"Of course," I whispered back. "We're best friends."
We hung up after that and I realised, despite not being able to spend time with Abs, I wasn't feeling black. I felt... pink. Which was strange, but then maybe the fact that I'd put myself out there, let her see a little of what was going on, felt risky and invigorating. A little bit red. And because she didn't shoot me down in a way I had always thought someone would when you exposed your rotten core, it also felt good. Not bad.
I could handle pink. It was way better than black.
I spent the rest of the day shopping, doing chores, making an impromptu visit to the doctors to get myself tested and cleared for any... well, you know what. The results would take ten whole days. But I considered it a valuable investment in time.
Fifteen years I lived that lifestyle. I made sure to be regularly tested and always used protection, never went bare. But it had been a month since my last test, not overdue in the scheme of my previous lifestyle. However, now I couldn't wait to be cleared.
It represented the start of my new life. Until I had that piece of paper in my hand I would always feel connected in some small way to who I had been up until now.
Ten days couldn't come fast enough, as far as I was concerned.
I returned home just in time for the delivery of my new bed. The delivery guys were kind enough to take away the old one, doing all the heavy lifting and leaving me with a brand spanking - heh, I liked that term - new shagalicious bed.
I wondered if Drew and I would use it this evening, after the opera. I wondered if he'd make love to me in this bed.
I spent a little too long lying out on it imagining what making love to Drew would feel like. By the time I realised that, it was just going on five in the evening, and I hadn't made the bed or eaten since a muffin on the go around lunchtime, or started to get ready for Drew. He'd text messaged me earlier, to say he'd pick me up at six for dinner, prior to the theatre at eight.
He was taking me on a date. I'd had dates before, of course, but this felt different. This felt special. This felt... right.
I turned the stereo up loud while I fussed with the bed, making it perfect, letting my mind wander on all the things I could do to Drew when I had him between the thousand count cotton sheets I'd just bought. These were pleasurable thoughts, more pink than black, more red than grey.
I showered, and primped and preened and took an exorbitant amount of time with my make-up and hair. I was just looking at my refection in the mirror when the doorbell rang. I took one last look, nodded to myself, and then skipped - yes, skipped - down the hallway to open the door.
He was in a tux. He looked fantastic. Just off black, made to measure suit that curved across his shoulders. A crisp white shirt hugging his pecs, gold cuff-links with some sort of lion design at his wrists. His hands holding a bunch of flowers.
He'd brought me flowers. I couldn't breathe.
My eyes darted up to his face and caught the first real view of him. His mouth was parted, his pupils dilated, a shine sparking in the beautiful grey depths. He licked his lips, let a breath of air out on a rush and stammered, "You l..look spectacular."
My smile was a mile wide.
"Are those crystals?" he asked, letting his eyes devour my body in the figure hugging purple studded floor length dress.
One strap over a shoulder, the other bare. A tight fitting bodice that made my cleavage look like a page three model's and a slit up the side that showed off the smooth, tanned and bare skin of my left leg. It was a little slutty, a little sexy, and absolutely me.
I can't help it. Even when wiping my slate clean, I have no desire to change the way I dress. If it's not correct, then I'm sorry. But looking at the admiration and lust on Drew’s face right now, I couldn't believe that my fashion sense was wrong.
"Yes, hand stitched," I finally replied. The dress had cost a fortune, but it was my way of celebrating a new start, and by the time I purchased it, I'd made it through most of the day without going back to black. It was a reward of sorts. And I loved it.
"I love it," Drew announced, echoing my thoughts. "Please tell me you're panty-less under there."
I raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
He was on me in a second. Lips crushing mine, tongue tangling with mine, fingers all over my body. God knows where the flowers went, because one hand twisted in the strands of my curled hair, the other wrapped around my bare butt cheek through the slit in the dress.
"Oh, fuck," Drew murmured against my skin. "I want to push you up against the wall and fuck you until you scream."
Yes.
