Lust Born

by Jacquie Underdown

  Under the pictures is a poem.

  Ariana smoothes out the pages with both hands, looks at the beautiful script of the poem, and reads it aloud. “Of love and life that burns within, use that flame to solder and mend. Make broken flesh and bones whole again.”

  Ariana’s chest burns with a warm, tingly feeling of wholeness. The sensation spreads and branches outward, prickling needles over her limbs, then surges toward her ankle like a gush of lava, fiery and fierce. She sucks air hard past her teeth when it reaches her ankle and turns the skin to blood red.

  Scorching sensations and an immense pressure floods the area as though her ankle is inflating to bursting point. She screams like a tortured lamb, high-pitched and ragged. She screams again and again. Agony grows until she feels like the flesh is melting from the bone and the bones are being crushed to flaky slivers. Her head reels. Starry lights shine behind her eyes and her vision fades. She plunges into thick, sticky blackness.

  * * * *

  The memory of agony greets Ariana before anything else. Her throat clenches tight as she opens her eyes and anticipates more pain. She sits up and all the blood rushes from her head, making her woozy.

  Ariana’s gaze flitters around the room, searching for one thing: Spells and Such. It has fallen to the floor again. Closed. She winces as she imagines the skin of her ankle shredded, bruised, and bloodstained. Digging deep for courage, she glances sidelong at her foot. She does a double-take, mouth falling open, and bursts into giggles. The bruising and swelling has subsided; a faint yellow tinge remains.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me. Really, really shitting me.” She rolls her ankle and is met with the smallest twinge of pain.

  She shakes her head. Shakes it again. “I…you…you’re shitting me.” She laughs and cries because of the relief, wonderment, and absurdity of the situation.

  But rationality sinks in. That familiar, always-talking voice in her mind yells Grow up! This is real life. There’s a plausible explanation for this. And in that mocking tone that sounds so much like her, Ha, miracles, foolish girl. You know where childish fantasies get you.

  Ariana frowns, gloom misting around her mind and diluting the heady buzz. She swings her legs off the couch and plants them on the timber floor. No pain. She increases pressure until she is standing upright. A tiny flicker of amazement seeps through again, tickling her belly and heart, but she zaps it like a mosquito and shuts down its annoying hum.

  “Quite obviously the swelling went down for…because…for whatever reason and…I don’t know,” she mumbles on her way to the shower.

  But Ariana can think of nothing but the spell book. Despite her determination to blow it off as something that has no magical merit, she can’t deny the miraculous recovery of her ankle. No doubt it was broken a moment ago. And now as she rolls and stretches her ankle under the water that tumbles down her body, it clearly is not. A fierce energy swells in her cells and scratches at her muscles, making them twitch. She can’t refute the spell book any longer; she is compelled to find it again.

  Ariana finishes her shower and dresses. She dries her hair, ties the long sable strands into a ponytail, and runs out to the living room. The book is on the floor beside the couch.

  Can she hear it beating in her ears like it has a heart of its own?

  She shakes her head. Don’t go getting delirious, Ariana. It’s a book. A freakin’ book.

  But the spell book stares at her and beckons a deeper place inside. She sits on the rug, her back against the couch, and reaches for it with tingling fingers. The book is warm in her hands as she places it on the coffee table.

  “Beautiful,” she whispers, eying the aged leather, and breathes in that old-book smell she adores. A smell that reminds her of ancient wisdom, preserved and cherished, like she used to find in the darkened back-sections of libraries. When she was younger, she would hide herself away in such places and delve into tales of magical lands and creatures: dragons and princesses, wicked witches and virile men on brave steeds.

  Ariana turns page after page, filled with weird pictures of plants and vines, spells claiming to create windstorms and make non-living things animate, potions using unknown flowers of bizarre hues, crazed dog-like creatures, and ghostly mists.

  “This is the stuff of fairy tales,” she says as she looks at the palace from the previous night. “A book of dreams.”

  Her cellphone dings with a message. She reads the screen.

  You’re late for work! Where are you?

