by Rob Manary
I barely touch her. I run only my index finger along the outside edge of her lips. I am rewarded with a sharp intake of breath from St. Claire. I take my index finger and my middle finger, and forming a “V” with them I run both along the outside edges of her labia. I feel her wetness, she is growing wetter with each stroke of my fingers. I continue along the outside edges of her hotness, not yet touching her core. Her hand on my cock stops moving, she is lost in my touch. Up and down I move my fingers, she closes those beautiful eyes again. It is as if she is struggling against the feeling between her legs to hold my gaze.
I have to taste her. I withdraw my hand and move it to my mouth. I lick her juices from my fingers. “You taste so sweet,” I say. It seems like she takes this moment to breathe. She says nothing, her eyes flutter open, filled with need. I slide my hand back down her stomach, I don’t stop to play with her belly button this time, but I don’t rush for her either.
Starting at the bottom I run my middle finger up her slit. Again I am only faintly touching her. I feel a shudder go through her. A little nervously she laughs. “Fuck, Icarus.”
I’m at the top of her now so I trace my trail back down between her puffy lips. Several times I run this path, applying slightly more pressure each time. She is so hot and so wet already. I fight the temptation to climb on top of her and sink my aching cock into her. Her hand has gone limp around my need. I smile. This is for her.
Four times, five times, a dozen times, I don’t know, I continue to just slowly run my finger between her. She opens her eyes and I can barely meet them, so full of something, love I think, I hope.
I slide both my index and middle finger between her lips, and hold them open wide, exposing her little hole and her clit to the air. She gasps loudly. I hold her open and she squirms a bit, moves her hips and moans low. My thumb finds her engorged clit. It is tiny, but sticks out prominently between the lips that I hold wide. I love looking at it. She squeals and moves her hips against my touch. In slow circles I rub her clit.
“Fuck, Icarus,” she moans, her eyes open and locked with mine again. “Fuck, Icarus.”
She is ready, more than ready for a finger. In slow circles I continue to rub her clit. She is moaning almost continuously now, often my name. I slowly let her pussy lips close and line my index finger up with her hot hole. I just hold it there, at the entrance. I know she can feel it, her hips move upwards, trying to engulf it. A fraction of an inch at a time I push forward. I’m surprised to find as much resistance as I do. I can’t believe how tight she is.
I move my finger in and out, but my thumb never stops making those slow circles around her engorged clit. She is so unbelievably tight. I line up my middle finger and push forward. Her body goes rigid, she arches her back, and she lets out a tiny scream as I push two fingers into her. Her eyes go wide and she half begs, “One finger, Icarus. Please, just one finger.”
She was just so tight. I slide the second finger from her, and wonder how I am going to get my thick cock into her. In and out, in and out, I move my index finger. She is as wet as she is tight. She smiles at me. I angle my finger upwards, rubbing against the top wall of her vagina I find the bumpy spot, my finger grazes over it. It is enough to send an electric shock through St. Claire. Again she goes tense, her eyes go wide. “That spot,” she gasps. I hit her g-spot again lightly, and again she jumps. “Fuck, that spot.”
I curl my finger and am now rubbing her g-spot, applying more and more pressure, even as I am rubbing her clit. Her breath is coming in harsh gasps, her body trembles.
Those eyes, so expressive, are now locked to mine, glazed with lust. She licks her lips. I feel a tremble go through her, starting around my finger. Her walls begin to spasm around me. Then she lets out a long scream, her legs clamp closed around my hand and she soaks me. Her juices stream out of her onto the bed and down my wrist. I am relentless, I continue to rub her most sensitive spots and she screams again, another torrent of her honey flows down my hand. “Stop! Stop! Fuck! Stop.” Her hand abandons my cock and grabs my wrist. I stop and she goes limp, completely limp. I slide my finger from her.
“It’s never been like that,” she says through ragged breaths. “I’ve never felt like that.” She shakes her head. “I think I just had an orgasm.” She laughs and bites her lip. “Fuck, I think I just came.”
