by Cecilia Tan
Upon eating the last of the ravioli, she declared herself too full for dessert. Derek assured her it would make a fine snack later, and packed it away into the fridge. Between them they had barely eaten half of what he had brought, and Wren wondered how many lunches she could get out of it.
That was her last thought that wasn’t about sex for a while, as the moment everything was put away and the counter wiped, she led the way to the bedroom. While he visited the toilet, she lit the candles and refilled the little pot of scented oil, and was just considering whether to take her clothes off herself, or wait for him, when he emerged.
“Let me,” he said, when she reached for the buttons on her shirt. He sat on the bed and pulled her to stand between his knees, while he undid one button at a time, nuzzling in the hollow between her breasts as he worked his way down. He undid the cuffs at her wrists, kissing the pulse point of each before slipping the shirt from her shoulders.
Now he ran his finger just under the satin edge of her bra, undoing the clasp in front as he looked up at her, his hands slipping to cover the flesh he exposed. She shivered, but not with cold.
His mouth went to one nipple while his hands worked the button of her fly, and her pants slid easily down her legs. Her panties he pulled down just to her knees. His palms drew wide, warm circles on her asscheeks, and he bent his head to breathe warmly into her dark thatch. “Wren...”
She reached out for him in her head, but the connection was not yet clear. She could sense him, but not hear his thoughts, as if he were still too far away. His hands roamed up and down her skin, and she could feel his desire flickering like a torch all over her.
The heat rose in her everywhere he looked, everywhere he touched, as if she were some exotic work of art he was appraising without even fully unwrapping. Somehow her panties hanging from her knees made her feel more exposed than if she’d merely been nude. “Why am I always the one undressed first?” she whispered jokingly.
His head jerked up, a hint of alarm in his eyes before he blinked it away. “I thought you... liked it?”
“I do,” she said, wondering why she was blushing now. It felt dirty and good at the same time, somehow, to be naked while he was still fully clothed. “It makes me feel...” How to describe it? Like a naughty little girl? Like a slut? Like a sex object? She wanted him to just know those thoughts, which made more sense as thoughts than as words, but the connection was still fuzzy, she could tell.
He pulled her close, pressing his cheek against her bosom. She could feel a tinge of sadness, of regret. That something he had hidden deep in his mind.
“It’s sexy,” she whispered reassuringly. “It makes me feel... wanted.”
She imagined unzipping his fly and taking his cock out right there, and just climbing onto him, joining their bodies without him even taking off anything, his arms around her, holding her against him. The throbbing between her legs was her own pulse, but she remembered the feeling of his cock pressed there, stiff and straining.
He tilted his head back, looking up into her eyes. “I want you.”
“That’s convenient,” she said, feeling as if she was saying a line from a movie, though she couldn’t think of which one, "because I want you, too.”
She pushed him back onto the bed playfully, hoping to lighten his sudden somber mood, and began to wrestle him out of his clothes. He gave in with a laugh, helping her to get them off with a minimum of damage to them. She wrapped her hand around the bulk of his cock, stroking it up and down. It really felt as if it had a bone in it, and there was something enticingly exciting about that.
“What did you bring this time?” She had seen just a glimpse of it in his mind that morning, but now she doubted the image she held, which seemed to be of a cock made of ice?
“I'll show you.” He slipped off the bed and retrieved a long velvet pouch from his overnight bag. He placed it in her hands as he settled beside her again. Hm. The bag felt as if it had a bone in it, a very dense, heavy bone.
She slipped it out of the case and found a beautiful piece of glass sculpture in her hand. That it was the approximate shape of a penis hardly mattered. It had a glittering swirl through its center, like she expected to find in glass unicorns sold in Disneyland. “It’s gorgeous.”
“And utterly smooth, dense, and rigid,” he said, sounding as if he might have been quoting a salesperson. “Even if it’s not quite as large as me.”
She stroked him again and then held them side by side to compare. Down toward the base, the glass phallus was almost as wide around as Derek was, a gradual and graceful taper.
She handed it back to him and lay on her back, a silent request.
He leaned over to kiss her, one hand slipping between her legs to slicken her folds and clit with her own wetness. They both groaned into the kiss as he slid a finger into her and her hips bucked upward. Put it in me.
I think you should do it.
I think YOU should do it. You won’t hurt me, Derek. You won’t.
He hissed softly and she felt his fear.
You won’t hurt me, she repeated. You'll feel what I feel. You'll know.
I know I'll feel what you feel, Wren. When I hurt you...
His thoughts tangled into an unreadable mass of confusion, then. Wren took the hand of his that held the toy and bent her leg, guiding him until the tip of it rested just at her opening. Looking into his eyes, she pulled on his wrist, the slick hardness of the glass entering her inch by inch. She drew a deep breath. The glass was deliciously cool, and so smooth there was no friction at all, just a feeling of being steadily filled. Penetrated. As it slid deeper, her lips parted and she panted, as the feeling of being stretched by it began to grow.
