To the left was a spacious bathroom, and on the right a huge bedroom. The walls were all white, the furniture finished in black lacquer.
"It's stunning, Jimmy. Talk about clean freak. It's spotless."
He sighed. "The maid comes twice a week."
I stared up at him, eyebrows raised, mouth slack.
He chuckled and pulled me into his arms. "Kidding, babe. I make the mess. I clean it. But I'm here mainly to sleep."
"Nice." I motioned to his king sized bed, covered by a blue tailored spread and matching shams. "Even a sliding glass door to a terrace," I said appreciatively.
"Yeah, it's great in the summer, even if our city air's not entirely pulmonarily friendly."
"Is that a real word?" I squinted.
"I think I just made up the usage." He laughed, and pulled me back down the hallway. "And here is my rarely functioning kitchen."
The appliances were gleaming stainless steel. Even the sink. There was no table, but a half wall served as an island, dividing the spacious room into dining and living room.
"It's enormous," marveling, I said. "And luxurious. I had no idea you could get an apartment like this in our area." Struck with the sudden concept of expense, my eyes widened. "No less afford it."
"Yeah. The rent's not too bad, though. How about a glass of wine ... or a mixed drink?"
What he considered not too bad would have been a year's salary for me.
"Ah ah. I'm fine." I reached up and locked my fingers around his neck, covering his lips with mine. After breaking for air, I murmured, "Now that's a proper hello kiss."
With a mind of their own, my hips tucked into his, moving as if on the dance floor, rocking with a deliberate rhythm.
His hands tightened around my waist. I brought my face up, gazed into his gray eyes that looked like the sky on a cloudy day. An mmm sound erupted deep in his throat. He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me onto the counter. I slung my legs around his hips and squeezed.
"What you do to me should be illegal." His breath hit my ear. "At this rate, I'll never get into the shower. And you won't have your Penne A La Vodka."
"Who needs food. You taste better than anything I've ever had the pleasure of ..."
"Baby," he whispered. "Be careful. We're alone up here on the almost deserted fifth floor."
He sounded different, ultra confident, bolder. Had he been planning this? Would tonight be a continuation of Sunday on the train? The thought was staggering.
This was it. The time had come. It felt so good, so right; I knew what I wanted to do.
His hands were beneath me, stroking, clenching. My legs tightened, drawing him closer. I took his hands in mine and brought them to my face, kissing his fingers, smoothing his palms down my neck, to my breasts, where I held them firmly in place.
"How about that shower?" My voice was not my own.
"Baby, are you sure?" His brows tugged together. "This isn't why I brought you here."
For a split second I focused across the room, at a porcelain vase wrapped with long tangled stems, a disarray of petals running up, down and around, like my emotions. Then my eyes returned to his.
"I've never been so sure about anything in my life, Jimmy. I've never felt this way before."
I rested my forehead against his chest, my head sliding back and forth, praying I was making the right decision. I was entering another dimension, and there was no turning back. The muscles in my stomach tightened, struggling with an onslaught of frenzy.
His chin brushed my hair, rested lightly on the top of my head, then his moist lips moved to my ear. He pulled me to my feet, and I stood before him, swallowing hard, closing my eyes, waiting.
I felt my sweater being lifted up and over my head; my electrified hair smoothed back into place. His palms skimmed the silky cups of my bra, then his hands slipped behind me and unhooked the band, peeling down the straps. His breath increased, and I imagined his surging heart rate, which couldn't have possibly exceeded mine. He whispered, "Tell me now if you want me to stop."
"No ... don't stop."
His touch was gentle, but determined. His lips kept brushing my face, my mouth, my neck. "Are you sure?"
"Yes ..."
My back hit the edge of the center island at the same time my elbows landed on the polished surface, bracing my buckling legs. He lifted my face, his thumb sliding across my trembling bottom lip, which he kissed until the warmth of his mouth calmed my shudder.
I watched his eyes glaze, then focus on my breasts, scorching my skin without even so much as a touch. My heart hammered inside my chest, which rose and fell as I fought for air. Each moment I stood before him was like an eternity filled with thousands of electrifying fingertips sweeping across my bare skin.
