The Dimple Strikes Back

by Lucy Woodhull

  I saw a rat, too. He was the most beautiful rodent I’d ever seen.

  “You cancel my ride, and you can’t even be here on time?”

  Sam flashed a cheeky grin from underneath his shades and truly goofy beige sun hat. With a rush of pure joy, I silently greeted his dimple, only one, on the left side. It was just for me, that damnable dent. I hadn’t seen it in a month, and the hole it left felt like a missing limb.

  “Samantha Lytton, party of one?” He halfheartedly showed me the pathetic sign he’d made on notebook paper. “Or party of seven? What the hell is all this? God, woman. At least my cat is on top.”

  “Mawr,” Taco agreed, his furry face pushed against the slots of his kitty jail.

  I shoved the cart into Sam’s knees. He made ostentatious being-hurt noises that I ignored. I clapped my hands. “Come, come, underling. Direct my luggage to your vehicle forthwith.” I sailed past him towards the automatic doors leading to Ye Olde London Towne. Or at least the Ye Olde Suburbs. When he followed me into the cloudy afternoon, grumbling profusely, I added, “And stop breaking into my email!”

  “On my honour, I would never read your ridiculous inbox. Much, anyway.”

  “Honour?”

  “‘Honour among thieves’ is a phrase.”

  I stopped dead in the parking lot, and he tumbled straight into me. Catching his arm as he headed unceremoniously towards the deck, I said, “I think…the entire idiom is ‘there is no honour among thieves’.”

  “Well”—he stood and brushed dust off his knees—“everything’s bad if you look at the whole thing.”

  I had to laugh. Selective observation is what made our ‘relationship’ work.

  “Chauffeurs don’t wear such tight pants, mister.”

  He glanced at his painted-on jeans and turned around to present his butt to me. My heart leapt, and my lady parts…let’s just say they weren’t numb from the aeroplane seat anymore. I tugged on his hand. Its strength flowed into mine. “Get the car, Sam. I have some jet lag for you to treat.”

  “How inebriated are you, scale of one to ten?”

  I kicked him, and he sauntered off with the luggage cart, laughing, that tight butt promising a delightful evening ahead.

  * * * *

  Kissing and groping, we fell into the door of my apartment, and subsequently onto the floor. I’m certain my new neighbours were clutching their Queen Elizabeth anniversary tea sets in shock.

  Personally, I was delighted—his warm, gorgeous mouth on mine, his hands everywhere at once and my skin on fire for him to devour me. He kicked the door closed and hauled me up into his arms, over his shoulder. Is there any better feeling than a manly man carrying you, consensually of course, to his cave of love—

  He dropped me. Okay, he didn’t quite drop me, but my butt still smarted from its too-quick meeting with the hardwood floor. And what had caused my lover to suck in a breath, splat me and run away?

  “Meowr! Meowr! Meowr!”

  Sam opened the carrier, scooped up a freaking-out Captain Taco and rubbed his face in the cat’s black belly. I couldn’t hear everything, but the words ‘wuv,’ ‘miss my widdle baby’ and ‘fluffy wuffy stuffy foo’ were uttered, to the horror of my ears and all right-thinking people. I leaned on my arms and waited for them to finish, like a mortified college freshman whose dorm mate has brought back a lover to fumble with in the shared space. There were even slobbery sounds as Taco pushed the stupid hat off Sam’s head and began eating his hair.

  I took the opportunity to explore my new digs, a charmingly-furnished place in creams, browns and mint greens. It was vintage—maybe thirties from the lovely rounded door arches. I rose to explore the rest.

  “Where are you going?” Sam asked, the syllables clipped in annoyance.

  “Who, me?” I kept going about my business. Ooh! A cute pantry. And the studio had left a gift basket of fruit in the kitchen! How thoughtful, although it’s not surprising that they didn’t leave me what I really wanted—Pizza Rolls. But starlets aren’t supposed to eat fatty foods unless a reporter is present, in order to pretend that they aren’t being forced to diet. “Do you remember my name, Sam? I’m the one not named after tacos.”

