by A. J. Downey
Too soon he stood back up and I could hear it in his voice, his smile when he said: “Keep your eyes closed.” I kept them closed and jumped slightly when the velvety smooth texture of a silicone toy pressed against my opening. He worked it gently inside me, and I had the same hot, full feeling as I had with the balls. Just enough of a presence to press against my walls. I swallowed hard and he said, “I’m going to put your clothes back on and you’re going to keep that in. Right?”
“Yes, sir,” I breathed.
“Open your eyes, Ally. Look at me when you say that, please.” The request was delivered softly, much more gently than he’d asked me for anything before and I wanted to see the expression that went with the change. His gaze was something else. Deeper, darker, but much more vulnerable somehow. It was a fleeting glimpse, but it was enough.
“Yes, sir…” I repeated, and his expression grew grim, closing down but not in a bad way – just like he was hiding again and I didn’t understand what had just happened. He can be so confusing… I thought, but then he was helping me to stand, helping me step back into my panties as I held the foreign object inside of me, growing wet with arousal and anticipation.
He brought my shorts up my legs, so careful of the front of my knees, which stung mercilessly and burned with a fierce, throbbing ache. He fastened them for me, taking care like I was his little china doll or something, and I liked the feeling. It was sweet and kind. He let his hands linger on my hips and asked me, “Are you ready?”
I swallowed hard and nodded gently, and he smiled and it was that rakish debonair smile, as my grandmother would have called it. I loved it. It made the butterflies take flight in my stomach and made me feel special, mostly because, I realized he seemed to reserve that smile just for me, the more and more we went along; the more I saw him.
“You ever ride a motorcycle?” he asked casually, stepping over to the hall closet and opening it. He brought down his leather jacket with the vest over it. The one with all of the patches on it, and how I knew that the men who had come to my apartment to move me had been sent by him.
Apparently, we were past pretending that he didn’t know them, and I was glad for that. It was hard enough keeping secrets from Dawnie and my grandmother.
“No,” I told him truthfully, “but I’ve always wanted to try.”
“It’s a good night for a ride; traffic is busy, so we’ll be going pretty slow… do you trust me enough to ride with me?”
I chewed my bottom lip; I really wanted to go but…
“Can I tell my best friend?” I asked, and he cocked his head and gave me a long, slow blink.
“What have you told her about us?” he asked.
“Nothing… nothing at all and that’s the problem. She’s my best friend and you asked me not to and it’s causing fights. I don’t want to tell her anything about…” I faltered and I knew that he knew what I meant: the sex. I blushed furiously and waved my hands, saying, “Well, you know,” and I found it positively wicked, the way he smiled at me, the dark light of desire lighting his already deep and dark eyes. I rushed on with, “I like this, but I would like to tell her about some things… like how you stopped those men,” I couldn’t help but smile, “and my first motorcycle ride, if I take one.”
He drew nearer and his arm went around my waist. He pulled me closer and asked, “You really haven’t told her anything at all, have you?”
“No,” I whispered, and he nodded slowly.
“I can trust you to carefully edit the…” he cleared his throat, “little details?” he asked, his hand sliding to my ass and giving it a firm squeeze and I smiled, happy.
“I really like that it’s just between us, I’ve never had a real secret worth protecting. I understand you’re a private man and I feel… honored ... that you let me in like you have.”
His eyes searched my face, his expression stony, but finally he nodded gravely and my heart nearly exploded with joy.
“You may tell her anything that occurs outside that door or inside in the presence of others,” he said and I nodded.
“I understand,” I murmured.
"Come on," he said, “I’m starving.”
His fingers wrapped around mine and he led me gently to the front door. He set the alarm and we stepped out into the hall. He didn’t retake my hand again until we were safely in the elevator and on our way down.
We stepped off in a basement that was similar to the one below the Point Side, open with support pillars, reinforced here due to the extreme age of the building. I followed Mr. Parnell around the bank of elevators to the right as we stepped off and found a heavy fire door set into the basement wall. He pressed on the crash bar in it and held it open for me to pass through into a musty garage below the building that was behind the Calvert building.
