Survival of the Fiercest

by Chloe Blaque

  “I can be here for a few days. I can help you.”

  “A few days? Where are you staying?”

  “I checked into the Soho Grand.”

  “Oh,” I say. “That’s a nice hotel.”

  He nods as we stare at each other. He’s waiting for me to invite him to stay here. I don’t. Evan reaches out and plays with the hem of my jeans, one finger slipping under the fabric. It tickles, in a good way.

  “Lex,” he says. “I didn’t sleep with Josie.”

  He says it so earnestly that I’m in danger of being that stupid girl again. And yet he’s here, massaging my ankles and saving me from an irate ex-boyfriend. Telling me he wants to talk about us. Us.

  “I believe you.”

  In one big tug, Evan pulls me into his lap and kisses me. A starving kiss, like we almost lost each other. His hands are under my shirt in seconds, sliding it free from my arms. My bra doesn’t last long either. He buries his face in my chest, and I settle my chin on top of his head. My hair drapes forward, sheltering him. His lips and tongue drag over one nipple then the other, sucking deep and hard. I moan with pleasure-pain. His erection is throbbing against my butt, and I lift myself from his lap just enough to straddle his hips.

  He reaches for my breast, and I glimpse the raw marks on his knuckles. Gently, I bring his hand to my lips. He is watching me closely. “Thanks for being there,” I whisper.

  Pushing back my hair, he looks deep into my eyes before cupping the side of my face and pulling me near. “I’ll always be there for you.”

  I capture his lips, and we kiss softly at first, then harder as a voracious need comes over me. Evan willingly complies, groaning when I softly bite his bottom lip. Kissing him blots out the ugliness of the night; touching him will wipe it away forever.

  I reach for his zipper and plunge my tongue into his mouth. In response he takes the kiss deeper, slower. His hands smooth up and down my body, and I’m bowled over by the tenderness in his caress.

  “I was going to let you sleep,” he says against my lips.

  “Not tired.” I breathe.

  My heartbeat roars in my ears as I wind my arms around his neck, but he carefully pulls back. He gives me a soft look while his fingers gently stroke my face. “Slowly,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “I want to make love to every inch of you tonight.”

  Those simple words make me shudder. Taking his hand, I lead him into my bedroom. The lights of the city cut through the darkness, making our bodies outlines of shade and shadow.

  Evan’s mouth slides seductively over mine with teasing nips, leisurely drinking me in with an unhurried stroke of his tongue. The lingering taste of red wine, his faint aftershave, and the scrape of his facial hair against my cheek makes me dizzy. I tremble as his lips trace my jaw, and I tilt my head back in surrender.

  We undress each other, kissing skin where fabric used to be. With a quick lift, Evan effortlessly lays me on the bed, pausing to spread my hair over my pillows. He takes his time looking at me, stroking me, learning my body. He tangles his fingers with mine when I reach for him.

  “I was jealous when I first saw you and Pete,” he says softly, his eyes like blue ice. “I don’t want another man touching you.”

  “There’s no one else,” I whisper.

  He blows out a held breath.

  “Same goes for you, then,” I say. Dead serious has nothing on my tone.

  “There is no one. Just you. No one else compares.”

  Emotion wells in my throat. I raise my hand to his cheek, but he captures it and brings my fingers to his lips. He presses another kiss to my palm and smooths his lips along my jaw. With slow, tender kisses, he works his way down every inch of my body. Every sensitive spot on my skin is savored, and the subtle ache he stirred is now a pounding in my blood.

  “I can’t get enough,” he murmurs in my ear. Gently, he turns me onto my stomach and runs his hands lightly down my back, over the soft mounds of my bottom and along my legs. He takes his time, squeezing, kissing, kneading, and stroking my thighs and calves. His fingertips on the soles of my feet make me giggle. Evan slides his arm under my hips and tilts me until I face him, and catches my laughter with his lips.

  When he lifts away, I clutch at his naked shoulders and urge him closer for more kisses, but he only smiles at me and slowly shakes his head. I’m not allowed any demands. He’s in control. My body arches when his lips find my belly button. My breath quickens as he moves lower, hovering between my thighs, pressing a succession of sweet lingering kisses there. I dig my hands into his hair when his fingers explore where his mouth has been.

