by Sofia Tate
Once we come up for air, he stares at me in wonder. He begins to softly stroke my face with his hands as I lean with my head into his touch. His hands travel down, caressing the sides of my throat, along my shoulders. Reaching the front of my shirt, he rubs my breasts, rolling his hands repeatedly over the cotton fabric. When my nipples pop up, sharp and pointed, his eyes widen, and he takes a deep breath.
“I have another question for you,” he asks me, gravelly and rough.
“Yes,” I reply without hesitation.
“‘Yes,’ what, Venus?”
“Yes, you could make me come just from doing that.”
“Let’s test that theory, shall we?”
Davison starts to unbutton my shirt. He pushes it back from my shoulders as I shimmy it down my arms to let it fall to the floor, never removing my eyes from his burning gaze.
He sees my white cotton bra, inhaling deeply at the sight of my nipples pushing out prominently against the bra’s cups.
“Off,” he commands, pulling at the bra’s straps.
I unhook the back of my bra. His eyes roam over my breasts, hooded with desire, a low growl emanating from his throat. Like a panther about to devour his prey.
He licks his lush lips. “So beautiful.”
With his arms holding my lower back, he dips his head down and clamps his mouth over my left breast. He suckles until my nipple is fully extended, then bites down hard on it.
“More,” I moan, and he obeys, moving to my other breast to give it equal attention. He suckles it while massaging the other one.
If he doesn’t do something more soon, I’m going to explode. My pussy is soaked and I’m on the verge of coming unraveled.
We aren’t acting like horny teenagers. We are primal creatures in heat.
Suddenly, Davison picks his head up from my breast. I whimper from the loss, begging for more. He leans to his left, pressing a button on the wall and speaking into an intercom. “Charles, take the scenic route.”
That piques my curiosity. “Scenic route?”
“Stoplights.”
Oh God, yes.
“I need time for something I’ve wanted to do for weeks.”
“What?”
“Making you come.”
His answer sends me into a frenzy. I want him more than anything at this moment. I want to know how it feels when he makes me come with him inside me. His finger, his cock, I don’t care how. I need him now. Right fucking now.
I push off from him, my hands fumbling as I reach for my belt buckle, then my zipper. He’s panting as loudly as I am, the sounds echoing in my ears, his urgency making me even hotter. At the sight of my white thong, he grunts, “Fuck yes,” as he rips the thin fabric from around my hips.
Now entirely naked, I settle back onto his lap, my hands bracing his shoulders.
“Touch me, Davison. I need you,” I beg him.
I have never desired a man as much as I do at this precise moment. No man has ever made me so aroused, so brazen, making me want things I never have before.
He massages the opening to my slit, finally plunging one finger inside. My back arches from the first contact. “Oh God…more…” I plead.
He thrusts another finger into me and begins pistoning me with them. With my head thrown back and my eyes shut, my entire body bucks as I clamp onto his fingers, sheathing them with my cleft, wishing that it was his penis inside me instead. I grip his shoulders harder, digging my fingernails into his jacket. I hold nothing back. “Yes! Yes! Don’t stop!”
Then when he places the heel of his hand at the exact angle on my pussy to rub my clit, I lose all sense of self. I almost don’t hear him when he rasps, “Look at me, Allegra.”
I open my eyes and lock my gaze on him, the amber flecks in his eyes alight in lust. “Come for me. Now.”
My orgasm comes over me as I ride its glorious wave. “Ahhhhh!” My entire body collapses. I can’t tell which heartbeat is mine. Our bodies match—panting breaths, shaking limbs.
Through heavy-lidded eyes, I watch as Davison tucks a hand under me, coming back up with his fingertips covered in my warm cream. He sucks on each one, long and deep, his eyes never leaving mine. “Mmmm. Delicious,” he declares. I mewl, smiling like a contented feline.
