“I’m sorry,” I whisper. His eyes open and he kisses me. He worships my mouth with his. His hand gently folds around the back of my neck and his fingers carefully circle into my hair. We’re both naked; sitting nose to nose and I am completely unashamed. I’m not embarrassed at all to be completely naked and exposed before him. It’s unnerving even to me how right this feels, how comfortable.
I interlace my fingers into his hair and tug softly. I trace his neck with my lips, and kiss him softly, all over his neck and collar. He sighs, closes his eyes and lets his head drop back. I study his beauty for a moment and then proceed to kiss his closed eyelids and admire his full, thick lashes as they fan against his cheek. His nimble fingers trace feather-light up and down my spine. My heart is still beating violently in the confines of my chest. I don’t know what’s happening to me, or what I’m doing—but I relinquish any fear or hesitation.
He circles his arms around my waist again. Putting his head down on my shoulder, he pushes me back onto the bed and my head sinks into the plush feather pillows.
He lazily slides back inside of me. I’m already slick, so his blooming erection is welcomed without demur.
He pushes himself into me and my body grips his resplendent manhood. He intoxicates me; he makes me feel high in the best way possible. He worships me with his hands and I worship him right back with my insatiable kisses. He seems to understand that in order for me to do this, to be tender and acquiescent, I need him right here, as close to me as possible.
He continues to slowly push in and out of me, pushing deeper and deeper inside of me each time. I hold him close to me; his lips brush delicately against my skin. I’m succumbing to him, to this.
I vow to myself that this will be the one and only time that I do things his way. I better make it count. He continues to stroke and slide hungrily, yet delicately, in and out of me, his mouth pressed firmly against mine. My body begins to climb. It’s different this time. It feels like I’m falling or soaring even. I’m high above the clouds and my stomach is waiting to drop.
I deepen our kiss and run my hands through his hair as he begins to move faster. I feel sore, as he must know. He’s being extraordinarily careful and tender with me. I wrap my legs over his and push myself into him, tilting my hips upwards. I fold my arms over his shoulders, bringing him closer. Time slips away…
Slowly and lazily we release together. Quietly. Our hands clasped together above my head, our lips touching. Until a moment later I drift off... into a dream… or reality. At this point I can’t tell one from the other.
Chapter 12
I flutter my eyelids open. Vincent is draped around me, his head resting on my chest, breathing deeply. I softly twirl my fingers through his hair. What is happening? Why isn’t my plan working? I feel strings being tugged from inside of me, strings that are becoming tightly laced somewhere within Vincent. I watch his breath rise and fall; his face soft and relaxed. I trace his brows, the tips of his ears, and absorb the feeling of the soft scrape of his stubble against my chest. I turn and angle my head to get a view of the clock, I have no idea what time it is. I widen my eyes when I register where the hour hand is. It’s 11 a.m.!!! We slept for three hours! I bolt upright and shove Vincent’s shoulder as the soft drowsy feeling I was just experiencing dissolves away.
“Vincent! Vincent, wake up! I have to get to work!” I’m beyond panicked. He rolls onto his back and slowly opens his eyes. He’s completely naked, and of course I have to drag my greedy eyes away from him and snap myself back to the present. His eyes meet mine. Oops, caught staring. But—fuck, he is gorgeous.
“Ok, you don’t have a boss. You’ll be fine,” he croaks sleepily.
“What? I have customers and Jordan is probably worried about me; I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s called Maggie by now! I never open up shop past 10!” I’m aware that I’m screeching, my voice is shrill and panicky.
He sits up slowly. “Let me take you to breakfast,” he says calmly, completely disregarding my anxiety.
“Are you even listening to me? Don’t you have to work?” I narrow my eyes at him. Why isn’t he moving his ass?
“No. I’m finished with that, or I will be, very soon. I have no obligations at present.” He smiles softly, without a care in the world.
“Ok. Well, I have to get to work.” I get up and start dressing. My clothes are scattered all over the floor. I slide my leggings up over my naked rear end. I’m in too much of a hurry to be shy about my nudity. He continues to lie there in his big comfy bed, not moving. I slide my bra on and take his shirt from the floor. I button the top buttons and tie the bottom in a knot so that it’s more flattering on me. With his arms behind his head, he watches me with a wry smile.
