by Hazel Hughes
Sebastian and Elizabeth looked at each other and shrugged, smiling.
“Come. Sit. I brought breakfast.” Sebastian tilted his head in the direction of a bench, pulling off the small backpack he had been carrying. He took out a slim metal flask and a zip-lock bag. Elizabeth looked dispiritedly at the contents. Nuts, seeds, dried fruit. Bird food.
He handed her the metal cup, filled with liquid from the flask. “Kombucha,” he said when she raised her eyebrows at the smell. “Fermented green tea.”
She took a sip. “It tastes very ... healthy,” she said.
Sebastian laughed.
“Courtesy of Charles, I bet.”
“How did you guess?” Sebastian smiled. Elizabeth loved that smile. It transformed his face from brooding bad-ass to delighted little boy.
“This too?” she took a handful of the trail mix.
Sebastian nodded, pulling a slim foil-wrapped package from his bag. Chocolate. He broke off a piece and held it up to Elizabeth’s mouth. “But this is all me. Vosges dark chocolate and bacon. It’s killer. Try.”
Elizabeth looked down at her hands, full with trail mix and tea.
“Just open your mouth,” Sebastian said.
She did, watching him. His eyes were on her mouth. He slid the square of chocolate onto her tongue, his lips slightly parted. His fingers just brushed her lip.
“Sorry,” he said, smiling, not looking very sorry at all.
Elizabeth didn’t answer, absorbed in the sensation of the chocolate melting on her tongue, rich and bitter and sweet and salty all at once. She closed her eyes. “Mmm,” she said. “Now that’s more like it.”
She opened her eyes to see Sebastian looking at her, a funny half-smile on his face.
“I thought you’d like it, but I didn’t know you’d like it that much. That sound was almost orgasmic.”
Elizabeth laughed, looking away, embarrassed. “I love to eat. I know dehydrated cashew crackers and pressed root vegetable terrine are good for you, but give me a break already.”
“Totally,” Sebastian said, reaching a hand out to brush a stray hair off her face, stopping himself at the last second, pulling back. He laughed ruefully, shaking his head. “This no touching thing is going to be brutal.”
Elizabeth thought, For me too. His draw was almost magnetic. The closer she was to him, the closer she wanted to be. A little voice inside her was screaming a shrill, persistent warning that she deliberately ignored. She threw back the last of the kombucha like a tequila shooter, and, handing Sebastian the cup, stood up. “What’s next?” she asked.
*
Elizabeth rested her head against the vinyl of the seat. She and Sebastian were in the back of a yellow cab, heading toward an as-yet-to-be revealed destination. While he spoke with his assistant on his cell, Elizabeth gazed out the window at the neon signs they were passing, her eyes registering the words, but her brain not processing them. She was reflecting on her day with Sebastian, realizing with regret that it was almost over.
After they had run back from the park and showered – separately, of course –, Sebastian had taken her to MOMA. Elizabeth thought visiting an art museum would be innocent enough, but she hadn’t counted on the Robert Mapplethorpe retrospective. As they wandered among the larger than life black-and-white photographs of nude and semi-nude faceless male bodies, Elizabeth did her best to mask the strange combination of titillation and discomfort she was feeling.
“I like this one,” she said, standing in front of a black man dressed in a leather fedora and three-piece suit with the crotch cut out. “It’s got great movement. And it spins the whole female as object, male as objectifier thing on its head.”
Sebastian nodded his head, thoughtfully. “Plus he’s got a huge cock,” he said.
Elizabeth smacked him on the arm, and his serious expression split into a wide grin.
“Sebastian!” Elizabeth said sternly, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. It was pretty hilarious the way people tried to talk about the composition and the mood of a giant, engorged phallus.
Sebastian insisted they stop in the gift store where he bought her a slick hardback monograph of the artist’s collected works.
“Something to remember me by.” He smiled, all innocence. She would definitely have to hide that from Keenan and Gwen. The thought flashed through her head, igniting a small flame of guilt when she realized she hadn’t talked to either of them in days. She would call or Skype them tomorrow, she promised herself, after Sebastian was gone. She didn’t dare to even think about Steve.
