True North

by Liora Blake

  “What?”

  Shaking my head, I give him small smile. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to be any sexier than you already are. Then you go and have a Rilke poem tattooed on your arm.” Drawing my mouth down, I start to run my lips over the words with moist, slow, openmouthed kisses.

  “I don’t see any tattoos on your hot little body. No spring-break tramp-stamp regrets for you?”

  “Nope.” I look up at him. “Disappointed?”

  Trevor sits up and puts his face next to mine. “Absolutely not. I love how pure and smooth your skin is. Every inch of you is spectacular.”

  I move my mouth to his, open and wet, taking tiny nips of his lower lip. Shoving his hands into my hair, he twists it in his fingers and kisses me greedily.

  Leaning back, he reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a condom. “Come on, put the last of these six-dollar condoms on me. I want you on top.”

  I take the package and tear it open.

  “Six-dollar condom?”

  “Hotel gift shop. That’s why I had to go in there. I was so wound up about meeting you at the club and thinking about having to wear something other than a hoodie that I blanked on showing up prepared. Eighteen bucks plus tax for a three-pack, but I guess they figure if you’re a guy in a hotel looking for condoms at the last minute, you’ll pay anything.”

  I wriggle back a few inches to give myself enough room. Taking him in my hands, I stroke a bit before positioning the condom and then rolling it down slowly.

  “Do you want me to reimburse you for half? You sound annoyed at the price,” I offer while continuing my work.

  “I would have paid whatever they asked. Or handed over the keys to my car. I didn’t give a shit, I just wanted to get you alone.” He grunts and lets his head fall back. “You’re killing me here, Katie. Hurry. Up.”

  When I’m finally done, he sits up again and grabs me around the waist, lifting me up and toward him. With him poised just beneath me, every kind of arousal fires inside. Letting my hips fall slowly, him filling me so fully, I gasp and then moan in relief.

  “You like that?” His hands are against my thighs, pushing down so I can’t move much. “Just feel it for a second. Feel how deep I am.”

  My head rolls against my shoulder and I shut my eyes. I want to move so badly. He answers my unspoken thoughts. “You wanna move, Kate? Slide that wet pussy all over me and rub your clit against me?”

  Holy hell, the way he just says things. So hot, so completely dirty it makes every part of my body flare with need. I bite my lip and mumble. “Mmhmm. Please.”

  Trevor rolls back down from me to lie against the pillows.

  “Then give me a show. Fuck me.”

  When I open my eyes, he’s watching me and I’ve never felt so sexually exposed before in my life. Despite the emotional nakedness it inspires, I don’t care. I don’t care that he’s looking at me like I’m a goddam stripper or something, that his gaze is nearly pure objectification. I don’t care because I like the way it feels when he wants me and that he doesn’t care how brashly he says so. With this sensation running through me, I start to move. I pull up and down over his length, Trevor running his hands along my thighs in time with my movements, and then sucking in a low hiss through his clenched teeth.

  “That’s it, baby. Christ, I’ve thought about this nonstop since the second I met you. I wanted you so damn much.”

  I can’t get enough of his words, telling me what to do and what he wants, because everything he says is just right and I don’t have to think about anything. When he tells me to touch my breasts and roll my nipples, it feels like I might come right then. When he directs me to slow and grind against him, my ragged breath yields unnaturally in anticipation.

  Finally, when he tells me to lean back and put my hands on his thighs, bracing my body, I know I’m so close that a few perfect, firm nudges against my clit and I’ll lose it. I’m panting and moaning, rolling my hips, waiting for his next directive. At this point, I’m convinced he knows what my body needs better than I do. His words all come out huskily and even a bit harsh, but behind that, I can hear a tethered passion that he’s merely trying to hold on to as long as he can.

  “Fuck, go hard and fast now, move that sexy little body so I can see everything. I want to hear you scream when you come all over me, baby, do it for me.”

  That’s it. Once I give in, I’m falling apart almost immediately. I scream out, with no care for anyone else in the hotel, no care that the shades in the hotel windows are drawn back completely, no care that the housekeeping staff might report a crime in this room from all the noise and cursing.

