by Adore Ian
We stare at one another.
“Are you wet, Red?”
“Yes.” I’m not sure if I spoke aloud or not.
Damian’s hand leaves my face for my breasts and I realize I’m grinding myself on his thigh, finding whatever friction I can.
His hand moves beneath the neckline of my tank top and under my bra cup. It’s too dim for him to see what he’s doing. He’s guided by touch alone.
He finds my nipple and lightly circles it with a finger. My breath catches, I’m nothing but feeling, anticipation ratcheting up inside me.
I close my eyes and lay my forehead on his chest. Still my body rocks over his thigh, on the hand still between my legs.
“Does that feel good?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He pinches my areola and I moan so loud I should be embarrassed. “Your nipple is very swollen,” he says in the same low, gravel-rough voice. “Is this for me, Marrin?”
“Yes.”
“Kiss me.”
I’m powerless to disobey. My lips find his and I open for his tongue, needing to feel him inside me.
Then I’m completely lost in him, us. I have no concept of the real world, I forget who I am, who we are outside this moment. Outside our kissing. Our bodies. His tongue in my mouth. His hands on my skin.
I’m faintly aware I’m now straddling his lap, my tank top bunched at my waist, my bra on the floor. I’m grinding myself into his hips desperate for attention. His erection grows, but he makes no move to give it to me.
Hands snake up my torso to twist and tease my breasts. I gasp and pant into his mouth. A hand dips beneath my panties and slips right into my core. I shiver at the sudden intrusion, arching up, breaking our kiss. My nails dig into his bare shoulders, and I look down to see him staring at my tits. His eyes dip lower to watch where he’s now inside me.
I must have whimpered or begged because Damian’s eyes snap to me. “Fuck yourself on me, Red. I want to feel you come in my hand.”
A fresh wave of need floods out of me and into his palm. His lips part in awe. He adds another finger and curls them, putting pressure exactly where I need it. My head tilts back, my hips rock over him.
“So beautiful,” Damian murmurs.
Seconds later, my core tightens, my body spasms and pleasure crashes through me like a freight train.
When I come down, I notice three things. The first is that I came with my forehead pressed to Damian’s. The second is that I’m now kissing him with a kind of desperation I’ve never allowed myself to feel, let alone show. The third is that Damian is kissing me with that same desperation. Like lovers separated by war. Like kissing and touching is our only language. Like he’s finally found me and will never let me go.
I tell myself to stop.
Tell myself to pull away.
Tell myself this is how you get your heart broken.
It’s only when I feel his hand glide right over my scars, leaving my pants, that I really snap back to reality.
I jump up, tripping over my purse and spilling the contents everywhere.
“Shit.” I put my back to him, pull up my tank top, then crouch down, pretending to be very focused on shoving everything back into my purse.
Anxiety crawls over me like centipedes across a corpse. I ignore it. Ignore the voice in my head telling me the scars are proof I’m white trash and that Damian will never want me once he knows.
“Mar?”
I’m not sure I can turn around—scared of what I might see on his face, what he might’ve felt on my stomach.
Calm down. He didn’t feel the scars.
I force myself to relax. When Damian slipped his hand in and out of my pants, the angle had been weird. He’d had to keep his palm pressed to my pants and there’s no way he could’ve felt my scars with the back of his hand.
Plus it’s dark as a cave in here.
When I think I have everything back in my purse, I get up and turn around.
Damian’s standing inches from me.
His gaze too keen.
Too knowing.
His phone rings.
We both startle.
He answers and I gather that our pizza is downstairs. He hangs up and grabs a shirt and a pair of shoes. He pauses on the way to the door.
“You okay?” His fingertips drag up my bare arm, sending goosebumps over my skin.
“Of course,” I say, shoving my money in his pocket.
He frowns. “You don’t have to pay—”
“Either you take my money now and let me buy you dinner or I hide my money somewhere in this apartment and you find out I bought you dinner later.”
His face wrinkles. I can tell he still wants to ask about my freak out but decides against it.
Instead he frowns theatrically. “For thousands of years, men have been providing food for their women. I consider myself a feminist, but I’m feeling a little emasculated right about now.”
I laugh so hard it’s a miracle I don’t piss myself. “Okay. First of all, so much is wrong with what you just said I don’t even know where to start. Second, I just sucked you off and came in your hand, and you’re going to let something like me paying for dinner—to even the score for the dinners you’ve bought me—make you feel like less of a man? Clearly, I’ve underestimated the patriarchy’s fragile ego.”
“What can I say, I want to give you nice things.”
“Oh my God.” I shove him toward the door. “Get out of here.”
He laughs all the way down the hall.
9
Damian
“Who are you supposed to be?” I say to Jayce as he climbs into the backseat of my Jeep.
“Clark Kent.”
Hayden and I exchange a confused look. “How the hell is anyone supposed to get that?”
Jayce unbuttons his shirt, revealing the Superman logo beneath. Hayden and I give a collective, “Oh.”
It’s Halloween and we’re all heading to the Braxton Arcade’s costume party. It’s ten o’clock and I’m driving.
Hayden says, “You should probably leave your shirt unbuttoned or no one is gonna get your costume.”
