I headed back through the house towards the ocean, suddenly feeling claustrophobic despite all the lights and glass. With the fleeting thought that maybe Tristan was going to be tied up for the night, I plucked another glass of Cristal off another tray, and settled in on the deck overlooking the beach. The sound of the waves, across the dark sand and water, performed its usual soothing magic. I wished Trevor was there, with his cigars, and utter disregard of anything that wasn’t central to his concerns.
I sensed, rather than saw, the presence next to me. I waited. They’d say something if they wanted to talk. The appeal of silence had been a slow lesson to learn, but a useful one.
Finally he spoke. “Are you here alone?”
The voice sounded familiar. “Naturally not,” I replied, before turning to face him. I wasn’t sure how successful I was at hiding my gasp.
He held out his hand, perfectly polite and very smooth. Yet there was something in his manner, almost apologetic, as though he regretted having this unnatural interaction with most people. I knew about that feeling, better than he could guess, but not the way he did. “I’m Robert,” he said. To put in the last name would have been insulting. This made it more intimate. “I noticed you were alone, and I thought I’d come talk to you.”
“Lily. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Lily. That’s an old-fashioned name. Like Lily Langtry? Another famous actress, known for her charm and beauty. A worthy namesake.” And he smiled, that famous impish smile, bright eyes under very long lashes. It wasn’t difficult to see how he had first attracted attention. And kept it.
“Oh, I’m not an actress,” I answered quickly.
“Oh,” he said, half imitating my voice, “I think you are. If you’re here, you have to be. We all got in here under false pretenses.” He smiled that half smile, filled with interesting guilt, the one that usually filled large screens at the multiplex. “But if not, you should consider it. You’re really very striking. And any woman willing to stand alone at one of these parties—hard to see how a stage could hold any terrors.”
I laughed then. “You could be right. I’ve certainly been seeing a lot of them. Stages, not parties. Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I should try taking a turn.”
He grinned. “That’s it. Of course you should. Are you here with an actor? We’re terrible bores. I hope not, for your sake.”
“No, I’m here with…”
“Tristan Hunter,” a familiar voice broke in. Then he was there, all long limbs in leather, his hair looking a little more in disarray than usual. It didn’t detract from his sudden, intense charm. He stuck out his hand.
“I’m Robert,” he replied, and they shook hands. Tristan was taller and gave off an intense presence. Robert shimmered, an invisible spotlight on his smile. It was slightly overwhelming, standing between the two of them. “Lily is delightful company. And I’m a big fan. You’ve got a solo album out?”
No one, not even Tristan could resist that charm. And it seemed he really was a fan, reeling off concerts and albums with some enthusiasm. They exchanged numbers.
“I’ll have them get you a copy. And we’re due to come back for a concert after Japan. Be a pleasure to make sure you have some passes.” Tristan smiled.
A phone buzzed, and Robert produced a slightly awkward expression. “Duty calls. That’s the trouble with these tight dresses—I hold the phone. Great meeting both of you.” He and I exchanged a cheek kiss and a slight hug, and he and Tristan did the guy handshake. It looked for a moment like they were arm wrestling. He was very muscular, under the polished exterior. Tristan’s eyes sparked from the challenge.
We watched him sink back in to the crowd, saying hellos as he went, hand on shoulders, before he finally disappeared from sight. The room was filling up. Everyone looked shiny, slightly too perfect, the women balancing on tiny little heels that only emphasized how thin they were.
Tristan smiled at me. “So, I’m going to be a model. And I have an appointment tomorrow for a tattoo with his favorite artist.”
“So a success then. You’re fairly appealing,” I winked at him. “I’m not really surprised.”
“Not jealous, are you?”
“Of what, and should I be? Your vast sex appeal? Exchanging little kisses with the fashion world? No. He’s clean, and you’re careful.”
Tristan burst out laughing. “Fuck. Lily.” He kissed me. “If this is your way of finding out what I did, I didn’t.”