  Right as I stiffen, blind to everything but this feeling, he starts to thrust his hips up into me, taking me so hard that my screams become ecstasy with a shade of pain. Just before pain eclipses the rest, his wild grasping hands tighten around the soft skin at my waist as he shouts a litany of dirty, cursing words.

  When we both come down enough to focus, I’m sitting upright but motionless on top of him, my head fallen back and hanging uselessly. Suddenly, I start to giggle, low and quiet because every part of my body is both exhausted and alive.

  “Jesus Christ. You know how to make a girl want to miss her flight.”

  Flopping forward to lie on his chest, I kiss along his chin gently. Trevor chuckles softly, a weak and content sound.

  “It’s all part of my diabolical plan. For my next move, I plan to venture out of this room to bring you the best coffee in LA and . . . wait for it . . .” He lifts one arm and points toward the ceiling, signaling that he’s about to reveal something important. “A cronut.”

  Lifting my head, I stare at him, befuddled. “What the hell is a cronut?”

  Trevor cocks his head to see my face. “You haven’t heard of a cronut? It’s a cross between a donut and a croissant. Filled with stuff. I don’t know exactly what, but it’s awesome. If you think last night was good, wait until I lay one of these on you. I’m not too proud to admit that the cronut may surpass all of my previous efforts to please you.”

  “Doubtful. But I am intrigued by this ‘cronut’ you describe.” I roll off him and point toward the door. “Go. Bring me this exotic concoction. With strong black coffee. I’ll get a shower while you’re out.”

  Leaping up from the bed, I head toward the bathroom because if I don’t, our naked bodies will convince us otherwise and I’ll never get anything in my now loudly growling belly.

  “It’s a good thing I’m staring at your perfect little ass while you make demands. I don’t normally let people order me around.”

  Shutting the bathroom door, I call out, “I’m sure you don’t. It’s good for you, though. Now hurry up!”

  In the privacy of the bathroom, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Between the marks around my waist from his hands gripping me and the small red welts that dot my neck, my breasts, and my jaw from where his teeth nipped the skin, I look like I’ve been ridden pretty hard. Which I have, in the best ways.

  Tracing my hand over each spot, the feel of my fingers brings a flood of tactile memories to my skin. The sensation is potent, making my breath slow. I gaze at my face and grin, widely, almost laughing aloud. Scrubbing my hands down over my face, I try to push away from the powerful feeling and focus on practical things. Like brushing my teeth, for example. A simple task to focus on. One even I can handle right now.

  I load up my toothbrush and scrub away, still grinning at myself in the mirror. As I start the faucet and rinse my mouth, I can hear Trevor dressing and then his phone ringing, all loud and jarring. He must be in the sitting area, probably trying to find his shirt, because I can hear him clearly.

  “Hello? . . . Hey, my little panda cub, how are you?”

  A light, playful tone fills the air as he speaks. He laughs and then snorts into the phone.

  “No, no, I’m not there right now. . . . Yup, I’ll be there to get you this afternoon. Don’t forget your bike helmet; we’re going to ride bike
s after school. . . . Sure, maybe we’ll get a frozen yogurt after. . . . OK, little one, have a good day at school, all right? . . . Yeah, put her on the phone for me, OK? . . .”

  My breathing gets shallow as I try to listen to him. Eavesdropping is what some might call it. Who is he talking to? A kid? Oh God, does he have a kid? I feel like an idiot that I just spent the night doing all sorts of utterly naughty things with a man and I don’t even know if he has a kid or not. Surely, it has something to do with that dress I wore last night. A woman can make only irrational decisions when her dress is that small.

  When he starts to speak again, I hold my breath and lean toward the door, listening as closely as I can.

  “Yeah, I didn’t make it home. . . . I was at the studio all night. Damien is riding my ass to get the rough cuts done before we leave town. . . . No, I’m good, I just left the studio, and I’m going to get something to eat now. . . . I crashed on the couch. I’m getting too old for that shit. . . . Yeah, I’ll be there to pick her up this afternoon. Make sure she has her bike helmet, OK? . . . Thanks. Yeah, love you, too.”