His arms encircle my naked back, pulling me into his body. With no stitch of clothing on, my breasts pressed against the rough fabric of his shirt and his hard chest, I become aroused again. It’s the most erotic sensation I’ve ever experienced. I feel alive, sexy, every nerve ending pulsing with electricity. Even though I’m naked, I feel safe with him, as if he would do anything to protect me.
I lay my face against his chest. I close my eyes, taking in the scents permeating the car—my come, his cologne, fresh male sweat. I know we’re driving over bumps and potholes, but I feel nothing, as if I’m gliding. Davison tilts his head slightly to whisper into my ear. “You undo me, Venus.”
Completely sated, I drift off blissfully for what seems like an eternity. A pair of hands tucks my hair back. “Allegra, wake up. We’re here.”
I open my eyes and see my neighborhood through the tinted windows. I reluctantly pull myself out of Davison’s arms. He envelops my face in his hands.
“Are you all right?”
I nod. “How long was I asleep?”
“Ten minutes. You looked so peaceful. I wish I didn’t have to wake you up.”
I touch his face. “Kiss me good-bye here so we don’t give my neighbors something to talk about.”
He smiles, pulling my lips to his. We kiss more softly this time, our lips swollen from our previous exchange. But the emotion between us is just as electric as before.
I look down at my naked state. “I’d better get dressed.”
“Good idea.”
I slide off him, reaching for my clothes. With my pants on, I reach for my bra, but before I can get ahold of it, Davison grabs it, holding it behind his head.
“Give it to me!”
“Not until you kiss me again.”
I frown for a second, then lean in and peck him on the lips.
“You’re joking, right?”
I roll my eyes and kiss him a bit harder, licking his lips with my tongue.
He smiles. “Better.”
As I’m trying to hook my bra behind me, Davison starts stroking my breasts, flicking my nipples. I look up, and he’s smirking like he’s doing something naughty, and having too much fun doing it.
“You don’t play fair.” I sigh.
“Never said I did,” he says, still playing with my breasts.
Finally, my bra is in place, and I lean down to the floor for my shirt. I shove my arms into the sleeves, but Davison stops me from buttoning it.
“Allow me,” he murmurs.
He does one button, then kisses me. Button, kiss. Button, kiss. When he reaches the last button, he grabs my head and slams his lips over mine, kissing me longer this time, his tongue tangling with mine.
When he pulls away, he smiles. “There. Now I know you’ll miss me while I’m gone.”
I shake my head at his bluntness, laughing at his bravado. But he’s right, arrogant as it may have sounded. His self-confidence arouses me, making me braver and wanting to be with him even more, despite what I vowed to myself about staying away from him.
As is now standard practice with us, Davison steps out of the car and comes around to my door to open it for me. I grab my torn thong from the floor and shove it into my bag.
The cold air hits my face. I take in a deep breath, feeling more alive than I have in a very long time.
We smile at each other. I don’t want him to go, but it’s freezing outside.
I smile at him. “Have a good trip. Call me…Oh, wait. You don’t—”
He holds out his hand expectantly. I know what he wants without him having to say it. I rummage around in my purse until I feel the hard metal rectangle in my hand. I give him my phone and watch as he punches in a few numbers. Then he presses a few mor
e until I hear the thin ring of a cell phone coming from his coat.
“There. Now I have yours, and we can reach each other anytime.” He touches my face one last time. “You’d better get inside.”
I nod. “I’ll see you soon.”
He embraces me with a final kiss on my lips.
Once inside my building, my phone vibrates in my purse. A text is waiting from him already.
Remember, Charles is taking you home after work while I’m gone. We’ll pick up where we left off tonight. I’m counting the hours already, Venus.
I wait until I’m in my bedroom to reply.
God, you’re a pain in the ass. Fine. Tell him I’m off tomorrow night so he doesn’t have to wait for me—forgot to mention that before. And I am counting them too. Sweet dreams, Harvard. xoxo
Another text comes in just then, but it’s from Luciana.
Hey, Alli! My mom can’t use her La Traviata tickets tomorrow night. Wanna go?