I shrugged. “You’re pretty hard to resist.”
“More than the incredibly famous movie star you were flirting with?”
I couldn’t help the smirk that traveled across my face. “Well, I don’t know. He gives off quite the sexual aura underneath all that…”
“Make-up.”
“I love guys in eyeliner. You should try it.”
“Or I’ll lose you?”
I danced away a few inches. “You came back just in time. I was negotiating for my first movie role.”
“Casting couch?”
“No, sheer talent.” I winked. “That was coming afterwards. Form follows function, don’t you know.”
“Why break the rules?” Tristan was grinning.
“Exactly. I’m sure his couch is very comfortable.” I reached out for one of Tristan’s hands. “Long, too.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Care to compare? I think mine is…fairly substantial.”
“Really? That’s the rumor. But you know how these things get around.”
“Want some proof?” Tristan’s eyes were amused, but there was a darkness around the edges.
I dropped his hand and turned away to look out to the ocean. It was a beautiful view. I felt him come closer, and stand behind me, one hand on the railing next to my arm. His mouth moved against my ear. “Let me prove it to you. All of it.”
I leaned slightly back against him. “I’m not sure I can take all of it,” I murmured.
Both his hands were on my hips now, as we stared out to sea, unseeing. “I think you can.” His mouth dipped to my neck, and I could feel his throat on my shoulder, his words rumbling through my body. “Let’s go find out.”
Wordlessly, Tristan took my hand, and we walked back out through the crowd to find our car and driver.
* * *
The drive back was strangely tense. I felt the energy thrumming through him like a drum beat, steady and taut. I had no idea what he could feel from me. Without looking at him, there was no way to tell. This was the time of wait and see. No questions. I opened the window a bit more and let the cool night breeze in. I looked down. We weren’t even holding hands. I moved further away, closer to the window. I could sense his dark smile. The extra distance made it worse. Space meant more terrain to cross, more to desire. I had no idea how much longer we had left in the car, but as time passed, and we moved through the miles of cars and palm trees and neon, I could feel him, coiled up and waiting. The noise of the engine grew louder, then faded. My heart beat in my ears, the pulse dense in my throat, my legs. I swallowed, trying to lick my lips. I had the sensation he was watching my every move, waiting for me to break, waiting for the moment when I’d crumble and crawl to him. Prey. All I had was to resist. But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t. He would have to come all the way. All the way to me. I shut my eyes. I could hear the blood echoing in my head, and I wished we were in a fast car, a race car, one that could downshift hard, and dip down low, roaring, leaving everything behind. Tearing air and energy out of the sky, one last stand.
Finally, we turned into the driveway, and I pulled at the handle on the door, almost before the car stopped. The sound in my mind was like a long slide guitar sound, slick and wet on the night air, taunting. I walked to the door, silently, and I felt him come up behind me, still not touching. “Here we are,” he said. “Ready?” And he opened the door,
and swung around. The breath caught in my chest when I saw the look in his eyes.
Tristan backed into the room, beckoning me with his hands, swaying his hips slightly, the energy unwinding like a dance. Like an animal, an athlete, his body obeying, I thought, and then there was the intensity in his eyes. Hypnotic. It might be a game. A very serious game. I shut the door behind me. “Lock it,” he ordered. “No more worries about thin walls,” he said, with a slight sardonic smile. He kept moving, gesturing me to follow him, out of the living room, and down the hall to the bedroom that held the large bed that faced the garden. Tristan was humming softly. I could barely make out the words. His voice was one long low drawl, a rope lifeline onto a ship of dangerous thieves. The look in his eyes was almost too much. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, “don’t do anything. Just stand there. Like that.” Then a lower whisper. “The rush you give me…looking that way. Desperate.”
