Leaving Me Behind

by Sigal Ehrlich

  “Good afternoon, lady.” I smile at her, loving her overall look of sass and sweet. She is a cool vision in a jacket of assorted fabrics with a theme of beautiful embroidered red roses.

  “I need coffee, like yesterday.” Her stare shifts to the register and she mouths, “Coffee,” to the girl behind the cakes display. “To go.”

  “So, what are you all gossiping about?” she asks us, snatching a cookie from the table.

  “A whole lot of nothing,” I reply.

  “Where are you off to?” Stephy asks Alma.

  “Wedding stuff. We’re meeting with the wedding planner downtown. Speaking of planning, don’t go too crazy with the bachelorette party. I’m marrying a hot-blooded Spanish guy, after all. No strippers and keep the smut at jealously friendly level. I don’t need a duel before the wedding day.”

  “Gotcha,” Stephy replies.

  Alma’s eyes slowly scan my delicate lined lace cami, black midi skirt, and T-bar kitten heels. “You look lovely. Big plans tonight?”

  My eyes rise her way and continue to the other two ladies who are watching me now, intrigued.

  “Thanks. Nothing too special, just dinner with a new friend.” Vague truth.

  “Which new friend?” Vivian’s eyes narrow.

  “Is he cute?” Stephy grins.

  “Just someone I met, and yes, he is sort of, um, easy on the eyes.” Right there, the mother of all understatements. Before they manage to thread another question, I send a glance to the grandfather clock next to the bookshelves. “In fact, lovelies, I really need to get going. I don’t want to be late.” I quickly stand up and set my chair back in place. “Chau.” Three sets of eyes follow me as I scurry toward the door.

  . . .

  I’m frozen at Sebastian’s threshold, staring at the vision before me. Sebastian, light stubble, tanned bare chest, black, perfectly fitted slacks, barefoot, drying his hands with a dishtowel.

  “Hola, you.” He takes a step to press an utterly welcomed kiss on my semi-parted mouth.

  “Hi.” I lick my lips of delicious Sebastian taste. He steps back to let me in. I chance a quick glance at the surroundings. His home is designed to instill a sense of clean elegance and coziness. Dark wood tones, large TV, brown leather sofas, hardwood floor. An upscale bachelor pad that manifests masculinity.

  “It’s nice having you here,” he says, sending his hand to my waist while sending my heart to twitter, as he leads me inside.

  “Which part of me?”

  He turns my way, his eyebrow cocked. “The whole package. Your smart mouth, incredible body, and sweet, sweet pus . . .”

  “I got you,” I stop him mid-sentence, gaining a naughty, dimple-coated smile in return. Biting my own smile, I follow him to a small yet well-equipped, rustic kitchen adjacent to the living room. Setting the tone is a massive butcher-block island with a couple of high chairs by its side. I give the space an appreciative scan, ending it with much more appreciation as I gaze at Sebastian’s bare chest.

  “So, now that you’ve got me here, what’s on the menu?” I ask, leaning my hip against the substantial island. Sebastian sends me a flirtatious glance over his shoulder. He returns to pour wine into two tall glasses from a carafe. He brings a glass to his nose for a long inhale before turning to me.

  “Salud.” He hands me a glass, resting his hip next to me on the island. I take a taste of the wine and stare at him from under my lashes. Sebastian leans forward and tastes the wine from my lips. “So, you wanted to know what’s on the menu? Let’s see, tapas and wine for you. And you, for me.”

  “Sounds mouthwatering, the entire . . . um, set of choices,” I say before bringing the glass to my mouth for another sip. “Tapas, the exquisiteness of simplicity.”

  Sebastian sets his own glass on the granite countertop and turns my way. I lock my eyes with his as he takes a step to face me. Soon, his hands reach for my waist and he lifts me to sit on the textured, cold surface. His fingers graze my skin from my knees to the hem of my skirt. They continue their path, scraping my skin, pushing the fabric up my thighs.

