Maggie's Five ...the first in a LOVE story

by Sandra Fitzgerald

  “That’s a shit hand you’ve been dealt there sweetheart,” he whispers matter-of-factly than presses a soft kiss on my lips.

  Initially I freeze, shocked by his brazenness. When he gently moves his soft mouth over mine, I feel my body respond and start to kiss him back. I’ve had so much to drink that I know I’m not thinking clearly and know this is probably not a good idea. I’m pretty sure I’m going to regret it when I sober up… but his mouth feels so nice against mine and I really miss kissing. I really miss kissing Brendan… God he gave good kiss.

  If I close my eyes and relax, I could pretend, just this one time. Red shifts in closer so our chests are pressed together and brushes his tongue over my mouth, wanting to deepen our kiss. I hesitate and he must feel me stiffen, having second thoughts, because he wraps his arms around my waist and presses into me, licking my mouth again, then sucks in my bottom lip. I can’t help myself. I close my eyes and open for him – for Brendan. Just this one time, I promise.

  I feel his lips move over mine, his tongue in my mouth brushing against mine. And it’s so soft and so nice it makes my pulse hitch and heat pool between my legs.

  Red leans away slightly, looking at me with eyes as dark as the night. Watching me as he takes another drag of his smoke, he flicks the butt to the footpath when he’s done. He holds it in as he starts kissing me again, caressing it into my mouth and lungs. He holds me firm, sealing my lips to stop me from exhaling before I absolutely have to cough it out. I’ve never been much of a smoker - even as a teenager I couldn’t inhale without dry reaching by the time I got to the end of the cigarette. I turn my head away and hoarsely expel the tainted air, digging my nails into Red’s arm when I stumble.

  “Come on sweetheart, let’s go,” he murmurs, sliding a hand around my waist and lowering it, keeping it there as we walk. His tight hold on my butt makes me feel tacky and I want to ask him to move it, but I don’t.

  Chapter 7

  I’M LYING FACE down on the couch in my living room, drooling into a cushion. Seriously hung over and feeling really, really sick. The sun’s shining through the front windows burning my skin, and given the fact that it rises from the back of the house, it’s got to be late in the afternoon. I’ve slept the day away and don’t remember coming home last night, or was it this morning?

  My stomach bubbles, reminding me of some of the details I knew I’d be upset about sober. I close my eyes, praying for sleep when my gut lurches into my throat. I roll over carefully to not upset my head more than my belly and land on my knees. The floor feels unusually soft and uneven. Looking down I notice the rest of my couch cushions have been scattered around the floor, to catch me if I fell. It must have been Red’s doing. God I hope it was.

  Crawling on my hands and knees, I make it to the downstairs bathroom just as my stomach heaves disgusting smelling liquid. It comes spurting violently out of my mouth and mostly into the toilet. My stomach clenches painfully with every heave that leaves a disgusting taste in my furry, cotton ball mouth. I vomit two more times and when there’s nothing left to bring up. Then dry reach uncontrollably until I force my neck muscles to relax and swallow back the amount of bile that’s caught there.

  I sit on my butt to inspect the damage, and thank the Gods of Hangovers it’s not as bad as I imagined. Kneeling up I reach into the basin and rinse a hand towel under cool water, wring out the excess and wipe it over my face before rubbing the ceramic bowl and tiled floor. I toss the cloth to the base of the shower and turn it on.

  Grabbing hold of the towel ladder, I hoist my heavy self up and peel off my clothes, leaving them in a pile by my feet. Without testing the water temperature I step under the spray and close my eyes, adjusting the pressure to hammer out my headache before worrying about comfort.

  Memories slowly start to come… leaving The Pub Bar with Red… him questioning me with brutal directness… me turning to leave… him kissing me… kissing smoke into my… Son of a...

  Okay, so I’m not the worldliest person out there - I get that, but Oh My Freaking God, I smoked a joint last night. For the first time in my entire life I have committed an illegal act - out in public. And I didn’t even know I was doing it. Well, I guess I kind of wasn’t really smoking it, given that Red actually inhaled the thing. I was just the one to breathe it in, after he exhaled it into my mouth. Does it still count? I’m still counting it.

