Virgin

by Georgia Le Carre

  ‘Can I have one?’

  I fit my cigarette between my lips and hold open the cigarette packet. He takes one. There is blood on his hand.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ I ask.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m buzzing.’

  I flick open the lighter and hold the flame up to him. My hand is shaking. His other hand comes up to cup the flame. In the intimate glow, I see the heat rise from his skin like steam. And I smell the sweat and the trace of endorphins and adrenaline radiating from it. Our eyes meet again and we stare at each other. Yes, I am shocked, and yes, I am shaken, but there is something else struggling to show its face. He inhales, the cigarette burns orange, and I kill the flame with a click.

  I turn away, dropping the lighter back into the packet. I return my forefinger and middle finger back on either side of my cigarette and inhale a lungful of warm smoke. It makes me feel light-headed. I exhale it out slowly and put my hand down to the side of my body. There is a foot between us, and an unmistakable element of danger. Like being on one of those roller coasters that inverts you. You are scared to death and unbelievably excited at the same time.

  I grasp that I’m not only aroused by the violence I witnessed in the pit, I am excited by the tightly packed, rippling muscles of his body. He is giving off vibes that are calling to me. My life-long hatred of him seems to belong to another place and time. By a strange trick of the light it has morphed into an intense desire to meld my body with his. Shocked by that realization and super aware of him, I carry on staring out into the empty frozen fields.

  He doesn’t say a word and neither do I. There is nothing to say. Words are superfluous in the wake of the thick, sexual tension crackling like electricity between our bodies.

  Suddenly Ria is calling me. ‘There you are. I’ve been looking for you.’

  I let the butt of my cigarette drop to the ground and grind it with my foot. I hand her the packet. ‘Thanks.’

  BJ flicks the end of his cigarette away from him.

  ‘Hey Ria,’ he says quietly.

  ‘That was a great fight,’ Ria says.

  ‘Thanks,’ he says devoid of any emotion. As if he is totally unaffected by her compliment.

  My phone rings. I take it out of my purse. Shit. It is my mother. I consider not taking the call, but I know what she’s like. She will persist and persist until she gets me.

  ‘Hi Ma.’ My eyes flick over to BJ. He is watching me intently.

  ‘Where are you?’ she asks.

  I gaze down at the frozen ground. ‘I’m with Ria,’ I reply. I don’t dare tell her where I am. I know she won’t approve. She’ll probably tell Jake and he’ll go mad.

  ‘Right. Can you be home in an hour?’

  ‘I guess so. Why?’

  ‘Shane’s coming around to your place. I’ve sent some food for you.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’

  ‘Call me when you get home, OK?’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘But call Shane first,’ she says, and rings off.

  I put my phone back into my purse and look up at Ria imploringly. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get home. My ma is sending my brother around to my place in an hour.’

  ‘Blimey,’ Ria says, widening her eyes. ‘You better call him and make it an hour and a half.’ She turns towards BJ. ‘I’ll see you this weekend then.’

  He nods and looks at me.

  ‘Bye,’ I say awkwardly.

  Then we are hurrying back into the barn in search of the guy we placed our bets with.

  ELEVEN

  Layla

  Saturday. It takes forever to come, but when it does it brings a hard, tight knot into my stomach.

  I know Ria and all her mates will dress to kill, so I take a long time getting ready. I soak in the bath for almost an hour with my mother’s secret homemade masque recipe on my face and another of her concoctions in my hair. She claims it’s guaranteed to make my hair shine. My mother’s potions do a good job, my skin is glowing and my hair glossy and shiny.

  I wear my white mini dress. It is sleeveless with a high Nehru collar, but what makes it daring without being slutty is a five-inch long oval cutout in the middle of the dress that reveals my nicely tanned torso and belly button. I stick a red beret on my head and slide into a pair of knee length, white suede peep-toe boots that were all the rage a few months ago in Italy.

  I stand in front of the mirror and I know I look good. My thoughts go to that moment when BJ bent his head to me and we shared a flame. Unconsciously, my finger slowly circles my bare belly.