  “Late?” She checks the time on her phone and gasps. It’s five-thirty in the afternoon. She must have been unconscious the entire day, not mere moments like she assumed.

  “Shit, shit, shit.” She slams the book shut, messages Johnno that she’s on her way, and scrambles to her bedroom to dress for work. On her way out the door, she checks for a notice from the landlord. When she doesn’t find one, she sighs with relief—he’s given her more time.

  * * * *

  Johnno meets Ariana in the staff locker room at the back of the bar. He hands her an envelope with last night’s tips. He never personally brings Ariana her tips and it makes her feel uneasy.

  Johnno crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. “How’s the ankle?”

  She smiles and rolls it around. “Fine.”

  “It’s a miracle,” he says, dripping sarcasm.

  She shrugs a shoulder, trying to play it down. “Of sorts.”

  Johnno sighs. A deep crease sits between his brows. “I’m tired of the games, Ariana. You get carried out of here last night because you can’t even walk and then you turn up here tonight, an hour after your shift was supposed to start, miraculously healed.”

  “The swelling died down. It helped with the pain,” she says.

  Johnno snorts. “Yeah, right. Or you never had a sore ankle to start with. Quite a performance you put on last night.”

  She shakes her head. “It was real, I promise.”

  Johnno scoffs. “Oh, come on. I hope whatever it was that was more important than finishing your shift was worth it, because I’m letting you go. I don’t appreciate being lied to. And I won’t put up with my employees coming in late.”

  Ariana gapes. “You can’t be serious,” she says with jerky arm movements. “You’re firing me?”

  Johnno shrugs. “You’re a pretty girl. You’ll find another job soon enough.”

  Anger boils her blood and her body trembles. “Oh, that easy, eh? I’d like to see you try.”

  “You’ll be all right,” he says and turns to walk away.

  “You’ll be all right,” she repeats in a whiny sing-song tune. “Fuck you, Johnno!”

  He spins back to face her and smirks. “Here’s some advice—”

  Ariana slings her bag over her shoulder and slams the locker shut. “I don’t want your advice.” She flips him off and strides away, not looking back once.

  Ariana’s jaw clenches tight as she wanders along the dusky streets. Color billows across the sidewalk from the street lamps and window fronts, swathing her in gauzy light. People, busy to reach their destination, weave in and out. She lowers her head, hiding her moping frown.

  I can’t be losing my job right now. I can’t. Ariana breathes in and out angrily and quickens her strides. How dare Johnno make such assumptions? How dare he not even listen to her explanation? Yes, last night she had given him her word that she’d be able to finish the shift, but…

  “God damn him,” she growls under her breath, hands curling into tight fists. At least she got her tips and she can cover the rent. But not even that cheers her up because she knows, deep down, that she’s too late where that is concerned. An intense sinking feeling overcomes her, where she feels as though her head is slipping under a pool of mud and she may never be able to resurface.

  Ariana spins on her heel and marches back in the opposite direction toward a bar she is very familiar with.

  Inside, the music and chatter is loud enough in her ears to drown o
ut the gloom and worry sliding in about her circumstances—her inability to get anywhere different, or reach higher heights. It seems, no matter how hard she tries, she is walking in circles, always ending up where she began.

  Ariana sidles up to the bar and asks the barmaid for Matt. The barmaid finds him at the opposite end of the bar, taps his shoulder and whispers in his ear. Matt spins and flashes an enormous smile. He has sandy-blond hair and is dressed in long black pants and a black t-shirt. She manages a strained smile back as he jogs over.

  “What’s the matter, sweetie?” he says, leaning across the bar and stroking loose strands of hair behind her ear.

  “Nothing,” she lies. “I just wanted to see you.” Her heart warms as she looks at his familiar face, reminding her just how glad she is to meet up with him.

  Ariana met Matt five years ago when they were both fostered by the same family. Because of their similar pasts—a childhood of abandonment and abuse—they formed a deep bond. A bond that has remained strong.