  I should be mortified, horrified, dismayed and all the rest, but I’m not. I feel kinda bad-arse, like one of the reclusive rebel kids back in high school. You know the ones that always wore black and looked depressed all of the time, but in a cool way. Only I’m ten years too late.

  Oh now that’s just sad. I’m a decade late and celebrating giving it to the man. I rest my forehead to the tiles and start tapping it lightly. God I’m embarrassing, even when I’m by myself I can’t seem to get it right.

  Okay, now I’m humiliated.

  After I finish showering and get dressed around the tornado in my bedroom, I make my way back to the living room to tidy up when I notice the light flashing on my phone, indicating a message. I slide it open expecting a berating from Luke or Jon, to find a text from Red telling me to be dressed and ready to go by ten.

  Go where? I don’t remember organising anything last night. I don’t remember over half of the things that happened last night.

  I really need to stop drinking.

  AT TEN SHARP there’s a crisp rapping on the front door, then a turn of the handle. It’s locked.

  “Maggie it’s me, open up sweetheart,” Red calls through the timber, making me smile big and genuine.

  The second the lock clicks the front door’s flung open and Red has his mouth pressed against mine, kissing me frantically. “Fuck you taste good sweetheart.” His words get lost in our mouths. I’m so overcome by his eagerness I kiss him just as hard. I really like feeling this desperate, this desired.

  We stumble until my back hits the wall by the door. He deepens our kiss, grinding his growing erection against my stomach. His hands are everywhere, pulling at my clothes, my fitted skirt tight around my thighs. He’s tearing my underpants out of the way and has my knee up and around his side. He pops the button on his jeans and yanks at the zip, squeezing my breast too hard with his other hand. He palms his erection, rubbing it over my underwear.

  I can’t do this. It’s too much, he’s too much. I feel like I’m drowning in him. I push him back, trying to protest only for him to surge on more aggressively.

  I abruptly turn my head to one side, gasping for air as he attacks my neck, biting and licking his way to my breasts. “Red, please,” I gasp. “I need you-”

  “I need you too sweetheart,” he growls, taking my mouth captive again. His forceful tongue filling me is suffocating.

  “No,” I whimper, tucking my chin. I’m starting to panic, my heart beating fast for all the wrong reasons. “Red, stop.” I need him to slow down.

  He freezes. Pulling back with a heaving chest, he sniffs his nose rubbing the tip on his shoulder, then narrows his eyes. “You’re not a cock tease are you, sweetheart?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” I stutter out confused by his question and the hostility in his tone.

  He starts chuckling, but there’s a sharp edge to it. “You were all hot and heavy last night sweetheart. What’s the problem?”

  “I was?”

  He starts laughing harder the longer he takes in my expression, pressing his erection firmly against me before releasing me. He sniffs and wipes at his nose again with the back of his hand while stepping away, glancing around the room. “Fucking hot shit, sweetheart. You ready to go?”

  I don’t know if I want to go anywhere with him anymore. I don’t want to stay here either, surrounded by my death, so I pick up my bag and keys and follow him out the front door.

  RED PARKS HIS sports car on a dark street that has me worried that it’s not going to be here when we get back. It’s one of those old muscle cars that attracts a lot of attention. Th
e black exterior is polished and catches in the street lights, the tan leather interior is wearing and torn in parts, though the radio’s been updated.

  Red hasn’t spoken much so I can’t tell if he’s upset with me or if this is his way. During the drive he passed me a silver flask and told me to drink. I took a sip and coughed as the horrible taste hit my tongue.

  “Bourbon,” he explained, lifting the canister to my lips. “Drink, it gets easier.” I took sip after sip until I no longer cringed or gagged, and started to relax.

  Red smiles in my direction and I’m happy because he’s no longer annoyed with me.

  Once we’re out of the car he takes my hand, threading our fingers. I hold them up, inspecting them like they belong to someone else. They feel so surreal entwined together, his skin’s amazingly soft and so wonderful I have to caress it against my cheek.

