“Doing the thing?” I repeat.
“Why do guys like this? Sure it looks hot, but what am I supposed to… Wait, are you laughing?”
My head is in my hands. It takes an effort to pull them away and look back up at her.
“I can’t tell if you’re naiveté is amazingly weird, or incredibly hot,” I say, shaking my head. “I hate to think what your sex life has been like up to this point, for you to say something like that.”
She looks at me, blankly.
I stand up behind her, and put my hands on the sides of her shoulders, looking at her reflection.
“Sex doesn’t start and stop in the bedroom. Sex is happening all around you. It’s a dance. The world is full of it. It starts when you decide what to wear in the morning. It’s there when you exchange a look with a stranger. The way you walk, the way you talk, the places you go and the things you do. Stop thinking sex is just taking your clothes off in the bedroom and fucking like an old married couple. Good sex is a lifestyle choice, not an occasion.”
“I suppose…” she says, half-heartedly. Her confidence is deflated, and I need to fix that.
I stand back, so she can look at me in the mirror. “It’s all about imagination, right? Look at me. You know why I roll my sleeves up? Cause women can take a look at my forearms and tell that my body is ripped without actually seeing it. They wanna see it. They know it’s there, but they don’t actually see it until the moment’s right.”
She nods, her brow creasing, and I can tell she’s really taking it all in.
“I wear sunglasses,” I continue. “You know why? ‘Cause it gives me power, a sense of mystery. You don’t know what my eyes are like, you don’t know where I’m looking, how I’m looking at you. I pick my moments, I take them off, and it becomes a reveal, another move in the dance.”
“Wow,” she says, a smile spreading across her face, “you’ve really thought this through.”
“I don’t think about these things. I just know them.”
Lizzie slumps her shoulders and turns around to face me. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this. I feel like I’ve fallen into the deep end and I need to learn to tread water first.”
I spin her back around to face herself in the mirror, wrap a hand around her waist, and speak softly into her ear while looking at her reflection.
“Look, you’re not gonna like what I’m about to say. It’s probably going to offend your sensibilities. You’re probably going to wish, and hope, and believe, that it isn’t true – but it is. And the sooner you learn it, the sooner you, and the man you get with, are going to be a lot happier.”
I leave a pause, and she nods.
“Now I don’t care if your panties are comfortable. And I don’t care if those stockings are a little too tight, or if this is different for you. No man does. You wanna be the good girl? The smart girl? The strong-willed, ambitious, interesting, funny girl? Great. Be that. But when you’re ready to fuck, and you wanna make it good? You leave all of that shit at the door, ‘cause none of that is fuckable – and you need to make yourself as fuckable as can be.”
I reach down and pick up her grey panties from the floor, dangling them beside her.
“You know what these say? When you undress in the bedroom and show that you’re wearing them? They say ‘Hi, I’m Lizzie. I have a life, and hopes, and fears, and dreams, and insecurities. I have a desk job that demands I wear comfortable underwear, and I have no idea how sexy I really am. And I’m about to bring all those issues into the bedroom, so good luck you poor bastard.’”
I toss the panties to the side, and press my hand against her hip, where the lace panties clip to those sheer stockings. “You know what these say about you? They say: ‘Hey, I’m one-hundred per cent fuckable. I’m the fantasy. I’m the girl you’ve always wished you’d meet. The one your mother warned you about. I’m the girl you imagined when you jerked off in high school. I’m the girl you never thought existed outside of urban myths and porno stories. I’m the ride you’ll take to the greatest high you ever had. I’m from another planet. An angel and a devil, and anything else you need me to be. I’m the girl you have to keep up with, not slow down for. The temptress, seductress, the nymph, the fantasy made real. And if you want all this, you better have your shit together, ‘cause I sure as hell know what I’m doing.’”
When I stop talking, the air is electrified by the sexual heat of my voice telling her what she needs to hear. The pent-up pheromones oozing out of us. The power of a woman discovering her sexuality, and a man who knows exactly what to do with his.