  An arm snaked around my waist from behind. “Your name? Your name…” The hand attached to the arm crept towards my boob. I batted it away. My backside still hurt, and he would have to work harder than that. “Is it…the most beautiful movie star in the world?”

  I snorted. “Really?”

  His lips tickled my ear as he whispered, “In this tight dress, is your name Beyoncé?”

  I shivered from the caress and pushed back into him. He was hard. So was my breathing. I didn’t remove the hand that now returned to my breast. “You’re getting warmer.”

  “Olivia Newton-John?”

  Turning to face him, I laughed and said, “Yes!”

  “I missed you so fucking much.” He kissed me so urgently it hurt a little, but seeing as I was biting at his lip as if to eat him whole, I didn’t care. The near-violence of his mouth, and his cock pushing against me, made me feel powerful, a goddess who inspires lust and groping. He broke the kiss off to throw me over his shoulder once again. My poor brains sloshed in my skull, afloat on leftover liquor and misplaced gravity.

  He took off down a corridor with purpose. “It appears you know the way to the bedroom,” I said.

  He grunted and threw me on the bed. Oh, how I’d missed man-grunts since I’d seen him last. Or smelt him. There may be no single scent on Earth I prefer more than the essence of his skin, of him. Not even cheeseburgers.

  Everything stopped. He straddled me and balanced himself on his arms. “Did you just moan ‘cheeseburgers’?”

  I licked my lips. “I was thinking of you favourably by comparison.”

  He cocked a brow, his eyes deepest pools of brown in the fading light of the room. “I take it as a compliment if I scored above ground beef.”

  I laughed. Tears came out. “I’m sorry.” I swiped at my face and clutched his white shirt with wet hands. “I missed you, horrible man. Too long.”

  He leant down, slowly, and kissed my forehead. “I love you. But you’re not allowed to cry more just because I said that.” His breath was sweet, and his lips on mine turned me to jelly. One more tear slipped into our mouths. He licked it away and murmured endearments peppered with kisses across my cheeks, eyes, neck. When Sam became ardent, the power of his emotions always flattened me, especially when he held my face in his hands like I was a precious gem. I blinked away another dribble of waterworks, and he said, “That’s it. Enough of this mushy shit.” He flipped me over.

  I was in big, delightful trouble now. He pushed the spandex of my dress over my hips to reveal… “Beige shorts? I do not approve of these.”

  Laughing, I turned my head and said, “I didn’t know you were going to be here. These don’t show under the dress.”

  “Is that supposed to be a good thing?” He tugged at them in a way that made everything from the waist down sit up. “You should be prepared for me at all times.”

  “Not even for you would I endure a thong on an eleven-hour, overnight flight.”

  He paused. “I concede the point.” His voice seemed to be coming from a mouth now much closer to my backside. My hips squirmed. A quiet, perfect kiss landed on my right cheek. My thighs parted. I could no more have stopped them than I could cease the movement of the sun. He laughed softly and ran a single finger between my lips. I gasped and clutched at the duvet cover. The ache of desire swept through me, and I eased towards his lovely intrusion. He obliged me, sliding his finger all the way inside and scattering kisses across my thighs and ass.

  He fucked me with his hand, slowly, my body moving and shuddering against him. Tight at first…and then loosening around his talented fingers that knew me so well. All too soon, I asked him to take me, moaning incoherent words and clutching at him as best I was able while he held me by the neck, his big, warm hand firm and making me wet by itself
.

  Sam laid his body across mine and whispered in my ear, “I think I’ll ride you thoroughly, if you ask me nicely.”

  My lust far outweighed my pride, and I begged him. Oh, yes, I begged him prettily, dirtily, desperately while he smirked so obviously that I heard it in the nasty way he whispered, “Do you want me, my plucky little starlet?”

  “Yes, please, baby.”

  The head of his cock teased up and down along my opening as my desire turned painful and wonderful both. We’d recently eschewed condoms in favour of clean blood tests, the birth control pill, and trust. And holy shit—did trust feel absolutely amazing in more ways than one. He grunted with the strain of teasing me—even he couldn’t take it much longer. I lifted up onto my knees a little and pushed backwards. He slipped in all at once, and we gasped together.

