Access Unlimited

by Alice Severin

  My hand flew to his cock and I traced it, finding the wetness starting to come through the jeans at the top, the softness at the bottom, gradually tightening under my fingers. I had to touch him, see if this was real.

  AC hissed. “Slowly, love. So you’re more like our friend Tristan here. Hot. Impatient. Once we reach you.”

  I squeezed him again and leaned over and he murmured very low in my ear. “Careful, darling. Do that again, and I’ll come. I want you wetter, much wetter before that happens.” And then his mouth was on mine and his tongue pushed against me, then our bodies were finally close, touching, his hands on my hips. I was weak, my heart beating insanely fast, a fine sheen of sweat forming between my breasts. Then he pushed me away. “Tristan, kiss her. She’s worried.” And I saw his wink in my haze of lust.

  Tristan’s strong arms wrapped around me and like a heroine in an old movie, I was picked up, my toes just balanced on the ground, my shoulders back against his arm as he held me to him. His mouth was so different, insisting, demanding. He took me and his long body curved over mine, as AC stood and watched, approving, his smile saying everything words didn’t need to speak. Then his whisper broke through. “We’re finally getting an audience. As much as I’d like to oblige, I think we better go. Now.”

  Tristan held me close to him, and AC took the other side, and with the practiced expertise of many quick getaways, they found the back door to the street, while Tristan called the driver to come get us. We stood there, dazed, separated, breathing in the cool 3 a.m. air, not saying a word. It had been raining earlier, and the streets were still wet, slick with oil from delivery trucks. The orange light of the halogen streetlamps cast a strange glow on the tan bricks and netted windows of the warehouses and merged the green and black of the garbage skips into almost the same color. When the car came, Tristan pulled open the door, and slid quickly to the far side, pulling me with him, as AC maneuvered himself in, one hand on the seat and one on my hip. He yanked the door shut, and said “Go, watch for paparazzi, there’s going to be some.”

  Tristan lay back against the seat, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He reached over and took AC’s hand and placed it in my lap, so that all our hands became intertwined. “Now we’ve done it,” was all he said, and he threw his head back, and closed his eyes. AC took his other hand and traced the veins in Tristan’s neck. “Careful, AC.”

  “Fuck careful.” And I found myself pressed back against Tristan, as AC turned my face to his. “Kiss me, Lily. Like you want.” He laughed, quietly. “Tristan will watch, make sure we’re doing it right. Like you want, Tristan.” His hands slid to my hips. “Tristan. Tris.” His voice dropped to a low murmur. “Tell me what to do. Tell me.”

  Tristan’s eyes were shining in the dark, piercing. “Kiss her, AC. Kiss her the same way you’re going to fuck her later.”

  chapter twenty-eight

  New York to London

  A week later, the house seemed strangely quiet. We’d just seen AC off in the taxi that was to take him to the airport for his flight back to L.A. His face as he waved at us, as the cab pulled away, revealed his familiar mix of humor and understanding, his eyes very green in the early morning light. But some of the sadness that had always clung to him, even when he smiled, was gone. He seemed a little lighter, a little further away from some edge of disaster. We stood and watched until the cab was out of sight, then walked for a couple of hours, stopping for coffee and special handmade donuts from the place on the Lower East Side, the Doughnut Plant. Crème Brulée donuts. Tristan said we needed it—sugar to make up for lack of sleep. A treat to make it all a little easier. Then we headed home, talking about the future. The plan AC had was to really move out of L.A. and ship his stuff to New York, to Tristan’s storage facility. Then he would head over to London, where we’d all be together again. Trevor wanted everyone over there to rehearse and organize. “I’m done with America—for now. You can all come to me,” Trevor had pronounced. We thought we would go over in another week or so.

