Prude

by Hilaria Alexander

  “Fine then, no dinner. At least let me help you get those Broadway tickets.”

  Again, another offer that’s a little too generous.

  “Absolutely not. I can’t accept that, I’m sorry.” I know he is never going to want me to pay him back.

  “Why not? I am your agent, Prudence, can’t I not do something nice for you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” he asks, glancing at me.

  “Because I don’t want you to.”

  “You are being unreasonable,” he says, sounding pissed, but the look in his eyes says, don’t worry, I will get you later.

  “So are you,” I say, not wanting to stop the bickering.

  “Children, please!” my mother yells, exasperated.

  When I turn around, she is holding her fingers on either temple, as if bracing a headache. We both burst out laughing.

  “My mother teaches first grade. I guess we got on her nerves. Sorry, Mom,” I say, turning to her.

  “Apologize to him, Prudence, not me. You are being exceptionally rude. New York is definitely rubbing off on you,” she says, scolding me.

  “Pffff,” I say, “I never leave the house. It might be because I’m not used to people doing nice things for me.” I turn and look at him with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry, Ben.”

  “You are forgiven.” He says it in a voice that is way too sweet and condescending and he’s looking at me with those eyes that I can’t resist.

  I know my mother will grill me later. I stop looking his way because I’m not very good at lying in general, and I’m afraid I’m going to betray myself. The rest of the ride is pretty quiet and uneventful. When we arrive, he helps me out with my mother’s luggage out of the car, but I convince him to let me take it upstairs.

  “It has wheels, Ben. Thank you, but I can handle it.”

  He smiles, although his lips form a straight line.

  “Go home and get some rest,” I whisper to him, winking. I hope he can tell from my eyes how much I crave touching him, and kissing him. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, never breaking eye contact, a small smile on his face, then he lets go.

  He proceeds to say goodbye to my mother, and we part ways.

  Chapter 13

  MY MOTHER has been to New York many times, so when she comes to visit, we don’t do the touristy stuff. However, when she is here, we are always going, going, going. She usually comes up armed with a list of restaurants and stores she wants to go to. Most of the time they are places scattered between Manhattan and Brooklyn, and it takes us a while to cover every name on her list.

  When my father comes with her, he tries to oblige and go with whatever she wants to do, but after the third day or so, he will say he has a backache and he needs some rest. At least two days out of the week they usually spend here, he will be on my couch napping. My mother just rolls her eyes and tries not to throw it in his face.

  Get creative, Dad. We know the routine by now. With my dad gone, it seems my mother has no limits. I think her list of things to see and do (or more like places to eat and shop), is even longer. She is a self-proclaimed neurotic planner, so we start checking things off the list the very next day.

  I have sent Ben the draft of the book, and I’m waiting impatiently to hear back from him. But he just got back from a long trip, so I’m assuming he might not get to it right away. I need to stop staring at my screen. It’s Sunday afternoon and I have not heard from him yet. And I might not hear from him at all for days, I think to myself, and that makes me feel a pinch in my heart. Huh, already. You better watch it, Prudence.

  By Sunday night I’m pooped, and so is my mother. When we get home, she decides to take a bath. I turn on the TV and start watching it, but I’m soon distracted by the text message popping up on my cell lock screen.

  Ben: Prudence, call me when you see this. Even if it’s late.

  I’m so giddy, I might break into a dance.

  I take a moment before I unlock my phone and start typing, or he’ll know I read his text already. A few seconds go by and I get another one.

  Ben: Or text. I need to talk to you.

  A few more seconds go by, and I get another one.

  Ben: Scratch that, I need to see you.

  I smile like an idiot, looking at the screen of my phone. I finally unlock it, and write back.

  Me: Just got home. What’s up?

  He writes back right away.

  Ben: Do you think you can get away for a little bit?

  Me: Not sure. I guess I could come up with something. We haven’t had dinner yet. I could tell my mom I’m going out to pick up some food.

  Ben: How soon can you get here?

  Me: Soon?

  Ben: The sooner the better.

  What is the urgency about? Is it about the book, or does he just want to see me, period? His text doesn’t really say.

  Me: Is this about the manuscript? Is it bad?

  Ben: Marginally related. And don’t be stupid, the manuscript is not bad and you know it.

  So why is he so impatient? Is it about us? I do a little dance in my living room, hoping my mother doesn’t decide to come out right this minute. I reapply deodorant, check my make-up, leave the short flower dress on and select a sexier pair of underwear. I check with my mother about what she wants to eat, and just when I think I’m in the clear she asks, “What happened to delivery? Aren’t New York restaurants famous for their delivery services?”

  “Well,” I hesitate, “the restaurant I’m going to has the best noodles, but they take a really long time to deliver, since they’re so busy. We’d be waiting forever.”

  “I have twenty minutes before I need to pick up my takeout at Kao Phong,” I say when he answers the door.