  Suddenly, I can’t see straight. Pressing my forehead against the door, all I can focus on is the wood grain. Each dark, spotted trail of knotted wood, enmeshed with lighter sections that look like flat little swirling cyclones. If I focus on it enough, perhaps I can forget what I just heard. Outside the door, I hear him pull the zipper up on his pants and the clink of his belt as he secures it.

  Shit. How different that same noise sounded last night, going the other direction. Then, it was anticipation, desire, and longing. Now, in the harsh light of this bathroom, with his phone call ringing in my brain, it’s regret and a vague sense I might be sick.

  Turning the lock on the bathroom door, I move slowly across the small room to start the shower, bracing my arms against the counter and the wall so I don’t collapse from the yuck-filled panic coursing through me. Slinking down the bathroom wall as the room fills quickly with steam, I hear him leave, the heavy hotel room door slamming behind him.

  How did this happen? How did I sleep with someone without knowing he has a kid and a girlfriend? A baby mama? Please, no, a wife? Regardless, it’s someone he had to lie to about where he was. Someone he would say “I love you” to.

  The air in the room is so thick with steam, I start to feel dizzy, even sitting down. I move to the shower and turn the dial so the water is cool enough to step into. Under the strong stream, my body starts to ache, a soreness that feels so different from the last twelve hours. This ache is uncomfortable and heavy, as if I’ve been thrown around like a rag doll instead of ridden blissfully hard.

  Why would I let this happen? How could I not know, or think to ask, if this man couldn’t be mine alone? Now, in light of this pain, it seems so clear. The whole time, I knew none of it made sense; his effort to be with me simply didn’t reconcile. All the while, some poor woman is at home with his kid. Taking the kid to school and remembering bike helmets. Being lied to about long studio nights and demanding producers who just won’t let up.

  Framed this way, it’s obvious. All of it. The pieces come together like a sad lite-rock song about heartbreak. Convenient. Cliché. Fucking typical for a goddam rock star in LA. Christ, Kate, bury your head in the sand much?

  The anger seeping through my blood makes me scrub my scalp violently with the sharp ends of my fingernails. I want to have every single minute of the last few weeks run down the drain and into the sewer system of this disgusting city. Suds run along my body, over my breasts, and between my legs, where everything stings. I force my hands to caress tenderly, trying to bring some type of reassurance to myself, so that I can stop hearing the tirade in my head. What a pathetic, naïve idiot I am.

  Tears well in my eyes and I let them fall. Somehow, the tears prick warmer against my face than even the steaming shower water. Why does this hurt so much? How can a single night, strung together with a few phone calls, sting so badly in the morning light? Something about this blind, headfirst tumble into bed with a man I hardly know makes it so much worse. I could blame it on him, but he owes me nothing. There is a pathetic woman at home somewhere to whom he really owes an apology. Not me. I’m just last night’s conquest.

  Shutting off the water, I step out to dry my raw body, drawing the towel over each limb gently so that I don’t start to cry again. Standing unsteadily from the smothering mist in the room, I swipe away the steam from the mirror and see my reflection differently. Instead of grinning this time, all I can do is look for a moment, then turn away in loathing.

  The click of the door opening echoes in the entryway as I hear him rustling bags and dropping his keys on the coffee table. I realize that I bounded into the bathroom naked, not thinking to bring clothes in with me, and now I’ll have to go out there without looking at him or having him see me naked again. Turning the scenario around in my mind, it’s easy to decide there’s no need for yelling, demands, or drama. I can end this by shutting the door on my memories of last night and turning the lock for good.

  Wrapping a towel around me, I dry my hair quickly, leaving it in loose waves and slightly damp. Staring at the door handle, I turn the lock and step out into the room, where the cool air-conditioned environment allows me a full breath, unimpeded by thick steam from the shower. Pulling the towel tighter around my chest, I step to my suitcase and dig out some jeans and a T-shirt.

