I sat near the end of the bar, and ordered another vodka tonic. There was a part of me that wanted the medicinal taste of a straight shot, the burning feeling of alcohol like a cleanser, cutting away the extra. The emotions. The feelings. But I wanted the anonymity more. Nothing says look at me more than a woman ordering shots in a hotel bar, and I could already feel the late night men circling around behind me, trying to get a read. I literally shook my shoulders, involuntarily, as though I could make them all disappear with a quick gesture. The bartender chose that moment to bring me my drink. He gave me a funny look. I returned a level gaze. Life shadowing a rock star on tour had taught me a few things, I could see that. “It’s a little cold in here. Can you turn down the AC? And bring me some peanuts, or snacks—whatever you serve? Thanks.” And I turned away again. I ignored the shiver the coldness of the frosted glass gave me, my warm fingertips melting away neat little ovals on the glass, and I tried to ignore the taste of the tonic, chasing instead after the bitter absent coldness of vodka. I did finally notice that I’d tipped down half of it almost immediately. There goes anonymity, I thought, and when the bartender came back with a little tray of nuts and mini cheese crackers, I ordered another one. Then I ignored the way his lips pursed slightly, and the quick look he gave me to make sure I wasn’t about to fall off my chair. The second one came, and I was pleased to notice it was a little stronger. Maybe he figured he’d get rid of me that way.
I was staring into space, and counting to a hundred every time I thought about taking a sip, and doing my best not to listen to the conversation the two men at the other end were having about the overlap between sales techniques and sports prowess. It was 12:30. I figured I’d head upstairs after this one. I doubted we’d sleep tonight anyway. Hadn’t Tristan said he was tired of domesticity? Nothing more domestic than sleep. I’d just called for the check, when someone sat in the chair next to me. I looked straight ahead, and waited for the return of the bartender. A hand settled on my arm, and I looked down, startled. I knew that hand.
AC grinned at me. “I thought I’d find you in here. Getting up some liquid courage before you face the diva?” I started to reply, but he shook his head, and took my hand. “I don’t blame you. And I won’t blame you if you leave, or if you hate me. But you shouldn’t. And I don’t want you to.”
I did speak up at that. “I don’t hate you. I never have. And…”
AC interrupted. “…we need to talk?”
The wry expression I could feel twisting my lips into a half smile said it all. “Yes. I guess we do. Probably overdue. But that’s not it, you know. I’m not blaming you for him. Or what the two of you have.”
AC rolled his eyes and tilted his head back a bit. The bartender came with the bill. AC stopped him. “Sorry mate. Can we get two more of whatever that was? Thanks. Put the whole thing on this.” And he handed over a black card, like a magician pushing forward the most important card from the deck, effortlessly. The effect was pretty magical, too.
“Nice one,” I laughed. “Now you’re just trying to impress me.”
“Sure,” AC smiled. “Took you long enough to notice. Besides,” he shook out his hair, “you haven’t admired the natural set of curls life has gifted me with.”
I reached up and twisted one between my fingers. His hair, the gold side of yellow blond, was incredibly soft. “Cute.”
AC winked at me. “Now you’re just flirting. Heartbreaker. And your man is waiting for you.” The drinks came, along with another bowl of snacks. There were three different kinds now, I noticed. “But I recommend you let him wait, at least long enough to have a drink with me.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Isn’t that just going to piss him off even more?”
AC took a sip, and grimaced. “God, tonic. Lily. Yes, probably will. But damn if it isn’t good for him.” He raised his glass. “Don’t try to be everything for him, Lil. Or give him everything he asks for. You’ll exhaust yourself, and create a monster in the process. Push back. Relax.” He drank some more. “Don’t you feel better having walked away, even a little?”
“You told me to come back.”
“Yes, I did. Because it’s the right thing to do. And he cares. A lot. Let him. Now make him work for it.”
I looked at his face, the green eyes, the quiet confidence that was there. And trust. Something like faith. “And you?”
“And me.” He kissed my cheek. “We’ll have that chat soon, I promise. With Barolo. But now it’s diva time!” And he laughed, the moment of seriousness gone as quickly as it came.
