Desire

by Simone Sowood

  Without saying anything, I start rolling my fingers again. Eloise swallows, and looks up at the ceiling. She’s not gonna stop me if I carry on now. She’s probably never felt this good before.

  Her breathing quickens, and I realize she’s gonna let me do this. But suddenly I don’t know if I want to. I want to do it right with her, I want to feel her bare skin against mine. Not this latex glove bullshit.

  I want her writhing underneath me.

  Plus if I pierce her now, I won’t be able to taste her until she’s healed. Fuck dental dams.

  “How about I buy you dinner first?”

  Eloise shifts her eyes from the ceiling to me. “Dinner?”

  “It’d just be two old friends having dinner. Followed by getting your mind blown.”

  She doesn’t react, and it’s impossible to read her face.

  “What about my piercing?”

  “I want to make sure you’re serious and that you’ve had time to think it over, especially since it will affect your sex life for the next six months.”

  “Why do you care so much all of a sudden?”

  “Since I realized your problem may not be what you think it is. And that the piercing wouldn’t actually solve it.”

  “So what’s my problem then? That I’ve never been with a man who knew what he was doing?”

  “That too, but that doesn’t explain your solo problems.”

  “So what is my problem then? In your clearly expert medical opinion.”

  “You want the truth?”

  “Yes, I want the truth. Of course I want the truth.”

  “Well, judging from the way you were in grade school, you’re too worried all the time about everything being perfect. And that overthinking is getting in the way of your enjoyment.”

  “Is that so?”

  I flash her my biggest smile, and say, “It’s obvious. Haven’t you noticed how you started breathing easier ever since I brought this up? And I haven’t had to dry you off again.”

  “Is that your excuse now? Because you’ve realized you won’t be able to do what you claim you can do?”

  “Do you want to find out if I’m telling the truth or not? I’ll put some money on it, if you want. What do you say? Make things interesting?”

  Eloise

  This is insane. It doesn’t seem like it could possibly be real.

  Yet here I am. In a tattoo parlor with my legs spread, and a heavily tattooed man is trying to get me off. A guy who, it turns out, I used to go to school with.

  I remember Gabriel Irwin as being the kid who never paid attention, and was always in trouble for it. He used to try to distract me, pulling my ponytail and poking me in the back with his pencils.

  It used to annoy me since I always wanted to do well at school and be the best student in the class.

  Never in a million years did I ever think I’d find myself with him like this.

  But the way he’s touching me is unreal. It’s actually the most unreal element of what is happening. Because no one has ever made my body feel so incredible before.

  What do I do?

  He actually bet me he could make me have an orgasm. And a mind-blowing one. Just like in the books I read.

  “Fine, get me off,” I say, huffing.

  “You’re taking my bet?” Gabe sounds surprised.

  Choosing to ignore the bet comment altogether, I say, “Just do it, if you’re going to.”

  “Well I don’t know if I can right now.”

  “What?” I exclaim, my back filling with tension.

  “You’re overthinking it again. You need to be relaxed.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “You need to clear your head.”

  “See, you’re full of it. You can’t get me off.”

  “Only one way to find out.” His mouth forms a half smile.

  “So do it, already.” My foot raises and drops in frustration.

  “It’s not going to happen now, you’re too worked up.”

  I roll my eyes and say, “You can’t just say you’ll do it one second, and then back out the next.”

  “I’m not backing out. I’m discussing the timing,” he says, chuckling.

  “Is this your way of getting me to go for dinner?”

  “It’s my way of making your body feel things you’ve never felt before.”

  “That’s what the piercing is supposed to do.”

  The piercing was the entire reason I came here. It’s the thing that’s supposed to make me orgasm. Not to be fingered by some random guy who works in a tattoo parlor.

  “The piercing is great, but I’m telling you that in your case it’s probably not going to make you get where you want to go.”

  “Because I’m uptight,” I snap.

