I lean back, watching her down half the new drink in one long sip. “You’re out shopping in the middle of a workday, so not an office job.” She shakes her head with a bigger smile. “No books, so not a student.” She shakes again, fingers trailing across the top of her chest. “Pretty. Nicely dressed.” She smiles wider again at the small compliments, tilting her chin up, so the light can highlight her cheekbones more. “Too thin.” She frowns, genuine this time. “You must be a model.”
She raises her glass to me but doesn’t smile. “Too thin?”
I lean in. “Like you’d be too easy to break.”
Her smile is more than playful this time; there’s no hiding the wicked spark in her eyes to my obvious challenge. “And you’d be the first man that didn’t want a woman to be easily broken?”
I laugh, leaning back and finishing my drink as she does hers. “Not easily. Where’s the fun in that?”
“One more?” She turns for the waiter before I even reply.
“You are too thin to drink like this.” I lower my voice, adding a little of the natural authority I have to it.
“I don’t get drunk.” For just a second, it’s her blank stare—eyes dead, face frozen. It’s the Grace I knew in Chinatown but in this pretty costume.
“We’ll see about that.”
She surprises me by not responding submissively to my obvious deep, commanding tone. She laughs, eyes lit once more, face back to the mask of seduction. Looking at her mischievous grin and fluttering lashes, this time I do reach out. I put my hand right on her shoulder, my thumb rubbing up and down the side of her neck. She doesn’t pull back, not right away. She only laughs at me a little more, leaning into my hand for one moment.
When she does move, it’s quick and smooth. Her shoulder turns, hair feathering over my arm as she leans back. “Don’t you think I should know your name if you’re going to be touching me like that?”
“No.”
“And you don’t want to know my name?”
“No.”
“Hmm. Then I shall call you Trust, trust fund boy.”
“And I’ll call you Red.”
She smiles at this, almost a shy smile; her voice softens a little. “As good as any name I’ve been called.”
The waiter arrives with the drinks, and she doesn’t hesitate. She gulps hers down in one tilt of her head, eyes shining at me in challenge, all softness gone again. I toss mine down too. I’m going to be carrying her out of here.
Standing again on the street with the fog creeping in, I put my arm around her waist, pulling her towards me. It’s getting dark already, a cold gray sky barely lit against the tops of buildings. She moves out of my arm quickly and saunters to the curb, hailing a cab. She ignores the glares from a group of business men when she easily steals what should’ve been their ride.
I open the door and she smiles at me, sliding over the seat but only part way. She presses her legs against mine. She’s not even a little tipsy. She matched me drink for drink with no slurring, no sloppy silly girlishness, no change.
“Are you Russian?” I’m laughing, brushing my hand through her hair as I turn to her more.
She turns her body to me too and laughs with me. “I don’t think so. I suppose I could be. Why?” I like the way her spicy scent mixes with the vodka. She leans a little more onto me, her hand flat and pressed against my chest. She lowers her voice and adds an accent, “Would Boris like a naughty Natasha in his bed?”
I press us together with my arm behind her as the rocking from the cab’s shot suspension keeps her tits bumping against me nicely. Her lips are wet and apart, just waiting for mine, her eyes half-open and head tilted perfectly to the side. I smile at how easily we fit together, how she anticipates me. The tip of her pink tongue meets mine before our lips are even sealed. She lets out a small moan as my tongue moves around hers in a lazy dance. I grab her throat again. I’m gentle, not using much pressure, but her moan increases, vibrates under my fingertips. Her own hand rakes through my hair, pulling slightly in the back.
Her eyes are bright and shining when I finally release her. She runs her finger along her lower lip, smiling at me. It’s an obvious invitation to kiss her again that I can’t refuse.
I open the door and let her walk in first. Entering my main room, the surrounding city lights are enough to see the shape of my furniture profiled against the tall windows. I leave my lights off but turn to her quickly.
