Ignite Me (The Annihilate Me Series)

by Ross, Christina

  I pressed my finger against his lips and stopped him short. “I want the same thing,” I said. “But I want it to be special. If I’m going to give myself to you, Brock, I want it to be romantic in ways that I never could have imagined. Why? Because when I look back on this day, which I will over and over again, I want to know for certain that we did it right. So think about that. Decide on which hotel is the perfect hotel. And then take me there tonight and make love to me in ways that you’ve never made love to another woman. That’s all I ask. It’s all I want. And when you do make love to me, I want you to shake me to my core, because that’s exactly what I plan to do to you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  By the time we left the Park, it was decided that Brock would pick me up at my apartment at 8:30. In the interim, each of us wanted to go home, take a shower, change our clothes, grab a quick bite to eat, and look our best for each other.

  As we moved onto Fifth, Brock’s arm was wrapped tightly around my waist, and I wondered if he could feel the shivers of anticipation that were coursing through my body. I couldn’t remember when I’d felt so alive, so terrified, so happy, and so nervous all at once.

  I was not just ready to be with a man again—I was ready to be with this man.

  Everything seemed heightened to me as we walked over to catch the train at the Fifty-Ninth Street Station—the city’s colors were brighter, the traffic sounds were louder, and Brock’s presence was stronger than it had ever been, which ignited the lioness within me that would soon be unleashed.

  His hand ran up and down the length of my back, just over the curve of my ass, and sometimes, he’d bend his head down to gently kiss me on the neck, my lips, or just behind my ear, a spot that was so sensitive to me, I could feel myself becoming aroused.

  “I don’t think I’m going to make it until 8:30,” I said.

  “At least you’re not the one walking with an erection.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “So, that’s why you’re carrying your jacket in front of you?”

  “One needs to be strategic about these sorts of things, Madison.”

  As we reached the subway’s entrance and started to walk down the stairs with people rushing up and down on either side of us, I said, “Let’s just say that this girl wishes she was wearing a thicker bra, because the girls have become nothing short of a couple of darts—and they’re being absolutely obnoxious right now.”

  * * *

  When I got home, it was nearly seven, and I needed to hurry if I was going to get ready in time. I stuck my key inside the door, stepped inside the blessedly cool apartment, tossed my bag onto the side table in the entryway, and was met with a glass of wine by Rhoda. She was wearing a bright yellow muumuu, a matching yellow turban, and she had some sort of greenish mask on her face—one of the ingredients, I’m sure, being hemp.

  “Here you go, lover,” she said as she handed me the glass. “Drink up—from what the universe has been telling me, you probably need it.”

  “Thank you,” I said to her as I took the glass and sipped the cold liquid. “But how do you even know? You told me that you can’t get a read on him.”

  “I can’t—that boy is a frustrating wall of zip to me—but I can certainly zero in on you, toots. And for the past couple of hours or so, all I’ve been seeing around you are drawings from the Kama Sutra. So, you know, it doesn’t take much for me to put two and two together—and in all sorts of crazy sexual positions, which I believe you’ll be enjoying tonight. If you knew what popped into my head, you’d faint.”

  “You’re terrible,” I said.

  “And you’re not only about to get hammered, but also to hammer the final nail into your Summer of Resolve!”

  “I’m as turned on as I am terrified,” I admitted to her.

  “Oh, honey—that shit is coming off you in waves. Say no more. In fact, you need to get ready. And fast.”

  “First, what on earth do you have on your face? You look like an alien.”

  “It’s a Mary Jane mask! A friend made it for me.”

  “What’s a Mary Jane mask?”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “Seriously? Come on! OK, fine. You obviously haven’t heard of the term. Call it a marijuana mask for those who don’t partake. And believe me, it’s going to do wonderful things for my pores.”

  “Well, it’s certainly going to relax them.”

  “Oh, yes, probably that, too. . . .”

  “You know, he’s taking me to a hotel,” I said.

  “In fact, I do know.”

  “Which hotel?”

  “No idea—that’s in his head, not yours.”

  “Help me find something to wear.”

  When I said that, she took her hands and lifted the sides of her muumuu in such a way that the fabric fluttered around her while she danced this way and that. “There might already be something waiting on your bed for you. If only for the sake of time and to help out my bestie, I’ve taken certain liberties. Of course, you can always choose something else to wear if you’d like, but what I found deep within the recesses of that crowded closet of yours has always looked smoking hot on you.”

  “I need to look as if I’m on fire, Rhoda.”

  “Let’s just say that I think he’s already accomplished that for you.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Then let’s go to your bedroom and see if you like what I picked out.”

  When we did, it was perfection—a deep-red jersey dress that hugged every curve I had. “I’d forgotten about this dress,” I said. “And I love it. It’s sexy, and better yet, it doesn’t scream ‘whore.’”

  “Exactly! And I might have even gone to the laundromat down the street and tossed it in a dryer with a fragrant towelette. You know, to make it smell as if it was just dry-cleaned.”

  “You did that for me?”

  “I might have even ironed it for you.”

  “Rhoda, you really are the best.”

  “And you really need to get into the shower. The planets are telling me that you’re meeting him around eight or so.”