"God, you're beautiful," he murmured when his gaze reached my face – gauging my reaction as the tips of his fingers strummed my swollen nipples, torturing me with the lightest touch, until every muscle in my body went limp, and I could handle no more. Fighting for consciousness, I lowered my lids, threw back my head and gasped as the air around me thinned.
When his hands clasped my breasts, the room began to spin. I sank against his chest, felt my body being lifted, laid out on the countertop. For a moment I held my breath, then let my limbs relax, my head fall to the side. His touch was easy, yet assertive ... and very persuasive.
I clung to him, my fingers threading through his hair. Dragging his face against mine, I whispered nonsense into his ear. Heard the unzipping of my jeans, felt the softness of his hands as his fingers dribbled like melted butter down my belly. Finally reaching the ache between my thighs, his hand cupped, his fingers grazed, enlivening sensitive nerve endings I never knew existed. He knew exactly where to touch, how to touch. I was in another dimension, floating in a semiconscious state, where all my body felt were frenzied fingertips ... hungry lips, and the rush of blood exploding in my head.
As I squirmed, my breasts slid across the fabric of his shirt, exciting my tingling nipples beyond comprehension. I spaced – my body reacting on its own, rearing up, never settling.
My jeans were pulled to my ankles. His fingers circled the moisture between my thighs, while his palm coasted rhythmically. The throbbing sensation almost unbearable, I strained against him ... longing to bury him inside me.
"Oh God," arching my back, I screamed, "Jimmy ..."
"Ssh," he whispered. "Someone will think you're being attacked." He pressed my right palm over my lips, the left across my breasts. The heat in his eyes was so intense, I thought he'd mount me. But instead, he kissed his way down my body, lifted my hips and lowered his head. His moist lips nibbled, his tongue lashed, sending jolts of agonizing pleasure through my insides, manic signals to my brain. I arched my back: I bucked, I gripped my swollen nipples, his head, unable to control the savagery of my moans. I lifted my knees, let them part, and pressed his face so fiercely, he might have smothered had my hips not braced for the onset of an explosive climax.
Then I shrieked, or was it another sound that hit my ears, something as desperate as my cry, but distant. I wasn't sure of the origin ... I just wanted the irritating noise to cease. Wanted only to hear our whispers, restless breathing, rustling of clothing I intended to remove. My hand slid under his shirt, ran up and down clawing the smoothness of his back, drifting down his spine, when he tensed.
I opened my eyes to watch his head lift, his chest heave. I heard his throaty whisper, "Shit," escape the grim fold of his lips, followed by a distracted, "Fuck, it's the intercom."
"Let it ring," I panted, gripping his hand firmly, my hips still writhing. "Please baby," I begged, "don't stop." My ragged words echoed from a far off place from which I did not want to return.
His lips crashed into mine, his fingers pleasingly manipulative, but the hideous shrill endured. It tore at my nerves, angered my mind, pulling me back to painful reality.
When his lips left mine, I covered my face with my hands, literally moaning with agony as I pulled my l
egs up, curled up on my side.
"I'm sorry baby," he rasped, and I was lifted to my feet, steadied, handed my sweater and bra. Had his lips not been pressed to my ear, I wouldn't have heard his words through the onslaught of blood coursing through my veins. "You better get dressed."
My mind spun, trying to comprehend, to recover. The walls were glazed with swirling gray specks, the room itself cloudy. In my dazed state, I saw the pain on his face. The moment I wavered, he reached for me, and as I caught my balance, my body skimmed his and I instantly realized why he looked the way he did. His erection was enormous. I imagined the pulsation inside his pants, and had to hold my hand in place. I so wanted to relieve him, but was forced to watch the ripple of his roomy scrubs as he headed down the hallway.
Pathetically posed – topless, jeans around my ankles – defenseless I stood, a quivering mess in the middle of the kitchen floor, while he answered the intercom.
I covered my breasts with my clothes and hesitated, but when I heard the tone of his voice, I had a feeling our evening would be ending abruptly.
Barely able to walk, I slowly made my way to the bathroom, listening to his end of the conversation: "Hey." His voice, no longer muffled by passion, was kept low. "Are you okay? No ... it's alright. Come on up."
