Trust Me

by Isabel Jolie

  “You have a terrace!” I exclaim. Anna and Jackson were the first people in my circle of friends to have a large terrace. Not a balcony, but a full terrace. As I approach the door, it automatically opens, kind of like the way they open at a store. I step through onto his terrace, which is about the size of my apartment. He has a seating area on one end and a table large enough to seat eight on the other side. In the center of his seating area is one of the concrete fire tables I’ve seen in the Restoration Hardware catalogs. The view is of the river.

  “My mom found this place. There were other units in the building, but this was the only one available at the time with a terrace. I like being able to come outside.”

  I look around and notice there are no plants. From what I’ve seen, he favors a modern, clean aesthetic. So clean, in fact, that it feels a little unlived-in.

  “Want me to show you around?”

  “Yeah, I’d love that. Your place is beautiful. Stunning.”

  His hand hasn’t let mine go the whole time, and his thumb rubs across my knuckles, sending shivers all along my spine. I circle the great room, taking in his home, aware of his hungry gaze as I do so. He opens his mouth to say something then closes it and leads me back inside.

  “What? Were you going to say something?”

  “Nothing. Nothing that wouldn’t make me sound like the king of cheese.” The sliding door closes automatically after we exit. He takes two steps to the side and points into another room. The pocket door is open. “Study.” He lets me pass to get a better look. He gives me a quick moment to check it out. There’s an attached bathroom at the end of his office. He tugs on my fingers to continue the tour.

  He spins around and says, “Great room and kitchen.” The kitchen is a modern masterpiece. The gray flat panel cabinet doors seamlessly coalesce with the style of the great room. He takes my hand and leads me down the stairs.

  “Wow. I haven’t been in many Manhattan apartments with two floors.” Anna and Jackson also have two floors, but their stairs take you up to the terrace. All their indoor living spaces are on one floor.

  “Yeah, you know, I like that it has two levels. Makes it feel more spacious.”

  “Spacious. It is spacious,” I mutter as my fingers glide along the sleek ebony railing. My uncle has an enormous condominium in the city. Two floors in a building, the penthouse. He has his own private elevator. But my uncle is in a league of his own. My friends, well, we’re more real. Sam, his place in XI, is not what I’d consider realistic for the majority of us.

  As we get to the bottom of the steps, he points backward. “Laundry room and exit to elevator behind that door.” He points toward an open door that looks down into a hall and adds, “Guest bedroom.” Then he pulls me into another long room and says, “Master.”

  There’s a wall of glass at the far end, a replica of upstairs but without the terrace. From his bedroom, you can see the murky brown of the Hudson, ships and ferries on the river, and the green of the Hudson Greenway and the activity along the running path.

  A king-size bed with a gray headboard and nightstands line the opposing wall. The jet-black comforter stands out from the various shades of light grays throughout the room. The wide plank natural white pine floor gives the room an open, natural feel.

  A series of black and white photographs in black frames line one wall. The photograph closest to me is of a black horse galloping across a field of tall grass. The photo reminds me of the cover art for the book The Black Stallion. The other images are black and white landscapes of open pastures and expansive trees.

  Sam steps up behind me and pulls my back to his front. “Pictures from home.” He spins me around to face him. His lips fall to mine, and finally, finally, I get the chance to freely rub my hands through his hair. He moans as his hands press up against my ass, pushing me against him. The curve of his hard erection presses against my needy core. He walks me backward until my legs hit the bed. He takes the bottom of my shirt and lifts it over my head. He stands back a bit, enough to look at me, standing there in my leggings and jog bra. As far as jog bras go, it’s somewhat attractive. It pushes my breasts up, and the straps in the back crisscross in an interesting way. But still, it’s a jog bra, and I’m kicking myself for not being better prepared for our first time together. I’ve been outside with him all day. I haven’t even showered since yoga this morning.

  He doesn’t seem to mind. His assessing gaze takes on a look of hunger. Need. His fingers glide along my collarbone, down the middle of my chest. He caresses my breast, his thumb rubbing along my nipple. The sensation is mild through the thick material, but it feels good. I want more. I finagle the loop under the light blue piece and pull it off. It’s slightly awkward, and I’m sure anything but sexy, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He helps me remove it and throws it across the room.