"But we've got reservations, and I've got plans."
Always with the fucking plans.
"We'll save the debauched sex for later."
No!
"Trust me," he whispered, feather-light kisses coasting over my chin and jaw. "It'll be worth it, sternchen."
What was that? Sweetheart had been bypassed for something more. Something foreign, but endearing. The way he said it, I really think he meant it. Whatever it meant. I was his sternchen. I'd been called many things by lovers, but none had carried that sort of weight. Nor had they been as confusing.
"Sternchen?" I queried in a whisper.
"German," he whispered back. "My Oma used to call me it. My grandmother. It means 'little star'."
Little star. I was his little star. The notion made my eyes water and my throat constrict. And not a hint of black to appear anywhere.
How did he do this? How did he make me feel alive with just two words? We hadn't had sex since he'd manoeuvred me into this exclusive relationship. And yes, I believed wholeheartedly that Drew had set me up. Maybe because he knew I needed it. He knew he could give me what I wanted and keep me safe. But I also think it was because Drew wanted this. But since we started on this path he has held me, kissed me, and touched me, but no more.
And I have never felt such bliss as this.
Not red and black, but pink and grey.
Drew's very own colour combination for feeling alive.
I stared into those captivating and mesmerising soft eyes, felt a little of myself let go. His lips twitched, that lopsided smirk coming out, and then he leaned in slowly and rested his forehead against mine. And just breathed.
"You are so beautiful, Kelly," he finally whispered. "You make me feel ten feet tall."
I sucked in a surprised breath. Drew wasn't short, but he wasn't as tall as Dominic or Ben either. Respectably tall, but not the tallest. Yet, I don't think he was referring to his physical height at all right then. I think, like me, Drew was searching for that hit of bliss.
A hit of bliss that was just his to keep, even if just for a little while. A hit of bliss that made him feel ten feet tall, and made me feel pink and grey, not black or red.
We both got what we needed, and I hadn't even realised we'd been exchanging anything at all. I thought Drew Kline was my tether, keeping me from floating away into the dark. But I was beginning to realise I was his mountain to climb. When he saw me anchored and bathed in light, he'd know that he'd reached the top of the world.
Drew grounded me... and I boosted him up.
My cheeks hurt from the stretch of my smile. My heart felt more whole than it had done in years. Drew clasped my hand in his, entwining our fingers and grinned that one sided smile.
"Ready?" he asked.
I held his gaze, and realised this was what feeling alive should actually feel like.
"Yes," I whispered. "I'm ready."
I was already addicted, totally sold.
I was so ready for Drew to show me his alive.
Chapter 13
Oh, He Didn't Know
I wasn't sure about The Pearl Fishers when it first started. My attention was more taken with the theatre itself. The lush colours of red and gold, the brocade and velvet, the gilt mirrors and ornate chandeliers. The balcony box we sat in, how high it was, how we could look down on the finely dressed opera attendees in the curved
rows of fold down chairs. How in our box, there was just a two seater, antique craved legged sofa. Like something out of a Renaissance movie. Across the way from us was an identical box, an elderly couple already engrossed in the first few chords the orchestra played.
I studied the scenery, the stage itself. The performers' costumes, the orchestra playing in the pit beneath. The lighting, the imagery, the ambience. The Civic Theatre was a grand old lady, her charm won me over before the music did.
But then, as Drew whispered a translation of the story unfolding beneath our eyes, in our ears, I began to get swept away. Just a little, enough to draw my wandering gaze back to the singers. Two men, Nadir and Zurga, singing about their love lost for a woman named Leila. It sounded sad, the words Drew whispered in my ear, but the music hadn't reached me yet.
I had no idea.
Au Fond Du Temple Saint. I will never forget it. When the duo reached that moment, that singularly beautiful and heart wrenching moment. When the notes shifted, the score changed, and the song became a duet, became something entirely else.
"Oui, c'est elle! C'est la deesse plus charmante et plus belle!"