  “OK, get over here. I want to watch your face as you experience your first cronut.” Trevor is half lying on the bed, reading a spread-out newspaper. A pastry box is open in the middle, so I can see the infamous cronuts, and my stomach growls loudly. I’m famished, but I won’t take another thing from him even if it means I die right here from starvation.

  “No, I’m good.” Grabbing the stack of clothes, I head back into the bathroom. After I dress and wrap my hair into a loose side braid, I sweep all my things off the bathroom counter into makeup bags and kick the wet towels under the sink.

  When I step back out into the bedroom, Trevor is sitting upright, holding his coffee in his hands and staring down at the lid. He looks up at me with a confused and wounded expression on his beautiful face, and I can barely stand it. Pulling away, I start to throw clothes in my suitcase haphazardly. Looking around the room for anything I might have missed, I wave my hand in his direction nonchalantly.

  “I’ll get a cab. I’ve got to get going so I don’t miss my flight. Let me get you some money for the coffee.”

  I stride into the sitting room and pick up my purse off the floor where I left it last night, when my dress was around my waist and his hands were on my bare skin. Fishing out a five-dollar bill, I stand and Trevor is right behind me. I hold out the money to him and he looks at it like I’m handing him a dead rat.

  “What the hell happened in the last twenty minutes? Give me a clue, because I feel like I walked into the wrong hotel room.” His arms circle my waist and he takes a step forward.

  “Don’t.” I shove his arms away, escaping his touch. “Go home and take your cronuts with you. I’m sure someone is expecting you.”

  Trevor crosses his arms over his chest, pulling the fabric of his shirt tight across his taut shoulders and strong arms. It distracts me for a millisecond, but I find my anger again, by thinking about how he made me feel last night and then how he took everything away in only a few minutes.

  “No way. I’m not leaving until I get a straight fucking answer. After last night, I think I deserve at least that.”

  Sputtering out a choking laugh, I walk back to the bedroom, calling over my shoulder. “That’s rich. You deserve at least that, huh? Just go or I’ll—”

  “What? Call the cops? News flash, I’ve been arrested a million times and I don’t really give a shit. Just tell me what the hell is going on.”

  I stuff the top of my suitcase down and tug the zipper closed. Lugging it out to the entryway, I toss it against the wall where he stands. “I heard you on the phone.”

  “So?”


  “So? Are you kidding me? You think because I opened my legs like a slut for you that I don’t care about being your latest side dish? I was married once and I take that shit seriously. The whole ‘forsaking all others’ thing.”

  Trevor shakes his head and looks around the room.

  “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not married. I’m not with anyone.” He holds up his left hand, presumably trying to show me his bare ring finger. Like that even matters.

  As much as I want to scream at the top of my lungs, I steady my voice and steel my bones so I’m standing as tall as I possibly can. Out of heels, I’m significantly shorter than he is, making my tough stance harder to maintain.

  “Call it whatever you want. I heard you. Talking to your kid and then whoever it was you had to lie to about being in the studio all night.” I use annoying air quotes about the studio time and feel like a moron when I realize it. “So, this thing, whatever it was, is completely over.”

  A smile creeps across his face and he starts to laugh. Really laugh, and without shame. My mouth drops open in astonishment. The fricking nerve of this guy.

  “I don’t have a kid. I was talking to McKenna. She’s my six-year-old niece.”

  I stifle a sudden sense of regret and confusion. His niece. No matter, because that only explains one small piece of the puzzle.

  “Fine. Good for you, being such a great uncle. You’re a dreamboat. But, I’m guessing whoever you said ‘I love you’ to wouldn’t appreciate being lied to about your whereabouts last night.”

  “You mean my mom?” He stares at me, not laughing anymore. His mouth stiffens into a hard line, clenching his jaw as he raises his eyebrows at me, waiting for my reaction. “I mean, I could have told her where I was last night, locked in a hotel room fucking you senseless, but it might have been kind of weird. We’re pretty close, but I don’t think she really wants to know what her son was doing with you last night.”

  Without a thought, my hand shoots up to my mouth and my eyes go wide. Shit.