Lament

by Stewart, Lynsey M.

  ‘Alex–’

  ‘I didn’t feel that way,’ he replied softly.

  ‘You shouldn’t.’

  ‘I want you to know something. Lisa introduced me to Shibari. She was the only one.’

  ‘Is Shibari your sexual preference? Your taste?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, his voice becoming wilder, unrestrained.

  ‘But you haven’t practiced since Lisa passed away.’

  ‘There have been other women, but it was just sex. A necessary release. No feelings. Fleeting moments that meant nothing more than a quick orgasm,’ he replied, his eyes fixed on mine, like if he kept our eye contact I wouldn’t run away. ‘That’s not what this is.’ He rubbed his thumb across my palm in gentle reassurance. ‘I didn’t want to bind them because they didn’t mean anything to me. Lisa did. I never thought I’d be in the position where I wanted to do that with another woman.’ He took off his glasses and pinched his nose. ‘Until I met you.’ I felt overwhelmed at his confession. The truth and honesty in his words felt like I’d won a prize. The best prize, one I’d dreamt of. ‘That side of our marriage was important, almost sacred. At first, having those feelings directed towards someone else was…confusing,’ he said. ‘But, now…I don’t feel any guilt.’ He glanced at me, still so unsure. ‘Should I?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘I thought I would,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I should.’

  ‘You feel guilty because you don’t feel guilty,’ I replied, smiling softly.

  ‘I sound mad.’

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘Confused, not mad.’

  ‘She’s still a big part of me, Nat.’

  ‘I know. She always will be.’

  ‘Why are you so understanding?’ he asked, his hand sliding into my hair, pushing my head back. His thumb traced my jawbone and I was seeing tiny flickers of stars behind my eyes.

  ‘Because I want this,’ I whispered as he kissed my neck. ‘I want you.’

  ‘Have you ever felt so scared of losing someone again that you wouldn’t allow yourself to get close?’ He closed his eyes, pressed his forehead to mine.

  ‘I can’t live my life like that,’ I replied. ‘Neither should you.’

  ‘I did,’ he said. ‘I thought I was nothing without her.’ He shook his head. ‘And then you came into my life.’ He lifted my hands, studied them. ‘Fuck. I want to bind these wrists.’

  ‘Alex? Nat?’

  We turned at exactly the same time, with exactly the same shock.

  ‘Allan, nice to see you,’ Alex said, offering his hand.

  Allan Bartlett had been the vicar in this church for as long as I could remember. He performed my mother and Bec’s funeral and knew my grandmother well.

  He must have performed Lisa’s funeral too.

  ‘Good to see you too. How’s Elise?’

  ‘She’s beautiful. Almost nine, now.’

  ‘Goodness, where does the time go? Nat, I was talking to your grandmother only last week and she reminded me how long it has been since you lost your mum and sister.’

  ‘Yes. It’s crazy,’ I replied. ‘Unbelievable, really.’

  ‘I’m so pleased to see you back in the village. Community and the church are important when you’ve had a bereavement.’

  ‘Sometimes you need an escape,’ I replied as he watched me warily.

  ‘Well, I believe there’s no greater support than the love of God,’ he said, glancing at our joined hands.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Alex replied, his smile tight.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying this…but…I’ve noticed the two of you here before.’

  ‘And?’ Alex asked, his eyes narrowed.

  ‘Nat, forgive me, but you haven’t been here for quite a while.’

  ‘No, I’ve been busy since I left…time has passed by.’

  ‘You don’t need to explain yourself,’ Alex said, his voice low but not low enough that Allan couldn’t hear.

  Allan looked between us, frowning deeply. ‘I’ve known you both for many years. I’ve seen you struggle with your loss and grief. I wonder if you’re gaining some…comfort…from each other.’

  ‘Allan, I don’t see how that is any of your business,’ Alex said, his familiar brash tone seeping through.

  ‘Oh, I’m not prying. I just wanted to highlight that as your vicar I’m here should you need to talk. You’re always welcome in God’s healing hands.’

