by Lexi Whitlow
I open my suitcase and watch her as she listens, ears alert. “You thought you might not use any of this stuff with me, but I was planning on it before I walked you into that shop.”
“I know,” she says. “I want you to, now.”
“My pleasure.” I reach into the bag from Estelle’s store and pull out the small purple vibrator. I press the button until it turns on, vibrating in my hand. Mallory lets out a small moan, like she’s anticipating what’s about to happen next. With one hand, I undo the button of her jeans and pull them down with her panties. “This is the last time you’ll wear panties while we’re in Brussels. Is that clear?”
She nods, and I can see her swallowing, like she’s staving off some hidden anxiety. She’s evolving, but there are bits and pieces I still want to break down.
“Good girl,” I say. My motions soft and deliberate, I press the head of the vibrator to her pussy, barely touching her clit and then moving down over her folds. Her body jumps, and then she sighs, opening her legs wider like she’s asking for more. Inside my jeans, my cock is raging hard, and I undo the button, letting my length fall free. As I stroke myself, I press the vibrator to Mallory’s sex again, this time pressing harder and then switching the speed of vibration.
“Fuck,” she moans, writhing against the toy. “Oh my God—don’t stop—keep pressing—”
I would tease her, keep taking it away and returning it, but I’m as hard as granite now and there’s a bead forming at the tip of my cock. I need to be inside of her. She bucks her hips once and then again, her purple shirt lifting up over her belly. “You want to come for me, Mal. Come on, so quick this time. So good.”
She lets go then, hands reaching for mine, gripping my wrist as she cries out and presses the vibrator closer to her. As she finishes, I turn the thing off and throw it aside, reaching into my suitcase for a condom. I rip the foil packet with my teeth and slip it onto my length. I’d give anything to forgo the damn thing and feel her skin touching mine, nothing between us. For a moment, as I roll the end of the condom to my base, I wonder what it might be like to fill a woman with my seed, hoping to get her pregnant with my child. With my parents’ history of ordering me to make an heir, the thought never seemed to appeal to me. But as I flip Mallory onto her side and pull up her shirt so I can see her round, perfect tits, I imagine it for the first time, entering the fantasy as I enter her.
That would be my ultimate act of possessing a woman—not just any woman—this one. I groan, gripping her tight by her hip and pushing inside of her wetness. Even through the condom, her slickness is apparent. Her walls tighten against me, sex clenching as I increase my rhythm, her little sighs and whimpers telling me that what I’m doing is exactly what she wants. I flip her to all fours and ride her as her belly tightens and she comes again, moaning loud. I watch my cock crash into her gorgeous, tight pussy, watch her legs shaking. She’s tight—so tight—around my length. I push into her one last time and come hard and quick, a monumental rush pouring through me.
“Matthias,” she whispers, looking back at me. My hands grip her waist, and I think that I want to be inside of her forever. And perhaps—what would it be like to have her wake up next to me each morning? I could take her when I wanted, use her body as I pleased, bring her further and further into my world. Her eyes locked on mine, my cock still buried inside of her, I realize that I would do all of these things. I’d take her home, never let her go. It’s a passing thought that I don’t share—there’s no use. Every relationship of mine ends, as it should. I won’t be able to escape my name and the weight it brings for much longer, maybe not longer than the week. And if my mother or father ever got wind that I truly cared for a woman, they would find a way to turn her against me, to ruin her name. In Mallory’s case, they might even be able to take away her schooling, and perhaps, the career she wants. For now, I let myself imagine it, and I fall onto the bed and wrap her in my arms, lifting her shirt and kissing the space between her breasts, trailing my tongue over her belly and then between her thighs.
I feast on her again, my phone off and my worries far away, until she can no longer move. We fall asleep until the sun is setting. When we wake, I imagine she’s mine, and I order her to get dressed for dinner—no bra, no panties.