  Laissez-faire is a cavernous, totally modern nightclub with under-flooring lights that flash blue and white and gleaming metal structures on the walls and pillars. Ria is having her party in the VIP area upstairs. As soon as I enter the cordoned off area, she runs towards me.

  ‘Oh! My! God!’ she screams. ‘You look awesome, babe. I LOVE your boots.’

  She looks glamorous in a red cowboy hat with a rhinestone band, a tight red and black striped dress, and the highest boots I have seen outside of a fashion magazine. The lights pick up the glitter on her lovely brown skin.

  ‘Well, you look absolutely stunning yourself,’ I tell her sincerely.

  She flicks her long, summer-streaked hair. ‘You bet I do.’

  I smile. None of that false modesty for Ria. I hold out her present, a pretty chain belt I bought in Milan. ‘Happy Birthday, Ria.’

  She takes it, beaming. ‘Thanks. Come on. Let’s get you a drink.’ She winks at me. ‘We’re drinking champagne. BJ said we could have anything we wanted, so we ordered bubbly, but we didn’t go overboard and get the really expensive stuff though,’ she tells me chattily as we cross the room for the bar.

  We are halfway there when Ria’s favorite song, Justin Timberlake’s Sexy Back, comes on. With a shout of pure joy she puts her present on the floor, and gyrates provocatively around me. With a laugh I give in. We start bumping hips, twerking comically, and dancing around my present like two demented teenagers. Soon her other friends come onto the floor to join us.

  When the song is over, Ria takes my hand and we attempt to continue our journey to the bar, but All About That Bass comes on and I love that song. I swing her around and we are at it again.

  Laughing and breathless, we reach the bar five songs later. No sooner have we had a sip of our champagne than another of my favorite tracks comes on. Five of us girls rush off to the dance floor and give it all we’ve got.

  The hours pass fast. The music is good and Ria is a great laugh.

  It’s almost midnight. I know because the girl next to me is whispering that there is a surprise cake to be cut at the exact stroke of twelve. I am sitting at the table with Ria, feeling relaxed and merry when the air shifts. I look up and BJ is standing over us, looming even bigger and broader than I remember. He is wearing a khaki t-shirt tight enough to show off his impressive muscles and the V of his torso. His jeans hang low on his hips.

  But he is with a woman!

  It takes a few seconds for that to sink in. But when it does—fucking hell!—I feel like the biggest fool this side of the equator. There was nothing between us after all. It was all in my imagination. I was wrong again. Just as I was wrong about Lupo. Without looking directly into his eyes, my eyes slide away to her.

  She is voluptuous and hauntingly exotic with creamy skin, blue-black hair, either green or hazel eyes (it’s impossible to tell under the club’s lights), and high cheekbones that give her a feline appearance. She is wearing a short black dress that can barely contain her curves, and she has her hand possessively curved around BJ’s arm. Her nails are long and red and she is running them lightly along the inside of his forearm in a way that is profoundly sexual. I find the sight so disturbing I have to drop my head and stare into my drink.

  ‘Layla,’ BJ says by way of greeting.

  ‘Hi,’ I reply brightly, looking up, but not letting my eyes rise past his mouth. He has a sexy mouth. The lower lip
is so deliciously plump it makes you want to nibble it. Jeez. How much champagne have I had? I return my eyes to my drink. Five glasses.

  To my horror Ria invites BJ to sit with us. She slides closer to me, and motions for me to scoot up further along the seat. The space she’s freeing up does not seem big enough for him. Fortunately, he tells us that he’s not staying. I look up with relief.

  Big mistake.

  He is staring at me and I am suddenly caught in his stare, unable to look away. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth. There is a curse word stuck behind my teeth. My skin comes alive and my heart dances in my chest.

  ‘Layla. Isn’t that an Arabic name that means the dark of the night?’ the woman he is with asks with a fake-ass smile.

  Before I can answer BJ speaks up. ‘No, the real Arabic translation of Layla means that light, giddy feeling one has after the first drink of the night. Not drunk but on the way to being there. It is the beginning of intoxication.’

  My breath catches in my throat. I stare at him shocked. The way he said Layla had been a sultry caress.

  The woman laughs, a hostile, angry sound. ‘Well, Arabic names on non-Arabs is a bit silly, really.’