For lunch, he took her to an Ethiopian restaurant, a long subway ride away in Brooklyn, during which they were forced to stand pressed up against each other holding on to the straps hanging from the ceiling. Elizabeth avoided Sebastian’s gaze, trying to ignore the wave of sensation that washed over her each time the movement of the car swayed them closer together.
At the restaurant, a dark dive filled with the smoky smell of roasted coffee, they ate spicy curry, scooping it up with spongy flat-bread. Elizabeth found her eyes fixed on Sebastian’s mouth, remembering how it had felt against hers, wondering how it would feel kissing other parts of her body. She had to keep asking Sebastian to repeat himself, she was so distracted. It wasn’t just that he was gorgeous, though that was definitely part of it. And it wasn’t just how every part of him screamed sex, from his laugh to his walk to the way he ate, looking at her as if he wished she were dessert. No, there was something more. She realized what it was as they wandered around the streets of Brooklyn after lunch, looking in the shop windows, making up stories about the people they passed on the streets.
“Frigid,” Sebastian said as a tall sexy blond swung past them, teacup poodle peeking out of her Hermes handbag.
A sixty-something woman hunched toward them, wearing a kerchief, her weathered face pinched in a perpetual frown. “Now her, on the other hand,” he said, leaning closer to her and lowering his voice, “anyone, anytime, anywhere. But she’s in therapy for it.”
Elizabeth laughed. “What about them?” she asked, nudging him with her elbow. A sweet-faced elderly woman and what appeared to be her twenty-something grandson were walking arm in arm.
“Them?” Sebastian deadpanned. “I see them at my leather club every Tuesday. She’s the top.”
Elizabeth snickered, linking her arm in his and resting her head against his shoulder. He stopped walking and looked down at her.
“Hey,” he said. “No fair. If I’m not allowed to touch you, you’re not allowed to touch me.” He disengaged his arm from hers. “Unless you’re ready to beg, of course.” He smiled at her, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Oh, right.” She pulled away from him, her cheeks coloring. It just felt so natural to touch him, like his touchy-feeliness was contagious. She had to consciously remind herself not to. “Well,” she conceded, “maybe some touching is okay. Friendly touching.”
“Like this?” Sebastian said, linking his arm through hers.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, enjoying the warmth from his body, his distinctive smell.
“How about this?” He slid his hand down her arm to hold her hand.
She shook her head. His bare skin against hers was just too much. She couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the place where their fingers connected. It was this, she realized, that made her want him. Chemistry. Something in her came alive when he touched her or looked at her or said her name.
He hooked his arm through hers again. “Fine. You let me know. By the way, I booked us a table at Ducasse for tonight. Do you have anything to wear?”
Elizabeth thought of the casual wardrobe of jeans, t-shirts and sweaters she had brought. “No,” she said. She should have listened to Nina. Of course, when she was packing she’d had no idea she’d be having dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant with Sebastian Faulkner.
“Come on.” Sebastian pulled her into a shop with women’s clothes displayed like rare artifacts in the window. “Let’s
take care of that.”
It was while Sebastian was examining her critically in one of the outfits he had chosen as the pneumatic shop girl undressed him with her eyes that Elizabeth had another realization. Sebastian wanted her. His attention wasn’t on the twenty-something with the enormous knockers, it was on her. He wanted to listen to her, to amuse her, to please her. He was entirely focused on her. For the last seven years, at least, she had lived her life feeling like an appendage to Steve and the kids, something that was useful, necessary even, but taken entirely for granted. It felt strange to be the center of anyone’s attention, but it also felt good. Better than good. Amazing.
In the end, Sebastian chose a simple black sleeveless sheath cut out of thin, buttery suede and a pair of fishnet stockings. No man had ever told her what to wear before. It had always been the opposite. But she was wearing them now, under her sensible camel coat, huddled next to Sebastian – for warmth, she told herself – in his slick black Prada suit. They’d eaten at Ducasse already, an experience Elizabeth would remember for the rest of her life, and were now en route to their final destination, their last stop before Sebastian headed to JFK and out of her life. His duffel bag was in the trunk.
