Rouse Me

by Crystal Kaswell

  I reply. “I'll be there.”

  ***

  I am a nervous wreck on my ride up the elevator. What if Ryan gets home early and sees my car in my parking spot? I text him, “Taking a long walk,” but, somehow, I don't expect it to buy me that much time.

  Does it really matter at this point?

  My heart thumps in my chest. I unlock Luke's door, half expecting to see Ryan, patting himself on the back for an elaborate trap. But it is only Luke, in his jeans and T-shirt, staring out the window. His face lights up when he sees me. It feels so good to see his big, brown eyes bright and full of life. Full of need.

  I don't waste any time. I move towards him, wrapping my arms around him, brushing my lips against his. We melt into each other, our arms around each other, our bodies pressed together. It is sweet at first. Then, he drags his fingertips across my stomach, and I know I can't keep it sweet. I need to have him. I need to hear him come, his nails digging into my skin, his breath fast and choppy.

  He sucks on my lips as he pulls my shirt over my head. My body tingles with electricity as he trails his fingertips over my skin, touching me everywhere. I grab his ass and press my body into his until I can feel him get hard.

  Yes. He's responding to me.

  I bring my mouth to his ear. “Mr. Lawrence,” I say. “I have to ask your permission for something.”

  I unbuckle his belt. “Anything,” he groans.

  “May I make you come?” I echo his words from our first night together.

  He smiles and nods. “Only if I can make you come.”

  “Oh, you can,” I say. “But you may not…Not until I'm finished with you.” He shifts his body towards mine, grabbing my ass.

  “Take off your clothes. I want to see you,” he groans.

  “And why should I?” I ask.

  “I wouldn't want to revoke my permission,” he says, and unhooks my bra. He watches, mesmerized, as it falls to the ground. By now he's seen me naked a dozen times, but his eyes still get big and wide.

  He brings his mouth around my nipple, sucking gently. This isn't part of the deal, but, God, it feels so good. My body is a torrent of want.

  But he won't stop me from my quest.

  I pin him against the wall, pressing my body into his as I unzip his jeans and stroke him over his boxers. I hover my mouth over his ear again. It would normally be so awkward to talk like this, but with Luke, it's easy.

  “I'm not stopping until you come in my mouth,” I whisper in his ear. And there it is, that look on his face that screams I want you so badly.

  I bring my lips to his earlobe, and suck gently. Then harder. He groans, so I sink my teeth into his skin until I hear that sound again. Then I move to his neck, biting him harder and harder, his groans getting louder.

  “Take off your clothes,” I echo his words back to him.

  I slide my jeans and panties to my knees and kick them off my feet. He follows suit, pulling his shirt over his head, stepping out of his jeans. Then it's only the thinnest layer of cotton between his cock and me.

  I work my way down his body, kissing his collarbone, shoulders, chest. I run my fingers down his stomach, tracing the outlines of his muscles, brushing my fingertips against the soft hairs below his bellybutton.

  He shudders. “Let me fuck you,” he groans.

  So, this is how it feels to be in control of his pleasure. Like he's putty in my hands. No wonder he's such an awful tease.

  “Do you want me to stop?” I ask him as I slip my hand into his boxers and wrap it around his cock.

  “No, God, no…”

  I drop to my knees and pull his boxers to the floor. I brush my lips against his cock, the softest of teases. He groans, surely realizing that I'm going to torture him the way he's tortured me. I stroke him, up and down, harder and harder, brushing my lips against him again.

  And, when he's finally shaking with need, I slip my lips around his cock, sucking on his tip, relishing the taste of his skin.

  “Jesus, Alyssa…”

  I take in more of him, sliding my mouth up and down his cock, over and over again. “Fuck,” he groans, and he teases my nipples with his fingers. I suck harder and harder, running my hand up and down him to match the motions of my mouth. He's getting close, but I'm not done with him yet.

  I pull back and kiss his thighs and stomach. I look up at Luke, into those big, brown eyes, full of desire. And I keep kissing him, moving further up his thighs. He squeezes my chest as he groans. I move back to his cock and swirl my tongue around his head. I lick him, up and down, his groans getting louder and louder.