I turned around at the entrance to the bar. AC was still watching me. He shooed me away with his hands, a big smile on his face. I waved, and turned the corner. I had a feeling he was going to be there until the bar closed. I glanced around, looking for fans. Amazingly enough, none of them had managed to sneak past the entrance. I pressed the button for the elevator. I had no idea what I was going to say. Maybe we wouldn’t say anything.
I slid the key card into the lock and the green light glowed. I turned the handle, but the room was dark. Maybe he wasn’t here after all. He needed to sleep, but I couldn’t imagine he’d gone to bed already. I switched on the light. It didn’t even look like anyone had been here. I had the sudden thought that maybe he’d left first. Maybe he’d only told AC he was coming back. AC didn’t know everything. I swallowed down the feeling of panic, and dropped my bag, taking off my jacket, and draping it over the arm of the sofa.
Then I pushed open the door leading in to the bedroom, and gasped. The lights had been turned down, but there in the half-lit room, the curtains open to show the night 24 floors below, lay Tristan, sprawled out on the bed. His dark hair was fanned out over the pillow, his long legs still in tight jeans splayed out across the white sheets. His feet were bare. I could just make out the tattoo across his foot that said “plus jamais,” never again. He’d gotten it to match mine—to keep me company, he’d said. His body seemed longer than ever, a slash of dark color against the sheets. But he was still wearing his leather jacket. One hand was balanced lightly between his legs, long fingers stretched out from hipbone to hipbone. The other arm was stretched tautly upwards, but this time the long fingers were firmly pinned to the headboard, a metal cuff circling his wrist, a silver band on his pale skin. The other section was locked firmly on to the railing.
Tristan opened his eyes when he heard me gasp. They were focused on me intently, and I felt the weight of his stare so keenly I nearly turned my head away in embarrassment.
His voice was an inky drawl, scratching itself through all my hastily constructed barriers. “Like what you see, then?”
I felt my face grow hot. His next words were a direct challenge. “Shy? Afraid of what you want? You weren’t earlier.” He looked me up and down. “What if I couldn’t move?” He pulled at the cuff to demonstrate. It rattled loudly in the room. I had the feeling everyone in the world could hear us. Tristan’s voice brought me back. “No? Not enough incentive? I could try and read your mind, tell you what you want.” He stared at me, I consented to meet his eyes. “You fall into it so easily. So good.” He smirked, and looked down. I saw his free hand was unbuttoning the top of his red jeans, and slowly lowering the zipper. He adjusted himself, and sighed with pleasure at the release of pressure. “Fuck these things are tight. Are you still there? I need some help here.” I was still standing still. “Unless you don’t want to. Then I could do it myself. Would you like that? Or do you want to help?” I made myself move forward. I was dizzy, my vision clouded. I had the half-formed thought that only Tristan could inspire submission while tied up.
He stroked himself slowly through his half-opened jeans. His gestures were painfully slow. My skin prickled, as though he was touching me himself. Everything felt heavy, drawn out. It was though I could feel my blood racing through my limbs, pulsing steady and light-filled. It was impossible that any touch could cure thi
s. It felt like a sickness, the first stages of fever when lights hold a halo and every nerve is raw. I kept staring at him, steadily, unable to stop. His hand sped up ever so slightly, and with a long sigh, he stopped and looked at me. “You’re still nervous. After all this time.”
I tried to shake words into my mouth from somewhere, anywhere. “I’m…not…I’m a bad top.”
“Who told you that?” His eyes glittered in the half-light of the room.
“I just know it.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “It started well, but then…I don’t know…”
Tristan smiled, a crazy kind of smile, that managed to both reassure and alarm all at once. “That’s not you, love. That’s them. A top needs a bottom. It’s not a matter of just lying there, it is trust. Submission. Willingness to be led. Signals exchanged to help you do that. Otherwise…,” he trailed off, “…it’s just confusion. Only signaling that someone doesn’t know how to play.” He smiled again, and this time it felt like a punch to the gut. “But I know how…to play. So. Let’s play.”