She does exactly as I say. A wave of unexpected sadness hits me as we walk to the elevator, her perfect ass swaying in a knee-length pink dress. It’s nostalgia, perhaps, for this night as it spreads before us. I can remember her when she goes, and I’ll remember her just like this.
On the elevator, I kiss her deeply.
“What was that for?” she asks when I pull away. My eyes must reveal something since I’ve kissed her a dozen times before this.
“Because you’re lovely.”
We walk out into the breezy night.
Chapter Ten
Mallory
We walk toward the city center, his arm around my waist. I’m still buzzing from his touch, still smell like his body. I showered yesterday before we left, but now I want to walk with his scent, the warmth of him encasing me. It’s a feeling unlike any I’ve had before, something that I might want to recreate. A sinking feeling hits me—after this week, I won’t be able to recreate it. Matthias has made that clear. His terms were spelled out from the beginning—we spend this time together before I leave for school, and we don’t see each other again.
There are two letters in my email, one from Studio Bercot in Paris, one from Istituto Europe di Design in Rome. I haven’t opened them yet, though the first has “Bienvenue” in the heading, the second sporting the official emblem of the Istituto. Welcome, congratulations. You’ve been accepted to your two dream schools.
I’d tell Matthias, but he might not even care. He doesn’t even know my last name—it doesn’t matter where I go to school. There’s no repeat of this week. It tugs at me, the sadness. The first person I start to care about—and how foolish it is to care for a rich, handsome Dutchman I find wandering the streets at three in the morning—he’s being ripped away from me, just like Kim.
Nothing’s permanent, Kim had said at the end. I told her I thought love was, and she’d nodded slightly and said, “Maybe.”
So, enjoy it, her voice echoes in my head. You’re walking through a beautiful place you’ve never been, with a gorgeous man, in a dress you designed and sewed yourself. Enjoy it now, because nothing is permanent, like I said.
“What are you thinking about?” Matthias leans in and kisses my earlobe, his hand roaming to my ass, squeezing it through the silk I used for the dress. “I can tell you what I’m thinking about, Mal. Your ass. That dress. You designed this one, no?”
“How’d you know?” I look up at him, and he kisses me, body pressed to mine. We’re right in front of the restaurant he’s selected, and people are walking all around us. No one particularly seems to notice, not like they would back in Florida. There are other girls being kissed, too. And I’d wager, just from the feel of this place, some of them might not be wearing bras either.
“It looks like you. It fits your body perfectly, hugs your breasts and your hips. Maybe I was wrong about you not putting sex in your work. Maybe you have been all along.”
“Maybe,” I say. I pull back and then kiss him chastely on the lips. I need at least one drink to forget my train of thought from earlier. He may notice that I’m distant, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pulls me into the restaurant and the host promptly seats us, nodding at Matthias like he’s an old friend.
“This is Belgian cuisine. The city is full of all kinds of food, like I said. Japanese, Italian, Nepalese…” He goes on, talking about the restaurants he’s been to, the bars where he knows the owners, the hidden cafes and diners. He comes back to talking about Restaurant Alexandre in his best tour guide voice just as a tall, elegant woman comes to our table, putting a hand on Matthias’s shoulder. Like Estelle had back in Amsterdam.
Friends everywhere, but such an impermanent life.
“Matthi
as. I saw your cousin Cheon just the other day. You aren’t here with him, I don’t suppose? I thought you were done with all that.” A shadow passes across Matthias’s face, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes.
“No, Anna, I’m taking my friend, Mallory around the city. She’s going to school in Paris at the end of the month—”
“Or Rome. Or Florence, come to think of it,” I say. “I haven’t decided.”
Matthias raises an eyebrow but doesn’t ask anything. “Anna is one of the owners. She’s the sommelier. And I trust her impeccable judgment. And the chef’s. Bring us your finest.”
Anna smiles and squeezes his shoulder, taking the wine list with her. My heartbeat quickens. Even though I have money now, there’s something strange about the way Matthias treats it. Maybe it’s because I’m not used to it, or because I don’t know how to treat it yet. But it seems like it’s been a constant in his life—something I can’t comprehend.