  “Your words, not mine.”

  If my body wasn’t on fire right now, I’d storm out of here. I’d run away, offended, and forget today ever happened. But Gabe’s fingers still have my clit between them, and there’s no way my body will let me go anywhere.

  Even if I did know him when we were kids.

  The longer I sit here and let the whole thing run through my mind, the more and more uncomfortable I get. It would be easier if we hadn’t known each other when we were kids.

  I wish he hadn’t told me.

  Gabe leaves his fingers where they are, and places his other hand on the very top of my thigh. Maybe he’s going to finger me. Shifting my gaze to the ceiling, I brace for it.

  There’s a watermark on the ceiling, just to the left of where I’m sitting. I can’t remember if this is a two-story building or not. It must be. I think all the ones around here are.

  Whatever’s above here had a leak. I wonder what’s up there. An apartment?

  “Jewel, this isn’t going to work.” Gabe’s voice is loud, and I flinch.

  “It isn’t?”

  “If you really want me to get you off, I’m going to need you to look at me. That way I know you aren’t going off into your daydreams.”

  “You had a leak,” I say, pointing up.

  Gabe’s eyes follow my hand. “It was my dishwasher.”

  “You live upstairs?”

  “Yeah, I own the whole building.”

  “That’s an easy commute—” Gabe tugs gently on my clit, silencing me.

  My head rolls against the chair, loosening my ponytail. Gabe’s looking straight at me. When our eyes connect, his eyes bore into mine, electrifying me.

  This is wrong.

  This is naughty.

  But years of desperation wanting to know what the heroines in my books are feeling keeps me where I am. Though I’m starting to think Gabe’s all talk. Even if my body is buzzing.

  “I’ll be honest with you,” Gabe says. “It’ll feel a lot better for you if I use my mouth. My tongue is a lot better than my fingers.”

  “I don’t know, your fingers seem pretty competent to me.” As I say the words, my mind races over the possibility of letting him use his mouth on me and the thought makes my heart race.

  How far am I willing to go to feel waves of pleasure wash over me?

  “I promise you, you’ll be thanking me for the rest of your life.”

  The door to the outside bangs and footsteps drag over the tiled floor. Gabe doesn’t react. I remain in place, though I fix my eyes on the entrance to the room.

  “That’s Ryan, my business partner. He never picks his fucking feet up when he walks,” Gabe says.

  I stiffen, but Gabe continues to roll my clit in his fingers.

  A scary-looking bald man with tattoos across the side of his head walks into the back room, and says, “Now that’s what I call working through lunch.”

  Gabe yanks his hand away and pulls my skirt down in one quick movement. “Dude, go have another coffee.”

  “Can’t. A client’s due in ten minutes, I have to prepare,” Ryan says casually.

  “So tell him to fucking wait,” Gabe says.

  “Just do the fucking piercing already,�
�� Ryan says.

  “Oh God, don’t tell me he knows why I want the piercing,” I say under my breath.

  Gabe smirks and I want to wipe the look off his face. “He only knows what you’re getting, not why you want it.”

  “I’m getting it again, am I?”

  “You were always getting it,” he says, massaging the sides of my calves.

  “For fuck’s sake, can’t you two get a room? This is a workplace, I don’t want to see that.”

  “Fuck off, I’ve never complained about anything you do,” Gabe says, glaring at him.

  “This is too weird, I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  I force myself past Gabe and out of the chair.

  “No need to rush off,” he says and I ram my feet into my shoes.

  “What’s the matter, darling? Did I scare you away?” Ryan says to me.

  If I thought Gabe was intimidating, Ryan is downright scary, and I scurry out of the backroom and straight out of the main door. Fumbling for my keys, I open my car and get in.

  The situation turned so fast, but maybe it was a blessing in disguise. I got carried away, and Ryan’s arrival brought me back to my senses. Back to the person I actually am instead of the one I was pretending to be for the afternoon.