  ‘I can’t imagine a more suitable name for her,’ BJ says, his coal black eyes never leaving mine.

  Flustered by the look in his eyes, I stand up in a rush. His gaze drops to my navel. His lust is so blatant, fiery heat rushes up my neck and into my face.

  ‘Excuse me. I need to nip over to the ladies,’ I tell the girls as I slide out of the banquette seat.

  I feel his eyes burning into my back as I leave the sectioned-off area.

  I stand in front of the mirror and stare at myself. There are two spots of high color on my cheeks, my hair is an untidy mess, and my beret is no longer set at its jaunty angle. Someone has stepped on the side of one of my beautiful new boots and there is a brown mark on it. I pull out some paper towels from the dispenser, wet them, and try to clean it off, but I have to give up without much success.

  The weird thing is, I am doing all these things on autopilot. Some part of my brain is going crazy. He came with another woman. It rankles. But then he goes on about my name and looks at me as if he wants to eat me. What’s he playing at? Is there or isn’t there something between us

  I run my fingers through my hair, apply a new layer of lip gloss and exit the toilets. As I walk along the frosted glass corridor a large hand reaches out from the darkness and slams me against an unyielding body.

  FIVE

  LAYLA

  What if we kiss? What then?

  My breasts are crushed against his hard muscles, but I don’t attempt to struggle. I have grown up with three brothers so I know how useless it is to fight with people who are bigger and stronger than you are. Instead I fix him with a venom-filled glare. He brought a fucking woman with him.

  ‘Let go of me.’

  ‘Scared?’ he taunts, his voice rich and smooth.

  ‘Of you?’ I scoff sarcastically, as if even the idea is incredible.

  He laughs. It comes from somewhere deep inside him, a wicked rumble. But I like it. I like it a lot.

  ‘Yeah me,’ he says. ‘I like to tie girls up and suck their pussies until they scream.’

  I feel my belly contract. How different this laughing man is from the one who shared a flame with me outside the barn. ‘Oh, you are disgusting.’

  He holds me at arm’s length and lets his eyes travel down, deliberately lingering on my breasts before coming to a stop at my bare belly.

  ‘Will you freaking stop staring at me like that?’

  He grins and a dimple pops up in his chin. It makes him look edible. ‘If you don’t want men to look at you like that, why do you dress like that?’

  ‘You’re an asshole, you know?’ I huff.

  ‘And you’re seriously fuckin’ hot.’

  My eyes widen. ‘Are you fucking serious?’ I gasp.

  ‘My balls are already aching.’

  ‘I don’t believe this.’

  ‘What sounds do you make when you come?’

  ‘What?’ I sputter. This is too much. It’s outrageous. He’s flirting with me and he has a woman waiting for him upstairs. What an arrogant bastard. ‘How dare you?’

  He smiles slowly. The slowest smile I’ve seen in my entire life. ‘If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna assume you want me to find out for myself.’

  My palm swings upwards furiously, but his hand shoots out and catches it. Bending my fingers inwards he lifts my knuckles up to his lips. I try to jerk my wrist away, but it doesn’t move at all. My breathing is erratic and my lips are trembling.

  He smiles down at me, his eyes black and frighteningly unknowable.

  ‘You want to expend some energy, wildcat? Give me your address and I’ll come around later.’

  My chest puffs out. My blood is pounding with fury and lust. I feel as if I am about to explode in his face. I don’t know why this man can get me in this state with just the lift of an eyebrow. I shake my head. ‘I can’t decide if you are thick or just plain stupid. Read my lips. I. Don’t. Want. You.’

  ‘My, my, what a little liar you are. That’s not at all what your delectable body is telling mine.’ He runs a callused finger along the bare skin of my arm. It is not a particularly intimate or sexy move, but the way he does it makes me shiver. I freeze and hold my breath. When he reaches my wrist, he catches it and brings it up to his nose.

  ‘You’ve never changed your perfume, have you?’ His voice is quiet, reflective, but there are black fires burning in his eyes.