  Tristan picked up his mail, and flipped through it as we went up in the elevator. “Here, this is for you.” And he handed me a little manila envelope with UK stamps. I didn’t open it until we were sitting in the kitchen, and Tristan was getting some water out of the fridge. “So another official invite from Sarah?” Tristan held out his hand and I passed it over for inspection. “Oh good, she’s invited me by name—not just a plus one.” He read the note that came with it. Apparently she had wanted to remind us, firmly but politely. So she had resent the invitation, along with a request on her notepaper that we stay in the house for a couple of days before the wedding. “Look, she says she sent one to Trevor as well.” Tristan stopped reading. “I was a little worried when he was flirting with her, to be honest. He seemed really smitten there for a minute. But Trevor has hidden depths. All seems to be fine.”

  I didn’t mention that I’d wondered that as well. “Yes, he does.”

  “He’s very likeable, really, once he lets you in. He’s careful. The type to learn too well from his own mistakes. And very good at reminding others never to repeat them.” Tristan laughed.

  “He is good at that.”

  Tristan glanced at me. “Yes.” He finished writing up the notes he was working on. “We are going, right?”

  “I suppose. Yes.” I held out my hand for the invitation, and re-read it. The paper was very heavy, and the card was beautifully embossed. “It’s good timing actually.”

  “It is. We deserve a little holiday. And I’ve been thinking about what to do.” Tristan flexed his hands and stretched out his long arms towards me. I came over and sat in his lap, making him groan, and he started to tickle me.

  “Whatever you want to do,” I said, draping my arms around his neck and softly breathing in the sweet smell of his skin. I sighed happily against him.

  “I’m not certain. I think…well, that is—it’s easy for me to say.” Tristan stopped, and kissed my nose.

  “What’s easy for you to say?” He seemed very serious underneath the playful exterior. It was obvious he had something on his mind.

  “The tour. You. I want you settled. Unless you’re coming for the whole thing.”

  I’d been thinking about it too, thinking of the time on the road. Everything that had happened. The moments that had been harder than I ever could have imagined.

  Tristan nodded, watching my face. “Exactly.”

  “I didn’t dislike it. So not exactly. It was definitely interesting.” I thought back to the 4 a.m. wake ups I had, sitting in peaceable silence with the bus driver, watching the long stretches of highway disappear under the wheels. Threatening James over the DVDs. AC standing at the end of the bed in the hotel room. “A lot happened.”

  Tristan smirked. “Very true. But it was hard work.”

  I tried to laugh. “But I like minibars. Limousines too, generally, depending on the ride.”

  “At any rate, rides aside,” Tristan winked at me, “The tour. Asia—Japan mostly. Then briefly in South America. And on to Europe. You don’t have to come. Or you could come for the parts you wanted. But I was thinking it might be nice if you were based somewhere.” Tristan stopped.

  I looked at him. “Based…where? What about New York?”

  Tristan had an awkward grin that he was trying hard to hide. “Change is good? Seriously, now. What would you say to London? I know you used to live there. Have you ever thought of going back?”

  “A lot happened there. But a lot’s happened since. I don’t know. Yes? But what about everything here?”

  “You’re going to be angry, but I spoke to Dave.” He still looked pleased though.

  “You spoke to Dave?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I could only manage to repeat him, parrot-like.

  Tristan bowed his head. “I understand. I overstepped. But I don’t feel like lying about it
, and I didn’t want to make any plans until I knew what it would mean—for you. For me, it doesn’t matter. I can be anywhere. I’ll be on tour, in a hotel. But you. I’m not going to take your life away from you.”

  I started to say something, but Tristan interrupted me.

  “No, don’t say anything. Not yet. I know you. I know you don’t trust things. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me something, or that you can’t make a move unless I approve it.” He kissed the top of my head. “I’m sorry if you’re angry, but I needed to know what the situation was.”

  I kissed a finger and put it to his lips. “I’m not angry.”

  Tristan looked surprised, then he put on a face of mock shock. “You’re not? Even though I compromised your…something. Sovereignty over yourself. Whatever that means.”

