Moments In Time: A Collection of Short Fiction

by Alexander, Dominic K.

  “How so?”

  He turned to look at me, the moonlight in his gaze. “That I met you. I was not planning on meeting anyone. But here you are.”

  “But you leave soon.”

  He nodded once. “I am leaving. And I will go back to Mexico and all I’ll have of you will be memories. We won’t call each other. We won’t write. We won’t e-mail. What we have will remain in the Pacific. Where it belongs.”

  I didn’t understand. How was that lucky?

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Lani. You’re talented, smart. You have a lot going for you, which you refuse to see. Maybe you’re too stubborn. Or maybe you still don’t think you deserve a second chance. But I will leave here having known you and having made you smile. The memories will be good enough for me. I’ll find someone else, someone available, someone who is cut out for my lifestyle. And I’ll thank you for that.”

  Where the hell did his confidence come from, the idea that everything would be okay, even in the line of work he was in? I didn’t understand it.

  He turned his body so he was facing me and put his hand behind my neck, holding me there. His voice lowered. “Sometimes people come into our lives for just a second, just long enough to let us know that hope exists. Will you let me be your hope, if not for just this night?”

  I didn’t have time to react before he kissed me.

  It went deep, deep inside, stoking a fire I never knew had been building.

  I heard his shoes drop to the sand as he sank his hands into my hair. They tugged a little bit at the strands, and I cried out into his warm mouth. His tongue was silky and smooth, making me wet. He slid one hand down to my ass, cupping it firmly. I had never felt a need so powerful, and from the way he pressed his hard erection against me, I could tell he felt the same.

  Until Darth Vader’s theme song filled our ears.

  “Shit!” Esteban groaned and pulled away, pulling the phone out of his pocket.

  I felt like I should be annoyed, but knew I had no right to. “It’s been more than fifteen minutes, hasn’t it?”

  He nodded and adjusted his pants before turning his back to me, the phone to his ear.

  “Sí,” he said quickly. There was a pause, then he hung up. He slowly turned to face me and a sober smile graced his lips. “I have to go. Now. I am so sorry.”

  I shook my head. My heart was still beating so fast, and my clit was throbbing like I was going to die without release. But I understood. I took in a deep breath. “It’s fine. Go. Go do your job.”

  “You can get back up the hill?” he said. “I can carry you on my back, but I have to run.”

  “It’s easier to go up than down,” I told him reassuringly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll . . . talk to you tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” he said. Then he grabbed my face in his warm hands and kissed me hard. He took off sprinting across the sand. I had no idea where he was going, but whatever he was about to do, it would be something bad, part of a world I would never have to know about.

  Once he disappeared up the path and my hormones had calmed down, I turned to look at the ocean. There was a queer hollowness in my chest. Was this it? Was this all there was to my life? Just the waves again, beckoning me to join them, to sink into depths where love couldn’t touch me?

  I stood there on the private beach, bathed in moonlight, and watched. And waited. Waited for my legs to start moving, to walk into the water and drown.

  But I didn’t. Because tomorrow was another day. And someone wanted to see me smile.

  Though it was dark, it was still paradise.

  • • •

  I woke up just after noon, surprised my body would let me sleep that long. After I climbed up the cliff back to the resort and drove home, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I went in the shower and didn’t come out for a long time. I masturbated, thinking of Esteban, of what we had started but never finished. I had a glass of Scotch, neat. I sat on the back steps and listened to the crickets until I could no longer ignore the hollowness of my chest.

  Then I went inside and called Doug. I let it ring and ring and ring. He never answered and I never left a message.

  It was four a.m. when I finally fell asleep.

  The problem with waking up in the afternoon in Hawaii is that you lose a lot of good painting light. It wasn’t as if that was my original plan. My original plan was to call Esteban. But now, after all those dreamless hours, I didn’t feel it was the right thing to do. Now I wanted to paint. I wanted to paint until everything that was left in me was on a canvas.