I don’t know what to say, but am saved by a frantic knock on the door. “Rachel! Are you okay, Rachel?!” It is her security, they must have heard her scream.
“I’m fucking great!” she calls back with a laugh. Her hand moves back to my incredibly hard dick. I wrap my free hand around her and pull her body tight against mine.
“Now it’s your turn,” she says with a smile as she reaches for my cock.
I take her hand in mine, stopping her. “Today is your day.”
She laughs and closes her eyes.
We hold each other. I don’t know who falls asleep first.
The world interrupts us. Hours later, or minutes, there is another knock on the door. I look to the clock on the bedside table, it reads one p.m., later than I expected. “Go away!” St. Claire yells. “Everyone take half a day, rehearsals at six!”
A voice calls from the door. The voice is hesitant, I place it as Guy’s. “Rachel, you told me to tell you when it got here. It’s here.”
St. Claire leaps from the bed. She grabs a convenient robe, and finds one for me in the bathroom. She throws it to the bed, her eyes dancing. She is incredibly excited. I can’t get the robe on fast enough for her and she is almost dragging me by the hand through her bedroom, through the living room of the suite, and to the door.
She throws open the door and instantly I know why she is so excited. She squeezes my hand. I am, once again, silenced by her, floored, knocked out. “Advantage, St. Claire,” she teases and laughs.
There are two large men bringing in what I recognize instantly. It is “Icarus Rising.”
Thursday, Day 11
I wake in my hotel room alone. The clock says eight a.m., I haven’t slept long or well. I know what alone is now in a way I have never known before. I miss her. Yesterday, after surprising me with “Icarus Rising” we shared a light lunch, exchanging lovers’ smiles as we ate, and we parted. St. Claire promised to call me the moment she finished rehearsals. She has started late so I am not surprised when it isn’t until well after two in the morning when she calls me from her limo. We talk as she speeds to her hotel and as she gets ready for bed. “Don’t make me laugh,” she warns as she brushes her teeth. “I don’t want to choke to death on my Colgate.” She gets into bed and still we talk.
“How quickly can you get here?” she asks several times, teasing me. I am more than half tempted to just hang up and rush to her. I don’t because she says she needs some sleep, but we talk for hours, anyway. My mind still reels from our last encounter. I can’t believe that I thought only of pleasuring her and was sated with that. I have never been that unselfish before, never put another above myself. My one night stands were for me, only me. Now, without St. Claire cradled in my arms I know true loneliness.
The concierge arrives with another package. I smile. The chore of deciding what to wear each morning has been taken from me. I wonder where St. Claire finds the time each day to pick out clothes for me. Today the parcel is a pair of dark wash blue jeans and a black knit sweater with a low neckline. Another scarf completes the ensemble, this one deep purple. I shake my head, amused.
The phone rings on cue. I pick it up and wait for St. Claire to talk. It is an old and bad habit. “Icarus,” she scolds playfully. “Remember to say ‘hello’, we covered this.” She laughs. “Fuck, I miss you already. I’m so retarded for you.”
“You are so politically correct,” I say. “And stop swearing so much.” Her laugh is contagious.
“You didn’t seem to mind me swearing when you had your fingers inside me.” She causes a stirring in my dick with her words. I fall silent, she laughs. “You’re picturing it, aren’t you? S
preading me open, making me scream...” A soft pause. “Fuck, now I’m all turned on.” A long sigh escapes her lips, how I love that voice. “I didn’t call to give you phone sex. I’ve been thinking. About what you said. Moving out of our hotels. For the publicity.” She’s talking quickly, in little bursts. I know she is nervous. “I mean if you still want to. A two bedroom place or whatever. You brought it up, so, fuck, Icarus, just fuck. I’m babbling again.”
“I think I’ve found a place. Its downtown. High profile. It rents by the month.” I say.
“I have to rehearse all day, and we talk all night. We might as well, I mean we’re together every second we can be, or if we’re not, we’re on the phone. It just makes sense to share a space. You can have your bedroom and I can have mine, you know?” she says.
