“Of course.”
That settled, there was nowhere else to go but the shoe department to find the sharpest pair of spiked heels a woman could legally buy and use as a murder weapon. He caught up with her by the bank of elevators and wrapped his fingers around her wrist.
“Hey.”
She ignored him and stepped into the elevator, but he didn’t release her hand, his thumb making small circles on the soft skin of her wrist, soothing her despite her desire not to be soothed at all.
Rather than lift her gaze, she spoke to his shirt buttons. “You said it was to be my day. My choices.”
“And?”
She stared even harder at the third button down. “And now you’ve spoiled it by buying me things, by buying me.”
“Buying you?”
Without turning away, he slammed his hand on the elevator buttons, and the car stopped with a jerk. The doors opened and he maneuvered her out onto what looked like an administrative floor, which was half in shadows. She was backed up against the wall, his hands resting on her shoulders.
“Look at me.”
She preferred to focus on his shirt, but something in his tone made her raise her chin and meet his blue-eyed stare.
“I’m not like him.”
“Like who?”
“Your fucking ex. The guy who tried to destroy you.”
“He didn’t, he…” She swallowed hard. “I just wanted to have fun with you today, to play around, to remember that sex doesn’t have to be furtive and negative and…”
“Destructive, yeah, I got that.”
“Because that’s what he’d do. Every time he couldn’t come over—because his wife, or kids, or work got in the way, he’d buy me something to make it up to me.” He went still but she couldn’t stop the words now, the hurt, god, the pain… “And then I felt like I had to pay him back by giving him the best sex ever, by not complaining and just playing the part of the perfect mistress when inside me—inside me—I was seething and feeling like a prostitute.”
He cupped her cheek and bent over until his mouth brushed hers.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not, because now I’m wondering what you want from me, what you expect, what I need to do to repay you.”
“Nothing.”
He kissed her again, this time delving into her mouth until his tongue tangled with hers and she kissed him back. Beside her, the elevator pinged and the wall trembled and shook as the car went back down the shaft.
His hand stole under her skirt to cup and squeeze her ass.
“You just stay right there, and do nothing.” He drew her hands behind her back until her fingers were interlocked. “Don’t touch me, okay?”
As his fingers slid under the damp fabric of her thong, he used his other hand to unbutton her blouse.
“Nice.” He pinched her nipples one at a time and then bent his head to take them in his mouth. He wasn’t gentle as he nipped and sucked and played with her. “I liked watching you touch yourself; I like touching you more myself, though.”
His thumb was over her clit, circling, rubbing, making her ache and arch away from the wall. “Liked you touching this too, making yourself ready for me, right? Just me?”
“Yes,” she breathed, but he shook his head.
“Don’t talk. Just take what I give you.”
She subsided against the wall, her fingernails digging into her flesh as he continued to play with her clit, which felt swollen and needy and…oh, god, she went up on her toes as he shoved several fingers inside her, drawing them in and out in a steady rhythm that drove her wild.
“Would he finger-fuck you like this in public?” he murmured against her mouth. “I bet he wouldn’t. Too scared to get caught. Too stupid not to want every second of your time, every breath, every orgasm.”
She was close to coming and moaned his name when he stopped moving his fingers. “I want all of you, all the time. Do you understand that yet?”
He went down on his knees in front of her and pushed her skirt to one side to reveal her thong underwear.
“Yeah, this, not the clothes that cover you. I don’t give a fuck about those. You can return them and keep the cash, throw it back in my face, do whatever you want as long as you are happy and you need me.” He slowly inhaled. “I want this wet, needy pussy. That’s all I want.”
She was trembling now, wanting his mouth on her so badly, but scared to speak when he’d already told her not to.
He drew the skimpy silk to one side and rubbed his mouth against her mound, his tongue flicking at her clit until her hips angled toward him and she was grinding herself against him. Fingers in her cunt, his thumb up her ass, and his tongue everywhere, bringing her to a climax that made her bite her lip to stop from screaming his name as she shuddered and shook around his skilled mouth and fingers.
