The Seduction of Suzanne

by Amelia Hart

  Goddamn it, she had been right to start with. She’d known she shouldn’t touch him or let him close. She had known he would hurt her, but she’d ignored her instincts for the chance to scratch an itch.

  And scratch it she had, over and over.

  But more than that, more foolish and incredibly stupid, in her mind she’d been building it into something precious and special. Only now, in this second when the tawdriness of their connection lay revealed, her godlike lover a man with feet of rotten clay, she realized just how very wrong she had let herself become.

  Because this pain radiating out from her core was not the hurt of a woman turned into a sex object without her knowledge or consent. Nor yet just a hearkening back to teenage wounds, no matter how devastating.

  This was the anguish of a woman in love, having all illusion torn from her in the space of a single minute. Seeing her shallow lover in his crass truth, treating her like dirt, using her for a thrill, both the lover and the love itself worth no more than garbage.

  She turned from the window to the bed, saw the hedonistic tangle of sheets and duvet, the scattered pillows. She ripped them from the mattress, gathering an armful and shoving it out the window. The pile slumped on the lawn, white and red like a gash against the faded green of the summer grass. If she could push the mattress out the window she would have. Instead she beat it with her fists, screamed at it, then folded, broken, and cried a puddle of tears into it.

  Slowly the white heat and pain of her anger subsided, was replaced by a distant, numbed throb. The sun blazed brightly outside and as she rolled limply onto her back she saw the sky was a pure unclouded blue.

  She had no will to move any further. She lay and stared as the plaster molding on the ceiling as the sunlight hitting the floorboards crept across the floor, then up the bed and over her. Tears still ran slowly down her face to soak the hair at her temple.

  Weak tears. Weak, stupid tears from a stupid heart that should have known better this time. How could she have done it to herself again? She had known. She had warned herself away, time and again. But she’d just circled back, the moth to the flame. The beautiful, cruel, exploitative flame.

  But that was enough. That was quite enough self pity. So he turned out to be worthless. She wasn’t the first woman to discover that about a man, and best to know it now before she was in even deeper.

  With fingers that trembled just a little, she gathered the pieces of the smashed phone into a tiny pile. Then she stamped on it once more for good measure, before fetching a broom and dustpan, sweeping it up and throwing it into the rubbish. She contemplated the naked bed, then decided she could make up a fresh one in her father’s room for the night.

  She hadn’t been into that room for a long time – other than to dust occasionally – but it didn’t matter when she was feeling this numb. So she spread sheets and a cover on the double bed in there, then went to the fridge and pulled out the half-full bottle of wine left over from their crayfish dinner.

  She drank it all down, wondering if it would improve anything. She wasn’t one to drown her sorrows, so she had no idea. It made her feel strangely floaty after a day with no food, but she couldn’t exactly call that ‘better’.

  She was sitting on the corner of the veranda watching the sunset fade from the sky when he came back. She hear the car before she saw it, recognized the thrum of the engine. He pulled up in his accustomed place and got out. She saw him check as he caught sight of something at the opposite corner of the house. He took a step or two towards it, and she realized he was probably looking at the pile of red and white linen on the grass.

  After a moment he must have calculated the heap of summer-weight bedding was too small to be her, for he scanned sideways along the length of the house. She supposed she was an identifiable silhouette because he recognized her form huddled against the support post even in the dimness of the swiftly gathering shadows, and started in her direction.

  As he walked towards her she wondered at herself. She felt so blank inside, and cold. He looked like a stranger, an unknown assembly of features that made up a man, but one without any meaning to her.

  He stopped a few feet away. She said nothing.

  “I thought I’d give you some time to cool down.” Still she said nothing. Oh, she was cool alright. Icy. She looked at him with a flat, blank stare, giving him nothing.

  “I guess you don’t like having your photo taken,” his mouth quirked up at one corner at his own understatement. She didn’t respond. “It didn’t occur to me you’d feel like that. Especially after the portrait you painted.”

  She forgotten the portrait. He was right: she did have a naked picture of him. And although she had painted it for herself alone, if she felt like selling it for some reason she would consider it an artist’s prerogative for her to do whatever she wanted with the image of his nudity. Include make money from it. Without asking him.

  But then she had had his permission to paint him in the first place. And her work was art. His naked photographs were something else entirely.

  “But I can see your viewpoint and I’m sorry I crossed the line. Knowing how you feel about it, I won’t make the same mistake again.” She narrowed her eyes slightly at his assumption. As if she would ever give him the chance again.

  “I do want to be completely honest. My phone is set to sync with my tablet if they’re close, and they were only a few feet apart. So the photos I took are also on my tablet.”

  Her head went back in shock, her eyes widening and her nostrils flaring. “I’ll delete those too,” he said hurriedly, “but I just wanted you to see them, and know what it was I was seeing when I took them. To see why I took them.”

  Her fists clenched and unclenched but still she didn’t move, didn’t speak. She didn’t know what to say, suspended between rage and despair at being in his power.

  He could send those photos any place, to anyone with the flick of a few buttons. If she could get her hands on the tablet she would smash that too, but it wouldn’t make a difference. Those pictures could be anywhere by now.

