by Holly Hart
“Climb up,” Charlie says. He pitches his voice so quietly it’s almost impossible to hear him. I’m forced to lean forward and strain to catch every last word.
My forehead furrows with confusion. “What?”
Charlie pats the marble kitchen unit. He sweeps the newspapers aside with one arm. “Here.”
“Why?” I ask.
A shiver of excitement runs down my spine. I love it when Charlie orders me around. I don’t know what it is exactly – the tailored suit, perhaps, or the age difference between us – but it’s thrilling.
“Because I said so,” Charlie says as if it’s the only explanation I’ll ever need.
I wait.
Charlie sighs lightly, but the look of excitement in his eyes – and the bulge in his crotch which shows no signs of disappearing – tells me he likes it when I play mouse to his cat.
“And because we can’t have sex yet – right?” He says.
I flinch, thinking of the aching pain between my legs. I don’t understand how something as beautiful, as perfect as losing my virginity to Charlie can end up in such raw discomfort.
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“But you want to, don’t you?”
It’s like Charlie Thorne can read my mind. Heck, maybe I should let him take me right now.
“Climb up,” he repeats.
I do as he asks this time without complaining. The marble is cool against my thighs.
“Lie down.”
Again, I obey him.
“Unbutton your top.”
“Charlie –!”
“I said,” Charlie growls in a threatening, challenging tone that sends a whisper of fire coursing through my core. “Unbutton your top!”
I obey him. How can I do anything else? I’m carried along on a tidal wave of anticipation that drowns any protest I might be able to put together.
I’m not wearing a bra. The lightest of breezes from the penthouse’s AC system dances across my chest, and my nipples harden on my chest.
“Better,” Charlie whispers with excitement.
That sound excites me more than anything. I’ve stolen this man’s – my husband’s – breath away with nothing more than the sight of my skin.
Charlie tugs the pajama bottoms down my thighs. I’m not wearing underwear, but this time, my pussy is completely hairless.
“When did you do that?” Charlie asks in that same breathless voice.
I squeeze my eyes shut to hide from the embarrassment creeping onto my cheeks. “It was a surprise,” I say. “I was going to wait for a special occasion before I showed you.”
“This seems plenty special to me,” Charlie says.
I’m naked now, except for the pajama top still hugging my shoulders.
“Keep your eyes closed,” Charlie orders. He lifts me up and frees me from the top, before gently laying me to rest on the marble. Goosebumps break out on my skin as it comes flush with the cool stone.
“Why? What are you doing?”
I want to open my eyes more than anything. I want to watch Charlie. In the darkness, every sensation seems multiplied a thousand times. I don’t know where Charlie is, but I can hear him pacing around me. I hear the rustle and clink as he moves items around; the clip of his leather soles against the floor.
“Wait and see.”
Charlie scrapes his fingernails down my naked belly. He does it slowly, so that my back arches as the anticipation builds. I feel the heat growing between my legs – and he’s barely touched me!
“Lie down and stay completely still.”
I press the small of my back against the marble and wait.
And wait.
Charlie holds completely still. He does it for so long that I begin to wonder if he is even there at all – but I know better than to open my eyes. The excitement courses through my body. My heart beat is rapid and irregular, the breath ragged in my lungs, the flash of heat burning between my legs like a volcano.
Something touches me, just above the bellybutton.
“What’s that?” I whimper as the unexpected sensation tickles me, adding to the pleasure building throughout my body.
“Lie completely still, I said.”
I do, but god I don’t want to.
Whatever it was, it’s still there. It’s tiny and circular. I feel it dancing on my skin every time I breathe.
Charlie touches me again, an inch lower. Again, he leaves something behind, and again it tickles my skin.
Again and again, he does it. He leaves a trail of – something – up and down my body, from half an inch above my hairless pussy to the very top of my cleavage.
“Open your mouth,” Charlie orders. I do as he asks, but it’s hard to concentrate. My skin is on fire, and yet at the same time, a forest of goose bumps is growing on every inch of me as the penthouse’s cool air passes across my skin.
“Wider.”
I do it. I can’t imagine what I look like, mouth wide open like a suckling pig, but I do as Charlie asks regardless. My body is definitely on fire in certain places: between my legs, and…
… my cheeks. I can’t imagine what I must look like: naked and decorated with God only knows what.
Charlie lowers something into my mouth. It freaks me out, but I don’t let the panic show. like It feels like textured bark, whatever it is.
“Now bite.”
“I can’t,” I whimper. I’m afraid.
“Do it,” Charlie says. His voice is firm and holds no prospect that I can ignore him.
I summon up every last inch of courage in my entire body. My jaw trembles, but I do as Charlie asks. I bite down – tentatively at first.
And – my incisors scythe through a strawberry. The sweet juice drips down my tongue. My head tips back against the marble and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Not what you expected?” Charlie asks; his voice laced with humor.
“Better.”
“Just you wait.”
I do, but not for long. Charlie’s lips brush mine in an upside down, Spiderman kiss. I feel his heat travel lower. I feel his breath tickle my skin.
His tongue darts out, his lips graze my upper chest. “Blueberry,” he whispers.
