Carnal: Pierced and Inked

by Simone Sowood

  “Why are you dragging me away? I haven’t had enough of my father’s insults yet.”

  “I don’t understand why you don’t tell him to fuck off.”

  “Been there, done that. It’s more hassle than it’s worth.”

  “You’re a saint to put up with him.”

  “Is your family just as crazy?”

  “I don’t really have any family. Just my parents, but they’re both in a retirement home in Florida.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “About not having family?”

  “No, that part sounds ideal. About your parents.”

  “They’re both still in pretty good shape for being their age. Their building is more like an all-inclusive resort than a depressing place people go to die. They love it.”

  “Sounds like my kind of place.”

  “Not mine. I’d rather live on my own. They’re in each other’s businesses all the time.”

  We stand on the lawn, mindlessly watching the wedding party having their photos taken. People Darcy knows come and go, and I smile and make small talk.

  I hate it.

  There are few places I can think of that would be worse than right here, right now. Every time I want to bolt, away from the people, the small talk, Timothy. I look at Darcy and remember why I’m here. She needs her father to think she has a boyfriend.

  Someone calls everyone’s attention and announces dinner.

  We approach the seating chart and I hope to hell we aren’t on the same table as Timothy. If we are, I’m leaving. And I’ll take Darcy with me.

  As luck would have it, we’re on a table with friends and co-workers of the bride.

  “Are there no other cousins?” I ask as we find our table.

  “Yeah, but I RSVP’d so late the seating plan was already finished. I think we’ve been tacked on the stragglers’ table.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  I suffer through speeches and small talk with people I don’t know and don’t care about. What do I do for a living? I fucking own this place, and a hundred other types of businesses.

  Instead I say my standard spiel about being a business consultant. Over and over and over when all I want to do is talk to Darcy. I want her to myself. But the other people here are preventing me from talking to her at all.

  At last the meal ends and the lights dim. Banal music plays while we have to watch the couple dance, then the bride dances with her father, then the wedding party. And if that wasn’t enough, the entire room, save our little table of misfits, fills the floor in a pseudo-choreographed “Dancing Queen” followed by “The Locomotion”. Who planned this torture?

  The music’s too loud to talk to Darcy. My eyes glaze over and once again, I start thinking about peeling her dress off and revealing what’s underneath.

  “Is this better than the chocolate exposition?” I have to shout to be heard over the music.

  She shrugs and shouts, “I think chocolate would’ve been more fun. Tastier, at least.” Her lips are so close the heat of her breath folds over my neck and sends shivers down my spine.

  “So you regret coming?”

  “I do, to be honest. I should’ve gone to Austin. But…” her voice trails off.

  “It was good of you to support your cousin at least.”

  “I’ve hated Collette since I was four years old. She’s a mean, nasty woman who hasn’t changed since she was a mean, nasty kid.”

  My brow furrows while I process the statement. “Your father really wanted you to come then?”

  “He did, but I’ve kinda stopped caring what he wants lately.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Why did she come to the wedding? Must be family duty or some other family obligation thing I’ve never had to deal with.

  “I think it’s socially acceptable for us to leave now.”

  The upbeat songs end and “Unforgettable” starts. The dance floor clears. I guess this isn’t a roomful of Nat King Cole fans. Fine with me.

  “In a minute. Shall we?” I ask, my voice relaxed for the first time since the cab ride. Darcy looks surprised but smiles, and without waiting for an answer, I take her hand and lead her to the dance floor.

  I stop in the smack center of the dance floor and draw her into me. The rest of the room fades away, the same way the restaurant faded away the first night I’d met her.

  I hold her body close against mine, amazed at how perfectly we fit together. Her jasmine scent dances through my nostrils and I fight the urge to taste her.

  One of my hands rests in the small of her back, and my other runs up her side until I find her hand and lace my fingers through it. I bring it up, and hold our hands close against our chests.

  I start thinking about finding an empty room or quiet hallway in this clubhouse and fucking her against the wall. I want to watch her eyes roll into the back of her head when she comes. Is she a screamer or a whimperer? I’m dying to find out.

  My dick twitches at my thoughts. I don’t know what it is about her that’s doing this to me. Attending weddings. Making small talk with people I don’t care about. Losing control.

  I kiss her forehead, using my lips to tilt her head to mine. Her blue eyes shine up at me, and stare back into them with an intensity that causes the air around us to buzz. She blinks, and her full lips part ever so slightly as her gaze locks again with mine. Unable to resist, I brush my lips against hers.

  Fuck it. I close my mouth over hers. She gasps into my mouth.

  I push my tongue into her mouth. She’s reluctant at first, but I press my hand more firmly into her back and she lets out a low moan that only I can hear before twirling her tongue, dancing with mine.

  Our mouths locked together, our kiss deepens and our dance becomes a mere standstill. Unforgettable is right.

  The song ends. I become aware of the fact that we are the only two people on the dance floor. And that all eyes in the room are staring at us.

  “Don’t You Want Me” starts and people flock back onto the dance floor.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here,” I say wrapping my arm around her and leading her away. I hold onto her as she grabs her purse, and I lead her out of the room.

