by Alam, Donna
‘God.’ Her shoulders slump. ‘Do I even want to know?’
‘Your call,’ I reply, my eyes scanning for the arrival of the car.
‘Go on. Tell me.’
I glance back. ‘She said to take you dancing. That you like to dance.’
‘I do not! Well, not especially.’
‘My mistake. She said women like to dance.’
‘A huge generalisation! Way to drag us back under the man.’
‘Funny, that’s sort of what she said; dancing is a vertical expression—’
‘Of a horizontal desire,’ Olivia finishes. ‘Urgh. No one likes to hear that their gran used to have sex. She still goes dancing, you know? I am so going to need brain bleach when we get back to the hotel.’
‘How about a drink instead?’
‘Deal,’ she answers as our car arrives. ‘But we might need to make it more than one, for purely analgesic effects.’
‘Of course.’ I open the passenger door, and Olivia slides in.
‘Were there any other words of wisdom she had to offer?
‘No, nothing.’ She shrugs as I close the door. We may hide things from the people we love, but it seems entirely possible for us to also hide things from ourselves as I refuse to acknowledge her grandmother’s other words of advice.
You can be right, or you can be happy. It’s up to you to choose.
Chapter 27
BECKETT
‘Favourite colour?’
‘I don’t have one.’
‘What? I don’t believe you,’ she says, slapping her hand against the top of the sticky-looking bar.
We didn’t make it back to the hotel. Instead, we stopped off at a sports bar on the Upper East Side, of all places, for wings and beers. Olivia seemed quite animated regarding the prospect, though changed her mind about ordering wings almost as soon as we took a seat at the bar. Call me suspicious, but I feel like she’s somehow trying to test me. Test my patience. Perhaps as a way of paying me back for the social media post and her grandmother’s visit. Lord knows, both of those were out of my usual pattern of doing things. The post? Spontaneous. And Elsie’s visit? A result of that spontaneity, a bind I’d got myself into. But also a way of making our marriage less of a secret. More official. If her grandmother knew, Olivia would be forced into the role of doting wife. And fooling her grandmother was a perfect trial run for my ultimate goal—fooling those in London.
Regardless for my reasons of being in this bar tonight, and regardless of the lack of interest I have in the ball game playing out on the screen above our heads, I find I’m happy to spend a couple of hours perched here with Olivia.
How could I not?
‘That’s not possible,’ she insists. ‘Everyone has a favourite colour, even if they don’t examine the concept. Everyone has a colour they gravitate towards. Pick one, and don’t say black.’
‘Why would I say black?’
‘I don’t know.’ Her expression slightly comedic, her shoulders rise to her ears as she pushes her palms face-up in the air. ‘Maybe because it matches the colour of your soul?’ Her hands slap the bar as she begins to cackle, and for an encore of ridiculousness she sticks out her tongue while attempting to cross her eyes unsuccessfully. ‘Did I do it?’
‘What?’ I try to frown though I expect it isn’t very convincing, given I can’t curtail my smile.
‘Make my eyes go like that?’ she asks, her index fingers crossed, still laughing. It’s fair to say buzzed was a couple of beers ago. For us both.
‘The question is, why would you want to?’ I hide my smile behind my bottle of beer, the brand recommended by Olivia. I’m not a beer drinker usually and can’t say I’ll even remember the brand as I’ve peeled the label off. This is a sign of sexual repression, according to the amateur psychologist to my left—her hair a little wild, her cheeks a little pink, and her mouth a little too tempting to ignore.
So I don’t.
She almost hums, her fingers pressed against her lips as I pull back from the sweet, lingering kiss that lacks the intensity I seek. ‘A PDA?’ she questions, all taunting tone. ‘I’ll allow it.’
‘I wasn’t asking.’ I take a swallow of my warming beer, then call the bartender over and order a couple of whiskey chasers from a bottle behind the bar that’s caught my eye.
‘Because it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission?’ Her tone is a playful reproach as she watches the bartender pours. But that doesn’t suit me.