  The entire drive home, all that goes through my brain is what on earth were you thinking?

  Eloise

  By the time I reach my apartment, I’m cursing myself in shame. I can only hope Gabe and Ryan never breathe a word of what happened to anyone. I’d like to think I can forget the whole thing ever happened, but I know that’s impossible.

  Not after the way Gabe made me feel. Somehow I’m sure he’ll be filling my fantasies for the foreseeable future.

  Slipping my key in the lock, I open my front door. Hurrying to my fridge, I crack open a cold Diet Coke. After several gulps, I hold the can to my cheek and let the coolness radiate throughout my body.

  Only then do I realize I left my panties at the tattoo parlor.

  Great.

  Clearly I’m not going back for them. I can only hope Gabe throws them out instead of hanging them on his wall like some kind of trophy.

  God, I hope he doesn’t use them as some sort of masturbation aid. The idea makes me feel sick to my stomach.

  With my drink in hand, I head to the living room and plunk myself on the couch.

  I take another gulp of my drink. The bubbles fizzle down my throat and chest, reminding me of the way Gabe’s touch caused tingling in my chest. My legs. My entire body.

  As much as I try to ignore the urge, I can’t help myself any longer. Pulling my skirt up around my waist, the same way it was at the tattoo parlor, I reach my hand between my legs.

  My fingers skim over my mound, which is still sensitive. In an attempt to recreate Gabe’s touch, I pinch the area behind my clit with my finger and thumb.

  Somehow it doesn’t feel as good. I close my eyes, and remember the heat of his eyes as he touched me.

  My walls contract at the memory. His fingertip was so close to my entrance and I was desperate for him to go further. Now I’m relieved he didn’t. It’s a leap too far from my regular life.

  At the same time, I wonder how he could have made me feel. Would he have been able to make me orgasm?

  I churn the question over and over in my mind, and realize I’m doing exactly what he said my issue is. Overthinking.

  In a rash movement, I stand and rush into my bedroom. Without slowing, I grab my favorite vibrator and flop onto the bed.

  My walls are slick, and I insert it into me on full speed. With my other hand, I grab my clit again. But it still doesn’t feel as good as the way Gabe made me feel.

  I picture the way he looked when he first emerged from the back room, when he was putting on his shirt. His physique was unreal. His tattoo-coated muscles and pierced nipples were somehow so forbidden and naughty.

  I remember the way he made me feel when he touched me, which was even more forbidden and naughty.

  I imagine him with my panties, running his fingers along the blue lace while he thinks about me.

  My body buzzes and builds, the way it had when I was sitting in his chair. Thoughts pop into my mind, wondering if this is actually about to happen, but I’m able to push them away with the memory of Gabe’s gravelly voice telling me to stop overthinking things.

  Then one word pops into my head. Dinner.

  It’s one word I can’t push away, no matter how hard I try. Everything fizzles out. I can’t get involved with Gabe. We’re too different. Even if we did know each other as kids.

  The buzzing noise of the vibrator becomes deafening. I switch it off and toss it onto the floor in frustration.

  I’m more upset than I should be. At least that’s what I tried to reason. The last twenty-four hours have been a crazy blip in my incredibly normal life. And it’s all the fault of that magazine article.

  Overwhelmed, and exhausted from not sleeping well last night, I let myself fall asleep and nap.

  I wake up feeling groggy and disoriented two whole hours later. My parents are expecting me for our weekly dinner in less than thirty minutes.

  After a quick shower, I blow dry my hair and tie it back in a ponytail. I throw on some chinos and a navy blouse and head out the door.

  I park my Focus behind my mother’s Range Rover and beside my father’s BMW 6 Series. Sophie’s little Mazda is parked closest to their front door.

  It’s the house I grew up in and I’m always overcome with the feeling of nostalgia when I come back. I love knowing there’s somewhere I’m always welcomed and wanted. Not to mention loved.