  ‘Healing hands?’ Alex scoffed. I took his arm, aware that his defenses were going up. ‘He takes his time to heal, Allan. Too bad he couldn’t find it in himself to heal Lisa’s cancer or stop the fucking driver that killed Nat’s family.’ He slid out of the pew and stood up, walking towards the entrance of the church.

  ‘Alex. Stay a while,’ Allan said, trying to hide his shock. ‘We’ll talk this through. It’s completely natural to question your faith when you’ve lost a loved one.’ Alex continued walking. I could feel his anger and it was understandable. Allan Bartlett had been a prayer away from saying, two traumatised adults? You’re too grief stricken to find love with each other. I stalled, meeting the rain again and trying to catch my breath as it seeped over my face. Alex disappeared through the gates of the graveyard, and for a second, I thought he’d left me, alone and in shock, but as soon as I started walking, I felt his hand against mine, a pull and a catch as he folded me into him.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  I lifted my head, loving his long eyelashes in the rain, the droplets resting peacefully on them. ‘Nothing a little dancing won’t solve.’

  ‘He’ll be posting the Bible through my door later,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Notes in the margin and folded-over pages on the sections he thinks I’d benefit from reading.’

  ‘Thou shall not swear in church,’ I replied, smiling.

  ‘Judgmental fuck.’

  ‘Shush. He might hear you.’

  ‘Allan or God?’ he replied, tipping my chin towards him with his finger. The deep sigh told me all I needed to know. ‘I should go. I’ve promised Elise I’ll be back.’

  ‘When will I see you?’ He looked away, his gaze focused behind me, though he still held me in his arms.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he muttered. ‘There are a few things I need to finish on the album. I’ll be in London over the weekend. There’s talk of a show in Paris the following week.’ I knew what he was doing. Withdrawing. Retreating. The talk of Lisa and the reminder of the guilt he thought he should feel had led him away from me.

  ‘Don’t let guilt win,’ I said, placing my hand on his wet face. He felt cold and distant.

  ‘I’ve changed, Nat. I’m not the man I used to be.’

  ‘You’re a better man. I can feel it. I see it when you’re with your daughter.’

  I kissed his chest right where I imagined his heart to be and wondered if there was room in there for me too. Room for me to fit beside Lisa and Eli, or if he even wanted to make space? Was I just an itch to scratch? A knot to tie? A wrist to bind? Someone, anyone to pander to his need to restrain?

  ‘Don’t wait for me,’ he whispered, releasing me from his hold.

  Watching him walk away, all broad shoulders and lingering looks, I knew that I would always wait.

  There was no other option for me now.

  20

  Nat

  ‘Class, that was wonderful,’ I said, my eyes glancing down to the perfect line of ballerinas. ‘If you perform at the competition as well as you did tonight, we have a real chance of winning. I’m so proud of you all.’

  I’d spent the last week finalising the choreography for the dance competition. It was a welcome distraction from Alex, who hadn’t been in touch since we met at church. Nadia had been collecting Eli from class. She stood at the back of the hallway near the doors, ignoring me when I tried to make conversation. I knew there was a story there, one I wasn’t sure I would ever know. Had Alex picked up on the animosity towards me, or was I making something out of nothing?

  I
missed him the most on nights like these. When the classrooms fell silent and my need to dance out my feelings raged. I imagined him sitting in the corner, a slight smile on his lips. I gripped the barre, remembering how I did the same before he tied my wrists with the drapes from the window.

  Opening my laptop, I found a video from the night I first saw him play, but the music was too sad, too haunting. It reminded me that he belonged to someone else. I typed in the date from the recent concert at the Royal Albert Hall and felt warmth trickle across my skin when I heard the first notes of the music I’d inspired. I danced and danced for hours, completely lost as I replayed the song again and again.

  It was my cleansing ritual. When the doubts punched down the doors and the fear that he’d never return to me was as deep as the ocean. It was my reset button. Dance knew no bounds when it came to swallowing my distress.

  The room fell silent again. I dropped to the floor, catching my breath and steadying myself. I lifted my head as I heard the phone ringing in my office. I ignored it, choosing to take off my ballet shoes, pack away my clothes and lock up for the evening. It rang again, an urgency that intrigued me. Who would be ringing at this time on a Friday evening?