And then it was seated all the way in, and while she held it in place, two of his fingers bumped over her clit. It feels huge, she thought, meaning her clit, not the thing inside her, as if by displacing her flesh it had somehow pushed more blood, more everything, into the once-tiny nub. She shuddered as he dragged his fingers over the swollen flesh again, and one of her hands caught hold of his cock.
They touched and stroked each other for a while that way, but Wren’s hand was not half so busy as her mind, as she slipped deeper into his thoughts, unraveling the knot of fear and confusion bit by bit as his arousal mounted and his attention was drawn away.
She pulled the glass partway free and pushed it in again, moaning at the smooth slide into her. But what she wanted was Derek, hot and hard and joined with her. Surely I’m stretched enough now? She’d never been so stretched in her life, but it felt nothing but good.
Deeper. She pushed the glass deeper, and even as she did so, she delved deeper into Derek’s mind.
Finally, she felt she had somehow reached a threshold. She whispered, "What are you so afraid of?”
It was as if someone turned on a light in a dark room full of pictures she previously had not been able to see. He made a distressed sound, as he realized that these things he’d been avoiding thinking about were exactly what he was now thinking about, and that Wren could see it all.
Katy had been her name. Wren was absorbed in the flash of a memory, his hands holding her firm by the hips, her legs wrapped around him as his cock sank into sweetness, but her scream making his skin go cold, adrenaline flooding him...
It had been like that every time. Three times only did they try to have intercourse, contenting each other with oral sex and petting without ever speaking aloud about what they were avoiding. The first time had been the night he’d proposed to her. They'd both been virgins. She’d blamed it on being too soon after her period. She always had trouble around then, she said. The second time had been two weeks later, and they'd gotten drunk first, but if anything the pain was even worse, given her reaction.
The third time she was on top, and she could hardly bring herself to go past that first inch, trembling and crying, and Derek babbling back at her about how they didn’t have to, she didn’t have to, but she forced herself down...
<
br /> She left during the night that very night, leaving the ring behind. He didn’t hear from her for a year, and then it was a Christmas card with a Canadian address, saying she was about to move to England.
Wren found herself pulling him close, her hands cradling his face and kissing him. The salt of his tears was in her mouth, and that only made her kiss him harder.
That won’t happen. I’m not her. It’s not your fault. But she could feel her thoughts bouncing off the memories as if they were encased in glass. The past couldn’t be argued with and it couldn’t be changed. Neither could the fact that Derek blamed himself. Never mind that Wren was pretty sure he wasn’t so huge as to be regularly injurious to a partner. Never mind that it seemed the woman had never gone to a doctor about it, even though she had said her period caused her pain. They had been too young, too afraid of each other, too afraid to talk to anyone about it...
No wonder he was so afraid of hurting her.
She pushed him onto his back, the glass sliding out of her as she reared up on her knees and climbed atop him.
No, Wren, no! A jumble of thoughts came hard on the heels of his fear: not yet not yet at least use a condom just because you’re ready doesn’t mean I am...
“Shhhhhhh.” She made a shushing sound, to emphasize it. She stroked her hands down his face, over his chest, then nuzzled him on all fours. One hand reached under her to stroke him again, gone half-soft in the face of his traumatic memories. He hardened under her touch, though, his mind quieting.
She settled herself over him, her hands on his chest, the head of his cock peeking out from under her bush. She rocked forward and back, dragging her clit up and down the length of him. He was anything but glass, hot and rough and pulsing. She rubbed against him that way, faster and faster, rolling her hips, until they were both nearly at the brink, and then she backed off, slowing, lifting herself up with her thighs, brushing instead of pressing with steady friction, luxuriating in the sensation.
Want you in me. I don’t think I can be any more ready.
A sudden chirping filled the room and he groaned. The moment he did, Wren knew why. That was Diana's ringtone, the one that meant urgent. Wren was so deep in his mind she caught the full idea then, that he’d hired Diana to do some of the work on the Helena Riggs case, because he’d been spending so much time with Wren.
She hadn’t known the name of the missing woman before now.
If only you could read Diana's thoughts from here and tell me if it’s a false alarm... He was flooded half with regret, half with relief as he slipped out from under her and dug the phone out of the pocket of his pants.
Wren lay back on the bed, the glass dildo poking her in the back. She let it distract her from his thoughts, pulling back into her own head as she examined the beautiful pattern in it again. She could still hear what he was saying aloud, though.
“The hospital? He’s what?”
Wren could hear the distress in his voice.
“You’re kidding me. Please tell me you’re... no, no, it’s all right. I... Yeah. I'll get down there right away. I have... a hunch this might be hard to prove, though.”
He sat back down on the edge of the bed.
“Helena Riggs?” Wren asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, but...”
He chuckled softly and pulled her close for a kiss. “Her husband is the councilman I told you about. That was Diana. She’s at the hospital. He’s had some kind of seizure and he’s lost consciousness. She didn’t use the word coma, but... They’re saying right now it doesn’t look like a stroke, and they can’t determine the cause.” He looked at her for a long moment.
