by Allen, Dylan
His hands slip past the waistband of my leggings, his strong, calloused hands knead the bare flesh of my ass, and his fingers dig into me like they’re desperate to make sure I can’t go anywhere.
There’s a sliver of pain that zig zags through the pleasure and intensifies. Everything throbs and I scramble to get closer. I’m frantic by the time he lifts me off my feet and my legs wrap around his waist.
The thin fabric of my borrowed leggings is no match for the insistent press of his rigid erection, and I gasp at the pleasure that pulses through me.
“God, you taste like fucking paradise. I want to feel your pussy,” he mutters words I should find filthy, but instead, I want to hear them again.
“Yes.”
He presses me back against the door and then places his hands on either side of my head. He uses his hips to hold me in place while he shows me what he really wants to do. He thrusts and grinds into me.
I move in response to him, and we’re panting as our bodies strain to get as close as possible.
There is a riot of sensations running through my body – a delicious tightness in my core, the demanding sting of my hard, aching nipples, the shiver of gooseflesh that blooms in waves over my skin, the ripples of pleasure that radiate from my clit every time he grazes it.
Our lips move like they've done this a thousand times, and yet the newness of it all isn’t lost on me. His lips skim my cheek and then drag– hot and wet -- down my neck sending waves of delicious sensations radiating through me.
My hands spear into the thick waves of his hair and hold him as close as I can manage.
He scrapes the sharp edge of his teeth along my throat.
“Carter,” his name is a jagged plea for relief.
“Beth…baby…” his breath is hot against my skin and I want…more.
“It’s not enough.”
The slam of a door and the creak of the floorboard on the stairs sounds, and we stop kissing, our heads turn to watch the stairs, both of us frozen as we wait to see if anyone materializes.
“I know you’re making out, so I’m going back downstairs, but I’ll be back in three minutes. Hurry up,” his mother calls out.
We look back at each other, our eyes wide with mortification. And then he laughs, and so do I.
He presses his forehead to mine and keeps his hips in the cradle I’ve made for him. We’re chest to chest now, and I drape my arms over his shoulders and try to catch my breath.
I close my eyes and let my head loll to the side.
Today started off so terribly, and I can’t believe it's ending on such a high note. I sigh contentedly.
“Open your eyes, please.” His voice is thick and his words run together like his tongue has lost its dexterity.
I have to flutter my heavy lids a few times before they open all the way. But as soon as we lock gazes, I’m instantly alert.
He’s watching me and the look in his eyes is as candid as I’ve seen from him all night.
“Are you okay?”
“Better than okay. This has been one of the worst years of my life. I’d written it off and was prepared to spend the rest of it just trying to survive. I stopped believing that anything would feel right again. But that. fucking. kiss.” He draws out each word and I know exactly how he feels. “Did you feel all of that?” He shakes his head and laughs self-deprecatingly.
Oh my heart.
This man…he always knows just what to say.
I nod. “All of it,” I whisper.
His smile is broad, revealing a row of even white teeth and a dimple in each cheek. The lines of his face shift, and the symmetry is less pronounced. His brilliant green eyes are lit intimacy.
The effect is nothing short of devastating and disorienting.
“You’re so beautiful.” I blurt out and then slap a hand over my mouth when I hear myself. I look at him, my eyes wide with horror as I wait for him to laugh. But he doesn’t, even though his eyes glitter with delight and he flushes.
He pulls my hand from my mouth.
“I don’t know where that came from. I wasn’t even thinking it,” I sputter. My embarrassment is only heightened by the fact that I know my cheeks must be aflame.
“That’s funny, because I was thinking the same thing about you. Your skin is incredible.” His voice is husky and his eyes cling to and caress mine so sweetly.
But that sweetness is lost on me.
He might as well have blown an artic wind over the wings the kiss gave me. I come crashing down to earth and reality. I flinch and turn my head so that my good cheek is all he can see.
“Are you okay?” His expression goes from tender to baffled and I hate that I ruined the moment for him, too.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired suddenly and I think our three minutes has been up for at least three minutes,” I force a smile that I know is convincing to most people.
He nods, but his silence is full of skepticism. He glances in the direction of the stairs, but his eyes aren’t focused.
“What’s wrong?” He asks again and I hate the tension that’s evident in his tightened jaw.
Don’t mess this up, Liz. Let tonight be nothing but good.
I cup his cheek and turn his face until he’s looking at me again. This time, my smile reaches my eyes. “I’m not thrilled at the prospect of your mother coming and finding us here. She’s been really nice to me. I don’t want her to think I’m just like one of your half naked, cool drunk girls.”
He grimaces. “I can’t believe she told you that.” He lets out a long resigned breath and puts his hands on my hips to steady me before he steps back. Once I’m on my feet I step out of his hold and open the door to the bedroom.
“I’ll see you later?” I smile.
