by Alexis Angel
It is only at that point that both men notice my presence at the doorway. They both pull away from each other and gaze at me, wordless. There is a thickness to the silence, and for a moment, no one knows what to do. Kenneth seems pleased that I've just witnessed it all. A sly grin dances across his face. Michael is stunned, and debates how he should respond. I can almost see his mind working overtime. Then he finally speaks, "Really now, Jocelyn. Don't look so surprised." He bends down and picks up his pants, carefully pulling them on, one leg at a time.
"You were supposed to be at the doctor appointment with me today."
"I changed my mind," he responds, shrugging his shoulders. "And besides, this was only a fair turn of events. While you go off and fuck—who—no, I don't even want to know—whoever it is that you're fucking, I'll get mine."
I look at Kenneth and he nods his approval. He looks ecstatic and casually runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back into place. I bet this was his idea to be here, in this house, with Michael today. It would make sense.
"As you wish," I say, all emotion hidden. I tell myself that I shouldn't care. This was always a marriage of necessity. A favor for my father. I've never loved Michael and he's never loved me.
Michael clears his throat and says, "Good, now if you know what's good for you, you'll close that door and run along."
Lance
Sometimes, love means letting go.
I swear, I fucking tried. After that fucking awful night out, I went home ready to take on the world. I wouldn’t let anything get in the way—in my mind, Jocelyn and I were meant to be together, and I wouldn’t allow for that not to happen. Of course, that was nothing more than a childish thought. It fucking hurts to put it like this, but she was fucking right: I’m nothing more than a kid, and I was living nothing more than a fucking fantasy.
But there’s one thing that I won’t let go of: I love her. I fucking love her. With all my being. To be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever love another woman like this. It’s just fucking impossible. So why am I not going after her? I’m astonished that you still have to fucking ask. Have you read the newspapers? Have you seen the fucking news on TV? She’s happy. Fucking happy. Swear to God, it hurts like a motherfucker to say it, but Jocelyn is happy. And she’s carrying my father’s child. Let me put it like this so you can understand it: I’m going to have a fucking brother. How can I come crashing into her life now? How can we ever be together like this? Fuck, I’d do anything to have her with me, but I won’t fucking ruin her happiness… I fucking won’t. It might cost me my own fucking happiness, but I don’t give a fuck. As long as she’s all right, the world will keep spinning on its axis…
That’s why I left in the middle of the night, not bothering to tell a soul that I was leaving. I packed my shit up in a duffel bag and called a cab. Half an hour later I was checking in at the Plaza, laptop propped up on my knees as I booked a flight to London.
Yeah, that’s right, come tomorrow morning, I’m getting the fuck out of New York. Maybe being on the other side of the planet, as far from her and my father as I can fucking get, will help. Or maybe it fucking won’t. Whatever, I’ll take the British night by assault and I’ll work through everything by going back to being good ol’ Lance Anders.
Yeah, sure, I know what you’re thinking. Things didn’t exactly go the way I intended the last time I tried to work through things like that. But, listen, this isn’t the way I wanted things to go. But what do you want me to fucking do? Try and break Jocelyn and my father apart, now that they’re waiting for a child? I’m an asshole, sure, but I’m not a fucking evil bastard. I have fucking limits. It might not look like it, but there’s a fucking conscience inside this pretty head of mine. Don’t believe me? Well, fuck you then.
Laying here on the bed of my hotel room, my head is racing, going at an hundred miles per hour. My mind is fucking brimming with scattered thoughts, a big gaping hole in my chest. Inside my heart, there’s fucking emptiness. I never felt like this. Never.
There’s a knock on my door, but I don’t even bother with it. I’m fucking crushed right now. Sprawled on top of the bed, I’m just staring at the ceiling while the seconds go by. It’s not like I’m fucking busy, but I won’t let room service fucking interrupt me. Besides, I have the fucking “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging outside the door, so these assholes can go fuck themselves.