She turns around and we slam our bodies together like bulls locking horns. Our lips locking in a push-pull of wet hunger and lashing tongues. I press her up against the mirror, and she lifts her stockinged leg up against me. I roll my hand up her thighs, grabbing like a man falling off a rockface at her tight muscles, until I reach the lace panties.
She pulls her head away moaning and gasping as I bite and suck at her tender neck. Pinned between my chest and the wall, her body convulses underneath me. Her breasts rising and falling with her deep gasps of pleasure.
I press my hand against her pussy, and her body reacts like I set her alight. I hold her throat with my other hand, guiding her face to mine, forcing her to look me in the eyes as I press my fingers between her warm flesh and the lace panties, searching out the lips of her pussy. I guide two fingers inside her, and circle a thumb around her clit teasingly. Her face twists into an expression of agonizing pleasure. Her pleading eyes inches from my own controlled gaze. I’m fucking her on two fronts, mentally and physically.
“Jax—” she gasps, but I cover her mouth with mine and I don’t stop, not for one second.
She twists and squirms under my hands, as my fingers press slowly deeper into her slick wetness, and my expression of determined lust doesn’t let up.
When she starts getting even wetter, I start thrusting even more deeply inside her – I’ve always had long fingers. Pianist fingers, people used to say; I always preferred finger-fucking to keyboards though.
Her body’s slamming against the wall, urging my fingers deeper, and I put my lips onto hers again, softly, tenderly now, like a first kiss. She wants me harder. Her body confused by the hard and fast thrusting of my knuckles against her pussy lips, and the gentle brush of my lips on hers. It’s a twisted kind of torture, and it’s making her lose control.
She purrs like a kitten when she comes. A growl that comes from somewhere deep inside that eye-fuckingly dirty body of hers. I let her juices gush over my fingers, feeling the tight contractions of her orgasm, and as she lets out the last dying moans of her ecstasy, I keep her jaw in my grip, and force her to watch me put my two come-covered fingers in my mouth, then suck her sweet scent off them.
When I let her go, she slides a little down the mirror, burying a hand in her hair like she needs to stop her head from rolling away. She gazes at me through half-closed eyes. Short, satisfied breaths emerging from her pouted lips.
I fix my clothes in the mirror, and just before I part the curtain to leave, say: “Buy something you like and wear it tonight. I’ll see you then.”
Chapter 8
Lizzie
Before I met Jax, the sexiest thing that would happen to me would be a raunchy dream. Before I met Jax, the wildest thing I ever did was go to college one day without wearing panties. Before I met Jax, the most adventurous I ever got was shaving my pubic hair into the shape of a love-heart for Brody (who, of course, didn’t notice).
Now, I’m slipping on lingerie slowly in the bathroom mirror, breathlessly anticipating the moment Jax will see it. Now my body is constantly tingling, filled with new sensations, ready to be rocked at any second. Now I’m getting dressed up to go out and meet him. My second night out in a row – a personal record. And I know there’s going to be a lot more of them over the next week.
I always knew that guys like Jax existed – in the same way I know guys with toupees exist, but I’d never really met a guy like Jax. In
the few days I’ve known him he’s eaten my pussy, fucked me in his pool, and fingered me in the dressing room of a lingerie shop – and it still feels like he’s still just getting started. I’ve learnt more about what my body’s capable of in these past few days than in years of sex ed.
Brody was predictable. That’s what made me love him, and that’s the same reason I ended up hating him. Jax, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. I know I’d never be safe with Jax. I’d never be able to guess what he’s going to do next. I’d never not be on my toes with Jax. And that’s why he’s exactly what I need right now.
After years of Brody’s jackhammer routine in the bedroom, Jax feels like a revelation. It’s like discovering Santa Claus isn’t real, developing breasts, and learning how to ride a bike all at once.
I’m going to be honest – I’m a little scared. Not just because I’ve gone from Disney cartoon innocence to cheek-blushing debauchery in the space of a few days. Not just because I feel like I’m entering a whole new world of sexual decadence, with Jax as the rippling-muscled, sharp-suited guru. Not just because Jax is the kind of guy who seems to push things further each and every time I let him.