“Shut up, St. Claire, you’ve convinced me. It was my idea, remember?” I laugh. “What time are you done tonight? I have a surprise for you.”
“What is it?” she says, sounding relieved that I’ve changed the subject. Her vulnerability makes me smile. “I hate surprises.” And she does. St. Claire has to be in control. “I’m going nowhere soon. I’ve got to get back to it. I just wanted to, well, you know, about the moving in together and...” she trails off. I wait, but she adds nothing for a long time, and then, “Okay, it’s your turn to hang up on me.” So I do.
I keep myself busy, by keeping myself busy. I like that last sentence. Making a phone call to my agent eats up some time. I haven’t talked to Wayne since ambushing him at his door. He seems conveniently busy. I leave a detailed message for him with instructions. We are communicating through voice mail lately. This doesn’t seem, however, to hinder his efficiency. I decide to make a point of making him squirm when next we meet, and to make the next time we meet very soon. The day crawls by, but I have a number of business calls to make. So I make them.
I go to the hotel bar for a drink. A cute blonde joins me at the bar. She is voluptuous and her smile is both eager and inviting. My smile is practiced indifference. I’m the perfect predator. Out of sheer habit I start to flirt with her. I curse myself as soon as I realize what I am doing. A week ago I would have had her in my bed after a second drink, maybe after a first. What a difference a week makes. I know she is trying to keep my attention. I know she wants me. I finish my drink and take to the street. It is early evening and I decide to walk. What a difference a week makes.
It is near nine as I get back to my hotel and it is beginning to grow dark. There is a limo parked outside the front of my hotel. I dare to hope it is St. Claire. A familiar driver opens his door as I approach. I don’t wait for him to do his job. Inside is St. Claire and I throw the passenger door open myself. “You have to get a cell phone!” she scolds with a laugh. I tumble into the car and catch her lips with mine.
The driver is back in his seat when St. Claire and I reluctantly let our lips part. I reach into my pocket and hand him a piece of paper with an address on it. He begins to drive. “Give me your cell phone,” I say, and hold out my hand to St. Claire. She hands me her phone. I take out another piece of paper and dial the number on it. “We’re on our way. We’ll be there in half an hour,” I say into the phone and hang up.
“Where are we going? What are we doing? Who did you call?” She laughs at herself, at her torrent of questions.
“It’s a surprise, St. Claire, relax, fuck, just relax,” I tease.
She had heard me on the phone and now she teases. “Only half an hour? I was going to take advantage of you but that doesn’t give me nearly enough time. You could probably finger me again, though.” I don’t know if she is joking or not. She takes my hand and intertwines her fingers with mine and looks up at me sweetly.
“You’re so vulgar,” I say with a smile.
“I know, right? I’m around guys all day. I’m on tour with guys. It rubs off on me.” She playfully punches me in the chest. “Like you mind?”
She grabs the purple scarf I’m wearing around my neck, the scarf she bought for me. “I love this colour on you.” She pulls me close, taking my lips. There are no more words as the car glides down Younge Street.
Too quickly we reach our destination. The car comes to a stop and I straighten from her. The taste of her is in my mouth and it is intoxicating. Everything about her drives me wild, especially the way she kisses, the way she tastes. She looks out the tinted window of the car, frowns, looks back to me, looks to the large banner above the storefront that says “Studio 1098” and it reveals nothing to her.
I dial another number on her phone, a tip line set up by a Toronto television station for viewers to call in their celebrity sightings. I leave a message when prompted. “I saw Rachel St. Claire and Brandon Fahr at “Studio 1098” afterhours looking at rings.”
St. Claire squeals, her eyes go wide. “Don’t think just because you buy me some fancy ring, you’re going to get into my pants.” She can’t keep a straight face and starts to laugh. “You were going to get into my pants anyway.”
Hand in hand we make our way inside “Studio 1098,” one of Toronto’s most exclusive and most expensive jewelry stores. I had made an appointment earlier and the store owner agreed to stay open for us. The owner introduces himself, tells us he will be personally waiting on us.
