by Kailin Gow
“No...” I whisper.
“Maybe you should be. Maybe you're a fool – you don't realize what you're getting yourself into.” He starts kissing my shoulders, working his way down to my breasts. He pulls down the dress. “God, this looks even better on you in person than in the photographs you took for me. I almost hate to take it off...” He pushes the dress to the floor. “But you look even better like this.” He takes my nipples into his mouth and begins to suck, flicking his tongue gently over the tips slowly, thoroughly until I’m moaning unabashedly.
“That's what I love about you, Sidney. There are so many things about you – but this is what drives me crazy most of all. You have no idea of the effect you have on me – that this has on me. Your innocence and your absolute foolhardiness. The way you throw yourself into experiences – because you do not know the world as well as you might, you do not know the dangers that it holds for a girl like you. And that drives me crazy. Knowing how fully you live your life – you who have the whole world opening up like an oyster before you. Oh, Sidney, how I want to experience life the way you do in your body. I want to experience your body.”
He looks into my eyes. His bright blue eyes stare straight into mine: deep into me. I watch as his expression of desire and rage settles into something else: something sweet and slow and strange. He is looking at me with an expression of pained tenderness. What does he want, I wonder?
He sighs deeply. “Sidney,” he all but groans. “I'm so sorry – I'm so very, very sorry.”
“For what?” I asked him.
“For everything. It's my fault – not yours. I was so angry with myself that I ended up taking it out on you. I messed up, Sidney – assigning you this story without fully checking out the safety angle myself. I should have checked out those tips more thoroughly. And now you ended up in danger – because of me. You don't know how afraid I was for you, Sidney – the idea that you could be in danger, and that it would be all my fault. People who get close to me get hurt, Sidney. That's always been true. But I don't want it to be true for you. And the images of you being hurt, even touched by someone else, even by that child Mitch Conway – those images were ones I couldn't get out of my brain. And so nothing meant more to me than throwing everything else away and rushing over to you from LA to Vegas – I took the first flight I could. Just to have you here in my arms, safe. Just to have you here with me. Tonight, Sidney, I want to make you forget. All about what happened. All about Mitch Conway and those men who hurt you. I just want to focus on making you feel good, do you understand me? I want to make you feel better than you've ever felt in your whole life.”
I nod silently.
“I want to give you...certain kinds of pleasure,” he says. “Make you feel things. Things you've never felt before. But not now.” He straightens his back. “I want to take care of you in other ways, first.” He surveys my naked form. “You're so beautiful, Sidney. I wish you could see what I see. I feel sorry for you – never having the breathless experience I'm having now, of the first sight of your naked body.”
He leads me over to the bed. He pushes me down – not roughly this time, but gently, tenderly. I moan a little, in awe at the pleasure that he's making me feel. He puts his hands on my back. “I'm going to lavish attention on you now,” he says. “Don't move. Don't worry about anything. I just want to give you a massage.” He kneads my flesh, and I sigh involuntarily as I give myself over to the pleasure he's making me feel – the warmth and the sensuality. It feels so good I can't stand it.
He works his way up and down my body, making me relax, making me moan softly as every muscle slowly slackens in a feeling of blissful rest.
“You want me, don't you?” he whispers.
“Yes....” My heart is beating so fast, faster than it's ever beaten.
“I won't take you,” he says. “I want to. Right now. But I know you're a virgin – and when I do take that part of you, I want it to be...special. Planned. For now, though, I can think of other ways to satisfy you, to become your lover, to make you mine.”
He turns me over. I am on my back. He kisses my stomach then removes my panties, his tongue dipping lower between my legs.
“Rested now?” He smiles up at me.
I don't have time to respond before he flicks his tongue between my legs. I lean back and open my mouth, savoring the feeling of extreme pleasure as he tongues me, making me shake and scream.
