by Hazel Parker
I am deliberately setting us out at a slow pace. I want to draw out the evening. I’m not ready to say good night to her yet, especially not now, when she has her arm threaded through mine and I can feel the soft press of her breast against me.
During dinner, I had wished more than once that Louis hadn’t been there, that it really had just been Steph and me. I didn’t want to share her with anyone else at that moment, or at this one, either. I want her all to myself.
And I want her.
“I guess this is the part where I ask if you’d like to come in for a drink or coffee,” she says as we reach the door of her apartment. “But all I have is vodka, I’m out of coffee, and my living arrangements are a good bit humbler than I’m sure you’re used to.”
“That’s all right,” I say. “I don’t really feel like a drink, or coffee. And as I remember it, your apartment is perfectly fine, albeit a little decked out in flowers by an overzealous admirer.”
“Oh, it struck me as just the right degree of zealousness,” she replies. “So…would you like to come in, then?”
I step a little closer to her. “I said I wouldn’t keep you out late.”
“We’re not out anymore,” she murmurs, looking up into my eyes.
“Still, I wouldn’t want to keep you up late.”
She steps in closer to me. “I’m always up late anyway,” she says.
“Me, too,” I say, taking her face gently in my hands.
Our lips come together, softly at first, then with growing intensity. Her apartment door is open partway behind us, and she slaps a hand at it, trying to open it up all the way without breaking our kiss. I put my hand against it and shove it open. It bangs against the inside wall.
Steph steps backward over the threshold and into her living room, her hands on either side of my neck, trying desperately to keep me close.
We break apart, and she looks at me through slightly lowered eyelids, breathing heavily. She reaches behind her back and attempts without success to lower the zipper of her dress. After a few maddening moments of watching her struggle, I come forward, turn her around, and yank the zipper down. Too much force. There is a rending sound as the fabric tears.
Heedless, she shrugs the dress from her pale, flawless shoulders and looks over at me. It’s all the invitation I need. I put my hands on her waist and bring her in close, kissing the nape of her neck, exposed now from beneath her tousled hair. She sighs and lets her head dip forward, allowing me access to even more of her flesh.
The ruins of her dress have pooled down around her waist. I figure the garment to be a lost cause and tear at it further, splitting it right up the middle, yanking it away from her body and tossing it aside.
She is standing there in her heels and undergarments, against a background of flowers, and the sight is driving me out of my mind. I have to have her.
She presses close to me and opens her mouth to mine again, her hands busily removing my coat and tie. They join what’s left of her dress, flung carelessly off to parts unknown.
I bend at the knees, hook one arm behind her lower thighs and lift. She falls into my arms as I pull her from her feet.
“There,” she breathes, jerking her head in the direction of the bedroom.
I carry her across the living room and into the semidarkness of the bedroom. There is a wide sliver of moonlight coming in through the curtains, slashing across the bed. That’s good—I want to see her.
I lay her down on the coverlet and reach for her, but she has already come up onto her knees and is tugging at my belt buckle. The rest of my clothes and the few ones she has left on are soon shed.
We fall back onto the bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Her breasts are crushed against my chest and one of my legs is between hers. She makes a sound in the back of her throat, her lips still locked against mine, and reaches down.
She moans again as she finds me hard and ready, her fingers closing around me.
I roll over on my back and pull her to me. The soft, barely there weight of her atop me is making me insane with lust.
She sits up, straddling my hips and places me against her slit, teasing herself. No, not teasing, she’s actually rubbing me against herself. Her eyes are locked on mine as her breathing becomes more and more wild and erratic.
Unable to wait any longer, I guide myself into her, grab her ass, and haul her onto me, my full length burying itself inside her.
Her shoulders hunch, and her head rolls forward, hair hanging in her face. Then she is leaning back, grinding her hips against me, taking me even further into her. The moonlight cuts across her torso like a sash.
My hands reach up and find her breasts, the nipples erect and hot beneath my fingers. I don’t trust myself not to be too rough with them, not at this point, and drop my grip to her waist. She lowers her own hands and clamps them over mine as her hips begin to move faster.
The whole bed is shaking now. The headboard collides with the wall and a framed picture falls free somewhere to the left. There is the brief, brittle sound of breaking glass.
I take her hands in mine and hold them out to her sides. She uses her newfound leverage to buck against me even harder. She is calling my name at first, then just making incoherent noises.
She leans forward, lowering her full breasts to my face, and I flick one nipple with my tongue, then the other. She shivers and pulls back until I am nearly out of her. I grab her waist again and begin to pull and push her up and down on me. One of her hands is at the base of her throat, the other is at her breasts as she cries out against my thrusts into her.
I can feel her muscles clamping down on me with the climax that I vow will be the first of many tonight. She puts her head back, eyes squeezed shut, and comes on top of me, rocking back and forth, speared from below.
I heave my hips up and to the right, swinging them over to the edge of the mattress. It’s an easy matter then to roll her off of me and onto her back, all without emerging from her. I begin moving again inside her, this time slowly and deliberately. I give her two shallow thrusts and then one deep one, causing her to cry out each time.
