Please

by Hazel Hughes

  That night, she held her breath listening to Emily’s phone ring, willing her not to pick up. No such luck.

  “Hey,” Emily said, that one word enough to convey the fact that she was still holding Elizabeth in contempt.

  “Oh, hi,” Elizabeth answered, brightly. “Listen, the family’s been bugging me non-stop for a get together, and I was going to go to the Tulip Festival, but ...

  Emily interrupted, her tone flat and sullen as a teenaged boy. “That was last week. Strawberry Festival this week.”

  “Oh, really? Okay, well, we were going to go but ...”

  Emily let out a long sigh. “Yep, us too, but to tell you the truth, I’ve had it up to here with all these hokey parades and I’m going to need to break out the old maternity sweatpants if I eat another corn dog. Plus Chase and the boys have been on my back too.”

  “Okay, great then,” Elizabeth chirped, feeling anything but happy. “The only thing is, I’m on a deadline, so ...”

  “Oh, yeah,” Emily agreed, though her voice was heavily laced with sarcasm. “I’ve got a ton of research to do for this interview I’m doing next week, too, so I won’t be involved. It’ll have to be a dads and kids deal.”

  “Right,” Elizabeth said, half relieved, half disappointed. Emily hadn’t forgiven her yet. But even if she had, how could Elizabeth face those gimlet eyes knowing that she’d be seeing Sebastian again in a few days?

  “Our place or yours?” Emily sighed.

  “Um, well, we could have it here. I could just shut myself in my office, but ...”

  Emily cut her off. “Forget it. We’ll have it here.”

  “Great! I’ll send a cake,” Elizabeth said, trying to sound as if what was going on under the surface wasn’t.

  “Whatever,” Emily answered.

  *

  As the train pulled into London’s King’s Cross station, Elizabeth fluffed up her hair and checked to make sure that she had everything. On Abbie’s insistence, she was traveling light and had managed to pack a week’s worth of clothes into one small wheeled suitcase. She pulled it down from the overhead compartment, nearly taking her own head off in the process.

  “Are you alright?” the man across the aisle asked her, standing up to help her lower the case to the floor. He was in his early forties, slim, dressed in an obviously expensive dark suit, a plain gold band on his ring finger. The thought flashed through Elizabeth’s head that this was the type of man she should be having an affair with, if she had to have one. He understood about family, about responsibilities, about security.

  She smiled at him. “Thanks.” The truth was, she was not alright.

  The past five days, each one an enervating blur of book signings and interviews and breakfasts with publishers and tea with bookstore executives and nights spent in cramped sterile hotel rooms where the closets were so shallow she could barely fit her clothes in, had left her emotionally drained and fragile. Add to that the increasing nervous excitement she felt about her impending meeting with Sebastian, chronic jet lag and the worrying symptoms of PMS, and you got a frayed mess of exposed nerve endings that was likely to burst into tears if her toast was burnt.

  That had actually happened at breakfast this morning. Fortunately, she had been the only customer in the hotel restaurant at six in the morning, but the poor waitress, broad cheekbones and accent betraying her Eastern European origins, had been frightened and bewildered, bringing Elizabeth fresh golden toast and a second cappuccino at no extra charge.

  Slinging her laptop and purse over her shoulder, Elizabeth sneaked a surreptitious glance at her neighbor. He was attractive in that long-faced pale English way, his light brown hair neatly trimmed and just beginning to gray at the temples.

  He caught her eye and smiled. “In London on business?” he asked.

  “Um, actually, I’ve just been all around England on business. Now, I’m spending a couple of nights in London.”

  “For pleasure.” His eyes twinkled as he said it.

  Elizabeth blushed. “I hope.”

  He laughed. “Indeed.”

  The train stopped and the passengers filed off, most of them luggage-free and looking bored, as if taking the train into London were as routine as brushing their teeth.

  As she stepped onto the platform the man touched her lightly on the arm. “Enjoy your stay,” he said, winking.

