Shades Of Obsession

by JR King

  “I haven’t found Mr. Right yet.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “He’s this gorgeous goliath who can breed life into girls, sublimate them, in more ways than one. When I meet him, I’ll know.” She continued in a highly dramatic tone. “You know, I’m someone who yearns for adventure, for a wonderfully theatrical rending of regularity’s mundane cloak. I want to feel breathless with childish infatuation, to feel my heart pounding with careless excitement, to be consumed by the extraordinary.”

  In response, I played it straight, a pokerfaced glimmer in the eye. “My, and you haven’t felt any of that crap since you met me? Damn, there goes my chance. What does he look like, this Mr. Right?”

  “Tall. Dark. Handsome. A cross between Tom Cruise, Tom Welling, John Stamos, and John Abraham.”

  Tom Welling? Damned if I knew who that was. “Toms and Johns, actors and models? Who is Welling? A Versace model?”

  “Clark Kent.”

  “Okay, I’ve lost interest. Maria’s or Modern—,”

  “Ha, wait. Why don’t I get to ask questions?” she asked cagily.

  “Because, regardless of her dissent, I’m paying Jane, so I get to ask any damn question I want. You may ask questions when you pay for a dinner with me. It will cost you, Jerry’s a tough man to bargain with.”

  “Your PR guy? Must be tiring to be in the spotlights. Is there equality between pros and cons?”

  “There aren’t any pros, not for me. And, nicely done, bravo for brilliant railroading.”

  “I’m not stupid, I have a little academical acuity. My business degree from Stanford says so.”

  “If it wasn’t for the fraternity policy, I would hire you.”

  “Hallelujah. I don’t fancy having a creepy, pervert boss.”

  Ignoring the lazy cadence of her laughter, I brushed my fingertips across her high cheekbone, relishing its tonal transformation from the palest pink to the lightest crimson as she blushed. “Is that right?”

  “I have a major idea. Answer my last question, and I’ll answer all of yours. Here it goes: are you gay?”

  Elena had an East-Coast preppie accent, one that I liked. Not a rural Maine drawl, not a nasal Connecticut burr, but that sturdy Bostonian brogue with which idea is pronounced idear. Made me wonder how in fact she’d sound when she came, screaming out my name.

  “No,” I told her after a moment of respectful silence. “No, I’m not. Fan of the tabloids?”

  “Well, you’ve never seriously dated or lived with a woman. Unless you’re a virgin, like if no one taught you about the birds and the bees, which I seriously doubt, it’s weird. You’re old.”

  What the fuck? Does thirty-four sound old to you?

  I cupped my hand to my ear, hard-of-hearing style, and shouted doubtfully, “Yes, dear? I think my hearing aid went kaput.”

  “Are you ever lost for words, Alexander?”

  “Not yet, little one.”

  “Little one? You’re a confident bastard, aren’t you? I still want my answer. Case closed.”

  I masked my apprehension and jostled up against her. “Perhaps I’m secretly in love with a princess, but I can’t yet claim her.”

  “Idolizing fairy-tales? Yeppers, you’re totally gay.”

  When she crossed her legs, our thighs brushed together. I ran my palm from her ankle to the warm, inviting expanse of satin-clad flesh that was waiting to be explored beyond the black fabric. It might not turn out to be the most astute of decisions, but I decided to kiss her. “As a matter of fact, I think you’re on to something. Let’s see how gay I am.”

  When her eyebrows knitted in confusion, my grip tightened. She was light like wadding, and I pulled her forward until she fell into my lap.

  I knew with blinding certainty that she’d react favorably to my touch because I’d seen full-on attraction in her eyes. I bowed my head to hers, delicately capturing her lips, brushing them with the edges of mine, circling them slowly in turn with the tip of my tongue. The subtle flickering of my tongue was the perfect prelude to a first kiss. Her breath caught in her throat as I teased her plump flesh, and then she gasped with pleasure and cupped my head in her hands, holding her mouth against mine. Her eyes told me to be gentle to begin with, and then her mouth urged me to suckle more forcefully as she brushed her teeth across my lips. Blood drained from my brain and went straight down to my dick while phosphenes danced and sparkled.