There’s another knock, this time louder. Jesus Christ, do not disturb means do not fucking disturb, what’s so fucking hard about it? I sit up on the bed and, sighing, go up to my feet and walk to the door. I’m already in a foul fucking mood, and having someone knocking at the door isn’t fucking helping. While I’m crossing the room, whoever is on the other side starts to knock more insistently. Fucking hell.
“I’m on my fucking way,” I say, feeling more and more pissed by the second. What the fuck? Can’t I fucking wallow by myself for one fucking minute? Let a man be, for fuck’s sake. Seething, I grab the handle, turning it. The door swings open and my heart almost stops beating.
“Hello, Lance.” I have to blink twice in order to be sure that I’m not fucking dreaming. Jocelyn? What the fuck is she doing here? “Going somewhere?” Yeah, the other side of the planet.
“London,” I tell her without thinking. I’m still dazed by the fact that she has managed to track me down. “How the fuck did you find me here?”
“Your father’s name carries some weight,” she says with a smile. “That and you left a booking note on your bed stand.”
Fuck.
“Yeah, alright. That doesn’t explain why you came halfway across the city to bang on my door,” I tell her, stepping aside and letting her walk into the room. I turn my back to her and head to the bed, sitting on the edge while I prepare for her fucking speech. No hard feelings, yada yada, and some bullshit more. I’ve given that speech countless fucking times, but I never actually thought I’d end up on the receiving end of it. Karma can be a fucking bitch, let me tell you.
“I came to stop you.”
“Stop me?” I raise one eyebrow at her. Does she think I can stay in New York, living under the same roof as her and my father? I’m not a fucking masochist, thank you very much. I’d jump out of the fucking building before I let that happen.
“You can’t leave,” she insists, an expression of desperation taking over her face. Her beautiful face. Fuck, I just want to take her into my arms right now. Okay, be fucking strong, Lance. You can do this.
“I sure can. I’m leaving in the morning. And before you ask, I didn’t buy a return ticket. One way only.”
“You can’t,” she repeats, a sense of urgency in her words. She’s desperate. Why? She takes two steps toward me, looking me in the eyes. “I love you, Lance. Please don’t go.”
Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is going on? Where the fuck is this coming from? I look into her eyes, trying to decipher if she’s fucking playing me, tugging on my rope just to string me along. But what I see there has nothing to do with that—there’s only truth there.
“But--”
“I know,” she says, cutting me short. “I said awful things. Terrible things. I meant none of it. And I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Lance. I wish I could take it all back.”
“Then why the fuck would you say those things?” I ask her softly, still not sure where the conversation is going. Even if she loves me… She’s fucking carrying my brother in her belly, for fuck’s sake. And if she loves me, that makes it all even more fucking depressing. Because now there’s no fucking way we’ll be able to be together.
“Because… I was afraid. I didn’t know what to do. When I found out that I was pregnant, I… I told your father and… I had no choice, Lance. He was so mad over it…”
Mad? He was fucking beaming during the pregnancy announcement. The old bastard was over joyous, telling the whole fucking world he was going to have another heir. The fucking prick hates it that I’m his only fucking son, a burden to his political aspirations. Unles
s… Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking fuck. It can’t be.
“Don’t tell me that…?” I ask her, my heart fucking racing. Jesus Christ, I think I’m going to be fucking sick. She simply nods, hesitant. Holy fuck, am I dreaming? Please tell me that I’m not fucking dreaming. “I’m going to be a father?”
“You’re going to be a father, Lance,” she tells me, a tender smile lighting her face up. Suddenly, the whole world stops spinning. I’m going to be a fucking father! My heart is ready to burst. Happiness floods me and I smile, going up to my feet. I grab her by the waist and pick her up, spinning her across the room.
“I’m going to be a father!” I laugh, overjoyed. Can you imagine it? A little Lance running around, peeking under the girl’s skirts! Or maybe a little Jocelyn, ready to dazzle the whole fucking world with her looks and smarts! Fuck, this started as the worst day of my life—and it became the very best one.
