesn’t know race and class, it only knows need and want, gratification and comfort. And Salana’s body sought him out. Her heart, too, knew where he came from and it didn’t care, not even the slightest bit.

  She had an appointment and he was determined to see it through with her, by her side. His grandmother would skin him alive, probably attack Salana with her purse.

  “I’ma take her to Connecticut to see her parents. We’ll be back here later tonight, or if we get held up, tomorrow.”

  Florencia made them both eat eggs and salchicha, toast and coffee, which Salana promptly threw up in the toilet five minutes after she swallowed it. Tiago had put a call through to Chico, letting him know they might need to use his pullout couch if Salana’s condition turned out to be too obvious. The last thing Tiago wanted to do was make his grandmother upset, and in doing so, traumatize Salana when she really needed the opposite. He was on the fence about whether or not he agreed with her decision. But he did know profoundly that it was her decision to make. He wasn’t her boyfriend, he didn’t have to live with the consequences.

  Of the course the sky had to be grey. No rain, but cold wind and a humorless lack of sun. Salana was sick, scared, and depressed so she clung to him in the back of the livery cab. Tiago let her lie across his lap and he told her stories about roof jumping with Chico when they were kids, sneaking into the graveyard at night and spray painting their enemies’ car windows or apartments if they lived on lower floors. He also told her about how much those programs like The Fresh Air Fund meant to them as kids. How they’d ditch their other friends, lie about where they were going and then hit up community centers and kid’s programs for orange drink and air-conditioned gyms where they could shoot hoops and get free MetroCards for the trip home.

  “Without those programs, I never would have rode a horse, and never would have met you. In a lot of ways they saved my life, crazy as it sounds.”

  Salana nodded and cried silently as he petted her head.

  The place in SoHo was crowded and Tiago looked around, wondering if everyone was there for the same thing. Mostly couples filled up the waiting room, some girls with friends or a few with their moms. Some people looked down and out, like the girl sitting next to them with dirty fingernails and white-girl dreads that Santiago tried to figure out if they were an intentional style or possible homelessness. Other people looked normal, a few of them even well-off. He had no idea what to make of it all so he helped Salana fill out her paperwork. She listed her address in Switzerland as her residence, and the date of the possible conception, which made Tiago look away because he didn’t like to imagine her with anyone else. He did look back just in time to see her frantically crossing out “boyfriend” from the line that asked: Who is accompanying you today and will see to your needs after the procedure?” She scratched in “close friend” over the scribbled-out word and Tiago leaned over and put his finger right where her pencil was. She looked up at him, startled, and tucked the hair covering her face behind her ear.

  “You can write me in as your boyfriend if it makes things easier, like if they won’t let me in there with you otherwise.”

  Salana looked like she was about to burst into tears. Tiago took the paper from her and made another scratch, changing the answer back to boyfriend.

  “Why are you doing this for me?” Salana asked him. She didn’t know why, he could tell by the way she looked at him with trepidation.

  “I think you’d back me up too, Salt, if the going got tough. We can be there for each other without it meaning more than that. I know you need help. I can help. Simple. Easy.” He knocked her shoulder with his and shoved her a little in her chair. Salana shoved him back. He locked both of her wrists in his hand and jabbed her in the ribs with his pointer finger. She let out a snort that made everyone else look up and stare.

  “Salana Livingston?” a woman with a clipboard called as she stepped into the waiting room.

  “Right here!” Salt said, jumping up and grabbing the bag she’d packed just like the website told her too.

  “Hi Salana, have a seat right in the first room on the left. Your boyfriend can go in too if you’d like him to, or else you are perfectly welcome to do this alone.”

  “Um, he’ll come, I think.” Salana grabbed for his hand, wild with fear. Tiago grabbed back and squeezed, threw an arm around her waist, practically carried her to a chair.

  “You can change your mind at any point and I will get you out of here,” he told her in a low voice. Tiago didn’t know if the doctors would be down with a last-minute rescue.

  “I think there’s probably a certain point where it becomes too late for that.”

  “I’m just saying, you still have time. Don’t feel pressured. Don’t think about the future, just go with your instinct. We can deal with the other shit later.”

  “My parents would disown me.”

  “Doubt it.”

  They both shut up when the nurse practitioner walked into the examination room.

  “Hi Ms. Livingston, just wanted to ask you a few questions before today’s procedure,” the woman told them. She had a friendly vibe. Tiago had trouble making eye contact with her so instead he focused on the many posters with anatomical diagrams covering the walls. He tripped out thinking about fallopian tubes and tiny people floating in uteruses. He caught only parts of their exchange, mos
t notably: “He’s not the father, but he’s my current partner.” Not bad; neither was it far from the truth. He got anxious for a minute that they would scold them for having sex so much the night before. But the way Salt was white-knuckling the fuck out of his hand made him realize their problems were more dire than getting cussed out for fucking; this was a matter of life and death. He looked at the walls under the painfully bright lights, prayed silently under his breath that her child would make a swift transition to heaven and get wings to fly as soon as she could—mostly because his grandmother Florencia would want someone to pray. He stared at the doctor’s curly hair and counted the grays. He imagined himself and Salt in the same kind of office in ten years, with a baby they wanted, receiving the good news hand in hand. The idea of it almost brought tears to his eyes. Then Salana sobbed out loud and he jumped from fuzzy fantasy into the glaring reality.

  “He didn’t force me, but I said no. I was tired and I knew we’d run out of condoms. But he’s persistent like that and used to getting his way. He held me down in my own bed, put my pillow across my face. Then later he tried to tell me he was just playing.”

  What surged in Tiago was rage, a violence that made him jerk back in his chair, scraping metal across linoleum that screeched loudly in protest.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. He squeezed Salt’s hand back harder than he should have. Then he tried too hard and placed a hand on her back trying to pull her close.

  She probably didn’t want to be close; she was crying during the confession. He didn’t know what to do with himself and the helplessness was crippling.

  “Is there somewhere, an exit, where I can get outside for a smoke?” Salana turned fully in her chair to face him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, even her nose looked swollen from tears. “Unless you don’t want me to, then I’ll stay right here. I‘ll smoke later.”