“Looks better on you than it does me,” his eyes are gleaming. I try not to get caught up in his carefree mood.
I have burlesque practice tonight, too. He needs to get up. I pick up one of the pillows that have fallen to the floor and hurl one at him, hard. It hits his face, but he still doesn’t move.
He sits up after a century. I give him my best reproachful stare.
“Fine. I’ll call Jordan and have him pick me up.” I turn away, my eyes search for a phone. He pads his way to his armoire, pulls on a white t-shirt, and black jeans. No underwear. He catches me staring again. Why does he have to be so fucking sexy?
“Only seems fair since you don’t have your underwear on either,” he grins. He slides his feet into a pair of crispy-white, low-top Converse, no socks. He takes a black leather jacket hanging from a hook next to his bed and slips it on.
He has the best sex hair. He has that James Dean thing going on. He looks free and easy, and dangerous, and not at all like a businessman, or whatever the heck he is. My anger subsides as I ogle him. He’s so attractive. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. His blue eyes twinkle mischievously. He knows the affect he has on me.
“Let’s negotiate something,” he says with a half smile.
I roll my eyes. “I’m listening. But you’re still not moving fast enough. Let’s negotiate on the way to the elevator.”
My annoyance has returned. I need to turn away from him, so I make my way over to the kitchen. At least it’s closer to the front door. He follows, and looks at me as he pulls out a stool from under the kitchen island and takes a seat. I stomp toward him, and cross my arms. I must not be very intimidating because he doesn’t bat an eyelash.
“I may be willing to do things on your terms, on one condition. No—wait. Two conditions.” He smiles at me and runs his fingers through his sexy hair. My arms drop to my sides. He looks nervous. My stomach is suddenly in knots. I arch an eyebrow, signaling for him to continue.
“Take today off—” he starts, but I cut him off and start shaking my head.
No, absolutely not.
“Wait! Let me at least finish. Take today off, and tomorrow night come with me to my grandmother’s 80th birthday dinner, and we can...talk more about what it is you want from me. I might be willing to consider doing this your way.”
He looks up at me with a delectably shy expression. I’m a little stunned. He’s willing to talk about it? Try my just-sex, no relationship-relationship?
I soften a little, and look down to the floor, feeling a burst of shyness.
“If it means I get to have you around, and see you when I want to, then I think I’ll be willing to do anything you want. Even if you just want me for my body,” he adds sarcastically and looks up at me, waiting for my reply with a shy, playful smile on his lips.
He looks vulnerable, sexy, and so sincere. It’s almost heartbreaking. I look up to the ceiling, and take a deep steadying breath. I feel like a million and a half butterflies have just exploded from within my ribcage.
I meet his eyes again, “Fine. But I’m hungry and I still need to use your phone.” I try my best to sound irate, but I’m actually happy he’s willing to consider my arrangement, or whatever it is I want from him. I want him around, too. I like seeing him. It’s just t
hat…I know the first priority is to remain…guarded. Keep it physical.
I repeat my mantra in my head. Nobody will get hurt if it’s purely physical, no confusion, and no tangle of emotions.
He stands, and smiles and reaches out to take my hand in his. A tight knot forms inside my chest as his fingers gently squeeze my own. He slides his hand to the base of my skull and presses his lips against mine.
“Oh, and I have to be at Kazumi’s studio by 7 tonight,” I mutter between kisses.
He nods and smiles, obviously feeling victorious. I roll my eyes again, which only makes his smile widen. He kisses me once more.
He hands me his home phone and I quickly dial Jordan.
“Hello,” he snaps.
“Hi. It’s me,” I try to speak quietly.
“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been to your shop, you weren’t there, it was ten-thirty and you hadn’t opened! I wanted coffee. I was about to call Maggie, you little shi—”
“Ugh, alright! I’m okay, Jordan. I just called to tell you I won’t be back in Uptown until practice.” There’s a long silence. “It’s at 7 right?”