Before I have time to contemplate it further, Anna brings us a bottle of rich, red wine, setting it before us and letting us each taste a sip. She speaks in French with Matthias and then switches to Dutch halfway through their conversation. I follow the French reasonably well, and drift off, my stomach rumbling. Matthias glances at me wolfishly as Anna walks away, his eyes lingering on my breasts. I smile and take a sip of wine.
“You’re well suited to Belgium, Mal. You just need to practice your French and you’ll be mistaken for a native.”
“What makes you say that?” The food begins to arrive—beef tartare, a salad made up of delicate flowers, a cold soup swirled with autumnal colors. Each bite is more exquisite than the last.
“Once you sit back and enjoy life, you look more European. Less American.”
“Is being American a bad thing?”
“No, it’s a thing I like very much about you. You’re ambitious and determined. You have plans laid out and organized. But everyone needs to be a combination of things. After seeing you in bed,” he says, leaning in closer and taking my hand. “I know you are much more than that innocent girl in the white skirt.”
I take another long sip of the wine, appreciating its richness. The food pairs with it perfectly, melting in my mouth. Complex and rich, with hidden secrets, like Matthias himself. “I’m that too.”
“I’m glad you are. I like that you’re not for me.”
It seems romantic, our conversation. But I count the days in my head as our entree arrives, and then again when we eat dessert and finish the bottle of red wine. Three days before I’m supposed to leave Amsterdam. The ticket is booked for Paris, but I don’t even know if that’s where I’m going to be.
The thought sits with me even as we get up to leave the restaurant. The bill must have been a few hundred euros, but Matthias doesn’t bat an eye as he pulls out another stack of cash, handing it directly to Anna. When we walk out into the crisp evening, he twirls me in his arms, and pulls me into another kiss.
“I’d like to taste you again after this, explore every part of your body with my tongue.”
I can’t help but laugh and kiss him back, wine thrumming through me, my nearly bare breasts pressed against his shirt, heat pouring to the dark space between my thighs. We walk on into the night, exploring one bar and then another. We have one signature drink at one place, one at another, maintaining a fine line between tipsy and drunk. At one place, he pushes me against a wall in an almost empty hallway, letting his hands roam up the hem of my dress, brushing the tops of my thighs. For a moment, I think he might want me then and there, but his phone starts to buzz again, and he only kisses me, growing more distant as we walk back to the hotel, his arm around my shoulders. Even close to me like this, he feels, suddenly, a thousand miles away.
“There is a lingerie shop,” he says, his voice startling me. His deep stormy eyes meet mine, and it feels like he’s back for a second. I suppress a shudder, wondering where his mind had gone for the past half an hour. “I think it stays open until midnight. I do think we need that skirt for you—and perhaps something in lace that you can take off for—”
His eyes catch something close to the hotel, and we stop abruptly.
“Matthias, what is it?”
His eyes search the street in front of the hotel, and he purses his lips. “We can go to the lingerie shop this way. Then back to the hotel. From the back.”
“Matthias, what’s going on? You’re scaring me a little.” His arm grips my waist tight, and he’s already guiding me away from the hotel. I scan the street but can’t see anything. There are a few people walking along the brick pathways and heading to one of the fountains in the courtyard, but none of them look in our direction.
‘A little’ is an understatement. Without the wine and drinks in my system, lulling me into relaxation, my body would be on high alert. As it is, I can hear the blood rushing in my ears.
There’s so much I don’t know about him. So much he hasn’t told me. In a few sentences, I gave him my life history. But his, I have a feeling, is far more complicated.
“No reason to be scared,” he says, walking me toward the shop that apparently stays open so late. “Remember when Anna mentioned seeing my cousin, Cheon? The two of us used to get up to quite a bit of trouble when we were younger. He still does a lot of the things he shouldn’t.”