  My God he feels amazing. I slow my steps, barely noticing our movement I’m so distracted by the velvet sensation, feathering the back of Red’s hand from one side of my face to the other, brushing his knuckles lightly over my lips, up the length of my nose to my forehead and down my cheek again. I repeat the pattern deliberately, over and over and never getting enough.

  He walks a step in front of me pulling me, along the footpath to a steep set of dark descending stairs. He stops at the top waiting on me to catch up, steps down one and turns to look at me. He’s smirking, flashing his dimple as his eyes trace over my face. He loosens his grip and lets my hand free to run his fingers through my hair, cinching some behind my ear.

  Wow… that feel’s… ugh… I want him to touch me like that again and again and again…

  “You’re so fucking innocent Maggie,” he whispers tenderly, leaning in and kissing my mouth so carefully it makes my knees buckle. His hands go to my blouse and he undoes the two top buttons, opening the collar wide so the curves of my breasts are showing. His eyes lower to his work.

  Seemingly satisfied with the result, he licks at my cleavage and nips my chin, then my mouth. “So fucking innocent.” His velvet lips move feather light across my skin, sending goose bumps scattering over the tender surface. I don’t know why but every touch, every caress is beyond incredible. Red feels beyond incredible.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a smoke I recognise now as a joint and places it carefully between my lips. He flicks his lighter and instructs me to inhale a small breath, not too hard or too deep. He’s teaching me to smoke a joint, just like he taught me how to drink tequila shots.

  I should turn and run while I still can, go to my empty house and my reclusive vacant life, but I don’t. Instead I stand on the top of the stairs, resting my hands on his shoulders, relishing the feel of his jacket. I hold Red’s daring, unblinking stare while he watches me, smiling in satisfaction.

  Red orders me to breathe in the smoke and hold it in, and takes the rolled paper when he thinks I’ve had enough. His eyes widen not seconds before he attacks my mouth, kissing me like he did back at the house. My hands go to his hair as he swallows my offering, both the smoke and the moisture gathering in my mouth.

  I don’t understand how he does this to me, how he works me like putty, deliciously confusing my senses and moulding me to his needs. He pulls back and takes a long pull on the joint, holding it in.

  His pupils dilate and darken, and this time it’s me grabbing at him, pulling his mouth to mine and devouring his offering. I’m glad I chose a knee length skirt instead of pants. It makes it easier to move when I leap onto him and wrap my legs around his waist, crossing my ankles to hold him tight. I feel the smile on his lips as he returns my passion, pressing one hand firmly onto my butt, the other sneaking up the side leg to the edge of my panties. He shifts me slightly, rubbing me up and down the front of his hips, ensuring to press my swelling nib against his zip and over his erection.

  “We should get inside, sweetheart, before we get arrested,” Red laughs, sniffing again, but it’s a half-hearted effort. I don’t think he’s completely against chancing an arrest.

  He lowers me to the ground, sucking on my slightly fuller lower lip before stepping away. I feel amazingly free. I don’t worry about the tiny rational part of me that’s in shock at my complete change in personality.

  Entwining our fingers again, Red leads us into the dark of the Rabbit Hole. We’ve descended about half way when the deep base of pounding music vibrates along the brick walls surrounding us. The further we down go, the clearer the music becomes. It’s heavy, angry rock, a sound I don’t typically like and am not overly familiar with.

  Red nods at the doorman and drags me forwards without glancing back, leading me silently through a gyrating crowd engulfed in smoke and a darkness that’s lit in increments by lights flashing with the beat of the music. There’s a DJ standing on a raised platform bopping his head to a sound we’re yet to hear, focusing on his next record.

  Everywhere I look there are people dressed scarcely in black - black leather, black hair, black makeup and tattoos like art forms decorating fleshy surfaces of bare skin.

  Right now I’m the Amish girl out on day release – spectacularly overwhelmed and awe struck, stunned into incredulous silence. I’m torn between wanting to leave, never to return, and wanting stay to see what happens next.

  I tighten my grip on Red’s hand and speed up my steps to stay close to him, petrified at the possibility of becoming separated. He stops and looks over his shoulder at me, smirking. He likes that I’m intimidated by this place. He likes that it has me on edge. Red pulls me to him, grabbing my backside with large hands and grinding my hips against his. He is hard - as in full on erection hard. From what? Me being nervous and insecure?