I went to kiss him and he stopped me, his hand on my mouth. “No. Not yet,” he said. I tried to bite one of his fingers as he trailed it across my lips. His voice was harder now. “No. I told you to wait.” Tristan was towering over me. I stood there, watching him, trying not to tremble. His eyes were softer now, for a moment, gazing at me with a kind of wonder, before he circled around and stood behind me. I leaned back against his chest. The first solid contact. I had to shut my eyes, it was too much. I tried to breathe. I wanted his hands on me. I would never ask. His body was still, unmoving, but I could feel it, every muscle, every curve, every bone. I thought I would scream. But I wouldn’t beg, and neither would he. His complications were like my own, they were my own.
Tristan ran his long fingertips down my sides. I shivered. “Do you like that?” He laughed. “Yes. Of course you do.” Then he stopped and came to stand in front of me. Close, not close enough. And he slowly began unbuttoning his shirt, his hips swaying slightly to a song only he could hear. I watched as each button came under his fingers, twisted, and opened, revealing with every easy, unbearably precise movement, a naked strip of smooth skin. I let out a little sigh. He smiled. “Like what you see? Too much? Let’s slow it down a little bit more. And his body moved as if he were dreaming, as if we were in a fog. I tried to make sense of the glow that came off him, the energy.
Mesmerizing, to stand there watching as the soft shirt moved against his body, a long V of skin revealed, now that it was mostly unbuttoned. He was swaying slightly again, steady. “That’s it. I see it in your eyes. Concentrate. Imagine what you want. Want.” My body moved imperceptibly closer towards him. He saw it and stopped again. “No.” His voice was insinuating, demanding. “No.” Then more slowly, in that long drawn out way he had, his voice becoming deeper with each syllable, “Not yet. Will you get what you want? It depends if you trust me to give you what you need.” He smiled. Impossible to argue. He was in control. And he began again. Another button fell under his fingers, his eyes on me steady, like a beacon in the dim light. Why did it feel as though even the air around us was becoming cloudy? I wasn’t sure if I could move even if I wanted to. It was as though he had hypnotized me, my very soul fascinated by what he was doing. Another inch of skin appeared, now his chest was a strip of taut skin, his stomach revealed by only an ever increasing swathe of slightly muscled flesh, a dark line of hair heading downwards. I wanted to look away and hide from the dark electricity that poured off him, the steady movement of his body. I made myself focus on his fingers, what they were doing. The slight swaying motion of his body sped up, and his hands were at the waistband of his trousers now. He breathed in a raspy pulse of air, a low sigh loud enough to echo through the darkness of the room, lit only with one dim lamp, and with one motion he pulled his shirt out and deftly undid the last button. With a slow dip of his strong shoulders, the shirt slid from his body, becoming a pool on the floor. With another few fluid motions, his trousers followed. There was nothing underneath. He stood there for a moment, his eyes shut, completely naked, revealed, feeling the air against his body.
Then his voice rang out. “Touch me now. If you want to. Start with my throat.” I managed to raise my arm, trying to keep myself under control. There was a part of me that wanted to just launch myself at him, rub against him like a wild animal in heat, scream at him to take me, stop all this, make it better, make it end. My hand reached for his neck, and wrapping my fingers around it slightly, I squeezed. He let out another slow groan. His voice was low. “More.” I pressed a little harder. That my small hand around his neck, could have this effect. I tightened my grip.
His eyes were shut, he let out a ragged sound. “Touch me.” To have all this power. Over him. Over six feet of him, skin like cream and dark haired, his face almost unfamiliar, twisted with desire in the half-light of the room. All this from just the simple pressure of my hand on his long throat. Then I let go and he released all that was left of the air in his lungs as I traced a line down his chest, circled one of his taut nipples, and dragged it down with a painted fingernail. I looked up at him. His eyes were still shut. He looked tense, wound up, yet his mouth was still slightly open, his lips soft and full and curved. I watched fascinated, as his tongue ran a slow sweep of his upper lip. I touched my finger tip to his hard nipple again and watched as his tongue made that same motion, tasting the air, tasting the sweat on his skin. It made no sense. I could feel it when he did that, an electric metal wire from his mouth to mine. He let out a low moan and the sensation went lower. My hand followed a line down from his chest, lower, across the steady beat of his heart, his breathing quickening, his muscles tense with waiting, down, skimming the sheer line of his now lightly shining skin. It felt hotter in the room. My arms were burning. My legs were numb from keeping still, trying to stop the shaking. All I could do was focus on the slowness. He hadn’t even touched me yet. But it was though every movement he made, every precise gesture, every finger bent just so, every flexing of the veins in his arms was something I could feel, burning inside me.