  Trailing down to halt mid-thigh, Sebastian slides his hand between my legs and helps them further gap. He takes another step and plants himself between them. I drink him in, absorbing the light hot wave he instigates under my skin with his motions, gaze, and scent. I set my glass aside and send my hand to the nape of his neck, pulling him to my lips. I raid his mouth once it connects with mine. My fingers skim his skin and I push my chest against his. A groan bubbles from Sebastian’s throat when my teeth sink into his bottom lip. Sebastian slowly eases backward, gradually extinguishing the energetic festivity we’ve begun.

  “I need to feed you first,” he says, rubbing my lips with his thumb.

  “Why’s that?” I breathe, utterly hot and bothered and very hungry, definitely not for food.

  “We have a very long night ahead of us.”

  “Sounds promising.” My voice still comes out shaky.

  “There’s an expression in Spanish, ‘el amor entra por la cocina,’ love comes through the kitchen.” He smirks at my blatant eye roll and mocking smile. “Now, you drink your wine and keep me company while I make you dinner.”

  I put on a mock pout, not the greatest fan of him leaving me right now.

  I watch him raptly as he starts cutting fine slices of ham and sets olives bathed in a reddish oil into a small dish. Roasted peppers follow, and a hand full of small cauliflower heads coated with shiny, dark balsamic glaze. My eyes run over the small portions of alluring food and Sebastian’s hands as he labors. Tanned, masculine fingers brush some crumbs away after cutting fat chunks of rustic bread.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Sebastian bursts my momentary porno reverie of him and food. We bring our eyes to meet in unison. “Ten euros if they’re dirty.” Our lips twitch on cue. “Twenty if they include me.”

  “Now, that would be telling.” I lick my lips; following his eyes as they trail the slow trip that my tongue has taken.

  “Whatever they are, show me later.”

  “I plan to.”

  The chime of his phone breaks our little promising flirtation.

  “Mamá,” Sebastian answers and tilts his head to hold the phone with his shoulder. He listens while arranging the bread on a plate.

  I hop down from the counter, prompting him to look my way. “I’m going to freshen up,” I whisper.

  “First door to the right.” He nods toward the hall. Sebastian resumes the call while watching me as I make my way out of the kitchen.

  I give the living room another admiring peep. His place is inviting and warm, in a way that complements him. Reaching my destination, I send my hand to the knob and open the door to an obscure guest toilet. I feel my way over the wall for the switch, flick it on, and turn to face the room. Although the décor is eye-catching with bold ocean colors, minimalist style, and a massive, dark wood framed mirror, one thing gets my attention and dims everything else in my view. There’s a message, written in red lipstick, on the lovely mirror. Despite my limited knowledge of the local language, I still manage to simultaneously translate the note.

  Tian,

  Thanks for last night.

  xo,

  Lola

  I stare at the red letters and shake my head. Idiot. What an idiot. That would be me, of course. What have I gotten myself into? It’s one thing having whatever we have going on, it’s a completely different story doing it with someone who has a Lola thanking him for last night. The warm, needy feeling I’ve been nursing – since I stepped into his home, since the first time he touched me tonight – at once turns into an appalling burn right at the center of my belly. Truth be told, it might also be reaching toward my heart. I shut the light and open the door. I remain silent for a beat, listening to the sound of his voice, making sure he’s still on the phone and tiptoe my way back. Only it’s back toward the front door. I gently close the door behind me, making sure my escape is as stealth as possible. Fucking liar, “a
re you involved with anyone, infidelity is a hard limit for me.” Men!

  I hail the first taxi that passes by and urge him to step on it. I look out the window, fuming. What a jerk. I couldn’t be more pissed, at him and at myself. What did I really expect from a guy I slept with before knowing his name? That he’d be completely honest and genteel? Well, the blame is all mine. God, I can’t believe I slept with someone else’s man … several times. I feel sick to my stomach.

  I pay the taxi driver and hurry inside my house. I lock the door and lean on it. Wound up with agitation, I take a deep breath and kick off my shoes. I close my eyes and the realization sinks in.

  I left him.

  Woe betide me, am I ready to let go of all that’s largesse? (And “largesse,” it is. I kid you not, I’m a walking, glowing ad of just how large-sse it is . . . ) I’m telling you, it’s not curiosity that killed the cat, it must’ve been pure greed that killed the glutton pussy. Couldn’t resist yet another bowl of all that’s sizzling, delectable, and oh-so-orgasmic. Well, I’m not a spineless feline. I’m a mature, sensible woman. I can resist a delicious treat – no matter how addicting it is, no matter how it makes my body scream for more, and no matter how it makes me feel about myself.

