LOVERS

by Roxy Harte

  “I haven’t finished undressing you yet.” I pout.

  “I’ll undress myself.”

  “What happened to patience?” I ask innocently.

  He strips quickly, sheaths his cock in latex, and thrusts fast and hard before answering, “I don’t have any today.”

  We both seem driven by the knowledge that today is our last day together before we have to go back to real life, and our joining is one of rough need. He pounds me hard and my labia, which I thought was no longer tender from Jameson’s attention, throbs. I bite his shoulder to keep from screaming out. I know I will leave a mark. He doesn’t stop me. He does bite me back and with our teeth we hold on as orgasm lifts us both to panting, growling release.

  His release is the beginning. He rolls onto his back, pulling me with his motion so that I end up straddling him. “Take from me what you will, Bianca. I need the fierceness that I know you are holding back from me.”

  I hold his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest.

  He commands me, “Fuck me! Fuck me now! I want to remember this day for the rest of my life, so please, fuck me like you mean it.”

  He doesn’t have to ask twice. The need in his voice pushes a button inside me and suddenly I am all over him…savagely…primitively. I don’t kiss, I bite. I don’t stroke him gently, I slap him hard. I hurt him until he is hard as granite, and then I ride him. Harder and faster and more frantically than I have ever ridden any man. Orgasm after orgasm is yanked from our bodies, our screams can be heard for miles.

  I don’t dominate him. He doesn’t dominate me. We share our fierceness.

  After, lying in his arms, I wish for time to stand still. I trace the outline of my teeth imprinted in his shoulder. “This is going to leave a mark.”

  “I don’t care.”

  I kiss the damage. “I care. I should have been more responsible.”

  “I didn’t want you to hold back, I wanted you mindless.”

  I chuckle, kissing another mark. “I think you got your wish.”

  He pulls me into a tight hug, and I rest my head over his chest. I doze, and wake to him looking at me.

  I ask, “What are you thinking?”

  “I was wondering what you looked like as a little girl.” I flinch, not meaning to, and hope he doesn’t notice but when he says, “Tell me about your childhood,” I know he not only noticed but that he probably won’t let this go.

  I lie, “I don’t remember my childhood.”

  He wraps his arms around me tighter. “You have to learn to trust me, Bianca. Tell me something, anything that you want, something you have never shared about yourself with another lover, just so we will have that trust between us.”

  I roll to look at him and his need is evident in his eyes. Of course he has no idea what he is asking for, no idea the can of worms he would open if the box of childhood memories that I have hidden even from myself were to open.

  I know the box is there. It is a heavy weight on the edge of my consciousness, but I force myself to not look. I try to think of something less substantial…

  I consider telling him about Bebé, but why would I? I’ve spent fourteen years running from that sordid chapter of my life.

  “Please, Bianca. Tell me something about what influenced you most. Who do I have to thank for making you such an amazing woman?”

  No, no, no. It’s only getting worse, the lid of the box begging to be opened. I have to think of something to tell him. Think, think.

  I shrug. “I’m self-made. I am who I am because I forced myself to live when I would have rather died.”

  He hugs me tighter. “Trust me, Bianca. Trust me with your soul. I promise I’ll keep it safe.”

  I shudder in his arms. “I’m trying, Bishop. I am.”

  He kisses the top of my head but sounds sad. “I know.”

  We lie in silence, my secrets eating a hole in my soul. I’ve never told anyone the truth. Not anyone. I don’t tell Bishop his questions have made me remember what it has taken me decades to forget. I close my eyes, remembering how hot the sun felt on my back, and the trickling bead of sweat that dripped down my neck.

  Remembering hurts so much.

  I watch the memory in my head like a film, no longer associating me with the child…she is just a character on a screen. To admit she was me…

  That she was hurt, remembering I was the one…

  Well, that would take me to a place of weakness I’m not willing to own.