Tristan took one of his hands and laid it flat across his stomach. His fingers were long, so long. They stretched across his torso, his thumb jutting out at an angle. I wanted to take his fingers in my mouth, feel them on me pressing, down, slowly, softly. He moved his hand slowly, covering himself, wrapping his fingers around the hard flesh. He gasped slightly. His voice was sultry, rough. That voice. The same, and not the same. His commanding tone. I surrendered willingly before it. “Suck on your fingers.” I did, watching him watch me, imagining it was him, wanting to thrust my hands in his mouth to feel him on me. Instead, I reached out for him. Wet, they traced the beginning of a line of dark hair the same color as those tangled in disarray on his head. He didn’t stop me. His hipbones, jutting out, my fingers tracing them. He had left his hand where he had placed it, pointing down, covering his length, his fingertips just sweeping his balls. His hands, big as they were, looked comfortable there, finally, touching himself, taunting me. I wanted my hand to replace his. But I could do nothing unless he told me. We waited. His eyes closed.
He breathed out slowly, and as though speaking from very far away, said “Touch my legs. Don’t touch my hand.” I linked my fingers and ran my hands down over his finely shaped ass, then back in front, down past the v of muscle, over hard thighs, strong legs, solid, unmoving, the muscles firm and defined, down past his calves to his feet. I dropped to my knees, my hands on the front of his thighs, looking up at him, waiting. Tristan stood there, steady, all muscles, a sheen of sweat on his skin, his hand still wrapped around his cock. I watched as he carefully moved his hand, sliding around on the smooth skin. I watched as a slight tremor shook his legs. I stood back up. We were in a dream, like a dance. I waited for his lead. Just looking at him was almost enough. Almost. It was hard to take in so much male beauty in one place, skin and muscles, his face impossibly lost to pleasure. Yet here he was, in front of me, eyes tightly shut, naked, his hand still touching himself, teasing.
His voice, went it came again, s
urprised me. “Blindfold me.” His eyes were still closed. I managed to walk over to the suitcase, and pulled one of the black silk scarves from the small bag of scarves and silk twisted cords that was always in his possession. Usually they were for me.
I had to stand on tip toes to reach around his head, and tie the knot, the way he had taught me. I wrapped the scarf around twice, checked it was secure. I murmured, “It’s done.”
“Now wrap one around my neck.”
I tied it tight, a thin band across his Adam’s apple and the muscles in his neck. A vein was full and raised just below the dark line. Tristan’s mouth fell into a thin, dangerous smile.
“Now lead me to the bed.”
“Tristan,” I breathed out. I took the end of the scarf, and walked him slowly over to the bed. Then I turned down the duvet, exposing the crisp ironed white sheets.
“Help me lie down.” I knew he could do this without me, but he held out his hands and I helped him lower his body, then moved him until he was in the middle of the bed. He stretched out like a mountain cat, slow, strong, his stomach muscles taut, his glossy dark hair spread over the pillows, the expanse of his burning skin against the coolness of sheets, a line of pulsing muscle all the way down to his finely shaped ankles. The man was a sculpture. I had never seen anyone like him. Every bone carefully made, every muscle a fine sweep of curving power. He pulled his hand away and there was his cock. Fully erect, silken, shining lightly at the tip, wet. I watched as Tristan crossed his hands at his wrists over his head, pulling at the scarf around his neck as he did so. “Undress slowly,” his voice purred. “I will be here. I can feel you. Do it…but slowly.”
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