Spiral

by Mila Ferrera

  We usher her in and help her put them on top of a short file cabinet, the only open space in our tiny office. “Who are they for?” I ask, reaching for the little card.

  Nessa,

  Le Bec Fin tonight? Pick you up in front of hospital at 8. Counting the minutes.

  Aron

  Lisa reads it over my shoulder, which is easy for her since she’s a few inches taller than I am. “Whoa,” she says as the delivery girl leaves. “He has flair, I’ll give him that.”

  “No kidding,” I whisper, eyeing the bouquet. Two dozen long-stemmed roses in a crystal cut vase. And Le Bec Fin, which I know to be the most expensive restaurant in Philadelphia. “Lisa, do you have any idea how much fellows make?” I ask as I read the card again.

  “A lot more than we do,” she says, and I laugh, because psychology intern salaries barely top twenty thousand. “But I don’t think it’s six figures or anything like that.”

  This is all too much, and I need to talk to Aron about it. He wasn’t spending like this before, but all of a sudden, he’s kicked things into high gear, and none of it is necessary. He could be broke and I’d still adore him. “That’s what I thought. Thanks.”

  I rehearse my little speech in my head, how much I appreciate the things he’s doing, but how I’ll feel better if he tones it down. Just after eight, I step out of the main CHOP entrance. I look around for Aron’s Volvo, but the only thing parked at the curb is a black Mercedes coupe, slick and muscular-looking. The November wind gusts, swirling around my legs and threatening to lift my skirt. I wrap my jacket around me and push my skirt down, wishing I’d worn tights. Just as I’m about to flee back to the CHOP atrium to wait, Aron’s voice calls me back. “Hey! Here!” he laughs.

  I turn around and see him standing by the Mercedes. “What are you doing?”

  He gestures at the car. “Do you like it?”

  Alarm bells ring in my head as I approach the car. “Um … this is a Mercedes.”

  He grins. “The Volvo had lived past its prime, and I decided I needed something nicer if I was going to take you out.”

  I cover my mouth with my hand. “Aron …”

  His face falls. “You don’t like it? I can trade it in for something else—”

  I walk quickly to the edge of the sidewalk and into his arms. “No, it’s lovely, but so expensive. I wouldn’t care if we had to ride the bus and eat peanut butter on crackers if I could be with you, so none of this is necessary. And I don’t see how you can afford it.”

  “I need to tell you something.” He tilts my face up, and his eyes spark with a familiar mischief. “I don’t suppose you know who Ingvar Kamprad is?”

  “Er, no.”

  “He’s my morfar—my maternal grandfather. But he also happens to be the founder of Ikea, and my guess is you’ve heard of that. He’s one of the wealthiest men in Sweden, and he’s very generous with his family.”

  “What? You’ve never mentioned that …”

  He chuckles and nudges my chin to close my mouth. “I don’t like to advertise that fact, but you’ve given me a reason to spend a little. Let me enjoy it? Are you hungry?”

  I nod, racing to keep up because he’s talking so fast. I understand it, though, because I’m excited to see him, too, and knowing he’s not bankrupting himself eases my anxiety, allowing the thrill of being together to overwhelm it completely. “Starving. Let’s go.”

  He bows his head and kisses me, and as his tongue slides along mine, I feel it, the promise that this is going to be a night I won’t soon forget.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Le Bec Fin is only a few miles away, a straight shot through the city down Chestnut Street, but Aron weaves through traffic like he’s on a speedway. The car purrs like a tiger as it’s put through its paces. When he’s not shifting gears, Aron’s hand finds my knee right above the top of my long boots. His thumb strokes the goosebumped skin of my thigh. “I have been looking forward to this moment all day,” he sighs. “Your skin is the most perfect thing I’ve ever touched.”

  I run my fingers over his rough cheek. He looks tired—those shadows under his eyes seem a little deeper. “Have you been sleeping okay?”

  He shrugs. “I have a research project at a critical phase. But I’m off this weekend.” He gives me a sidelong glance as he turns onto Walnut Street and brings us to a sudden stop in front of the valet booth for the restaurant. He leans over and nibbles at my jaw, making me shiver. “I hope you won’t have too much to do?”

