by Rock, Vivie
I looked up and down the road, wondering where Ben was, if he was about to appear around the corner any minute, and see me with the instructor.
Even behind his sunglasses, I could see Raoul was scowling.
‘Fine,’ I said. And I found myself getting into the car - but this time into the back of the car, behind the safety of the privacy glass, and we drove away.
I didn’t spot Ben as we headed for the motorway, but I kept myself firmly hidden behind that black glass, just in case. And I switched my phone on silent, so I wouldn’t have to bear the horror of hearing him calling, asking if I was okay. If I was standing him up on our first date.
Raoul didn’t say much during the journey, except to tell me again that it was best we have a chat, and that we’d go back to his place. He didn’t fancy the noise of a crowded bar, he said, and besides, he desperately needed a shower. Couldn’t force his stench on poor, innocent people in a public place.
But you’ll force it on me, I thought grumpily, smelling the manly, post-exercise scent in the confined space of the car, and feeling less angry when I realized I was becoming turned on by it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Warrior Sprit
Raoul pulled into a driveway in silence, and I’ll admit that I felt a little disappointed he didn’t live in a giant Medieval castle, or a mansion.
His apartment block was an enormous hulk of concrete, with wire fencing around it, and threatening signs on the sides of the building, warning the kids: NO SKATEBOARDING, NO BALL GAMES, NO GRAFFITI. It was certainly a different end of town to what I was used to.
We got out of the car, and I followed Raoul up some concrete steps. ‘No lift here,’ he said gruffly, taking off his sunglasses and hanging them on the neckline of his grimy t-shirt. I followed him up two flights of stairs, then three, then four, desperate not to appear like I was flagging in front of him, as he just seemed to glide effortlessly up, his strong legs barely even straining under the effort.
Finally, on the fifth floor, we stopped. ‘This is it,’ he said, and opened a door painted with the number 247.
As soon as he opened the door, I noticed a bizarre mixture of smells greeting me inside. There was the unmistakeable musk of incense, something heady and strong like patchouli. But there were other, stranger smells too. Spices, exotic like cardamom, tangy like aniseed and liquorice, and hot, like chilli. It was like stepping into one of those crammed-to-the-brim Chinese supermarkets I’d come across in the Northern Quarter. It was so overwhelming I felt a little dizzy as I walked through the corridor into the living room.
My own living room window looked over a park and a primary school; it was quaint and almost countryside-like, despite being in the middle of the city. His view was all city. I forgot about the monstrous concrete block on the outside of this place, and knew immediately why you’d want to live in a flat like this. The evening sun was glowing with its last embers, as it sunk beneath the horizon, drenching the city in a deep, dusky pink. Office blocks, skyscrapers, the town hall… you could see it all from here. It was magnificent.
‘Take a seat,’ said Raoul, and I looked around for the most appropriate place to sit. I was ashamed to discover how pristine his flat was - there was no drying laundry in here. I perched on a black leather sofa, facing the window, feeling incredibly over-dressed in my strappy evening dress, compared to him, towering over me in his kickboxing gear. ‘I’ll get you a drink,’ he said, and I watched his tight behind, in his low-slung martial arts pants, disappearing off into another room.
I took the opportunity to look around the space I was in. I’d never been in a flat like it. The most striking thing I noticed, was that every wall, instead of being full of paintings, like mine, was full of hanging weapons. And I’m not talking country gents’ shooting rifles. I’m talking Samurai swords. They had ornate, engraved handles, in deep blues and pearlescent whites. Almost elegant in their slender beauty, until you looked at the the sharpness of their long, curved blades, and realised how easily they could slice through flesh - probably even bone.
Rather than feel scared surrounded by all this weaponry, I found something stirring inside me. The same sort of masculine aggression I’d felt building up in me during my two kickboxing sessions. That feeling of wild abandon at being able to let go, to express myself through the power of my punches.
Raoul walked in holding a bottle of wine and two glasses. Interesting. I hadn’t seen him as a Chablis sort of man. Maybe he was more refined than I gave him credit for.