  Matt runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  She shrugs and lowers her gaze. “I’ve been busy with work and stuff.”

  He grins wide. “Yeah, stuff. I know all about that.”

  “You don’t mind me dropping by, do you?”

  He slides his finger down her cheek and tilts her chin so she is looking into his green eyes. “Never,” he says, voice like gravel. “I knock-off early tonight. Let me get you a drink while you wait. Vodka?”

  Ariana smiles. “Thanks.”

  With her drink in hand, she finds a seat at a booth upstairs in a secluded corner of the club and waits. People laugh and dance and chatter around her. Seeing happy people induces an aching jealousy in her chest. They don’t realize how good they have it. She wonders if this is how it’s always going to be for her. A lifetime of struggle. This constant battle to get by makes her guts clench tight. For a young adult with no real education, no family, and no contacts, life’s a tough gig. And losing a job makes it even tougher.

  Damn Johnno.

  * * * *

  Midnight hasn’t arrived when Matt meets her. The many vodkas she’s drank are slipping through her veins and clouding her mind. Her shoulder brushes against his as he sits next to her, his green eyes already heavy-hooded with arousal.

  He gazes at her cleavage and bare thighs in her short skirt. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all shift.”

  She smiles.

  “I’m glad you showed up.” He leans in and kisses the arch of her neck. His soft mouth and breath against her flesh are tingly and warms her cheeks. “It’s been too long,” he says in a deep, throaty voice.

  She drags her teeth over her bottom lip as a coil of lust unravels in her belly and ebbs and swells through her body. “It’s only been a few weeks,” she says, her words slightly slurred.

  Matt runs his tongue across her earlobe. His warm breath in her ear feels tickly sweet. “You looked so sad when you walked in.”

  Tears tighten her throat, but she swallows past them. She faces him and places a finger to his lips. “Shh. I really, really don’t want to talk.”

  He smiles and looks at her for a long, silent moment, his face drifting closer and mouth edging toward hers. This is how it is between them. He knows the rules. Sex with zero intimacy. Zero attachment. Zero chance of getting hurt. His lips press against hers, softly at first, then his tongue meets hers and the urgency grows.

  It’s all heat and groping hands, everything she needs to stir the lust that lives in her veins and cells like a life force—the one thing in her life she can count on to be there. He fists her hair with one hand, plants the other on her waist, and pulls her onto his lap. She straddles his hips, leans in, and kisses him.

  He’s so hard, his arousal pressing against his pants and nudging her inner thigh. It ignites the fuel further and sets her ablaze. She bucks, pushing down on that steely length, making him groan, and swirls her tongue deeper into his mouth, loving his liquor tinged taste and the heat from his body curling around her and pulling her closer to his chest.

  His hands slide down her ass, gather her skirt.

  She wants this. Needs this.

  Stoking this lust is like vitamin D or water, essential to life.

  Matt pulls the crotch of her panties to the side, glides a finger inside, and she gasps into his mouth.

  “You’re incredible,” he breathes, his lips still grazing hers. “Let’s go to my apartment.”

  She leans back, smiles down at him, and nods.

  They leave the bar and hail a cab once outside. After a short ride, they are at Matt’s apartment. He opens the front door and grips Ariana’s hand, pulling her inside. The inside isn’t glamorous. It’s small and drab.

  Ariana follows him down the short hall to his bedroom decorated in beige hues, dark panelled aged blinds, and a double bed with black bedding and sheets. She presses a hand to his chest and pushes him toward the bed until he falls against the mattress.

  A stabbing dissonance stirs inside as she watches him, his gaze roaming over the length of her body, anticipating. She fights the erotic urges with some level-headedness and the discord sharpens. It’s pointless—level-headedness never wins against desire. Never has. Sex is food for her soul; she needs it as much as she needs air.

  She slides her skirt down until it pools on the floor at her stilettoed feet, then pulls her shirt over her head and lets it drop to the carpet. With each discarded piece of clothing, she sheds more and more resistance until she is left standing in her black push-up bra and panties, aching to take things further. Circling, she offers him a view of every bare inch of her.

