by Jane Nin
“You’ve been following me since then?”
“Technically, barely a couple hours.”
“So you did see the accident.”
“Yep, you rolled that car over like a pro.”
“And you weren’t worried?”
“Who said I wasn’t worried?”
I looked at him. He was telling the truth—eyes shining, almost teary. Not smiling at all.
“Are you alright?” he asked then.
My heart silently shrieked, Sylvie! He loves you! But my brain was not so trusting.
“I think so. I’m mad at you, you know,” I said, looking away from him, out the window.
“For leaving you behind in a foreign country without so much as a word? Well, that’s understandable.”
His teasing tone did nothing to conceal the real hurt in his voice, and again I realized what an asshole I’d been. And just like your average guy’s, my own asshole move had been calculated to preserve my pride.
“You left me first,” I said, except it sounded, suddenly, very lame.
“At the party,” he said coldly, apparently finding it equally lame.
“Yes. You promised you wouldn’t.”
He paused a moment. “No I didn’t, Sylvie—you’re remembering wrong. I promised I’d keep you safe. I know those people, and you were safe.”
“Oh, I heard all about how you know those people,” I said, meanly.
He ignored the jab. “Were you ever not safe?”
I was quiet, took a breath, then reluctantly admitted, “No.”
He said nothing. So I hastened to add: “But I didn’t know those people, and suddenly you were gone, and I… I was all alone.”
“I’m sorry for that,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You could have said something,” I continued, though he’d already apologized.
“You were having fun,” he said. “I didn’t want to ruin it with my stuff.”
“Your… stuff?”
“My jealousy. I didn’t… I couldn’t watch it anymore.”
“Couldn’t watch me anymore, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“Mind you, I don’t blame you, Valerie is…” He paused, and I wondered if he’d fucked her. “I’ve seen her in action enough that I know she’s impossible to resist. Still. I just… I saw what she was doing, and how you were responding, and I couldn’t watch.”
I was dumbfounded. It was true, I’d been very much in Valerie’s trance.
“Sylvie,” he said quietly, and now it was his turn not to look at me, “I think I failed.” He looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap, his entire posture utterly dejected. It hurt to see him so hard on himself.
“You mean because you left? No. I’m sorry. You’re right, you never promised me that, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, because of why I left. Because I had to leave. The jealousy is still in me. I can’t seem to get rid of it.”
I thought about how insane it had made me to hear he’d been at Anne’s flat with other women. Who could completely conquer jealousy? It was a noble goal, perhaps, but nearly superhuman. Of course, he had high standards for himself.
I was moved. I reached out and put my hand on top of his. “Maybe it doesn’t work that way,” I said. “Maybe the jealousy is just your heart’s way of acknowledging it’s afraid of losing something you care about.”
“Love,” he said, and he turned his palm over, weaving his fingers through mine. “I’m afraid of losing something I love.”
Now he turned his face to mine, and I saw his own eyes were wet with tears. I moved close to him, and with my free hand, I wiped them away.
“I’m not a doll,” I told him. “You’re not going to just lose me like some toy on the subway. I would find my way back to you.”
“But you left,” he said, almost childishly. “I did have to come find you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was frightened, too. I was afraid if I came back to the hotel you would tell me I couldn’t see you anymore.”
In one swift movement he reached around and clutched me closer. He cupped the back of my head in his hand, kissing me deeply.
“That’s crazy,” he said, “I want to see you all the time.”
“Me, too,” I said, my own tears spilling over and falling to spot his shirt. “I’m glad you came.”
He kissed me again, and wrapped his arms around me even tighter, and then he whispered in my ear. “I promise to keep fighting the jealousy, Sylvie—I don’t want to ruin this the way I ruined things with my ex. But… do you think the game can be over?”
I hesitated for just a split second before I murmured back, into his neck—
“Yes.”
22.
We’d been pointed toward New Orleans so it was to New Orleans that we continued. Shyly I led Jack up the stairs to my empty apartment. I turned to him as I unlocked the door: “I only have a chair.”
“What? Where did you sleep last night?”
“On my coat,” I admitted, bashfully. I didn’t add that I curled up in it weeping for an hour before the champagne finally did its work and brought me oblivion. But he had a detective streak.
“Is that a champagne bottle?”
“Oh god, don’t even look at that—it’s just cheap, crappy stuff.” I hurried over and took the empty bottle from his hand and put it into the shopping bag that was serving as my garbage.
“Well,” said Jack, turning to me. “What do you want to do? I’ll spring for some furniture if you’re in the mood to go shopping.”
I walked up to him, lifted my hands to his shoulders, leaned in to kiss him softly. “I’m not, really, though.”
He broke off the kiss, smiling slyly. “Are you hungry?”
“Eventually,” I answered.
