by JA Huss
“Forget the coffee,” I say, opening up the fridge. I’m just about to reach for bottled water when he leans in past me—how did he get behind me so fast?—and pulls out a bottle of wine.
“This’ll do,” he says. “Got a corkscrew?”
“I’m sure I do.” I laugh, then look at the drawers. I’ve seen a corkscrew. I know she has one, but where would it live?
I pull open the silverware drawer and yes, there it is.
“Here you go,” I say, thanking my lucky stars that I don’t have to try to actually use it. Because I have no clue.
He pops the cork while I try to remember where she keeps her wine glasses. Luck is with me tonight, because they are on the second shelf in the same cupboard where the drinking glasses are.
“Here,” he says, when I stand on my tiptoes trying to reach them. “I’ve got it.”
“I’m not much of an entertainer, am I?” I say.
“No bother,” he says, pouring us both wine.
I don’t drink wine except on special occasions with my parents. Christmas and holidays, stuff like that. But I think I can pull this off.
“Cheers,” I say.
He smiles and says, “To meeting you. I thought for sure this night was gonna be awful, but this… this makes up for that board meeting.”
“Awkward.” I laugh, then realize I sound like a teenager. “I mean, I’m glad it worked out for you.”
“Oh, it’s working out,” he says, taking a sip of his wine and putting it down. “Now what should we do?”
Jesus. Is this how one-night stands go? Do people discuss things beforehand? Because my only experience with a one-night stand is with Lawrence Ballenshine at summer camp two years ago. And even though I tell people I had sex with him, I’m not really sure he actually put it in. I just know it kinda hurt and then there was sticky white come all over my legs.
My point is, Larry and I didn’t talk about it. There was no, What now? He just started groping me behind a tree and I groped him back, and then… sticky white come.
“Um… so what do you do, Mr. North?”
“Mr. North,” he says. “That’s cute. You can call me Ryker, if you want.”
Ryker. Holy shit. That’s hot. “OK, Ryker,” I say, feeling the back of my neck prickle with heat again.
He shakes his head at me, probably because I’m blushing and guys like that, right? “I’m a real-estate developer.”
“Oh, I did hear that,” I say, trying to make myself act normal. “They were talking about it in the meeting before you got there.”
“Yeah, well. We get a bad rep. But we’re not all evil.”
“Are you one of the good ones, then?”
He nods, then taking a step and closing the short distance between us. “I am,” he says, taking my glass and setting it down. “And you are very, very pretty, Aria.”
He does that knuckle thing across my cheek again and I die a little inside. That throbby thing starts happening between my legs, my skin flushing as my hands get all sweaty.
Please don’t take my hand.
He takes my hand. “Am I making you nervous?” he asks. “Your palms are all sweaty and your face is all red.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just… this is just so… and I don’t normally… and yes,” I admit. “You are. I really didn’t mean to imply anything when I asked you over. I’m just…”
“Very”—he lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my fingers—“very”—he kisses them again—“sweet.”
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “Yes. That’s right. I’m sweet.”
As in inexperienced. Because I have no idea what to do right now and I really think he needs to just leave. And I don’t know how to say that except… “I think you should leave.”
“What?” He laughs.
“I’m sorry. I just have an early morning tomorrow and… well, I have to go to bed now.”
He glances at the clock on the wall. “It’s eight o’clock.”
“I know, early, right? Early to bed, early to rise—“
“Are you OK?”
“Fine. So fine. Better than fine. I’m great. And you’re great. And sexy.” I giggle. “Too sexy, I think. Way too sexy. And older. So…”
He looks at me pointedly. “You’re not twenty-five, are you?”
I nod my head yes, but at the same time I say, “No. I lied. I’m seventeen. I’m sorry! This is my sister’s apartment and I’m cat-feeding and school-going, and I’m just in her studio to do a Photoshop class!”
“Holy fuck,” he says, working his jaw a little.
“I’m really sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to lie! I swear. I just—”
And then he kisses me. He takes my face in his hands, and leans down, and opens his mouth and sticks his tongue right inside me.
And I’m not sure what to do except the same.
Because Larry and I didn’t do much kissing back behind that tree at summer camp and the only other boy I’ve kissed is Matt Manning at the Valentine’s Day dance last month and he did not open his mouth or stick his tongue inside me.
So that’s it. My only option is to do to him exactly what he’s doing to me.
“When will you turn eighteen?” he whispers into my mouth.
“Sunday,” I whisper back.
“Two days from now?” he asks, still kissing me.
“Mmmm-hmmm,” I mumble back, thinking if this is kissing I should’ve started doing it sooner.
He pulls away, a pained look on his face. I know he’s going to leave. Right now. He’s going to yell at me for deceiving him and walk right out my sister’s door.
“Oh, God, Aria.”
“I’m so sorry. I really am. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Please don’t tell anyone I brought you up here. My father would be pissed and he’ll drag me home to the boring suburbs, and my exciting pretend adult life in the city will be over!”
He exhales.