Staring into his eyes like that, even with the peak of desire ebbing away, Wren couldn’t help but read his thoughts. He was thinking that if she had the power to make him come, what other effects could a telepath have on someone else’s nervous system? Maybe without even being in the same room? He was already convinced there was a connection between Abby’s disappearance and the Riggs case, and that someone was stalking Wren through her dreams, and now Jim Riggs was in a coma? Had he been stalked, too?
She backed across the bed until they were no longer touching. He was afraid. Not of her exactly, but... afraid nonetheless, of so many things, and fear was always a cloud.
For some reason it made her angry. “Can’t have you going off to the hospital like that,” she said, licking her lips. But instead of reaching for his erection with her hand, she just pushed at it with her mind.
He threw his head back and let out a pained groan as he spurted, untouched, white streaks painting the clenching muscles of his belly.
When the orgasm ended, he was panting, and he rested his hands on his thighs for a few moments while he gathered himself. “I don’t... I don’t know if I'll be back tonight.”
“I know.” She wanted to say she’d go with him, grab her coat, whatever. But she wasn’t even supposed to know as much as she did. “I'll be okay.” But will you?
The connection was too faded for the thought to go anywhere but the inside of her own skull. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, as he stood and went toward the bathroom. I didn’t mean to scare you.
But she had. She’d forced him to show her things he hadn’t wanted to, and then she’d even made him come without touching him, just when he was starting to wonder if abilities like hers could be used to harm.
He dressed quickly and then leaned over the bed to press a tentative kiss against her forehead. “I'll... call you in the morning.”
Meaning he wouldn’t be back tonight no matter what happened at the hospital. “It’s okay,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure it would be. What else could she say? "Be careful.”
“I will.”
And then he was gone, and Wren fell back against the pillow, all desire she’d had to come herself completely evaporated.
SHE OPENED HER EYES and found herself in the cone of white light. Oh, shit. It was nearly blinding, and this time she squinted to try to see beyond it. In the darkness beyond, colors swam, but she could not tell if she saw faces there, or only the colors in her own eyelids.
She looked down—she was naked, of course. And there between her legs on the floor was a bouquet of gardenias, their scent mingling with the scent of her own desire. Her hands were behind her back, and she turned her head to look behind her.
Someone clucked his tongue, his hand grasping her by the chin, and forcing her to look straight ahead again. Cloth whispered against her hair as he tied the blindfold and she could feel the warmth of his body against hers, and the rough sensation of his clothes.
“Who is he, Wren?” came the voice, right in her ear, a melodious purr. “If he really wanted you, he wouldn’t have left you like this, would he?”
She tried not to think about Derek, about what she’d seen, about why he’d left, why he wouldn’t be back. Not tonight, anyway.
There was a low chuckle in her ear. “He’s not the one for you. You need someone who fits you.” Again a chuckle at his own joke.
His hands slid down the valleys of her thighs, one spreading her wide, the other reaching a finger down to saw at her clit. She gasped at how sensitive she was.
But as her arousal mounted, she reached out with her mind, trying to answer for herself once and for all if her dream lover was real, or just a strange expression of her subconscious desires and fears.
Again the chuckle, as a finger slipped inside her. “You need it, your body needs it. You feel it, the biological imperative. You’re wired to want to be fucked. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Wren bit her lip. She couldn’t feel another person, couldn’t feel another set of thoughts, not like she did with Derek.
“Beg me to fuck you and you'll come like you’ve never come before.”
No. No, whatever her mind was trying to tell her, if it was trying to express her need, her frustration... She had to talk to Derek. She had to find out what he was thinking, and see if he would be willing to try again.
Maybe if she promised him she wouldn’t fish around in his memories...
“No,” she said aloud in the dream.
But the fingers were still touching her, still pushing her arousal. “Do you really mean that, Wren? What if he doesn’t come back? Why turn me away? I only want to make you feel good. To give you what you need.”
She woke suddenly to find her own fingers were rubbing her clit sore. She gritted her teeth and came with a cry, just as her alarm clock went off.
EIGHT
THERE WERE NO GARDENIAS on her desk when she arrived at work, which left her questioning even more whether there was anything to her dreams other than her subconscious fears and desires trying to find voice. Some of them were suppressed with good reason, she decided.
Shortly after lunch she gave up working and left early. Walking across the campus, she passed students dressed as robots, vampires, and angels, plus one whole group of sorority sisters who appeared to be a swarm of bees. Halloween wasn’t until the following Wednesday, but the students were celebrating while the weekend was here.
There had been no call from Derek. She wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or annoyed, and instead felt both. She sat in the car staring at her phone for a while, relieved that the difficult conversation that was surely to come wasn’t at hand yet, and annoyed that he hadn’t called like he’d said he would.
Could he still be at the hospital? She dialed his number, deciding that at the very least she should try to talk to him instead of just stewing. It went straight to voice mail and Wren hung up.
She wasn’t sure why she decided to call his office number next. Just a whim? She was shocked when someone answered, a woman's voice.
“Private investigators, may I help you?”
“Um, hi,” Wren said hesitantly. “I’m a client of Derek Chapman's?”