“I know the truth, Sidney,” he whispers. “Whatever you have with Conway – it's nothing compared to our little secret. The dirty little truth only you and I know about – how I can make you feel like this, how I can make you scream like this, how I can make you feel things.” He slips a finger inside me. I almost come then and there, but he's careful. Slow. Methodical. Teasing me for hours – refusing to let me come – keeping me on the brink of ecstasy.
“You want this, don't you Sidney?” he smiles up at me, slipping in another finger.
“Yeeees.” He makes me feel good – so good. I want all of him; I know that now. As much as he is able to give me. I want to take him all. All the danger, the practicalities – they don't matter. I know what I want and it's him.
Philip smiles a wicked smile as he delves between my legs one final time, licking and sucking at me until at last, shaking, I scream out his name in a final orgasmic cry.
He holds me until the shaking subsides, until my body stops trembling with the full effects of aftershock. He holds me and kisses my skin so gently it's like I'm being touched by falling snow.
“Good,” he says, coming up again, kissing my breasts. “You taste amazing, Sidney. And I can't wait to get started with you...”
Chapter 6
The night we spend together is delirious, overwhelming. The sensation of his skin on mine keeps waking me up: the heat of him, the fire that sears through me. Every time I fall asleep, drowsy and delicious, in his arms, I wake up again with my body stirring with new desires, new wants, new needs. Every time I wake up, I feel his hard cock against my leg: renewed urgency to make me come, to make me feel the greatest pleasure I've ever felt before. My whole body aches for him. I want him inside me, with a hunger that is about to drive me out of my skull, but I know enough, as he does, to hold back. After all, this is so very new. There is still so much we have to work out. Our life together will be an impossible one – that's for sure.
How am I supposed to keep this up: me and Mitch Conway as fake lovers, me and Philip LaFleur as real lovers, me and Johnson as...whatever the hell we are, now. If he ever talks to me again. The way that Johnson walked out on me like that after finding out about me and Mitch haunts me still. It's painfully clear that I've hurt him; painfully clear, too, that there's no other way around it. I don't feel for Johnson the way he needs me to feel in order to make him happy. And those feelings – those overwhelming out-of-your-mind can't-breathe can't-sleep can't-eat feelings? I have them. For Philip.
I know that now. Lying like this in his arms, my face against his broad chest, my fingertips tracing the full length of his chiseled body, his rock-hard abs, his washboard stomach that slopes towards the perfect V of his immaculately formed pelvis, I feel like I've never been happier in the whole world, that I never could be happier in the whole world. I feel more than just desire for Philip. I feel a sense of incredible safety: of security in the midst of danger.
I don't know why I feel that way. I laugh quietly to myself. Safety, with Philip? A week or two into meeting him, and I've already ended up in the hospital once and nearly killed by a marauding gang of thugs-for-hire. Not exactly being pampered at a luxury spa. But there's something about the way Philip lives, the way he courts the dangerous and the intense, the too-emotional and the too-passionate, that drives me wild.
He's lived so much, seen so much, done so much. He's spent years in war zones, had far-flung and exotic love affairs, risked his life to tell the truth and get to the bottom of his stories. He's seen every country in the world, eaten every food, tried every sexual
flavor there is. A life I've never had. A life I've always wanted to have. And lying here, with him, I feel like I'm part of that world too. For the first time, I've done more than just be a gossip columnist. I've had a real adventure: a real, journalistic, life-affirming, life-threatening adventure. And the sensation makes me strangely, uncannily happy. I almost don't notice my bruises. I almost don't notice my split lip. Not that I can pay attention to pain. Philip has overwhelmed my body with pleasure. I wake up in the middle of the night to find him touching me ever so gently, so delicately. Smoothing my skin awake so that it tingles with desire and need and desperation. I moan as his fingers delve between my legs, as he rouses me once more. The blush spreads all across my body: my cheeks, my breasts, my thighs.
“God,” he murmurs throatily, licking across my breast and taking my nipples ever so lightly in his teeth. “I don't know what it is about you, Sid. But I can't get enough of you. It's crazy – absolutely crazy. My brain just...I turn into an animal when you're around.” He breathes in, deep. Inhales my scent like a wolf would. “You smell so good, Sidney. You smell like me, like us, like sex. I'm addicted to your smell.” His lips delve a little lower. He licks across my stomach, then trails down my hip-bone as his fingers rub my clitoris.