I quickly write her back.
Hell yes! I’ll meet you inside at seven. Thanks so much! Can’t wait!
* * *
Dressed in my standard operagoing outfit of my favorite black knit dress, black stockings, and black patent leather kitten heels, I wait for Luciana the next night inside the lobby at the Met.
I open my clutch to check the time on my phone. I always bring two small pieces of my mother with me whenever I come to the Met—her black satin clutch with a gold rose clasp that she bought before I was born, and on my left shoulder, I wear her diamond rose brooch that my father gave to her as an anniversary gift. She would have both with her whenever she and my father went out for dinner or dancing when I was little. I remember her leaning over me, wishing me good night, and kissing me on the cheek as I inhaled her favorite perfume.
Luciana comes rushing through the door, her coat buttoned up to her chin. “Damn, it’s freezing out there!” she exclaims as she hugs me.
We have about thirty minutes until curtain time. “Got the tickets?”
She opens her purse to search for them. “Yeah, yeah. They’re in here somewhere.” Finally, she pulls out a white envelope. “Got them!”
This is my favorite part of going to the Met—taking the walk up the red carpeted stairs to our level. I love ascending the stairs with the others, seeing what everyone is wearing, feeling the hum of anticipation in the air.
Lucy’s mother’s seats are on the third level, known as the Grand Tier, on the front-row side aisle.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” she says, dumping her coat on her chair. “I’ll be right back.”
“No problem.” I cover the back of my seat with my coat, looking out at the familiar scene. I take out my opera glasses from their tiny case and hold them up to my eyes, eager to check out the house.
As I turn from left to right, someone catches my eye diagonally across from me on the second level, specifically in the second box from the left. My glasses fix on a woman flipping her platinum hair back over her shoulder after she removes her fur coat. Once I focus the lenses, I can see a man embrace her shoulders as he leans in to place a kiss on each of her cheeks. An older couple is sitting behind her. After she sits down in her chair, the man remains standing within full view of me.
I gasp.
Motherfucker.
It’s Davison. I know even without seeing her face that the blonde is Ashton, his supposed ex-girlfriend.
I begin to shake, my breath caught in my throat. I’m paralyzed, unable to look away. My entire body is so focused on the sight ahead of me that I don’t even feel Lucy’s hand on my arm until she squeezes it harder.
“Jesus, Alli, what’s wrong?”
I hand over the glasses to her. “The second box from the left on the Parterre level, the one with the blonde.”
She shifts her body to the correct angle and freezes. “Oh my God. Is that who I think it is?”
“Yes,” I sputter.
Lucy puts down the glasses and sees my face. “Okay, what’s going on with you two? Because it’s obviously become more serious since I last saw you if you’re reacting like this.”
I lean over and whisper into her ear what happened the night before in the Maybach.
A variety of exclamations come out of Lucy’s mouth as I recall the events, ranging from “Oh my God!” to “Holy shit!” I end with him telling me about his “trip” to China.
“So that’s what he told you?”
“Yes,” I barely manage, choking back my tears and my anger. “But he’s not in Shanghai. He’s here. At the Met. With Ashton.”
I begin to pull on my coat. Lucy clasps her hand over mine. “Whoa! Where are you going?”
“Home. I can’t be here.”
But it’s too late. The decorative house lights that hang above the orchestra seats, the ones that look like glistening snowflakes falling from the ceiling, are being pulled up, indicating the start of the overture.
Lucy knows what that means as well as I do. She reaches around my shoulders with her left arm. “We’ll leave at intermission,” she whispers. “If we go now, they might see us.”
As much as I’m dying to get out of there, I know she’s right. I nod in agreement.
“The second the lights come up,” I confirm.
“We’ll be outta here.”
The audience applauds the arrival of the conductor. The overture ends and the lights go down.
