Getting Her Back

by Wylder, Penny

  "I wasn't sure you'd actually do it," he says, looking me up and down. His eyes haven’t lost any of the fire he had when he left the art studio.

  "I wasn't quite sure either," I say. "But here I am. I never asked how you got this amazing apartment. It must cost a fortune.”

  He takes off his suit jacket, draping it across the couch and puts his briefcase on the coffee table. “It didn’t cost anything. It’s a display apartment, and my company owns the building.”

  “Oh. Well that’s nice.”

  “Certainly convenient.” He sits next to me, and I shiver as he leans over me, and slowly takes the book from my hand. I feel the heat of his want and my own matches his. “I’m amazed we didn’t do this before,” he says.

  “Draw each other?”

  He nods, but he’s preoccupied with tracing the line of my collarbone with his finger that is leaving goosebumps on my skin.

  “I wasn’t doing much art then.”

  “You were,” he says, calling my bluff, “just under the radar.” He pulls me to my feet and into the center of the room. “Here.” He places me, and begins to pose me. One knee slightly bent, body angled slightly away from where he’ll be drawing. My face he turns towards him, and then he arranges my arms. One crossing my body, only partially hiding my breasts, and the other reaching out towards the viewer. I can see the pose in my mind, it’s a good one, the illusion of shyness and wantonness at once.

  “I don’t think I can hold this for three hours,” I say.

  Christian smirks, glancing down, and I notice the bulge in his pants. “Don’t worry,” he says, “neither can I.”

  He retreats to the couch and opens his briefcase, and sets up a station with quick efficiency. Pencils, paper, smudger. His pencils are not like mine. Some of his are the square kind, pure graphite sticks that can be good if you want really precise lines or a unique angle. No easel. He just holds the paper and begins to sketch.

  The silence is loud and full of our thoughts. I watch as his gaze travels my body, catching and stopping here and there as his hand moves, catching the outline of my body. Already I understand. The way he’s studying me, I feel more metaphorically naked than literally. He’s studying every part of me, every curve and crevice and flaw, and he’s doing it with dispassionate ease. It’s at once intimate and separating, thrilling and dehumanizing, unsettling and arousing.

  Suddenly his eyes flick up to mine, and I have to catch my breath. That ghost of a smile appears before his eyes flick to the rest of my face, and I blush. I blush with my whole body, and I find myself clenching my legs because my pussy is wet with need. Christian’s eyes drop to my breasts, and God, it’s like he’s touching me. “It really is a shame that I’ve never drawn you before, Audrey.”

  My mouth is dry. “Why’s that?”

  “Because it lets me look at you. I like looking at you.” He takes a breath, eyes traveling across my skin. “The curves of your hips are fucking sexy.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “I like—”

  “Audrey,” he cuts me off, “I didn’t say it intending for it to become a compliment battle.”

  I blink, reminding myself not to move even though I’m surprised. “How did you know?”

  “Because I know you. You take compliments and reflect them back. But you don’t have to because I’m going to keep doing it and I want you to just absorb it.”

  For a second, I’m ready to protest, and then I stop. He’s right. I do nearly always compliment someone back, and I bite my lip to keep my mouth closed.

  Christian smiles, full and bright, because he knows he won. God his smile could power the whole city with its energy. “I like that you’re made up of curves. The way your neck blends into your shoulder and your ribs into your hips. And your tits,” he stops and stares at them, and I feel myself get wetter. “Your tits make me hard. I love to look at you and think of all the things I’d like to do to you. With you.”

  He starts to sketch again, and I’m starting to ache with tension and anticipation. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that Skype call,” he says. “And how much I want my cock to be between your tits.” He grins. “And I haven’t even started to tell you all the things I love about your pussy.”

  “Christian,” I say.

  He looks up, gaze fierce. “Yes?”

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Good.” He tosses the sketchpad on the couch, and I catch only a glimpse of his drawing of me before I’m in his arms and he’s lifted me off the floor and put my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bedroom without hesitation. We tumble onto the bed together, and I’m pulling at his clothes while his lips are on my skin. God, it’s like being drawn by him has lit me up from the inside. I can feel his lips everywhere, and even the scratch of his clothes on my skin is making me shudder.

  I manage to get his belt undone and he tries to pull away to get them off. “No time,” I say, keeping him locked against me. I need him inside me now. Christian fits himself against me and slides in in one brutal stroke. I gasp, back arching off the bed. It’s pleasure and brief shocking pain as my body adjusts and fades into pleasure. I reach for him, and he catches my hand, pinning it above my head. I give him the other one, because I want this. I’ve missed this feeling of being completely wrapped up in him, giving him just enough control that I don’t have to think.

  Christian slams into me harder, and my body responds with deep, exquisite pleasure that makes me close my eyes. His other hand slips under my ass, tilting my hips upward toward him so he can push deeper. “Tell me what you want,” Christian says, voice low and rough.

  My eyes fly open, and I see desperate, wild lust in his eyes. “More.”

  “Come on, Audrey,” he says, grinding his hips into mine. “Tell me what you want from me.”