When she opened her eyes and looked down, he was already waiting for her.
“I mean it,” he said quietly. “I don’t care about the clothes or the money. I just care about you. I’m stupid; I’m in love with you. I want to buy you stuff.”
Her knees gave way and she sank down to the floor beside him. His cowboy hat lay on the ground. She didn’t remember him taking it off.
“Okay.”
He looked at her. “Okay, what?”
She took a deep breath and held out her hand. “We’ll do the shoe department next, and if you behave yourself, I’ll see if I can bribe the guy in menswear to let me into the dressing room to help you out of your clothes.”
His smile was slow in coming but changed his whole face. “You’re buying me, now?”
She leaned in and kissed him, appreciating his strength, his goodness and the taste of herself on his tongue.
“Sure, I can definitely afford a few pairs of socks.”
ANOTHER CHANCE
Erobintica
“Can I start you off with some coffee?”
We’ve just barely taken off our coats and the waitress is right there. I can’t decide if I’m annoyed or relieved. I’m nervous about seeing Tom again. We haven’t seen each other in about ten years. Meeting in this little café where we’d had breakfast years before seems to lend more weight to our chance reunion than I’m comfortable with.
“I’d like a cappuccino with whipped cream and cinnamon, please.” I look over at Tom.
“Just coffee, thanks.” He smiles over at me. Oh, god. Don’t smile like that, I think. He’s just as handsome as ever, with his neatly trimmed beard and receding hairline. I’m one of those women that finds bare scalp attractive. Fiddling with my napkin seems like a good idea, so I slowly unfold it and place it on my lap. I lift my menu and stare blankly at it, not registering the descriptions of breakfast fare in this little old Greenwich Village café.
“You look great, Diane. It’s really good to see you.” Tom says this with what I can’t help but think is wistfulness.
Am I imagining that? Am I just being hopeful? It’s good to see him too. He hasn’t changed much, except for maybe a little less hair. Still gorgeous. Still that smile. Sigh. As for me, I know I’ve got a lot more gray, and my middle has filled out in a way that women my age despise. I wonder what he sees in me. I decide to just accept his compliment and not argue like I might have in the past.
“Thanks,” I say. “You too. I was so surprised to get your message last night and find out that you were in the city too.” I had been. Very surprised. We’ve been friends a long time. At one point, a number of years ago, I’d wanted to be more than friends. That ended badly, with me feeling terrible. Not that it ever really started. Since then we haven’t seen each other much at all. So to see him now is…well, interesting.
I’d gotten into the city in the afternoon, arriving at a friend’s place with just enough time to unpack and run out for a few grocery items before it got dark. She has a cozy apartment in a converted carriage house, and she lets me stay there whenever I’m in the city. This trip, though, she’s in California, and I�
��ve found it a bit lonely. When I’d read Tom’s message asking if we could meet this morning, I ignored all those uh-oh feelings and replied, I’d love to.
“So, how did you find me?” I pretty much know, but I’m curious to hear what he’ll say. The waitress comes back with our coffee and asks if we’re ready to order. She leaves with a knowing smile when we ask for a couple more minutes, as if she assumes this is some lovers’ rendezvous. We turn our attention to the menus for long enough to make our decisions. I’m surprised at the butterflies in my stomach. After so long, I didn’t expect Tom to have this effect on me.
“Oh, I do read you know. I’d come across your name several times. A year or so ago, I liked your author page, so I could follow your progress. It made me glad to see you finally having some success. Several times I thought of writing to you, but decided not to for some reason.” He pauses and stares out into space for a few seconds before continuing.
“Then I saw tonight’s reading listed. I’ve been in the city for a week on business, probably here for another week, and at first I thought I’d just show up tonight. Surprise you. But I have a dinner meeting and with my luck I’d not get done with that in time. So, I decided to send you a message and see if you could meet this morning. Yeah, I wanted to see you.”