He grabs my hand, presses a kiss to the back of it. “I’ll be back. Wait for me. I want to kiss you like that everywhere.” I watch him walk away, admiring the broad, straight set of his shoulders and the way they strain the seams of the blue t-shirt he’s wearing. His long, muscular legs, left bare by his white board shorts eat up the floor and in seconds he’s on the stairs and disappearing down them.
I close the door behind me and then press my back to it while I try to strategize what to do when he comes back.
It’s half hope and half dread as I imagine him coming back and what will happen when he does. If I go to sleep with this stuff on my face, it’ll rub off on the pillow overnight. It’s been on all day and I haven’t reapplied the stuff that makes it set. It’s gotta be on its last legs and I should wash it off before I fall asleep.
But that would mean he’d see it. And then, he wouldn’t look at me like that anymore. Not when he can have anyone he wants.
“He probably dates models.”
“Don’t mind that devil, it’s you he’s kissing like your mouth is the source of his life’s blood.”
I put a lid on my conflicted subconscious. I need to think.
I walk over to the mirror and I look at the girl there. The make-up is doing its job. It just looks like I have really nice skin. God, that it was true. Because the woman staring back at me with bright eyes and kiss-plumped lips is a beauty I’ve never seen before.
And yet, I recognize her instantly. This is who I wish the world could see when they look at me. This is the woman inside of me. Carter Bosh, it turns out, is her muse.
I’m going to take this unexpected boon.
The make-up looks like it’ll hold, at least long enough for me to enjoy the rest of the evening with him.
Yes, the higher I let him take me tonight, the farther I’ll have to fall when it all goes away in the morning.
Because as always, the sun will rise and bring its disinfecting light that won’t let me hide anything.
I’ll go back to my real life, even if the re-entry burns. For more of what we just did, it will be worth it.
I lie down with the feel, taste, and smell of Carter all over me, and while I wait, I float on a cloud of good fortune and lust.
THIS IS REAL
CARTER
“I don’t want to work while I’m here. And I’m going on that fucking tour. Isn’t that enough?”
“Carter!” my mother admonishes.
“If I had half your talent—”
“But you don’t,” I snap and my father’s face shutters. I sigh, tired of this argument.
“I’m sorry, dad. I know you worked hard to book the tour, I’m just tired. And I hate going away right now when you’re just getting well again.”
My dad sighs, his expression softening.
“We’ll have the next month, son. This interview will be great to build buzz on the tour.”
“I thought it was sold out?” I ask.
“Yeah, but you’ve got to rehabilitate your relationship with influencers in the media if you want to get back on the television saddle. They just want to hear you say how excited you are to be back at the piano.”
“So you want me to lie.”
“Carter, come on. Prove yourself on this tour, and you’ll be on the road to where you’ve always wanted to be.”
“Dad. I’m ready. Why do I still need to prove anything? I haven’t had a drink in months. I’m going to therapy.”
“You’re not ready son. Do this interview. You’ll need these people in your corner.” My father looks so tired and I feel guilty.
“What time tomorrow were you thinking? I’ll need to take Beth home in the morning.”
“Nicknames already. You move fast,” my mother drawls.
I bristle at the reproach in her voice.
“You’re the one who invited her to stay the night.”
“Not so you could fuck her and get attached right before we’re leaving. You’ve done so well, son. The last thing you need is to spiral when this goes pear shaped.”
She tucks a lock of her straight hair behind her ear and crosses her legs underneath her.
“Thanks for the optimism, mom.”
“Carter, I’m not going to sugar coat things for you. You’ve got a lot on the line.”
“I know and you won’t let me forget it. And there’s nothing happening. She’s going back to her life tomorrow. It’s just tonight. Stop acting like it’s some life altering decision.”
My father straightens and jumps to my mother’s defense. “No need to get defensive, son.”
“I’m not—”
“Sure, she’s pretty. I know you like that she doesn’t know who we are and isn’t part of that world. All of that must be very attractive. But Carter, she lives here. You live in NYC. Her family is…” He strokes his chin while he searches for the right word. “Let’s just say her father isn’t going to approve. And I’m worried what’ll happen when he finds out she’s been here. If he’s anything like his father…” he shudders.
“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Sure, I like her. I might even fuck her. But I don’t have any intention of meeting her father.” I say.
“Carter, don’t you dare hurt that girl. She's not your typical flavor of the week.” My mother scolds me.
“What time are they going to call tomorrow?” I ask.
“10 am. You’ll do it?” My father looks shocked.
“Yeah. I think you’re right about it.
I don’t add that I’d do anything to put an end to our conversation.
When I leave them, I’m brooding and no longer on the high I’d been riding since I kissed Beth. Maybe I shouldn’t go back to her room. My mother’s right. She’s not like the girls I used to drag home.
And while I appear to have everything under control, it’s a daily struggle. Underneath all the confidence and self-restraint, I’m a bubbling brew of unknown alchemy that could go off at any time.
It scares the living fuck out of me not to know.
When they told me I was adopted, I’d been shocked and confused, but also a little relieved.