My eyes shut tightly. I couldn’t feel this and see at the same time. Everything hurt, felt hot and swollen. It didn’t seem possible that anything we could do would make it better. I found myself approaching him, in a daze. I wanted to touch him, feel the silky hardness of him under my fingers, watch him come apart.
“That’s it love. Come closer. You need this. Something else within you. Watch it happen.” He pulled at the cuffs again. “I can’t move. I won’t move. Now—think about what you want. Let go.” He nodded his head to the left. “The minibar is there, with my key. It’s a choice, like anything. Go over there, pull out something you want. Remember how to choose. Remember how to enjoy it. I’m waiting.” And he stopped his hand, squeezing at the base of his cock, stopping the feeling as I watched. “Go on.” His voice was low, encouraging but soft, like he wanted to be touched, wanted something else. I walked over to the minibar, and pulled out a half bottle of Champagne, then thought for a moment, and added a small bottle of Remy Martin. I held them aloft, like some prize. His face didn’t change expression. “You chose. Now take.” His dark eyes remained fixed on mine. “Take what you want. It’s that easy.”
I looked at him, laid out there, a fine sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. I could smell him, sweet and piercing, that strange smell of a man aroused beyond the point where he could go back, a wet, cold, white smell, mixed with his sweat, the warmth of his skin under his leather jacket, I closed my eyes tight again. It hurt. This painful desire, with no clear steps to relief, and the overwhelming feeling that relief was actually the last thing I wanted. I unscrewed the top of the tiny frosted dark green glass cognac bottle, and upended it, feeling the burning pour down my throat, burning its way into my chest, offering another pain that was a welcome change from the pain under my skin. His voice came again, teasing, whispering, slow. “What if what you want is what I want as well?” He breathed in. “What if I know how to let you?’“ He shut his eyes again. “Come on.” He pulled at the metal bracelet, then let his arm go slack. “I trust you. You’ll know how to treat me.”
I stared at him.
“Please,” he murmured, “I’ve been waiting for you.” And that undid me. If he needed it, then I could admit to the desperation I felt, the heat. Maybe it would be different. I shook off the fear, and the bad memories of the last time I had the upper hand. I wanted it. Wanted him. And he lay there, his eyes closed, waiting. Mine. I ran my hands over my breasts. It was though everything was hot current, the shock at the sudden rush of feeling almost too much. I could even not touch him if I didn’t want to.
But I did want to. So badly. I needed to feel his warm skin on mine, tease the hair on his belly, turn it into torture for him, the way it was so often for me, when I saw him, and all I wanted I couldn’t have. Again.
“Come on. Please.” That voice, dark and pleading, hinting at desires I barely admitted to myself. I was scared, so scared. I knew all too well what it felt like to be disappointed. I didn’t want to risk it. My mind scrambled for a way to play it safe.
“Don’t.” That voice of his, again, slowing down the air around us. Like he knew. “I’ll help. Let me help. Haven’t I always helped?”
He let his hand fall away. His cock jutted out, hard and swollen. There was a glint of smooth metal at the base. “Take what you want. Tell me what to do. I won’t move.”
* * *
I missed my plane.
chapter seventeen
Houston to Dallas
We stumbled out of the hotel the next day fairly early for the four hour drive to Dallas. I could only guess, but I had a feeling I finally looked the part. Virtually no sleep, sunglasses to cover up that fact and ease the pain of bright lights. Add to that a ripped leather jacket, high heeled boots, and a floppy brimmed black hat to hide my face from the sun and the fans, coupled with the fact I could barely walk. It felt like every muscle in my body had been pushed to the breaking point. I did not care. Remembering how I got this way kept me smiling mysteriously at everything and nothing, an occasional blush leaving me warm and slightly embarrassed. Tristan had his usual leather jacket and shades, the usual tight jeans, and a smirk that never left his face as he casually signed a few autographs. AC was waiting by the limousine, signing a few autographs of his own. When he caught sight of us, he let out a howl. The fan standing next to him jumped back and nearly knocked over three of the girls waiting their turn. Tristan just turned towards him, the smirk firmly in place. AC signed their autographs quickly, and advanced towards me, extending his arm. “Does Madam require assistance?”
