by Roxy Harte
I laugh. Dinner? Really? I try to not let my disappointment show. “I live in West Hollywood, do you think anything regarding relationships would really shock me? Now, you on the other hand, missionary parents, wife and two children, I could be concerned I will be too shocking for you, especially when I tell you that I have two boyfriends and that nothing about our relationships is exclusive.”
I honestly think that I have shocked him, because he looks at me an extra long moment before commenting, “But of course you all observe safe sex practices.”
I smile behind my coffee, agreeing, “Of course.” I wink at him. “We also get tested once a month. Want to see my all-clear STD check-up card?”
“Is there such a thing?” he asks with sincerity.
I laugh, assuring him, “Yes, yes there is, and I don’t leave home without it.” I take a sip of latte, he swirls the coffee in his cup, watching the liquid intently. I decide I’ve embarrassed him and need to institute a conversation rescuer. “So, I’ve talked non-stop, please, tell me about you. Who is Bishop Farrington?”
He looks up and smiles. “That could take awhile.”
“I have time,” I say, smiling, hoping it is enough encouragement to get him talking, because the thought of just cruising the streets all night really doesn’t appeal…and besides, he’s definitely eye-candy—it won’t be a hardship keeping him company.
“Just remember, you asked…”
I laugh and he starts his tale, “I was the only son of a missionary couple living in Japan. When they returned to the United Kingdom for health reasons, I stayed in Japan because my life is there.”
“Wife, children,” I say. “Is it hard, being a bi-racial couple in Japan?”
“It was, in the beginning. Perhaps especially hard because while being in a bi-racial marriage is still fairly looked down on, marrying someone who is disabled is just flat taboo.”
I raise my eyebrows.
He explains, “I love Hiroko with all my heart, she is an extremely intelligent woman, the brains behind all of my endeavors, but she has had a tough life. She has spent much of her adult life in a wheelchair because as a child she was diagnosed with Polyarticular Arthritis.”
I nod, although I really don’t understand.
“Despite the nature of our relationship, my being Caucasian and her being in a wheelchair, our community has accepted us although those same circumstances should have made us social outcasts.”
I try to imagine his life and hate knowing I am so shallow I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. If Adrian or Jameson expresses they have headaches, I usually find some terribly important errand to run just to avoid their grumpiness.
I take a sip of my latte, hiding my discomfort. “You’re an amazing man to have taken on such a responsibility. I mean, I’m sorry, that sounded horrible. I just can’t imagine…not being able to walk…or do things…geez, I should just stop talking.”
“It’s all right. I understand.” He chuckles. “Hiroko can walk, it is just a very painstaking endeavor. Her hips are severely affected, and one leg is significantly longer than the other. As far as the other things, our sexual relations are limited. We were lucky she was able to safely deliver twins, although it wasn’t without complications. However, because I travel extensively, the birth of our children was a blessing to my wife.”
I hide my face behind my hands, embarrassed. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“I would have been more worried if you hadn’t been curious.” He pulls my hands down and looks into my eyes, seeming cautiously thoughtful. “I meant it when I said that I would like to see you again.”
I find myself at a loss of words.
“Hiroko accepts that I sometimes seek out companions when I am out of the country, though in fact I rarely do. When I am in Japan, I am completely devoted to her.”
It is my turn to stare into my cup, although mine is empty, no swirling liquid to contemplate upon. Do I want to be a fleeting pleasure? Wasn’t I just contemplating going clubbing to intentionally pick up a random stranger? I almost laugh at myself but fail to do so because hysteria brims to the surface. This was why I walked away from my career. Promiscuity. Scandal. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll is not just a clever ad campaign, and I ran as fast and as hard as I could from that life. For what? A lesser version of the same? I remind myself there are no dead Dukes and no jail cells in my present.
My cellphone vibrates in my purse. Being a welcome interruption, I look to see who it is, expecting Adrian. The caller ID identifies Jameson, leaving me confused. “I’m sorry, I need to take this.”