‘You like the swords, I see,’ he said.
I nodded. ‘They’re beautiful.’
He sat on the sofa beside me, and poured us both a generous glass of wine. He handed one to me, and then - without saying ‘cheers’, I couldn’t help but notice - he began to drink. ‘They’re amazing weapons,’ he said. ‘Imbued with such a deep-rooted sense of magic, and folklore. The Samurai used to name their swords, believing that within the sword lived their warrior spirit.’
I thought about those words. Warrior spirit. Is that what Raoul had been unlocking in me?
He pointed at one of the swords, hanging over the fireplace, with a violet handle, studded with tiny, iridescent crystals. ‘This one reminds me of a Masamune sword. Masamune was one of the most talented craftsmen, who began the tradition of Soshu sword-making. See those crystals, set in that deep, pearly material? They were thought to resemble the night sky.’
I looked out of the window, at the real night sky, feeling disappointed for a moment that the lights of the city hid the stars from view. I’d love to sit under the stars with this man.
‘Masamune’s swords,’ he said, ‘rather than being regarded as brutish or evil, were actually considered to be deeply spiritual and benevolent, incapable of harming anything that was innocent or undeserving.’ He took a large mouthful of wine, and I did the same, feeling the crisp, dry flavours crackling on my tongue.
‘Unfortunately,’ he continued, ‘we always hurt the people around us. Even when they don’t deserve it.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hard For You
‘Listen, I’ve been talking for too long,’ he said. ‘You’ve barely said a word. Tell me about yourself.’
I fiddled with the wine glass in my hands, realizing he knew almost nothing about me. For a moment, looking at the glass in my hands, I thought of Ben, and felt a rush of guilt. Was he still waiting outside my apartment, hoping I’d step out of my front door at any moment? How many missed calls did I have? I had another mouthful of wine. Raoul noticed how fast I was drinking, and gave me a top-up.
‘I manage a company,’ I said, aware of how boring that sounded. ‘A paper company.’ Shit. That didn’t make it any better. Paper! Here I was, talking to this rock of a man, about paper!
I thought of that game I used to play when I was little… rock, paper, scissors… Rock won against paper, didn’t it? No, wait a minute. I remembered my big brother, wrapping his palm around my fist. Paper covers rock! he used to shout, and I always thought how stupid that was, something so fragile, able to envelop something so hard and tough.
I looked at Raoul. He was gazing intently at me, waiting for me to say more.
‘For the last few years,’ I said, ‘I’ve been married to my work. I’m incredibly ambitious. But it comes at a price. It was only when I came along to your first class, with my friend Rebecca, that I realised how much of life I’d been missing out on…’
Raoul reached out and took my hand, and I felt the roughness of his skin, the calluses from the countless poundings of his fists against leather. ‘I’ve been missing out on a lot too,’ he said. ‘I don’t normally do things like… what happened today…’ I could see he was struggling. I think it was the first time I’d ever seen him looking out of his depth. I wanted to kiss him and tell him it was okay. ‘I owe you an apology,’ he said at last.
‘An apology?’ I wondered which of his countless rude acts he was going to make amends for.
�
��It was an ex-girlfriend,’ he said, looking up at one of the swords on the wall. ‘She left over a year ago, but it took me a while to get over her.’
I felt irritated all of a sudden. ‘And you’re telling me this because…’
‘I’ve found it difficult to trust people, since then. When we ended up… getting so close in the gym today, I panicked. Have you ever had your heart broken?’
I looked down at my glass, sadly, and shook my head. ‘No. I haven’t.’
‘I used to train with her. We started taking classes together, years ago. She was a natural. Then she started taking extra classes. Without me. Her trainer was a man called Lex. I mean, Lex! What kind of a name is that?’
‘And she had sex with him? Sex with Lex?’
He turned away for a moment, and then put down his glass and walked over to the window, his back to me.