He kissed me again, through my grin. Reaching up he ran his thumb along my ear, then raked his fingers back into my hair. I silently congratulated myself for having showered at my apartment—in the midst of the chaos, it hadn’t seemed critical—but then was reminded of how I was dressed—in baggy sweatpants and an old button-down shirt I’d stolen as a trophy from some unfortunate one-night stand.
Then I reminded myself that this man had seen me hanging from the ceiling in a sling, and sucking an old fat man’s cock, and nearly drowned, and setting my car on fire… and that pretty much put the sweatpants concern into perspective.
He began to unbutton my shirt—gently, and pausing with each button to stoop, and spread the fabric open, and kiss my chest. As he reached the bottom he got to his knees. Kneeling on the ground, he kissed my stomach. Then he took hold of the drawstring on my sweatpants and tugged.
The knot came loose and he eased the pants down past my hips, down my legs. With one arm he reached up to hold my hand as I stepped carefully out of them. Then, as my feet were firmly planted again, he continued his kisses, over my hipbones, down the front of my thighs, kissing and nibbling and giving me goosebumps.
He placed his palm against my inner thigh now, urging me to a wider stance. As I complied, he leaned forward and kissed my inner thigh. Then downward and around, to the back of my knee, just a trail of kisses, gentle and feathery and warm. My head was swimming, and I wavered a little, almost like I was drunk. He put his hands on my hips and held me firmly in place, then stood again and looked me in the eye.
We both looked over at the fur coat on the floor in the corner.
Then, just like that, Jack picked me up and carried me into the little kitchenette, setting me down on the tile counter. I yelped a little at the feel of the cold tile against my ass, but he silenced me with another kiss. He eased my shirt down off my shoulders as he gently sucked my tongue, then reached around to unfasten my bra.
My breasts freed, he gently cupped them in his hands, bending to run his tongue softly across my nipples—first one, then the other. I gasped, whimpering for more, but he withheld it, instead straightening up again, leaning forward, catching my lower lip be
tween his teeth.
I reached up and began to unbutton his shirt. He kept biting and sucking my lower lip as I worked my way down to his belt. Then he broke the kiss and finished my task for me, untucking his shirt and shrugging his way out of it, then tossing it aside, then unbuckling his belt and kicking off his shoes and socks before stepping out of his pants.
I reached for his cock, visibly hard through his boxers, and wrapped my fingers around it, relishing its heat and firmness. His breath caught at my touch—then he pushed his tongue deep into my mouth.
23.
I’d been doing an awful lot of fucking lately—spent a lot of time wet in anticipation of whatever stranger would be touching me next, a lot of time surrendering myself completely to what my body wanted—so maybe it seems strange that now I was being sent into ecstasy by a simple makeout session. But that was what was happening. Jack’s touch was deliberate and attentive, like he was drawing me with his hands—the curves, the shadows, all lovingly rendered. Moreover, as much of our acquaintance as I’d spent naked, I hadn’t seen him that way much at all. So I was enjoying just watching him move—the muscles in his arms, his back, as he roved over me, kissing me, kissing me… kissing me silly. I truly did feel like I was melting, all the hardness in me, the fear, the cynicism—all grew watery and soft and then slid away in an enormous, slow movement, down into the vast, glassy ocean that was my new self, powerful and deep.
But I wanted to look at all of him. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and slipped them down and he stood before me, naked and vulnerable as all of them, desirous as all of them… but also adoring, which none of the rest of them had been.
“Come,” I said, reaching for him, sweeping my hands down his ribs and down his waist and then around to grab his ass and pull him closer. He in turn reached for me, pulling me closer to the edge of the counter, then tugging my own underwear down and slipping them off my legs and letting them drop to the ground. Then he took me by the ankles and draped my knees over his shoulders, bending toward me, bringing his mouth close to my pussy.
Then he didn’t touch me. Just stayed there, breathing, breathing. I squirmed, trying to press myself to his warm, wet tongue—but he kept himself just out of reach. He tortured me like that for a good minute, then swept his tongue just once across me, from the soaking entrance to my vagina, up along my labia, with a firm little flick passing over my clit. I cried out and he stood and locked me again in a kiss, hard and urgent.
With his thumbs he played with my nipples and pleasure rippled down through me in a delicious, squiggly line. I continued to buck my pelvis forward, my hungry pussy searching for contact, but he would not let me have it. I moaned into his mouth, desperate, and then again he broke off our kiss and stood back from me.
I gazed at him, breath coming quickly, glassy-eyed with want.
“Please, Jack. I can’t wait any longer,” I whispered.
He took his cock in his hand and stepped back into me. He placed the head of it against my pussy lips and slid it over me—up, down, in little circles over my clit. Each time the ridge at the base of the head passed over me I let out a little, irrepressible cry. And still I lifted my hips to meet him, angling my vagina to receive his lovely cock which I had wanted to feel inside me for so long.