My hand on the back of her chair, I turn her to face me, my legs bracketing hers. ‘I never apologise.’ As I lean a little closer, she moves to meet me, my mouth pressed to her ear. ‘And the only pleas for compassion you’ll hear tonight will be your own.’
‘You think?’ Her breath whispers across my neck, leaving the sense of being kissed there. And the heat of her so close yet so unavailable to my touch burning.
‘I do. Because when I’m buried so deep inside you, you won’t remember where you end and where I begin.’
We separate as a cheer goes up in response to the game; not the one we’re playing but the one on the screen.
‘Here’s to us.’ I raise my glass, Olivia reacting likewise. ‘May we get what we want but never what we deserve.’
We return to our conversation, or rather her quest to psychoanalyse by the use of a colour chart, but we’re both aware of the anticipation simmering, the underlying expectations of what tonight will bring.
A little while later, Olivia excuses herself, hopping down from the stool. I watch her weave her way through the bar, observing the eyes of other men following her in a way that’s almost instinctual as she disappears from view. I wait. And I think. And argue with myself. But then I follow her anyway.
‘My God! You frightened me.’ Her eyes are all pupils as I grasp her shoulders and push her back into the bathroom. It’s not as bad as it sounds; less aggressive. More assertive, buoyed on by the way she bites her lips as she struggles to curtail her smile.
‘What happens if—’
If the walls fall down? The roof blows clean off, or the world implodes? We won’t realise. Not as her fingers curl in my shirt and our mouths come together in the only impact we’re aware of right now. Our kiss is a fight. A battle for the upper hand.
‘What are we doing?’ Fire runs riot through veins at the sound of her breathless words, at the taste of her.
‘What’s on the table?’ My hands feed from her ribs to her breasts as my mouth finds her neck, delivering rasping, biting kisses. A quick fuck in a grubby bathroom stall isn’t my style. That’s not to say I’m a stranger to the experience, but it’s been a while. Another decade. Another life, and another kind of existence, driven by other kinds of high. But none of this matters right now, not the way she’s looking at me.
‘Be reasonable.’ Yet she still tips back her head, whimpering as I make good on the access to more of her skin.
‘I want to fuck you.’ She trembles at my dark whisper, at the touch of my teeth on her skin.
‘What if someone walks in?’
‘That’s a distinct possibility. Care to find out?’
Beneath my fingertips, I feel her wavering, her decision solidifying as she breaks our contact, resting her back against the tiled wall opposite. For the first time I pay a little attention to our surroundings. White tile. Harsh lighting. And I wouldn’t exactly describe the space as clean.
‘That sounds like a dare,’ she murmurs. Actually, no. She taunts. ‘The answer is no, by the way. I don’t want to find out.’
‘Then why are we here?’
Another roar from the bar patrons, a clink of glasses, footsteps and other muted sounds. She licks her lips as though preparing.
‘Because I opened the door, and you pushed me in, then started mauling me.’ I look pointedly down at my creased shirt, then run my hand down it. ‘And then you told me you wanted to fuck me.
‘And I do. But you’re right; not here.’ I grab her hand, and with the other, p
ull open the door.
After the bar tab is settled, we make our way out to the car. As the muggy air hits me, followed by a gust of something fetid, I realise what led me to follow her to the bathroom and why I feel like I’m listing suddenly.
‘Fuck.’ I throw my head back against the headrest as the car interior begins to spin. ‘Beer. I should never drink beer.’
‘Baby.’ Olivia scoffs. But she doesn’t understand. She wouldn’t. Her knowledge of me is only surface deep.
‘Hey, Benny.’
‘No, no bennies. Not—’ Fuck. I crack open an eyelid to find Olivia staring at me, the wash of orange streetlighting lending her a demonically confused air. ‘What? What are you looking at?’
‘Bennies, as in amphetamines?’ Her incredulity is sobering. ‘Did you think I was offering? Beckett, the driver’s name is Benny. I was having a conversation with him about the best place to get something to eat. Turns out, I should’ve ordered those wings. I could really go for a hotdog.’ So beer makes my head swim and gives Olivia the munchies. Fuck. I’m usually more aware of my limits than this.