With the evening city lights behind him, his silhouette looked astonishing. Every contour screamed out ‘man’ to me. His body was perfect.
‘It must have been hard for you,’ I said gently. ‘But you’ve got to move on.’ I thought of Rebecca, how hard it was for her, after Darren, and remembered that I needed to get in touch with her tomorrow. She’d said Darren and her were talking tonight. I hoped to God they didn’t get back together. That guy was trouble.
‘I guess I’ve just focused on my work,’ he said. ‘You know what that’s like.’
I put down my glass, and stood up, moving towards him, amazed that this man and I could have something in common. I stood beside him in my small red dress, my bare arms brushing his biceps.
‘When you walked into the club last week,’ he said, ‘scowling at me, getting angry with me, looking so… gorgeous… I knew that I was in trouble. For the first time in a year, I felt vulnerable.’
I let my fingers touch his, trembling, feeling the sensitivity at the tips, the electricity shooting up my arm and into my breast. ‘I feel vulnerable too,’ I whispered, longing for his hands to curl around my waist, for him to take me in his arms, lift up my skirt, to finally enter me with his strong erection, to let me welcome him in to my hot, moist, centre…
‘I like you, Michaela,’ he said. ‘But I think we should take things slowly. Let’s talk some more. But first, I need a shower. I stink.’
He walked off into another room, leaving me standing, looking over the city, watching the last of the sun’s embers disappearing behind the horizon.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dutch Courage
I heard a shower switch on behind the door at the end of the hall, and felt the irritation building up inside me.
You know what? I deserved better than this. I walked over to the wall, looked at the swords hanging there, and ran my finger over the flat part of the blade.
I felt the spark of a new warrior spirit, awakening inside me.
I wondered what this sword had been called. Which fighter it had once belonged to.
The coldness of the metal sent a thrill into my fingertips. I lifted my fingers to my cheek, and let the coldness crackle there for a moment too.
Then the thought formed in my mind.
I was going to have this man.
I liked him. He liked me. I was a strong woman. I’d had enough of these games.
It was time to hook him in.
I grabbed my wine glass from the table, and gulped down the contents of the glass. It felt good. It gave me even more strength. I caught sight of myself in a mirror on the wall. Ruffled up my hair a little. Licked my lips.
Then I stepped towards the sound of running water.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
More Than A Taste
He hadn’t locked the door, thank goodness, so I pushed down the handle and stepped inside. He was still dressed, holding up a bottle of shower cream, about to put it into the shower. When he heard me coming in, he paused, but didn’t turn around.
‘Michaela?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I replied. And left it at that. I waited, just in case he told me to get out. Obviously I wasn’t going to force this guy into anything he didn’t want to do… but if he was just standing there, it didn’t seem like he was altogether averse to me being in here.
I saw his hands reach above his head, and then, slowly, he took off his t-shirt. As it peeled back from his skin, which still glistened with sweat from the day’s exertions, it began to reveal the most intricate black ink markings I have ever seen. They were made up of tiny black dots, reminiscent of a mehndi design, but strong and striking, revealing the large, snarling face of a wolf. It was incredible.
‘Raoul,’ I gasped, desperate to touch him, to run my hands over this wild, intricate beast, to feel the ridges of the ink, the small, dark scars on the surface of his tanned skin. Raoul didn’t move, so I stepped closer to him, and held out my hand. I touched the wolf’s ears at first, erect and listening, and then stroked my way down to the eyes, then the jaw, and finally… the teeth. My fingers were in the wolf’s mouth. I gasped.
Raoul turned around.The bathroom was hot and steamy. Raoul’s skin was flushed.
I could smell him now, so salty and earthy. I felt the moistness collect between my legs.
Rah-ool, I said, ever so quietly, under my breath. Touch me, Rah-ool.
Raoul’s eyes pierced mine, boring into me, drilling me with their potent stare, and then, deliberately, they began to run down the length of me, down to my neck, then my breasts. I felt my nipples harden from the penetration of his gaze alone. Raoul lifted his hands to my shoulders, took the thin, delicate red straps in his strong, manly hands, and ripped apart my dress.