  A sob breaks from my chest and I let Bishop hold me. I let him comfort me, but I don’t tell him anything he thinks he wants to know. No one wants to know my truth, not really. I sure as hell don’t.

  Chapter 19

  Adrian

  I’m not sure how long I stood watching after Toby when she ran from me. Too long obviously, because when my feet finally started moving to go after her, she had disappeared into thin air. It only took about two seconds after that to decide I was a complete and utter asshole.

  I don’t deserve Toby.

  I never did.

  The last six hours have been spent on my Harley, looking for her. It would probably make more sense to go back home and wait for her, but the fear is she won’t come home and that’s what has kept me looking for her past the point of common sense. A thick fog has blanketed most of the city, and my only option now is to wait.

  I turn my bike around and start back toward the apartment. Two blocks later, I see her sitting on the curb, her face buried in her hands, sobbing.

  I can’t park my bike fast enough.

  Dismounting, I go to her and pull her into my arms.

  “Shhh, Toby. I’m not going anywhere. I’m yours. Do you hear me? I’m yours. Today, tomorrow, forever.”

  “I know, Adrian, and I’m yours.” She sniffles. “I just can’t give you that.”

  “I don’t want you to. I’ve never even asked.”

  I take her hand and pull her down the alleyway, making her walk with me, making her hold my hand, even though I know holding hands makes her feel uncomfortable. Once we are far enough down the alley, it turns residential. Granted, we aren’t in the best part of town but it feels safe enough. I pull her down a side road. Here everything is still and quiet. We’ve walked in silence and I know she replays the scene with me and Phelps. I would give anything if she hadn’t seen. Sometimes just knowing is bad enough, now she has a permanent record in her head of what I do when I am with others.

  “It isn’t all about the intercourse, Toby.”

  “It seems like it is.”

  I lead her into a city park. The fog is heavier here, masking the shapes so that the swings aren’t distinguishable from the slides or teeter-totters until we almost walk into them. She relaxes and I know it is the white swirling around us, cocooning us, making her feel safe.

  “No, Toby. I won’t lie to you, I enjoy intercourse. I really need intercourse sometimes, but intimacy? Love? That really has nothing to do with sticking my dick in someone.” I lead her to a bench and we sit. She would pull her hand from mine but I don’t let her. I look at her and despite the harsh persona she presents to the world, to me she seems fragile.

  Sometimes I wonder what happened to her.

  Sometimes I think she must have just been born this way and that no tragedy created who she is and what seems like her discomfort with her sexuality.

  She lifts her eyes to me, her head still tilted down. The look she gives me is one of need and lust—not the look of a tough little boy, but the gaze of a woman who knows what she wants. She makes me feel like a piece of meat, but that’s okay, because I like being a piece of meat, a fuck toy, even though with Toby the translation of fuck toy twists a bit…still, I am not surprised when she whispers, “Will you suck me off, Adrian?”

  “Yes.”

  She stands up and her body slices through the fog. Standing only inches away from me, I see her clearly, but around us, nothing but swirling white, the playground equipment, the neighborhood houses, even the city beyond
, gone. She steps into the space between my spread legs, just standing there, silently inviting me to do what I will, and I take the initiative, smoothing my hands down her bare arms, feeling the strength of her muscles, her bones, feeling the smooth suppleness of her youthful skin. From shoulders to fingertip I stroke her, lingering over her palms before I drop my hands to the tail of her tight fitting camisole, red today, a rare show of color against her pale, pale flesh. I let my fingertips drag up her skin, touching her as I bare her, lifting the fabric, exposing her belly, her ribcage, her breast. She lifts her arms and I pull the shirt over her head and drop it onto the bench beside me. Her eyes seek mine and I know that she wants a reassurance, a kiss, but I don’t give her that, instead, I lean into her, taking her nipple into my mouth and suck.

  She gasps.

  It isn’t a gasp of fear or pain; it is the sound of pleasure from a woman’s lips.

  I suck harder, squeezing the firm globes of her small breasts, then switching to suck the other nipple. Her head falls back, and her breathing becomes ragged.