The first time we’d been down here, the first time he had taken me home, he had explained: “We have a floor or two for our cars. A contract with the company who owns the garage.” The Calvert building was from the 1920’s and didn’t have the capability of having a garage of its own. In a fascinating little history lesson, he’d told me about how they had converted an old Prohibition-era tunnel entrance into a back door of sorts for the Calvert building to access the garage.
Like before, we took the painted crosswalk from that door to the next bank of more modern elevators which whisked us down even lower. I hated that part. I hated elevators with a passion. I would always take the stairs if I could. I couldn’t get off the thing fast enough when we reached the floor of the garage where Mr. Parnell had three parking spaces. One was for the sleek, silver Mercedes he’d taken me home in the first time. Another for a big black Cadillac Escalade SUV, and finally, one with a metal locker against the back wall, a motorcycle hidden by a taupe protective cover in front of it.
He went to the locker and opened it, and pulled out a couple of helmets. He passed one to me, a flat black affair that was one of those half styles, like a bicycle helmet, only affording more protection. I put it on obediently and hitched my tote higher on my shoulder while he removed the cover from the bike and stuffed it away in the locker. He put a helmet with a full facemask on the seat while he put everything away and locked up.
“Come here,” he ordered and had me sit on the back seat. “Feet go here and keep them there. The pipes get hot, and I don’t want you to get burned. When I lean, you lean, don’t stiffen up. You could throw the balance of the bike off, and that would be bad.”
“Okay,” I murmured, and he got on in front of me. He put his helmet on with the mask up and said: “Most importantly, hang onto me and enjoy the ride.” I smiled bravely; the idea had sounded fun upstairs but now that he was firing up the machine, my heart was in my throat and I was suddenly as nervous as I could get. I settled and put my arms around him obediently and he grabbed the handlebars. We lurched gently into motion and my mouth went dry.
I did everything he asked as we took the sweeps and curves of the garage upwards. By the time we reached the street, I was excited. I wanted to feel the dying sun and the breeze on my face. Maybe catch the smell of the bay, taste the tang of salt on the wind. It was one of my favorite things about living in Indigo City, being so close to the water.
The ride was disappointingly short before we were pulling off a one-way into a brick paved side alley, beside an old building that wasn’t quite as old as the Calvert building ‒ or maybe it could have been older. I didn’t know enough about the city’s history or architecture to know for certain.
He tapped the outside of my thigh, and mindful of the exhaust pipes, like he’d told me to be, I got down carefully. Although, embarrassingly, he’d had to signal me more than once for me to get the picture. I carefully worked the chin strap loose from its two metal D-rings while he backed his motorcycle into a line of them against the wall before the dumpsters started further down the alley.
He shut off the bike and took his own helmet off much more efficiently, peeking into one of the rear view mirrors and raking a hand through hi
s hair to settle it from sticking up at strange angles. I smiled and held mine out to his outstretched hand. He hung it from the handlebars and left his on the seat and I frowned.
“Aren’t you afraid someone will take them?” he smiled and pointed out the obvious security camera.
“Plus, just about the whole city knows, this is a cop’s bar.”
“It is?” I queried.
“As I said,” he winked, “Just about the whole city knows.”
“I guess I’m the exception to the rule,” I murmured, blushing a faint pink.
He laughed and got off the bike, palming his keys and putting them in his jacket pocket. His other hand he put against my lower back and with a gentle pressure, ushered me around the corner to the restaurant’s front door.
“I thought this place was called the 10-13,” I said, pointing at the shingle depicting the place’s name as The Cormorant.
“It’s the address and a police call-sign among radio cars.”
“Oh. What does it mean? The call-sign, I mean.”
“Officer in need of assistance. Which, I think someone familiar to you might provide by way of alcohol.” He dipped his chin purposefully in that direction and I followed his gaze.