  My eyes roam over him. He looks just as yummy as he did yesterday, in just a t-shirt and shorts. And he is barefoot. I don’t have the time to add anything else because he attacks my mouth and drags me in his apartment, shutting the door behind us. He pulls me into his arms and drags me to the bedroom. My lips part, and my tongue reaches for his, just as eager. I’m overtaken by all the sensations that explode in my body when I’m around him. I reach behind his head and carefully untie his hair, trying not to hurt him. When it falls on his shoulder, I run my hands through it. He stops kissing me and looks at me with a gleam in his eyes.

  “You have a thing for my hair, don't you?” he asks me, a lopsided grin forming on his face.

  “Of course,” I say, panting. “It's so beautiful. Who wouldn't?” I reach for him and kiss him again. I missed his kisses, his soft lips, and the taste of him.

  “Wait. Wait,” I say, pressing my hands against his chest. “What is this about? Why the urgency?” I say with a smile. He looks at me, confused at first, but then he gets it.

  “What do you mean, what’s the urgency? I have been gone two weeks, and then I barely had you for a night. Do you realize I haven’t seen you in almost two days?”

  That’s enough of a reason for me. I could have avoided asking, but I wanted him to say it. I relax, smile widely, and kiss him again. But he stops.

  “And,” he says, kissing my neck, nipping on my shoulder, “I finished your manuscript today.”

  He smiles, but he doesn’t add anything else, and then he goes back to kissing me on the neck. I push him off me again and look him in the eye.

  “And? Are you going to tell me what you think?” I ask.

  He smiles widely again.

  “That’s also why I had to see you. All day yesterday and today I have been reading your book and I kept hearing your voice in my head, and I kept wanting to call you and talk to you. It’s different. Definitely a departure from what I have read of yours. But I loved the story. It’s more complex and mature. And really sexy,” he says, lowering down to kiss me on my collarbone.

  He touches my breasts with both hands and keeps looking at me, as if asking permission.

  “So,” he continues, “all day I have been reading this book and, like I said
, it’s really sexy at times, and I couldn’t help thinking about you.”

  He moves my hair to the side and kisses me on the other side of my neck, licking me under my ear and taking my ear lobe in his mouth. That does it. Pretty soon he’ll have to lift me off the floor. I have to hang on to him.

  “I have thought about you,” he says, pausing to kiss me again, “All. Fucking. Day. Long.” Goodness gracious.

  He rocks his hips into mine, his erection pressing into me through the thin fabric of my dress. His hand goes under my dress and sneaks in my underwear, cupping my butt, pushing me into him even more. I wrap one leg around him to get closer, while his fingers trail to the front of my underwear and he slips one inside of me.

  “God, Prudence, you’re so wet,” he whispers against my ear, teasing me with his breath.

  My voice is already hoarse when I turn my head to him and say against his mouth, “No kidding. I have been wet since I left the house, Benjamin.”

  He slips that finger in and out. In and out. And in and out again. And then he slips in a second, and starts teasing my clit with his thumb. I’m already breathless, hanging on to his shoulders.

  “Unzip me,” I whisper in his ear. “And hurry. We only have fifteen minutes left.”

  He remembers we are in a time crunch, and suddenly, he moves faster.

  He turns me around and unzips my dress.

  “Raise your arms,” he says, helping me take it off.

  He removes my bra, and holds me from behind, touching my breasts, flicking my nipples with his fingers, making me even more aroused. He presses me closer to him, kissing me on the shoulder and neck, groaning in my ear, rocking against me. He motions me to sit on the bed and takes my underwear off. I squirm just seeing the look he has on his face, taking in all of me. He takes off his shirt, pulls out a condom from his pocket, removes his shorts and underwear in record time, and then he is on me.

  I scoot in the middle of the bed, and he kneels on the bed in front of me and runs his hand on my leg. He pushes my legs apart.

  “So beautiful,” he murmurs, running his hands up and down my legs.

  He gives me a wicked look before going down on me, and I jolt when his tongue touches my skin, running slowly up and down my folds. He parts them with his fingers and starts licking and sucking on my clit. I have to make a conscious effort to keep my heels planted on the bed, but it’s so hard when he is licking my most sensitive spot and I can hardly keep my moaning in check.

  “God, Ben” and “Oh my God” and “Oh my God, Ben” is all I keep saying, over and over, like a broken record.

  He slips two fingers in and keeps working me with his tongue. It doesn’t take long for my orgasm to follow. He watches me come apart as he slips a condom on.

  “I’m sorry, this will have to be fast,” he says as he rapidly enters me, filling me up with his cock.

  “I like fast,” I murmur against his ear as he thrusts into me. “And hard.”

  “Is that what you want?” he says teasingly.

  “Yes, I want you to fuck me hard.”

  “Fuck, Prudence. You can’t talk to me like that.”

  Something snaps in him, and I’m suddenly turned around, flat on my stomach. He thrusts in from behind, my legs semi-closed, his pressing against mine on the outside. And holy hell, if I don’t feel every single inch of him. His hands are all over my hips and butt, caressing and grabbing my skin.

  He lifts my hips, making me raise my butt higher, filling me deeper and deeper. He stills for a moment, and he keeps me in that position, trying to make it last. One of his hands runs up my waist, catching my breast and teasing my nipple, while holding the other on my hip, pushing harder inside of me.

