by K. M. Liss
“I'm not sure about Jackson, but Nathan and Grant, and some of Mason's other pals will defo be there. Oh, and a couple of Ella’s friends, some guys her new boyfriend knows...”
“Sounds cool. See you there then. If I can ever get in the bathroom and get myself ready, that is. Bath boy's taking another long swim.”
She makes a strange little sound, like a strangled squeak, in my ear. “Oh please, don't set me off, my mind and body are swimming his way, Olympic speed...”
“I'd swim in the other direction, if I were you. He’ll eat you alive. Have you seen Jaws?” I snigger.
Cassandra is so hot for Mason. I can see her catching fire in his presence. A swim might be a good idea. It'll put out the flames.
He's really cool with her, almost to the point of being frozen. I know exactly why as well. It's because she's Sandy... and she's my best friend. Besties are not to be played with. I'm sure if she wasn't, she'd be toast by now. She’s blonde and right up his street, being somewhat Barbie-esque.
“I'd better go, Bill's calling me. I've got a late customer,” she says.
“Okay, see you later then. Bye.”
I tap end call, toss my phone in my bag, and turn the music back on, at the beginning, for another, full on, writhe around.
I resume my erotic poses and stretches on the floor.
Finally exhausting my repertoire, I end up grabbing my mat and doing some yoga while I wait... and wait...
The bathroom door finally swings opens, a good twenty odd minutes later, and out he strolls. I don't ask what the hell he's been up to in there with his Loaded. I really don't want to know. And he'd probably tell me.
He's surrounded by a cloud of steam and a blast of gorgeous male perfume.
His hips are wrapped in his “Eat Me” monogrammed black towel.
I have to admit it's kinda cute.
“Yum... I'm starving, when can I start eating?” I joke, smacking my lips noisily.
He'd make a nice meal in his present state. Clean shaven, hair all sticky-up and fluffy where it's been towel dried in a mad frenzy, and his skin's a little pink from the superheated bath.
He gives me a pair of raised eyebrows as his eyes flick over me, sitting cross-legged on the yoga mat, in my bright red undies. His gaze finally comes to rest on my modest tits.
I guess he's noticing I'm a woman at the moment, even if I don't meet the Barbie standard.
“Just dive in whenever you like,” he says, in his slow characteristic drawl, his mouth turning into a wide grin.
We often indulge in chummy flirt sessions. Sometimes they're quite hilarious and at other times not so. In fact we regularly end up throwing things at each other.
“Oh, can I? What's on the menu?”
“I don't know. What d'ya fancy?” His eyes flash wide in amusement and he refastens his towel with a quick re-wrap, a little lower and more loosely, I notice.
He's really flirty tonight. Enjoying it way too much.
I'll knock that smug smile off his handsome face.
“Hmm, something hot and spicy and big. Something to shut me up,” I suggest with a snigger. “Pepperoni pizza would be nice.”
“Pizza, eh... aww sorry, I'm all outta that. But if you need shutting up I've got something much better,” he chuckles.
“Hang on a sec. I need to get a plate and my knife and fork... and my ruler... Don't want to cut off more than I can chew, do I?” I joke, getting to my feet and whipping his towel from him with a quick swipe.
He laughs loudly, with a touch of surprise. Then, unconcerned he's in the buff, he grabs the towel back from me, and flicks me in the face with it.. He slings it over his shoulder and strolls off to his room to get tarted up and ready for a hot roll in the sack with Summer, the stickie.
I look at his retreating nakedness aesthetically for a few seconds. He's got a really beautiful slim and sculpted body. Perfectly proportioned tight muscles that move fluidly under his skin. He is graceful, but at the same time, very masculine. A sleek male panther. His usual standard of unkempt and brooding dark looks only adds to his appeal, providing a little rough and tough to the beauty underneath. A kind of scruffy gloss on top.
I know Mason very well. Both in the mental and physical sense.
Inside and out, and back to front. I spend a lot of time lying on various parts of him. And of course, I live with him. I guess if anyone's gonna know him really well, it's me.
But despite his obvious, physical attractions, which I'm constantly aware of, he's not my type.
For two important reasons.
One of those is me and the other is him.
I'm much more serious about life, and about my relationships, and very careful about the men I get involved with. I've been so badly hurt in the past, I hardly date anymore.
Although I'm still quite young, at twenty five, I know exactly what I want and need. I have a seven point checklist. Exclusivity, a real connection, the possibility of future permanence, love, passion, honesty and trust. It's a tall order, I know that. But these things are very important to me.
I'm not settling for anything less. That's what I tell myself, anyway. But who knows, I might have to lower my standards down the line, or I could become an old maid with a cat for company.
Mason's a born player and heart breaker. And, as I don't want to get my heart broken, I won't let him in mine, or even let him touch it with his fingertip, just in case it's extra fragile somehow.
I was tempted by him in the beginning. Because there's definitely a lot of chemistry between us.
On the stage it gives us an edge. It's almost an essential. The type of material we do needs a strong connection to make it work. A living pulse flowing between the leads. And we have that in spades. I'm high on him and he's high on me. We both admit we turn each other on. But when the music stops and we're alone, the heat dissipates and we're very hands off. Although we fool around a lot, like friends do, it's light hearted and purely for fun.
