Lust

by K. M. Liss

  Holy hell, and oh my God!

  What more could a girl ask for?

  I know he's a real babe magnet, but I don't see the word player associated with his character. Of course, I could be wrong. I was wrong about Andy. He was kinda lovely too.

  Still, he's someone I'd like to get to know better. To find out more about. But I don't see how I can, as I still have Charlotte to consider.

  He hands my dress back. “There you go, fully functional.”

  I study his repairs in amazement.

  “Where d'you learn to sew like this?”

  He sits back and rubs his hands through his hair. A smile comes out, like a hot ray of sun.

  “I majored in fashion and design, and the practical side of that, being manufacture, is essential knowledge in the industry. It was a good few years back, but I obviously learned something useful from it.”

  “You certainly did,” I reply, running my fingers over his neat stitches.

  “I'm pleased to be of service,” he says with a grin. “Now, I don't know how you feel about this, but I suggest we head back to the party, so you can say you had a little accident, then I'll get you home. Can you manage ten minutes doing that?”

  “I guess I can.”

  “Right... go get that on, birthday girl. There's the bathroom. You might want to fix your face a little, it's kinda smudged. Maxine left some of her stuff in there, if you want to use it. I'm getting changed, upstairs.”

  As he heads off through a doorway, I wander into the small corridor and the bathroom on shaky legs. I put my dress on and wash the tightness of my salty tears from my cheeks. Then I examine my face in the mirror, wiping off the smears of mascara with a damp tissue and checking myself over. There's no sign of the attack I've just suffered. All my scratches and the bite are hidden beneath my clothing. My dress looks almost perfect. I'm one fingernail short, but my bandage is all that's visible of my trauma. Most of that's in my head, and sadly, I don't think it will ever leave my memory.

  I start to relive it again...the feel of his filthy, animal fingers on my breast—nails scoring deeply into my skin—teeth sinking hard into my shoulder—the stench of beer on his breath—the weight of his body, and the pain they both inflicted on me.

  But even worse than the physical aspects of the assault, are the mental ones. The way I felt to be held prisoner—to be full of such desperation to escape and unable to do so—to be so vulnerable at their hands. It's a sickening memory that I'll have to endure.

  I distract myself with something superficial and beautiful, poking around in Maxine's expensive, black satin, Yves Saint Laurent cosmetic bag. I find and apply a light touch of her red lipstick and spray a quick squirt of a tiny bottle of Jo Malone in the air around me. My hair doesn't look that great but there's not much I can do with my fingers. I nosily look at Sean's things sitting on the shelf above the vanity. Expensive looking male grooming aids. I unscrew the lid of one and take a long sniff. It's a goddamn gorgeous smell which gives me a pleasant little kick in the lower belly, and my mind starts to wander all over his body. I replace it back on the shelf, guiltily. I shouldn't be feeling or thinking these kind of things right now, considering.

  All the wine and tea results in the sudden urge to make myself comfortable.

  After that, and a final check in the mirror, and a deep breath for composure, I return to the studio.

  He's standing there waiting. He's changed his shirt for another white one, very similar in style.

  He holds his hand out to me, and I slip mine into his, with a warm feeling rushing through my veins at the soft touch of his palm against mine. His face breaks into a smile and my heart is in my mouth, as he leans toward me and places his lips to my cheek.

  “Happy birthday, for Tuesday.”

  I'm overcome with emotion and hug him, hard and tight.

  Thank you,” I murmur.

  Two small words, but they mean so very much more.

  His arms slip around me and he rubs my back softly in circles.

  And then he kisses the top of my head.

  I'm sunk...

  Chapter Six

  We walk through the front door of the coffee shop. Apart from Jase, it appears no one has noticed we've been gone.

  “Where the fuck have you two been?” Jase demands, storming up to us with a face like thunder.

  His eyes are darting between the both of us. He's looking for some sign of guilt, I presume. I'm feeling very protective towards Sean, after all he did for me. So I jump down Jase's throat in his defense.

  “He's been looking after me, as requested,” I snap.