I was swept away with the audience. With the elderly couple sitting opposite in their own little slice of heaven in a balcony box. With the violins and harps and violas. With the sheer magic and unbelievable beauty of Bizet. It wasn't just a song. It was colour; magnificent, blinding, striking colour. A red so deep it made you long to touch it. A white so dazzling tears streamed down your cheeks. A green so verdant I continually licked my lips from the need to taste it. A blue so serene that I felt at complete peace.
I didn't want that song to finish. I knew I'd be listening to it again and again in the days to come. Such wonderful emotions that music evoked. A wave that simply carried me away. I sat on the edge of that little sofa, my tear-filled eyes glued to the two men who sang of their goddess, of the one woman they both loved and vowed to never let come between them again.
Her veil is raised and the crowd are on their knees.
I was on my knees, brought down by such sheer beauty. Such wonderful, transcendent sound.
I realised Drew was watching me, not the men singing. Not the crowd. Me. And if I had thought I'd been brought to my knees, the look on Drew's face told me I was not alone in that regard. I wondered if he had felt like this when he first heard this particular song performed live. It was vaguely familiar, I must have watched a performance of it on the TV at some stage in my life. I don't know when. It was obviously not memorable. But this here. This moment on the stage at The Civic Theatre on Queen Street. This was a moment I would never forget.
I blinked the tears away as I looked at Drew's mesmerised face. He reached up slowly and brushed my cheeks dry. When he swallowed, I swear there was moisture in his eyes. He opened his arms up and I went to them eagerly, letting him wrap me up on that little ornate sofa and kiss in amongst my hair as the music went on and he whispered the story in my ear.
I clung to him, my body shaking, my heart soaring. My life had changed, because of a song in a French opera written in 1863.
How much more would Drew show me? In what other ways would Drew prove that to be alive, to feel alive, you just had to open your heart, to listen, to watch.. to live.
My eyes had been closed.
I hadn't heard a thing.
I only now realised my heart did beat, and the sweet sound of those deep, smooth voices raised in harmony, kick started my life again.
We didn't get up and go to the bar at intermission, like the rest of the theatre did. We sat embraced, his hand gently running over my bare arm, his face nestled into the crook of my neck. I listened to his heart beat, to the steady rhythm of his breaths. Drew Kline lived life, I decided. He took it any way he could get it, because he knew how good it could be.
Act two kept my attention, but nothing matched that duet. I'd had my pivotal moment, I'd woken up and found that the sun did shine, that light was there if I looked. That the colours of the rainbow could be found in something as simple as an operatic song.
Kelly Quayle and opera. Not two things I would have ever put hand in hand. But I was already wondering how I could get Gen to agree to playing Bizet in the store.
Act three started and Drew continued to translate the story in my ear, but now he added his touch. Oh, God. I was so far gone for this moment, for this man right then, that I didn't even think of the elderly couple across the other side of the theatre, directly opposite our balcony box. I luxuriated in his tender caresses, his soft lips pressed to that sensitive skin behind my ear. I thrilled in the slow, torturous way he inched the hem of my dress up my thighs. How his hand around my shoulder softly stroked the upper curve of my breast, as the fingers of his other hand found their goal.
I stopped watching Leila and Nadir, but let their music flow over me as my head fell back on Drew's shoulder and he stroked and petted me wetter and wetter still.
This is what I had always craved. This public, exhibitionist display. The chance of being seen. The illicit nature of the touch, the excitement of the moment. And it was still good, still unbelievably erotic. But the music was just as important and the man who touched me and brought me closer and closer to orgasm was more important still.
It was no longer the act alone that thrilled me, and for a moment the world stopped on that thought.
And then Drew slipped off the edge of the sofa and knelt down between my knees.
All breath left me as my eyes found his. Grey staring up at me in question. Did I want this?