I heard the quick, creaking tear of fabric, and then felt his hands on me, running all over my ample breasts, my straining nipples, across my smooth stomach, grabbing me by the hips and pulling me close.
I grabbed the elastic around his waist and pulled down his kickboxing pants. I only just caught a glimpse, but he wasn’t wearing any underwear! Did he really teach his classes like that? I grabbed his ass, felt the taut, muscular skin in my palms, the way a small down of soft hair drew me in towards the cleft in the centre, and then stroked my hands outwards, towards his hips, desperate to grasp his enormous member.
But before I could do that, he pushed me down backwards onto the bathroom floor, and pulled my dress down over my hips and off. Then, without even stopping to admire my lovely lacy knickers (still, at least I wasn’t in my white cotton panties today), he pulled them off too, and threw them behind him, hooking them over the taps at the sink. Then, he touched himself for a moment, grabbing his big member in his fists, enjoying, momentarily, the feeling of his own arousal.
The cold bathroom tiles pressed hard into my back, and I struggled up onto my elbows to take a look at him. I was desperate to see this huge man’s cock. I was desperate to see it, and then feel it inside me.
When his hands moved away from his groin, I was dumbstruck.
This man was beautiful.
All that pure masculine energy, that testosterone, had created something magnificent, straining up and out of him, towards me, desperately seeking my warm, wet lips.
‘Fuck me, Raoul!’ I shouted. ‘Do it now!’
Raoul didn’t stop to argue. This time he wasn’t about to make some stupid remark, or walk off without saying goodbye. This time, he pinned me down to the tiles, and took complete command of me. First he kissed me full on the lips, then moved his mouth down to my breasts, taking my nipples between his teeth and squeezing gently.
Next, his tongue ran down to my stomach, tasting me all the way down to the thin line of hair at my pubis, which I’d finally decided to shave, and it showed off my small, pouting lips, which were no doubt teasingly open and moist, willing him to put his tongue into my delicate parts within, to drink me up as he had done earlier today.
But before Raoul’s mouth reached the spot between my legs, he let out a lustful growl, and pushed his expansive chest down onto me.
I felt his hard, smooth pe
nis, nudging the top of my thighs, and then, after only the tiniest amount of resistance, he entered me, the full, hot wetness of me, filling up every inch of me with his giant member, and I screamed in ecstasy.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A Haze Of Lust
That night, I slept in Raoul’s bed. I say slept - but I barely slept a wink. In truth I was lying there, with Raoul’s arms wrapped around me, and I was taking it all in. Drinking in every moment of being in this man’s bed, in his room, with all of his things.
There was a weightlifting bench in the corner of the room, and a selection of dumbbells. Where my bedroom was full-of make-up and clothes, his was chock-full of exercise equipment. I guess we both looked after ourselves in different ways.
The next morning, my eyes were heavy, and I couldn’t stop yawning, but Raoul seemed refreshed, as awake now as he’d been last night - as awake as he’d been for every one of the three hours he’d fucked me, then stopped to kiss and hold me, then fucked me again, then hold me some more, before finally coming, a thick stream of white, spilling out onto my stomach, over the flat skin, dripping onto the sheets, rising and falling on my skin as I panted with satisfaction.
In the kitchen, he made me some coffee and eggs, and we talked about normal things, like our jobs, and our favourite childhood memories, the sort of whimsical thing that people do in the early stages of a relationship, but what we didn’t talk about was what had happened between us. There was an elephant in the room, and I wasn’t going to be the one to point it out.
Raoul offered to drive me back to mine, but I decided I’d walk and then get the bus. I wanted the fresh air, and some time to enjoy this strange new pleasure running through me, this warm satisfaction that had spread throughout my body.
At the door, I wondered whether to kiss Raoul goodbye.
‘I had a great time with you,’ I said, pulling the jacket he’d lent me around myself, covering the broken straps of my now unfixable red dresss.