‘No Bennies, no Charlie, and no hot dogs. All that shit is bad for you.’ The driver hits a pothole in the road, causing our bodies to collide. I wrap my arm around her and tell myself it’s because of the bump in the road, then sigh as I realise she’s looking at me like I’ve grown another head. I’m not getting into this. Not now. Not ever, if I can help it. ‘We’ll get to the hotel, and the butler will order you something. To eat,’ I qualify. Because once upon a time, I might’ve sent him out for another kind of takeaway.
‘Beckett, it’s gone two. The butler won’t be waiting for around for us like a mom.’
I snort. My mother wasn’t the kind to wait up. But that’s by the by. I might have issues but not of the Oedipus kind.
‘Room service,’ I grate out. ‘It’s available all night. As is the butler.’ As it should be for the price I’m paying.
‘Excuse my husband.’ Turning to the driver, she places the kind of heavy emphasis on the title that suggests she finds the term distasteful. ‘He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.’ Hand on my chest, she pushes herself upright.
‘That’s true,’ I agree gruffly.
‘And a stick up his ass.’
This is just her way—at least, it’s her way with me, I remind myself. She’s sweet on the surface, but with me, she’s everything else. Haughty. And naughty.
‘What are you smiling about?’
‘You like me.’
Or she likes my cock.
‘You think?’ And she likes goading me. ‘No, seriously. What are you smiling about?’
‘I’m thinking about what I’m going to eat when we get back to the hotel.’
You can be right, or you can be happy. Her grandmother’s words echo in my head. I can be happy that I’m right about her wanting me. How about that, Elsie?
‘And you are delusional,’ she hisses, digging into me with her elbow. ‘And you can’t hold your liquor.’
‘My tolerance is shot.’ Because that’s what addiction will do to you, and I’m not just talking about alcohol. ‘But I’m still going to make a meal out of you.’
Despite her assumption, I’m not feeling so drunk as we get to the hotel, though I might stagger a little as we step out of the lift.
‘Where’s the key card?’ she asks, turning to face me.
‘In my pocket.’
‘Do you want to give it to me?’
‘Always,’ I purr suggestively. ‘Call me conventional, but I’d prefer to get you inside first.’ I press my hands against the doorframe and rock into her as she searches my pockets for the key. ‘Left a little. Yeah, just there.’
‘You’re determined to make this difficult for me, are you?’ she grumbles, but I can hear the amusement in her tone. I love that she gets this. Gets me. Fucking serves it right back.
‘I don’t know about easy, but you’re making something really hard for me.’
‘That I can tell.’
‘You’re also making me easy.’ Easily aroused. Easily pleased when she simply looks at me.
‘You’re something all right.’ She turns in the tight space between my chest and the door, mumbling as she swipes the card, complaining when the red light won’t change to green. It could be something to do with the way I’m pressing kisses down her neck or slipping my hand under her blouse. I could become addicted to these curves.
‘A little help here.’
‘For you, anything.’ As she holds the card up, I take it from between her fingertips, then turn her head to kiss her. Soft and slow, our mouths work in unison, and when she whimpers against my mouth, something inside me tightens desperately. The tenor changes in that instant. With my body pressed against hers and my arm banding her waist, I kiss her hard, suck on her tongue, and begin to whisper all the dirty things I want to do to her.
‘Beckett.’ My name is her prayer, my hand between her legs our communion.
‘You should be wearing a skirt,’ I growl into her neck. ‘Like the one with the blue belt.’
‘You remember that, do you?’
‘I remember everything. I wanted to gather it in my fingers. Slide my hands up your soft thighs and into your underwear. Touch you. Taste you. Wear your scent like a cologne.’ And now that I have, I’m not sure I’ll ever be sated.
‘Beckett,’ she moans again, pushing herself into my hand. ‘Take me to bed.’
‘No, not this time.’ I want her here, up against the door, my fingers on her throat, tangled in her hair. Sliding into her arse.
‘You are so . . .’