  “Hey Mom, hey Dad,” I call as I enter the house.

  “Hi sweetie, you’re late. Done anything exciting today?” my mother asks.

  My cheeks flush, and I curse myself for going red so easily.

  “No, just a relaxing day at home.”

  She scrunches her mouth up as she looks at me, no doubt wondering why I turned red.

  My dad enters the room just in time. He walks straight up to me, leans over and kisses my cheek. The soft sleeve of his cashmere sweater brushes over my arm in the motion.

  He and Sophie are both blue-eyed blonds. I was always jealous of Sophie’s hair when I was younger. I hated having such dark hair, especially since I’m as pale as her. Naturally, as my sister, she took advantage of this and always teased me.

  “Dinner will be about forty-five minutes,” my mother says.

  “What are we having today?” I ask.

  “Your favorite, lasagna.”

  “With a Caesar salad?” I ask, my stomach rumbling at the idea.

  “Of course,” my dad says, and winks.

  The three of us sit on the living room couches. My parents had the room done up by an interior decorator three months ago, and everything still new and pristine. The room is perfect, and I’m afraid of damaging anything.

  The conversation between us flows easily, as always. I lose track of the time as we chat.

  “Hey you,” Sophie says, bounding into the room. She’s twenty-four and has too much energy for her own good.

  She flops onto the couch beside me, not sharing my concerns about how to treat the new furniture.

  “You’re just in time to get the lasagna out of the oven,” my mother says to her.

  “I’ll help,” my father says.

  “The table’s already set,” my mother says.

  The four of us sit down to eat at their big, oak dining table. The food is delicious and I concentrate on eating it rather than keeping up with the conversation.

  When we’re finished, I say, “I’ll do the dishes.”

  “I’ll help,” Sophie says, standing.

  Together, we stack the dishes, piling the cutlery on top. Sophie carries them to the kitchen while I get the lasagna pan.

  In the kitchen, I set the remaining lasagna on the island, intending to cover it and put it in the fridge for leftovers. Sophie sets the dirty dishes beside the sin
k and gets herself a beer from the fridge.

  “Okay, spill,” Sophie says, cracking open her drink.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Give me a break, I’m your sister and best friend. I think I can tell when something’s on your mind. And by the way you were zoned out the whole way through dinner, I’m guessing it’s a big something.”

  “It’s nothing big,” I say, shrugging.

  “If that’s the case then what is it?”

  “I told you, it’s nothing.”

  “You need to tell me what it is, and you need to tell me now.”

  “Or else what?”

  “Or else I’ll tell Mom I’m worried about you because you’re hiding a secret from us all. She’ll be on your case ‘til the end of time.” Sophie smirks, and takes a big swig of her beer.

  “Fine. I accidentally left my panties in a tattoo parlor.”

  Sophie spits out her beer and quickly reaches for some paper towels. In her rush, she knocks the four stacked plates onto the floor, shattering them.

  “Girls?” my mother calls.

  “It’s fine, Mom. We just knocked the plates off the counter,” Sophie says.

  “We?” I quirk an eyebrow at her.

  “You’d better start spilling and fast.”

  “Can’t, I have to get the broom. Butterfingers.”

  “Fine, just don’t expect me to tell you what I do with my panties every night.”

  Her comment halts me in my tracks.

  “What do you do with your panties every night?”

  “You first.”

  “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it. It’s too soon.”

  “Well, you know where to find me when you’re ready. But you’d better be ready by dinner next week.”

  I stick my tongue out at her and walked to the broom closet. We clean up the mess together as well as all the dishes. Sophie doesn’t bring up the panties comment again. And I love her for it. Too bad I can’t find the courage to confide in her. Yet.

  On the drive home, I wonder if I really can discuss my problem with Sophie. We’re incredibly close, but it’s an incredibly personal issue. Not to mention embarrassing that I let some random guy in a tattoo parlor do that to me.