  He's close.

  I slip my mouth back around him and slide over him. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. His moans are quiet and low-pitched. His breath is heavy. He looks down at me, his gaze heavy with want, and digs his hands into my hair, guiding my mouth over him.

  His eyes roll back into his head as his eyelids flutter closed. He sinks his teeth into his lips, his groans getting louder and louder as I suck harder and harder on his cock.

  And he comes. I don't stop until he's finished completely, swallowing as my eyes lock with his.

  “I'm going to get you back for that,” Luke whispers. He sinks to the floor next to me, not shy about pressing his lips against mine, sliding his tongue into my mouth. He pins me to the ground and pulls my knees apart.

  But he doesn't touch me yet.

  Then, his fingers brush against my thighs, and there it is again—electricity, everywhere. He runs his fingertips over me in wavy lines, curving around my thighs, behind my knees, over my hips, up and down my stomach. He drags his fingers around my nipples and across my neck. Then, he traces the outline of my lips as he kisses my neck, my collarbone, my chest.

  He brings his mouth around my nipple again, sucking on it as his hands trail all the way down my stomach, moving past my bellybutton, until they are so, so close. He bites gently as he brushes his hands against my sex.

  “Jesus,” I groan, tugging on his hair. He bites harder on my nipple as he, finally, slides his fingers over my clit. He strokes me with two fingers, back and forth, and my body hums with need. I dig my nails into the skin of his back, and he moves his fingers in longer strokes, teasing my sex as they brush against it. I arch my body into his. I want his fingers inside me. I need his fingers inside me. I am wet and ready and achy with desire.

  But, still, he teases. His fingers return to my clit, softer this time. His strokes get longer and longer until I can't take it any longer. I arch my back to meet his hand. His finger slips inside me and I groan.

  “Make me come,” I command. And, in response, he brings his mouth to my other nipple, sucking and biting and flicking his tongue across it. He slides his finger deeper in me, then deeper, and deeper, and I get closer and closer.

  But, still, I groan. “More.” And I gasp as he slips a second finger inside me and slides them in and out. I arch my back to meet every thrust of his fingers. He moves faster. Harder. God, don't stop. I shift my hips faster and faster, trying to match his frantic pace. The pressure inside me grows, harder and harder and harder, until it can't get any harder, and everything releases in a torrent of ecstasy.

  I collapse onto the ground, straining to catch my breath. He wraps his body around mine, and we lie like that for what seems like forever. I close my eyes and fall asleep in Luke's arms.

  I wake up to a gentle tap on the shoulder. Luke lies behind me, his arms around me. He whispers in my ear. “It's getting late. I don't want to get you in trouble.”

  “Not yet,” I say. “I want to know more about you. I want to know your life.”

  “What about it?”

  “What were you like in high school? Were you already a shameless flirt?”

  “I wore eyeliner and painted my nails black.”

  “Do you have pictures?”

  “Somewhere.”

  “I bet you looked hot in black eyeliner.”

  “Is that all you think about?”


  “No,” I say. “It's just easier to think about hot Luke in eyeliner than to think about sad, teenage Luke mourning his mom.”

  “You don't have to think about him.”

  “I want to,” I say. “He's still a part of you.”

  “What about lonely, teenage Alyssa?”

  “She's still destroying her life.”

  “Don't say that.”

  “I should go.”

  “Or you could stay,” he says. “Spend the night. Let me make you breakfast.”

  “I can't.”

  “We'll have to talk about it soon.”

  “I know, but let me enjoy a little more time with you first,” I say. I press my lips to his and he murmurs some agreement.

  His hands find my hips, pressing my body into his. He's hard. I fight a sigh. If only we had time for another round. If only it didn't mean I'd need a shower before I went home to my fiancé.

  Chapter 29

  The week goes slowly. Days on set are long and I can't bring myself to pretend the books on my Kindle are more interesting than replaying the last few weeks in my head. I would never hurt Ryan if I didn't have to, if I wasn't missing something, if I didn't need whatever it is that Luke is giving me.