“I love you. I love you so fucking much,” I tell her, placing my hands on her cheeks as I put her on the floor.
“I love you too,” she whispers into me, that desperation no longer on his face. There’s only happiness there, making her even more fucking beautiful, as if that could be fucking possible. I press my mouth against hers, the touch of her lips marking the best day of my life.
I’m going to be a fucking dad!
Jocelyn
“I love you. I love you so fucking much!” Lance says, his words like honey and wine. They’re curt and perfect, and above all, they are everything I need to hear. After everything that I told him, after trying to drive him away… That’s the thing with love, I think. He can’t be driven away when it really exists.
“I love you too,” I tell him, my heart brimming with happiness. “But I want you to prove it to me,” I say with a smile, taking one step toward him, our mouths just two inches away from each other. Smiling back, he brushes the back of his hand against my face, tucking a stray lock of hair over my ear.
“I’ll do more than that,” he tells me, leaning in and brushing his lips against mine. I feel that familiar spark of pleasure running through me, the touch of his mouth on mine is one of the sweetest things I have ever experienced in my entire life. “Close your eyes,” he says, pulling back from me.
“Why?” My heart is starting to beat faster, anxiety crawling under my skin as every fiber of my body starts to ache for him.
“Just do it.” I comply, my eyelids drooping before he even finishes speaking. There’s something in the tone of his voice. He showed up in my life as young brash boy, but he’s maturing. He’s shaping up into a man, one who towers above all other mortals. But, in the end, it doesn’t matter how much he grows up: he will always be my Lance.
I hear him walk across the room, his sure footsteps taking him away from he. He rummages through something—one of his travel bags, I assume—and then walks back toward me. I tremble slightly as he presses something over my face, soft fabric brushing against my skin. He places it over my eyes and runs it around my head, tying the slender piece of fabric tightly. It’s a tie, an expensive one, judging by the smoothness of it.
“Now, turn around,” he whispers into my ear, his lips so close they almost brush against it. I turn on my heels, still feeling his warm breath against my neck. My skin prickles as I feel the gentle pressure of his fingers on my back, sliding over my shoulder blades until they meet the zipper on my dress, right below my neck. Slowly, he grabs the fastener and starts pulling it down, the sound of it like a melody. My naked back turned to him, he places his hands on my shoulders and gently pulls the straps down my arms, the dress drooping and falling over my chest, hanging by my waist.
I say nothing. I simply lick my lips in anticipation as he runs his fingers up my arms, hooking them on the straps of my bra and pulling them down just like he did with my dress. He unclasps it and lets it fall from my body onto the floor, my naked nipples pulsing with raw desire.
Breathing softly but at a growing pace, I’m covered in goose bumps, desire burying its long fangs. Lance is taking his time; we’re not hiding or rushing anymore, and that makes me even more anxious for his touch … for his body.
“You look lovely,” he whispers, his voice sending a shiver down my spine. Sliding his fingers over my back, he hooks them on the bunched up fabric on my waist, carefully pushing the dress down my legs. As I feel the fabric hitting the floor, I step out of it, suddenly feeling more exposed than ever. I’m only wearing my tiny lace thong and my heels and I feel more naked than ever before. He has seen me naked countless times, but I could always look into his eyes, take in his reaction. Right now, there’s only darkness—that and the warm maddening touch of his fingertips.
“I want to see you,” I say, suddenly realizing that I’m breathing way harder than I expected.
“I know,” he runs one lazy finger over the contour of my thong, moving it around my waist and then tracing the curve of my buttocks. “But there’s nothing for you to see now… You can only feel.”
There’s a wetness building in me, one stemming from the desperate need for him that’s pooling in my mind. I feel vulnerable right now … Vulnerable and wet. Could there be a more perfect combination?