  Matt undresses quickly and sits back on the end of the bed. She loves how she has this power to turn his mind to mush and his dick to marble. Like a bright flame to a wick, his obvious arousal is what sparks her own.

  She unclasps her bra, exposing her breasts, her nipples hardening as the cool air suckles them. As she shimmies her panties down, Matt grins and rushes for her. He grips her bare hips and guides her back onto the mattress where they fall against each other in a tangle of arms, legs, and lips. He feeds on the sensitive flesh at the curve of her neck, her mouth, and her pebbled nipples like they are morsels of delicious treats until she is a writhing ball of lust beneath him. Her thoughts are so foggy with want and need that she is able to drown out her loneliness…and her past.

  That’s what she likes the most, how this sexual charge hides the emotions and hinders unwanted thoughts. It’s the only time she feels in alignment with who she is and who she wants to be. The only time she feels normal, wanted, and whole.

  She pushes Matt on his back and climbs on top, straddling his hips. She grabs a condom from the nightstand, tears the foil between her teeth, and rolls the rubber onto the hard length of him. Looking down at his face, she directs his cock to her entrance and lowers herself until he is buried inside.

  Matt’s eyes roll closed and he groans. “Oh fuck, Ariana.”

  She rocks against him, letting him slide out then hard into her again.

  “You feel so good,” he says, his voice hoarse.

  She moves faster, harder, taking herself to that place where she all but explodes around him. Taking him with her.

  Matt’s breathing comes quicker, harsher, as she rides him. Brilliant sensation pools between her thighs and tugs at her belly. Tingles of bliss surge to her limbs and make her head light.

  “Oh fuck, I’m going to come already,” he grunts, pushing up into her, meeting her every movement, forcing himself in deeper.

  This is how it works between them. They derive intense pleasure from one another, then go their separate ways until the next time. Nothing more.

  Matt shudders and groans. His hips jerk as he comes. Ariana continues to ride him until she clenches and ripples with her own release. Their bodies slow, she stops rocking, and rests on his chest. His breaths are heavy at her ear and she can feel his fast beating he
art against her chest.

  His fingers trail up and down her naked back, and for a moment, it feels so right to be here in his arms, in his bed. Again that warm feeling in her heart swamps her chest.

  She sits up and climbs off him.

  “I better get going,” she says, collecting her scattered clothing from the floor.

  Matt smiles as he inclines up onto his elbows and looks at her. “Why the rush?”

  She shakes her head. “I…need to…”

  “Ariana, sit down,” he says, patting the bed beside him.

  Again she shakes her head. “No. I, ah, better get going.”

  “Sit,” he says more forcefully, but with a hint of his usual light heartedness.

  She sighs and takes a seat on the bed beside him. He sits up and kisses her shoulder. “Ariana, I’ve been wanting to say something for a while now.”

  She clenches her eyes shut, anticipating.

  His laughter fills the room. “Really? It’s not so bad.”

  She peels her eyes open and turns on the bed to face him. “Okay. I’m listening.” He does deserve more from her. “What do you want to say?”

  He smiles and runs a finger down her cheek. “I think we should stop this…arrangement.”

  Ariana’s body tenses. Her brows arch high. “What? Why? Have you met someone else?”

  “No. It’s not like that.”

  “Then what’s it like?”

  Again with a bashful smile. “I want a relationship with you. I want more than this. I want you full-time, every day, every night.”

  Ariana shakes her head and crawls backward from the bed. “No. No. We agreed. We agreed, Matt. No relationship. No…nothing more.”

  His lips droop into a frown. “I can’t help the way I feel about you. I think about you all the time. I. Want. You. All the time.”

  Her heart is so heavy in her chest. A strange tightness forms in her throat. She blinks to fight back tears. This is not what she wants to hear. Not from him. In a way, his willingness to take this arrangement to an emotional level is like a rejection, because she knows it’s not her he wants. It’s never her that any man wants. They want what she does to them, how she makes them feel.