  Don't get ahead of yourself. All he's given you is a few orgasms and a tragic backstory. You really think he's going to let a pathetic whore like you replace his sweet, innocent fiancée?

  Ex-fiancée.

  I manage to avoid Luke and Ryan, turning off my phone for days at a time. Ryan complains about missing me in his bed. He tries to kiss me or touch me or get me out of my clothes, but I claim exhaustion. “Is this because of him?” he asks, and I shake my head, no. But it is because of Luke. It is because it hurts twice as much to think of Luke when I'm lying next to Ryan.

  I sleep in Ryan's bed after that. Is it because I want to lessen his suspicions or because I want to feel his body near mine? I don't know. And I am so tired I can't bring myself to care.

  The weekend is twice as painful. My only respite is a hike with Laurie. She drills me about Ryan and the mysterious other man, but I stay quiet.

  Finally, on Sunday night, I turn on my phone, and check my texts from Luke.

  “Come to my house in the morning. As early as you want. You leave before Ryan. He'll never know you left early.”

  “Are you staying at the house again?” I reply.

  “Jesus. Where have you been?” he replies.

  “Thinking. Are you?”

  “I will if it means I can see you.”

  “Okay,” I reply.

  ***

  I am too excited to sleep. I pace around my room. I try to read something on my Kindle. I move to the living room and turn on the TV, so loud I am sure Ryan will come out and sit with me, and keep me from betraying him again.

  But he doesn't.

  At 5 A.M., after hours of boring infomercials, I drive to Luke's house. I go straight to the backyard.

  It is still dark outside and the only light is from the pool. It is even brighter and bluer at this time. Luke sits on the edge, in a t-shirt and boxers, his feet wiggling in the water.

  “You want some coffee?” he asks. “I bought good stuff.”

  “You own a coffee maker?”

  “Samantha…Well, I remember last time we were here, you made up this rule but chose not to follow it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And I was thinking, this time, maybe we could both follow my rule. No talking about anyone else we've been with. Or…are technically with currently, but will soon be dumping.”

  “I like your optimism.”

  “I was thinking we could keep this rule in effect for a while. I'd like you to visit whenever you don't mind sacrificing a little sleep,” he says.

  “I like the rule.”

  “Now, do you want coffee?”

  I nod, and we move to the kitchen. It's a perfectly clean and white tiled thing, straight out of a Martha Stewart magazine. I barely noticed last time. I was so busy imagining all the places Luke and Samantha had sex. Like the counter. The counter seems perfect.

  I watch Luke as he carefully measures coffee. He seems lost, like he's never done it before.

  “I have no idea what this place was called, but the guy behind the counter was wearing a fedora, so…”

  “So, it must be good.”

  He turns to me, his arms sliding around my waist. “I like talking to you. About anything. Even when it's about certain people I despise. But we do a lot of talking about a lot of awful things. I want to do things with you.”

  “With me or to me?”

  “Both,” he smiles, and he leads me back to the backyard. “Have you ever been skinny dipping?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say, even though I know it's not what he wants to hear.

  “Oh, you're no fun.”

  “Like you don't get naked in here all the time,” I say. He smirks and pulls off his T-shirt. So he does roll out of bed looking like a freaking Adonis. Then he turns around, feigning a shy look, and slips his boxers to his feet.

  He jumps in the pool before I can get a proper look at his ass.

  “And now I'm supposed to strip on the concrete while you watch?” I ask with mock coyness. He nods, and I peel off my layers slowly. His eyes get bigger and brighter with every article of clothing I remove. I get to my bra and turn around, really exaggerating as I unhook it. I wiggle one strap off my shoulders. Then the other. I press the cups to my chest and turn around.

  Luke smiles at me, practically licking his lips.

  “You're insatiable,” I say.

  “Speak for yourself.”

  I fling my bra to the concrete, step out of my panties, and slip into the water. It's cold, at first, but I quickly get used to it.

  Luke swims circles around me. He grabs my hips and tries to pull me under the water. I push off of him, moving to the shallow end. He shakes his head. “Don't tell me you're afraid of messing up your hair.”