Grabbing my hands, he moves me across the room; I follow after him, almost as if I were on a leash, and stop when he does.
“Sit down,” he says, and my body responds immediately, my knees bending at the sound of his words. I have no idea where I’m standing, but I trust him… Who wouldn’t trust Lance? I sit down, my buttocks finding the soft mattress underneath them. It shifts softly under my weight, and my mind starts to imagine how it would feel to be pinned down between the sheets and Lance’s body. “Now lay down,” he continues, no longer touching me. My heart beating faster and faster, I climb on top of the bed, lying back as he instructed me to.
There are a few seconds of silence, and my head starts to spin; it’s maddening to have no idea what’s going on around me… In a good way. A very good way.
“You can’t imagine the view I have,” Lance says, the sound of his voice telling me that he’s standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at my almost naked body.
“You can have more than just a view,” I say, my lips curling into a smile. As far as I’m concerned, he can have whatever he wants. I might be much older than he is, but I’m more than willing to make all his wishes come true. How could I not? Just being here with him, wearing just a thong, heels and a blindfold… This is a dream come true right here.
“I intend to.” I feel the mattress shifting again, his weight now added to mine as he climbs on the bed. Still, he doesn’t touch me. His sweet breath is on my neck, and I can almost sense the electricity between my skin and his lips. I sigh heavily, anxious to feel something—anything.
“Patience,” he whispers, brushing one finger over my outer thigh. He slides it up from there to my shoulders, tracing the same path back down. I pant, my body as warm as if I were lying in a bed of coals. “Good things come to those who wait.”
“I don’t want to wait,” I blurt out, feeling my heart pounding inside of my head. I can barely think straight.
“Well, what other choice do you have?” He lays his lips against my neck, my skin prickling as a response. “None. None at all.” Tracing the contour of my jawline with his lips, he finally brushes them against my own. He pulls on my bottom lip with his teeth then, placing one finger between my breasts and running it down to my navel.
This is absolute torture. The sweetest kind there is. He knows I want him desperately, that both my mind and body are boiling with desire, but he won’t bend to my whims; he keeps moving his finger up and down my body, his tongue softly darting between my lips as I struggle to keep control. I’m already grabbing at the sheets, my hands balling into fists as I do my best to keep still.
“Don’t move,” he says, almost as if he could feel the inner struggle raging inside of me. “Don’t make me tie you up… Because I will.” My insides clench at his words, and I wonder how good it would
be to have both hands and feet tied up, my naked body his to use as he pleases… I’m growing wetter by the second, my thong feeling sticky as it hugs my soaked pussy.
He starts to stroke my skin with his finger, gently caressing the patch of skin between my breasts. I’m aching for him to grab them, to squeeze them firmly under his hands… But he keeps teasing me, circling the base of my breasts in the most torturous way, never going over the curve that leads to my nipples.
“Please,” I mutter. I’m on the verge of begging now. Oh, I know it’s coming, but the wait has me knee deep in the insanity of lust. My nipples are aching, the hard rosy tips screaming inwardly for release. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to restrain myself. I’m tugging at the sheets as harshly as I can, bunching them up in my hands as my body squirms.
“Please? Begging already?” he asks me, and I can picture the wicked grin I know he has on his delicious lips. “What is it that you want so much?”
“I…” I start, but I have no idea on how to finish the sentence. What do I want? Where do I even start, and is ‘I want it all’ a valid answer? Because I do want it all. I want to feel his lips wrapped around my nipples, his tongue and fingers on my pussy, his cock over my tongue and then sliding down my pussy. I want everything, and I want it now.
“You… I want you. All of you,” I finally manage to say, the words falling off of my lips like the most genuine thing I have ever uttered.
“I’m right here,” he says, slowly moving his fingertip over the curve of my right breast. “You already have me.” His finger hikes all the way up, stopping just before it touches my nipple. I sigh again, almost delirious as he starts to trace slow tortuous circles around my hard tip.