by K. P. Haigh
I slip him in and out of my mouth, and I can hear his breath jump every time I catch that small ridge of skin that sits on the bundle of nerves that crackle like the burning end of a stick of dynamite.
My own breath shortens. This kind of power is more intoxicating than a free drink in first class. I have complete and utter control over the man standing in front of me, and even though I'm the one on my knees right now, we both know I'm the one who is holding the reins in this situation.
I meet my mouth with my hand and move them together. Baron slams his hand against the door of the bathroom, and I start to build my momentum.
"Monty, I'm gonna…" His voice trails off, unable to form a complete thought. I know enough to finish it for myself. I normally take a step back, let my hand do the work, and let my mouth sit out for the final touchdown.
But, this is different. Baron is different. I look up and lock eyes with him. This is a climax for both of us, and I want to see him.
I build momentum, and I see his eyes roll back a moment before I swallow. I take him in one more time, and then pull back. I shift back up onto my feet and try not to look too hard at the bathroom floor. No regrets if I don't look too closely.
Does this earn me my Mile-High club wings? Because I'm pretty sure kneeling on an airplane bathroom floor should do it.
"Monty, that was…" Baron's eyes are still half closed. I giggle to myself. Badass. That was badass.
A knock interrupts the second half of Baron's fill-in-the-blank. "Excuse me, um…the fasten seatbelt light is turned on. We've begun our descent. We're going to, um, need you both to take your seats."
I turn every shade of red a crayon box has ever dreamed of having. How long has the attendant been standing outside that door?
I bury my head in my hands, and Baron wraps his arm around me. I can tell by the soft jumping of his ribcage that he's laughing. "We'll be out in just a second."
I shake my head back and forth. I don't think I'm going to be able to look anyone in the eye for the rest of this flight.
Baron sneaks his pointer finger underneath my chin and tips it up softly. "That was fucking incredible. Let's go move to Seattle, baby."
I smile. My face is still flushed, but it's been downgraded to a Pepto-Bismol pink instead of candy apple red.
I sure am starting this move off with a bang.
We pull up to a high-rise building in the middle of what I assume is downtown. Baron presses a button clipped to the visor, and a gate I hadn’t noticed opens. We pull into a garage, and I notice fancy cars I only saw every so often back in Ann Arbor parked in nearly every spot.
Well okay then.
Baron pulls in, shuts off the car, and turns to me. "So, my assistant found you an apartment."
I knew that much. She had emailed me the address and some pictures, along with her rave review of it. It looked better than I had imagined for my tiny budget. I hadn't even looked up where exactly it was.
"It's on the ground floor of this building." I open my mouth to speak, but Baron continues. "I bought the condo on the top floor, so she got you a good deal. I hope that's okay. I just figured it would be easier if we didn't have to run across town to see each other."
There are so many thoughts fighting for top billing right now. So, Baron got a deal on my rent because he already gave them buckets of cash? Am I okay with that? Is it okay that we're living in the same building?
I'm too tired from traveling to filter through it all. It's already dark here, and that means it's well past a reasonable hour back home. My brain can't process this right now.
"I can take you to your apartment, or you can come home with me tonight. It's up to you." Baron shifts toward me, and I can see him holding his breath. He just flipped all his cards over on the table and is letting me read them and decide for myself.
I don't have to think it through. "I'm coming with you."
We take our bags over to the elevator and head up to his condo. I snuggle up to him, but after our little jaunt in the airplane earlier, I'm going to let the small public spaces have a break—even though the only thing my mind can focus on is what it means to go home with Baron tonight.
I don't know how we've spent the last month away from each other. I don't know how I existed out of his arms. It doesn't make sense. I haven't known him for that long, and yet, I feel like I didn't exist before he came along.
The elevator chimes and the doors open to a long hallway with two doors. It's so similar to his last place, and yet I know the moment he opens that door, it's going to be entirely different—about 42 floors different.
When he swings the heavy metal door open, I nearly drop my bags. The lights are off and all I can see is the outline of the city sparkling against the dark velvet backdrop beyond. I think it might be the sound; I could see its soft outline while my eyes were glued to the airplane window during our descent into the city.
Baron flips a switch and illuminates the large open living area of his apartment. It doesn't have quite the same industrial vibe, but his weathered rustic furniture warms up the straight lines and all-glass space that might otherwise feel sterile.
I already know I'm going to be spending more time up here than in my studio downstairs, but I don't regret getting my own space. I may have moved here because he asked me to, but that doesn't mean I'm going to jump right into being a full-time, move-in ready girlfriend.
Maybe I can kick Baron to the ground floor when we need some space—I'm pretty sure these views and I were made for each other.
I feel Baron's warm breath tickle my neckline as he sidles up behind me.
"I'm so glad you chose option B." He slowly trails kisses up my neck, and my eyes close involuntarily as I shiver underneath his touch. None of the men I've been with have done this to me. They haven't taken their time to get to know every inch of my skin like Baron is right now. It's like he's trying to make a mental map of every cell so he can plot the best routes. I hope he takes the scenic one tonight.