  I release her and lean back, looking at her. She grows shy under my gaze. I take her hand and tell her, “Step up.”

  She steps up, standing on the bench, one foot on either side of my thigh. I think we both know where this is going.

  “You want me to suck your dick, little boy?”

  She nods and the fog swirls around her shoulders.

  I unbutton her pants and slide them down to her knees, pulling her hips toward my face. I lick her over her clit. “Are you going to get hard for me, little boy?”

  She sighs, and I know I have struck a chord with her even though she would argue the fact with me night and day. She likes it when I address her gender, calling her clit a dick and treating it as such.

  I lick again, this time sliding my tongue deeper, letting it run along the smooth, slick trail of her labia, but not penetrating, making sure I stay on the outside. The soft curls of the hair covering her pubis tickle my nose as I bury my face against her, inhaling her scent. The action gets an immediate reaction as she fidgets against me. Pinching her clit between my fingers, feeling the firmness of her, I suck her in, licking the underside of her clit as I suck, knowing that this is what she likes.

  Her hips rock and she tangles her fingers in my hair, crying out. My brain wanders to the moment when Phelps was on his knees, blowing me, and I fucked his face. I miss him when he’s away. More and more, I want to seek him out, go to the old haunts when he isn’t brave enough to come and find me.

  I tighten my hold on Toby’s clit with my lips and teeth, letting her pull and push, letting her fuck my face, wishing I was still fucking his, and hating myself for being such a bastard.

  Chapter 20

  Bianca

  It’s morning before I want it to be. I’m flying home today. Bishop is flying to Sydney. I keep wishing he’d ask me to go with him, but I realize the last thing he needs on his business trip is his mistress. It seems strange in my head when I think about it that way, his mistress, but how else can I think about it? What other word is there?

  He isn’t a boyfriend.

  He isn’t strictly a lover.

  I can’t stop myself from asking him, “Will I see you soon?” just before I board the flight.

  He kisses me gently. “Not soon enough for my liking. Call me as soon as you get home.”

  I nod, not expecting to cry but I do. When did I lose control of my emotions? Somewhere in the wetness of tears and finality of quick kisses, words are whispered that shouldn’t be. I love you. Worse, I think I say them first.

  But he echoes, “I love you,” too.

  He hugs me, and I hug him a final time. I lean my lips against his ear. “You asked me about my childhood. I didn’t have one. My mother sold me for a handful of pesos when I was younger than your daughter.”

  He pulls away from me, his fingers biting into my upper arms, a look of horror on his face as he gazes into my eyes to validate the truth of my words.

  “Keep my secret safe, Bishop. I’m trusting you to.”

  I turn to leave, but he catches my hand. “Why did you tell me that?”

  “I’ve never had a lover who ever wanted to know what my childhood was like. Just you.”

  He kisses me again, and by the way he kisses me I know he doesn’t want to believe what I just told him. He probably has already connected the dots and figured out the worst of it by himself.

  Final boarding is announced. “I have to go.”

  He shakes his head. “I’ll cancel my flight. We can’t leave it as it is.”

  “Why?” I ask. “Nothing has changed except you now know something you didn’t.”

  He looks so sad, so lost as I walk away from him. I guess it’s shocking, what I told him. For me, it was just part of my life. Part of what made me who I am.

  I blow him a final kiss, and he lifts his hand. I hear his shout, reminding me to call him. “As soon as you are home!”

  Chapter 21

  Bishop

  I rarely change plans but when Bianca said, “I love you,” Sydney was forgotten.

  In that moment I was given a choice: follow her, grab her, hold her, give her my soul, or go home and find whatever peace I could.

  With a heavy sigh and heavier heart, I step out of my shoes and step into my Tokyo house. The exterior is very modern, but within Old Japan welcomes me. We have filled our house with antiques and artifacts. We live simply. Only one room is set aside for media, and it is used rarely. I feel like I have stepped back in time. Here, all the thoughts troubling my mind can melt away.