  His expression is indifferent, almost cold, and it confuses me. I open my mouth to speak, but don’t get the chance because he’s plunging his tongue into my mouth, his hand knotting in my hair pulling almost painfully to secure me in place.

  When he’s done, Red steps back and nods his head once in the direction he wants us to go. And I follow without question. My heart’s hammering, and my ears are pounding with my increased blood flow and the heavy beat coming from everywhere. I’m afraid and excited. I know I can’t trust Red. He’s bad news; there’s no doubt about it. But I follow him nonetheless.

  He stops at the crowded bar and leans over the counter, yelling in the ear of a thick set man wearing nothing but low riding, worn denim jeans and a black leather vest. Not unlike virtually everyone here, he’s covered in tattoos. They fist bump then the barman sets up a couple of shots and goes through a side door that’s situated between a disarray of kegs.

  Red picks up one of the shots, faces me, raises the glass slightly then presses it to my lips. Instantly captivated, he can’t help but open his mouth when I open mine to accept the drink. He likes it when I drink from him, it turns him on. And I like that it does.

  Instead of drinking from him, I reach past, rubbing my hand across his abs and take the second glass off the bar and rest it to his bottom lip as he did to me and wait. Smirking his signature smirk, he sucks his bottom lip before returning his glass to my mouth. I copy his action, drawing mine in and slowly releasing it from between my teeth.

  We tip the glasses at the same time, holding our breath as the burn slides down. Red reaches behind the bar to steal two lemon wedges, then places one between his teeth and kisses it into my mouth. I take the fruit and swallow the tang, watching him bite into his wedge. The flood of alcohol is blissfully clouding my judgement, taking me further and further away from my hollow reality.

  The thick set man returns, securing the door behind him. He steps around the bar, leans into Red and shakes his hand, yell/whispering to him. Red nods once, sliding the hand he shook into his front pocket of his jeans and moves closer to me, frowning, searching my face for something. He presses a quick kiss to my mouth, leans over the bar top and takes a bottle of clear alcohol and the two shot glasses we used.

  Holding my wrist too tightly, he pulls me to a secluded booth in
a darkened corner, places the bottle and glasses on the tacky table top and takes hold of my hips, rubbing himself against me, letting me know what I do to him, what he wants from me. He leans his tall frame over and bites a little too hard onto my neck and collar bone. Releasing his hold with one of his hands, he pours our drinks, spilling some on the table and dropping wet splashes over my ankles and onto the floor. He lifts his and shoots it down fast, slams the empty down and picks up mine. Grinning seductively, he rests the glass on my lip and tilts it. I swallow his offering with a smile of my own. I like this Red, the sexy Red that makes me feel wanted.

  He repeats the process, not that I need any more to drink, but I take it without question, watching his smile, happy that I was the one to put it there. He shoots another and takes hold of me again. Kissing me deeply, he walks me backwards, bumping into people and mixing us with the throng of gyrating bodies on the dancefloor.

  He sways my hips against his to a tune of our own, ignoring the powerful beat of the deafening music. He caresses my back and butt, kissing me with abandon. It’s wonderful. I’m lost in a sea of floating sensations, of velvet touches and gentle stroking. I feel Red shift and take something out of his pocket. Holding it between two fingers he tells me to open my mouth.

  I open my eyes. “It’s all good, sweetheart. It’s only E. Nothing heavy. Nothing real,” he assures me, placing the small pill on my tongue. I’ve heard of E, but don’t really know what it is and don’t really care. I swallow and start kissing him again, feeling Nirvana wrapping me in a soft blanket.

  After the longest time, or it could be the shortest, Red picks me up by the back of my legs, just under my butt. Automatically I wrap them around his waist. He carries me off the dance floor, down a dark passage and pauses at a locked door. Pressing my back against the stained wall, he thumps on the blackened timber, tilting his head to one side when I start to burrow around his Adam’s apple, kissing and nipping under his jaw. I can feel his pulse thumping against my mouth; at the same time, his hands start to explore my ribs and under my breasts. He lifts me again when a very attractive blonde woman opens the door to our right and holds it open for us to pass through.