  My breathing slows as he sets a delicious rhythm, and I’m lost in sensation, simultaneously sustained by his strength and undone by his tenderness. It’s not enough. I need him over me, and I moan a plea, reaching for him again. With one hand still between my legs, he lies next to me. Throwing my arms around his neck, I arch my body, hitch my leg on his hip, and rub the aching part of me against him. His groan makes me smile.

  Taking my cue, he slides his hands down to my hips and round over my ass, yanking my lower body closer to him with such force that I let out a little yelp. His strength turns me on even more. I claw at his arms, loving the feel of him over me. His mouth drifts across my cheek and softly brushes my ear. “I thought I’d lost you.” He places my hand on his long erection. I tremble at the massive pulsing size of him. He slips on a condom, and all the Josies and Petes of the world are forgotten.

  “Me too,” I say and swiftly guide him to my slick entrance. With a loud grunt, he fills me, his neck straining as he sinks farther and farther until I’m sure I can’t take much more. Slipping a hand under my hips, he lifts me and surges forward the smallest distance. I shudder when he moves inside me, slowly at first, then stronger.

  He kisses me, drawing in my very breath. Loving his stubble on my face, I run my hand across his jaw and tease the corner of our joined lips. He playfully nips my finger. It tingles. In a pure animal reflex, I skim my tongue along his shoulder and bite hard, tasting his salty, muscled flesh. I want to devour him with both my mouth and my pussy.

  Baring his teeth, he plunges wildly, and I take him fully, each stroke pulling hushed groans from my deep within my throat. I build quickly as his thrusts work my clit into a hot ache. My body seizes and tightens around him while his hips drive into me. Soon after, he comes explosively, groaning into my ear and grinding forward with each pulse of his orgasm.

  Stunned and breathless, I close my eyes and bask in the aftermath. A bead or two of sweat drop to my breast, and I raise my heavy lids. Evan’s dark silhouette is propped on his elbows above me, his head hanging and his chest heaving. Still holding him, I unfurl my arms from his neck and run my hands up and down his back, content to lie under him forever. As his hair brushes my cheek and his lips touch my collarbone, I wonder what type of unspoken declaration we made tonight. Surely he can’t stay, but how could I ever let him go?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Saturday morning pours into the bedroom. I wake up blinking and fuzzy-headed, tucked into the crook of Evan’s shoulder. He’s still asleep, his chest rising and falling peacefully under my outstretched hand. It wasn’t a dream. He is here, as warm and naked as me. Rising softly onto my elbows, I peek at him and smile. He is half-covered, one arm outstretched, demanding space. I’m tempted to kiss him awake, but I leave him be, knowing the time change has him exhausted.

  Waking up with him feels good, and it makes me want to believe that we could be together. Besides, the morning is too beautiful to remember what a shit show my life has become.

  Softly placing a kiss on his chest, I ease off his arm and slip from the bed. Plucking my running shorts and a sweatshirt from the floor, I tiptoe from the room and carefully close the door. I stop in the bathroom and wince when I flush the toilet, hoping the sound doesn’t carry. I wince again when I look in the mirror. Smeared mascara and eye shadow dot my bloodshot eyes, but that doesn’t even compare to the ta
ngled frizz fro a la the Wicked Witch of the West on my head. Grabbing a hair tie, I twist the beast into a ponytail, wash my face, scour my teeth, and rush quietly into the kitchen.

  I whip open the fridge and frown. The florescent five-tiered space holds one egg, some butter and condiments, leftover Mexican from God knows when, and half a bottle of sparkling water. Had I not been trying to be quiet, I would’ve slammed the door. Figuring Evan would be out for at least another half hour, I grab my purse and keys, shove my feet into my flats, and sneak out the door. Twenty minutes later, I’m back and hoisting three bags from Whole Foods onto the kitchen island.