She crosses her legs behind me and urges me up into her harder and faster. Her back is arched, and I can feel the tremble in her calves as they press against the backs of my thighs. She’s close again, but then so am I. My own orgasm will not be put off this time.
I push forward and into her with all of my energy as our bodies set off a thunderous mutual climax. I’m coming deep inside her now, pulsing into her over and over as she buries her face against my neck and screams. I feel her own muscles spasmodically squeezing me and her hands at my back, trying to grab for purchase.
Finally, we shudder to a stop. I support my weight over her on my elbows. Steph lolls against the bed, her legs draped over the side, breathing in great, jagged gasps.
“Trent,” she says breathlessly, “I…” She breaks off, unable to continue. I understand the feeling. I have been rocked by an ecstasy so powerful, I can barely think at the moment.
I slip out of her slowly, and she makes a small, despairing sound as it happens. I kiss the hollow of her throat, silently promising to be back inside her soon.
We lie there for a while, our breathing slowly smoothing out. After that, we get beneath the covers.
“This is much better than being out late,” Steph says, her head on my chest. “Your heart’s still beating so hard.”
“It’s been a long time since it’s had this particular kind of exertion. How’s yours?”
She sighs, nuzzling into me. “I’ll let you know when it starts up again. I think I may have blown a few fuses.”
“I take it that’s a good thing.”
“The best,” she confirms. “That was…” She laughs weakly. “That was the best. The best I can ever remember.”
I hug her shoulders. “For me, too.”
She looks up at me. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I haven’t been with anyone i
n a long time,” she says, settling back.
“Me neither.”
“I hope I wasn’t as rusty at it as I am at dating in general.”
“No worries, Steph, not a speck of rust to be seen.”
She sighs. “I like it when you say my name.”
“I like it when you say mine,” I reply.
“I’m not so sure my neighbors feel that way. I was trying not to be too loud, but after a certain point…” She waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t know about you, but I am parched. I’m going to get water. Can I get you anything?”
“Water’s fine,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “Don’t be long.”
She sits up and laughs. “I can’t guarantee that because I don’t know how well my legs are going to support me for the trip.” Sure enough, she stumbles a bit as she makes her way out of the room.
While she’s gone, I cast my gaze around her bedroom. It’s sparse in both furnishings and decorations, the room of a woman who doesn’t spend a lot of time here unless she’s sleeping.
There is a book on the nightstand, though, and I angle my head to look at the cover. It’s an art book by the historian Natalie Jenkins, not quite thick enough to collapse a coffee table, but still a formidable object, nonetheless.
Steph returns with two bottles of water and what looks like a rag slung over her shoulder. I wonder what that could be for. As she draws closer to the bed, I realize it’s the ragged remains of her dress.
“Still think I’m not overzealous?” I ask, nodding my head at the ruined garment.
“You won’t get any complaints from me,” she smiles, letting it fall to the floor and crawling back into bed with me. “I do, however, think I’m destined for an I-told-you-so by a friend of mine.”
“You’re reading Jenkins,” I say, laying a hand on the book. “That’s some pretty weighty material. No pun intended. She really goes into a lot of detail about contemporary art.”
“So you’ve read it?” Steph asks with interest. “The clerk at the bookstore said that because it’s got more text than pictures, that tends to turn people off from it.”
“That, and it weighs something like forty-five pounds. And yes, I’ve read it, but it was a long time ago, so don’t quiz me on any of it.”
“So you like the arts as well as the culinary world,” she says. “Surprises all the time.”
“I could say the same thing about you. This is a book you have to invest a lot of time in, and time seems like it’s always in short supply with you.”
She nods. “You are correct, sir. I’ve been working on it for months now, just a page or three a night to get myself settled for bed. It’s a good thing it’s not a library book. Besides, I wouldn’t think you’d block out a big chunk of your schedule to read it, either, as much time as you say you spend at the office.”
“If it has to do with business, I make time for it,” I say. “I wanted to buy some artwork as a present for a client, and Jenkins is the top authority on modern art. You want to buy the best; you learn from the best what’s what.”
“Pretty shrewd.”
“I suppose. I ended up buying a sculpture, but don’t ask me of what, because I couldn’t tell if I had it upside-down or right-side-up.”
“That’s modern art for you. Do you have another preference?”
I stroke her arm. “I’m more of a fan of the classics. Raphael. Titian. Botticelli. Actually, you remind me of a Botticelli.”
“Get out of here.”
“No, really,” I say, gathering up her hair and moving it from her shoulder so that I can kiss the spot. “Graceful limbs, porcelain skin, angelic face. That’s you, all right.”
She shakes her head. “No one’s ever described me like that before.”
“Then everyone who didn’t have a chance to is an unobservant moron.”
“You really know how to flatter a girl.”
I shrug. “I call things as I see them.”
She hesitates, then says, “And how do you see things happening with us?”
I weigh the question before answering. “I like you a great deal, Steph—”
“You’re obviously comfortable enough around me to wreck my wardrobe,” she grins.