  My willpower wasn’t as great as I’d have liked it to be. As much as I wanted to end it, I wanted to kiss her lower as well. You’re only human, I thought as I began to descend toward her collarbone. My mouth started suckling on a taut tendon.

  For a short time, I lost myself in an inner monologue. I was scarcely able to credit that she was finally in my arms, offering herself to me, just as I’d always imagined she would. Did she feel less vulnerable now that I’d untied her? Did she know that the real monster was kissing, sucking her neck? Scoring her creamy flesh? Was she shivering with burning expectancy, inwardly imploring me to take her unequivocally, irrevocably, on this sofa? Was she yearning to feel the softness of my talentful mouth on her body? Was she yearning to feel the rush of my warm breath against her sensitive, soaked flesh?

  “Ouch! You bit me,” I heard a shaky giggle.

  “Swim with sharks and you’ll get bitten.” I opened my eyes, tilting my head in an apology. “An eye for an eye. Your turn to bite me, then.”

  “I’m not a believer of an eye for an eye, that’s not how I was raised. I believe in forgiveness. The weak can never forgive, forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.” She pointed a forefinger at her chest. “That’s me.”

  Interesting piece of information she just gave me. I reckoned that overriding her mind and spirit would be more difficult than claiming her body. She had a strong backbone, thus dominating her would be unfeasible, but manipulation was a garish possibility.

  “Quoting the great man?” I continued, kissing a trail down the side of her neck. She felt so pillowy and warm, absolute bliss after a hard day’s work. I was unbelievably hard, all I wanted to do was bury myself between her legs and ride out the ache until I exploded inside her. For a moment, I contemplated doing just that. I knew that once I’d be inside her, she wouldn’t resist me. She’d willingly accept the thickness, the hardness, the intrusion, love every bit of it, allowing me to gratify myself the way God had intended it.

  Scent was personally an important draw, and right now I wished I could bury myself in Elena. “Are you okay?” I murmured while I licked a line up her collarbone.

  A murmur of far-off rolling thunder, and then, “Yes, Mr. Turner.”

  I let her go for a bit. Trying to imprint my memory forever in her mind, my mouth found hers once more. The kiss waxed and waned to the rhythm of our bodies, her soft tongue slipping hesitantly in and out of my mouth as mine moved purposefully back and forth within hers. There was a part of me that’d expected our first kiss to be frenetic, followed by a dizzying blur of clothes being torn and naked flesh sweating and clapping together in barely constrained emotions. Instead, this was as slow and controlled as the body language of the girl before me told me she wanted—and perhaps needed—it to be.

  I could smell the musk of Elena’s excitement now, and it made me even harder. I knew it’d started. I felt it growing in me, rising rapidly, sensations rippling outward from my chest. My restraint wouldn’t last much longer. If I didn’t stop right now and regained some composure, the darkness within me would soon explode and corrupt the bits of refinement.

  I made a low groaning noise as her thighs stroked against my groin, my arms sliding down to grasp her ass and haul her up tighter against me. By some miracle, our kiss broke off. I opened my eyes and saw that Elena was watching my face intently, her eyes wide, questing expectantly. If only she knew whatever answer she sought was in her past. I slowly ran a fingertip down the centerline of her back, from the nape of her neck to a spot midway between her shoulder blades. The invisible path I
drew along her spine stopped just above the fastenings of her basque.

  Curious little fingers crawled across my chest, and she quivered the whole time that my skin contacted with her covered back.

  I brushed her raven locks to one side and pressed my lips against the side of her neck. “The way you’re reacting to my touch, baby, it’s making me painfully hard.” I drew back determinedly.

  This time she gasped and shuddered violently, her eyes expressing a wide-eyed plea to continue. Her pupils dilated until only a thin rim of blue remained around the black circle.

  “We must slow down, Ariel. I don’t want to rush this.”

  She stared at me for a short while, perhaps gauging the truthfulness of my words. Then she set her drowsy head on my shoulder, nuzzling her face into me. As ridiculous as it sounds, the small gesture of trust warmed my heart. Nothing had ever felt softer, and tasted sweeter, than this girl. I wanted to take her every way I could, cruel and tender.