  After making sure Evan is still asleep, I quietly search through my cupboards for pans and utensils that I hardly ever use. It’s not that I can’t cook; I just don’t cook much for myself. I find my trusty skillet and place it on the burner—a single skillet for a single girl. Ooooh, possible post! I type it in my to-do list and remember that I will have to come up with a lot more posts, write all the posts, and schedule all those posts myself. Oh God, can I do this?

  I’ll deal with work later. Right now I’m wide awake and energized, like my soul has been injected with liquid happiness. Fifteen minutes later, I’ve whipped up a few omelets, started a pot of coffee, and poured some OJ. I put all of the cubed fruit I bought into a large bowl, unfold the morning paper, and make an inviting display of plates and mugs. After a quick flip of my bacon, I step back and nod at my spread.

  Oh yeah, I still got it.

  I’m pulling the bacon from the oven when the bedroom door opens. I move into the living room and peer around the corner into the hall. There is Evan in just his boxer briefs, looking groggy and disoriented. Even with bags under his eyes, he’s stunning. He smiles when he sees me. With a wink and a yawn, he disappears down the hall into the bathroom.

  I’m sifting through radio satellite stations in the living room when he comes up behind me. “Good morning, babe.” He turns me around by the shoulders, pulls me in, and plops a warm kiss on my lips. His mouth is minty, and his stubble scratches my cheek. It’s been a long time since I’ve shared the morning with a man. It’s nice.

  The scent of bacon and coffee is heavy in the room, and Evan’s head comes up like a wolf’s. “Breakfast?” He pads barefoot to the kitchen, and I quickly choose a radio station. “Holy shit. You cooked?”

  “It’s just eggs and bacon,” I say.

  “It’s a hotel spread.”

  “You’re my guest.”

  “Is that all I am?” he asks.

  “Well, you’re my special guest,” I say with a smirk.

  The corners of his lips turn up. “If this is you putting in your girlfriend application, you’re hired.”

  “Oh, I have to apply for the position?” I ask with faux attitude and hand him a plate. I fill both mugs with coffee.

  “Well, I was already impressed with your résumé, but this is a deal maker.”

  Handing him his mug, I chuckle. “Really? I think I should have a say in this. Did you put in your boyfriend application? Because I haven’t seen it.”

  Setting his overflowing plate on the island, he settles on a barstool opposite me. “Yeah, I put it in last night, when you screamed my name.” He expertly catches the hand towel I throw at him and sets it aside.

  “I didn’t scream your name,” I say matter-of-factly, jabbing my fork into my food.

  “You did.” He nods.

  “I don’t scream.”

  “You do.”

  “Shut up,” I say, pointing a slice of bacon at him.

  “I like it, though.”

  “I said shut it.”

  He shrugs and sips his coffee, looking at me over the mug.

  “I know the Soho Grand is pretty fancy, but they don’t have this spread,” I say, waving a hand over the counter. “You could stay here, you know.”

  “I’d like that.” A smile plays on his lips.

  “Good,” I say, admiring his upper body a little too long. The thought of last night stretching into several nights makes my pulse jump. I shove a huge bite of omelet into my mouth, then rummage through a small drawer in the large wood secretary against the wall.

  “Here, you can come and go as you please.” I place a key ring beside his plate.

  Before I can walk back to my plate, he stands and pulls me to his chest. “Did I thank you for breakfast?”

  I shake my head, and my heart beats faster when he steals a kiss. We finish eating, have a satisfying bout of morning sex, and then shower together.

  Evan is in his clothes from the night before, reading the paper, when I emerge from the bedroom in a black body-hugging sweaterdress that stops mid-calf, and a pair of leopard booties. With my hair back in a ponytail and a little color on my lips, I look Sophia Loren chic. It’s possible I’m overdressed for a Saturday morning, but I don’t care. Today I have someone to walk hand ’n hand with.

  Soon we are on that street, walking hands clasped, down West Broadway toward the Soho Grand. It is a brisk, sunny day without a cloud in sight. Couples pass us, and I revel in the fact that I am one of them.

  We check Evan out of the hotel, and he insists on slinging his leather duffel over his shoulder. I like that he doesn’t have a huge roller bag, that he only brought essentials and a few basic toiletries like a guy’s guy should.