What the hell?
Charlie kisses me on the lips once again. And then I taste it: blueberry. That’s what he’s been leaving on my skin: berries!
Charlie goes lower, building the anticipation, eating the various flavors of berries that are balanced precariously on my skin. Every inch of me is on fire now, burning up for Charlie’s touch.
Every time his lips graze my skin, I flinch.
My nipples are as sharp as needles, as hard as diamonds. I press my legs together as the pleasure between them begins to grow. And all the while, Charlie eats his way down my body.
“Blackberry,” Charlie whispers. Then I taste it.
“Cranberry,” he says at the last. I don’t even know what a cranberry is! It’s sweet and sharp, all at once – at least, it is on Charlie’s lips.
Then, with a start, I realize where Charlie is: an inch from the slit between my legs. He blows a thin funnel of air between my legs, and my back arches.
“Please…” I whisper.
Then he does it. He spreads my legs wide and kisses me between them. I bite the inside of my lip, and push my hips toward him. Sparks crackle between my eyes, and my hands scrunch against newspaper in my desperate attempt to find something solid to hold.
“Don’t stop,” I moan.
Charlie doesn’t.
19
Charlie
I pull the black limousine into the ‘arrivals’ terminal at JFK airport. The suit I’m wearing itches uncomfortably at the neck, and my white shirt billows around my toned stomach. Neither the cut nor the quality is what I’m used to.
I make a note to myself to provide a clothing budget to my drivers. I’ve never noticed them looking unkempt before, but now that I’ve felt what it’s like, I’ll never be able to forget it. That’s jus
t the way my mind works.
So what if it costs a few thousand bucks?
Well – a few tens of thousands of bucks, by the time I’ve kitted them all out…
It doesn’t matter. As long as they represent me – which they do – they deserve the best.
I shake my head, freeing myself of the distraction. Sometimes I wonder why my brain is the way it is: constantly searching for problems to solve. I guess it has to do with how I made it so far up the slippery pole of capitalism.
I signal right and duck into a parking bay.
Well, with a twenty foot-long limousine it’s not exactly ducking, but you get my drift. The thing lumbers like a pregnant Panda, and I have a newfound respect for my driver. I’m so used to getting behind the wheels of two hundred thousand dollar sports cars that this is like taking the reins of an overweight elephant.
I pull the driver’s cap down low over my face. Over the last couple of days – for the first time in years – I’ve allowed a little bit of stubble to decorate my cheeks. To my horror, and Penny’s delight, the black hairs are speckled with gray.
I relax back into the seat and wait.
The covered ‘arrivals’ area quickly fills with high-end sports cars, and more than a dozen black limousines just like mine. The great and the good of Manhattan have turned out in numbers to pick up their children from the hockey tour.
Well – to be more accurate, I should say that their drivers have.
I look around. Sure, a couple of open-shirted hedge fund managers have taken the day off, still hooked to the latest feeds from the market on their phones.
But mostly the cars are driven by staff.
My lip curls with distaste. I promised Tilly right at the start that I wasn’t going to be one of those dads. No matter how much success I got – or didn’t get – I promised I’d always be there for her. I said that right at the start, and I’ve never broken my word.
A few minutes later, the girls start streaming through the airport’s sliding glass doors. The staff comes first, with harried, exhausted looks on their faces. I don’t blame them. I’m not sure I’d take a pack of eleven-year-old girls across Europe for a week.
I’m not sure I’d survive…
I reach over to the passenger seat and pick up a wipe clean whiteboard. I hurriedly scrawl “Thorne” on to it, and kick the door open.
Before leaving the limousine, I check my face one last time. I got Penny to apply a touch of makeup – just a little – just enough to darken my eyes, and to deepen some of the crow’s feet beginning to mark my skin.
I grin.
Penny did a damn fine job. Between the suit, the driver’s, the half-beard and the makeup, I look like a different person.
I’ve no doubt that Tilly will see right through the disguise. She’s the smartest kid I know, but I hope it’ll hold out for a while: enough to draw a smile.
I knock the limousine’s driver door closed with my foot, and go stand amongst the gaggle of drivers ringing the glass doors, purposefully slumping my posture. The kids are starting to stream out now, dragging huge, heavy suitcases behind them.
“Come on, Hailey,” a stressed-looking executive grunts. “You can say your goodbyes another time. I’ve got to get back to the office.”
Some hello that is…
The worst bit is, Hailey doesn’t even argue. I get the sense that the kid has been through this a hundred times before. She waves sadly to her friends, and takes off after her father, still dragging her own suitcase behind.
The scene is repeated half a dozen times, though with less intensity. The pile of schoolgirls: all of them dressed in unkempt gray, and purple-hemmed uniforms; all the worse for wear after an eight hour flight from London; begins to winnow away.
Still no Tilly…
It’s just me and a few other drivers now. I grimace. If she sees me here, standing alone, there’s no way my cover will fly. I spin, looking for inspiration.
And I find it.
“Hey, dude,” I say to a passing traveler, dressed in floral-print shorts and flip-flops. “Can I bum a cigarette?”