“Why? Because I’m Black?” Jayce says, clearly messing with Hayden.
“No. Because without the logo you just look like a businessman.”
“Or Lester Holt,” I add. They both laugh. A second later, Vicky and Tiana climb into the backseat. “Let me guess,” I say, glancing at their costumes “Beyoncé and Lois Lane?”
“Duh,” Vicky says. “And who are you supposed to be?” She grips the back of my seat and practically climbs into the front to get a good look at me. I turn, showing her my outfit. She shakes her head. “I got nothing.”
“You’re Rick Deckard,” Tiana says. “From Blade Runner, right?”
“Finally,” I say, fist bumping Tiana. “I knew you’d get it.”
“It’s only one of the best neo noir films of all time.”
“Wasn’t Ryan Gosling in that?” Vicky asks.
I sigh. “Vick, if you weren’t one of my best friends, I’d kick you out of my car right now.”
“For not getting some random movie reference? Since when are you so pretentious?”
When we get to the Braxton, I park on the street. We skip the epic waiting line, because Marrin got us on a list, and walk right up to the door where Conor lets us in.
Every year the Braxton has a costume contest, and people get serious. There are awesome outfits everywhere and people are running around trying to get pictures of one another. It’s chaos. Eventually, I make it to the bar where Marrin takes one look at me before her lips pucker into a lovely expression of bemused annoyance.
About two weeks ago, I covertly asked Priya what Marrin had planned to wear on Halloween. She’d kindly told me that Marrin planned to go as Rachael from Blade Runner, Deckard’s love interest. Priya even went as far as to tell me where I could find a costume.
Marrin’s wearing a black pencil skirt and suit jacket with severe
shoulder pads and a glittering collar. Her retro hairstyle is spot on and her makeup is smoky eyed and red lipped. She’s even wearing fake red nails.
She rests a fist on a hip. “Who told you?” she accuses.
I give her a bedroom smile. “How do you know it’s not a surprising coincidence?”
“Because nothing with you ever is.”
“Babe, I’m full of surprises.”
She snorts and comes in close. “Well you better be full of excuses because someone’s going to notice we’re dressed to match and then come the questions.”
“Already thought of an excuse.”
“Oh?”
Tell them you’re my girlfriend.
“Yes,” I drawl. “The couples costume contest—”
“No way.”
“You haven’t even heard what I’m about to suggest.”
“Don’t need to. I’m not entering the contest.”
Priya’s head pops up behind Mar’s shoulder. “Hello, detective Deckard. Retired any humans by mistake lately?”
Marrin’s jaw drops. “It was you.”
Priya smiles, tossing dark hair over a bare shoulder. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She walks away, her pale brown skin sparkling in the light reflecting off her costume’s sequins. She’s dressed as a very convincing Dita Von Teese.
“Dang,” I say. “She could be a real burlesque dancer.”
“You’ve no idea,” Marrin mutters. “What’s your backup plan, detective?”
“We lie. If anyone asks, we say we’ve both wanted to do Blade Runner and knew if we did it alone, no one would get it.”
Begrudgingly, she agrees to use the excuse.
I spend the rest of the night mingling, dancing and playing games. It’s just past midnight when I find the bar again.
I pop onto a stool and order another beer. Marrin passes it to me just as a cute woman dressed as a mermaid stumbles up to the bar. She grabs my arm to steady herself before sliding into the seat next to me.
“Sorry,” she giggles.
“No worries.” I sip my beer. “You all right?”
She smiles. “I’m a mermaid.”
“I can see that.” She’s wearing a shiny shell bustier and leggings patterned with metallic fish scales.
“What are you? Some kind of sexy nerd?”
I’m uniquely aware that Marrin is mere feet away and that the Little Mermaid over here is still holding my arm. Politely, I remove her hand and set it on the bar. “I’m Harrison Ford from Blade Runner.”
Mermaid squeals, “I’ve seen that movie.” She grabs my shoulder. “Damn, this jacket is legit. Where’d you get it?”
“Internet.”
“Holy shit, how much was it?”
I shrug, moving out of her hold. “Not much. Got it used on eBay.”
“I’m Chelsea, by the way.” She sits back.
“Damian.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Same.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” Marrin asks.
While Chelsea orders, I try to catch Mar’s eye to let her know this is totally innocent and one sided, but she doesn’t look at me.
Sweat prickles the back of my neck.
Am I nervous?
Chelsea gets her drink and turns to me. “Are you here alone?”
“With friends. You?”
“Sort of. I came with a guy I’ve been seeing, but he’s now sucking face with some hot redhead dressed as a Playboy Bunny.”
I have no clue how to respond to that, so I go with, “That sucks.”
“The worst part is I can’t even be mad. I mean she’s hot. Like hot hot.” She sighs. “It just sucks because I got an IUD for him and everything. What a waste.”
That gets my attention. “Enlighten me, how is getting on birth control a waste?”
She sips her drink. “It’s not. I meant that I switched my birth control to an IUD for him. You know,” she leans in and whispers loudly, “so we could have raw sex.”
No, I didn’t know.