My mouth twisted into a tight smile. “Madam requires you to fuck off.” But I took his arm, and we strolled over to the limousine, Tristan following closely behind, signing a few more autographs. The driver helped the doorman add our bags to the trunk, and Tristan and AC turned to wave to the crowd before they got into the car. I turned with them, and stood there as the cameras went off. Then Tristan dove in, pulling me with him, and AC gave a final wave before following us.
The driver asked if we were comfortable and if we needed him to stop anywhere before he hit the highway. I just needed water, but there was a bar, bottle of champagne, and two large bottles of water already in the car. I had the painkillers. Tristan and AC said they were fine, and with that we headed out to the I-45 for the straight shot to Dallas. I was pouring out a glass of water, and about to take something when AC placed his hand on my arm. “Hungover?”
I nodded. “A little.”
He smiled. “Sore from last night?”
I blushed.
Tristan threw him a warning glance, but AC just laughed. “As it should be. But I think champagne should be our cure and our celebration. Seeing as it’s here, and all.” He held up the bottle. “Looks fresh. That’s good. Quality company, this. No recycling. I’ve seen limos where the bottles look like they’ve been sitting in the hot car for much too long. But not this one.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “The wine connoisseur speaks.”
AC slapped him on the back. “Come on, Lily didn’t leave. That’s worth celebrating.” He started unwrapping the foil. “And I hate waste. You know that.” He twisted off the cork. “So dangerous to let a cock, I mean a cork loose in a car.”
I laughed. Even Tristan was smiling. He took the glass AC handed him. “All right, then. A toast, at least.”
AC raised his glass. “‘To everything, and all the rest.’” It was a Devised lyric.
Tristan echoed his words. “‘To everything, and all the rest.’”
AC nodded at me. “Now you.” He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “You’re one of us now. You didn’t leave.” His eyes were soft and encouraging.
I looked over at Tristan. I didn’t think I’d ever seen that expression on his face before. He leaned over and kissed my other cheek. “That’s because she’s different
. Go on, then, Lil.”
I raised my glass. “‘To everything, and all the rest.’” We clinked glasses. I took a sip, and glanced at the other two. It was apparently necessary to finish the whole glass. I quickly returned the glass to my lips and followed suit.
AC refilled our glasses, and we leaned back against the seat, together.
* * *
We’d been quiet after that, looking out the window. Tristan looked at messages on his phone. AC had put in his headphones. I just watched the road go past, the exit signs giving names to the places we were leaving behind. It was greener than I had expected, but the low buildings and big wide skies gave me that same feeling of being trapped in some kind of bell jar. Some of the buildings were covered with vines that looked like they would grow over you overnight, like Sleeping Beauty. You could imagine waking up, covered with green ropes like snakes. Tristan pointed out a tree filled with large birds. “Buzzards,” he said.
AC pulled off his headphones and peered out the window. “What’s the difference between a buzzard and a vulture?”
“An interesting question.” One eyebrow went up. “One you will regret asking.” Tristan swiftly grabbed his arm and pretended to try and wrestle him out of the car. “Here, nothing. That’s why they’re waiting for you. You just have to die first.”
AC raised his arms, his hands falling forward. “I am dead.” His voice came out in a croak. “I am the undead. And you. You will join us.” He lunged forward and caught Tristan off guard, knocking him flat on the long seat. “Join us. Aha, the beating pulse of youth.” And he fell on him, trying to bite his neck. Tristan tried to push him off, but AC was remarkably persistent. And stronger than he appeared. Finally, he was straddling him, pinning him down with his wiry arms, his mouth fused to his neck. Tristan stopped struggling, and stretched out under him, just long enough for AC to drop his guard. Then he flipped him over, so that he was above AC, victorious. It was remarkably effective. It occurred to me I had been on the receiving end of that move last night. And the look of triumph on Tristan’s face had been similar. But their bodies were still touching, and AC’s face was slightly flushed. Exertion, anyone might say. Except then he turned his head, slowly, deliberately, towards me, and winked.
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