  On the third ring I picked it up. ‘Hello?’

  A relieved sigh made me smile. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Dancing.’

  ‘I missed it,’ Alex replied, his voice sorrowful and low.

  ‘How did you know I’d be here?’

  ‘A feeling.’

  ‘I miss you,’ I said, needing to put it out there.

  ‘Do you have anything with you?’ He knew I always carried a bag with me, exactly for this situation, when the need to dance transcended everything else. I’d even slept in the office chair when I’d danced until the early morning and it seemed pointless going home knowing I’d be back for class in a few hours.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, smiling down the phone. ‘I have my bag.’

  ‘I’m sending a car for you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It will be there in the next half hour.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, needing an answer to keep me on board. A message that I wasn’t making a fool of myself or wasting my time.

  ‘Because it’s fucking futile ignoring my need for you.’

  * * *

  He was waiting for me in the lobby of the hotel.

  He looked handsome, but disheveled, like he hadn’t slept for a week but was powering through like the musical juggernaut he was.

  ‘You look great,’ he said, dragging his hands through his hair. ‘My memory doesn’t do you justice.’

  ‘You told me not to wait for you.’

  ‘I’m glad you did,’ he replied, his voice laced with need. He took my hand and led me to the lifts, avoiding my eyes, stopping himself from touching me further, but as soon as the lift doors closed, it was a different matter. He turned me swiftly with his fingers to my waist, pushing me against the mirrored walls. He was controlled, but his eyes betrayed him, deep and stormy and ready to burst. My dancewear was backless. He kissed me right in the middle, shots of tingles danced where his lips had been as he pushed his hands through to my breasts.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ he said on ragged breaths, kneading me roughly. The lift bell chimed, and he pulled me towards him, turning my body and lifting me as he carried me along the corridor, kissing and panting, his hands squeezing my waist. I briefly remember him pulling a card from his pocket. I have a memory of the door to his room opening, but everything else was a blur of frantic touching and need.

  I felt the soft cushion of the sofa behind me as he lowered me down. My legs were still wrapped around his waist, but he pulled them forwards, spreading me before him. His hands held me in place on either side of my breasts, a kiss to my throat made my body buzz. I loved the feel of him on top of me, his weight pressing down on my bones, trying to enter me through my skin. I could feel the power of him, passing through me like a blood transfusion. He came alive when we fit together like this, but would he fall apart at the end of the night? His guilt too much to bear because it was pressing down between his shoulder blades? I knew he wanted me more, though. I knew. I knew. His eyes told me it all.

  His hands slid over the bump of my breast, catching my tight nipples between his fingers. I gasped out and he caught the sound with his mouth, heat, tongue, and bites along my bottom lip. He slid the straps of my dancewear down and exposed my breasts, sitting back to study me, his eyes wandering, a slight pull on his lips. He was devouring me. Worshipping. Adoring.

  Leaning in he lifted me, pulling the fabric down my legs, throwing it to the floor like he hated it. Like it was a barrier between us and he couldn’t bear for it to be on my body any longer. His hands trailed up my thighs, snagging the little holes of my fishnets, covering my underwear, over my pussy, and with a loud rip, the fishnets were little more than scraps.

  ‘Pull them to the side,’ he demanded, leaning back. My fingers found the edge of my panties and I slipped underneath. They were wet, damp with my lust for him, and as I caught his stormy gaze, I pulled them to the side, exposing my most intimate parts. I felt like a goddess. Adept at sexuality and pleasure, willing to try anything new because I knew it would feel astounding.

  ‘You have the perfect cunt,’ he said, his fingers pulling me open, his thumb pressing on the tingle of nerves, a finger entering me. ‘Pink and beautiful and Christ.’ He closed his eyes. ‘So fucking tight. You’re going to squeeze my orgasm from me, isn’t that right? Grip me till I break.’

  ‘Put your cock in me and we’ll find out.’

  He laughed harshly. ‘That’s not how we play.’

  He walked over to the cello in the corner of the room and lifted the bow, holding it in his hands like its master.

  ‘You want to make me lose control with that filthy mouth of yours? Make me spray on your sweet little cunt before I’ve had time to enjoy you?’