“Quite all right.” He stands, lifting my empty cup. “One more?”
I nod, mouthing thank you as I flip open my phone to the sound of Jameson demanding, “Where in the hell are you?”
“What?” I ask, shocked, unable to imagine what has happened. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to one of the boys?”
“The boys are fine. Adrian, however, is a lunatic, and when he couldn’t get hold of you on your cellphone, he called here, demanding to talk to you. So just where in the fuck are you, if you aren’t with him and you aren’t accepting his calls?”
I sit stunned for a second. “Adrian called you?”
“He said you had a fight, you’d been drinking and that you peeled out of the parking lot, he assumed to go home.”
“Yes, that’s all true…except for the fight part—it was more of a misunderstanding.”
“Call him and tell him that you are not dead on the side of the road, please.”
“Yes, I will.”
“Will you be home soon then?”
“No, Jameson. I’m fine, I’m sitting at an all-night coffee shop having latte with a friend. It’s boys’ night, and I’m not going to interfere with your time together. I’ve caused you quite enough grief with Emma this week already.”
“Screw Emma, she needs to get over herself. Come home.”
“If you think screwing Emma will help, by all means, please do, but honestly, I’m fine. It’s a beautiful evening, and I’m safe in the company of a very good friend,” I lie and almost feel guilty about it. “I’ll be home by noon.”
I disconnect as Bishop sits back down, fresh coffee and latte in hand. I find myself unsure of how to respond to his invitation to share a one-night stand with him but since I just lied to Jameson it seems chances are leaning in Bishop’s favor…unless he does something really stupid to screw it up, which I don’t see happening based on the last hour. I half-heartedly promise myself that this is it. My final one-night stand. I can’t keep doing this…
It isn’t safe.
I watch him beneath hooded lashes as I blow into my steaming drink to cool it. I take a sip and sigh. “I think this one is actually better than the first.”
“Good,” he says, smiling. “So I’ve been promoted to the position of very good friend. I can assume that was one of the two boyfriends?”
I grin guiltily, admitting, “Yes, Jameson. It seems Adrian had him quite worried.”
“Adrian being boyfriend number two and the man whose company you are actually supposed to be in tonight?”
My cellphone vibrates in my hand.
“Yes, and if we are to get any peace at all, I should answer this.”
“I need to make a trip to the men’s room anyway.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to go.”
“No, really, I do.” He laughs. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch him walk away, small flutters low in my pelvis letting me know I haven’t forgotten his proposal. I definitely want to see him naked, but as I shift in my chair I also realize that my pussy is still achingly tender. Damn.
I answer on the third vibration with a terser than necessary, “Hello?”
“She lives!” he cries out sarcastically.
“Yes, Adrian, I’m alive. A bit theatrical calling Jameson, don’t you think?”
“I wanted to make sure you are okay.”
&nb
sp; “I’m fine,” I assure him. “How’s Toby?”
“She’s asleep.”
“Good. That’s probably for the best. It seemed like a fairly intense scene for her.” I don’t try to make my voice sound accusing, but I know it comes out that way. I watch the pedestrian traffic walking by the window, amazed that Hollywood Boulevard really doesn’t ever sleep. I take two sips of latte before I realize that Adrian has been silent. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m not quite sure what to say,” he answers. “You know that Toby is my primary partner.”
I roll my eyes. How could I ever forget? Toby is Adrian’s primary and even though they are separated Emma is Jameson’s primary partner. I sigh, thinking that maybe I should get my own primary partner…and that maybe I should start the interview process tonight. Even though Bishop is totally unacceptable as a candidate since he’s already married. But still…I smile, seeing him walk toward me. He could be practice-interview opportunity, and what better contender for a practice run? His self-confidence lights the room, and the suit he’s wearing barely disguises the fact that he is in top physical condition.
“Tell me that you owe me a rain check for tonight and that you are really going to make tonight’s disaster up to me when you see me again.”
“Word for word?”