“We’re looking for something that says: ‘We’re just seeing where things are going, but things are going good’ kinda thing.” St. Claire laughs as she listens to what I tell him.
I watch as the owner fawns over her, he knows she’s the one he has to please. I could watch her like this forever and I know now that I want to. She keeps me close as she tries on ring after ring after ring. I point out a few that I like but she dismisses them with a kind laugh, patting my hand. “Icarus, you can’t pick out your own clothes! I can’t trust you with something like this.”
“Maybe you'd like to look at some commitment rings? They’re very popular,” the owner says.
“What’s a commitment ring?” St. Claire asks. I’m glad she does because I have never heard of the thing either.
“It’s just a gesture a couple makes to each other, and to the world, that they are in a committed relationship,” he explains.
“Icarus, you want a commitment ring?” she blurts out. I can see she wants to take the words back as soon as they are out of her mouth. She turns from me and motions to the store owner; I think she is blushing. “No. Let me look at that one,” she deflects, pointing to a ring in the display case.
“How about we look at the commitment rings,” I say softly, and she squeezes my hand. Turning to look at me, I know I have taken her to the ropes. I have rendered her speechless.
“Advantage, Icarus,” she whispers.
And so we buy two simple platinum bands, commitment rings.
Back in her limo we hold hands and I feel like I smile too wide as I look to the new bands around our fingers. I don’t know what hers means to her. I know what mine means to me. Mine could be a wedding band. It means that much to me. We are racing back to her hotel, she resting her head on my chest. She must be tired.
We run into several members of her entourage in the hallway of the top floor on our way to her suite. We are holding hands. St. Claire holds up our hands to show off the matching platinum bands. They “ohhhhh” and smile knowingly. I wonder exactly what St. Claire has told them. We don’t stop for comment. She seems as eager to get to her room as I am.
The minute we are in her suite she drops my hand and is unbuttoning her shirt as she makes her way towards her bedroom. She looks back at me because I’m not moving quickly enough for her. “Icarus, I don’t care if this is vulgar. I need you inside me. Get your clothes off.” She laughs but I get the impression she’s not kidding.
I slip my sweater over my head, and in the mirror I catch a glimpse of my toned chest and washboard abs. I smile, liking the reflection. St. Claire’s shirt hits the floor. I drop my sweater as I move through the bedroom door a second behind her. She is already sliding her jeans over her hips. I s
tare appreciatively at her exquisite body as she straightens, wearing only the sheerest red panties now. I can see the barest outline of her lips, and I catch my breath. “Fuck, Icarus, get your clothes off.” She grins wickedly. I don’t need another invitation. I can’t get my jeans off quick enough. I stand before her in form fitting black boxer briefs. Her eyes travel up and down my body and she bites her lip. “Icarus,” she shakes her head slowly, her green eyes sparkle. “Naked!”
I close the distance between us and scoop her up into my arms and carry her to the bed. What a cliché. I lay her down and move on top of her. The sheer fabric of our underwear is the only thing that separates us. I know she can feel how hard I am. I kiss her neck and she whispers in my ear. “Icarus, I don’t want your tongue. I don’t want your fingers. I want your beautiful cock inside me,” she moans.
I move down her body. She lifts her hips so I can slip her underwear off. My underwear follows. I move on top of her once more, sliding my hardness between her swollen lips. I rub myself up and down her slit. She is soaked. I hold myself still as I take her mouth. I can feel myself throbbing against her clit. She breaks the kiss. “Icarus, please,” she pleads. I sigh, and go to stand. She grabs my hand. “Where are you going?” She sounds desperate. Does she know I’m just as desperate?
“I’m going to get a condom.”
She squeezes my hand. “I want you to come inside me. I want to share that with you. I want to be your first. It’s safe. I’m safe.” Again, she has got me to the ropes and I am struck speechless. Those metaphoric ropes are the only things holding me up. I want her to be the one I share that with, too. I move slightly, lining my cock up with her tiny hole.