She surprises me by sidestepping at the last second, walking farther into the room. I take off my coat and unbutton my shirt, yanking it free from my jeans. She’s turned around to watch me, hands on her hips. Her tiny frame topped with her mass of hair is only a dark shape against the windows. Her face is completely masked in shadow. “Take off your coat, Red.”
She moves slowly to shrug out of her jacket. Her shirt and jeans are tightly formed to her bony shape. I watch her take her top off over her head and can see that she wasn’t wearing a bra. She turns a little to toss her shirt onto a chair. It’s a deliberately seductive motion. Putting her hands on her hips, slowing as she turns back to me, the light behind her shows off her erect nipples and perky tits for a moment longer.
Her head nods towards me. “Tit for tat, Trust.”
I grin and remove my shirt and jeans, letting them drop with my underwear to the floor. I know my body is easier to view in this light. I know she can almost fully see the muscles of my chest and stomach, the hard ridges on my arms and shoulders, the strength of my thighs. And my big cock, of course. I’m not fully hard, but I’m getting there.
She doesn’t wait for my command but does an unhurried job of undoing and lowering her jeans. Turning again to the side, she puts her ass in the air, upper body bending down the full length of her straight legs. Her small tits and hard nipples hang down, begging to be pinched and pulled. She pops her head up quickly, keeping her back arched and tits out. With a fake, helpless voice, “Looks like I’ll need some help getting my shoes off this time.”
I close the distance between us and put my hand out for her to hold, but she shakes her head, her voice huskier, “On your knees, Trust.”
I laugh. “Red, that was a one-time thing.” She starts to shake her head again, but I put my hand between her tits and shove her hard backwards. She doesn’t let out a sound as she drops onto the sofa. I grab both shoes and toss them, then yank off her jeans in one tug. She’s laughing again, sprawled out for me—legs spread, arms wide. She has no shame. She knows she’s beautiful.
I smile seeing her pussy waxed clean. Her lips are on full display. Her tight round cheeks are off the edge of the sofa. I lower to my knees, and she places her legs over my shoulders, smiling at me. “Knew I’d get you on your knees.” I slap her thigh, not too hard, more playful but with a nice smack to it. She yelps teasingly and tilts her hips up towards my face.
“Ask nicely.” I grip her thighs, liking how her muscles fight against the strength of my hands.
“Please!” She bites her lower lip, keeping it cinched under her white teeth, watching me and flaunting her pussy with a small pumping motion. I can feel her thighs tense more against me; her stomach is flat and muscled. “Pretty please!”
I slowly lower my face to her right thigh, kissing and licking my way towards her pussy. Her skin is silky and sweet tasting. Her hands reach for the sides of my head, but I lift my face. “No. Hands off.” She pouts and smiles at the same time, dramatically raising hands over head to grasp the top of the sofa. I continue my kisses up and over the top of her smooth skin. I smile when she tries to grind against my mouth as I head back down her left thigh.
“Tease!” It’s a fake whine, but it’s filled with lust.
“You weren’t specific, Red. You’ll have to ask nicely to get exactly what you want.” I flash a wicked grin, keeping my lips pressed to her leg, nibbling her thigh slightly. I have to laugh at the frustrated narrowing of her eyes though.
“Then by all means, I’ll be very specific for you. Please p
lace your mouth on my pussy, licking every inch you can reach with your beautiful tongue.” I start to head towards her pussy again, but she stops me, “Wait…I’m not finished.” I smile and raise my eyebrows. “I want your tongue darting in and out of me fast, I want your tongue like a straw around my clit while you suck me deeply, and I want your tongue flat and hard against me like I’m the best fucking ice cream you’ve ever tasted, Trust.”
I smile, impressed with her. Most women are too shy to talk this way, even with a guy they know. Grace has no such limitations. “Yes, ma’am.” I lower my lips to cup over her pussy, pulling the smooth skin into my mouth. I’m rewarded with a small gasp from her. She’s swollen and wet already, turned on by her own words. I glance up and her head is pushed back, eyes closed. I let myself get lost in her.