  Fortunately a cab is sitting at the front of the club. I open the backdoor for her.

  On Impulse

  (Darcy)

  Liam holds the taxi door open for me and I climb in, tugging at the hem of my dress to keep it from riding up too high.

  He looks at me and says, “Do you have anywhere you need to be?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you trust me?” What an odd thing to say. Trust him to take me home and fuck me?

  “I trusted you more before you asked me that question.”

  He shuts the door and says something to the driver that I can’t hear. Liam walks around the car and gets in the back seat beside me, filling the taxi air with his spicy cologne.

  I’d moved over to the middle when I thought he was getting in after me, and so I am up against him but I make no attempt to slide back over to the window seat. He places his arm around me, the way he had during the service. It feels as good now as it did then, even though my entire family isn’t staring at me with envy.

  The cab pulls away to wherever it is we’re going.

  How on earth did I end up here? With a perfect man? Leaving Collette’s wedding, of all places, with him. I didn’t think anything on earth would be able to get me to her wedding. Yet I went. I sat through the long ceremony, the BS speeches about how great she is, and the comments from my father. I look at Liam’s profile, lit by the streetlights we speed past, and it’s pretty clear why I decided to go to the wedding.

  I’ve never seen him wearing anything other than a suit. But the way suits hang on him, form to him. My God, do they form to him. This makes me suspect he’s hiding a perfect body underneath. I could feel how hard his muscles are when he was holding me close as we danced. For a moment while we were dancing, I didn’t think his muscles were the on
ly thing that was hard.

  “I hope your event is less painful than that,” I say.

  “Was that painful for you too?”

  “Probably even more than for you. After all, they’re my relatives. You never have to see them again.” Liam laughs, a smooth, deep sound that resonates throughout my body. I laugh as well, and together we laugh harder until the grating memory of the wedding is gone. It’s funny how a bit of collective suffering makes everything better.

  Liam still has his arm around me, and I finally allow myself to lean into him. My mind immediately goes to being in his arms during our dance. Nothing has ever felt so right. Not in a long time, at least.

  I close my eyes, relishing the memory. The car slows and turns, but doesn’t speed up again. We’re moving, slowly. I open my eyes to see where we are, blink a couple of times to make sure I’m not imagining things, before I turn to Liam, wide eyed.

  “Why are we in an airport?” And by in, I mean why are we driving on the same tarmac as jets.

  “I thought you might like to go to the chocolate expo. My parents were chocolatiers, it’s kind of an interest of mine.” The left side of his mouth turns up in a half smile and he adds, “I have lots of fun working with chocolate myself.”

  “Huh?” Confused, I search his face for explanation.

  “I have a jet, and I thought we’d go to Austin and check out the chocolate.”

  “Are you for real? You actually have a jet?” I push my chin up with my hand to close my mouth. I’ve never been in one before.

  “Yeah, I keep it at Teterboro Airport, so we were near it anyway.”

  My brow furrows and my eyes squint at him, trying to process this.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  “I’m a man with a jet.”

  “How do I know you’re not going to fly me to some bunker in the Midwest?”

  He chuckles, and says, “Don’t be ridiculous, I have a jet. All my bunkers are in the Caribbean.”

  “I can live with that since I wouldn’t have to deal with Midwest winters.”

  “So chocolate it is then?” He smiles so broadly that I don’t care about anything else. Chocolates, jets, weddings, whatever as long as it’s with him.

  “Sounds fun.” I shrug and open my door.

  The cabbie had parked right at the bottom of the steps to the plane. Am I really doing this? I look down at my three-inch heels and skimpy dress. It’s not really the type of outfit that will blend in at the expo. I imagine most of the attendees to be wearing jeans and T-shirts.

  Liam appears at my side. One look at him and my concerns are gone. As much as I genuinely do want to check out the convention, I’m just as interested in him.

  He puts his hand in the small of my back and guides me to the bottom of the steps. As I climb up them, the heat of his eyes on my ass burns into me.

  Get Me Out of Here

  (Darcy)

  Inside, the jet is made up of two rows of plush cream leather chairs, some facing forwards, some backwards. Polished wood tables reminiscent of car dashboards are between the seats. I get the impression this is a functional, work plane rather than a party jet.

  “Here, sit down,” he says gesturing to the seat nearest the entrance, one facing backwards. I sink into the comfort of the chair, a relief after spending the afternoon and evening on upright dining chairs.

  I’m surprised when Liam takes the seat opposite me. We’re separated by the table and once again I’m gazing into his eyes.

  A woman appears and secures the door to the outside. The plane begins to move. I glance out the window while we taxi down the runway. As soon as we are in the air, I look at Liam. He’s looking back at me.

  “Are you going to answer my question now?” I ask.

  “What question?”

  “Who are you? I don’t even know your last name.”

  “It’s Jones. I’m Liam Jones.” I study his face, trying to determine if he’s telling the truth or not. He isn’t.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He bites his lips between his teeth. Quite frankly, his last name doesn’t matter. It’s not like we’re entering into a relationship.

  “No?”

  “No. Is Liam really your first name?”