I’m scared at how much I like it.
I’m scared of myself. Of what’s happening to me. Of finding out how every pore in my body, every neuron in my head, is responding to this like I’ve been waiting for it all my life. I’m scared that Jax might not actually be teaching me anything – but instead just showing me what I never knew about myself, but was already there.
I slide on a red dress it usually takes me a couple of drinks to decide to wear, and start putting on make-up. Once again, I’m surprised by the woman in the mirror. By the way she stands, so effortlessly elegant, angling her body to put her curves front and center; a body made for fucking. If I ever felt this good about myself before, I was probably too drunk to notice.
The taxi driver who takes me to the bar looks at me so frequently in the rearview mirror I’m worried we’ll crash. I arrive at the bar just as night’s about to fall, and in the dark, neon-lit street I step out confidently, imagining myself as some glamorous movie star. With the amount of heads that turn in the direction of my bare legs and pert cleavage, it’s not hard.
Even if I wasn’t there to meet him, I’d still notice Jax. Something about him draws the eye. He’s standing by the bar in that casually dominant manner of his; one hand around his drink, one hand in his pocket. Three of the most attractive women in the bar are standing around him in various poses of fake-bashfulness.
I notice how almost the whole club’s attention is on Jax. Guys have their seats angled to study how he’s keeping these women in rapt attention, and women are glancing over, waiting for the chance to push aside the pretenders and grab an audience with the charming, most-handsome guy in the bar.
For a split-second, I think about turning around and walking out. I don’t much like the idea of pushing in on the trio of girls. I know their type; the kind that would ‘accidentally’ spill a drink on you if they wanted you out of the picture. The kind of women who can threaten with all the venom of a gangster when they detect you’re interested in a guy they’ve marked for themselves.
Just before I spin on my four-inch heels, however, Jax sees me. I have no idea how, when the banshees have surrounded him so expertly, blocking his field of vision. If you told me Jax had a kind of x-ray, radar, heat-seeking, smell-o-vision when it came to women, though, I could easily believe it.
He flashes some dimples, makes some expert excuses, and somehow frees himself from the trailing arms and cooing pleas of the sirens, then walks over to me. The women follow him with their eyes, and land death-ray glares on me. I think about winking at them, but I don’t need to – the battle’s already been won.
“Hey Lizzie,” Jax says, leaning over. He bypasses my cheek and instead presses his lips to the sensitive skin right behind my ear. I suppress a shiver. I’ve already seen him naked, but the way his suit hugs tightly, giving hints of those Greek God-like muscles, makes it very easy to imagine myself tearing it apart like the wrapping paper on a long-waited birthday present.
“Hey yourself,” I say, following his hand towards a booth at the back.
We settle into the booth, and with a gesture even I can barely notice, Jax manages to conjure a waiter to the table.
“A double malt for me; neat,” he says, before pointing towards me, “and a gin and tonic with a twist, right?”
“No,” I say, with a sly grin, “I’m trying to switch it up. I’ll have a cosmopolitan.”
“Well look who’s full of surprises tonight,” he teases. “You’re the perfect pupil. I can hardly wait to see what else you have in store.”
We smile at each other for a few moments.
“Sorry to break up your little party over there,” I say, gesturing to the three women, who are now doing their best to pretend they’re not looking.
“I don’t think they’re too happy about it. They’ve been trying to get me drunk for the past thirty minutes.”
“Well, I hope it was worth it.”
“You’re always worth it,” Jax says, and I laugh at how easily he can get away with saying things that would sound stupid coming out of the mouths of most guys.
The drinks come, and we clink our glasses before sipping; our eyes still locked.
“So why did you invite me here?” I ask, disguising my smile behind my glass.
Jax shakes his head with an easy shrug. “Just to…talk.”
“Talk? That would be a first.”
“Talk always comes first. Well… not always.”