He bits my hip-bone suddenly and I yelp as pain and pleasure flood through me. Then he laughs a little and kisses my mound of Venus, his tongue trailing down until it reaches my clit. He begins to flick it back and forth, starting with slow, small circles and then increasing in intensity, in speed, until I'm screaming once again: my head thrust back, my thighs and hips bucking in the air. His fingers are still deep inside me: controlling every movement, controlling every sensation. I'm utterly his; everything I'm feeling is within his control – he is the master of my body, of the adrenaline coursing through me, of my flesh.
I keep on screaming until I come again, so loudly I'm afraid the neighbors in the adjoining room will hear me.
“Good girl,” he whispers. He pats me on the ass, affectionately. I curl into his arms, happily, as I fall asleep again, worn out by the intensity of our lovemaking.
When dawn at last wakes me, streaming through the windows, I wake up confused, dizzy. What's happening? At first I'm genuinely not sure. I remember an accident – a beating. Being hit across the face. Is that why I'm seeing stars?
Then I remember. My night with Philip. The intensity, the passion – all of it. The toe-curling feeling I just can't shake.
Something's buzzing. For a second I think last night really did a number on me – are my ears still ringing. Then I realize it's my phone.
“Oh...shit.”
If there's anyone you don't want to hear from after four and a half orgasms in twelve hours, it's your mom.
“I should probably take this.” My mother calls me once every six months. If I don't answer now, she could be in Cabo tomorrow.
“Go right ahead,” says Philip. “Although I'm going to miss you...”
He slides his hand up my thigh as I answer.
“He—hello?” I try not to let the feeling of Philip's fingers so close to my clit distract me.
“Sidney!” my mother sounds as chipper as she always does, like she's just downed half the mood stabilizers in Tijuana.
“Mom?” My head is throbbing and my eyes are bleary. “Is everything ok?”
“Is everything OK?” my mother trills off a laugh. “Of course everything's ok. In fact, everything's the best it's ever been.”
My mother's either ecstatic or horrendously depressed. Never anything in the middle.
“Oh. Ok. Good,” I say. What is it this time? A new lover? A Pomeranian?
“Remember how I always used to say I wanted to get married by an Elvis impersonator?”
“Uh...sure.”
“I did! We had a whole conversation about it – I can't believe you don't remember!”
“When was this, Mom?”
“Your twelfth birthday party! I had the Indiana Jones impersonator in...”
“Oh. Right.” The Indiana Jones impersonator was my mom's best friend, Roderigo. I heard he graduated to Han Solo.
“So annnyyyway,” she drags out the word. “I did.”
“You did what.”
“Got married! By an Elvis impersonator!”
“Wait – who?”
“His name's Paul – he's a friend of Roderigo's....”
It takes me a second.
“No, I mean...who did you marry, Mom?”
“It was the cutest wedding. So tacky. I love it. I always thought after the whole shebang with your father that I could never have a second big wedding.”
“MOM!” I almost scream. “Who did you marry.”
“Oh...you remember him!” my mother keeps on trilling. “We ran into one another a couple days ago. I was in LA to visit you, sweetheart, but you weren't at home. So I went walking around, visiting our old Beverly Hills haunts, and we just...ran into each other on Rodeo Drive. Alan, sweetie! And he's just the same, like you wouldn't believe! So handsome, so charming, so debonair, so....oh, you know, sweetheart. And one thing led to another and...we decided to really do it this time! No more “my ex wife this” or “complications” that. Just get married. What we always wanted. So Alan and I are finally wed. And I'm Mrs. Alan LaFleur.”