  “I’ll make the time,” I gasp out as his clever fingers slip beneath the edge of my skirt and tease the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

  “Brilliant,” he whispers, then gets out and opens my door for me.

  He leads me across the street and into the amber-lit entryway. I suddenly feel self-conscious, like maybe I’m underdressed, because when I look over at Aron, I realize he’s wearing a suit under his overcoat, a perfectly tailored, charcoal grey two-button with narrow, straight slacks. He honestly looks like he walked off a fashion runway. At least I’m wearing a skirt, I think as I pull my coat over my ruffled Eddie Bauer button-down. It’s cute enough and hugs my body well, because I knew I’d see Aron today, but it’s not exactly dressy.

  We check our coats and the host guides us to a romantic table for two by the fireplace. Aron pulls out my chair for me and then scoots close. He orders the tasting menu with wine, and I gulp back another swell of anxiety when I see how much it all costs. When the courses start to come, Aron playfully feeds me as we talk about the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday next week. I mention that my mom wants to meet him, and he says he’d love to. His hands roam as he speaks, brushing my hair back from my shoulder, running a fingertip along my throat. Every time his skin touches mine, I feel it like a brand, quickening my breath, drawing me tight, making me hot. Finally I have to capture his hand and hold it still, or else I’ll jump into his lap right here.

  Aron’s gaze focuses on my parted lips, and his pupils dilate. “What would you say to taking dessert to go?” he says softly. “Let’s go dancing.”

  I laugh. “Dancing? I’ll be honest. Not what I expected you to say.”

  His lip curls upward. “Anticipation is part of the thrill.”

  The waiter looks miffed when we tell him we’re taking off only three-quarters through the tasting menu, but when he sees the tip Aron leaves, his frown turns upside-down and he urges us to come back sometime. With Aron’s arm around my waist and desire throbbing in my belly, I stroll through the restaurant, no longer caring whether my clothes are dressy enough, now only thinking about when I’ll have a chance to shed them.

  Aron drives us to the Medusa Lounge, which is just starting to get crowded now that it’s ten. “This is where you want to dance?” I ask, staring at his immaculate suit and tie. Medusa literally looks like a hole in the wall, and I’m not exactly in gritty club attire either.

  “I’ve been here a few times,” he says with that wicked grin, and then he pulls me close. “It’s nice and dark.”

  With that promise, we leave our coats in the car and he leads me into the club. The inside of the place—walls, ceiling, bar—is absolutely covered with graffiti, and the bartender has so many tattoos that he blends into the scenery. There’s a DJ in the corner and the music is too loud for conversation. Aron tugs me to the dance floor. I watch his hips as he starts to dance, thinking I shouldn’t be surprised at his smooth grace, seeing as I’ve experienced the way he moves his body on a very intimate level. With that thought, need for him streaks through me, hardening my nipples and slicking between my legs. He turns me around until my back’s against his front. His large hand snakes around my waist and flattens possessively over my belly, stoking the fire there and forcing me to stifle a moan.

  My head falls back against his chest as he controls the slow rotation of our hips despite the thumping bass that shakes my ribcage. People are all around us, gyrating and jumping, and the lights flash right through my closed eyelids. My head starts
to spin with too much sensation. It’s coming at me from all sides, the noise, the lights, the feel of Aron against my back, powerful and sure. I wind my hand up his neck and into his hair, and then we’re kissing like we’re back at HotelRED. On and on, making me wild and needy. I almost cheer as his hand slowly creeps up under my shirt.

  Another couple bumps into us and knocks me out of my trance, and I open my eyes to see a tattooed guy smirk over his girl’s shoulder as he watches Aron feel me up. I gasp as Aron pulls my lacy bra down and captures a nipple between thumb and forefinger. My head knocks against his chest as I squirm, and the tattooed guy’s eyes go unfocused as he takes in the show. Holy crap. I use my last non-fried brain cells to spin in Aron’s arms. “Get me out of here,” I say in his ear. Get me out of here before I do something crazy.

  He starts to shake his head, so I do the only thing I know to convince him: I draw my hand along the thick length of him, squeezing gently and rhythmically as I look into his eyes. “Now,” I say.