  He held there and kissed my neck, the place he knew would drive me crazy. The soft movement of his lips dazzled my senses, my skin drowning in pleasure. The pressure of him inside me eased, and I relaxed more around him with every kiss and flick of his tongue on my back. It had been weeks, and he held his patience until I could accommodate him well. I turned my face to the side. He placed a sweet kiss on my cheek. It was so perfectly chaste, and his cock so marvellously warm, I said, “Move.”

  He withdrew. Not the whole way, but enough for the delicious slide to make me moan with unadulterated delight. Holding there, just inside the edge of my entrance, he reached around to play with my breast. I wiggled my ass to make him move that yummy body of his, and he swatted it—only hard enough for the slap to echo in the quiet room, and for the sting to drive me mad. But I decided to obey and let him tease me with soft, maddening kisses, caresses, his hair tickling my skin like a feather.

  He thrust into me, his hips pressed against my ass, his thighs between mine. Deliberately, slowly, he played with me, sometimes squeezing me, sometimes slapping my bottom as he rode me. And all the while, he breathlessly relayed a never-ending monologue of the beauties of my body, of what he would do next, of how he’d missed this or this.

  I could have died right then and been as delighted as any woman who’d ever lived.

  I said, “I want to see you.”

  With gentle motions, he pulled out and turned me over. The dimple deep and pleased, he yanked one knee over his hip, then the other. I rubbed my thighs along his, wanting to experience every single inch of his skin. His tongue tasted my mouth as his body entered mine. I kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, relearning the planes of his face, one I desperately wished to see so often I tired of it, if that was possible.

  He gazed into my eyes and slid home, a contented smile hovering around his open mouth. He loved to watch when he screwed me, and sometimes it was almost too much—those dark irises seeing straight through me, into my heart, my soul, neither of which ever, ever wanted to let him go. I closed my eyes against the force of his and just appreciated his body with mine, playing soft then hard, driving, moaning, wet, slippery, hot, sweaty, on and on until I came on his cock while he never ceased giving me exactly what I begged for.

  My body dizzy and joyfully sated, I nipped his ear and whispered, “Lie on your back.”

  His answering smile dazzled even as he did my bidding. I yanked a pillow from under the covers and fluffed it behind his head. Never let it be said that I am not a full-service mistress. I gave him a long, thorough kiss, so thorough I almost forgot what I wanted do to him, especially when he raked his hands through my hair and held me there. Is there anything better than making out? God, I could’ve kissed him forever, but that might not have alleviated the urgency currently pressing between my thighs.

  I broke away, lightheaded and ever-so-slightly short of breath, and buried my face in his chest hair. I bit along his collarbone while he ran silky fingers down my back. I meandered to his stomach, tickling him, naughtily, just a little. I let my hair tease his cock long before I deigned to touch it with any other part of me. His hips squirmed. Mmmmmm good.

  I began with a long lick from base to tip. He fumbled through my hair and took a fistful. He tasted like me. I loved how dirty it made me feel.

  Lightly, I took him in my hand and ran loose fingers up and down, up and down. The fist in my hair tightened, and he groaned my name. Still pumping him, I put my mouth over the head and started to suck and lick. He fell back against the bed completely, his eyes closed tight. He was warm and slick and wet and I worked him in earnest, my free hand running along his hip, his ass, his balls. He didn’t last long, but twisted the bedclothes in his fingers and came into my mouth.

  Damn, that was fun.

  I flopped to lie beside him, and he immediately took me into his arms, his eyes still closed, and laid my head on his shoulder. I noticed the first traces of misty evening streaming through the open curtains. Good thing we were on the seventh floor. I think that might have been my best performance ever.

  A yawn the size of Donald Trump’s ego escaped my mouth. Orgasmic tranquillity had officially melted my bones.

  “Sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll make dinner reservations for a little later.”

  He could have suggested just about anything then and I would have acquiesced. He took my hand in his and cradled it against his chest. I fell further into the bliss that was him.

  I was home.

  He said nothing more, but turned us so that he spooned me until I fell asleep. Just before I fell off the cliff, I panicked that he wouldn’t be there when I awoke. It had happened before, when things got dicey for him, and he’d needed to flee the jurisdiction. This time it was me who squeezed his hand to my heart. As if that might make a difference.