  I packed up my easels and paints into the Jeep and took off for the beach. I decided to go for Larsen’s Beach again, the red dirt, golden sand, and aquamarine water, the color of dazzling stones, beckoning me to recreate them with my brush.

  I stayed there all day. I didn’t eat, and I didn’t check my phone—I hadn’t even brought it with me. It was just me and the ocean and the colors and my hands and the sky and my heart. I went through three different canvases, saving the best view for last as the sun was going down. Exposed coral glinted like obsidian under the dying light, the waves mirrors of gold, the sky a tangerine dream frosted with the darkest, moodiest grays as clouds swarmed on the horizon.

  “There’s no light left,” I heard Esteban say from behind me. I hadn’t jumped at his presence. I had half expected him to show up, to find me here one last time.

  “For once, I think I am more optimistic than you.” I put the paintbrush on the edge of the easel and, totally aware of what a wreck I must have looked like, turned around to look at him.

  I gasped. His eye was totally black and his nose looked bloodied.

  “What happened to you?” I cried out.

  He frowned, confused for a moment. Then he gave me a reassuring nod. “Don’t worry about it. Comes with the job.”

  “What were you doing last night?”

  “Not for you to worry about,” he said. But I couldn’t believe him, because the carefree and casual Esteban was gone. Not counting his battered face, he looked worried.

  “But something happened.”

  “Everything is fine,” he said, his voice a little hard. “Let me look at your paintings.”

  He came over to me, his feet bare, leather motorcycle jacket under his arm, and peered at the canvases. Normally I would have felt self-conscious—they weren’t my best work by far. But I was too concerned about him to care.

  “Lani,” he said earnestly. “It would be a great honor if I could buy one of these pieces from you.”

  “These?” I asked dubiously. I looked back at them. There had been total joy in their creation, but joy did not always translate into skill. I hadn’t painted in a long time. I was rusty, green.

  “Yes,” he said. “If you don’t mind. I know I will have memories of you when I leave tomorrow, but I want more than just that. These will trigger my memories.”

  I studied him for a moment, knowing he was completely serious. There was no way I would actually let him pay for one, though. “You can choose one. But you don’t owe me anything.”

  “But who doesn’t need money,” he said.

  Me, I thought. There was still a chance I didn’t need anything after he left me. The memory of the ringing phone echoed in my ears. It sounded like waves.

  “Pick one,” I said. “And you’ll make me smile.”

  He grinned at that, a sight that warmed my soul. He put his hand at my waist. I could feel his skin burning through my thin tank top. He peered over my shoulder at the easel, his breath at my ear. “This one. Because it isn’t finished.” He turned his face so his lips were touching my cheek. “That’s what hope is. An unfinished painting.”

  If I just turned my head, I could meet his lips. I could kiss him and ignite that passion I was trying so hard to bury. But this wasn’t a deserted beach. It wasn’t nighttime. And if I kissed him now, I would not be able to stop, not until my hands were on his hard body and he was deep inside me.

  I swallowed hard, as
if bread were stuck in my throat. “Okay,” I managed to say. I kept my eyes on the horizon as the sun disappeared behind the gray. “I think we should head back now.” He stayed put, those soft lips close, so very close. But eventually he pulled away and nodded.

  Esteban helped me back up the red-coated hill and through the tall buffalo grass until we got back to the Jeep. He followed me all the way back to my house, riding his motorcycle right behind me the whole way. I kept stealing glances at him in the rearview mirror. He looked sexy as hell, in control of the road. I remembered when I was on the bike with him, wondering what it was that got me to take such a chance with him.

  You still don’t know anything about him, I told myself. The only thing you know is that he is a bad man. Bad people like him like to be around bad people like you. Just end it.

  I felt the shadows wanting to choke me, to swerve the Jeep over the bridge we were crossing, to hit the guardrail and go tumbling down into the canopies of acacia trees. I saw it happening, the feeling of falling, the crunch of metal, the smash of glass, the world finally going black.