  “Of course.” I believe him.

  “So you’re Liam with a jet.”

  “I have a lot of money, does that matter to you?” He leans back in his seat and puts his hands behind his head. The position swings his suit jacket wide open and stretches his shirt over his chiseled chest.

  “No,” I snap. I have a good job, and a company to inherit. I may not have my own jet, but I’m far from poor.

  “I don’t normally let people I’ve just met know I have money. But with you, I don’t know, it seemed natural. Like you wouldn’t judge me for it,” he says with a roguish smile.

  I don’t know if he’s being serious or not. But he’s right about one thing, something is definitely going on between us. I’d noticed it too. And it scares me.

  “I’m not going to judge you for having a jet. Not in a bad way at least.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Are you going to judge me for not having a jet?”

  His rich laugh fills the inside of the jet. I rake my eyes down his chest, detecting the lines of his muscles through his white dress shirt.

  The woman reappears carrying a foil-topped bottle and two Champagne flutes.

  “Thanks, Gayle,” Liam says as she sets them on the table.

  “Would you like any nibbles?”

  Liam looks to me and I nod. Anything to get the aftertaste of the wedding food out of my mouth.

  “Yes, thanks,” he tells her. She leaves and reappears with small dishes of olives, nuts and tortillas.

  I watch in silence as he goes through the ritual of peeling off the foiling, removing the wire cage and popping the cork of the Champagne bottle. He expertly fills the two glasses and passes me one.

  “Cheers,” I say, clinking his glass. I don’t wait for him to pick up his glass before I down half of mine.

  “Thirsty?” He asks, his eyebrow raised.

  “Like I’ve been in the Sahara for the past four and a half years.” Without setting his glass down, he picks the bottle up and refills my glass.

  “Four and a half years? That’s rather specific.”

  “So, what time are we getting there anyway? Won’t it be the middle of the night?”

  “I’ve arranged for us to stay at the Four Seasons. It’s near the convention center for tomorrow. We can walk. I trust that’s okay?”

  “I’m not sure if I can walk in these heels. I’ll have to find a shoe store first.”

  “We will.”

  I take a sip of my Champagne, mulling Liam over. I hold the rim of the glass near my mouth and say, “So, all day I’ve been listening to you fob off people who ask you what you do with some generic answer. Are you going to tell me?”

  “You want to know?”

  “That’s why I asked, Mr. International Man of Mystery.”

  “I have a holding company, and own lots of other companies under the umbrella holding company.”

  “Any companies I’ve heard of?”

  “The golf club the wedding was at.”

  “Figures,” I say, laughing.

  “Why does your father want you to have a boyfriend so much?”

  “Because he thinks he needs a grandchild as an heir for his company.”

  “I’ll believe that if you believe my last name is Jones.”

  Some of my Champagne sloshes out of my glass from my laughter. “It’s a deal.”

  We talk and laugh throughout the rest of the flight. About family, weddings, business, what I expect from the chocolatiers.

  Liam and I have been in each other’s company for nine hours now, and yet it seems like minutes. I haven’t spent this much time with a man since the day from hell. It’s unnerving, and against my rules. Yet exhilarating at the same time.

  He h
asn’t made any attempt to physically touch me again. Not since the cab ride. When he held me close and I never wanted it to end. It was natural, arousing, good.

  But I have to remember that I don’t do relationships. I don’t even go on second dates. Do I tell him that? Is it fair of me not to, or would it be presumptuous to tell him?

  Our fingers come into contact when he refills my drink or when we clink glasses. Each time a shot of heat is sent straight through my entire body.

  By the time we land, the Champagne has gone to my head and I have to hold the handrail as I climb down the steps to the tarmac.

  A car is waiting for us and I hop in, not bothering with trying to keep the hem of my dress to any respectable length.

  We pull up at the hotel and my heart is pounding with anticipation. For whatever reason, we don’t have to check in. A woman greets us almost as we set foot in the lobby and hands Liam a little folder containing a key card. Do we have one room, or two?

  He pushes the elevator button, and we watch the numbers for the above floors flash over the elevator doors. Neither of us says anything as we wait. My heart pounds in my chest, not wanting the evening to end, not ready to leave him.

  The elevator doors open, and he waits for me to enter before following me into the small space. I turn to face the doors, and Liam takes a step closer to me. His stare is intense, and our eyes lock.

  My breathing is heavy, drawing more of his cologne into my lungs. My pussy walls flood as the image of Liam pushing me through the door and onto the bed flashes through my mind.

  My mouth fills with saliva in anticipation of kneeling in front of him and taking his dick into my mouth. I can almost feel his hands laced through my hair as he forces himself deeper and deeper down my throat.

  I jump when Liam really touches my hair, snapping me out of my daydream.

  He presses his lips against the edge of my ear and says, “You’re stunning.”

  My cheeks flush crimson, matching the fire I feel inside. I have to make the most of my time here with him tonight, knowing my resolve about second dates.

  I have to be strong. Already, my feelings for him are getting too intense for me. I have to stop it before I get my heart broken all over again. To nip this in the bud before it has a chance to bloom.