  On a whim, my strong hands gripped her waist, delineating its curves. I could take her right now and mark her as mine, if only for a few hours. Burn, baby, burn. My family would never find out. I could leave the imprint of my anger inside her, and make her never forget this evening. Make her feel me haunting her waking thoughts. The thing is, I didn’t want her memories of this meeting to be sullied by a gauche gesture, or by some crudely mistimed step. So, I ended up hugging and babying her and asking her if she was all right. A copious flow of tears pooled in the hollow of my neck, and I could feel it soak my collar.

  When she pulled away, her lips were trembling, her long-lashed eyes half-closed. She spoke softly, “I have to go home.”

  I let her off the hook with a, “I know.”

  The tiniest of creases marred the space between her eyebrows. “You’re very sweet,” she acknowledged with a timorous voice.

  “I’m not,” I denied truthfully. “We barely know each other. It would be wrong to fuck you tonight. When we know each other’s comfort zones and are completely at ease, ‘twill be right for both of us.”

  “Do you have a Cosmo subscription or something?”

  I put a finger on my pursed lips to shush her. “Don’t shout it from the rooftops.”

  I held her coat open, letting it fall to her shoulders delicately. Her coltish gait calm and confident, I memorized every detail as she strutted beside me. I watched her reach out and press her forefinger against the elevator button, listened to her thanking me for dinner.

  LED crystal light charted our time in the carriage, making me realize I wanted her to stay with me. Just fucking stay with me!

  Downstairs, she took a step toward the valet stand, I guessed to have someone flag down or order a taxi. I grabbed her hand and dragged her in the opposite direction. A whoosh of dank air hit us when we stepped out of the hotel. I took the key fob out of my jacket pocket and pressed the door release button, and the black car that was smothered by downpour at the curbside flashed its indicators. Once inside, I locked the vehicle with a press of my thumb on the panel and set off.

  “What’s your address, Ariel?”

  My eyes flicked over to her and our eyes met briefly before I refocused on the road. Despite the fact that she seemed uncomfortable and nervous, she started chattering, “At the moment, I live with my grandparents. It’s a personal choice…,”

  I listened to her, just like she had hung on my every word throughout the evening. Either she was an incredible actress or truly liked chatting with me. Up until now, she hadn’t lied to me, this much was true.

  Her grandparents didn’t live in a squat somewhere, they lived in the toniest part of Back Bay, on a thoroughly upper-class street of the Victorian variety that had two comma properties. Ten million or up.

  Enveloped by the hushed darkness of the city, I thought about living in that gorgeous neighborhood. It was the sort of place where foreign housemaids always got knocked up and kicked out, and where people ran wife-swapping soirées that eventually ended up in divorces. Another thing trending was the taping of reality series; a camera crew babysat people who did nothing productive but whore for video cameras the whole day.

  “I know where it is,” I told her.

  I drove north along Storrow Drive, paralleling the Charles River. The evening’s temperature was of no bother to us, the climate control automatically kept the interior comfortable. The car was northbound for around two miles before I indicated right and drove through the middle of the Marlborough Street intersection. I took another right, then another, wondering if my life was doomed to the right side instead of straightforward.

  Four months.

  The rain that’d been falling on and off was finally beginning to ease. I kept to the new roads that remained relatively clear due to porous asphalt. I saw the swirling amber lights of a gritting, soil-covered food delivery truck driving toward me at high speed, and winced as the clusters of dirt and rain ricocheted off the hood and to the side of my beloved Aston Martin. The windscreen and side windows remained unmarred, though. I watched the orange lights recede in my rear-view mirror with a mixture of resentment and gratitude. Ah, hell, it was plain resentment. I couldn’t care less if he crashed.

  “I like that song, put it on. Come on, put it on again.” Elena tilted her head in my direction. Although the only light came from the dashboard and the strobes of nearby sodium streetlamps, I could see a gleam in her eyes, uplifting the dull glow that surrounded us.

  I did as the lady asked. Listening to Eric Clapton’s Rollin’ & Tumblin’, I studied the sleety vista as I threaded my way through the remnants of commuter traffic. The forecast had predicted further rainfall overnight.