My heart drops into my stomach and then plummets to the floor. Am I ever going to escape the LaFleurs? Just when I thought Philip and I had overcome our first set of obstacles, an even bigger, grosser one has just started rolling straight into our way. My mother has just married Philip's father. Reunited the family that hates each other. Making me Kendall's step-sister once again. Bringing me even closer into the orbit of the family that seems to control absolutely every aspect and element of my waking life, whether I want them to or not. I will never be free of the LaFleurs.
This may be the worst thing that has ever happened to me.
“And you should see the rock he bought me, honey,” my mom continues. “I mean, it's big, it's HUGE. The biggest I've ever seen. Bigger than that piece of gravel your father got me.”
“Uh...” I hardly know what to say. “Um. Mazel tov?”
“I just knew you'd be thrilled! I just knew it! And now you can hang out with that lovely girl Kendall again – you two were always such good friends.”
I don't say anything. Tears well up in my eyes. My heart all but stops. I feel like I'm going to throw up. Straight onto these thousand-dollar Egyptian cotton MGM sheets.
“Anyway, Alan and I are going to go back to the pool for another swim. He just loves me in my white bikini. Love you honey! See you soon!” She blows me an air-kiss over the phone, then hangs up.
I just sit there for a while, staring straight ahead like a zombie. Trying in vain to take all this in. Feeling like the whole world is collapsing in and all around me.
“What is it?” Philip leans in, concerned. “What's wrong, Sidney?” He rolls me over, puts his mouth around my breasts, starts licking them, stroking my naked body with impossible tenderness and grace. “What happened?”
“Uh...” I'm still in shock. “You might want to stop doing that for a second.”
“Never,” he laughs. “You can talk to me while I'm playing with you. Now, tell me, how's your mom doing?”
“Good...” I start nervously. “Uh, yeah. Good. I mean, she uh, she, uh, well, um, she just got married. Here. In Vegas. A drive-through wedding. With an Elvis impersonator?”
“A drive-through wedding? With an Elvis Impersonator?” Philip gives a little sexy growl as he nuzzles my neck, running his fingers through my hair. “Very exciting...I'll have to make you show me that on another of our guided tours, Ace...”
“Listen, Philip.”
“Sir...” he teases.
“Philip, listen.” I don't want to say it out loud. I don't want to make it true. But I can't deny it any longer.
“Who's the lucky guy?”
“That's just the thing, Philip.”
“Wha
t, do I know him?”
“Yeah...” My face falls. “You do.”
Then he gets it.
“No. No, no, no, no, no...”
“My mom just married your dad.”
Chapter 7
Philip's face goes chalk-white: the color of bone, or stale milk. I've never seen him look like that before. He's normally so sexy, so tan, so full of life and power and virility. But now all at once he looks like a corpse. The sight is shocking. His jaw slackens. His eyes slowly close. He leans back on the bed, inhales, takes a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling with the effort.
He looks like he's just ben shot: straight in the gut. Or that he's having a heart attack. Or something. I don't know. All I know is that he's stopped touching me – stopped kissing and caressing me and running his fingers up and down my spine – and instead he's stood up and has started to pace around the room, taking large, angry strides around the perimeter of the hotel suite. He is looking down, not meeting my eyes, rubbing his chin and brushing his fingers through his hair. He doesn't pay me any attention. He's just pacing like a crazy person – or at least, someone whose world is falling apart.
“Philip?” I ask softly. But he doesn't seem to hear me. He just keeps on pacing: eyes downcast.
“Oh shit,” he says. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit...”
“Philip?” I venture again, a little louder this time.
“SHIT!” He virtually explodes, kicking the bed legs so hard that I flinch. “Damn it – Sidney.” He takes a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry sorry sorry. Sid – oh, um...” it's like he's lost the power of speech. “When?”
“What?”
“When did they get married.”
“This morning, apparently,” I say. “I know – I can't believe it either.”
“With no warning, no invitations, no family present, no nothing?”
“That's my mom for you,” I say sheepishly. “She doesn't do warnings. My mom does what she wants to do, when she wants it. Always has, always will. There's no such thing as planning when it comes to her...”