  He set his gym bag on the ground and pulled the tablet out of it. With a swipe of his fingers over the screen, he woke it and tapped to bring an image to full screen. Then he turned it to face her. The picture glowed in the dim light, reminding her of another glowing picture on another night. But only for a moment. That tiny, garish, poorly lit shot was not comparable to this one.

  He had an eye for framing. The sweep of a red, folded sheet led the eye directly to her face, which was in sharp focus. The rest of her body was foreshortened and unfocused, a soft white glow without details beyond the curve of one shoulder, the delicate line of her breast terminating in the bedclothes before her nipple could be revealed.

  She looked beautiful. Exquisite, with the delicate flush of sleep mounting her cheekbones, shining dark hair tumbled to one side, her eyelashes perfectly curved fans against her cheeks, the sweet bow of her mouth a little swollen and reddened from the uses to which she had put it the night before.

  Not that this photo hinted at that decadence, for beyond the circumstance of the subject – a sleeping woman – it was a surprisingly innocent image. She looked at peace.

  She blinked once, twice, and felt a blush of shame rise in to her face. She had assumed the very worst, yet here was revealed a side of herself she had not known existed. He had seen it, and wanted to hold that moment, to keep it. And while it was private and intimate there was nothing shameful here.

  This picture made her a treasure, not trash.

  She had totally misinterpreted the situation, and misjudged him. She felt like dirt. Once again she was revealed as the bitter, broken thing not fit to be with. Twisted and turned back on herself with hate and suspicion. She wasn’t right to be with a man like him.

  “Justin.”Her voice cracked and wobbled after the abuse of the past hours, thickened by spent tears and tightened now by emotion. “That…I…. I made a mistake. I’m sorry. It’s not…what I th
ought it would be.”

  “What kind of a man do you think I am?” he asked sombrely. “I would never, could never take advantage of a woman who trusted me. We are lovers. That means something to me.”

  When he used the word ‘trust’ she felt even worse. For obviously she had never really trusted him. Lust and a desire to be close to him had overcome her doubts. And then in the last few days she thought there had been an internal shift. Thought she was remade into the wholesomely happy woman she wanted so desperately to be.

  The sight of him photographing her naked body was enough to reveal her true feelings. She hadn’t paused for even a second. Hadn’t asked if there was anything more to the situation than met the eye.

  She’d gone straight for the jugular.

  How could she have such certainty, and be so wrong?

  How could she put faith in her judgement of anything when her perceptions betrayed her like this?

  This shook her down to her foundations. All this time she had seen him through the murky filter of her own past experiences. Who was he really, if he was truly a man on whom she could depend?

  And he said their being lovers meant something to him. It was a vague statement, but far more than she had coached herself to expect. Her hungry heart seized on it. It raised hopes in her that made her even more afraid.

  Had she destroyed that possibility? Did he now see through her, see how very wrong she was at her core? She couldn’t bear to hear that from him.

  How could she fix this?

  Acting on instinct she said: “You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry. Look, I need some space to think things through. So if we could just put things on hold for a while, I think that would be best.”

  He closed the distance between them, putting the tablet absently to one side on the grass so he could take her cold hands in his two large, warm ones as he squatted on a level with her.

  “Why?” he said harshly, though his hands were gentle. “So you can run straight back to your safe little box to hide from the world again? You think that’s better? You think that’s the way to get what you want? I tell you it isn’t.”

  “Oh yeah? What do you know about what I want?”

  “I know you want more than what you have. I know you’ve clipped your own wings. You’re so calm and controlled, so sensible. But when you go off, you go off like a firecracker, wild and intense. Pent up and repressed until you explode.”

  “So what are you trying to say?”

  “I think you know what you want from life. And I’m saying you should stop standing in your own way. You don’t actually want me to go, do you?” He pressed his forehead gently against hers, and repeated softly, “Do you?”

  There was silence as she sorted through all the things that leapt to mind. Please don’t go. Please, forgive me. I was wrong. I want you to stay right here beside me. Maybe forever. I don’t know. I want you so much. I want your body. I want your laughter. I want your bright wit. I want this feeling inside me I get when you’re with me. Like a slowly expanding bubble of joy in my chest. But I’m so afraid it will pop and I’ll be all hollowed out. I don’t want to be hurt. But oh no, I don’t want you to go no no no.

  “No,” she said.

  He considered her soberly. She held her breath.

  “I’ll tell you one thing. I’m not going to sit tamely by while you push me away because I’m not comfortable for you. I don’t like you treating me like shit. I won’t stand for it. But I think I can recognise fear when I see it.” He scooped her up, lifting her as if she weighed nothing and sat down with her in his lap. His arms wrapped round her and held her tenderly, one hand cupping her cheek.

  “So okay, I’ll stay around. But you realise you owe me. Bigtime.”

  “I owe you?”

  “Yep. Bigtime. This means huge sexual favours.”

  “It does?”

  “Yes. And lots of cooked dinners.”