  “I bet he has,” his eyes flash at him in anger.

  “There was an incident in the back alley. Lissa went out for a breather, tripped in the dark, tore her dress and ripped her finger nail off. It was bleeding pretty bad, so I took her across the road to sort her out and give her some pain relief,” Sean replies, far more calmly than I know he feels.

  I hold my bandaged finger up as proof. Jase looks suitably chastised. And Sean hasn't even lied. He'd just left the worst of it out.

  “Oh, I'm sorry, baby... are you okay now?” Jase slips his arm around my shoulders and hugs me sympathetically.

  “No, I don't feel so great. It must be the shock. I'm going home now.”

  “I'll call us a cab,” Jase says.

  “There's no need for a cab. My car's right across the street,” Sean says.

  “It should be me taking Lissa home, not you,” Jase says, sharply.

  I'm feeling very uncomfortable to be coming between the two of them. It's time to make things clear.

  “Why's that, Jase? I'm not your property, why d'you keep acting like I am?” I say.

  He looks like I've stung him.

  I turn my attention to Sean.

  “Are you okay to drive? How many drinks have you had?” I ask.

  “None. I don't drink.”

  “What, never?”

  “Rarely.”

  “Can we go soon, please?” I'm desperate to leave. Climbing up the wall, desperate. After two minutes, I've had enough putting on a brave face. I want to go home, to my comfort zone and forget tonight ever happened.

  Charlotte arrives at my side.

  “I'm going Charlie. I've had an accident and hurt myself, and Sean's offered me a lift home.”

  “Has he? How sweet of him,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. To my astonishment, she doesn't even ask, or seem to care, what my accident was. Sometimes Charlie can be very selfish. “I suppose I'll have to clear up this place on my own then, but don't worry about that, will you?” I bristle at her unfeeling, snarky attitude.

  “I'll help, as it seems I'm not wanted elsewhere,” Jase offers in a equally snarky, wounded tone, giving Sean and I caustic looks of reproach.

  “Will you Jase? Well, thanks honey, that'll be great,” Charlie replies with a beaming hot smile at him. She takes his hand and pulls him to her side, slipping her arm around his waist. She looks at me in a very pointed way, as if she's saying, 'you've got my guy, so I'm having yours'.

  “I'm heading straight off to bed after I've dropped Lissa, so I'll say goodnight. ” Sean says.

  I know what happened tonight has hit him hard. That huge burst of adrenalin he must have experienced, and my emotional breakdown in his arms, has no doubt wearied him. And he's probably feeling strung out too. I can't imagine he'd want to hang around at the party later.

  “Oh, so you're both having an early night? Lovely... enjoy...” Charlie says, as her coldly assessing, blue eyes, flick judgmentally over Sean and then over me. This is a side I've not seen of Charlie before. The nasty, envious side. I know she doesn't know the full story, but she isn't interested in hearing any of it, and I'm feeling less than caring about her feelings right now.

  Sean raises his eyebrows at her in surprise. I think he sympathizes with me.

  “It's been great, Charlie,” he replies evenly, but I can see his true feelings are simmering just
below the surface, “Lissa, get your things and let's go say goodbye to your friends.”

  I hug a few friends and call out,“'bye everyone,” from the doorway.

  Then I finally escape, into the peace of the street, and the welcome, refreshing, cool of the night.

  Sean puts his arm around my shoulders and steers me toward his car.

  He drives a brand new black Jeep Cherokee, which has radical looks and is a good sized chunky type of car. Second to a Ferrari, it suits him down to the ground. He opens the door for me and I slide my backside inside its luxurious and stylish interior.

  I'm silent all the way. I don't want to converse and make small talk. He knows how I feel, and keeps the silence. I don't need to pretend to be something I'm not, while I'm with him. That makes me feel at ease and comfortable in his presence. We arrive at my place in the Village in ten minutes, and he walks me to the door of my apartment.

  I slip the key in the lock, open it, and go inside.

  I've been thinking about this, on the drive back.

  I need his company. Just for a little while more, to settle myself, before I'm on my own for the night.