  “8:30. And he’s coming here! You’ll be able to meet him.”

  “Like this?” she said. “How could you do that to me?”

  “You’ll have time to wash your face—I promise. But I also need a good pair of shoes, and the right kind of sexy underwear, not that I have much of that, for obvious reasons. But if memory serves, I do think that I have a few things in my bureau that might work. They need to be hot. Hell, I need to look hot.”

  “Take your shower,” she said. “Let me handle the rest. I might have been out of the game since like, uh, forever, but I still know what a man wants, which is exactly what I plan on giving Barry when we finally meet and fall in love with each other in just three short years!”

  “I can’t wait for you to have that day,” I said.

  “Darling, neither can my rabbit.”

  * * *

  When I emerged from the bathroom, I was pretty much ready to go. My hair and makeup were done, I’d dabbed just the faintest scent of my favorite perfume on my neck and wrists, and I actually thought that I looked especially good, with my smoky eyes and red, pouty lips.

  To change things up, I’d used a curling iron on my stick-straight hair and shaken out the curls so that they were loose and slightly tousled, hopefully in an alluring way.

  It had been so long since I’d dressed for a man, my inspiration for this look was driven by pure instinct, the help of fashion magazines I read, and the idea that with enough work, I might come close to what was currently fashionable and sexy now.

  For me, the jury was still out on whether I’d succeeded. Before Brock arrived, it would be Rhoda who would have the final say, and her word meant everything to me because she had never once bullshitted me.

  “The bathroom is yours!” I called out to her as I rushed into my bedroom.

  “And thank the universe for that,” she said from the living room. “I can’t have your new
suitor seeing me looking as if I just stepped off the mother ship. And by the way, toots, I found the perfect bra and panties for you tucked way at the back of your bureau—they are scorching hot! And I found two pairs of heels for you to choose from, though I already know which ones you’re going to choose, so whatever. But it’s 8:15! We both need to move it! He’ll be here within mere moments!”

  I looked at the bed to see what she’d chosen for undergarments and knew at once that they were just right—a red floral-lace thong and bra that were so delicate and sexy, I could already feel Brock removing them from my body.

  The shoes were a no-brainer. I tossed aside the pair I didn’t like and chose the red- satin slingback pumps with the three-inch heels. Thanks to a long-ago trip to Century 21, all of this had cost me a fraction of what I would have paid for it at retail, but when I finished dressing and stood in front of my bedroom mirror, I had to admit that the look Rhoda had managed to cobble together for me made me feel like a million bucks. I hoped that Brock would also enjoy what he saw, because if he did, it would give me the confidence boost I needed.

  As excited as I was about tonight, I was also scared shitless.

  Since I knew that I’d need to pack a bag for tomorrow morning, I swiftly chose a pair of dark skinny jeans, a white tank top, a pair of sandals, and underwear. When Rhoda emerged from the bathroom, I hurried past her while she whooped when she saw me, and filled my makeup bag with everything I’d need for the morning. With that done, I was essentially ready—and with just minutes to spare.

  “I’m sweating,” I said to Rhoda when I emerged from the bathroom and placed my overnight bag in the foyer.

  “Stand in front of Bessie right now,” she said from the couch.

  She was still in her muumuu, but without the turban, and her cherubic face looked positively glowing to me. I went over to Bessie, lifted my arms above my head, and let the cool air wash over my body.

  “Madison, sweetie, I’ve gotta say it—you look stunning. And I mean that. I love what you’ve done with your hair, and especially with your makeup. Those eyes! How they smolder! You look like a sex kitten, toots.”

  “But do I look like a slut? That’s the question.”

  “A slut? Far from it. You look like an elegant main course. What man wouldn’t want to have you on his arm—or in his bed? You know, sometimes when I look at you, I wish I was as well-proportioned as you are. I know that Barry won’t mind my size when we meet, but still. To be as pretty as you are right now, I’ve never felt that.”

  “Rhoda, you are beautiful,” I said. “Inside and out. You’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met. And you know that I’m telling you the truth. You know that I’m not saying that just to make you feel good about yourself. I mean it.”

  “I know you do, love,” she said with a kind of sadness in her eyes. “But I’ve been fat since even before I knew what being fat was. I’ve never been able to lose the chunk. And look at me—I’m in a fucking yellow muumuu, for God’s sake. And there you are, looking like a Greek goddess.” She waved a hand in front of her face. “But who gives a damn about me,” she said. “I am who I am, and I’m proud of who I am. It’s just that sometimes I wish that I could look like you.”

  “Don’t make me cry. You sound unhappy—I can’t stand it when you’re unhappy.”

  “It’s not that I’m unhappy, Madison. It’s just that I’m human. So I’ll just admit it. Sometimes I wish that I could wear what you’re wearing now and look just as terrific. But that’s not in the cards for me. I know that. And for the most part, I accept it. It’s only sometimes when I wish that I’d been born with the sort of genes you were born with. Otherwise, I’m good.”

  At that moment, the buzzer rang.

  “That’s him,” I said. “But I don’t want to answer the door when you’re feeling this way.”