  He looks at me like he could devour me. Though my hair is in a ponytail and I’ve been outside all day, his desire makes me feel sexy.

  He swallows. “Does this mean…? I don’t want to assume.”

  I rub his erection through his pants, in much the same way he felt my breasts through the jog bra. “I’m counting this as our fourth date.”

  He takes one step back and lightly caresses my breasts then pushes me back. His eyes darken as I bounce on the mattress. Within seconds, my shoes land on the floor. He grasps the top of my leggings and pulls down. They get stuck near my knees, and I sit up to help. I squirm and kick as I try to push them down. My cheeks blaze as I curse these stupid leggings now stuck around my blasted ankles. He cups my feet then slides the slick material over one foot then the other. I exhale. They are off. He smirks. I laugh out loud. Nothing at all graceful about that. From here on out, I need to wear skirts or dresses.

  I sit up, leaning back on my elbows, then reach up to free my hair. It falls along my back. It’s late afternoon, and bright light pours through the windows. The hungry look in his eye renews my confidence after the leggings fiasco.

  “Damn, girl.”

  He removes his t-shirt as I lean forward to push his pants down. His ripped chest and abs are bronzed. He looks sunbaked, like someone who spent years working outside. But the minor gradience of brighter white skin along his hips tells me he naturally has a darker skin tone, like me. I can see the outline of his erection through his black briefs.

  I swallow, taking in the significant protruding form. I reach forward to rub along his length. He watches closely. I tighten my grip as I stroke through the fabric, and he angles his hips forward as he groans.

  “Damn. That feels so good.” He pushes me back on the bed then lies down beside me, kissing me passionately, his tongue swirling with mine, as I grind against him, seeking release from the increasing tension in my core. He sucks one nipple then moves to the other. He bites, and I gasp from the combination of pain and pleasure.

  Daylight streams in, highlighting his defined quads and abdominals. For a moment, I’m self-conscious. I am naked on his bed, fully exposed and bare. I shift to close my legs and slide on my side, seeking a more modest position.

  He clucks his tongue in a scolding way then slides lower and spreads my legs apart. “You are glistening. Is that for me?”

  I whimper as his tongue slides in my entrance. I spread my legs slightly wider, opening for him. He finds my clit, circles it with the tip of his tongue, then sucks. He slips a finger inside and thrusts, finger-fucking me as his tongue ignites my sensitive bundle of nerves. I quiver as all the muscles in my core and through my thighs tighten. My orgasm ricochets through my body, forcing my toes to curl and my knees to rise. I’m spread out with him between my legs, and it strikes me as a touch embarrassing and improper, but I’ve been aching for him all day, my body an electrified orb from his frequent kisses and touches and sexy smiles and dimples.

  He trails soft kisses along my thigh then up my stomach. He hovers around my breasts to suck and bite my nipples. As I slowly come back down to earth, I reach for him, my mouth claiming his, tastin
g myself on his lips. My hands explore the muscles of his back and then fall lower to grip and knead his firm ass. I push his briefs down as far as I can reach and use my feet to push them farther down his legs. He doesn’t even bother with kicking them completely off.

  He positions his erection over me, dipping his tip in then pulling back. Teasing me. He settles over me, sliding his tip in and out of my wetness as we both watch. My legs wrap around him, placing his erection in the middle of my wet folds. I lift my hips in invitation. My clit throbs. I ache to have him inside. His hips start to shift, and our hips move to create much needed friction, his erection pressing down on my mound. He kisses me deeply, and I revel in the taste of us mixed together. He hovers over me and hesitates, his eyes searching mine.

  I think I know what he’s questioning, and I offer, “It’s okay. I’m on the pill.”

  He leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue. His right arm reaches out for the nearby bedside table drawer. He pulls out a condom, rips it open, and sheathes himself. In one sudden push, he’s inside me. “God, you are so tight.” My breath catches, and my body takes a moment to adjust to the intrusion. “You feel so good.”