I laugh. “In your own words will suffice.”
“When can I see you?”
Under normal circumstances, I would have answered, “Sunday,” but as I watch Bishop walk toward me, I realize I’m hoping I will have other plans for the weekend, especially as he draws nearer and his closeness makes my heart pound faster.
“Jameson has the boys Tuesday night. Can we shoot for that?” I ask, as Bishop pulls out a chair. He lifts an eyebrow, asking without words if he can join me. I nod, and he sits.
“Tuesday it is. I’m going to make tonight up to you, Bianca. I honestly didn’t mean for things to happen the way they did.”
I close my eyes, hearing the words and not believing him. “Wonderful,” I say, hanging up on him.
“You’re not really big on saying goodbye, are you?”
I lift my eyebrow, asking sarcastically, “Perceptive much?”
He smiles and laughs.
I think about it a second. “You’re right. I rarely ever say those words.”
“What about ‘I love you’? That seems a fairly common closure for a phone conversation as well.”
I glance away, not sure what to say.
“I’m sorry, I’ve made you uncomfortable.”
I look up and am surprised he is gazing at me with an expression of concern. Fatherly goes through my mind, but I briskly brush that thought away because Bishop is not much older than I am, probably close to the same age as Jameson. I meet his gaze. “No, you haven’t. I rarely place a lot of introspection on the dynamics of my relationships. They are what they are, nothing more.”
He reaches out and takes my hand, and it seems like a tingle of electricity goes up my arm, curling my toes, and awakening fresh desire. I want him, a lot. I look at his face, enjoying his mouth most, his lips are full and sensual. I imagine what his kisses will feel like…I imagine him going down on me. My vagina contracts in anticipation, and I am rewarded with a jolt of pain. I flinch.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry.”
“No, I’m well acquainted with what pain looks like on a woman’s face and that, my dear, was pain. What just happened?”
“Much too perceptive,” I say, looking away, embarrassed, and do a thorough glance around the room, checking to see who if anyone is in earshot, before looking back at him. I meet his gaze. “I’d be really embarrassed to explain.”
“This coming from the woman who just told me she has not one but two boyfriends, an open relationship with both, and gets herself STD tested on a monthly basis.”
I chuckle, blushing.
“And—” he teases, “—she blushes, rather sweetly by the way.”
“Can I tell you about it someplace a little more private?” I ask as a waitress passes by, wiping tables as she goes.
“My offer still stands. I would like nothing more than to take you to the hotel and make love to you. What will it take to convince you that it really is a good idea to go back to my room with me?”
“Should I?” I smile at him, though it is a subtle, slightly embarrassed smile, which I end up hiding behind my fingertips as I face the odd feeling of being slightly off balance, fluttery on the inside. Now that we have quite suddenly gone from innocent coffee to intimacy, or at least the hint of intimacy, bypassing all of the flirting etiquette that usually propels people from one place to the other, I am left pondering why I am so unsettled by the idea, attracted to the thought of joining him, but definitely holding back from that which suddenly seems so forbidden, though I can’t place a finger on why.
“You should.”
I fidget, wanting so badly to not be hurting, because I really do want what he is suggesting. I lean to my right, whispering, “You might withdraw your offer.”
“I doubt that.”
I wait until the waitress is back behind the counter before whispering in his ear, “Sex was a little too vigorous this morning, and I’m a bit tender…down there.”
“Is that all?” He chuckles merrily. “That I can deal with.”
As he stands and holds out his hand to me, I decide that I’m glad he’s that confident.
THE RENAISSANCE HOLLYWOOD, is close, very close, and that’s a good thing because if it was much farther, I’d chicken out, not because of anything he’s done wrong, that’s the problem, everything he’s said and done are perfect. He doesn’t even offer to hold my hand as we walk, as if he knows that holding hands in public makes me crazy, but maybe it’s just because he is a married man. My knees shake in the elevator, and my eyes dart from his every time our gazes meet. I’m anxious…anxious for the what next. Anxious as a sixteen-year-old virgin on the night of her deflowering. Is that crazy?