Matthias puts on a smile and lowers his arm to hold my hand. The weight of his fingers is only slightly reassuring, but my heart rate starts to slow. “It’s just a coincidence that he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not looking for you.”
We stop before a streetlight and weight for a line of yellow taxis and dark-windowed cars to pass. In the daytime, Brussels seems simply a beautiful place to be. In the night like this, thinking about shadowy figures and possible criminals, it seems far more forbidding.
“No one knows where I am. I’m sure of that, Mal.”
“And why would anyone want to know who you are? I got the impression that you were a lone wolf, no attachments.”
The streetlight changes color, and we see the walk signal. I pull Matthias back before he starts to walk. He sighs, and I catch his other hand in mine. “Everyone has some attachments. Some things we can’t quite get rid of, no matter how we might try.”
I try to manage a smile, but I’m fairly certain it’s coming up false. This affair with Matthias might have relaxed some of my sensibilities, but I was raised by a religious nut and a dying sister, so my sense of danger is fairly well developed. “And what are those?”
He doesn’t respond, pausing for one beat too long.
“Matthias,” I say, trying to get him to look at me again. “This is fun, you and me. It’s better than any week I’ve spent in Europe so far. I realize—and I mean, I know for certain—that in a few days, we’ll split—”
“Mal, I don’t—”
“No, I get it. It’s all good. But there are things going on in your life. That’s right, isn’t it?”
He nods slightly. “That’s true.”
“I just want to know if we’re safe.”
“We’re safe,” he says. He squeezes my hands.
“And then, when I leave, tell me you’ll be safe. You’re not the leader of an underground crime organization or anything? I don’t have to worry about you when I leave, right?”
“No, you won’t have to worry, schatje.”
I think that means darling or sweetheart, or something equally saccharine, but it rolls off his tongue. It stings when he says it because I realize I won’t be hearing it again—and he’ll be countries away, with this same dark look on his face, as he faces whatever lies at the other end of the line.
I nod curtly and don’t say anything else. We wait for the walk sign to light up again, and we cross the street to the other side. The store is still open, like Matthias said it would be. He walks me in, and just like in Amsterdam, there are walls and rows of brightly colored, beautiful things. The shop owner knows him here too, and we talk and laugh as I run my fingers over the lace. For me, he
picks out a short flowing skirt and a set of purple lingerie that looks totally impractical. When he steps away to talk to the owner, I sit down in one of the overstuffed chairs in the shop, next to his phone and wallet, which he left on one of the arms of the chair.
I purposefully look away, my eyes lingering on the blush pinks and light shades of lavender. This is fun, the very definition of it—all this beauty, all this decadence. I’ve been missing it the whole time I was in Europe, opting instead for museums and aging cathedrals. I want those in my memory too—but it’s only one kind of beauty this place has to offer. Matthias represents another, even if tonight, some of the beauty was broken.
Next to me, I feel the phone buzz. Out of the corner of my eye, the screen lights up. I swallow, refusing to look at it. He turned it on again before our night out, another riddle I don’t know the answer to. But I’m not the girl who pries. Kim would tell me not to. It’s only a brief affair, and I think the going rules involve no questions asked and no strings attached.
The phone buzzes again, and I turn my head to watch Matthias talking to the store owner. When I look back to the lingerie, my eyes flicker down to the phone.
We know you’re in Bruxelles, Matthias. We have a woman here waiting for you, and we’re tired of chasing you all over Europe. Stop whatever it is you’re doing and come home, or there will be consequences.
After that, the phone keeps buzzing, messages scrolling up the screen, all from the same unidentified number. My heart pounds, and I try to look away. The messages start coming through in Dutch, and I only catch a word here and there.
Baby.
Marriage.
Wedding.
Inheritance.
Responsibility.
By the time Matthias is done talking to the owner, my body has grown cold. What the hell is happening? What has he done or said—or gotten himself into?
He takes my hand again, but this time, it feels like led in mine. There’s no thrill when he puts the bag of lingerie in my hand