  He closes his eyes and rocks against my hand, and I know he won’t deny me. He takes my hand and practically drags me out of the club. Once we’re in the car, he says, “Your place or mine?”

  “I don’t care,” I mutter, unable to stop touching him. My hand runs up his thigh to stroke him again, and he gasps. But instead of pulling my hand away, he lays his palm over mine and urges me on. As he starts the car and the engine roars, I nip at his neck. “Take me anywhere you want, but make it fast.”

  He swerves away from the curb like the clock is ticking, and I decide it’s time to turn the tables on this game of tease he’s had going. As he swings the Mercedes onto Chestnut, I unbuckle his belt and slip the button free, then slide down his zipper. The sight of him in the murky darkness, arousal straining against the front of his boxer-briefs, sends a shot of pure desire straight through my core. On impulse, I free his shaft from its confines and lean over.

  Aron curses when he feels my lips slide over the tip of him. I grip the base and pump slowly, taking him as far inside as I can. The blunt, velvety head bumps against the roof of my mouth, then the back of my throat. The car speeds and lurches as I increase my pace. Aron pushes his hips up, trying to get closer, but his seatbelt won’t allow him to move, so his shaking fingers tangle in my hair, showing me what he wants. I suck and tease as he drives through the streets of Philly. His knuckles jab at my ribs as he makes an abrupt gear change, slowing down and then picking up speed again. Instead of returning his hand to my hair, it slips down my back and yanks up my skirt, baring my rear. Goosebumps ridge my skin in the cool air of the car. His fingers dive beneath the back of my panties, and I writhe with anticipation until he finds what he’s looking for. “Nessa,” he chokes out as he discovers how wet I am.

  He wrenches the steering wheel and makes a few tight turns. I raise my head to see that we’re on a dark stretch of road in a part of town I don’t recognize, next to a construction site. He pulls against the curb beneath a burned out street lamp and unbuckles his seatbelt with barely restrained violence.

  “Now, come here now,” he chants as he unbuckles my seatbelt, too. Before I can oblige on my own, Aron drags me across the car and lifts me over the gearshift, pulling me into his lap. My head brushes the ceiling as he kisses me, and I brace my knees on either side of his hips. This is out of control. I know it is. It’s risky and wild and crazy.

  But I want it.

  His hands slide up my thighs, under my skirt, until his fingertips find my panties again. “Sorry,” he says, and before I can ask him why, he rips them at one hip like they’re made of paper. Then he pushes them down my leg and strokes me, lighting me up with a hunger like I’ve never felt. Our tongues tangle as he drives me into a frenzy, and his hands close over my hips and guide me down until my slick desire coats him. I rock, sliding along his hot length.

  “I have to be inside you,” he says against my mouth, “Can’t wait.” He tilts his hips and thrusts upward. My fingers curl into the shoulders of his suit coat as he fills me, stretches me, helps me sink onto him inch by inch as his fingers find my clit and swirl. I whimper and drop my head to his shoulder, then start to ride him. It’s like something I’ve needed for ages, both relief and supreme torture, chasing a feeling that’s just out of my reach.

  Aron reclines his seat. His fingers find my shirt and unbutton it, pull it wide. As I writhe against him, he tugs down the cups of my bra, freeing my breasts to bounce as I move. I open my eyes to see him gazing at me with molten need. His mouth closes over a tight bud a moment later, and I cry out. Aron bucks his hips to drive himself up with every downward motion of mine. He cups my rear, spreading me as he sets a fast, brutal pace that has me seeing stars.

  The friction and pressure builds in a jagged progression, once again toeing the line between pleasure and pain, and when Aron pulls me forward and bites at the junction of my neck and shoulder, the orgasm splinters my thoughts, roaring through me like an avalanche. I’m pretty sure I scream his name, but I can’t hear anything past the ringing in my ears. I cling to him, spasming, as he ups his tempo, holding me in a bruising grip as he slams into me, bonking the back of my head against the roof of the car a few times. Barely registering the impact, I hang on tight until every one of his muscles suddenly goes rigid. I am stunned as I feel him come deep inside me, a throbbing jet of heat, a sensation I’ve never experienced. It nearly makes me climax again, and when he jerks against me, I actually do, moaning and gasping while he holds me.