  Thrust after thrust, all I want to do is scream, and when he lets go of my hip to press his thumb on my clitoris, I’m almost about to lose it. I hold his hand on my breast, greedy. I want everything. I want all of him. I want to feel him everywhere. He groans and collapses on top of me as we come together.

  “Oh. My. God.” It’s all I can say. I’m lightheaded and content, a smug smile on my face, and at the same time, I still want more.

  Chapter 14

  WE SNEAK around like teenagers the next few days. Well, I sneak around. If my mom suspects anything, she doesn’t show it. It’s always an excuse of some kind. “I’m going to do some laundry downstairs” or “I’m going to pick up something to make breakfast.” I even used “I am going for a workout at the gym.” I made sure to take a bag with me, so when I would come back not sweaty, I could just say I showered there, which I never ever do.

  As soon as I get there and we close the door behind us, he pins me against the wall and showers me with kisses. Our clothes are off in record time, and sometimes we don’t even make it to the bedroom.

  One morning, I’m sitting in my underwear on the counter of his immaculate kitchen, which clearly shows no sign of use. He is making some coffee and gets some fruit out of the fridge. He says he wants to have me for breakfast, so that’s where it happens. In the kitchen, on the table.

  I blush at the recent memory of him making me come. When I ask him why he isn’t at work yet he says, “I told my assistant I was meeting a client for breakfast,” and points at me.

  That makes me laugh.

  “You take the concept of being devoted to your job to a whole new level, Mr. Hallstrom.”

  He kisses me on the lips softly, and then places a kiss on my shoulder.

  “As much as I love you in your underwear, you better put some clothes on if you don’t want me to attack you again.”

  I breathe out a laugh.

  “What about you? You only have your shorts on. And no underwear.”

  “Touché,” he says with a smile that illuminates his whole face. He pours me a cup of coffee and hands it to me, then he takes a cutting board and a knife and starts slicing some fruit.

  We start talking about the book.

  “You know,” he says, “you should use this guy’s music for the book. If he’s a struggling musician like you said, it shouldn’t be too hard to convince him. You could either just mention the songs in the book, or completely incorporate them as the ones Kate discovers in the archives of the magazine. It’s not like it hasn’t been done before. It would mean exposure for him, and he’ll definitely make some money.”

  I look at him like he just recited a poem in a different language. Of course, why had I not thought of that before? I was so focused on the plot and translating the emotions of the music into the story that I completely glossed over the fact that I could very well use them. It would be good for the book, and it could be a great platform for Matt too. I am still processing Ben’s words and what it would all mean for my book, and it doesn’t even register immediately when he places a skillet on the stove and starts scrambling some eggs. A few seconds go by before I realize what’s happening.

  My eyes go wide.

  “Wait a minute,” I say, sincerely surprised. “What is happening here? I’m pretty sure I never showed you how to do that. You would have bragged about knowing how to make scrambled eggs when I made fun of you a couple of weeks ago, if you did.”

  He laughs.

  “I’m not making scrambled eggs. I am making an omelet,” he says, enunciating the word slowly, a smirk on his face.

  “Did I say I was going to have you for breakfast? I also meant I was going to feed you breakfast.”

  “You haven’t tricked me, right? Do you have mad culinary skills? Have you been lying all along?”

  He shakes his head and grins at me. His eyes are bright with amusement. “No, I took cooking classes while I was in Oregon. Remember the friend I was going to visit in Newport? His wife is a chef. I had her teach me a few things. That way, this girl I know would finally shut up,” he says, winking.

  Ben’s words echo in my mind. I have to find a way to get in touch with Matt. That same day, I drag my mom out to Central Park with an excuse. I go to the same exact spot where I saw Matt play a
week earlier, but he is not there. Of course he wouldn’t be. He said he was getting a “real” job. I’m going to have to try again next weekend and see if I can find him. My mom sees the disappointment wash over my face, so I fill her in on what’s going on.

  I actually tell her everything that has been happening. With Cora, Biblio, and how Ben came into the picture. I don’t tell her about the two of us, though, I still think it’s too soon. It feels great to get so much off my chest, even though I’m keeping a little secret to myself. My mother asks me if I need money, and I tell her I am fine, and there is nothing she should worry about.

  I only start feeling better when we go to dinner at an Italian restaurant and we eat all kinds of delicacies, including braised short ribs and a divine panna cotta for dessert. Mom is in heaven. Surely, this is one of the highlights of her trip, and she will tell all her friends about it. In a corner of my mind, though, I’m still bummed about Matt. Ben is right, the book could be so much better if I could include the music.

  Me: Went to Central Park today, but couldn’t find Matt.

  Ben: Don’t worry, babe. We will find him.

  If you say so, I want to respond, but I don’t. I smile instead at the word babe.

  Ben: I miss you. When are you coming over?

  Me: I miss you too. I can’t tonight.

  Ben: Hmph.

  Me: It’s just too late to find a suitable excuse.

  Ben: Don’t get me wrong, I like your mom, but when does she leave? She sort of got here at the worst time possible. I was right in the middle of wooing her daughter.

  Me: Were you now? She leaves on Friday.

  Ben: Want to hit the beach this weekend?