  I smiled. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet, so not necessarily. But that’s not why you did it. You have to know things, that’s just you. I don’t think it was controlling.”

  He laughed. “Maybe a little?”

  I pretended to weigh it up. “Maybe a little. At least you’re sharing it with me. You’re not keeping it a big secret. But what did Dave say?”

  Tristan looked serious again. “He said as long as you could come back for consults, he already considered you more of a free agent now. Not a jobber.”

  “Really? So I can go?” Somehow, in the back of my mind, I figured I’d be staying in NYC, writing up articles, while Tristan circled the globe. Maybe flying out to see him. Waiting.

  Tristan picked me up and stood up with me, wrapping his arms around me. He dipped his head very close to mine, his lips warm and soft against my ear. “I love you, you know.”

  The words came out of nowhere. “You’re not leaving me behind then.”

  Tristan shook his head. “No. No.” He kissed my head. “Oddly enough, I seem to like you. Better still. I want you around, close by.”

  “So, London? Globetrotting? What else?”

  Tristan looked sheepish, if such a look was even possible on a man six foot two wearing skin tight black jeans and a ripped white t-shirt. “You really do know me too well. Now you are going to hate me. I confess. It’s bad.”

  “What the fuck have you done then?” I was smiling. This had to be good.

  “Sarah, your friend? She of buxom figure and impending nuptials?”

  “Oh god, what. Please don’t tell me you’ve rented a house near them—I will kill you. Having her drop around every morning for tea would probably sap whatever strength I have left.”

  Tristan looked startled. “It’s not near them. But she did find us a house. Well. With Trevor. He suggested it.” Tristan looked pleased. “Remember what he said about wanting me back on the other side of the pond.”

  “Yes. But I could have done that.” I shook away the image of Tristan chatting on the phone to Sarah.

  “Yes, you could have. But she’s there. And she happened to have a friend with a house. Although apparently she and Trevor had a grand time driving around looking at houses.”

  I interrupted him. “Where is this house, and can you afford it?”

  Tristan started to laugh then, until I had to join in. “Yes, love, I can, and it’s outside of London, and it has a garden, and a sweet little kitchen, and the little living room has a fireplace.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “But…”

  Tristan stopped me. “But you told me yourself every flat you ever found had building works and an annoying roommate. Maybe this will break the curse. Though I am certainly annoying. I can be very demanding.” Then Tristan pulled me to him and nipped at my neck, a few times for good measure.

  “That’s true. To be fair, I was always desperate when I was looking. Though a few times the curse caught me on the hop.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Listen. I have some photos. It looks cute. Sarah said she’d go over there and film a tour for you. Apparently it belongs to a friend of a friend, and she is thinking of selling. Which is wonderful, because I hate estate agents. I’ve been meaning to invest. Honestly, I didn’t think the solo album would do as well as it has. Might as well do something smart with it.”

  I was speechless. “You’d do this for me? Really?”

  “It’s not just for you. It’s for us. We seem to be, no scratch that. We are an us.” He smiled, a dangerous half-smile. “And larger. More than I’d ever hoped.”

  “But…”

  “Lily. Listen. Now you’re with me.” Tristan pulled out his phone. “Look. One picture. You hate it, it’s history. History. But have a look. You decide. I’m saying nothing,”

  I stood up to go over to him, and then sat back down, suddenly filled with panic.

  Tristan pulled his chair over to mine. “Come on, look at it.”

  My eyes were tightly closed. Suppose it was good. Tristan’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “Suppose it is?”

  “That’s just strange. You responding to my thoughts like that.”

  “Usually you like it.” He held up the screen. “Look. There’s a trellis and wisteria and a little garden with peonies. See the kitchen? It’s small. Perfect.”

  I peeked through my hands.

  “It’s got a blue Aga stove. You like those.”

  “How the hell do you know?”