  “Oh I don’t know about that,” she growled mutinously, melting into him even as she spoke

  “Cooked dinners. Definitely. No question.”

  “Cooked dinners is too much.”

  “Maybe I’ll wash the dishes after you cook for me. Dishes for good behaviour.”

  “I’m sorry about your phone.”

  “That’s right. My phone. Those will need to be some biiig sexual favours.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Absolutely huge.”

  “That might take some time.”

  “Hours probably. Days, even. Weeks.”

  “So we should get started on that then.”

  “I might want a cooked dinner first.”

  “No chance.”

  He sighed heavily, shaking his head. “Sexual favours it is then.”

  She gurgled, high on her release from the awful emotions of the day, squirmed out of his embrace, dropped her pants on the veranda, wiggled her bottom at him and then ran away squealing as he leapt to his feet and ran after her out onto the lawn.

  He caught her easily, tackling her and taking her in a controlled fall, to roll with him underneath her and coming out on top. He moved to lie between her spread legs, his weight bearing her down into the short, dry grass. She giggled and squirmed as if trying to get free, not making any progress anywhere but closer, her hips undulating against him.

  “Now where were we? You were going to. . .no wait, the condoms are in my car. I’ll get them. You hold that thought.”

  “Actually I don’t know that I will be doing you any favours if I wait for you. I haven’t showered or brushed my teeth all day. I need to go wash.”

  “You smell pretty good to me.” He stuck his head in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply.

  “I don’t feel that great though.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.” His hand came up to cup her breast. “Nope, you feel perfect.”

  “Get off, you.” She shoved at him and he reared back and came to his feet in one smooth motion, holding out a hand to help her up too. “I’ll go have a shower and meet you inside.”

  “Will do. And hey, I brought some food as a peace offering. It’s in the car as well. Shall I get it?”

  “You get the food, I’ll get somewhat cleaner. And if you wouldn’t mind grabbing the bedclothes off the lawn, the bed needs making.” She heard him chuckle quietly at her cheekiness, as she skipped off to the bathroom.

  Five or six minutes later she heard the bathroom door open and then shut again, and she squeaked as a hand came around the shower curtain to stroke up one slippery flank.

  “Is that what they call ‘squeaky clean’?” he teased, shucking out of his clothes in a couple of quick motions, and stepping into the tub.

  It was very dimly lit. She had chosen to pull out a single candle rather than switch on the overhead bulb and confront her tear-stained face in its harsh glare, and the sky was almost black out of the window.

  Not that she needed light to read his intentions. His body told her loud and clear as he pressed a massive erection against the cleft in her bottom, pulling her back against his chest and biting at the nape of her neck.

  She shuddered with the streak of pleasure that shot straight from there down to her womb, letting her head fall back onto one broad shoulder as she reached behind her to clasp his buttocks and pull him in even closer.

  He murmured approval in her ear, cupping one of the tender breasts that were thrusting forward into the shower’s spray and plucking lightly at her nipple as his teeth grazed her wet skin. His other hand slid over her flat belly and below it to seek between soft folds for her clitoris. He circled it lightly, his delicate touch a masterful counterpoint to the hard muscularity that enfolded her.

  She moved her hand between them to take hold of his shaft, silky slick in the water, protected by a condom. He groaned and put one arm, solid as a bar, around her waist to lift her high enough to nestle his erection between her legs. She sighed with pleasure as he slid it back and forth over her, and squeezed her upper thighs tightl
y together to increase the friction.

  They both shuddered.

  He set her down and reached down to position himself at the entrance to her body. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly he pushed inside her, parting and stretching her inch by lavish inch.

  She set her forearms against the wall, bending at the waist so she could push back against him. But he moved with her, denying her the control as his fingers returned to stroke her pleasure bud. It blossomed for him and she arched her back and let out a soft cry as the combined sensations whirled her away into an incredibly long, intense orgasm.

  He continued to push into her until he was embedded to the hilt. She felt the fluttering of inner muscles clasping and releasing around him as the waves of delight relented.

  She sighed with satisfaction and as if the sound were a signal he started to withdraw and then return in a masterful motion that became a vigorous pounding, their firm bodies slapping together in primal rhythm. She hadn’t expected to come again after the heights she had just scaled, but the heat and the sounds of his passion had a potent effect and within moments she was catapulted back into ecstasy, his unrelenting thrusts allowing her to ride the wave all the way to its break.

  He slid inside her one final time, hands clutching hard at her hips to hold her in place as he strained for completion, giving a soft, guttural groan. His arms wrapped around her torso and he leaned back against the wall, cuddling her close and kissing her shoulder.

  “So that’s make-up sex,” she said archly, tilting her head to one side. She couldn’t see more than his mouth and jawline, but even that was a pretty good view she mused, lifting a finger to run it over the soft pad of his lower lip. He nipped her affectionately, and she giggled.

  “Sure is,” he said, lifting her slightly and parting her legs so the warm water ran between them. With a gentle palm he wiped her clean of her response to him, reached out for a tiny squirt of shower gel, lathered her feminine folds and then rinsed them. She quivered and sighed, blushingly allowing him to minister to her.