  He sinks back into the seat, panting like he’s sprinted a mile, and I collapse on his chest with him still inside me. My fingers stroke the sweat-damp hair at his temples while we catch our breaths. We are chest to chest, and his pounding heart changes the rhythm of mine, making it beat in time. “I love you,” we say in unison, and his hands coil over my back as he kisses my hair.

  A sharp knock on the window makes me raise my head, and my blood drains from my face as I note the flashing blue and red lights behind the Mercedes. “Oh no,” I whisper, glancing to the side. The windows are fogged, but there’s a dark figure shadowing the driver’s side. I throw myself across the car, pulling my skirt over my soaked thighs and shredded panties, buttoning my shirt with shaking fingers. Aron brings his seat up and zips himself into his pants, then slides the window down as the cop knocks again.

  “What can I do for you, Officer?” Aron asks.

  The cop shines his flashlight into the car. Its beam slides over me, my unevenly buttoned shirt, my disheveled hair, and Aron’s face. “Good evening, sir. Everything okay?”

  Aron chuckles. “More than okay. Is this a no-parking zone?”

  The officer leans a little closer and his nostrils flare. I curse silently, having no doubt he can smell the sex in the air. “No,” he says slowly, his gaze drifting over my body again. “Can I see some ID, sir?”

  “Of course,” says Aron, pulling out his wallet. I glance down to see his charcoal grey pants are a slick, wet mess. My fingers curl into my skirt. If we get arrested for having sex in public, both of us could get in serious trouble. Does that count as a sex offense? I think I’m going to throw up.

  Aron hands the cop an ID. “You’re a doctor at CHOP?” the cop asks as he peers at the laminated plastic, then shines his flashlight into Aron’s face.

  “Pediatric Oncology,” says Aron. “And I had just stopped for a moment to have a chat with my girlfriend. We’ll move on now, if that’s okay with you.”

  The cop lets out an annoyed breath as he gives Aron back his ID. He shines the flashlight in my direction. “You got some identification?”

  I follow Aron’s lead and hand him my CHOP badge. I don’t think it would be helpful if he thinks I’m a prostitute. He looks it over and gives it back to me. “You all right, Miss?”

  “I’m great, Officer. Thank you for your concern,” I say breathlessly.

  He rolls his eyes. “Either of you been drinking?”

  “We each had a glass of wine a few hours ago,” Aron volunt
eers.

  The cop braces his hand on the edge of the car and leans in. “Okay, you two. Go find a more private place, understand? Public indecency is a chargeable offense.”

  “Thank you, Officer,” we both say.

  The cop shakes his head and walks back to his cruiser, but he stays in his car until we pull away from the curb, then follows us until Aron drives into the parking garage in his apartment complex. We spend the minutes in tense silence, but as Aron motors his new Mercedes into his reserved spot, he starts to laugh.

  “Please don’t tell me you thought that was funny!” I snap. “What would your program director think if you were arrested?”

  “Are you kidding? That was amazing! I’ve never been in trouble with the law,” he says. “It was sort of fun.”

  I groan. “Not my kind of fun.”

  He turns to me, letting his gaze move along his lap and over to mine. “But what happened right before … that was your kind of fun?”

  My lips twitch as I try not to smile. “I’m still trying to decide.”

  “Come up to my apartment and let me convince you.” He throws open his door and gets out, stripping off his suit coat.

  I get out considerably more slowly, feeling bruised and shaken. My thighs are sticky and dripping, and when I stand up, my torn panties slide down my leg and encircle the ankle of my boot. Aron comes around the car and takes in the view. “You’re a mess,” he says, clucking his tongue, practically bouncing on his heels.

  “You’re not,” I say in mock annoyance, taking in his tie and tailored shirt. The only thing about him that’s not quite perfect is the dark, wet spot on the front of his pants, and most of that came from me.

  With a wry smile, he leans down and pulls my panties off my boot, then sticks them in his pocket. He throws his jacket over my shoulders. “Didn’t that scare you at all?” I ask as he leads me to the elevator.

  He shakes his head and pulls me to his chest. “It was actually quite a rush,” he murmurs, nuzzling my neck. That’s when I know: we’re only getting started.