  Tristan snorted. “Please. Stop reminding me how many idiots with memory issues used to inhabit your life. The doors lead to the garden. There’s a bench and some neglected rose bushes. If you need a barbeque, I’m sure there’s room. In case you miss America.”

  I smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

  Tristan laughed. “Good, your eyes are open. You needed to see where you were punching. Excellent. Now look. There’s a little living room. Room for a decent sofa. Wood floors. Oh, is that a fireplace?”

  I punched him again. “Seriously, you’re in the wrong business.”

  Tristan smiled. “That means I’m getting to you. I’ll take it under advisement. But I’d have to stop the leather. Or it could be part of the full service.” He winked.

  “Not going to happen.”

  He swung a long arm around my shoulders and kissed me on the cheek with a loud smack. “Ah, Lily. You know me so well.”

  I leaned my head against his shoulder and breathed in the scent of him. Clean t-shirt laundry smell, the faint lingering of the German designer cologne he liked at the minute, leather from the jacket, something else that was him alone, hair, sweat, passion. I looked up at him, and his eyes bore into mine. There was this great silence for a moment, then he pulled back slightly and said, “Now look at the upstairs.”

  I laughed. “You know how to get what you want.”

  A smile spread across his face. “Usually. Now look. Sash windows. Tree hitting panes in rainstorms. There’s some work that needs to be done, but it’s a house. Ongoing project. It’s not a manor house. Besides, it’s a rental—for now. So, what do you think?” He looked excited. There was a trace of the boy in his face, the lingering bit of energy that clings to every man.

  I looked at the screen, and scrolled through it with a fingertip. Passing through like this, it seemed almost doable. Changing the picture when it seemed like enough.

  Tristan took the screen from me. “Lily. Listen to me. It’s very easy to forget that the future doesn’t have to be the past.”

  I nodded, lips tight. There was nothing to say.

  He put the phone in his pocket. “If we feel like it, we can rent a car and have a look. When we’re there. But that’s next week.” He stood up. “Come on, let’s go outside. Fresh air. Glass of wine? Maybe we can evict someone from their table again.” The expression on his face was like a kid inviting another to go get into trouble.

  “Heartless, you are.” But I reached f
or my jacket.

  “It’s our little secret.”

  * * *

  We hadn’t mentioned the house again. Not even while packing, not even on the plane to London. But I knew it would come up again. We had left a few days early. Tristan couldn’t seem to stay still. And while it had something to do with that fact that Trevor had already assembled the band in London for more rehearsals, there was something restless in his eyes. Something that had been there since the tour and that hadn’t completely disappeared. Once AC had left, we had taken to walking every night from 9 to midnight. Hidden under a variety of hats, Tristan had managed to avoid being recognized—too often. Even then the topic of the house didn’t come up. And when Trevor called and said they should meet up, when could that happen, you’re coming over for this wedding anyway, we should have a chat with Adrian, do you want to look at rehearsal space or leave it to me, that was it. Tristan was booking our reservations for the next morning.

  So here we were staying in a small hotel, avoiding the spotlight for a couple of days before we went on to Sarah’s. London still smelled the same, I thought. We had been walking through Primrose Hill, looking over the city sprawled out over the river valley. Between us and Crystal Palace, the distances seemed to lengthen and shrink as the light changed with the clouds moving by in the breeze. That familiar golden light through the patches of dark cloud. It was an ancient view, and I thought Tristan was more clever than he knew, bringing me here early. To think about everything.

  The idea of the house remained in the background. And sitting in the small living area of the hotel room, a pot of tea brought up by room service, cricket on the TV, I could feel it coming. And when Tristan turned down the volume on the commentators, I knew that moment was here.

  He sat down at the table, and poured out more tea for both of us. “Lily.”

  “Tristan.”

  “I haven’t brought this up again, but we…” He set his cup down. “Hell, Lily. We need to talk about this. It’s not that bad is it, the idea of living with me? Having a house? It’s been good, I thought.”