  I turn to find him standing in the doorway.

  “Come in.”

  “No, I'd better be off. And you need to get to straight to bed, and sleep.”

  “Please? Just for a while. I don't want to be on my own right now.” I can't help the tears that are forming rapidly in my eyes.

  “It's not a good idea...” he begins...I can see he's struggling with himself. His face is taut and he avoids looking at me.

  “Please?” I interrupt and take his hand. He allows me to pull him inside. “I need a quick hug, that's all, then I'll be fine.” I close the door and step into his arms, pressing against his broad, hard, comforting body. Wrapping my arms around him, I sink into his safety and warmth.

  He responds with a stiff little hug, a restrained gesture of affection.

  After a moment I dare to look up. I want to see his face, to read his expression.

  And his face is close to mine. But in that moment, I want it a whole lot closer.

  Please kiss me. I mentally beg him.

  Just a soft touch of those lips to take to bed with me. A hot and sweet ending to my not-so-sweet evening.

  He pauses, hesitantly, staring at me. The attraction is so strong. I'm wondering how much of this he can feel. This magnetism, drawing us together. The gap between us slowly closes.

  I really can't wait another second longer, so I reach up and place my lips to his.

  It's the softest, lightest kiss, but it smolders between us, like burning embers on the cusp of flame. My whole body comes to life, lighting up in a wild rush.

  In that instant I'm pretty sure this is a special moment for me. I'm hoping it's the same for him.

  His arm curls around my waist, pressing me tightly to his body, and his mouth moves gently on mine. I feel his tongue push against my lips and I respond by opening to him, eagerly inviting him in. As his tongue laps over mine, pleasure roars through me. Every cell of my body is aware of him and I'm tingling in excited anticipation.

  Sean wraps his arms around me, cocooning me in his embrace. He groans, a throaty, deep and husky sound and my senses are swamped by him. His taste, his scent and his texture— it all sends me somewhere so good.

  I'm melting into his mouth and body.

  A tidal wave of emotion engulfs me. How could a kiss feel so sublime, and such exquisite, delicious torture, and just so right.

  An urgency flares in his response. One of his hands buries itself in my hair, the other slides down to my backside, pressing his hips against mine. I swim in a world of passionate sensation.

  Our lower bodies grind together, in a slow and erotic dance of primal need. Our breathing is labored, as we lose ourselves, in our long, lingering, and wildly arousing kiss.

  Every distressing, bad thought or care, simply floats away as he kisses and touches me. He's healing my mind, flowing through my veins, like the sweetest drug.

  I'm making tiny sounds, mewing like a cat, as his softly sweeping fingers caress the sensitive skin at the back of my neck and ears, and his velvety tongue makes exquisite love to my mouth. I rub my fingers all over his head, slowly discovering the contours, my fingers grasping tufted handfuls of his silken soft hair.

  The heat arising from us is unbearable. It's like a furnace has burst into life and is burning with the strongest of flames.

  His mouth roams around my face and up and down my neck, trailing paths of fire.

  I gasp with a flush of pleasure as he tongues my ear.

  “Sean...” I groan.

  I need this. So badly. To escape what's in my mind. To fly away to the world of my wildest fantasy.

  I forget everything in my all consuming need for him.

  I forget Charlie... Jase... the assault... my usual reserved behavior... even who I am.

  It all ceases to exist.

  All I'm aware of is him, how much I want him, and how much I can feel he wants me.

  A painful ache starts to form where my sex is so tightly tensed, and wetness is building rapidly, between my legs.

  I need that hard part of him, the part I can feel wedged between us. I want it inside me, to have him opening and filling me up―possessing my body. I crave relief of my body's frustration, like I never have before, with a desperate, heady, urgent passion

  My hands reach underneath the back of his shirt, gently scraping my nails around him. I want to touch everything he consists of, to get my hands on him intimately, to rub his hard muscular ass with my palms―to dig my nails in hard, to feel him tense and moan out loud, as he says my name

  But I instantly feel him stiffen as my hands start to go down the back of his jeans.