“And I will replace that, I promise. Like I was saying, I enjoy spending time with you, and I know time is something that neither of us has a lot to spare. I told you, I’ve meant to slow down a bit. Focus on what’s really important. And you make time for what’s really important.” I trail a fingertip along her shoulder. “You’re included in that. You’re important to me, Steph.”
She reaches up, takes my hand, and squeezes it. “You’re important to me, too, Trent.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Same page, same line, same word, it seems.” She looks up at me. “Do you have to leave?”
“Would it take away from the experience if I said I had to be up super-early tomorrow morning to go into work?”
She sighs. “So do I. Doesn’t seem fair.”
“No, it doesn’t. I can always get up around four, go home, change—”
“No,” she says, sounding markedly unhappy about it. “That’s just silly. You should go, get a good night’s sleep. Call me tomorrow, though, okay?”
“Absolutely.” I sit for a moment, feeling the heat from her naked body warming my side. “This is going to be like a Band-Aid.”
“Fast and painful?” she asks with a wince.
“Fast and painful,” I confirm, throwing the covers off my legs and standing up. I was right; it feels terrible. I look back over my shoulder. A warm bed and a beautiful woman beckon wordlessly to me.
“Kiss me,” she says. I oblige.
“Call me,” she adds.
“I will.”
“Be safe going home.”
“Be safe getting out of bed,” I tell her. “I think we may have broken a picture a little while ago.”
“A meager sacrifice,” she says, hugging a pillow to her chest. “Now go, go, go, before I try to convince you to stay.”
“And how exactly would you do that?”
She smiles wickedly.
“Ah,” I say. “On that note…” I fetch my scattered clothes and dress quickly so as not to lose my momentum. Once done, I lean over her and kiss her forehead.
“To be continued,” I say, and then take my leave.
Chapter 17 - Steph
It feels like there’s a hollow spot in the air after Trent makes his exit. I didn’t want to push him out the door, but we both have looming obligations in the morning.
Well, at least sleep won’t be a problem. The flood of endorphins has finally started to ebb in my body, and I’m drowsy and very, very content.
I am on the verge of dropping off when my phone buzzes. I have an incoming text. It’s from Tira.
“If you’re reading this now,” it says, “I’m disappointed in you.”
I hit the call button. She picks up on the first ring.
“And you’re calling me now?” she demands. “That’s even worse!”
“And a pleasant good evening to you, too, T.”
“So I’m dying over here. What happened with Stone? Where did you end up going? What did you end up doing? And most importantly, how many times did you end up doing it?”
I recap the events of the evening for her. She peppers my narrative with ever-lewder questions.
“And then you sent him on his way?” she asks, incredulous, when I conclude my tale.
“You know what they say, T; early to bed, early to rise—"
“Gives you something to do with your thighs,” she finishes, going off-script into Tira-land. “Yeah, yeah, yeah…you could have had some morning delight, girl!”
“At four in the morning,” I argue.
“It sounds like it’d still be a delight, no matter what the hour. So what’s the four-one-one here?” she asks. “Did he give you his class ring, or what?”
“He doesn’t have a class
ring,” I reply. “And as for where we are or where we’re going…we’re figuring it out.”
“What’s there to figure out?”
“He has his life; I have mine. It’s hard.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Perv.”
“Hey, you called me,” she says.
“An action I am coming to regret.”
“Oh, come one…half the fun of a great night out is being able to talk about it afterward. Seriously, though, I’m really happy for you. I don’t know if ‘spinster’ is still a term, but if it is, there were some of us that were worried you were headed straight for it.”
“I’m glad I could calm your fears.”
“Call me tomorrow, yes?”
“Yes,” I say, resolving to myself to wait until after I talk with Trent. Tira will want fresh dirt.
For that matter, so do I.
Somehow, I manage to be up at the crack of dawn as planned and into the restaurant not long after that to make the day’s plans with Daniel. Although I beat him in, he still shows up with not one but two cups of takeaway coffee.
“Figured you’d need it,” he says with a small grin, handing over the beverage.
“Does the whole world know my business?” I ask no one in particular.
“There have been rumors,” Daniel admits.
“Oh, and I’m sure they’re rich ones.”
“Good choice of words. What’s it like, being pursued by a billionaire?”
“I’m not being ‘pursued,’” I retort. “We’re…just seeing one another.”
“Sounds like it all comes down to the same thing to me,” he says.
I shush him, and we get down to work.
As I plan menus and prep materials, though, I wonder, am I being courted? Is that what this is? And how serious are things between Trent and me?
It’s too soon for the “L” word, I know, but it’s still achieved the status of elephant in the room, at least in my mind. And I know that I more than just like him. I’m not writing his name over and over on my three-ring binder or anything, but I am definitely doing my share of thinking about him.
I decide to stop overanalyzing things. For the time being, at least. I’m sure I’ll be doing plenty of that on my off-hours. For now, though, I can think back on the good—the extremely good—memories of the night before and look forward to seeing Trent again in the near future.