Mason put me straight on how things were going to go down between us, from the very beginning.
In one of our earliest, honest, getting to know you chats, he revealed that he doesn't intend to settle down and have a conventional family life, ever. Which I want to do, eventually. Of course, being honest, as we were, I told him that. He's adamant he won't change his mind, and neither will I. So, as far as this rather important life choice is concerned, we are incompatible.
He says his freedom is more important to him than love, which in his opinion is vastly overrated, and he's not at all interested in having kids. I think he's a fool and he'll be a lonely old man when he starts to age and his good looks fail to attract any more hot blondes. I told him this in no uncertain terms. As his friend and flatmate, I felt it was my duty to try and point him in the right direction.
But it only made him laugh. Which was a shame, because I meant it to be taken seriously. He's definitely not the serious type, though. He said he planned on getting his fill of life as a young man. Who the fuck cared what happened in his forties and fifties. He'd worry about that then, if he lived that long.
He was clearly laying down our relationship ground rules. Making sure I knew the lie of the land and didn't initiate any unrequited emotional entanglement.
It did cross my mind that he might be warning me off because he was worried I'd sneak up on him somehow, marry him, and have his babies without him noticing. But in any case, I did appreciate his upfront honesty. It was thoughtful. He could have taken me for a ride, in between Barbies, and abused his friendly position a little, but he didn't. That's a big plus to his character.
So, we've now put each other firmly in the friend and flatmate category.
We really are good friends, despite our differences. And we need to get along, on a nice even keel, because we spend so much time together. It would be a painful and difficult existence otherwise.
I've told Sandy, more than once, in very simple terms, so there's no ambiguity in her mind.
'D
on't even go there, he's a nightmare...'
Unfortunately, this has only served to make him all the more appealing to her.
The fact that he's a bad boy, a dyed in the wool player, a Barbie junkie, and not looking for love or even a sixth date, turns her on like nothing else.
She literally swoons with lust and flushes all over at the mere mention of his name, like a teenager with a mad crush on a high school jock.
It's kinda sad really. Because she'll never get anywhere with him. She'll never be 'the one' to change him. From what I've seen, I don't think anyone will.
*
There's twenty of us in his crew. We're progressive, urban, modern, traditional, fringe, and just about everything else.
We're 'Censored.’
It's an apt name for our particular style and brand of dance. Because it's for adult eyes only. It's tasteful but rather erotic. We tell a story, in heated choreography. Love, passion, betrayal, hatred... and all the other strong, essential emotions...and we set the scene in any era in time, from early stone-age to futuristic.
We're booked up for the next three months at the Adelphi, currently allotted Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday evenings. Not the best of days, but it's regular pay.
When we achieve the dizzy heights of Friday, Saturday, and Sunday stardom, I'll crack open the champagne and run around Trafalgar Square in a thong bikini yelling... “Yee-ha...We've fucking made it...!”
But until then, I'll keep my inner joy, at our continuing steps up the success ladder, all to myself. Just in case I tempt fate and it all goes pear shaped.
Mason and I are partners, and the principal leads in the troupe. We know each others strengths and weaknesses. Not that we have many of the latter.
Dancing with him is the love of my life. And I'm pretty sure it's a two way street.
Acting the part of lovers on the dance floor suits us both down to the ground. I get to roll all over a good looking man and he gets to roll all over me. It's not sex, but it feels pretty good at times. And tit size aside, he thinks I have the best body and the cutest ass he's ever seen or grabbed. A true compliment, if I ever heard one.
Off the dance floor we're wicked buddies who straight talk to the point of rudeness with each other. It's irrelevant that we have X and Y chromosomes and different body parts.
I know that men and women don't generally have this kind of strong friendship successfully, because sex gets in the way. But we seem to manage it with no effort whatsoever. We're strictly compartmentalised and controlled.
I could sleep naked in the same bed as him and not be tempted at all.
Not that I plan on testing that out, just in case I'm wrong.
Chapter Two
I'm getting ready for my big Friday night of fun. And my grand lip stud unveiling...
Mason calls out, “Don't wait up honey-bunch,” and leaves. I'm getting my dress on. It's a sweet little number, in black, of course. Short, tight, and sleeveless with a slash neck.
It's a squeeze, but I'm finally in there. And it's looking kinda slinky and cute, hugging my ass tighter than Mason in a fast uplift.
I put on my make-up and straighten my long brown hair, then pin and arrange it in a sleek side style, sweeping across one shoulder. I curl the ends for a little more glamour.
“Mmmmm, not too bad at all,” I say out loud, looking at the finished result, and smiling to myself.
I can do glamour pretty well, with a little effort.
I smother myself liberally in Miss Dior, to complete the knock-him-dead look.
Not that I know if he will be going or not. He tends to be working most evenings. He does backstage lighting and audio stuff. The technical side of showbiz.
I know I really shouldn't do it, behind Mason's back, but I send Jackson a sneaky text.
Mason doesn't know we have each others numbers and so far we've managed to avoid the temptation of using them.