Finally—finally—he took mercy on me. He nestled the head of his cock just outside my aching hole and inched forward, and I felt it slip inside. I squeezed my muscles, tightening down on him, assuring myself that he was really there. Then he looked deep into my eyes, and took a breath, and drove his cock all the way into me.
I gasped. He stayed deep inside me for a moment, completely still.
“Sylvie,” he breathed, blinking. He looked like a swimmer who after miles had an edge to hold onto.
Then he pulled back and then pushed deep into me a second time, and this time along with my gasp came silent tears. They rolled down my cheeks and into our mouths where we were also joined in another long kiss. He began to thrust rhythmically, slowly, as I began to moan and giant, happy tears continued to slip from my now-closed eyes.
Then, with our bodies still locked together, he reached around and lifted me off the counter.
He carried me to the corner where my fur was. The feeling of being supported by his strength while his hard cock was locked deep inside me—I felt safe and secure in a way I never had before.
“Put your feet down,” he whispered.
My legs had been wrapped around his waist so now I carefully lowered them to the floor, standing on tiptoe on the hardwood.
“I don’t think I’m agile enough to get us all the way down there,” he said, “but I need to put on a condom, anyway.”
In that moment I practically didn’t give a damn if he got me pregnant a thousand times over, but getting down onto the floor with him still inside me did seem impossible. He withdrew himself from me and I stood there, empty, and watched him go back to the kitchen to rifle through the pockets of his pants.
He returned with a condom.
“Don’t you think bringing a condom along was a little bit presumptuous?” I asked, teasing.
“Get down on the floor before I change my mind,” he countered, smirking as he unwrapped it and slipped it on. I laughed a short moment and then his face went serious and hurriedly I got down and laid back onto the fur coat. As plush as the fur was, the floor was hard and unforgiving beneath it.
He quickly knelt between my legs and then positioned himself over me and in another heartbeat he’d slipped into me once again. He began to thrust more quickly now, though with difficulty—his hands were planted on the floor, but the fur and I were sliding around with each movement.
I reached my arms upwards and back and placed my palms flat against the baseboard to stop myself from shifting out of place. With my bare feet I searched for a grip on the floor. Found it—better—he continued to thrust.
Now that I was not moving away from him as he plunged into me I could again appreciate the sensation of his cock. He wasn’t just pumping away like some dog or frantic teenager. He rotated his hips as he moved into me, so that the head of his cock pressed the inside of my vagina in a multitude of pleasurable angles. I closed my eyes and just lay there and felt him and for a minute or two there was no sound in the room but our breathing and the sound of the slick, perfect machinery of our bodies intersecting.
And what work was it that we were doing, anyway, we this dual machine? It seemed somehow more than simply obeying biology’s commands. Not seemed—was. I looked into Jack’s face and saw it there, too—some transcendent thing. We were turning something necessary into something beautiful, that most human of efforts. Our species had turned shelter into architecture, food into feasts, language into poetry. In all these forms we spoke to each other about beauty—about what was fleeting, about this strange quality that glimmered momentarily through everything and then was gone. As we ourselves would glimmer and disappear. All lovers die.
All lovers die but in love they feel beauty coursing through them, and I understood that now, I felt it, and I could see as Jack fucked me and watched me that he felt it, too. The floor was hard against my back as my body yielded to him, as the immensity of time pressed down on us and made every second feel perfect, precious.
My orgasm was beginning to build, and I sensed that his was, too. I kept one hand braced against the wall and reached down to play with my clit as he quickened his movements. At the center of me I felt some little glowing sphere of pleasure appear, then begin steadily to expand. I felt it burning deliciously as it traveled outward from its center, moving through my insides, growing brighter and brighter, as if I contained nothing—no muscle, or flesh, or guts…
“Sylvie,” said Jack again, and I knew he was on the verge, and so was I—the exterior of that strange, electric sphere had nearly merged with my skin, and I felt it arriving at my every extremity—the crown of my head, my toes, the tips of my fingers—and as it did so, something arced across me�
��some bright shock that began where Jack and I were joined—and I screamed, and my skin prickled all over as my orgasm lit me up like a lamp.
My cries startled me as they echoed back from the furniture-less room, and alongside them I was vaguely aware of Jack’s soft moans, rising now. He had slowed and was performing his final thrusts and his whole body was shaking—mine, too. My knees were splayed wide and joined we were a butterfly, his hardness inside me like some divine pin fixing us forever in the moment of this one act.
And then, his face twisted from the pressure of this mounting ecstasy, Jack came. He released a long, ragged moan, then stayed inside me, bringing his knees up and leaning his forehead against my sternum and simply coming to rest, and in this position we fell into a sweet and oblivious sleep.