  I shook my head and kept my grip tight on the steering wheel, my eyes half on the road and half on Esteban. It felt like it took forever to finally pull up in front of the house. I was such a bundle of nerves, overcome with fear and confusion, that I stayed in the car until he parked his bike and came over to the door, knocking on the window.

  He peered at me in concern and said, “Are you all right?” He knocked again and finally I was able to put my hand on the handle and open the door.

  I collapsed right into his arms. He didn’t say anything, but simply held me close to him. He smelled like coconut and leather.

  “You’re going to be all right, Lani,” he whispered.

  He got my keys out of my purse and opened the door to the house, then led me inside. It was dark, quiet. Strangely cold. Or maybe that was just me.

  “You’re shivering,” he said as he carefully took off his jacket. He held it out for me, as if to cover me in it, but then had second thoughts and placed it on the couch instead. “And you’re covered in paint. Let’s get you warm.”

  He took me over to the bathroom and led me inside.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Esteban shut the door and went over to the tiled shower, turning the knobs until the right temperature water came spraying out. He glanced at me over his shoulder. I was standing by the sink, my arms folded across my chest, my mind both blank and racing, like an empty videotape was just looping and looping. I was freezing now, my skin a mix of gooseflesh and paint splatters. My hands were the color of the sun-mirrored sea.

  How is there something still so wrong with me?

  He approached me like I was a skittish filly, all measured moves and careful glances. He didn’t say anything as he slowly moved for my tank top. He grabbed the hem and with the slightest lift of his chin, motioned for me to raise my arms in the air.

  With my breath and my heart in my mouth, I did so. He carefully pulled the tank top up until it was over my head. He flung it behind him and it landed on the floor. His hands, wonderfully warm hands, went behind my back to the clasp of my bra. With a swift, easy motion, it came undone and he pulled it away from my body.

  He didn’t let himself stare at my bare breasts. Instead his eyes remained focused on mine, forever trying to gauge my thoughts, to read me.

  I stayed absolutely still as he bent down and started to pull my shorts and underwear off. They slid down my legs with ease and his hands went for the inside of my thighs, lifting my legs to get my clothing out from under them.

  Those were tossed across the room, too. But his face and hands slid up my thighs in tandem, the soft grip of his fingers, the hot breath from his mouth. I felt myself blossoming for him, wanting his tongue and his lips, wanting everything. He kept rising, though, leaving me clenching with disappointment.

  He gestured to the shower, wanting me to go in.

  But I wasn’t going in alone. I reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head.

  His smile was pure sex. He quickly took off his pants and then before me stood a naked Esteban, a wonderfully sculpted man, like golden honey and bronze.

  I wanted to run my fingers up and down his washboard abs, I wanted my mouth to kiss the ridges of his hips, I wanted his erect cock to slide deep inside me.

  But Esteban was a man on a mission. He put his hands on my shoulders and slowly turned me around and led me over to the shower that was now steaming up the bathroom.

  The shower was redundant at this point—I was already hot. But the water felt amazing on my too-ripe, too-sensitive skin, washing the paint away so we were standing in a swirling pool of sunset colors.

  Having this naked man pressed up against me, this beautiful naked man who had shown me so much in the last few days, I needed to do something for him. I dropped to my knees and took his dick in my mouth. It tasted good, felt good to my tongue and lips, the weight heavy in my hands. I wanted to give him some of the pleasure he had given me, even if the pleasure would never really last.

  The sad truth was I hadn’t given a blow job in a long time. It hadn’t been wanted in my household, and I wasn’t sure if I was any good at it anymore. But from the way Esteban gripped my hair, I knew he did want it. It was only when I felt his breath quicken, his balls tighten, that he pulled away and groaned for me to stop.

  I did so reluctantly, relishing the feel of him. He brought me up to my feet and held me against his heaving chest before he kissed me breathlessly. We kissed through the water, kissed through colors.