The taxi driver pulled to the curb just as Sebastian ended his call.
“This is it, mon,” the dreadlocked driver said.
“Thanks,” Sebastian said, slipping him a bill. “Keep the change.”
From the wide grin that spread across the man’s face, Elizabeth guessed it was a big one.
Sebastian hustled her past the wall of a bouncer standing in front of an unmarked door and down a steep dark stairwell, pulling open the steel door at the bottom. A throb of music swelled out to greet them, the syncopated beat and maraca rattle of South America. The dance floor – and it seemed the entire club was a dance floor – was alive with color and movement as couples moved together, perfectly synchronized with the music and each other. Elizabeth stared, her eyes lighting on first one couple then another, mesmerized by the fluidity of their movements, the casual ease with which the men spun their partners away from them and reeled them in, their hands sliding over their partners’ waists and hips with sensual familiarity.
“Come on,” Sebastian said, pulling her to a dimly lit corner of the dance floor. He had given his jacket and bag to the coat check girl and unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves so that he looked like the other men in the club. Elizabeth, however, didn’t look a thing like the diminutive, butterfly-hued women fluttering around their men, with their hourglass figures and deep cleavage. She felt awkward and self-conscious at first as Sebastian put one hand on her back, holding her hand with the other, guiding her gently. It had been more than a decade since she had danced the salsa, but her body hadn’t forgotten the three-four rhythm. She let the music wash over her as Sebastian led, one firm hand on the small of her back, warm through the suede of her dress.
One-two-three-and-one-two-three-and, she counted to herself. Her feet caught the beat of the song and her body followed suit. When it came to Latin dance, she thought, women were lucky. As long as their partners knew what they were doing, they just had to keep the rhythm and let the men lead. And Sebastian definitely knew what he was doing.
“You’ve done this before,” Sebastian said, crossing her arms over her head and turning her so that her back was pressed against his chest, her arms crossed in front of her. He spun her away from him and reeled her back in, draping her arms around his neck. His hands slid slowly down her back to rest on her hips.
“Years ago, before I ...” she paused, an image of Steve flashing through her mind. She consciously deleted it, smiling up at Sebastian. The intensity of his gaze both frightened and thrilled her. “It’s been a while,” she said.
“Your body remembers.” He took one of her hands from his neck, brushing her fingers against his lips briefly before twisting her in a turn. A surge of sensation ran from her fingers directly to her core. She stumbled, but Sebastian caught her, pulling her close to him. He rested his cheek against her head, lacing his fingers through hers where they rested on his shoulders. They danced like this for one song? Ten? Elizabeth wasn’t sure. It felt like an eternity, and it felt like an instant.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed into her hair, holding her almost fiercely. Then he released her, pushing her away from him, so that they were only connected by their fingertips and the thin line of energy that ran from Sebastian’s eyes to hers. Elizabeth tried to maintain his gaze, but she only lasted a few seconds before she had to look away. It was too intense.
Suddenly, Sebastian stopped. Elizabeth looked up at him, confused.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” he said, dropping her hands and walking off the dance floor.
Elizabeth followed him, a hollow ache rising in her chest. “Sebastian...” she started.
He stopped, turning to face her. “Elizabeth, I can’t pretend that I don’t want you anymore. I think I should go.” He looked at the floor, rubbing his hands over his head in obvious frustration.
“Sebastian.” Elizabeth placed herself directly in front of him, blocking his exit. She was surprised at the surge of panic that she felt. “Please don’t go.”
He met her eyes, his expression betraying nothing. “What?” he asked, flatly.
“Please don’t leave,” she said, aware of the pleading tone that had crept into her voice. “Please.” Elizabeth glanced furtively around the bar. No one there knew her, she was sure, and the other patrons were too busy dancing and flirting to notice the small drama unfolding in their dark corner of the club. She knew what she had to do.