Hearing Tom say all this makes me feel a little funny. I’d distanced myself from him after our…whatever it was, by telling myself that he really didn’t care that much about me. At least not how I wanted him to care about me. I told myself all sorts of things, though I never really knew what he was actually thinking. I manage to say, “I’m glad you did,” just as the waitress comes. We give her our orders and sit in awkward silence for what seems an eternity even if it’s only a few seconds.
Tom breaks the silence with, “I’m sorry about Rick.”
“Thanks. It is what it is. I’m managing. Throwing myself into my work and all that. I appreciate that though. You feeling bad. Well, what I mean is…” I realize I’m stammering almost, not wanting to touch the subject in this public place, yet, wanting so desperately to just throw myself into Tom’s arms and ball my head off. He’s the only one I told about Rick running off with his assistant right before his heart attack. Tom seemed to be the only one who might truly understand. He reaches over, grasps my hand, squeezes, and it’s like I can feel his embrace in that little gesture. I look at his eyes for what seems like the first time this morning. All the stirrings I ever felt before are right back like they’d never been gone. And there’s something there, in his eyes, that either I haven’t seen before or did not recognize. I decide to describe the confusion I feel sitting here with him.
“Tom, you know, I’ve kind of avoided you during the past however many years. Not sure why. Maybe embarrassment over my foolishness and knowing how all that hurt Rick. I didn’t want anyone to think now that her husband is out of the way she can go hopping into the bed of her never-quite-lover. And I know you didn’t want to be my lover, and while you made it abundantly clear, I was so self-centered that I couldn’t hear your protests.”
As I’m talking, it seems that Tom keeps being about to say something, but stops himself. I realize that I’m very afraid of what he might say; that he’ll agree with me; so I keep going.
“I wanted you, and when you finally broke through to me and made me understand that you did not want me, I was hurt. So hurt that I walked away from our friendship. I’m sorry. I may be making a name for myself now, but I’m still just as fucked up as ever.”
I’m saved from myself by the arrival of our breakfast. Tom says, “It’s okay,” and we turn to small talk as we eat. We catch up on what our grown kids are doing, our work and our current homes. We’ve both moved a couple times since…
“Sometimes I think it would have been so much easier if we could have just had an affair. Gotten it out of our, okay, my system, and then gotten on with our lives. But I guess it wasn’t to be. There. I said it.”
I’m sitting there, somewhat dumbstruck that I actually said all that. Tom is looking at me, but not with the expression I’d expect. Though these days I have no idea what to expect from anyone. I thought I had everything figured out. No such luck. He’s got this very gentle look on his face, a soft smile, and he’s not squirming like he used to when I’d get all weird and emotional.
“Like I said, Diane, it’s okay. I’m here because I wanted to see you again, in the here and now. Not to berate you for what happened before. You do a good enough job of that yourself.”
I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing myself to calm down. I’d really not expected to get this worked up. The truth of the matter is that I still want him, and that wanting makes me feel too vulnerable, too afraid I’ll repeat my tired, old patterns. I want to ask him what his motives are, as if he can’t just want to see me. And it annoys me that even after all this time, the sound of his voice is making me, postmenopausal me, wet. Does he know? Can he sense that my agitation is because I want to reach under the table and stroke his thigh? Why the fuck does being around him do this to me? Control, Diane, control.
As we finish eating, I turn the conversation to my book and the reading tonight. I’d barely begun writing when we’d had our flirtation all those years ago. Flirtation. Shit, I’d practically thrown myself at him. I’d somehow assumed he never thought of me in the intervening years, and hearing that he did, and seeing how he is with me now, makes me waver in my resolve to not get into any more messes. I assume that when we put on our coats and head out, the weather’s chill will cool me, in more ways than one. I will go my way and he will go his.