  I arch against him, aroused by his words, and I feel the new slickness in my pussy ease his thrusts, and suddenly there’s a new speed and rhythm and I’m not sure if I can breathe let alone speak. “I—” it turns into a moan.

  His hand tightens on my wrists as he pounds into me, and I feel the orgasm on the edge of the horizon. Still far away, but approaching at a gallop. “I want you.”

  “That’s not good enough,” he growls against my neck. “You know what you want. Ask for it.”

  There’s a sudden chill in my mind. I did ask for what I wanted three years ago, and you didn’t give it to me. “A baby,” I manage to say. It’s the first words I can form that are true. “I want you to come in me so hard and so deep that there’s no chance I won’t get pregnant.”

  Christian groans, abandoning my wrists so that he can brace himself, fucking me with a speed and power that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. And then, he comes. I feel it, his cock jerking, warmth spreading inside me, easing inward and outward. He lets his head fall against my shoulder, holding himself still while he finishes, pushing cock as far into me as it will go while he spills himself. And then he’s done, and pulling away. Stepping into the bathroom and leaving me alone, I feel dazed. He gave me exactly what I asked for, and I’m thankful even though I’m far from satisfied.

  I grab a pillow and tuck it under my hips, lifting them so I can wait and let the semen creep upwards. Christian steps out of the bathroom, clothes in place. “Now, for you,” he says.

  “What about me?”

  He gives me a look. “Did you think I wasn’t going to make you come?”

  “You did what I asked.”

  “You’re right, but orgasms help the process.” Before I can protest, he spreads my legs and his mouth is on my clit. Nowhere else. Just there. Tongue swirling, suction making me dizzy with pleasure and renewed arousal.

  “Oh, fuck,” I say as he grabs my hips. I was closer than I thought, and it feels like suddenly the orgasm is bearing down on me like a freight train. I’m not going to be able to stop it, not that I would ever want to. He’s licking, licking, licking, and each flick of his tongue takes me higher until I’m begging h
im not to stop. And then I’m not begging because I can’t form the words. It’s one long sound, and that sound breaks into a scream as I go over the edge in a torrent of pleasure. Christian sucks my clit deep into his mouth, grazing me with his teeth and I’m breathing in this feeling that’s surrounding me, passing through me like I’m a lightning rod for the best orgasm ever.

  It’s over too soon, and I come back to myself with Christian lying beside me on the bed. I don’t remember him being there. I gently turn on my side, and we stare at each other for a moment. I can’t believe that he’s here, that he’s willing to do what he’s doing. I never thought I could feel like this again, and I don’t know if it’s going to last, but I don’t ever want it to stop. “Kiss me,” I say breathlessly.

  Christian’s face goes still with shock. “But you said—”

  “Kiss me,” I say again.

  He only hesitates for a second, and then he’s kissing me, and I’m in heaven. Christian pulls me close against his body, and I can feel everything about him even though he’s clothed. It’s familiar and warm and something clicks deep inside. This is perfect. His hands roam my body, not in a way that’s going to have us fucking again, but an exploration. A relearning. He presses me back onto the pillows, and I love the weight of him. It’s a sensation I didn’t realize I desperately missed.

  Christian’s tongue grazes my lips, and I open to him. Every last breath in my body is stolen away, and I kiss him back just as hard.

  It feels like forever, and it’s still not enough. Even though we’re not kissing, we don’t separate, and I’m suddenly tired. Exhausted. I let myself slip down towards sleep, warmed by Christian’s body. Just for a few minutes, I tell myself. Then I’ll go home. I just need a little bit more.

  * * *

  I wake in the morning to an empty bed, morning light streaking through the windows. I’m covered in a blanket now, but Christian is nowhere to be found. I flop back against the pillows, trying to make sense of last night. That was insane, and yet it wasn’t. Did that change things between us? It must have. There’s no other choice. But it’s not something I can just text him about.

  Friday. I can ask him Friday. I make a mental promise that I won’t let myself chicken out of it this time.

  I put on my clothes and grab my bag. I won’t have enough time to get home and back before work, so I hope no one notices I’m wearing the same clothes. As I step into the living room, I see a piece of paper on the coffee table. It’s Christian’s drawing of me. I swear it’s more completed than when I saw it last night. I look…amazing. Alluring and virginal and empowered and sultry. He’s drawn me like I’m a goddess, and the fact that anyone could come up with this as an interpretation for me is…stunning. There’s a note on the coffee table too. Less of a note than a message, only two words.

  Love, Christian.

  15

  Six Years Ago

  It's a beautiful summer day in New York City. So beautiful, in fact, that it takes some of the pain out of an awful chore like having to walk through Midtown. Fifth Avenue is never the best place to be, but for my favorite beauty store, sometimes compromises have to be made.

  New lipstick and mascara secured, I’m walking downtown when something catches my eye. There’s a man, and he's sketching in front of one of the skyscrapers. People sketching isn't uncommon in New York City. After all, it’s a city of artists. However, it's rare that I see someone like this.

  He doesn't have a sketchbook, he has a giant wooden panel that sits on his lap. I think for me it would be unwieldy but it seems like it's the perfect size for him. Next to him he has a case full of art supplies: pencils, charcoal, everything he would need.