  “Do you also have a blow dryer here?”

  “Of course. I keep one around for all the random girls I fuck here.”

  “Do you take them all into the pool?”

  “Once they see me naked, they can't resist.”

  “Oh yeah?” I ask.

  “It's awful, really. They only want me for my body.”

  “It's a great body.”

  He moves closer to me. Until we're only inches apart. His lips graze mine. And I feel it, again, that electricity, everywhere. I reach for his hips, pressing my body into his. But he pulls away.

  “You're going to have to try harder than that,” he says.

  He swims to the deep end, diving under the water and waving at me. I shake my head and swim beneath the surface. My hair stylist is going to kill me, but I don't care. It's worth it.

  We swim around each other, our fingers grazing each other’s bodies. I look back at the surface. The sun is still low in the sky, but light dances on the surface in tiny waves. It's gorgeous, really, it is. I push off the bottom of the pool and surface, gasping for air. Luke follows. He's barely out of breath.

  I reach for the ladder.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “The bedroom.”

  “Alyssa, I can't…Not in the bedroom,” he says.

  And I almost thought things were easy for a minute.

  “We don't have to,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “I have to. Or I'm not going to be able to concentrate all day.”

  He pulls my arm off the ladder. He pulls me to the shallow end, and presses me against the wall, his hands on my hips. We kiss softly, the taste of chlorine on both our tongues. Then it's harder, and his hands slide between my thighs. And I'm ready. And he's ready. And I gasp and kiss his neck, savoring the mix of his skin and the chlorine of the pool.

  I whisper in his ear. “Fuck me.”

  And he does.

  ***

  We keep this up for weeks.

  I lie to Ryan about my cal
l time and wake at 5:30. By the time I get to Luke's house, he is sweaty from a morning run. If I'm lucky, he's shirtless. Several times, I'm so struck with desire that I take him right there, on the concrete by his pool. Eventually, we move to the couch or the kitchen table or the living room floor. But we never use the bedroom.

  When we're too tired to go again, he makes me coffee and breakfast. I drink from his tea cup. He spoons honey into my coffee and takes slow sips, claiming it tastes like my lips. Then, he kisses me, just to confirm. We watch Law and Order and black and white movies on TCM, distressing over how little has changed for women on screen. The Philadelphia Story, His Girl Friday, She Done Him Wrong, Some Like it Hot, All About Eve… Hell, I'd kill to play any of those roles.

  To Kill a Mockingbird is his favorite, of course, followed by 12 Angry Men. Naturally, he complains the latter is sexist. Alyssa, can you really believe women could be excused from jury duty solely because they were women well into the 1960s? Of course, in New York in the 1950s, plenty of women were on juries. So the playwright—it's based on a play, you know—is just a sexist asshole.

  When guilt creeps in, I practice my lines for the day. There is so much to memorize every day. I wasn't the star of Together. I always had days off, hours between scenes, plenty of time to rehearse my lines over and over and over. I coveted the time. I got to be someone else, somewhere else, without any concern of lights or directors or bitchy actors. It was just me, just Cindy Bleachers, really. No problems with friends. No problems with family. No loneliness or calories to count in my head. Just my character and the words on the page.

  I barely get to work on time. I love having a job. I love having a place to go every day. I love having coworkers, even if half of them are off their rockers, and the other half avoid talking to all the actors. I love every second of performance. But the days are long and there is so much time to wait. There is so much time for guilt to creep into my mind.

  Fridays are particularly slow. The closer we get to the end of the day, the more I fill with dread. Another weekend with Ryan. Another weekend of lies. Another weekend of that look on his face, that look I caused. I pray for a high-profile divorce—anything that will keep him working. I check my phone whenever I have a break. Ryan has taken to texting me all day. It's mostly normal stuff. How are you? How is work? Are you sticking to your recovery diet? It's mostly boring stuff. I'm working late. Will I see you at home tonight? How about we rent a movie? I lie about long days. I lie about needing to rehearse after we wrap. At least I don't have to lie about exhaustion.