I broke out into a smile as Skids, the leader of the trio and most personable of the three men, lifted his chin over at the bar and called across to us, “Hey, will you look at what the cat dragged in! Step right up, little lady. Let’s have a look at you.”
I glanced back to Mr. Parnell and he smiled, a warm thing, and said, “Go ahead.”
I went up to the bar and Skids frowned, asking, “What happened to your face?”
“Ally has had a rough day,” Mr. Parnell murmured, taking the seat beside mine.
“Yale!” someone called behind us and we turned. There were a couple more guys in the same motorcycle vest as Mr. Parnell’s. One, a big man, tall and broad-shouldered, with curious hazel eyes had his eyes fixed on me. He had a woman, slender, tall and beautiful with tattoos on her arms, under one of his. She swept her long black hair over one shoulder and raked me with unfriendly, flat black eyes that glittered with calculation. She leaned into the bigger man and murmured something and he frowned down at her like he didn’t like or understand what she had to say.
I took an almost instant disliking to her, but kept quiet, to see how she would continue to treat me. He came around the long table they were standing at and she reluctantly went along with him. Otherwise, she would have had to let him go. I smiled as they approached and looked to the man they left behind where they were playing darts.
“Oh! Hi, how’d you get here?” I asked, and the paramedic raised his eyebrows.
“Sorry?” he asked, and looked amused.
“Ally, that’s Golden. You met Angel back at my place.” I blinked and looked over to Mr. Parnell who was smiling.
“What?”
“My twin’s working,” the other man, Golden, said. “Why’d she have a reason to meet him? And at your place, no less.”
“Like I was telling Skids, Ally’s had a rough day.”
I blushed faintly and rolled my lips together, suddenly self-conscious with being the center of attention. The woman raked her dark eyes over me, but the way she did it, the expression she wore while she did it, left me feeling almost dirty everywhere her look touched.
“Yeah, what the hell happened to you?” she asked and smirked.
“I, um, I was attacked coming off of the bus,” I said faintly.
The men’s expressions all crushed down into frowns, but the woman’s eyebrows went up. “No shit? Where at?”
“Torrid, cut the kid some slack,” the bigger man said, and gave his girlfriend a little shake.
“What? She’s here, she’s with Yale of all people, and she’s obviously fine.”
The big man made a frustrated sigh and gave me an apologetic look. I tried a smile on him and the woman rolled her eyes. What a bitch… I thought. I also didn’t think it was me. At least, not given the way she shot Mr. Parnell a dirty look.
“Ally cleans my place a couple of times a week. She was on her way into work when it happened,” Mr. Parnell supplied.
“Cleans… oh, yeah?” She eyed me, and I felt myself blush under her suddenly heavy scrutiny.
“What happened?” Golden demanded, bulldozing all of the innuendo and uncomfortable double entendre completely, although his irritation with the woman was pretty clear by the way he stood next to her with his shoulder turned, almost giving her his back while he focused on me.
“Just a couple of guys on the bus that didn’t want to take no for an answer,” I said, and wanted to fade into obscurity.
“They catch ‘em?” Golden asked.
“I made sure of it. Poe and his partner responded,” Mr. Parnell said flatly.
“Well, I think the little lady could use a bit of liquid courage. You are 21, aren’t you?” Skids asked me with a wink.
I smiled, “Yes.”
“Show me some ID and I’ll get right on whatever you’d like.”
I bit my bottom lip to keep my smile from growing into something ridiculous and reached into my little purse at my hip. I handed over my license and he nodded, handing it back.
“What d’you like?”
“I honestly have no idea,” I said laughing.
“Whatever it is, should be put in a sippy cup,” the woman snarked under her breath.
“Backdraft, would you like to have a talk with Tori, or shall I?” Mr. Parnell asked, coolly.
I swallowed hard at the awkward and tense silence left in their wake as the man hauled her over by the front door. He bowed his light-brown head, so light it was almost blond, in her direction and said some low and intense words. She snapped back at him, eyes blazing, and Mr. Parnell sighed.