He sighs, and then makes a strange sound. His words are caught in his throat. I can hear the astonishment, and disapproval in his silence.
“Yes. Of course it’s at 7,” he snaps. “Are you with him right now? Are you okay? You’re seriously not going to open up your shop for the whole day because you’re going to hang with Vincent? And what—? Fuck all day? What are you doing?” He sounds angry, but I know he’s concerned, and probably a little flabbergasted. This is not something I have ever done. I have worked every day, rain or shine, in sickness and health, since I was sixteen years old.
“It’s a one-time thing, Jordan,” I snap, “I’m fine. Look. You asked me to call, and I did. Can you let Bucky out and give him something to eat?”
He’s quiet again. “Yes. Fine! I won’t make your dog suffer just because you’re acting like a jack-ass.”
“Thanks. Oh—and try not to be so angry all of the time, it’s bad for your heart, and it will give you more wrinkles.” I add, hoping to irritate him.
“What the fuck do you mean by more wrinkles? Lenore? Len—”
I hang up and walk back to Vincent to hand him back his phone, his expression, stern. He’s radiating disapproval. I don’t think he likes the way Jordan was speaking to me. He’s so damn loud, I’m sure Vincent heard every word. My ear is still ringing, but that’s just the way Jordan is.
“Your friend needs to learn some manners,” he mutters. He stands abruptly and towers over me. “Come, let me feed you,” he says looking at me with large eyes that make me melt.
Must look away.
“Okay, but first I need to fix my face and brush my teeth.”
I trot over to his bathroom and squirt some toothpaste on my finger. He stands next to me and takes the toothpaste from my hand, and squeezes some onto his toothbrush. We brush in silence, me with my finger, he with his toothbrush. He stares at my reflection, barely containing his glee. I roll my eyes and give him a half smile. He grins at me and continues brushing. He pauses, rinses his toothbrush and hands it over to me. I take it in my mouth. I can taste him. The unique essence of Vincent instantly invades every taste bud. Yum.
His eyes darken and he bites the corner of his lip.
I spit and rinse and start to untangle my braid. I twist it back into a fish-braid, attempting to rid the just fucked senseless look from my hair.
I pull a tube of lipstick from my purse and dab some onto my lips in an effort to bring some color to my face. Vincent is transfixed; he’s blatantly staring at me. I glare at his reflection in the mirror playfully and he snaps out of his reverie. He takes my hand and pulls me out of his bathroom.
“Enough, you look perfect. Let’s go.”
I clutch my bag and throw it over my shoulder as nervous anticipation swirls inside of me. He squeezes my fingers and brings them to his lips. I close my eyes and exhale, following him like the lost puppy I am.
We exit the loft and he slides open the ancient elevator door, and we step into the dark cab. It comes to life and we begin our slow descend to the basement garage. I’m transfixed as small flashes of light illuminate his perfectly carved profile with each floor we pass. He turns his head slightly and grabs my elbow, pulling me closer to him when he senses me staring. He wraps his arm around my waist and kisses my temple. I slide my hands into the back pocket of his jeans.
Fuck, Lenore, what are you doing?
As we hit the ground floor I let my bag fall from my shoulder and slide my mouth against his. He’s warm, and wet and soft. I twist my fingers into his hair and devour his sumptuous mouth.
I’m breathless when he opens the elevator door. He looks down at me; some unfathomable emotion crosses his face.
“I love the way you taste, Lenore,” he groans against my mouth.
He’s breathless too. He presses his lips to my forehead and then releases me. He takes my bag and we exit the elevator. He pulls his keys from his front pocket and pops the trunk of the Mercedes and tosses my bag inside. He closes it with a loud thunk. I wait for him to unlock the doors, but he doesn’t. He makes his way over to the Triumph and I stop in my tracks.
I have never been on a motorcycle. Well, there are a lot of things I’ve never done since I met Vincent. My cheeks heat at the mere thought of all the things I’ve just done with him. Oh, but there is still so much more I’d like to do…
“Come on, I’ll drive safe,” his roguish grin completely eradicates any apprehension I might have been feeling.