  With an effort, she stood, walked over to me, and gave me a kiss on each cheek. “I wasn’t put on this earth to turn heads, my dear. I was put here for other reasons. And I’m grateful for those reasons. Forget about what I just said. That’s just the fat girl in me responding to how society would rather see me. And how sometimes I’d like to see myself. But I know better. And I’m sorry that I even went there. So,” she said with a clap of her hands and a smile that lit up her face. “Let your man in so I can feast my eyes on him!”

  * * *

  When I pressed the buzzer to unlock the building’s front door, I opened the apartment door and listened to make sure that the damned thing worked. When I heard a door open and close four floors below us, I knew that it had, and so I gently closed the door and turned to look at Rhoda.

  “I’m scared and thrilled at the same time,” I said.

  “How about if you just choose to be thrilled?”

  “Because I’m putting myself out there again—all of myself. I like him so much, I don’t want to be disappointed if all of this goes south.”

  “Hearts win and lose every day, my love. You knew that going into this. So? Remember that whatever you put out into the universe comes back to you in the same way that you sent it out. Knowing that, only put out positive thoughts when it comes to Brock and you, OK? Because that’s what you’ll get back. And then let’s see what happens to you two going forward. You never know how this will go, Madison. All you can do now is just enjoy your evening—though I get it. I understand your concerns and fears.”

  Before Brock could knock on the door, she came over and gave me a hug. “I love you,” she said. “And I pray that you will be able to let go of any hurt that you’ve experienced in the past and open your heart with all of the love that I know you have in it. If you decide that he deserves one, give this man a proper chance.”

  “You mean to the world to me, Rhoda.”

  “Right back at you, toots.”

  “I thank the day that we met. I do so more often than you think.”

  “Not really,” she said with a wink. “I pretty much keep tabs on things like that. I know how you feel, and believe me—the love is returned.”

  At that moment, a knock came at the door.

  “It’s him,” I whispered.

  “So answer the door,” she whispered back. “Introduce me to him. And then get on with things. Come on. That’s right—be brave. Answer the door.”

  When I opened it, Brock stood there looking impossibly handsome in dark jeans and a white tucked-in button-front shirt that was opened at the throat and revealed his tanned, slightly hairy chest. He was holding a dozen red roses, a gesture that was so unexpected, so sweet, and so utterly romantic, I took them from him when he handed them to me and pressed them against my nose.

  “For you,” he said. “And for whatever comes next. You look stunning, Madison. Right now, I think I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

  So, the dress, the shoes, and blowing out my hair worked! Score!

  “They’re beautiful,” I said as I breathed in the flowers’ sweet scent. I leaned forward and kissed him on the lips in a way that was just chaste enough that I wouldn’t embarrass him in front of Rhoda. “Thank you!” I said. “And please come in—it’s not much, as you no doubt saw when you first saw the building. But it’s home for now, and I share it with my best friend Rhoda Burns.”

  “I couldn’t care less where you live, Madison,” he said as he walked into the apartment. “And I have to say that, unlike my apartment, yours is actually cool.”

  “That would be Bessie’s doing,” Rhoda said as she took his hand and shook it.

  “Bessie?” Brock said.

  “Yes, Bessie. Our faithful air conditioner, who will die a cruel death next June, but we’re lucky to have her now. It’s lovely to finally meet you, Brock. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Rhoda,” he said.

  But Rhoda didn’t let go of his hand.

  “Why do I feel so transfixed by you?” she said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Rhoda, let go of his hand.”
>
  “I’m not sure that I can. He’s captivating me. Luring me in. He has a depth of power I’m not sure that even I can overlook.”

  “I already told you that. You knew what to expect.”

  “Not this. You know that I’ve seen nothing when it comes to him. But now—all of that’s changed.”

  Brock looked at me, confused.

  “Your hand, Rhoda,” I said.

  And at that, she seemed to snap back into herself and let his hand go.

  “Sorry,” she said to Brock. “My God—how embarrassing.”

  “Rhoda is a psychic,” I said to Brock. “And while I know that probably sounds way out there for you to even comprehend right now, trust me—she’s the real deal.”

  “Really?” Brock said. “That’s kind of cool. Did you just see something? Because for a moment there, I thought I saw your pupils go completely black.”

  “Yeah,” Rhoda said. “About that. Let’s just say that I saw a whole lot of things.”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “Can’t say,” she said. “Madison and I have an agreement.”

  “An agreement?” Brock said.

  “Yes,” I said. “I once asked Rhoda never to tell me what my future holds, in any regard. When it comes to my life, I want to earn my successes and learn from my failures on my own. That’s just how it’s always been between us. Rhoda could tell me plenty about what I’m doing right and what I’m doing wrong, but she honors our agreement and tells me nothing. When it comes to my professional choices, she clearly could guide me a hell of a lot better than I’ve guided myself since I’ve been in the city, but she respects our agreement—which, by the way, was my choice. How could I ever grow as a person if I just took all of my cues from my best friend?”

  “I’m not sure that I’d have that kind of restraint,” he said. “But then I’ve never met a psychic before.”

  And with that, Rhoda crossed her arms. “You’re skeptical,” she said teasingly.