“Sure, dude,” the man says in a drawn-out California drawl. “You look like you could use it…”
I grimace. Not exactly what I want to hear. “Thanks.”
“You need a light?” ‘Floral-print shorts’ asks.
I don’t smoke.
I shake my head, and pat my breast pocket as if to indicate I’ve got a zippo lighter stashed away. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks buddy.”
He shrugs and carries on. I put the cigarette in my mouth, and leave it hanging there. Next I loosen my tie a little, so it’s hanging around my neck somewhat like a noose.
Better.
Then I see her –
– Tilly: my daughter.
She’s still the most beautiful, most incredible person I’ve ever seen in my life. I can’t believe that a part of me is in her; that I helped make something so special. I didn’t realize quite how much I’ve missed her while she’s been away until now.
She’s got both arms behind her back, and she’s dragging her suitcase on its side, rather than by the wheels.
I start walking forward.
“Darn,” she mumbles, looking back. She turns around to right the case, and I approach her quickly while she’s distracted.
“You Tilly Thorne?” I ask. I affect a thick, rough, smoker’s voice, and cough a couple of times into the back of my hand for good effect.
“D’you need me to grab that?” I grunt, jerking my head at the suitcase.
“No, don’t worry,” Tilly says – still focused on the case behind her. “I’ve got it.”
My heart swells with pride when I hear her say that. I just watched dozens of spoiled kids clicks her fingers and watch their parents’ driver jump, and I’m so glad that Tilly’s not like that.
“Are you sure?” I ask – in my normal voice this time.
“Seriously,” Tilly replies, huffing – with effort, not attitude – as she kicks her suitcase back onto its wheels. “It’s cool. I’m stronger than I –”
Tilly freezes.
She turns her head slowly, as if she doesn’t believe what she’s seeing. Then she drops the suitcase entirely and comes running towards me.
“Daddy!”
My daughter throws herself into my arms from a running start. She’s captain of the hockey team, and she’s already well past my waist – taller than a girl her age has any right to be. She knocks the air clean out of my lungs as she collides with me, but I don’t care.
I can’t hide the smile that grabs hold of my face.
“Tils,” I smile, nuzzling her hair. “I was beginning to think maybe you didn’t make it on board at all…”
She squeezes her arms around me. When she pulls her head back, I swear I see tiny glistening tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes.
“Shurrup,” she says in a muted voice. I can tell that her throat and chest are all clenched up with emotion.
“I was about to send the jet,” I wink. “To make sure you didn’t get lost on the way!”
I set Tilly back down on the ground.
“It was my bag,” she says. She wrinkles her nose at the offending suitcase. “It kept tipping over.”
I cast my eyes over it. The item in question is bulging in all the wrong places. “Looks over-packed to me,” I grin.
Tilly puts her hands on her hips. “I wasn’t looking for your opinion, daddy,” she says.
“Want me to carry it?” I ask.
Tilly frowns. I can tell she wants to say yes, but she’s standing on her pride. I like that. It’s exactly the kind of bloody-mindedness I want to see in my daughter.
“It’s fine,” she says. “I’ve got it.”
I walk over toward the limousine with my daughter my side. I’m so happy to have her back I can’t help the smile that keeps breaking over my face like the dawn sun peeping through bothersome clouds.
We heave the suitcase into
the back – together – and climb in.
“How was it then?” I ask, reaching over and tousling Tilly’s hair before I put the key in the ignition. The engine rumbles on, and I signal to move out into the slow flow of traffic.
Tilly looks exhausted. She’s never flown commercial before this trip – only on my jet. I offered – half-jokingly – to fly the whole school over on it, but Tilly declined with a look of horror on her face.
“No way!” she protested. “I’m not a show off, daddy!”
More pride. So much pride I wonder sometimes if I might just explode.
“It was amazing,” Tilly says, her enthusiasm racing through the exhaustion. “I mean, wet. Really, really wet. It didn’t quit raining all week, but otherwise it was incredible. We went to Buckingham Palace, and Windsor Castle, and to Stonehenge –”
“How was that?” I interrupt.
“Stonehenge?” Tilly chews her lip. I know that look. It’s when she wants to say something, but worries people will look at her the wrong way for it. “To be honest…”
“Always,” I say, turning onto the highway.
She giggles. “It was just a pile of stones in the ground. And busy, so, so busy! The museum was closed for some reason, so we had to look at it from the road.”
I make a face. “Oh.”
“But the rest of it was amazing. I can’t wait to show you all the pictures I took.”
“I can’t wait to see them,” I say.
There’s a short silence, interrupted only occasionally by the sound of a stone ricocheting off the limousine’s chassis. My mind travels back to the topic that has been attacking it all week. How the hell am I going to tell her about Penny?
“Is everything okay, daddy?” she asks. Damn. I forgot how smart this kid is. I can’t hide anything from her; never have been able to.
“Listen, Tilly,” I mumble, chewing my lip. “There’s something I need to tell you…”
Tilly glances at me, and I meet her gaze. She’s got the same eyes as me: gray, except hers have a hint of hazel as well, sparkling like shards of glitter. She’s so freaking young and innocent, my heart feels ready to explode.