Before I had a chance to close the bathroom door, he shot me a sheepish glance. "It's Vanessa." He sounded helpless, pleading for my mercy. "She's pretty upset." He ran a hand through his hair, repeating, "I'm so sorry, babe."
"Now I know how you must feel," I muttered, before slamming the door in his face.
EASY COME EASY GO
I stood in the spacious bathroom, on a cold floor tiled with marble, shaking from head to toe. Shaking with the hunger he'd aroused, and anger. Anger at Vanessa for destroying our interlude, anger with Indigo for ever having known such a witch.
It was the third time she'd invaded my privacy, and her presence, even the mere mention of her name, was getting under my skin. I wanted to pull her into a boxing ring, pound the hell out of her, because that's what she represented: pure hell. I was certain she wasn't the most honest person, and had ulterior motives where Indigo was concerned. I'd known her kind before. And they almost always ended up with either a big payday, or searching for another victim. I hoped Indigo wouldn't be her victim ... or her payday. Could one ever trust another person one hundred percent?
I stared into the mirror hanging over the double sink. My face was so flushed my cheeks looked like beets that had been sitting in the sun too long. I slipped my bra on, my nipples so sensitive from Indigo's mouth, at the mere touch of the fabric, I felt a stir. My chest was mottled, but had quieted. I heaved a sigh, pulled my sweater over my head, and was horrified at the girl staring back at me. My hair was a mess. I'd left my handbag in the entry foyer, and without a hair brush, I faced embarrassment, doom. I would have to exit the bathroom eventually ...
My first order of business was to dab wet tissues around my already damp hairline, beneath my chin, down my neck, between my cleavage. Indigo had done a job on me, that was for sure. My body still pulsed, furious the hunger hadn't been entirely satiated.
I sat on the oval lid of the toilet, head in my hands, ready to break down. This was the rockiest non-relationship I'd ever encountered. Between struggling with celibacy, Vanessa's interference, and concentrating on finals, I was filled with agitation deadlier than the worst bout of PMS I'd ever experienced. Still, I couldn't cry. No ... I wouldn't cry. I was not about to let the likes of Vanessa Whitehall crush me.
I bowed my head, allowing my hair to fall almost to the floor. With dampened fingers I raked through my tresses, releasing every knotted strand, calming the ends that had been charged with passion and angora knit. When I faced the mirror, my hair fell past my shoulders in voluminous waves, surpassing any lion's mane.
Before leaving the bathroom, I refreshed every part of my body, and the ache had abated. I zipped my jeans, tugged my sweater to my waist, pasted on a smile, and opened the door.
Before I even left the room, I heard their muffled voices. "What the hell?" I mumbled. "Why are they talking so secretively?" When I rounded the corner, they were embracing. "What the fuck?"
I heard Indigo say, "I know how difficult it's been, Ness. It's something you never get over." His voice was hushed. Not seductively hushed. A weird hushed.
Vanessa said, "I know you do, Jim. Of all people, you know best how I feel, which is why I came here tonight ... to be with you."
I froze to the floor. "Ness??? To be with you? How what feels?" I wanted to scream, but casually said, "Am I interrupting something?" as I strode into the living room wearing a broad smile that strained my cheeks.
Indigo, whose palms had been warming Vanessa's shoulder blades, instantly let his hands fall to her hips to separate their bodies. But Vanessa stood her ground. Her arms were locked around his neck, her body pressed closer to his than I would have done to any friend, including Pete.
At the sound of my voice, she turned, hurling a lopsided smirk over Indigo's shoulder. Her green eyes were wide, her brows arched.
Indigo peeled her arms away, taking several steps back. He shot me a distressed look, as though to say, "Don't get mad. I'm guilty of nothing!" My eyes replied, "Maybe you just haven't been caught ... yet."
Fool. I was a freaking fool. Jewel, when will you learn? I longed to call Pete, have things return to normal where loneliness was bearable. Pete was an antidepressant. His pep talks always made me laugh. I was no longer lighthearted. I felt like a slug dragged through the mud, sprinkled with salt. I felt emotions I'd never believed I'd be capable of feeling. I'd never had to feel before meeting Indigo. I wouldn't scratch her eyes out, or land one on her jaw. I'd promptly leave his apartment, my head held high.