  Then we are moving together, moaning, gliding. The headboard hits the back wall repeatedly as I wrap my legs around him. Each thrust forces the headboard to strike the wall, each blow sounding out a loud boom. I raise my hips to pull him in tighter, begging him for harder, for more, matching his pounding rhythm.

  We move together in an erotic dance. It’s as if I’m standing on a tall cliff, looking across an expanse of ocean, and then I jump. Arms forward, prepared to dive deep. I don’t close my eyes. I keep them open. Watching our joining. In and out.

  He shifts slightly, lifting my leg, adjusting our position so he’s deeper. I’m so close, and then he rubs my clit, hard. I’m done, screaming out his name as he stalls and shudders. We both ride our climax, gripping each other, claiming each other.

  He falls back on his back and pulls me to his side. He kisses my forehead and chuckles.

  “Damn, girl. Just so you know. We are doing that again.”

  I kiss his neck and along his jaw. “Today?”

  He laughs. “Hell, yes, today.”

  Eventually, Sam leads me to an enormous marble shower with two heads plus an overhead rainfall feature. Sam washes my hair then my entire body with an attentiveness I’ve never experienced before. He lavishes attention on each breast and bends down and twirls his tongue around each nipple, causing me to whimper. Then he braces me against the wall and his erection presses against my stomach. I can tell he’s thinking about taking me against the shower wall, but he backs up two steps. He grips his hard cock and almost to himself says, “No condom.”

  I smile, tracing his pecs then farther down until my hand replaces his, taking a firm hold of his pulsing erection, teasing the crown with my thumb. “That’s okay. I’ve got it covered.” Then I fall to my knees and take him in my mouth as warm water runs down my back. I roll my tongue around the tip, tasting the salty precum while I massage his balls.

  My tongue glides down his shaft along the veiny landscape. I take one of his testicles in my mouth and suck, slightly rolling the ball in my mouth. “Fuck!” he hisses.

  Sam braces himself against the shower wall, as if he’s having trouble standing. Bringing this gorgeous man to his knees becomes my mission. I sit farther up on my knees so I can take him in my mouth. I take him as deep as I can, using my tongue, my hands to stroke what I can’t take. Ever so slightly, my teeth curve around his crown.

  “Oh, hell, yes. Just like that.” The sound of the shower intermingles with the sound of his heavy breaths. I massage his balls as I focus on taking him deeper and deeper. He groans, “Babe, I’m getting close. I’m going to come.”

  His hand rests on the back of my head, keeping me in place but never pushing. He groans, and his hips thrust. I take that as a sign to go deeper and suck more, using my hand to stroke the base and the tight balls below. His legs tremble; he groans and releases in my mouth. I swallow as much as I can, then I pull back and lick the cum dripping down his softening cock until he whimpers, then helps me up and pulls me flat against his chest and kisses me. Claiming. Possessive. He pulls back, his breathing labored.

  “Thank you. That was mind-blowing.”

  I grin and he kisses me more. His finger slides inside as his thumb circles my clit, and my knees buckle. He continues the action as he sucks on my nipples. He places his thumb near my ass, circling the forbidden zone. I’m writhing against the shower wall, my knees shaking, completely exposed and open. I’ve never experienced intimacy like this. Of course, I’ve never dated anyone with a shower that could accommodate this kind of activity so comfortably. He slips another finger in, moving in rhythm with his thumb against my clit. His fingers work me over like an instrument, working both holes. Forbidden. Erotic. I jerk forward, overcome as my muscles quiver. He holds me as my body trembles. “Has anyone been here?” His finger presses along my virgin hole as he kisses along my throat.

  “No.” I feel his finger enter me, and I step forward. “That’s not for today.”

  He kisses the side of my mouth while his fingers remain firmly on my ass. “Good to know.” Then, with tender care, he takes a washcloth and cleans all of me then allows me to return the favor. He continues to kiss me as we stand naked, clean, holding each other with the warm water pouring along our backs. Eventually, he nuzzles my ear and whispers, “Come on. Let’s get dinner.”

