Dair

by R. K. Lilley

  “You need to turn this mess into a book,” Turner told me.

  It was about a week later, and I was at his house, venting again.

  I’d told him all of it, every insane detail of that crazy ride, from the abduction to the ether.

  Needless to say, he was intrigued.

  “Not happening.”

  “I’m using it, then. It’s just too crazy not to write down.”

  “Hell no. No way.”

  “Okay, okay, but listen, someday this is not going to be such a touchy subject, and when that day comes, it will be a long time from now, and the details will be fuzzy, so at least jot it down in your diary or something while it’s still fresh.”

  “I don’t have a diary. Do you actually have a diary?”

  “Well, no. I’m just saying, write it down somewhere. You don’t have to publish it.”

  Needing a distraction, I changed the subject. “What happened to Candy? I had to let myself in.”

  “Please. Like that’s unusual. That chick didn’t answer the door once the entire time she worked here. And she quit.”

  That had me raising my brows. “Oh yeah? How come?”

  He gave me a knowing look. “I’ve told you about this. Same reason they always do. She wanted to fuck the boss.”

  “And did you oblige her?”

  “I did.”

  “Well?”

  He shrugged. “It was fine. I mean, it was good, but, and trust me I know I’m a bastard for saying this, I think she exaggerated her own oral skills. I watched that chick suck on lollipops for months like she was fixated. It built up some unrealistic expectations.”

  “What about the rest?”

  “Good. She was fine. I kept her around for three days before it got a bit redundant. I don’t know. I think it’s me. I’ve been bored lately, or hell, maybe I’m just bored with redheads. I’m sure it’ll pass.”

  “I think you’re growing up, Peter Pan, and that maybe, just maybe, you need to start looking to get involved with a woman for more than sex.”

  He shrugged. “That’s so typical. And boring. I like to think I’m more interesting than that. I’ll tell you one thing, though, I’m not hiring any more dimes for the assistant gig. I’m finding someone that will actually help me with the work around here, someone that won’t quit after I spend three months training them.”

  “Sounds like a worthy goal. Maybe you’ll progress to finding someone that just quits because they hate working for you.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “That would be refreshing,” he added, when he’d caught his breath again.

  “What do you need an assistant for, anyway?”

  Turner shook his head at me like I was missing something important. “You get to pull the reclusive author bit, doing a few interviews, what, like, once, twice a year? No Facebook presence. No Twitter account. Hell, you probably don’t even know what Instagram is.”

  I did, but only because I’d heard him and Candy talking about it several times, and as far as I knew, it was just a place where women went to post cleavage shots (and men went to look at said shots).

  He rolled his eyes at my look. “What I’m saying is, in the writing world, there are only a few that get to do it like Alasdair Fucking Masters.”

  I just continued to stare at him.

  He shook his head at me again, as though I was a lost cause. “It works for you, but some of us have to promote. That means on top of writing books, there’s a few extra full-time jobs that may or may not get done, and this may or may not tank a new release if we don’t have some help.”

  Finally, it made some sense, though he still didn’t. “So there’s actually work to be done, and you still keep hiring people that aren’t doing any of it?”

  “Not anymore. I swear it. Candy was the last one. But enough about me. What’s the word on Lourdes? You going out with her again?”

  I flushed. I didn’t like his wording. “We went out for coffee. As friends. We did not go out.”

  He shrugged. “Well, she’s smokin’. A dime for sure. I think she could be a body double for Nicole Scherzinger. And maybe you should ask her out. Why the fuck not? One big selling point: I can guarantee she won’t rag tap you post coital.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t asked her out,” I mused, thinking about it. I knew she’d photographed headshots for him at least once, so they knew each other, and a girl like Lourdes was straight playboy catnip to a guy like Turner.

  He flushed, shifting. It took me a moment to place the look on his face, because I’d never actually seen it before.

  He was uncomfortable.

  “You did ask her out,” I guessed.

  He winced comically. “Yeah, I did. I’m not her type. I think I came on a little too strong for her, right after her divorce. After that, she’s refused to take my calls, even professionally.”

  “What on earth did you do?”

  “Nothing terrible. I was just a bit crude, and she’s a lady. Put in a good word for me with her, will you? At least professionally, if nothing else. I could use some new headshots.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but I probably won’t see her any time soon.”

  “Sure you won’t, stud.”

  As though fucking Turner had willed it, I ran into Lourdes at the market three days later.

  We hugged, she kissed me on both cheeks, European style, and we proceeded to go for coffee and chat for over an hour.

  I really did enjoy her company.

  Something seemed different about her, some new flush to her cheeks that hadn’t been there before. A new light in her eyes that made me wonder what she’d been up to.

  “You look great,” I told her, for maybe the third time.

  I was an idiot. She always looked great.

  She flushed in pleasure and thanked me.

  But there was just something about her, some subtle shift that had her going from being naturally sultry to nearly oozing sex appeal.