  And anyhow, it’s high time I got back to using this thing inside my head that’s there for the purpose of reasoning and reflection. Forgive me, brain, for I have sinned; it’s been days since I’ve used you. Good Lord, I’ve became a needy airhead. And it’s all courtesy of one Sebastian Noé Balle.

  Chapter 12

  “Warning Sign”

  Travis

  A flash of adrenaline enfolds me as soon as I hear a motorcycle hum coming from outside my door. Less than twenty minutes after I got home and steamed down, to a degree, persistent knocking colors the quiet space of my place. I slowly walk toward the invading hard pounds, contemplating on how to thank him for being a dishonest ass and send said ass to Lola’s hands.

  I open the door and meet his questioning, muddled stare with a hard one. I don’t speak; I just glare at him, my eyes narrowed.

  He shakes his head. “Care to explain?” His hands fall to rest on his hips in questioning accusation.

  I run my eyes over his handsome, mildly irritated face, memorizing it for lonely nights (in heat) to come, and say, “Well, color me conservative . . . what can I say? I'm not the ultimate STD fan. Neither am I keen of crablouse.”

  “What the hell are you talking about and what the fuck is craploose?”

  “Oh God, you went to college in the States, right?”

  “What does it has to do with my education? What the hell, Liv?” His features harden in harmony to the thickening of his accent.

  Now, of all times, we have a language barrier issue? How did this turn into me explaining wingless, pubic lovin’ insects?

  “Those are cooties, fleas people sometimes get in their . . .” I gesture toward where Lipstick Girl Lola could have left some on him. His eyes follow my hand and bounce back to mine.

  “You fucking kidding me?” His brows clasp together. “Let me get this straight, I was making you dinner, and you run off because all of a sudden you think my junk’s infested?”

  “No . . . that’s not exactly how I would put it.”

  “Ah, no? Really? So how exactly is it then?”

  “I guess somewhere between making me dinner and promising a long night you failed to mention you were seeing someone else.” I fold my hands across my chest.

  “Say what?”

  It’s my turn to shake my head and send my eyes to the ceiling. “You were the one who said, and let me quote you here, ‘infidelity is a hard limit for me.’ So not only is cheating a hard limit for me too, lying is a secondary creed.”

  “Liv, what . . . the . . . fuck are you talking about?”

  “The lovely red note on your mirror.” I tip my head sideways, my stare challenging his.

  The expression his face wears clearly illustrates his short musing, which gradually morphs into realization. His eyes narrow as they re-meet mine. He takes a step forward and I take one backward. “You mean the message Lola left me?” he asks in a low voice and takes another step toward me. I take the equivalent backward.

  “That one,” I say in a hard voice. He takes another step, his eyes running from my collarbone, to my lips, to my eyes.

  I take another step back. “I think you should leave.”

  He cocks his head sideways and takes another step. I take another the opposite direction. He takes another slow step, his eyes a mixture of heat and exasperation with a touch of something sinister. “She thanked me for letting her crash at my place last night.” Another step. I take another step back and raise my eyebrow. He inches closer. “She’s an old friend. I slept on the couch.” He licks his lips and mine slightly part. I take another step back and my rear meets the living room sofa, stopping me. Sebastian takes another step my way, reaching deep into my personal space. I trace my stare to his blazing one. “Why did you run off? Why didn’t you simply ask what it meant?” His proximity unnerves me and excites me at the same time. He sends his hand to cup my cheek.

  “I guess I misjudged the situation.” And acted like an impulsive teen.

  He shakes his head. His hold on my face lightly tightens, he inches closer, his leg moves to part both mine. “I think you were jealous, Liv.”

  I shake my head; a light warm blanket of thrill covers my alert body.

  “I like that.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t. I was disappointed. I thought you were better than that. I thought I had better judgment,” I say in half a coherent utterance, half on a breath.

  “Well, thank you for the vote of confidence.” He inches closer. “How can you do it?”