It wasn’t that I didn’t feel like I belonged. In many ways, I’ve been the glue that holds us together. I have a role and place, and I’ve felt like my parents loved me less than my siblings.
It wasn’t that I didn’t look like them. Every family has a kid that doesn’t look like anyone, right?
It was the rest of it.
I’m the only introvert.
The only artist.
The only one who needed glasses.
The only one who didn’t need braces.
The only one who had violent fits in his sleep and fought his way through high school.
The only one whose anxiety can be crippling.
Did I get all of those things from my biological parents? My mom and dad didn’t have a clue. I was left, abandoned on the doorsteps of a church in the middle of winter. They have no clue who left me there. I assured them that I didn’t want to know. Why would I? They’re as meaningless to me as I was to them.
And yet…I’m tormented by thoughts of them. Playing the piano used to quiet my mind. Now, all I think about are the people who came together long enough to make me and then threw me away.
The word prodigy has been used to describe my mastery of the piano at a very young age.
The decision to turn my talent into a career came at the hands of my parents. My father is a talent agent. My mother is a pediatrician but practiced medicine on a reality show my father was the executive producer of.
Both of my siblings have spent their entire lives on stage. Jack was recruited by a major European team when he was seventeen. When his career ended in a burning ball of shit and leaked sex tapes, my father leveraged the exposure of that and made Jack an overnight sensation. Nadia grew up in community theatre. She’s wanted to be an actress her whole life. But she’s 6’1” and looks like a young Charlize Theron. There can only be one of her and the only roles she could land were playing women who were butch and manly. And she decided to skip the middle man and take her message straight to the people. She’s built an Instagram empire that includes make up, clothes, travel until she discovered the digital stage we all call Instagram.
It was only natural that would also leverage the thing I was good at into a reality television show. But, a classical pianist is a bit of a hard sell and instead of my own show, I was an extra on my brother’s.
My father said if I could build a following with my music, become like the Tiger Woods of classical music, it might happen.
I was on my way to doing that when they dropped the bomb on me about my paternity.
The piano was my solace; and my therapist.
Now, even it feels like a stranger. My father is the one who helped me cultivate my talent.
Until I knew I was adopted, I thought his insistence on lessons is what made me great. But now, I wonder if one of my parents was a gifted musician. And if I took this trait from them, would I take others?
These questions, as useless and unknowable as they are, plague me.
I have moments where I convince myself that it doesn’t matter. I firmly believe that no matter where you’re born, the relationships that bind or break families are a choice. Whether it’s biology or love that brings you together, staying that way is a decision you make every day.
Penn is Jack and Nadia’s stepmother. She was my father’s student, and when they fell in love, he resigned so she wouldn’t have to drop out because the school had a strict policy. She was twenty-four, and he was an almost forty-year-old widower with two small kids.
When Penn was diagnosed with cervical cancer at the age of twenty-one a hysterectomy left her unable to have children. She and my father chose adoption when they felt ready to grow their family.
That’s what we are.
It’s what we’ve always been.
How we came to be isn’t important.
At least, that’s what I’ve always thought.
By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs leading to the bedrooms, my mood is all fucked.
I’m not up for playing the charming Carter tonight, after all. So, instead of going to Liz
’s room like I said I would, I sit downstairs until I’m sure she’s fallen asleep.
Then, I head up to my room.
At the top of the stairs, I see light peeking through the door to her room.
Despite my earlier resolve, I find myself standing outside of her room, trying to stop myself from knocking.
The decision is made for me when the door flies open. She looks at me like it’s Christmas Eve, and I’m Santa coming to prove everyone who doesn’t believe I exist wrong.
Her smile makes me forget why I thought about not coming here. All I can think about is that kiss.
Fuck.
I don’t even think that the word kiss is accurate. It was like magnetic puzzle pieces coming together.
Easy.
Perfect.
And so very hard to pull away from.
When our lips touched, I thought, “this is it.” I wasn’t sure if it was to her, the kiss, the moment or a cosmic collision of all three.
But whatever it was, it felt damn good.
“Hey,” she says. Her smile wavers a little, and I shake myself out of my indecision.
“Hey, yourself, can I come in?” I ask and put on my most charming smile.
She nods, and steps aside to let me in.
“This room is huge,” I say looking around the bedroom she’s using. It’s got two sets of huge bunk beds in adjacent corners and a ceiling that’s two stories high, and like the rest of the bedrooms has skylights cut into it.
“What’s wrong?” she asks in a quiet voice from behind me.
“Nothing. Why?”
“Well, you have misery written all over your face.”
I turn around to find her watching me plaintively and the denial dies on the tip of my tongue.
She’s been so open with me, I can’t bring myself to give her anything less.
“I had a fight with my parents.”
“Oh, really? Why?” She sits down and looks at me with genuine concern. I hesitate a little. She knows my name now. She hasn’t signed an NDA. She could leave here and call People magazine tomorrow and tell them about her twenty-four hours with the Boshes. But I know she won’t. I know she’s asking because she wants to share my troubles. And I feel like telling her.