“Going to the bar, see you there maybe?”
He replies instantly.
- Hey KD :) Got the weekend off work – hanging with the guys already
I smile such a big smile my face hurts.
- Masons gone out with Summer.
I text pointedly.
- He mentioned it – doesnt know I'm here - game on.
He replies unsubtly. We're on the same wavelength, it would appear.
- Going to the party later?
- Raring to go - how long will you be babe – drink?
- B there in five. Red wine. TY :)
It's only half seven, Sandy's not there till eight, and I see a small window of opportunity opening in my love life. I shove my phone in my purse, grab my key, and shoot out of the flat and hurtle downstairs. I literally run down the road in my haste to get him to myself, for a short, but hopefully, wonderful half an hour.
I know I'm playing with fire. But I rarely get a chance like this. Mason's always around and on guard. At our place and when we're out. Keeping us separated and well away from each other.
He doesn't care for the look in our eyes.
The one which clearly says, 'We like each other. Lots. Let's date and whatever.’
Mason doesn't want us mixing too much, talking too much, or even standing remotely close to each other. He's telling us, none too succinctly, 'you're my best friends. You can't do that kinda thing.’
Not only is he off limits, so's his pal.
For some odd reason, we play his game. Although being adults, we can do what we like, in theory. But it seems neither of us wants to rock the Mason boat.
Apart from this sneaky half hour tonight, that is.
It's strange, and probably a bit deep for me to be thinking it, but I'm not completely sure who he's guarding from who. Me from Jackson, or Jackson from me, or just me from myself. I get the feeling he doesn't want me to be hurt. Because he knows everything about my past. But I also get the feeling there's more to it than that.
Now I am getting deep.
I swing through the door of the bar and there he is. Black jeans and tight white T to match the beautiful white smile he's blasting me with.
He's lounging against the bar with Grant as I arrive at his side, and he moves in on me quickly.
“Hi...” I say breathlessly.
My heart's thumping out of my chest. Mainly because I've just run five hundred yards really fast, in high heels. It takes a lot out of a girl dodging the cracks in the uneven pavement, even a fit dancer, like me.
He's making my heart pump harder and the breathless part isn't going away any time soon...
I get a good dose of his cologne...and the scent is so ethereal, I start to get high.
“Kaydee... Look at you... You're lovelier than ever tonight, honey...” he drawls slowly, hugging me close, and giving me a peck on the cheek. The heat's rising so fast, like an oven's been switched on inside me. “Mm mm, that's a really nice dress wearing you,” he whispers in my ear. His lips touch my ear lobe and his breath is hot against my skin. I'm swamped by a fiery flash over.
He pulls back, pushes my wine to me with one lovely long finger, and his eyes come sweeping up to mine. They're the warmest, deep brown girl-grabbers on the planet.
“Thanks. How are you anyway?” I ask inanely, my whole being ceasing to function. I take a quick gulp of wine to get me going again.
“I'm good,” he replies, his eyes searching my dazed expression with a hint of amusement.
The eyes flick down and focus on my mouth. His lips break into a little grin and he lifts his finger and strokes my stud. The effect on me is electric.
The breathless feeling has been replaced by not breathing at all.
Up and down, round and around. I'm tingling and hot all over.
His fingertip is getting to know my stud very well. Better than I do.
His lips part with a sigh and he rolls the little ball between his fingertips.
A tinge of sublime erotic pain shoots through my newly pierced lip and my eyes half close in heated reaction.
I'm absolutely steaming.
My sex muscles have clamped tighter than a vice and things are dampening up downstairs already.
“When did you get this done?” he asks quietly.
I find my voice from somewhere far away.
“Today. And it still hurts, so be careful.”
“Sexy little thing, ain't it...” he says, twisting it some more, very softly.
I'm now imagining his tongue playing with it and his teeth nibbling it.
I can't help it, I moan with desire and our eyes meet.
He knows... and so do I.
Oh God...
Jackson's very well built, and naturally so. He's into fitness and health. He doesn't smoke and only drinks a little. But more to the point, he's mixed race and incredibly hot looking.
And unlike his bestie, he doesn't seem averse to my piercings or my shoulder tattoo either. He has a few of his own that I can see and that I'd love to examine at close quarters, My rose is getting a lot of attention from him at the moment. The long finger is on the move, exploring it.
He's taller than Mason, by an inch, and just about the coolest, sexiest thing, I've seen on two legs.
And if the looks weren't enough to make any woman weep with want, his voice is so deep it shoots a sonic shock-wave straight through your brain.
And he's one of 'those' types of men.
A woman ambusher.
The type that sweet talks, finger brushes, and eye fucks you so naturally and beautifully, that suddenly you can't remember your own name or even where you are. All you can do is stare, like a hypnotized rabbit, and gulp and sigh and smile like an absolute idiot.
Like I'm doing now.
I realise it's rather pathetic of me.
I'm like Sandy. All misty eyed, and bursting into flames over Mason.
It's impossible to ignore or do anything to stop the intense, heated attraction that's going down right now. It's been building for months, ever since we first met. We've been kept apart, deliberately, by the friend gatekeeper. And now we're like two little magnets, being drawn together.