  I knew she hadn’t been dating much, if at all, since her divorce, but I wondered suddenly if she was getting laid.

  That’s what it was, I thought, the look of a beautiful woman well fucked.

  Probably my overactive imagination going wild, but she did look good. Not the usual wearing just the right color good, but getting your world rocked on a regular basis good.

  I wondered about it, but we didn’t have the type of friendship where I could just come out and ask a thing like that.

  We went for a walk after coffee; in fact I walked her nearly to her house, which was close by.

  I avoided taking her all the way home, getting cold feet and telling her I was running behind for a meeting, which was a lie.

  I just couldn’t tell how interested she was in me, and I didn’t want to get into an awkward situation with her, if I could avoid it.

  I was still holding a torch for an ether-tapping eighteen-year-old that was being held prisoner God only knew where, and for reasons I couldn’t fathom.

  Life went on without a word from Iris, and I felt like a fool.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ONE MONTH LATER

  I couldn’t even recall what all was said in the short phone call that had me driving across the city in the middle of the night on a Tuesday.

  I did remember the sound of her voice and the tone of it.

  Calm and sure.

  Even a touch casual, as though I hadn’t been waiting, anxious and desperate for any word of her since the last time we were together.

  I couldn’t remember throwing on clothes, but my mind was clear by the time I made it to my garage.

  I took my black Q7, because it had a bit more room, and I wasn’t sure what to expect.

  I also recalled where she’d told me to meet her and why it was such a strange request.

  It was that damned neon rave warehouse club where I’d had to pick her up from all those months ago, that same place where someone had slipped something into her drink.

  Wh
at in all hell was she thinking to end up there again?

  And when had she gotten back to town?

  I would have to wait to find out, as she’d hung up before I could ask a single question.

  I got some strange looks as I parked my Audi on the curb beside some kids painted neon and tripping out on God only knew what.

  “It’s a cop, man!” one of them yelled, and I paused for a moment, looking down at myself.

  I’d thrown on dark gray UA track pants and a matching tee, my unruly brown hair was messy as usual, and that looked like a cop to them? Or were they just that high?

  It didn’t matter; I ignored them, walking past. Only one person in this mess of neon concerned me.

  It only took a few minutes for me to scan through all of the partygoers lined up near the street. Iris was always easy to spot, so I didn’t have to look hard to know she wasn’t outside.

  With a long-suffering sigh, I headed inside.

  The doorman didn’t want to let me in, but I’d brought cash for just this reason.

  I handed him a fifty, and he stepped aside without a word.

  I stepped into a cramped, crowded hallway that seemed to go on forever. The place was a madhouse of loud house music pumping through the walls, and way too many people, all stoned out of their minds, occupying a very narrow space.

  I plunged through the writhing bodies, scanning every head I passed.

  No sign of her.

  There was a second bouncer manning another set of doors at the end of the hall. He had the opposite reaction of the other guy.

  He eyed me, top to bottom. “You Dair?”

  That took me aback for obvious reasons, but I found myself nodding.

  What the hell was going on now?

  He nodded back, pulling a mouthpiece out of his collar that I hadn’t seen, and speaking into it.

  This was a well-organized rave, apparently.

  “We’ve got Dair here,” he spoke loudly into it. “Bruno, can you show him up?”

  That done, he nodded again. “Bruno will be here in a sec to show you to her.”

  I’d barely processed that when whom I assumed was Bruno showed up and waved for me to follow him.

  He led me straight through the middle of the main room, which was packed with writhing bodies decked out in glow-in-the-dark paint, the dim, black lit room pumping color out as loudly as the DJ was pumping the music.

  We made it to a staircase at the back of the room, squeezing through gyrating bodies. It was even harder to navigate through than that narrow hallway.

  I scanned the crowd along the way, but it was no use, and besides that, it had sounded like Bruno was taking me to her. They must have been talking about Iris, because . . . who else?

  Another bouncer guarded the base of the staircase, but he waved us through without speaking.

  We went up a rickety set of metal stairs. I didn’t notice that the room even had an upper balcony until we were on it.

  And there she was, decked out in glowing body paint (and hardly anything else), holding onto the rail that overlooked the revelry below, smiling with neon pink lips and shaking her ass.

  She squealed when she saw me, rushing to throw her arms around my neck.

  Without a word, she started kissing me.

  She didn’t need rescuing. She hadn’t called me here for that.

  I filled my hands with her exposed skin, thrusting my tongue into her mouth.

  The balcony was much less crowded than the floor below, but we were far from alone.

  As I pulled away from her to catch my breath, I glanced around. Almost everyone was dancing, and they seemed too far gone to notice anything beyond themselves.

  I looked down to study Iris, cupping her jaw in my hands, trying to decipher if she was as out of her mind as the rest of them.

  “Have you taken anything?” I asked her, having to pitch my voice loud to be heard.

  Her eyes were clear, and she shook her head without hesitating. “I don’t drink or do drugs, Dair. I’m just here to escape my cage for a bit and do some dancing.”