"Hmm, why's that?" I hum under my breath when he nibbles on my earlobe.
"This apartment needs a christening." I can hear the smile in his tone. I hear how it curls up like a whisper of smoke from a fire that's been burning for far too long.
"And what does a christening entail?"
Baron skims his fingers along my waist toward the hem of my dress, catching the edge of the fabric and lifting it up to tease my skin with his touch. I want more of this. So much more.
He reaches to the other side of my waist and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the kitchen. I follow him, curious where this is leading and entirely sure I'm going to like where it ends up.
He opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of champagne. Oh, I like this a lot. He pops the cork and pours us each a glass. I take a sip, closing my eyes to relish the taste of sweet bubbles skipping across my tongue and down my throat.
I used to hate champagne. It didn't match my years of built-up expectation. It wasn't as sweet as I expected it to be, but once I tried it a few more times and gave it space to be something I hadn't expected, then I finally started to love it.
It was proof first impressions aren't always right. Sometimes, you have to try things a few times and learn how to let go of your preconceived ideas in order to really find out what you do or don't like.
Baron leans his glass toward mine. "Cheers, to exploring a new city with the woman who was crazy enough to move across the country with me."
"So you sent this invite out to more than one crazy lady?"
"Just you, but I thought my odds were pretty good."
"You're lucky I'm insane." I give him a cheeky grin and take a sip of the champagne.
"Yes. Yes, I am," he agrees. He reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me gently toward the door at the far end of the open apartment. "If you think the view is amazing in here, just wait until you see it from the bedroom."
When we walk through the doorway, the lights are off. The whole far wall is glass, and I can
see the blue lights on the Seattle Great Wheel. There's a hint of reflection on the dark water, and just a little farther out are the small twinkling lights of more of the city.
I want to get naked and keep the lights off, but for a reason completely unrelated to my confidence level—I want to revel in the glow of this gorgeous city.
"This is incredible, Baron."
"It's even better with you here." He steps up to me, wrapping his free arm around my waist and pressing my lower back so I arch against him. "I missed you."
I could spend hours right here in this bedroom with him and still not get enough. My whole body is alive, as if someone just plugged me into a charger. The energy is pulsing through me, filling me up.
I set down my champagne on the bedside table. I need both hands for this. I reach up, weave my fingers through Baron's hair, and pull his lips to mine.
It's sweet at first—I can taste the hint of champagne still on his lips—but as Baron walks us back toward the bed, his kiss deepens, his mouth demanding more of me.
"Take your dress off and lie down," he instructs. My heart beats wildly at his request, but I do as he asks.
He takes a sip of his champagne then holds the glass over me and tips it slowly, trailing tiny drops that fizz against my skin. He leans down and follows the trail from the bottom of my chest down to my stomach with his mouth while his hand grazes the inner edge of my thigh.
He traces the edge of my panties and moves the damp fabric aside. I close my eyes as he starts to explore. My skin is coming alive beneath his touch, and I want to feel every single breath of its existence. His fingers slide up and down, and I shudder at each and every change of direction.
God, if this is what I get for going down on him in an airplane bathroom, I'm going to become a frequent flier for life.
Baron stops and pulls his hand back, and my eyes fly open. He pulls my panties off in one smooth motion and then he reaches for the glass of champagne.
Oh, I like where this is headed.
He centers himself between my legs as he takes a sip, and then he leans down and flicks his tongue against the spot his fingers just left. The fizzing bubbles pop against my skin, and it travels through my nerves like bursts of light hitting every edge of my body. He lifts up to take another sip; half of me doesn't want him to stop, half of me will do anything to repeat that feeling.
He circles his tongue around me, and my hands clench at the sheets underneath me. I can't handle this feeling. It's like someone just lit the long rope on the end of a stick of dynamite, and I'm feeling every single crackling lick of the flame running along its path. Baron matches its speed, lick for tantalizing lick, and I see it cornering the final bend.
When it hits, I close my eyes and sink into the feeling of being ripped apart and pulled back together in one extraordinary burst.
I open my eyes to see Baron pulling his shirt and pants off, and I understand his urgency immediately. I need him inside me. Now. I peel off my own bra.
Baron stops. "You're so goddamn beautiful. I can't get enough of you. I don't ever think I'll be able to get enough of you."
I crawl toward him and wrap my arms around his neck. My face is just a breath away from his. "Ditto."
I kiss him with everything I have, every fear, every joy, every need. It all mixes together like cream poured into coffee, the smoothness balancing out the acidity.
He runs his hands along my legs and grabs my ankles, pulling them out and wrapping them around his waist. He turns us around and shifts us back toward the head of the bed, reaching into the drawer of the bedside table to retrieve a condom. I grab it from him and open the foil packet, and then reach down to feel the length of him in my hand. It sends a flash of excitement rippling down my spine. This, all of this, is going to be inside me.
I roll the condom on, and I watch his eyelids flicker with pleasure. I lift my hips up, still holding him in one hand, and I position myself, just seconds away from sliding down onto him.