  A tatami mat crunches lightly underfoot. Closing the door, I am enveloped by silence. I inhale deeply of the fragrance permeating the air. Home.

  It is very late. The children are asleep, so I drop my bags softly and pad through the house to their rooms. I don’t go to them and pull them to me as I’d like to. I don’t want to wake them. My mind weeps, wondering how any parent, regardless of how desperate, could do what Bianca’s mother did.

  My children are fine. I knew they would be. I just needed to see them.

  More, I needed to remind myself who I am and how I fit in the world. There is nothing more important than my family.

  The lights are on in my office and I go there, knowing I will find my wife. She works tirelessly. I know that she is the heart and soul of our success on the international market.

  I watch her from the doorway, her face scrunched as she faces the computer screen. She looks up with a start, covering her mouth with her hand to soften her cry. “Oh! I didn’t know you were here.”

  I smile and close the distance between us. Kneeling in front of her, I drop my head into her lap. “It’s good to be home. I’ve missed you.”

  I sob. There is no holding back as my heart crumbles and falls to her feet. I pray she can put it back together again. I never meant to bring such heartache to her, but despair will surely be all that is left at the end of this day.

  She lifts my head with gentle hands but doesn’t ask What has happened? though it must be evident that something has. I sit back, holding her gaze as she reaches out to touch my face. She catches a tear on her fingertip. “It is good you are home. You are away too much.”

  I whisper, “I need you.”

  She smiles softly, then nods.

  I want to ask her if she is certain, because I know that even if she was in excruciating pain she would allow me to make love to her…I don’t ask…I can’t bear denial tonight.

  I’m not sure when she started seeing it as duty, maybe she always did. I see it as my job to lift her above duty, remind her that making love isn’t solely about my need but hers as well. Sometimes I succeed. I hate it when I can’t.

  I lift her from her wheelchair and carry her to our bedroom. I lay her back onto our mattress. I bought a western bed last year when I noticed that the floor futon seemed to exacerbate her pain.

  She opens her robe and she is nude beneath. Her skin is scented with che
rry blossom and jasmine, a body wash I found for her on my last trip.

  “Are you in pain tonight?” I ask. “I could give you a massage.”

  “No, no massage tonight. I need you.”

  She presses her fingers against my lips when I start to argue. I worry about whether she has been in much pain today. I worry if we have intercourse she will be in even more pain.

  She smiles at me, reaching up to pull my tie free. She pushes my jacket off my shoulders and I help her by slipping free. I remember the bruise on my shoulder where Bianca bit me last night…bit me many times on repeated occasions. Her savagery made me crazed then, but the repercussion of that would be hurting Hiroko by allowing her to see me with the bruises left by another woman.

  I pick up my tie and wrap it around her eyes.

  She smiles softly. It has been a long time since we played any bedroom games. I make certain she can’t see before I take off my shirt and pants. Dark bruises are evident when I look down. I’m thankful I thought quickly.

  “Do you want to play a game?” I whisper.

  “Oh, yes, Bishop. A game would be very nice.”

  I open a drawer on the bedside table and withdraw several objects. First, I run a feather over her jaw, teasing there before pulling the quill down her neck. “Guess,” I say.

  “That one is too easy,” she answers. “The snowy white egret feather that you found in the yard last winter.”

  “Yes.” I pick up an ink pen. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

  She obeys. I draw the end of the pen in a teasing pattern over the roof of her mouth before running the shaft over her tongue. The pen could be one of half a dozen objects, but again she answers correctly.

  “You have gotten too good at this game. I need to give you a real challenge.” I spy a tall, narrow perfume bottle and stretch to reach it, trying to not disturb the bed with my motions. There is also lotion next to the bed. I quickly scoop a bit of the lotion and, separating her thighs with my knee, I reach between her legs to smear the lotion on her ass. She jerks. She will not let me mount her and penetrate her this way because the pain would be too great.