‘Fucking desperate to be inside you.’ As though the point needs proving, I take her hand in mine and press the flat of her palm against my cock. ‘This is what you’ve done to me.’ What just thinking of you does to me. ‘And it’s all for you.’
Her shoulders tense, and she snaps the card out of my hand. With one determined swipe, the light changes, and we’re inside.
‘Do you want another drink?’ she purrs, turning around and taking two steps backwards. And two more again as she notices me following. Stalking. Making my way to her with clear intent.
‘I thought I made myself clear. What I want is you.’
‘But I thought we’d already met the terms of this thing. Sealed the deal. Consummated our union.’
‘Fucked, you mean?’ She comes to a stop as she collides with the back of the sofa, my eyes boring down on hers. ‘Are you saying you don’t want me?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ she almost purrs.
‘Name your price, darling.’ Her soft expression hardens, and I realise what I’ve just said. In truth, I wouldn’t hesitate to offer her material things to get between her legs. But that isn’t Olivia. ‘Do you want me to get on my knees and beg? Suck on your clit until it’s swollen and shiny? Until your legs are shaking so hard, you can’t stand?’ She shakes her head slowly. ‘I thought you didn’t like telling lies.’ I slide off my jacket, dropping it to the floor before beginning to unfasten my cuff links. One, two. They both hit the floor. ‘Fuck the terms. You want this as much as I do. Tell me the truth. Tell me how much you want me to fuck you.’
I watch as her gaze falls to my biceps, traveling over my chest as I begin to loosen the buttons on my shirt. She seems to come back to herself with a jolt.
‘You have a very high opinion of yourself. What I really want right now is a drink.’ Squeezing from between me and the sofa, she makes her way over to the bar. So, of course, I follow her.
Her fingers grasp a bottle of brandy, and she pours a couple of fingers into a tumbler. I find myself smiling, especially when I notice the tremor in her hand. She throws the dark liquid back, grimacing as she clasps the glass to her chest.
‘Urgh!’ She shivers. ‘That was no better the second time.’
‘Do you think we could beat last night?’
‘What?’
‘No better than the second time. Do you think
we could do better?’
‘I—’
‘Hold on, hear me out. You must admit, whatever else we are, we’re exceptionally compatible in that sense. I’m not trying to take all the credit here. A second time.’ I close my eyes for a beat, assailed by the memories of last night. The sound of her soft moans and the feel of her skin under me. What would it be like to have access to her body every night? ‘A third. For the entire six months. Or for as long as we both see fit.’
‘We’d probably angry fuck each other to death.’
My eyes spring open to find her staring at me. Daring me. ‘But we’d go with smiles on our faces.’
‘I set that up for you, and it flew right past your head.’
Her eyes are dark as I step closer. ‘Is that so?’
‘You were supposed to say we’d go out with a bang. You know you want to smile.’
And I do, giving into the rueful offering as I take the glass from her hand, setting it back on the drinks cabinet in a deliberate motion. I turn and place my hands on her hips, my nose pressed into her hair as I inhale the scent of her. The scent of my new addiction.
‘Say yes, Olivia.’
More plea than persuasion, I press my lips to the skin where her neck and shoulder meet. Her breath hitches as I flick my tongue across that elegant arc, her exhalation stuttering as I wrap my arms around her waist, seeking the button of her tight jeans.
With a flick of the button and a pull on the zipper, I begin wiggling the denim over her hips.
‘The quicker these come off, the quicker I get my mouth on your sweet cunt.’
‘What has gotten into you?’
‘You. You’ve gotten into me. Your sweet smell and your sharp wit. You’re in my head all of the time, and I can’t get you out.’ Crowding her against the wall, I slide my hand down her flat stomach, breaching the elastic waistband of her underwear. She gasps as my fingertips find her wet, her whole body trembling as I slide curl them against her, and I draw her earlobe into my mouth.
‘You don’t mean that. You just want me to give in.’ Her voice is barely a whisper, chest rising and falling with tight little breaths as I begin to love on her clit. Pet it. Circle it. Tease. Paint it with her own arousal before loving it a little more. ‘You’ve just had a little too much to drink, and it’s making you be nice to me.’