“You’re mad,” I say. “I know you’re mad. And… and I’m bad. I know that. This was bad. I’m bad. And I probably deserve to go home.”
“No,” he says. “That’s not what I’m thinking about right now.”
“You’re not?” I say, genuinely surprised because if I were him, I’d be thinking that yeah, this girl has no clue what she’s doing and has no business being left alone in her sister’s apartment in the city for four weeks.
But thank God, I don’t say any of that out loud. Instead, I say, “Then what are you thinking about?”
He looks at me hungrily. Like he’s the Big Bad Wolf and I’m Little Red. Like he wants to eat me up in one gulp.
And I look back at him like maybe I want him to do that.
“Two days?” he asks again.
“Yes.” I nod. “I’m meeting my parents for tea at the Corinthian and then we’re going to see that musical everyone’s talking about.”
“God help me,” he says.
“What? Why? I said I was sorry. Please don’t tell. Please,” I beg.
“I’m not gonna tell, Aria.”
“You’re not?” I brighten.
“Not if you don’t,” he says. And that hungry look is back. Only it’s like he’s starving and needs to eat something now. Anything, even if it’s me.
And to tell the truth, I feel the same way. My body is all tingly and my lips—I reach up to touch them. They feel all weird. His touch lingering. The minty taste of his mouth still fresh inside mine.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
He reaches for me, then steps back without touching. I want him to touch me, I realize. I didn’t intend for that to happen when I brought him up here, but I do.
But I see that he’s about to leave, to walk out and never come back, so I reach for him.
He shakes his head and backs away. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I just can’t…”
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. So I say, “You can’t what?”
“I can’t help my
self. I have to go before I do something stupid.”
“No!” I say, grabbing onto the sleeve of his coat. “Just… wait.”
He looks at me over his shoulder and says, “Aria. If I stay here another second I’m going to lift up your little skirt, pull down your pink panties, and stick my fingers inside you until you come.”
My mouth drops open.
“And if you open your mouth like that again, I’ll stick my cock inside it.”
I shut my mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “That was so fucking inappropriate.”
Which it totally was. But it was also totally hot.
“I gotta go.”
And then he does. He leaves. He opens the door, walks through it in a rush, and closes it behind him.
And when I open it back up to call him back, he’s already out of sight. Nothing but footsteps on the stairs.
I close the door and lean against it, totally breathing hard and my mind a whirlwind of thoughts.
Mostly thoughts of him bending me over, lifting up my little skirt, pulling my pink panties down, and sticking his fingers inside me.
And I know I said I wasn’t going to use my sister’s toys but I’m already walking to the bathroom where she keeps them all.
I bend down in front of the vanity, wondering how he knew my panties were pink, then realize I walked up the stairs in front of him and gave him a peek up three whole flights—and stop.
“What the hell is this?”
I reach into the basket of sex toys and pull out a box with a note on it that says Aria in thick, black Sharpie.
“‘Because I know it’s temping and you are not allowed to use my toys,’” I say, reading her note. It’s a brand-new vibrator still in the package.
I slump down on the floor, my fingers so eager to open the package I end up just ripping the top of the box off, and pull out the bright pink vibrator along with the batteries.
Thirty seconds later the batteries are in and I turn it on, stare at it for a second as it hums and vibrates, then reach between my legs with one hand, pull my pink panties aside, and close my eyes so I can pretend Ryker is doing this to me. Then, with the other hand, I place the tip of the vibrator up to my clit.
“Holy shit,” I moan. “Holy fucking shit! Why didn’t I buy one of these years ago?”
I don’t last much longer than that one sentence. I can’t help it. It’s my first time. And my first time feels… spectacular.
And a few seconds later, it’s all over.
That hot feeling is gone, the unquenchable desire quenched.
But Ryker’s face lingers in my mind. His angled jaw that felt a little like sandpaper when he kissed me. And the kissing. His tongue. His… threats if he stayed any longer.
“Ryker,” I whisper, lowering the still-vibrating vibrator down between my legs again. “Ryker,” I say again, closing my eyes.
It takes a little longer this time, but that’s OK. And when I’m done I strip off all my clothes and take the vibrator to bed with me.
CHAPTER SIX - RYKER
“Seventeen,” I say, over and over again as I walk back to the co-op. When I get there I realize my driver dropped me off because I said I’d call him when I was done so he didn’t have to wait in the parking lot.
Which I do. Call him, I mean. Still muttering, “Seven-fucking-teen,” as he answers the phone.
“Mr. North. What was that?”
“Can you come pick me up?” I ask.
“Be right there, sir.”
I end the call and loiter out in front of the building, hands in my pockets because I don’t know what to do with them.
Seventeen.
And it doesn’t even matter that she’ll be eighteen in two days because even eighteen is too damn young.
Hell, twenty-five is too young. I’m thirty-five. Even if she was her sister, I’d have almost nothing in common with her. I’ve done this enough to know that it’s pointless. Younger women are just more trouble than they’re worth when you’re my age. They are exploring, they are testing limits, they are going places. Always going places.