I can’t help myself. I reach for my glasses and look across the house again to the second-level boxes. Davison is sitting to Ashton’s right. Because his box is close to the stage, its lights provide me an ample vantage point from my seat to see their box clearly. Ashton is constantly leaning into his side, placing her hand on his shoulder, whispering into his ear as he nods in reply to whatever she is saying. I can even see him smiling at times in reaction to her comments.
When I see her right arm lift and move to her right, and then Davison’s left arm move slightly and shift to the left, I know exactly what’s happened. Her hand is now on his left thigh, and his left hand is on top of hers, holding it in place.
I shut my eyes and bite down on my lower lip. Taking a deep breath, I start mentally admonishing myself.
I should’ve known better. I ignored the voice in my head, and look where it got me. Used and thrown away like I was a fucking distraction.
I thought he was different, but he isn’t. He’s a player. He gets off on it.
Well, we’re done. At least I know now before I got completely invested in whatever it was we had. And more important, I’m still safe. Safe from the press and the public eye.
I sense the weight of Lucy’s eyes on me. She takes the glasses from my hands, first placing them on her lap, and then my hand in hers.
I adore Verdi’s operas. I can recite the lyrics along with the singers. But I’m not enjoying anything—not the staging, the costumes, the music. None of it. All I can do is close my eyes and pray for the first act to end quickly. As the last lines are sung, I pull on my coat, ready to make a quick escape. Lucy follows my lead and does the same. The curtain comes down, and we scurry out even as the lights are still coming on.
I quickly walk down the stairs, pushing my way out the lobby doors. Lucy is right behind me, guiding me to the fountain that sits in the center of the plaza, sitting me down on the black marble.
“It’ll be okay. Just let it out, sweetie,” she coos, rubbing my back.
I turn to her, surprised. “I’m not going to cry over him. Did you think I would?”
Her eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Yeah, kind of.”
“Well, I’m not,” I reassure her. “He’s a player, Lucy. I should’ve fucking known better. He made me feel things I never have before, and then he goes to the opera with someone who he told me was his ex. I’m done being taken for a fool. And frankly, I’m glad it’s over because I don’t have to worry about anyone finding out about me. I can go back to my life as it was, no one the wiser.”
“That’s bullshit, Alli, es
pecially after what you told me happened last night between you two. You can’t just end it without talking to him first.”
“Of course I can,” I tell her determinedly.
“No, you can’t. You need to talk to him. Get the truth from him. Then decide what you want to do.”
I stand up. “All I want to do now is go home.”
She gives in with a sigh. “Okay.” Now on her feet, she pulls me toward the front of the plaza that faces Columbus Avenue, but then a thought strikes me. “Wait, we need to take the side stairs. Charles will be waiting out front for Davison.”
“Who’s Charles?”
“Davison’s driver. He’ll see me and tell him.”
She nods. “Good idea. Come on, let’s go.”
Arms linked, we hurry for the stairs that open onto West Sixty-Fifth Street. Lucy raises her hand in the air for a taxi.
I grab her arm. “What are you doing? Are you crazy? I can’t afford a cab all the way back to Little Italy!”
She waves me off. “It’s on me. No way are you taking the subway home after tonight. And Tribeca’s not that far away from you. I can practically walk home if I wanted to.”
I smile at her as a cab pulls over to the curb.
We don’t say a word to each other as the taxi takes the same route that Charles has taken with Davison and me these past weeks—except for last night, that is, with all of the stoplights.
Before I get out of the cab, I give Lucy a hug. “Thank you.”
“Call me if you need me. And remember, talk to him before you do anything.”
At that moment, the thought of talking to him unnerves me, as resolute as I am in my decision. I can only nod. “Night, Lucy.”
“Night. Try to get some rest.”
Thankfully, my father is asleep when I walk in. Once I’m in my room, I strip off my clothes and leave them on the floor. I dive under the covers and attempt to go to sleep, but it’s useless. I stick in my earbuds and turn on my iPod, choosing Chopin’s “Raindrop Prelude” to calm my restless, anxious mood.
* * *