  * * * *

  “You haven’t said ‘thank you’ to me yet,” Sam smarmed at me over curry in the amazing Indian restaurant he’d chosen. We sat in a circular corner booth lit only by candlelight and post-connubial felicity.

  I took a sip of water—the curry was hot, but Sam looked even hotter. He sat in shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, which is the official sexiest arrangement of shirtsleeves, the next being on your floor. “Precisely why am I giving thanks?”

  He huffed and scooted closer to me. His hand strayed to my knee under the tablecloth. He inched the black lace of my skirt high enough for me to be glad the tablecloth was long. “I’m certain your auditions for the role of art thief in your movie were successful because of my diligent tutelage.”

  I removed his hand and dropped it onto his own crotch.

  Oh, indeed—the story of how we met is the stuff of fairy tales. He’d used me to steal a Picasso that had hung in my then-boss’ office when I was a secretary at the Steak on a Stick corporation. Sure, he’d almost got me killed eight different ways, but I’d learned many valuable skills, such as how to deal with two different international art theft organisations, how to lie to the po-po and get away with it and why running in bunny slippers is not ideal.

  See? Most fairy tales are bizarre and laced with violence.

  I took a bite of palak paneer instead of answering. He didn’t seem to require one, but took a sip of beer while his dimple congratulated itself without my help. “Perhaps I got the part because of how talented I am.”

  “Okay, if that’s what we’re gonna call it.” He laughed and squeezed my knee. Somehow this entire exchange burrowed under my pride bone. Resentment pooled in my stomach. I put my fork down, and his arm snaked around my waist. “I’m kidding, Samantha. I’m sure you’re going to be wonderful—you always are. Hey.” He turned my chin so that I lost my step in his eyes, deep brown in the flicker of candles. “What’s wrong?”

  “How long are you here?”

  All his limbs retreated, and he deflated before answering. “I’m thinking a couple of weeks. If that’s okay.”

  “Of course it’s okay,” I said in a sugary voice that fooled no one. “When have I ever told you to go away? You do that by yourself.”

  A thorny silence fell over the table. The waiter came and went with fresh water.

>   He threw his napkin on the table and said, “Let’s have a relationship talk. No, we’re going to. You obviously want one. Listen—” He shifted towards me, one knee up on the seat and pressing into my thigh. “I love you. I’m asking you to trust me when I say I’m trying to make things work with you.”

  Was being a couple this freaking hard for other people? It didn’t help that almost every moment we spent together, barring perhaps this one, was wonderful and fun and full of groping. But those moments were not coming any more frequently, even after a year. “So we can spend a month together sometimes instead of a week?”

  “God dammit.” He distanced himself. He stared at his sweating beer bottle, took a long pull and sighed. “I’m trying, Samantha. Are we really back in the place where you doubt everything I say? When was the last time I lied to you?”

  I thought to myself I don’t know, but had enough sense to understand that that sentiment wouldn’t play well to this audience. A tear slipped down my cheek, causing distress-grunts to overflow from my date like an unattended bath. I swiped at my face and said, “I’m just tired. I’m sorry. I want to be in the same zip code as you are.”

  “Do you love me?”

  I jerked my head up. His voice had sounded so sad and needy, but his countenance was a rumbling thundercloud, ready to burst. I did love him. I had, even when I called it ‘lorvst’, which is lust plus bonus emotions you aren’t ready to admit to yet.

  He hadn’t thought much of ‘lorvst’.

  “I…” I squeezed my eyelids shut—I never could cogitate and see that catastrophic face at the same time. Objectively, he’s a nice-looking, but not gorgeous guy. I, however, found even his pores to radiate beauty. With a stalwart breath, I braved his hazel eyes again. “I do love you, Sam. But I’m afraid you’re going to smash my heart sooner or later.”

  He sagged back against the booth, the hurt etched in his whole body—every muscle tense, his mouth tight. A minute slipped by. I said nothing more, needing to hear his answer without giving him any sympathetic wiggle room. My willingness to let him wiggle had got me more familiar with my vibrator than him as of late.