  Elizabeth smiled and nodded. She watched him walk down the tiled platform, briefcase in one hand, a well-worn leather overnight bag on his shoulder. Pushed along by the crowd, she walked in the same direction, losing sight of him, then spotting him again as she walked into the vaulted circular hall of the station. He was kissing a rosy-cheeked young blond. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her eyes closed in rapture. No wedding ring, Elizabeth noticed as she walked past. Of course.

  She smiled wryly to herself as she followed the blue and white illuminated signs outside to the taxi stand. Of course men like that understood about family and responsibility and security, but the ones who were having affairs were looking to escape all that. They wanted to recapture the feeling of being wild and young and free again, if only for the odd stolen afternoon in the City. They thought that if they bathed in the blood of enough virgins, they could stay young forever.

  Is that what I’m doing, she asked herself as she stood in the queue, trying to avoid the inevitable? And what about Sebastian? What was in it for him? She heard Mel’s voice again, wine-soaked and hissing. “So you got to ask yourself, why would he want me when he could have that?”

  Elizabeth shook her head to dispel the image, distracting herself by observing the people around her. Her eyes casually slid over the faces of the people waiting in line in front of her. There was a woman about her mother’s age, her hair neatly curled and her cheeks rouged, maybe meeting a friend for a day of shopping in the big city, she speculated. There was a painfully thin teenaged boy, his eyes blank, tuning into the music seeping out of the earphones concealed under his shaggy hair. There were several men in dark suits and trench coats, some young and bright eyed, some middle-aged and pot-bellied, all looking like fun-house distortions of the man on the train. How many of them, too, were concealing secrets behind their blank stares?

  She had sent Steve an email message the previous night, connecting to the Wi-Fi in her hotel room. She asked about work, told him to give the kids extra cuddles from her, reminded him about Buddy’s vet appointment, and signed it Love, Elizabeth. After she sent it, she opened the message the Sebastian had sent her and reread it. The subject line read “Room 311, the Savoy.” The message was just a list of verbs. “Suck. Lick. Taste. Rub. Violate. Caress. Swallow. Probe. Bite. Fuck.” She read them, equal parts aroused and impressed that he hadn’t made any spelling mistakes.

  Elizabeth pictured his face now, as she breathed in the damp diesel-dusted air of London. A shiver ran through her and she shifted from foot to foot, her eyes tuning out her surroundings as she imagined his full lips, his long, muscular tongue, sucking, licking, tasting her. Her body thrummed with desire.

  The people in the taxi queue ahead of her rapidly disappeared into the black cabs that pulled up, one after another. Soon it was Elizabeth’s turn.

  “Where to?” the cabbie asked, as Elizabeth climbed into the back of the black cab.

  “The Savoy,” she said, careful to put the emphasis on the second syllable, the English way. “And hurry, please.”

  *

  Exiting the elevator on the third floor of the hotel, Elizabeth forced herself to stroll down the hallway, though the pulse that throbbed through her body was urging her to run.

  Elizabeth tapped on the door of 311 and stepped back, gazing back down the hall as if every fiber of her being wasn’t being pulled toward the door. Like the lobby, with its gleaming marble checkerboard floor and mahogany trim, the corridor oozed tasteful elegance. Pale striped wallpaper, a Persian carpet runner and subdued lighting made it feel more like an upscale apartment building than a hotel. It wasn’t c
ool or hip, like the Mercer, but it screamed money. She tried to compose her features into something resembling cool nonchalance, but when the door opened, her head whipped to face it, an eager smile springing to her mouth against her will.

  “Sebastian!” she exhaled. Then, “Sebastian?”

  He had opened the door with the deadbolt on. She could just see a long, tall sliver of him. Short, dark cap of hair, thick eyebrow, gleaming tar-black eye, full lips wearing his trademark smirk, charcoal-gray cashmere sweater over sculpted pecs and abs, fitted dark jeans with a noticeable bulge in the crotch, bare feet.

  “Elizabeth.” He said it like a dirty word. “Give me your hand. Your left.”

  “Um,” she said, uncertainly, looking down the empty hallway and then at the heavy, solid door and frame between which Sebastian wanted her to insert her hand.

  As if reading her mind, Sebastian raised one arm over his head, wedging his fist between the door and frame.