  As I draw closer, I see that he's drawing a shockingly detailed perspective of the building. It captures every detail with grace and poise, without being too over the top. I myself have never been able to capture anything quite like that. Then again, I'm really not that good. I come up behind him and stop to watch. He has a delicate touch with pencil that I find very intriguing. He seems to be able to make it do exactly what he wants, and I’m a little jealous. I always feel a little out of control when I hold a pencil. Like it does what it wants and I’m at its mercy.

  I wonder if he does this for a living or if he's just a student? He's older than I would expect for a college student, but this is the city of dreams, and no one can be discounted here. I only saw his drawing at first, but now I glance at the artist and I realize that he's attractive. More than attractive, he's smoking hot. The kind of hot you find in movies and advertisements and not usually sitting on the streets of New York City. His face is a work of art the same level as the one that he’s drawing.

  I have the sudden urge to speak to him, but I'm not sure if that's because I want to talk to him about this drawing, or because I want to ask him out. There's a bubble of nerves in my gut, but I know with certainty if I walk away from this man without speaking to him, I will regret it. So, feeling slightly shaky, I step up beside him. "You're very good," I say.

  He startles and looks up. I'm suddenly very glad that I started speaking when his pencil wasn't touching the paper. If I had ruined his drawing, I don't think I would ever forgive myself. "Sorry," I say. "I just saw your drawing and I had to tell you how much I liked it. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “That’s all right,” he laughs. “I get sucked in sometimes. Besides, it’s not every day I’m interrupted by a beautiful woman.”

  I blush, and hold out my hand. “I’m Audrey.”

  He takes my hand, and I like the feel of it. “Christian.”

  “I really did stop to tell you I think you’re talented. I don’t think I could ever do anything like that.”

  “Have you tried?”

  I smile. “I dabble a little. I’m okay, but nothing like that.”

  “I believe everyone is capable,” he says. “Talent may be born, but persistence and practice are still the key to almost anything.”

  “Good philosophy.” I realize that he’s still holding my hand, and I reluctantly pull mine away. “Are you an artist?”

  Christian shakes his head. “Architect. Aspiring. But like I said, practice and persistence.”

  “That’s amazing. If you can design buildings and draw like that, I have no doubt you’ll get there.”

  “Thank you.” The tone of his voice is genuine.

  I feel like I can’t stop smiling and I’m not sure why. “Anyway,” I say, “It was nice to meet you.”

  “You too.”

  I make myself walk away because there’s nothing left to say and I’m a goddamn coward. Asking him out is more than I can do. I’m too easily embarrassed, and just talking to him was more than I thought myself capable of.

  “Hey, wait!” I turn, and Christian has closed the few steps I’ve walked away, leaving his art supplies out in the open. “Wait,” he says as he approaches. “I swear that I don’t usually do this, and if that’s not what you’re looking for I’m sorry, but do you want to get a drink later?”

  I can’t keep the smile off my face. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “Do you know Charlaine’s?”

  “Downtown?” I nod. “Yeah, I do.”

  He smiles, and it takes my breath away. That smile could light up a city block. “How about seven?”

  “It’s a deal.”

  * * *

  I texted Ellen about my spontaneous date, and I think she might be more excited about it than I am. Which is saying something because I’m pretty excited.

  Charlaine’s is a bar downtown with an easy atmosphere and a fun vibe. It’s caught just a little in the past. Not quite enough to be retro, but enough to be nostalgic. It’s bright colors and 90s music and cocktails with names from pop culture. I’m wearing a cute dress and flats, and I even did my hair. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date, and this one excites me.

  I see him waiting at the bar. There are butterflies in my stomach as I walk up to him. He’s dressed up more than he w
as earlier, slacks and a button down, sleeves rolled to the elbows. I wouldn’t say that I’m an arm girl, but his forearms might be enough to change my mind. They’re corded with muscle, and he either works out all the time or he has a job that makes it possible to have that kind of physique.

  He looks up right before I get to him, and he smiles at me.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hello,” he says. We both stand there for a second, just staring. “Sorry, it’s been a bit since I’ve done this.”

  “Don’t worry, me too.”

  He scrubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Do you want a drink?”

  “Vodka cranberry for me.”

  “Great.” He turns to the bartender and orders my drink, and a gin and tonic for himself. He hands me my drink and leads me to a booth in the corner. It’s quieter here. We sit kind of beside each other and kind of across from each other without feeling too awkward. “Should we get the first date questions out of the way?”

  “Like ‘what do you do’?”

  He laughs. “Yeah.”

  “I have a super exciting job,” I say. “I write grants and grant applications.”

  “That is very exciting.”

  I shake my head, taking a sip. “It’s really not.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s a job.” I shrug. “I like that I have one.”

  Christian chuckles. “That’s fair. I’m a foreman, and, as you already know, an aspiring architect.”

  So that’s why he’s got the body he does. “That must be exhausting.”

  “Sometimes,” he says, “but it’s also nice to learn the construction aspect of the architecture. I think having experience on the ground is valuable when trying to design a building practically.”