Slowly, she kneeled. The concrete floor was cold on her fishnet-covered knees. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, pressing the palms momentarily to her burning cheeks before letting them drop to her sides. She looked up at Sebastian, an embarrassed half-smile twisting on her lips. As if this were a joke. “Please,” she said, her voice quavering. “I’m begging you.”
A glimmer of a smile passed over his face before he reached down and pulled her up, lifting her as effortlessly as she lifted Gwen. “What was that?” he said, staring into her eyes, intently, “I didn’t hear that last part.”
Elizabeth fought to maintain eye contact, though she wanted to look away to hide her shame. “I’m begging you to stay. I want you ...” she hesitated.
“Yes,” Sebastian encouraged, his eyes gleaming. He held her face in his hands.
“I want you,” she said in a whisper, averting her eyes at the last second, “to fuck me.”
A broad grin spread across his face. He tilted Elizabeth’s face up and kissed her, softly at first, then harder, his tongue alive and hungry in her mouth.
The cab ride back to the Mercer was exquisite torture. Sebastian looked out his window, one arm wrapped casually around her lower back. Elizabeth pretended to look out her window, but Sebastian’s hand was on her thigh, under her skirt, his middle finger slowly widening one of the tiny diamond-shaped holes in her stocking. She couldn’t concentrate on anything but that one finger on that one little patch of skin.
Back in her room, they kissed, standing, eyes closed, mouths devouring. Sebastian was slowly maneuvering her backward, toward the bed, or so she thought, so she was surprised, when he pulled his lips from hers, that she found herself at the foot of the bed, facing the full-length mirror.
“Look at you,” he said, standing behind her, pulling her hair to one side and kissing her neck. “You’re so fucking hot.”
She looked at herself, eyes half-lidded, hair wild, mouth bruised like an art nouveau painting of some lust-soaked courtesan. She looked out of control, savage, dissolute, and, she had to admit, kind of sexy.
Watching her reflection in the mirror, a cocky half-smile on his lips, he ran his hands up the outside of her stockinged legs, pushing her dress up. He hooked his thumbs over the elastic of her ridiculously expensive panties and slid them over her hips and thighs until they dropped in a si
lken puddle at her feet. Then he slowly unzipped the back of her dress and pushed it off her shoulders. It fell with a soft rustle to the floor.
As he slipped his hands under her bra strap, Elizabeth put her hands on his, stopping him. Sebastian arched an eyebrow but obeyed, running his hands down her arms instead. Focusing on the sensation of his lips on her neck, his hands on her skin, Elizabeth closed her eyes.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Sebastian scolded her, nipping at her ear. “Open your eyes,” he whispered. She felt him step away from her and did as instructed.
Looking at her in the mirror, he whipped his shirt over his head and, in one quick movement, grabbed the desk chair and sat down on it, pulling her down to sit in the wide v of his legs. Elizabeth gasped, feeling the smooth, hot skin of his torso and the length of his erection beneath his trousers, hard and insistent, pressing against her back.
“Keep your eyes open,” he whispered, his hands sliding up her inner thighs, spreading them wide. “I want you to watch.”
With one hand, he separated her lips, revealing her most private parts, pink and glistening.
“Oh,” he moaned, pressing himself closer to her. “You don’t know how many times I pictured this,” he whispered, his eyes locked on hers in the mirror. “Imagining what it would be like to see you. To touch you.” Keeping her spread wide with one hand, he traced her inner lips with his index finger. “To taste you.” He plunged his finger into her, and she gasped, her eyes involuntarily closing. “Keep watching,” he reminded her, bringing his hand to his mouth.
“Oh, God,” he said, licking her juices from his finger. “You don’t know how bad I want you.”
Emboldened by her lust and his obvious desire, Elizabeth pushed her ass against him. “Show me,” she said.
It was as if her words had released the floodgates of his hunger. He pressed her against him and thrust two fingers into her, once, twice. Slick and slippery, his fingers worked her clit, faster and faster. His long tongue flicked up her neck to her earlobe. His breath was hot and wet in her ear. His shaft, barely restrained by his trousers, pressed against her urgently. She felt her eyelids fluttering closed.