Which… fine. I’m not even interested in a relationship. It’s never anything more than one night. And besides, I just have a thing for them. I don’t know why I’m attracted to the young ones, I just am.
But this… “No,” I caution myself. “No, no, no.”
This is a very big mistake waiting to happen. Because at twenty-five, most of these girls understand what I’m doing.
Which is using them. But most of them are using me too.
Not all of them. But most of them.
Some of them are like Aria, though not that young. Hell, I’ve never dipped that low before. But some of them are sweet like her and not dirty. They have romantic ideas, and expectations, and are shy, but eager.
Those are the best ones.
Shy and eager.
And with these girls I always have to explain to them it’s just sex. I make sure they understand.
Seventeen… they don’t get that. Not even at eighteen. Two days. I laugh. Two days makes no difference at all. At seventeen their minds are filled with what-ifs and possibilities.
I’ve fucked them as young as twenty before and even that’s a mistake.
So seventeen is just no.
Put her out of your head. Pretend this night never happened. Just… forget about her.
But I can’t. God, I can’t. I picture myself doing things to her. The exact things I said I’d do. Lifting up her little skirt, pulling her panties down to her knees and leaving them there as I finger her to climax with her face pushed up against a wall.
And by the time my driver pulls up a few minutes later, I’m hard.
I get in the back seat trying to adjust my cock so it can spread out along my leg underneath my slacks.
I want to jack off to the image of her sweet, sweet face moaning and twisting as I make her come with my fingers.
“Home?” the driver asks. “Or somewhere else tonight, Mr. North?”
It’s too early for me to go home. I don’t usually go home until late on workdays. And on Friday nights I go to bars, or restaurants, or the fake apartments of little girls.
Stop it, I warn myself.
You are not going to fuck this girl. Not even on Sunday when she turns eighteen.
You are going out tonight. You’re going to pick up some random woman, take her home, or go to her place, fuck her brains out while not thinking about Aria Amherst’s pink panties, and you’re going to get rid of this hard-on and never think about what just happened again.
“Mr. North?”
“Yes,” I say. “Take me home.”
Because I need to jerk off to those pink panties before the memory fades.
When I get up to my penthouse apartment uptown my hard-on is still raging. I take off my jacket, throw it on a chair, and unbuckle my belt as I walk towards the couch and take a seat.
Two seconds later my cock is in my fist and I’m jerking off as I picture what it would be like to be inside her sweet pussy.
“Aria,” I mutter, pumping my cock. “What are you doing to me?”
I close my eyes and picture the way her tits pressed against her button-down shirt. Imagine myself ripping her buttons off and pulling her shirt aside to reveal a pink bra that matches her panties. Then pulling that down so her breasts lift up and her nipples perk out.
Then I’m gonna sink my mouth down over her nipples, and play with her pussy until her underwear is all wet, and then…
I come. All over my slacks.
And I realize that it wasn’t a fantasy.
It was a plan.
I wake in the morning to the sound of my phone ringing.
“Hello?” I ask, my voice rough and deep from sleep. I was up for hours jerking off to the memory of sweet, young Aria. I don’t think I’ve jerked off that many times in one night since I was fourteen.
“Mr. North? This is Mr. Garcia at the co-op?
”
“Yes,” I say, forcing myself to concentrate.
“We have another interested party and we’re eager to sell this unit, so if you could get your loan—“
“I’ll be there in an hour with cash.”
“Oh,” he says. “OK. Very well. I’ll get the paperwork ready.”
“Thank you,” I say, and end the call.
I’m not going in so I can see her.
I’m not.
And it turns out I’m not. Because she’s not there. Everyone else is there. Apparently Saturday mornings are when the artists come out. Because every glass cube is busy… except one.
Aria’s. Which is three down from mine and on the opposite side of the hall.
I peek into it as I walk by, trying to get a glimpse of what goes on in there. It’s her sister’s, I get that. But she said she was using it for Photoshop or something.
“Right this way,” Garcia says, panning his hand into the board room.
And an hour later, I’ve sent a hundred and ninety-five thousand dollars to the co-op account and he’s handing me the keys.
“Nine PM to two AM,” he reminds me.
“Got it,” I say.
“Welcome to the co-op, Mr. North. I hope your time here is satisfying.”
“Thank you,” I say, then meander down to my cube and open it up.
There’s some shelves on the wall, but that’s it. The last person in here was another musician, so it’s just empty space now.
“When do you think you’ll be moving in?” Garcia asks from the hallway.
“Tomorrow night,” I say. Because it’s Aria Amherst’s birthday and I have a big, fat cock as her present.
“Very good,” he says. And I almost laugh. If he only knew what I was thinking. “I’ll let everyone know that if they want to work at night they can’t complain about the drums.”
“Appreciate it,” I say. “And thanks again. I think my time here at the co-op is gonna be… fun.”
Ozzy calls later that day asking if I want to go to a club with him and some girls he met last night, but I tell him no. I have to get my drum kit ready for moving.