I run a hand through my hair, and take another sip, letting the booze warm me up and help my muscles settle into the soft leather seat.
Jax snaps his fingers. “Oh, you know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“Yeah?”
“That guy. Your boyfriend… Gary?”
“Brody. And not my boyfriend. Not anymore.”
“Why is that, again?”
I put my drink down and gaze around the room, trying to think of an answer. I get a heavy feeling in my gut, as if my drink has been spiked with rocks, and a nagging thought at the back of my mind like I forgot to take the laundry out of the machine. I haven’t really thought about my break-up much at all – and Jax has been very good about not letting me remember it. Now that he’s put me on the spot, though, I feel like a lot of dirt is bubbling to the surface.
“We got together about eight years ago—”
Jax makes a surprised face when I say the number, no doubt because his relationships last closer to eight hours than eight years.
“—yeah, I know, it’s a long time. We were kids. He was cute, funny, hard-working. He treated me well, had a car. I was shy, quiet. Innocent. When we got together it felt like the best thing that ever happened to me. It was romantic. He swept me away. It was like a movie. Blah blah blah etcetera.” I take a decidedly unladylike slurp of my drink.
“And? What happened?” Jax asks.
“I thought the movie was about us. That I was the lead actress. Turns out it was about him, and I was just a background extra.”
Jax thumbs his glass and stretches an arm around the back of his chair.
“They don’t write good roles for women anymore.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say, shooting him a look as dirty as the thoughts he’s stirring in me, “you do a pretty good job of putting me front and center.”
“You gave a great audition,” Jax says, smiling mischievously.
I laugh. He has a way of ending everything he says in a way that makes it seem like a prelude to the most erotic kiss you’ve ever had.
“Anyway, his career took off, and I followed him here to LA about six months ago. Since then, it’s been a three-way relationship between me, him, and his work. Though definitely not in that order. I got a job, and I guess it was just a case of waiting for the inevitable to happen.”
“Inevitabl
e?”
“Kids, mortgage, retirement—”
Jax raises his hand. “Stop. You’re boring me. Actually, no, you’re depressing me.”
“You find me talking about that depressing? You should try living it.”
We laugh a little, and Jax gestures for the waiter to bring us another round of drinks. I didn’t even notice how much I was drinking. Being near Jax just makes me want to bring something to my lips. A smile, a drink, his—
“I still don’t know what you do,” Jax asks.
“Do you care?”
“Not really,” he says, crossing his leg, heel over knee. Letting me see how lithe and sporty his body is. I’m catching on to his game, but that doesn’t mean it’s not working.
“I work for a PR firm. And if I say anything more than that, I might just bore both of us into a coma.”
Jax’s eyes sparkle a little. He nods his chin at me. “You’re pretty funny for a girl who’s so hot.”
“You’re pretty hot for a guy who’s so rich,” I reply.
Somehow, I find it easy playing off Jax’s conversation. He’s sharp as flint, and I’m tough as stone. Just like those elements, when we put ourselves together, it seems like sparks fly.
The drinks come and I lean forward over mine. “Are you really an architect? Or is that just a line?”
Jax laughs so loudly the bar turns towards us. For the first time I’m conscious of how commanding his voice is.
“When I was ten my parents took me on a trip around Europe. I remember the richness of the food. I remember the music of the languages. Most of all, I remember the way everything looked beautiful. The magnificence of the Chateau Pierrefonds; the colors of El Capricho de Gaudi; the Basilica de la Sagrada. The way the Alnwick castle makes everyone inside it feel like a king; the way the Sistine Chapel makes you feel like you’re in the presence of God; the way the Eiffel Tower makes it seem like you’re up amongst the stars. I didn’t need to take photos, it was all burned into my memory. The smells, the sounds, the atmosphere.”
His eyes light up as he talks, just like they did the other night when he talked about his work. The architecture means so much to him, gets him so revved up, that the passion is contagious, and I find myself leaning forward to drink up everything he’s saying. Brody never got like this about his job, or about anything else. But Jax? He’s all about what he does. It’s a total turn-on.
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