Our eyes lock, and I wonder how the world existed before I knew him. Everything was smaller. Dull. Ordinary. It's like my whole life just knocked back a glass of champagne.
And I'm so damn glad it did.
I slowly slide down, inch by glorious inch, and then I lift my hips up and down, exploring the feeling of having him inside me. It's like I'm finding corners of myself I never knew existed, and I want to take the time to note each and every one.
Baron lifts his hips up, moving us from sitting at the edge of the bed to lying down. He grabs my hips, lifts me up, and spins me around slowly. "Lean back, baby."
I lie down, pressing my back to his chest as he reaches down to tease me with his fingers. Our hips rock together and the angle hits me in a way I've never felt before. It feels like a train is barreling at me and I am powerless to stop it.
When climax hits, it takes us both out, and we collapse, motionless against each other.
I finally summon the energy to roll off of him, and he slips the condom off before turning back to me and wrapping me tightly into his chest.
I trace the lines of his chest with my finger, my eyelids heavy but my brain buzzing. "Well, if you were trying to start this move off on the right foot, you succeeded."
"Just trying to win you over, one orgasm at a time," he says with a yawn.
"That'll do it." I bury myself into him, reveling in the feeling of saying yes. I said yes to Seattle. To Baron. To adventure.
And right now, it feels like the best decision I've ever made.
Baron gives me a kiss goodbye when he gets up at the butt crack of dawn to run sprints before he heads in to actual practice. The man never stops. He's constantly trying to improve his speed. He could outrun a cheetah at this point, but he'd still tell you he could go faster if he kept working on it.
I roll over and fall back asleep with a smile whispering across my face. As far as a first twenty-four hours in Seattle goes, this is off to a pretty damn good start.
When I wake up to my alarm forty-five minutes later, I sprint out of bed to get ready for my job interview.
I practically bounce my way down to Pioneer Square with my thermos of coffee and overeager smile. I am so grateful that my former professor emailed me back. If he hadn’t, I would be sitting in Baron's apartment huddled on the couch with my computer, applying to every position known to man without knowing if anything would stick.
This may not be a surefire thing, but at least it's forward motion.
It helps that the interview is with Stewart Grant—he's a legend. I've seen his photos show up in all the big magazines. I don't care if he pays me in pennies, it would be an honor to work for him.
I swing the heavy metal door of the studio loft open. I have to remind myself to close it, my brain is so in shock. The giant space is sectioned off with different backdrops, and the floors and tables are littered with all sorts of props—sheets, clothing, a giant metal wheel. I don't see anyone in here, but Mr. Grant's name is stamped in metal just to the side of the door so I know I'm in the right place.
"Hello," I call out.
I hear shuffling from a door that looks like it goes into a kitchenette.
Mr. Grant steps out and scowls at me before walking over to a row of desks at the side of the room. "You were supposed to be here last week."
WHAT? My body goes rigid. "I'm sorry, the dates must have been mixed up. I just flew in this weekend."
He doesn't acknowledge my apology. He shuffles through a stack of papers and shoves a paper-clipped set at me. "Fill these out and send them to my accountant who handles taxes and payroll."
I feel like I have mental whiplash. "Um, Mr. Grant, I thought this was an interview."
He doesn't bother to look up, just sits down in front of a massive desktop and starts to click through a bunch of images. "You need to know three things about this job: I take my coffee black with one teaspoon of coconut oil, I will not eat sandwiches with avocados on them, and you are not to touch the equipment under any ci
rcumstances."
I don't know whether I'm more shocked that I just got a job without answering a single question or that my new boss is apparently an asshole. My gut is trying to scream out a warning, but I stifle it.
I need a job, and even if he's going to treat me like some fresh-faced new grad, I have to take it. I can't afford not to.
Fine. I'm not going to scoff at putting in my time to prove myself. "Okay, what do you need me to start with today, Mr. Grant?"
"Clean up this mess." He waves his hand behind his head, in the general direction of the giant prop disaster covering every surface of the loft.
I want to ask him if he wants me to sing “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow” while I do it, but I'm not stupid enough to lose my job on the first day. Give me another month of menial labor, and I might be singing a different tune.
I should have waited to see my salary before booking a blowout and makeup appointment, but I am a nervous wreck about tonight. I need all the help I can get.
Baron asked me to join him at this banquet after I told him I was moving, and it finally hit me that I am the girlfriend of a big fucking deal—which is about five thousand degrees past how much of a deal I can handle. I said yes to Baron, but the fine print on this is making me feel kind of nauseous.
Which is why I’m here. Nothing like a little liquid courage to help you walk into a room of people you don't know, and this liquid courage is courtesy of little bottles called foundation and a red lip.
I walk up to the counter and check in, and then I wait until a woman named Leslie comes out to get me. She's the same height as me and has equally deep brown hair, except she has a wide streak of purple on one side. I spot a stud tucked into the outer curve of her nose, and she's rocking a red lip better than Dita Von Teese.
Thank you, Seattle. This is exactly what I imagined when I pictured the city: fancypants with a touch of sass. I like it.