My gaze lifted over the balcony rail, taking in the new scenery on the stage and the fact that Zurga had now joined Nadir and Leila. The opera was winding up. Final scene. Last act. My eyes skittered across the indistinct heads of those sitting below and landed on the elderly couple. The woman was enraptured with the performance, the man casually glancing around the room, liked I'd done at the beginning of the show.
He could look over here. He wouldn't be able to see Drew, he was hidden by the balcony railing, and so was what he was about to do to me. But he could see my face, see my reaction. Figure it out. We were in the dark, shadowed and partially hidden, but there was a chance. A slim chance, that he could see.
I nodded at Drew, watched his lids get heavy and his tongue dart out to lick his lips. And then his head ducked and his mouth found naked skin. Just my thigh, just beneath the crease at the top of my leg. He licked, open mouth kissed, and then gently bit.
A breath left me, my eyes glued to the man across the way.
I may know now that there is more in this world to make you feel alive, but I would always be that girl who pushed the limits. Tested her boundaries. Lived life a little on the wild side.
I just hoped Drew would want to live it there with me, because the moment his tongue flattened on my clit, I knew I couldn't give this up. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
My hands found the top of his head, my fingers gripped his hair tightly and I writhed a little in the seat, as he sucked and licked and nibbled my way to nirvana.
My vision was wavering, but for a moment I thought the man had looked over here. But Drew had just added two fingers, pumping them in time to the increasing tempo of the music. I could tell the opera singers were gearing up for their final moment to wow. And so was Drew.
Something flashed over on the opposite balcony, light reflected off glass.
"Oh, God," I groaned, and Drew renewed his efforts.
I was sure the elderly gentleman had lifted his opera glasses to his face and was looking toward our seat. Toward me. I couldn't be certain though, because an orgasm was quickly approaching and Drew was determined to make me fall over that lip, determined to make me lose my mind while listening to Ô Lumière Sainte, as Zurga lets Nadir and Leila go, at the cost of his own life.
The music surrounded us, engulfed us, as Drew pushed me closer and closer to that edge. The sound gaining in volume, heightened and alive. A crescendo that my body chose to mimic as Drew deftly bro
ught me to that moment. That beautiful, inexpressible moment. A finale that only Bizet could match.
I came as the trio sang their last lines.
For several seconds I was aware of nothing but my breathing, the clapping of the audience and Drew's soft kisses in amongst my hair. He'd returned to sit beside me, both arms wrapped around me as I came down from that incredible high. I'd never come to opera music before.
I'd never felt so fucking alive.
"Were you watched?" he husked in my ear. All I could manage was a nod of my head. I was sure the older man had witnessed the entire event.
I felt more than saw Drew turn his head to glance across the space that divided us.
Then he returned to nuzzle into my neck and whispered, "Do you think his wife will be getting lucky tonight?"
I started laughing.
"He's probably got a throbbing hard-on," he added. "Hasn't stood up yet, I can see him making excuses to his wife. If he moves she'll see it."
"Why doesn't he just show her?" I asked, between the laughter.
"I'd show you," Drew offered. "I'd say, sweetheart, give me a hand if you don't mind?"
He wrapped hot fingers around my wrist and brought my palm to his groin. Steel hard flesh met my grip through the material of his trousers.
I glanced around the brightening theatre. The lights were going up so people could find their way out.
"We've missed our chance, adventure man," I pointed out.
"Hmm, adventure man. I like it. And I have just the thing in mind." He stood up, uncaring that his erection stood on proud display tenting his tuxedo pants. Reaching out a hand he gripped my fingers and pulled me up against his chest. "I have a plan," he declared mischievously.
"Oh, you have a plan, do you?" I laughed as he kissed me tenderly against the lips.
"Yes, it's devious and cunning and entirely debauched."
"I like this plan already."
Fuck, he was perfect.
"I knew you would. You feature predominantly in my plan."
"A leading role?"
"The main event."
"Do I get top billing?" I asked, as he wrapped an arm about my shoulder, moulding me to his side and led me out of the balcony box.
Sweet Seduction Sabotage Page 13