My tongue works perfectly through all of the acrobatics she wanted, adding a few of my own. I stop her orgasm twice, though, forcing her to hold on a little longer despite her attempts to push against me, to move her hips to fuck my mouth. She’s small, but strong. Her gasps and moans are getting stronger too. Finally, she lets out one long and loud, “Please.” It’s a plea full of need and frustration, her head shaking side to side against her upstretched arms.
I pull her off the sofa a little more, cupping her ass with both my hands. I’ve been ready for her, almost painfully hard. Keeping her legs on my shoulders, I push my cock to just inside her wet lips. “Is this what you want?” I won’t be able to tease her for long; my own need is getting to be too much.
“Yes!” She pushes against me and the sofa at the same time, forcing more of me inside her. She’s being a very greedy girl, but I can’t pull back now. I squeeze her ass, stretching her apart more and slamming into her with all the need I feel—with all the need I’ve felt since I first saw her. She screams out and grinds against me. I can feel her tightness around me. I’m pushing against her, forcing my way inside her deeper, but she bucks and continues grinding hard.
We fuck each other—her pushing against the sofa, me pulling her to me. When she comes, it’s in waves that squeeze my cock and force my own orgasm to stretch longer. My deep moan drowns out her long cry and final soft mewing.
I stop pushing against her but keep her legs pinned to me. When I open my eyes, hers are already smiling at me, her lower lip locked in her teeth again. I kiss both her thighs before gently lowering her legs to the floor. She stands, brushing her hair back as I kiss her stomach. “Bathroom’s back there.” I nod with my chin toward the hallway.
She saunters away, leaving her clothes on the floor. I watch her ass roll and hips shoot out. She has a great walk. I put on my boxers and head to the kitchen for a bottle of water. I come back to sit on the sofa like she was, slouched. She returns with a smile on her face and takes the bottle from me. I watch her neck move with big gulps of the cold water.
Her fearlessness, owning her nakedness even after sex, is beautiful to me. She can see me looking her up and down, and she obviously likes it. She hands me back the bottle. “Sorry, Trust, don’t have time for seconds.” She moves away from me before I can grab her.
I idly watch her pick up her clothes to get dressed when I have a thought. “Do you always leave the house without underwear?”
“I like to be unencumbered.” She leans over and kisses my chest, her eyes hooded with thick lashes, her grin disappearing. “And I like the rough feel of denim against my pussy. Even more after rough sex.”
I harden a little at her words. I grab her arm but allow her to pull away. “You don’t want to stay longer? Order food, fuck some more?”
She smiles, pulling her top down and bending over in front of me to fluff her hair upside down. She has her jeans and heels on again too. Her ass is hard and her legs lean. She whips her head back up and tosses her hair side to side, not turning to me. “You’re sweet, but my boyfriend will be home soon. I need to go.”
I laugh. I want to see how far she’s going to go with this. We still haven’t exchanged names. She hasn’t asked anything more about me. “So, how do I get in touch with you?”
She grabs her jacket and purse, turning to smile at me again from the door. “Is this really your place?” I nod. “Then I guess I know where to reach you if I’m in the mood for some ice cream again.” Then she blows me a kiss before walking out my door.
I stand up, walking back into my kitchen. I don’t keep much food stocked. I don’t spend a lot of time here. Being in the city doesn’t provide enough privacy for me or enough space. Torturing good screams out of a girl takes elbow room. A whip needs its length to really crack a good cry from eyes bled dry of tears already.
I stand in the cold air and light of the fridge, downing what’s left of a jug of orange juice. Grace drained me in more ways than one. I wanted to be done with her, but she’s sticking. I keep going back to the two versions of her I know—both cold, both distant. Both are beyond my reach in a way.
I’m not vain. Narcissistic, sure, but everyone confuses these two. It’s not vanity that has me wondering why she was so willing to come here, fuck me, then leave without even getting my name. I wonder because it’s what I’d do. She acted like me—in it only for her own reasons, not giving a shit about me.