  Elizabeth slipped her hand through the narrow opening. Sebastian grabbed it, gently pulling her closer. He held her hand to his mouth and kissed the palm, flicking it lightly with his tongue. Then, looking into her eyes, he slid her ring finger into his mouth, slowly, his tongue pressing against it.

  Elizabeth gasped. Maintaining eye contact, Sebastian slid his mouth up and down her finger, sucking gently. There seemed to be a nerve running from her finger directly to her clitoris. Each time Sebastian increased the pressure of his mouth on her finger, she felt a throb between her legs.

  Sebastian slid her finger deeper into his mouth. He clamped down on the base of it with his teeth, light enough not to break the skin, but hard enough to make her inhale sharply, a spike of adrenaline shooting into her bloodstream. A smile lifted the corners of his eyes and he released his teeth a fraction, scraping up the sides of her finger. He let her hand go and, eyes glinting with mischief, stuck out his tongue. On its pink tip dangled her wedding ring, its small but brilliant diamonds twinkling under the hall lights.

  He spat it into his hand and tucked it into the front pocket of his jeans, saying, “You’re not going to need this.”

  Her body was a thicket of nerves and desire, but her heart was torn. Her wedding ring, painstakingly chosen by Steve from a jewelry shop in Iowa City with the help of both Chase and Emily in no less than three trips, was almost part of Elizabeth’s body. She felt more than naked without it. She felt exposed and vulnerable, a feeling both frightening and strangely freeing.

  Sebastian was still looking at her through the space between the door and the frame, as if he was measuring her, assessing her.

  “Well,” she said, tossing her hair, trying to appear bolder than she felt. “Are you going to let me in?”

  He smiled, running a slow tongue over his teeth. “Not yet,” he said, reaching through the space to grab the waist of her jeans, pulling her to him, fast and hard.

  “Get down on your knees,” he whispered, before letting her go

  She took a step back, looked left and right, biting her lower lip, unsure.

  Sebastian lowered his zipper, slowly, maintaining eye contact. She couldn’t help herself. Her eyes flicked down to his hard cock and back up again, a different look in her eyes. Lust. She held the doorframe and lowered herself to her knees, looking right and left again.

  “Hurry,” she said. But he didn’t. He slowly stepped closer, putting his fist between the door and the frame again, sliding his cock into the crack so just the head was on the other side. She looked up at him one last time, her eyes almost pleading with him to stop her. Then she wrapped her mouth around him.

  He let out a deep groan, pushing himself into her. She sucked harder, wanting more of him, wanting to devour him. Then she heard the chime of the elevator.

  Sebastian pulled out and shut the door to open the deadbolt. When he opened it again, she was on her feet. He pulled her into the room and slammed the door behind her, pushing her against it. Grabbing her hair with both hands, he kissed her, his tongue filling her mouth like his cock had moments before. She reached down for it, desperate to feel its hard smooth heat, but he stopped her, holding her wrists over her head as he kissed her and rubbed his naked cock against the skin of her stomach. She breathed in his distinctive fresh and earthy smell, detecting a sharp, sour scent on his breath. Alcohol. It was ten in the morning.

  “God, I want to rip off your clothes and fuck every part of you,” he whispered. Holding her wrists with one hand, he slid the other down the front of her jeans, slipping his middle finger up inside her. She writhed against him, rhythmically, feeling the crescendo building, her breaths coming shorter and sharper. Sebastian stopped, suddenly, dropping her arms and stepping away from her. His face was flushed and she could see the pulse pounding in his neck.

  “Delayed gratification, remember,” he said with a smirk, zipping his fly as he walked away from her. She leaned against the door, panting as she watched him sit on the sofa and pick up his drink from the glass coffee table. He held it out to her, offering.

  She shook her head, realizing that she had never seen Sebastian drinking like this before. When they had gone out in New York, he had always ordered a drink, but he never seemed to finish it. And now, here he was before noon, sucking back scotch like it was orange juice. She pushed the thought out of her head.

  “So,” she said, wracking her brain for a normal topic of conversation, “you were able to get out of shooting for a few days? What did you tell everyone?”