  When we were both worked up, Esteban turned the shower off, grabbed a few towels from the rack, and led me out into the bedroom. He put the towels on the bed, then lay me back on it, my legs around his neck.

  As much as I was craving for him to go down on me, an image kept flashing through my mind. The one I had in the Jeep the other night, the one of him taking off my panties with the barrel of his gun. The idea of a weapon of death so close to me was tantalizing in ways I was too afraid to understand.

  “Esteban,” I said, panting while his lips trailed up my thigh.

  “Yes,” he whispered back. “You have a glorious pussy, in case you didn’t know.”

  “Do you know what would make it more glorious,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. I was scared to go on with the request, but knew it was something I’d never get to experience again. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to feel alive.

  My shadows craved it, as did my body, so I came to a compromise.

  “Do you have a gun?” I asked.

  He paused, and I looked down to see him gazing up at me from between my legs, his brow furrowed. “Yes. Why?”

  I bit my lip and laid my head back down on the bed. “Have you ever . . . used it? On a woman?”

  Another pause. Finally he said, “Do you mean, not in the killing way?”

  “Have you ever . . . put it inside someone? And not pulled the trigger.”

  He swallowed. “No,” he said, his voice low, “but that is probably the hottest fucking thing I have ever heard. And I have heard a lot.”

  “Will you try?” I asked, feeling extraordinarily vulnerable from both my position and the request. It felt so strange to be laying myself so bare, even if it was just sexually.

  “You really do have a taste for death, don’t you,” he said to me as he came up. He kissed me hard, passionately, hungrily, his fingers pulling on my hair until I moaned. Then he abruptly pulled away and went running naked out into the living room. I heard him pick up his leather jacket and when he came back into the bedroom, he had a gun in his hand.

  “Don’t worry,” he said as he promptly emptied the clip and made sure the chamber was empty.

  My eyes widened at the sight. “I’m not worried.”

  “I keep it fairly clean,” he said as he brought it over to me, about to get back into position. “More or less.”

  “I think I’ve decided I like things dirty.”


  “You think?” he asked, his voice rougher now, an octave lower.

  I could feel him tracing the gun up between my thighs. I clenched, my body yearning for it, for the cold hard metal, for the kiss of danger.

  “Perhaps we need lube,” Esteban said. Moments later he slipped his fingers over my slit and sucked in his breath. “Or perhaps not. You’re so wet, Lani. I could drink you.”

  “Do it,” I moaned. “Lick me with your tongue, fuck me with the gun.”

  He swore something in Spanish, I don’t know what, but it was impassioned. I felt his lips press down on my clit, his tongue snaking out to rub it just as the cold barrel of the gun teased at my entrance. My legs spread for him as he slowly eased the gun into me. I felt myself expanding, the coldness both a shock and a turn-on. My body rippled with pleasure, with excitement, with the thrill. Something so deadly was deep inside me, a thing that had taken lives was now giving ecstasy to mine.

  It didn’t take long before I was howling, coming hard and fast as Esteban angled the gun to hit my G-spot, and his tongue rubbed my clit until my body broke in waves. I cried out, grabbing his hair, feeling like I was making up for so much lost time, so many lost moments and opportunities. For one brief second I felt impossibly free.

  Esteban carefully put the gun on the floor. “That was something I won’t forget,” he said.

  “You did say you wanted memories,” I told him once I’d found my voice. It was already hoarse, my lips dry.

  “I did,” he said. He slipped his arm under my back and flipped me over so I was on my stomach. “But I’m not done. The gun was hot, but what I have . . . fires better.”

  I smiled into the towels as he lifted my ass up into the air, straddling me from behind. He took a firm hold of my hips and thrust into me, making me feel impossibly, wonderfully full. It wasn’t long until we were both coming together, grunts and cries and sweaty skin on skin. My world danced with colors, rainbows, sunshine.

  Rays of light in all this dark.

  • • •

  I must have fallen asleep in Esteban’s arms because he moved a bit, jostling me awake, and my eyes flew open. It was nighttime, and everything was in shadow.