  We window-shop on the way home, stopping briefly in front of an empty commercial space for lease. Evan’s eyes narrow, and his jaw tics like he’s adding something up in his head. Whipping out his phone, he saves the number.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “That’s a nice space for a gallery,” he says.

  “Another one? Here?”

  He shrugs and smiles. “Maybe.”

  As we continue walking, my head swims with fantasies of him living in New York. I push a Reset button on my brain. When it revs back up again, Evan and I are stopped in front of a tantalizing window display at Wolford. A picture of slim legs covered in sheer white thigh-high hosiery and black heels dominates the window. A series of tiny silver bows runs from foot to thigh.

  Evan pulls me into his side and leans to my ear. “Wear these for me tonight.”

  I look at him. “Don’t be crazy. I bet those are about two hundred bucks.”

  He dips his head to look at my legs, then my ass. I slap him playfully.

  “Let’s get some garters too.” He winks and walks inside.

  My first reaction is to stop him from wasting his money. But I secretly can’t wait to put them on. We exit the shop minutes later with a small bag of goodies. The white-and-silver bag with pink tissue paper dangles from my fingers as we stroll home.

  Evan stashes his duffel in my room, hangs his few items of clothes, and puts his grooming kit in the bathroom. It’s cute how neat he is. His clothes are hung small to large, and his toiletries are arranged in a geometric pattern. While his back is turned, I straighten up my overflowing magazine rack and shove my dirty clothes pile on the floor into my laundry bag.

  When he’s done moving in, we lounge on the couch and touch and talk and touch. He tells me how the club is doing, what celebrities have been going, how Jared is thinking of starting a business. We talk about the gallery and how he’s been contacted by artists from Europe and Latin America who want to have shows.

  “It’s getting bigger than I expected,” he says, his eyes alight.

  We cuddle on the couch for another hour before we both feel the need to do a little work. Evan calls the number of the commercial space we saw. He spends hours on the phone, planning and negotiating with the broker. Watching him, I realize why Evan has gotten so successful. He’s a doer. He doesn’t hesitate to explore options nor does he second-guess himself. If there is any time in my life that I need to be this way, it’s now.

  While Evan changes, I lie on the bed and watch him fix his hair in the mirror. A comb here, a tweak there, done. Guys are so lucky. He wants me to come with him, but I need to do some work, right after I get my nails
done. And a wax!

  “So what do you want to do tonight?” his reflection asks.

  “How about a casual dinner? My favorite Mexican place is a few blocks away. They have the best tacos and margaritas in the city; maybe even better than your taco spot,” I challenge.

  “Whoa. Those are fighting words.”

  “Well, my tacos are ready to take on your tacos.”

  “Will you be wearing this dress?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” He grins. “Show me your tacos.”

  At the door, we have a searing kiss. Then I head to the salon.

  An hour later, I’m writing a post and pause to stare at my fingers over the laptop keys. I chose lime-green nail polish, which really pops with my black dress. It’s a fun, edgy look. I hope Evan likes it; then I fem-slap myself. The feminist in me says I should do these things because I like it, not for him. But seeing the way he was in Wolford makes me think that doing these things for him will be very rewarding. It makes me feel girly, and I haven’t felt girly in a long time.

  My gaze snakes to the Wolford bag sitting on the counter. I have a mind to put on the hosiery, garters, and matching bra, spread myself out on the bed, and text him to come home. Suddenly I’m all about being a receptacle for pleasure—Evan’s pleasure. Never have I been like this; not even with my ex-husband.

  Shaking my head, I go back to writing, but my mind wanders from our lovemaking this morning to anticipation of dinner and getting it on later. He looked so cute this morning, eating the breakfast I made. I could get used to that. Not the making-breakfast part, I tell my inner feminist, but someone special in my life who shows concern for me, challenges me, and makes me feel beautiful. Evan is different from me, but he gets me, supports me. I feel whole, strong, and ready to take on anything.

  “Tina?” I ask after she picks up on the first ring. “I need a list of our advertisers.”

  Chapter Twenty

  At the restaurant, Evan and I sit side by side at the corner of a wood communal table, our space littered with taco plates and empty margarita glasses as we have made our way through the entire taco menu.