  Elena used a clicker for the wrought iron gate. I pulled into a graveled forecourt in front of a giant red brick townhouse that had charming semi-circular arches on the windows. I braked right behind two silver grey X5s parked in the middle of the canopied entryway, and pressed the button on the dash to silence the engine.

  “They should park the cars inside the garage, Elena.”

  She didn’t say anything in response. I opened the door, climbed out, and by the time it shut with a low thud, Elena was closing her door behind her.

  “Come.” I watched her breathe in and out into the cold air, the puffs spiraling and touching my neck. Strangely, she was unknown to me, and yet she felt like someone I knew almost better than myself.

  I followed, walking slowly behind her, my strides long enough to match almost two of hers. The grounds surrounding the house were eerily quiet, the very air tinctured with a nocturnal zephyr ensconcing itself about us. Carrying her bag, I led Elena to the oversized double front door. She invited me in.

  The hallway was big and high ceilinged, the extent of the décor prim, with a glossy cream tone, muddied subtly by frilly touches. The neatness of the space was a pleasing factor, and it would definitely play in Elena’s favor later on, if she’d had a hand in maintaining it.

  I seldom entered a prospect’s house, but with Elena I felt an odd, surreal sort of displacement as I followed her further into the home. Being reminded of the fly and the spider, “This is a bad idea,” I suggested courteously.

  “Shh, you must speak quietly,” she stated, her voice low. “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee? There’s also leftover cream pie and icebox cake.”

  Pun intended or not? To be ungentlemanly blunt, the cream pie I had in mind wasn’t the city’s official dessert. “Babe, I had something sweet and salty in mind.”

  She grinned. “Like a salty butter toffee coffee? I don’t think we have any. Grandpa doesn’t buy into trumped-up creations.”

  Was she bantering? I decided not to sugarcoat the situation, even at the risk of ruining her impression of me. “What I meant was eating your pretty little pussy out.”

  She froze, blanched. “Thank you for bringing me home, Mr. Turner. The door and gate will lock automatically when you let yourself out.” Sadness filled her eyes and she reminded me so much of a marmoset about to be chased
that I suddenly wanted to see her squeal and run. Chase her down through the house and pin her down with my body. Fuck her hard.

  My goal being to earn her trust, I stopped that train of thought. “No goodbye kiss?”

  She flicked her eyes down to my mouth, licked her lips. “I-I’m…not a good kisser.”

  “I don’t know what you’re playing at, you’re an excellent kisser, Ariel.” I slid my arm around her shoulder. She tried to shrug off my embrace but I pulled her into my chest. “Tell you what, this isn’t a goodbye forever. It’s a goodbye until next time. This way we owe each other a kiss.” I let go of her, watching the red soles of her Louboutin pumps disappear, listening to her footsteps ascending the stairs. I wondered what our next meeting would be like.

  I smiled one last time and looked at the kitchen, feeling the ache growing inside me until the pain became overwhelming. There was a part of me that wanted to run after Elena, catch her and kiss her and make her blow me. To do that would be beyond the pale, therefore, I let her go.

  Feeling sappy as shit, I put the tips of my fingers to my lips and brushed them against the cover of a Larousse verrines coffee table book I stumbled across in the hallway, transferring the kiss. Like a bird splaying its wings, it fell open in my hand. The easiness with which the whispered rustle of pages settled right at the spread in the middle indicated that someone had read this part of the book more than once. I closed my eyes and drew it to my face, inhaling deeply to glean a hint of the person’s perfume over the sweet-smelling pages. If it were Elena, her breath had added to the muskiness of the pages. Holding the book close to my face, I derived comfort in guessing that our breaths comingled across the moist, musty cellulose of wood fibers. I turned the sheet with a wet fingertip, wondering if she’d touched it at the exact spot I initiated a gossamer gleam. In all likelihood, she had, I convinced myself. The possibility warmed my insides.

  The rain had wept and left, probably exhausted. Upon approaching the gate, by design it let the One-77 out. I drove back slower than a turtle on tranquilizer, as if by catching every red light the car would somehow automatically make a U-turn and return to Elena. At a red light, I debated meeting up with Carina, but thought better of it.