  After drying off, he passes me one of his old Texas Longhorn t-shirts. It hits me mid-thigh. I braid my wet hair, looping the long, single braid around to my front.

  He’s put on a frayed, faded t-shirt that reads, “It Must Be User Error” in a computer font. Black dogs dot his boxers. He holds two pairs of white tube socks, and he tosses me a pair. “The floor can be kind of cold.”

  “I can go grab the socks I was wearing.”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head.

  I grin, looking up at him. He’s pulled me close again, and I take the opportunity to run my fingers through his damp hair. He leans down to kiss me. “No?”

  “Nope. I want you in my clothes. Let’s go up, order some food, and enjoy a night in. How does that sound?”

  “Perfect. It sounds perfect.” Maybe it’s all too perfect, but there’s no reason to not enjoy the moment. Life’s about the journey, not the destination. I’m walking down a trail I’ve never traveled. My heart races, and that familiar urge to run far away rises. But I’m done running. What’s the worst thing that can happen? I’ve been hurt before. So what? I’m strong. Strong women keep moving forward. One foot in front of the other. Secure in the knowledge we can’t lose everything, because we’ll always have ourselves.

  I’m strong. The last time my heart shattered, I grew stronger. Strong enough to face this. Whatever this is. This chance. This journey. This life. My life. I’m going to live a vibrant, full life. And to me, right now, that means taking chances. Jumping off proverbial cliffs.

  * * *

  The candescent fire casts a warm glow throughout the great room. Sam and I are snuggled together on his sofa beneath a thick indigo comforter he pulled off the guest bed.

  He sips his wine as his fingers twist around my damp, wavy strands. “So, Ms. Grayson, tell me what it is you want from life.”

  “Hhmm. Digging deep, huh?”

  “I want to get to know you. I want to know everything about you.” His blue eyes penetrate me, his expression serious. Warmth spreads to my cheeks.

  “What I want from life? That’s the question?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His right dimple appears, and I lean forward to press a kiss to it.

  “I guess that’s kind of what I’m trying to figure out. I want to be successful in my own right, not because of who my family is. And I want to be happy. I guess that kind of goes without saying, but I watched my parents dive into their careers, and that was fine. I’m not saying it wa
sn’t, but they never seemed happy.”

  How many times had I sat down to dinner with my parents, and they barely said a word to each other? How many times had the question, “How was your day?” been answered with a brief, “Fine,” and nothing more? No signs of happiness. There were times in my life I didn’t know what happiness looked like, at least on grown-ups. But, for as long as I can remember, I’ve known what happiness doesn’t look like.

  Sam’s fingers gently rub along my cheek, drawing me out of my rumination. “Serious thoughts?”

  “Just thinking back on my parents. I don’t think they were exactly happy. I want more than what they have.”

  “What do they have?”

  I look up to the heavens with a loud exhale. “I don’t know. A diligent pursuit of a life that doesn’t make them happy? Perfect frown lines?” Sam’s fingers play with mine while he studies me. His intense gaze makes me want to deflect his attention. “What about you? What do you want from life?”

  Sam smiles and sips his wine, never taking his eyes off mine. “I want what my parents have. I want happiness. I want healthy, happy kids. Time outdoors beneath blue skies and star-encrusted nights.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” I whisper.

  “Oh, it will be,” he responds as his hand tightens on mine. “I get the sense that you aren’t very close to your parents.” I raise my eyes to his. “Tell me about that.”

  “There’s not much to tell. My parents weren’t around much. They aren’t bad people. I just think maybe they didn’t want to be parents, or that a child was a low priority. My uncle, he’s kind of the patriarch of our family. He looks out for everyone. I don’t think he thinks much of my parents. Over the years, there have been arguments when my mom would try to borrow money from my grandmother. Or maybe borrow’s not the right word. Take. I don’t know the details. They both work hard, but I get the impression they may spend above their means. For whatever reason, I always got the sense that my uncle didn’t really approve of my parents. And I think, at some point, it started to become very important to me that he approve of me.” This is the first time I’ve ever admitted this out loud, and tears blur my vision. I stare out the window, aiming to get my emotions under control.