  My breath comes out in a whoosh. He noticed! I don’t tell him that this perfume was the last gift from my father. I had come back from a day of horse riding and my father had given me the box and said, ‘A flower shouldn’t smell like a donkey.’

  ‘It suits you,’ he says, looking at me as if he is drinking me in. I stare up at him stupidly. I am very tall but even in my high-heeled boots he still makes me feel tiny.

  The music changes. Chris Isaak’s sex anthem, Wicked Game, comes on.

  ‘They’re playing our song, Layla,’ he says in a smoky drawl.

  ‘We don’t have a song,’ I tell him, but my voice is weak

  His eyes gleam with amusement. He bends his head and I jerk back. ‘Who told you that?’ he whispers, so close to my ear I feel his breath hot and smelling of mints.

  Deftly, he whirls me around twice so I am suddenly thrust onto the edge of the dance floor. Isaak’s yearning vocals fill the air and I feel something melt inside me. The pulsating bodies around us melt away and we are inside the sexy black-and-white Herb Ritts video. A dreamy place where everything happens in slow motion and I am frolicking with the most gorgeous man on earth.

  When Isaak’s voice slithers, ‘What a wicked game you played to make me feel this way.’ I feel as if BJ is singing it to me. His arms envelop my body tightly, we fit together perfectly. We stare into each other’s eyes. Lost in the dream world he has created, I lace my fingers around the back of BJ’s powerful neck. The thick muscles contract under my hands. My fingers sweep and tangle in his hair.

  ‘I’d never dreamed I’d love somebody like you’.

  I rest my cheek on his chest and listen to the swaggering, strut-worthy tempo of his heart. Everything about him is so macho. Even his heartbeat has attitude. I close my eyes. His intentions are delicious and unapologetically impolite. I don’t want to admit it, but some part of me aches for him.

  ‘No IIIIIII don’t want to fall in love… with you.’

  He lifts me by my waist. I don’t scream or yelp. My brothers have been doing it to me for years. When my throat is at his mouth level, he kisses it and I throw my head back and shudder at the warmth. He carries me higher still. I place my palms on his massive shoulders and look down on him. He stares at me, his eyes black and voracious. Slowly he twirls me. Round and round. Our eyes lock on each other. Then he moves his head forward and licks my belly button, like an animal. The carnality of the ge
sture makes me gasp.

  Around us the music begins to slow down.

  Isaak says, ‘Nobody loves no one.’

  ‘I’ve tasted you and you are a meal I wish to devour,’ he growls in my ear on my journey back to the ground. My feet touch the ground and my knees feel shaky. This is not a dance. This is a seduction, a kind I have never experienced. Primitive, raw, irresistible.

  Dazed with hypnotic lust and mesmerized by his eyes, I gaze wordlessly up into his harsh face. A seduction is a promise of pleasure and release. I’m waiting. I guess I’m waiting for him to deliver. His head swoops down and his mouth captures mine. He kisses like a bandit. A time thieving bandit. Time slips away from me. The kiss goes on and on. I never want it to end. How long I stand within the circle of his arms while his mouth plunders mine I don’t know.

  Heat and fire flood my belly.

  My entire body is a river of sensations. Nothing in my life has ever felt so good. With his hand on the small of my back he presses me even closer into his body as if he wants to meld me into him. As if he wants to completely crush and dominate me.

  It is as if there is something inside both of us that is fighting to get to the other. My hips thrust into his thick hardness and I lust for him. The craving for him is like a fever. When he raises his head, I am such a mess I can do no more than blink stupidly.

  Fall Out Boy’s Centuries comes on around us and Patrick Stump is screaming, ‘Remember me ... for centuries.’

  He lets go of me, his eyes narrowed. As ever, a sense of danger, something taboo, lingers around him. ‘Meet me tomorrow,’ he says. There is a thread of urgency in his voice.

  The burn of his kiss lingers, and his scent is clinging to my skin like a touch. Nobody has ever kissed me like that. ‘I can’t. I’m going back to London tomorrow night.’

  ‘Come for dinner on Monday.’

  ‘Dinner,’ I repeat stupidly.

  ‘At Pigeon’s Pie.’

  Pigeon’s Pie is one of his pubs. I hesitate.