  “What?”

  “Do everything sexy.”

  I blink. He is good.

  “You pissed me off, and I find you even more irresistible,” he says and brings his mouth to hover next to mine. “You don’t run away again.” He gently bites my lower lip. “You have something to say, say it.” His mouth is so close, his other hand crawls to my breast, and I let out a choked breath as his fingers find my hard nipple. I nod; nothing to argue with here, he’s right. “I’m still pissed, Liv.” His hand leaves my breast and trails down to cradle my rear. “There are consequences.”

  “Consequences?” I whisper, and the implication of the simple word couldn’t turn me on more.

  “Si,” he pushes me by my rear against him, to feel him. “Consequences.” Both his hands move to grab me by my hips and tug me to straddle him. The fabric of my skirt ends crumpled in a heap, exposing my thighs wrapped around his waist. I hone my lips in on his neck and taste his skin as he walks us toward my bedroom.

  As soon as we enter the room, Sebastian takes one step and drops me to the bed. I lightly bounce at the contact with the mattress. He crosses his arms over his chest and gazes at me with eyes that insinuate pure sin. He scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip. “Take your clothes off . . . slowly.” He remains standing firmly, watching me. The room is dimly lit by early evening soft light, still bright enough for me to take in all his rough beauty, yet dark enough to set that special ambiance, a perfect one for what’s about to happen between us.

  “Undress, Liv.” Mirroring his intent gaze, I slowly start to unbutton my blouse. “Leave it open like that,” Sebastian orders, and I leave my blouse dropped to my sides, framing my purple, black laced bra. I thread my thumbs into my skirt, slightly raise my pelvis up, and push the skirt down my thighs. Sebastian finally makes a move, falling to his knees at the edge of the bed. He seizes my skirt and helps pull it off me. He leans in closer and in a gentle, painstaking caress trails his flat tongue over the delicate fabric of my thong. I whimper and he grabs my thighs and spreads them wider for him. A low groan leaves his mouth as he nuzzles me.

  I close my eyes and drop my head to the mattress as his tongue slowly moves down and traces up my inner thigh. He reaches the hem of my
panties, leaving warm breaths and light kisses on my skin in his wake. As the flutter of his mouth fades, I sense his fingers traveling toward my panties and moving them sideways. I moan to the sensation of his thumb subtly hovering between my folds. Gentle, arousing, teasing touch. He leisurely strokes my heat to the sounds of my heavy breathing, his light sporadic groans, and the sound of waves coming from outside my window. I let out another choked moan as his tongue takes the place of his thumb.

  I rise to lean on my elbows and watch him utterly engaged in pleasuring me. It’s the sexiest vision I’ve ever seen. A halo of raw desire emits from him, from his hooded eyes and intense features, to the light shine on his mocha skin. He is still fully clothed, a snagged gray tee hugging his toned chest, straining around his arms that hold my thighs parted. With his mouth still on me, his eyes trail up to meet mine. His stare burns into me, and so does his tongue on my sensitized middle. I whimper and a breathy, “God,” leaves my lips when his tongue sinks into me. Sebastian’s eyes don’t leave mine, nor am I capable of breaking their spell as he slowly brings me to the edge. Lapping, caressing, kissing, suckling me to lose myself in him. I’m shaking, on the verge of falling over the edge. Uttering incoherent pleasure sounds, I close my eyes, unable to contain everything that’s happening to my body. And just when I’m about to shudder, he stops. My eyes rip open, darting his way. He shakes his head.

  “Wha?” I barely manage to express my immense frustration.

  “Consequences, Liv.” And his thumb moves to lightly press on my throbbing clit.

  “Sebastian.”

  “Ever heard of edging?” I shake my head, beyond hot and bothered and about to beg.

  “Let me enlighten you . . .” he says and dips his mouth toward my middle. His finger sinks into me, and I drop my head back. His tongue joins; his rhythm slower now. He tilts back and blows over my overly sensitive skin and I arch my back, yearning for him to release me from this torturous sweet pain. He inches closer and resumes his divine torment. And I build up, faster than before, harder than before. It’s becoming unbearable. I let out rapid pants, every inch inside of me clenched, ready for him to release it.