Two days ago, I was cleaning my apartment and found a folded piece of paper under my couch with aftercare instructions for an IUD placement. I figured it was from someone I’d slept with or maybe Tiana or Vicky… But right now Marrin is staring hard at the beer she’s pouring. So hard I know she’s actively trying not to look at me.
She did knock over her purse at my apartment the other night, and an IUD would explain her cramps a few weeks back…
Chelsea continues. “Don’t get me wrong, you can totally have sex without condoms when you’re on the pill. But, like, an IUD is always there, sitting in your uterus. There’s no waking up at three in the morning and running out to get Plan B because you realize you forgot to take your birth control pill and—fuck—you do not want kids and abortions have so much stigma attached to them.”
I try not to laugh. “Personal experience?”
“My roommate. I had to drive her to the drug store in the middle of the night because she doesn’t have a car.”
“You’re a good friend.”
“I’m a great friend.”
“So is that why most women switch?” I glance at Marrin, she’s stone faced and obviously eavesdropping.
“In my experience, yeah. But not always.” Chelsea looks over the crowd, then turns to me. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Having a beer.” I sip said beer for emphasis.
She grabs my arm. “No, I mean what are you doing tonight.”
I finally catch Mar’s eye. Her face is a mixture of amusement and sympathy. I look back at Chelsea. She’s leaning to the side, tits practically spilling out of the too-small shells meant to contain them.
I say, “I’m driving my friends home. I’m the DD.”
“Girl,” Chelsea says to Marrin. “What am I doing wrong here?”
Mar shakes her head, holding in a laugh. “I think you need to be more direct,” she says. “He might be one of those guys who’s not as experienced with the ladies.”
“Ooh.”
I shoot Mar a, What are you doing? look. She shoots back a, Living my best life, look.
Chelsea grazes her leg against mine. “Sexy detective, do you want to sleep with me tonight?”
I choke on my beer.
I’m no stranger to being hit on. But never in my life can I recall a moment where a woman I’m sleeping with actively encouraged a woman I wasn’t sleeping with to hit on me.
I wipe beer off my chin. “If I weren’t seeing someone, I’d probably take you up on that offer.”
Mermaid’s face falls. “Damn. All the cute ones have girlfriends.”
I don’t correct her.
“Damn is right,” Priya says, jumping in. “Whomever Sexy Detective over here is dating must be pretty fuckin’ amazing if he’s turning you down.” Marrin’s face heats. “Mermaid, you’re a ten outta ten, babe. Don’t sweat it. Men are a dime a dozen, and you don’t need one to be happy or fulfilled in life. But if you’re looking to go trick-or-treating tonight,” she winks, “I’m sure a suitable participant will find you. The night is young.”
With renewed confidence, Chelsea finishes her drink and melts back into the crowd.
I turn to Marrin. “Well that was uncomfortable.”
She grins like a kid in a candy store. I open my mouth to say something, but she flashes me a warning look, reminding me we’re in a crowded bar.
I pull out my phone.
Damian: Was that some kind of test or something?
Marrin: Why would I test you?
Damian: I don’t know. Maybe to see if I’m serious about being exclusive?
There’s a clatter as Marrin tosses her phone onto the back counter. She faces me, arms crossed. A long red nail taps her bicep.
I run through the texts, wondering what I said to piss her off.
I got nothing.
“Can I talk to you outside a moment?” She leaves before I can answer.
I count to
five before following her out the back door and into the alley behind the arcade. She stands a few yards from the dumpster.
“Why on earth would you think I’d test you?” she snaps, clearly angrier than I’d thought.
“I don’t know. You acted like you wanted that woman to hit on me, maybe even take me home.”
“And you think that makes it some kind of test on my part?”
“I…” I step closer. “Why do I feel like there’s no right answer?”
She makes a frustrated sound. “I’m not some jealous girlfriend, Damian. If I, for one second, thought I needed to test your fidelity, then we wouldn’t be sleeping together.”
I take another step, nearly backing her into the side of the building. “What are you saying?” I rasp, glancing at her mouth.
She notices. “I’m not going to hate on other women for no reason. Mermaid was a few drinks deep and had no idea you were seeing anyone. It’s not like you’re wearing a sign advertising you’re in a rela—” Her lips smash together.
Now I do back her into the wall, confidence pouring over of me in a way it only does when I’m with her. “A what?”
Her jaw clenches. “That you’re exclusively sleeping with someone. Why the hell would I hold that against her or anyone who hit on you? I have more dignity and understanding than that, thank-you-very-much.”
I cage her in and lean down so our faces are level. “You trust me.”
“Pffft.” She turns her head and crosses her arms over her chest, making no move to pull away.
“Say it.”
When she doesn’t respond, I grab her wrists and pin them above her head. She looks at me, pupils dilating with lust. I brush my lips along her cheek and she angles her head to let me ghost them over her jaw and down the delicate column of her neck.
“Say it.” I force a knee between her legs.
Her throat bobs.
I chuckle darkly. Her breathing is fast, each exhale a puff of white on the air. Pinning her wrists with one hand, I reach into my back pocket. Between two fingers I hold up the folded piece of paper I found under my couch.
Her eyes flare with recognition.