"Jewel," Indigo's voice strained as he watched me in the doorway, "You know Vanessa."
Of course I knew Vanessa, and he damn well knew I knew Vanessa. "I sure do. Hey," I said as though her presence meant nothing to me. As though Indigo meant nothing to me.
"Jim Jim and I were just talking personal stuff." She fired a sour expression over his shoulder, still hanging on greedily. It wasn't difficult to figure out what she was thinking: "I knew him first and will know him long after you're gone, bitch, so back off."
If holding my breath was guaranteed to prevent an outburst, then I would have suffocated on the spot, rather than display an ounce of insecurity or jealousy.
"Yeah ... and we had dinner plans." My voice was casual, yet full of intent.
"Let me guess, Mexican?" She pitched me a sappy grin.
Ignoring her, I scooped up my bag and slung it over my shoulder. Indigo's eyes bulged. His brows furrowed. "Where are you going?" He moved in my direction.
Vanessa glowed, apparently convinced I was about to concede. Her expression turned from sugar to smug.
I don't think so ... The fight was on.
"I'm not going anywhere, babe." I sidled up to Indigo, ran my fingers through his hair and kissed his cheek. "Just came out for my hairbrush." I clutched his arm, grinning at Vanessa. "You did a number on my hair." I rubbed my head against his shoulder. Gazed up at him adoringly.
Indigo let out a breath, his troubled expression turning dubious. He drew back, his eyes asking: "So, you're really okay with what you just saw?"
"Your hair looks fine," he said. His voice was tighter than my throat. "Maybe I'll just go and take a quick shower, so we can get to dinner. Will you two be okay?" He shot me a look of concern.
"Of course, honey. I'll entertain your friend." I smiled sweetly. "I'll be right here when you get out." I sent him off with a pat on his butt.
Vanessa looked like she wanted to strangle me.
We faced off in the entry to the living room, where I did a preliminary check of her attire.
Her blonde hair was sleek and impeccable, knotted at the nape of her neck. Her cream colored ankle boots were the exact shade of her spandex breeches. She wore a white linen shirt, and a cocoa bl
azer.
"Would you like a drink before you leave?" I said, sauntering toward the kitchen.
"Why not ... I have all night."
From a side glance, I watched her check me out from head to toe.
"Nice jeans ... and are those your muddy boots in the foyer?" Her voice was a phony as her smile. "Are they pleather?"
"You betcha."
I heard Indigo slamming around in his room, preparing for one of the quickest showers of his life, no doubt. No problem. Five minutes was all I needed to get rid of her.
Since I acted like I owned the place, I had to think fast. Where would Indigo keep the booze? In the glass cabinet of course, next to the half dozen bottles of pricey wine. Very perceptive, Jewel.
I opened the fridge, which was spotless and neatly stocked, and pulled out a container of orange juice. I filled two glasses with ice, grabbed an open bottle of vodka, and in less than a minute we were sitting in the living room, sipping screwdrivers, chatting like enemies.
"Where's your sidekick tonight?" I asked. I couldn't help but glare.
"If you're referring to Elizabeth, she's at home, finishing the guest list for Indigo's grad party. We're so proud of him."
"We are too." I flashed my teeth.
Seated at the edge of the sofa, she reached down to free the buckle of her boot from a stitch in her hem. Her feet were firmly planted in white plush. Apparently, her soles never touched any dirt.
My eyes swept over her. "Nice outfit. Did you just leave the stable? Where'd you park your horse?" I asked innocuously.
"Out in the alley, beside your tent." She didn't bat a bright green eye.
Only one side of my mouth moved with sarcasm. "Oh, I didn't realize we were neighbors when I squatted there." My bopping head was fluid.
Her pink cheeks clashed with her tangerine lipstick, which she began chewing off.
"They sell marvelous cover up at AMA. Won't show a line or a blemish. You should try it."
Her complexion turned entirely ruddy.
Head Over Wheels (Spicy Young Romance) Page 23