  ‘Alex–’

  ‘Are you begging?’ I closed my eyes and sank back into the cushions. ‘Look at me.’ I opened them on his command, watched as he opened his trousers and pushed his boxers down. His cock thick and straining, pressed tightly against his stomach. He took it in his hand, stroking from the bottom to the head, a twisting motion, a slide.

  ‘You said you wouldn’t beg. But you want this, don’t you?’ he asked. I pressed my curled fingers to my mouth. ‘Tell me, Nat. Look how fucking hard I am for you.’

  I sat up, joined him in his pleasure, wrapping my hands around his length, next to his. ‘Watch,’ I whispered as he looked down. His lips, his beautiful lips were parted. He was hanging on by a thread, a thin but sparkling gold thread.

  ‘You have amazing hands,’ he said, his voice so soft, betraying the lust in his eyes completely.

  ‘You have an amazing cock.’

  He laughed, loud and unrestrained, kissing my cheek as he leant forward. He was reaching for me. My hands copied the twisting motion he’d started, and his moan was so deep and guttural it sounded like it had escaped from behind closed doors and locked cages.

  ‘Lie back.’

  I fell.

  I watched.

  He picked up the bow he’d taken from beside the cello and ran his finger along the smooth edge. ‘Do you know what this is?’ he asked.

  ‘A bow.’

  ‘No,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘It’s an extension of me.’ He lifted my chin with the end, the wood shining in the light. ‘It’s how I make music.’ The edge trailed slowly down my neck, down the middle of my breasts to my belly button. He rested it there. ‘It’s how I speak my truths.’ He moved it down, slowly down to where I was aching. Wet and ready just for him. ‘It’s where I make my confessions.’ He twisted it, the strong ribbon pushed against my skin. ‘It’s my art, Nat.’ He swept it down to the neat strip of hair, watching its descent, a smile barely there, anyone else would miss it, but I didn’t. I always saw him. ‘But now…’ He held the bow on my clit, the pressure just right, j
ust enough, before he moved it along my seam in one long drag. Repetitive movements, perfect pressure, the push to my clit bringing me to the edge. ‘You’re my art.’ He placed the bow at the side of him, still so measured despite the evidence of his arousal standing hard and strong against his stomach. I watched him lean forward, pulling something from the floor, gasping lightly as he held up a thin piece of black rope, twirling it between his hands, backwards and forwards. ‘And now,’ he said. ‘I want to make music.’

  21

  Alex

  I loved the power of making a woman come. The first lick. The first gasp. When your stomach contracts, wandering fingers are in your hair. Pulling. Tighter. Causing the ache in my cock I used to live for.

  I’d forgotten the rush. Pushed aside the high. I looked at Nat, the black rope across her breasts such a stark contrast to her rose-tinted skin. I didn’t know where these feelings were coming from. I’d been dead inside for so long. It was like I was witnessing the first dawn, the astounding peek of vivid pinks and bright purples behind dark clouds.

  ‘Lift your wrists.’ Fuck. She was so willing, so pliable. So ready. Her fingers were long and delicate. I dreamt of tying them against my cock. A vision of binding and knots holding us together in an act of sexual depravity that could only ever feel right. I wrapped the rope around her wrist, tied a knot to secure it in place and wrapped the pieces around her knuckles. I repeated the moves at the other side, an amazing pattern of crisscrossing sections digging into her skin. I pulled the rope tighter, bringing her hands together in a prayer and kissed the skin surfacing from beneath. My breathing was shallow, the breathtaking vision before me clouding my thoughts. Her nipples peaking, sticking out of the binding across her body, the knots at her waist, the ends of the rope trailing down her thigh ready for the final tie.

  ‘Fucking art,’ I said. ‘A vision.’ I hadn’t pushed her. Usually, intentionally uncomfortable positions were a signature of Shibari, but for me the way the rope was applied and the aesthetics of the knots against the body provided the ultimate pleasure. And the truth was, I hadn’t done this in a while. Lisa had been gone for six years. Aside from occasional workshops or shows I’d attended by masters of the craft, I was rusty, finding my way again. With her. Nat. A woman who was under my skin and in my head in a way I never thought would happen to me again.