I smile. That’s why she’s sticking? It’s not the crazy shit of whatever she was doing in Chinatown. No, it’s because today, she was like me. But is she? Really?
I want to know.
I smile. I want to have her. Fuck my rule.
San Francisco: Simon Lamb
The thing about an obsession is it takes a lot of energy and time. I think Ugo Betti said it best, “‘Mad’ is a term we use to describe a man who is obsessed with one idea and nothing else.” I was told I have obsessive behavioral traits. Then I looked up everything to do with obsession. I told the fucking shrink to kiss my ass after I learned the most brilliant minds are always obsessed with something.
It was Grandfather’s doing, the shrink. He felt it was necessary after that first girl killed herself—after he learned what I’d done to her. Truthfully, he never understood me, but he tried his best to be a father to me. I did my best to make him think it was enough.
Now I find myself obsessed again. It’s not my usual obsession either. That I can handle. Finding a new product, finding a way to break down a girl’s resistance, finding a way to build her back up to an obedient singularity, finding a way to not be bored with doing all of the above—that I’m used to.
No, my new obsession has been to find out everything I can about Grace. And I am going mad with failing. I have only come up with a paltry sum of details.
The Chinatown apartment is still rented under her name. All her things are still there. The food is long rotted in the fridge, dust collected on her clothes and bed, but rent is paid automatically each month. She never went back to the twink store, never collected any of the astrology shit she left behind.
The queens who treated her like family said they received an email telling them she went back home, but they didn’t know where that was. They both had tears describing how distraught they were at her abrupt leaving and her rudeness for not staying in contact. It was easy to get them to talk. I acted in need of a good horoscope reading for my best chances to meet Mr. Right. They referred me to a place down the street since they didn’t have the heart to hire anyone to take Grace’s place.
They have no idea that she is still in the city or that she has a one-bedroom condo in Potrero too. It’s small, a second floor unit, bright and cheery. All her clothes in the closet are bright and cheery. It’s the antithesis of the Chinatown apartment. The only similarity is the art; it’s all framed children’s drawings. She hasn’t been there in months. A cleaning service keeps it all neat and tidy for her in case she ever returns. It still smells like her at least, like she might be back at any minute.
She lives with her boyfriend full-time now. That’s the building I saw her leaving. There’s not much of her in his apartment, though, except the mess of clothes, make
up, and jewelry she leaves lying around. The rest of the apartment is a typical guy place—black leather, big TV, nothing changed by a feminine touch.
She lives there but still out of a suitcase, just a bag tossed in the corner and forgotten. Her things are all scattered like they don’t really have a home. Half the closet is emptied. Poor bastard, he’d tried to make room for her, invite her in. She never took over the space.
Two years ago she became the girlfriend to a photographer. It didn’t last, but he got her pictures to the right people, got her started in her low-rate modeling career. Two years ago was the start of both the lease in Chinatown and the purchase of the Potrero condo. It was like she knew she’d need both sooner or later.
But before two years ago, she didn’t exist. She has no connection with anyone—no family, no friends, no online presence, no credit history. Her SSN is a clean slate until two years ago as well. She paid cash for her condo, paid in full. She still doesn’t have any credit history. There are no credit cards, no investments, just a bank account.
She has a security deposit box too—boxes, actually—but not even I can get into those.
I couldn’t find anything out about her before two years ago. She didn’t exist before then. No birthplace, no details, not even a driver’s license or ID to be found.
So I’m back to my theories, but each one is more farfetched than the last. Runaway from a crazy husband? Witness protection? Fugitive? Each one only explains so much, then falls apart.
And I am going mad with obsession now. I’d meant to get information, and then use it to seduce her, win her, dump her. I wanted to get rid of her once and for all—purge her.
But now I’m obsessed.
I know only one surefire cure for what obsesses me.
We Were One Once Book 1 Page 4