  I processed that as she started to tug me towards the wall.

  I noticed something as I stared at the back of her head. I fingered the tips of her pale hair. “Is your hair pink?” I asked her.

  She looked back at me, grinned and nodded.

  I sighed out a breath, thinking that I was way too old for this shit.

  Who was I kidding? I was born too old for the rave scene.

  One part of me was still in 100%, and that was my traitorous cock. He was enjoying the hell out of a barely dressed Iris, painted top to bottom, hair dyed pink and ready to dance.

  At the wall, there was a table set up as a neon body painting station.

  Iris turned to face me, stepping very close, her hands going to the hem of my shirt.

  She started pulling it up.

  I stopped her, asking, “What are you doing?”

  She pouted at me. “Just a little bit of paint. And you don’t even have to dance. You can just relax somewhere, and watch me dance.”

  I shook my head, but it wasn’t to say no.

  She was in a mood, too cute and playful to be resisted, but then, she was always too something to be resisted.

  I let her pull my shirt off, even let her paint my chest, shoulders, arms and abs up with broad, quick strokes. I drew the line when she tried to paint my face, but let her work on my back a bit.

  I grabbed her around the waist when she came back around to my front, eyes on her neon-striped body in what had to be her tiniest bikini yet. I thought it was white, but it was hard to tell in the color-splashed dark.

  She was wearing those goddamned gladiator heels again. They brought the top of her head up to my cheekbone, and I knew from experience, with her long legs, they took her ass up to level with my groin.

  She twirled with a smile out of my grip, taking my hand again to lead me over to a low-slung couch.

  It had two occupants, two girls sitting hip to hip, looking either asleep or straight tripping.

  They didn’t even look our way.

  Iris pushed on my chest until I was perched on the edge of the empty side of the sofa.

  She threw a leg over the side, right along my hip, and started moving.

  I slouched low, grabbed her prone leg with one hand, a shaking ass cheek with the other, and watched the show.

  For as long as I could stand, anyway. She dipped low, rubbing her barely covered sex over my rampant cock solidly just a few too many times.

  About the third time she did that, I reached up, plunging a hand into the tiny triangle of her barely there bikini top and palming a shaking tit.

  She didn’t balk, leaning forward, bringing her breasts to my mouth, arching her back to give me perfect access.

  I nosed her top to the side and tongued a hard nipple.

  She started dipping again, rubbing down my body until we were chest to chest, groin to groin, then back up again, pushing her flesh against my mouth.

  I was a goner, mouth-breather in full control, when I tugged my pants down, shoved her bottoms to the side, and plunged into her without warning on a downswing.

  She cried out and let me bounce her a few times on my out of control cock, before unseating herself and taking an unsteady step away, pulling her top back over her bared nipple.

  I tugged my pants back up, opening my mouth to apologize, when she turned on her heel, and strutted away.

  I watched, mouth agape, as she moved to the rail overlooking the crowd below.

  She gripped it with both hands, parted her legs, arched her back, and sent me an unmistakable look over her shoulder.

  FUCK.

  Was she serious?

  Did she really want me to take her against the rail, right there?

  I glanced around.

  That was no help. No one was even looking at us, which only encouraged me to do something insane.

  I mean, what was the damage, at this point? No one w
as watching, no one cared, and I’d already full-on penetrated her on this nasty couch.

  I stood, moving to her, determined to fuck her where she stood.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I wasn’t even drunk. I had no excuses. I was not altered by anything but pure, unadulterated lust.

  I moved flush to her back, hiding as much as I could of my movements as I freed my erection, then shoved her bikini to the side.

  I plunged into her, gripping her tits roughly.

  I fucked her in time to the heavy bass that shook the room.

  Who said I couldn’t dance?

  I moved in and out, jarring thrusts that brought her to her tiptoes then down again.

  I gave a thought or three to whether the rail was sturdy enough to handle what we were doing do it, but they were brief and fleeting.

  It likely would have taken the whole place falling down around our ears to stop us by then.

  She was so hot around me, so tight and perfect, that I couldn’t even slow myself, let alone brake.

  She started squeezing me harder, working my length like a clenching fist, and I knew she was coming.

  I cursed, groaned, tensed, and heaved.

  I could feel every movement inside of her. It was too exquisite for words.

  I lunged up hard and stopped only when my tip kissed her womb, feeling every tremor she gave, savoring her release like it was my own.

  I glanced down at our feet.

  Hers were clean off the ground, the only thing keeping her upright were her hands on the rail, my palms on her tits, and my cock buried deep.

  That did it.

  I came hard, shouting with it, then leaning forward to kiss my way up her neck and gasping sweet somethings in her ear, pouring my heart out in that desperate after moment, while I still twitched inside her, and emotions ran raw.

  Eventually, I let her down, bending my knees to lower her, and then pull out, her slick flesh sucking at me as I freed myself.