  An irritated look crossed Sebastian’s face. “Fuck everyone. Fuck Eric. Who does he think he is? I’m the star of his cheesy show. If I need a day or two off, they can shoot around me. What’s he going to do? Fire me?” He took a long swallow, looking at her over the rim of the glass, the fire that had ignited in his eyes mellowing to a smolder. “I don’t want to talk about work.” A beat. He looked her up and down. “You’re wearing the boots,” he observed.

  She nodded. They were the boots he had bought her in New York. High, black, shiny patent leather with a stiletto heel. The same ones she had worn as she knelt in front of Brandon while Sebastian took her from behind. Her feet ached like hell.

  “You should have worn a skirt. I want to see your legs in them.” He looked at her levelly. There was no mistaking his tone. “Now.”

  Elizabeth’s pulse quickened. She strolled toward him, slowly, shedding her leather jacket and pulling her sweater over her head. She felt strangely nervous and giddy. She stopped about a foot away from him and unzipped her jeans, sliding her hands inside them, over her hips. Then she turned her back to him and bent at the waist, pushing her butt up and out as she slid her jeans down over her thighs and calves. She had been practicing this move in front of the mirror in her hotel rooms, so she knew she didn’t look as ridiculous as she felt.

  “Mm,” Sebastian’s voice was husky. He reached over to run a hand up the cool leather of the boot and the warm flesh of her thigh. “Now show me. Show me your cunt.”

  It always gave Elizabeth a little frisson of excitement when he talked like this. She and Steve had an unofficial no-talking rule in the bedroom, as if they started talking dirty it would rapidly descend into farce. But Sebastian liked to talk, the dirtier the better.

  Elizabeth’s panties slithered to the floor. She looked over her shoulder at Sebastian. His eyes were glazed with alcohol and lust.

  “Come here,” Sebastian ordered. But Elizabeth ignored him, striding into the bedroom instead. She sat on the tufted bench at the foot of the bed, leaning her elbows on it. Then she spread her legs and arched her back, letting her head drop behind her.

  She heard Sebastian come into the room and lifted her head to see him towering over her.

  He had stripped off his sweater and his pecs and rippling abs were on display. She could just see the tip of his erection over the waist of his jeans. The look on his face was pure lust. She felt a surge of moisture between her legs.

  Sebastian slipped his hands under her buttocks and lifted her hips up, u
ntil she was practically standing on her shoulders. The blood rushed to her head and she almost started laughing when she felt his tongue plunging into her, stiff as a hard-on. He thrust his tongue into her, again and again, then ran it in tiny circles around her clitoris. She was about come or pass out, she wasn’t sure which, when he bit her, hard.

  “Ow!” she yelled. He lowered her to the bed, the expression on his face shocked, either by what he had done or her reaction to it.

  She curled into a ball on her side, her hands between her legs. “That hurt,” she said, touching herself to see if there was any blood. There wasn’t.

  He climbed on top of her, forcing her onto her back, pulling her arms out from between her legs and pinning them on either side of her head. He wore his puppy dog look, eyes large and liquid. Bending over her, he kissed her lips softly, almost chastely.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He looked like he meant it.

  She smiled at him. “That’s okay. But enough with the female circumcision, alright?”

  He kissed her again, more urgently this time, lowering himself onto her. “You just make me so crazy, Elizabeth. God, I love you,” he said, into her hair.

  “I know,” Elizabeth said. “Me too.” But even as the words left her lips, she knew that love was not the right word. She was addicted to Sebastian. It was as simple and brutal as that. She turned her head to the side, letting him suck her neck, feeling the warmth building between her legs again. That’s when she noticed the array on the mahogany bedside table. Two sets of handcuffs. A blindfold. An enormous, grotesquely life-like dildo. And curled, like a slim black snake, a whip.

  Elizabeth inhaled sharply. Sebastian felt her tense and gripped her wrists with one hand, pushing them above her head.

  “Sebastian,” Elizabeth said, her voice tinged with warning. He smiled at her sweetly and reached for the handcuffs. She heard them snap shut with an ominous click, connecting her wrists to the wrought iron headboard.