I expect to be disappointed, because I have already found the two most amazing lovers in all of West Hollywood, admitting that I’ve sampled my fair share—and leaving it at that—to find them. So really, how can this man compare?
That’s the problem.
I want to compare.
Kiss for kiss, lick for lick, agonizing thrust for thrust…I want to know what this man feels like and that makes absolutely no sense to me. How long have I known him? Three hours? Oh God, we’re at his room.
“Welcome to my home away from home, at least when I’m in LA.” He opens the door and holds it open while I step inside before him.
The room is brightly lit, every light on. He has an extra large suite and a wonderful view of the city. I wonder why I expected anything less as I walk to the window bank to look down at the street far below.
“You treat yourself well when you travel.”
“I travel as I live. Why would I want to settle for less when I’m on the road two-thirds of the year?”
God, I miss being on the road.
“I generally try to avoid hotels,” I admit, not revealing how much they were once a part of my past. Concierge, room service, valet parking, limos…
He pulls me into his arms, and I don’t resist. “Well, hopefully you won’t find my hotel room too distressing.”
I swallow hard, knowing the moment is at hand. He is going to kiss me. I open my mouth to speak, to agree, but then his lips are on mine and I am lost in the softness of his lips, the pure power of his kiss. Without prelude his tongue penetrates my mouth, seeking my tongue to dally with and my only thought is that if he fucks as well as he kisses, I may not survive until morning.
His hand wraps around the back of my neck, pulling me more tightly into the kiss, letting me know that he is the one in control of this show. I wonder if I led him to believe that I’m submissive, because I rarely am, although with Jameson I enjoy encouraging his dominant side because it so rarely rears its hea
d. With Adrian, I always top, and I think that is why he enjoys me. I challenged him our first time together and he relinquished, allowing me to top. We’ve never reverted back, although I’ve watched him top others and enjoy seeing him dominate when he does. I’ve just never experienced him that way.
“Do I frighten you?” Bishop whispers against my mouth.
“No,” I answer softly. “Why?”
“You’re trembling.”
“I want you…desperately,” I say in explanation.
“Good.” He licks my bottom lip, and my desire shoots to the moon. “I want you to want me.”
I’m not sure how I didn’t notice, but while we were kissing he slid the raincoat off my shoulders. The fabric hits the floor, exposing my ultra revealing dress beneath. His eyebrow arches and I explain, “Clubwear.”
“Obviously.” He pushes the zipper of my dress down my back, and I only notice when he pulls the fabric down, exposing my shoulders. He kisses my neck and one shoulder before pulling the dress lower, exposing the tops of my breasts, my lace bra an inch at a time. He stops kissing me to watch the unveiling of my flesh. I too am drawn to watch.
He lowers his mouth to the tops of my breasts, kissing, then licking each, his tongue sliding beneath the lace to stroke my areolas. I feel the slightly darker flesh tighten, my nipples ache. “I want you to suck my nipples.”
“In time,” he answers and returns to the soft teasing of my flesh.
My dress slides and drops between us, pooling at my ankles. He pulls away and looks at me, stepping back so he can see all of me. I am dressed for a date, dressed for Adrian’s taste, wearing a pale lace bra and panty set, matching garter, and silk hose, in the same soft shade of pink that is barely noticeable against my skin, but pink just the same, only obvious at the band of lace at the tops of the stockings.
I watch for expression changes on Bishop’s face, but he holds his reaction to me in check. Do I imagine a slight widening of his eyes, because I want so badly to see a reaction? Still holding my hand, he pulls me slightly toward him, so that I have to step out of my dress.
I wore the four-inch heels tonight, also for Adrian, because he is so tall, six feet, four and I like being taller when I am with him. Normally, with Jameson, I’ll wear a lower heel because he is my height, five-seven, and he doesn’t like it when I wear my higher heels, making me slightly taller.