  The spell is broken and Sean stops kissing me abruptly, slipping out of my grasp and pushing me back, out of reach.

  He stands there, breathing heavily, raking his hair back in place with his hands, and taking a long, searching look at me.

  “I really shouldn't have done that, Christ...” he says slowly, huffing out a long, tortured sigh.

  I stare at his eyes, hypnotized. There's far more than passion in his gaze. He's simmering with restraint and need.

  His lips glisten with a slick of moisture, reminding me of his taste.

  I don't care what he just said, I want so much more, and so does he.

  “I wanted you to, I still do,” I appeal honestly, holding his gaze.

  “Fucking hell,” he grinds out, “you think I don't want to? But it's not fair, or right, given the situation.” He looks toward the door and I panic, praying he doesn't leave.

  I step toward him and take his hand, loosely, in between both my palms. “Please don't go. Just sit with me, until I go to sleep.” I beg him. He pushes me away gently.

  “Go get in bed, right now, Lissa,” he commands, in a very strong tone of voice that will brook no refusal.

  As I obediently enter my bedroom and turn my bedside lamp on, I realize that I have little to no energy left for anything other than slipping out of my dress and shoes.

  As I turn, I see the clear evidence of my assault in the glass over the dressing table. I'm in instant floods. Wetness pours down my cheeks in a river.

  The sanctuary of my bed beckons, and I slip inside, enveloping myself between the soft coolness of the feather duvet and the familiar comfort of my mattress. “Ready,” I call out, as loudly as I can manage, choked by my tears.

  He arrives by my side, instantly taking in my emotional state. He grabs a tissue from the box and hands it to me. Then he kneels on the floor, by my bed, as I wipe my wet face.

  “You'll feel a lot better tomorrow. I'll leave my cell number for you. Text me as soon as you wake up, or call anytime, if you need to talk.” He gently tucks a wet stand of hair behind my ear. “All you need to do is go to sleep, okay? ”

  “I guess so,” I croak.

  Our eyes lock and I just can't help it. I know I sh
ouldn't, but I reach up, and my arms wrap themselves tightly around his wonderful neck, pulling him down.

  He tenses as I raise myself off the bed and press my open mouth to his throat. But as I run my tongue across the softness, tasting the light salt, and my nose captures his gorgeous scent, he seems to lose all resistance.

  His breathing ramps up as I kiss around his neck, and suddenly his mouth is on mine again. We kiss each other desperately, in a heated, wildly excited frenzy. His hands are all over my shoulders and my face, in my hair―and mine in all over his.

  I don't want this to stop. I don't want him to go. I need him and want him so goddamn bad.

  “Sean, stay with me, please? I need you.” I groan, trying to pull him onto the bed.

  He jerks back, and away from me.

  “No, no, no, Lissa,” he grinds out, as he stands up.

  “I'm sorry,” I say, cringing inside. I'm so acutely embarrassed by my actions. I wouldn't dream of behaving like this normally. I literally threw myself at him. Begging for it.

  He sighs noisily, raking his hair.

  “No I'm the one who should be sorry, fuck knows what's happened to my self control. I'm putting it down to emotional overload. And you've had far too much excitement for one day. You really need to get some sleep. I'm going now. I'll speak to you tomorrow, okay?” And he turns, walking away from me.

  With a last lingering look from the door, he says goodbye. “Night, beautiful.” And with a half smile, that tugs at my heart like nothing else, he leaves my sight.

  More heated tears rush to my eyes, but I'm not sure why I'm crying anymore. Is it that he calls me beautiful? That he's gone? That he had the strength to go, when he clearly didn't want to? That my body is crying out for him like nothing I've ever experienced before? Or is it my state of embarrassment at my wanton behavior? Or maybe just the huge fact that I've been badly assaulted? It all adds up to a heavy dose of emotional battery.

  I hear the front door click shut quietly a few minutes later.

  With a deep sigh of regret and acute sense of loss of his physical presence, I turn the light off, roll on my stomach, and with a loud sob, I cry myself to sleep.