“Don’t worry about it,” Golden said to me. “She’s just pissed because Yale put bros before hos.”
“Golden,” Mr. Parnell’s voice dripped with caution.
“What? Bitch had it coming,” Golden remarked and took a slug from his beer.
I stared from one to the other of them wide-eyed, and Skids set down a drink at my elbow, on the bar behind me. I swiveled in my seat and looked down at the glass. A cone shape, sitting on a pedestal of a blob of glass. If it’d had a stem, I would almost call it a Martini glass, but I liked this version better. Seemed more real, less pretentious.
“What is it?” I asked curiously, staring at the sunny yellow liquid inside.
“Lemon drop; that’s sugar on the rim. Taste it.”
I took a sip and it was sweet, surprisingly sweet, and like candied lemonade. I smiled and nodded. “Thank you!”
He chuckled and moved off to help someone else for a moment. Golden remarking, “For a guy who’s completely dry, he knows his booze and people.”
I smiled at him and found Mr. Parnell roving my face as if gauging my discomfort. I was shy to begin with, around new people. It took some warming up. I think that was a byproduct of where I grew up, though. In the Point Side projects, you had to be careful.
“Let me get us a couple of menus,” he murmured, and suddenly it was just me and Golden. I turned and looked out the front window to where Backdraft and his unpleasant girlfriend were now arguing on the sidewalk.
“I don’t like her much,” I said and then covered my mouth with my hand. Golden laughed.
“You’re in good company. None of us do. She cheated on him with one of his firehouse bros but the first time there was smoke was when she was drunk and hitting on Yale. Yale let Backdraft know right off and they’ve been at it ever since. Don’t even know why he’s trying so hard with her.”
I looked over my shoulder where he was gesticulating hard, his demeanor calm but upset, while she practically screamed in his face. “Because he’s a good man even if she’s not a good woman?” I speculated softly.
I turned back and Golden eyed me up like I’d done something interesting. He nodded slowly and said, “What about you? Di
ddling your boss or what?” he grinned at me and I burst out laughing, all the while on the inside I quailed. Oh if only you knew how close to the truth you were… I thought, but Mr. Parnell saved me by getting back up on his stool, a couple of menus in hand.
“Hey! What’s goin’ on out here?” a voice called and I looked up.
“Yale brought his cleaning girl in for some dinner, a ‘sorry you got attacked outside my place’ consolation prize,” Golden stated dryly.
“Golden!” Mr. Parnell barked, and something occurred to me.
“Wait, all of your law degrees in your home office say Columbia on them… why do they keep calling you ‘Yale?’” I asked. He closed his eyes as if pained and Golden and the man who’d come from the kitchen laughed.
“Because they’re assholes,” Mr. Parnell said and I laughed, not getting the joke. It must have shown on my face because he smiled a little wanly at me and said, “I’ll explain later.”
I took another sip of the sweet, yummy drink and smiled behind the rim of my glass. The man from the kitchen was looking me up and down. Slightly portly and affable, he was Hispanic, like Golden, but older – maybe fifties? He eyed me up and down and said decisively, “Put those down. I think this calls for a special kind of dinner.”
Mr. Parnell gave a secret little smile and called at the man’s retreating back, “Thanks, Reflash!”
“Oh, ho, ho! I’ll be right back,” Golden said and we followed his gaze to where Backdraft was rubbing his cheek and Torrid was full-on screaming at him now. My heart broke for him but lifted when Golden went out and hauled her over to a parked car and backed her up to it. Whatever he was saying was both pissing her off and cooling her down, and I felt my heart grow all the sadder.
Why couldn’t people treat each other better?
I jumped startled as the toy inside me buzzed to life, eyes going wide with shock as I looked at Mr. Parnell. His expression was as closed down as I had ever seen it, peaceful and neutral even as I swallowed hard and licked suddenly dry lips. I didn’t ask what he thought he was doing. If there was one thing I saw in his dark eyes, it was that he knew precisely what he was doing, and it so wasn’t fair.