I walk over to him at a snails pace and he straps on my helmet. It’s a small black globe. I doubt it will do much should I be propelled off of this thing. I grin despite myself. I’m nervous and excited, a combination of emotions I only experience when I’m with Vincent. I can’t believe I’m going to ride on his motorcycle! He smiles back at me; a gorgeous panty-dropping smile.
“You look—very sexy,” he growls before leaning down to kiss me chastely. He straps on his helmet and hops onto the gorgeous black and chrome bike, he then taps the space behind him, signaling for me to sit.
“1955,” he says as I get on, “hold on tight.” He grabs my arms and wraps them around him, the engine roars to life. I cling tighter, and I swear I can feel him grinning. My heart flutters nervously inside me. The Triumph is loud! It echoes off the walls of the parking garage. The vibration of the bike only enhances the delicious thrill coursing through me.
We make our way out of the garage and into the sunlight and I have to squint my eyes. It’s bright, especially compared to the subdued lighting of the garage.
He turns and passes me his Ray Ban sunglasses. I’m about to argue and tell him he should use them, but the street is noisy, as is the bike, and so there is no use in trying. I put them on and grin again, my stomach clenches tightly, and off we go.
I lean with him on every turn, and after a few blocks I’m not so nervous. I get the hang of it after cutting a few turns. The streets are crowded, so we don’t get the opportunity to go too fast. Which is a good thing because I’m actually able to relax and enjoy myself!
A few miles later, we pull into a parking lot, and Vincent cuts the engine. He helps me off and unbuckles my helmet. I’m shaky, and my legs feel as though they’re made of rubber, I can’t feel my cheeks either.
He takes our helmets and my hand as we walk toward a small diner across the street. We’re on the corner of a busy intersection, but I can still hear my heart drumming loudly in my ears. I trail behind him, desperately trying to suppress my giddiness at holding Vincent’s hand. I don’t know why it feels so thrilling, after all we’ve just done…but my body is humming with excitement. As if reading my thoughts, Vincent squeezes my hand and strokes his thumb across my knuckles.
We cross the street and Vincent leads us into the diner and straight to the counter where we sit on two glittery red stools and wait to be served. It’s busy and noisy. The restau
rant has a nostalgic 1950’s feel to it. Random movie posters and celebrity headshots are framed all over the cluttered walls.
I feel a pang of hunger in my stomach the moment I smell food. I really worked up an appetite this morning, I grin to myself. Everything south of my navel clenches deliciously at the memory.
“Did you like the ride? Was I going too fast?” He smiles at me, though I can hear a bit of concern in his lovely deep voice.
“Actually, it was kind of fun. Your bike vibrates a lot,” I add with a wink and a shy smile. Yes, shy Lenore has returned. He widens his eyes playfully and takes my hand again. His thumb traces circles across my fingers absentmindedly. He turns away from me and signals to the waitress, she rushes over the instant she spots Vincent. Her brow arches when she registers that Vincent is holding my hand.
“Well, well, well! What do we have here?” she asks in her gruff voice.
Smoker.
She’s a pretty brunette, in her late forties I think. She has cat-eye glasses that I suspect have no prescription. But the place is a throw back to the 50’s, so I’m sure she’s just trying to look the part. She smiles warmly in my direction.
Her teeth confirm my suspicions, smoker.
She has a pretty smile despite her stained teeth. I bite my lip and smile shyly in return. I feel a warm flush spread across my cheeks.
Vincent turns to me, “Gale, this is Lenore. Lenore, Gale.” Now it’s his turn to look bashful.
“Well he-llo, Lenore,” she says loudly, getting the attention of the short order cook flipping pancakes. He looks from me to Vincent and grins at us. His red, sweat stained face comes to life. He winks at Vincent and resumes flipping pancakes, still smiling to himself. A grin spreads across my face, and Vincent tries desperately to contain his shy smile.
“Well she is sure pretty, Vincent! Look at those eyes! Meee-ow!” she adds and winks at me. I blush deeply and Vincent comes to my rescue.
“All right, all right, Gale. Just get us two coffees please.”
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