“It’s too bad I can’t come to the reading tonight. I’d love to get a copy of your book. Signed by the author, of course!” Tom says this last bit with a smile that could melt the thickest iceberg.
“Well, if you have time, you can walk with me to where I’m staying. I have a few copies I carry with me. It’s only a few blocks.” I’m not so sure I like what I’m thinking just below the surface as I say this. Tom has reawakened what at times I’ve thought of as my monster, a needy creature that likes to be touched, that wants to be kissed, that needs to lose herself in sensation. It’s been a while since she’s been out of her cage.
Tom says something else that surprises me: “Any excuse to spend a little more time with you. Let’s go then.” He’s full of surprises now.
We walk, hands in our pockets, chins tucked in scarves, past storefronts into a tree-lined neighborhood of brownstones. It feels good to be walking next to him again. It’s something I’ve always liked. I tell him about my friend and how she lets me use her place.
“When I stay here I can pretend I live in the city. It’s nice for a weekend, or even a week, though it’s been a while since I spent a whole week here, come to think of it.” I’m thinking of how he said he’d be here for another week, and how I don’t have anywhere else I really need to be. My friend had said to stay as long as I liked. Images start playing in my head, of Tom taking me in his arms, kissing me, then…
Stop that, Diane! I tell myself that he’s just being friendly like anyone would, that nothing has changed his feelings toward me, and I’m mad at myself for letting my mind wander. Silly, hopeful girl. These are my thoughts as we reach my friend’s place. There’s an iron gate and then a door, which opens into a roofed alleyway. We cross a small courtyard and as I put my key into the lock, I’m acutely aware of how close his body is to mine. I want to just lean back into him, but I don’t.
My friend’s apartment is cozy in a very contemporary way. While my abode is cluttered, full of nooks and crannies, very crazy-cat-lady, Marion’s place is all clean lines and muted, earthy colors. It’s hard for me to actually envision living here for any length of time, but it does make me feel sexy when I’m here. Maybe it’s all the low, horizontal surfaces. The sofa, the stairs, the bed in the loft.
“Let me get the book.”
Tom stands at the entryway counter, coat still on, as I approach with a copy of my
book. I’d taken my coat off and tossed it on the couch before rummaging in my book bag. I figured if I took off my coat, he would too. But it seems obvious that he’s just going to get his copy and leave, rather than stay, like I’d like him to do, against my better judgment. I feel disappointed, but try not to show it. I open the book, click my pen, and smile at him as I start to inscribe it for him.
After the Dear Tom, I pause, unsure of what I want to say. I want to say so much. I want to tell him how I thought of him as I wrote, how I used the emotions I’d felt in relation to him—the painful as well as the joyful—to shape the story. I want to tell him that I can feel the warmth of his breath right now, and that I want him to kiss me. But I don’t write that. Thanks for being such a dear friend over the years and for being so supportive as I began my writing career. If not for you…
I feel his hand rest lightly on the back of my waist and I become so aware of his fingertips, their heat through the cloth of my skirt, that I cannot finish my sentence. It’s been so long since I felt that rush of blood, that sudden arousal, I’m not sure if I’m imagining it. Without meaning to, I whisper, “Wow,” then blush.
Tom smiles and lets out a small puff of air, a not-quite-laugh, friendly and full of affection. He tilts his head and seems like he’s about to say something. Instead, he leans to me and gives my lips a quick peck. We just stand there looking at each other, not saying anything. Just looking and breathing.
Humor. This calls for humor. My fallback when I’m caught unawares. Though, to be truthful, I was so very aware it’s not even funny. And my thinking brain seems to have shut down.
“Mind trying that again while I’m not so distracted?” I give him my best flirty look, which I always worry makes me look foolish. But he’s got such a happy grin on his face that I suddenly realize it’s all right. There’s none of the weirdness from before. This time our arms go around each other, and when our lips meet, we both pause, and I swear I can feel his pulse just before our lips part and a most exquisite kiss happens.
Best Erotic Romance 2013 Page 8
