“I’ll be right back,” he said, giving a quick kiss to my belly before sauntering to the bathroom. Even though he was built like a lumberjack, he moved with a graceful ease. I loved watching his body, with only the moon and city lights coming in. Walking back towards the bed, I noticed he was still mostly erect.
“You keep staring at my dick like that and I’m going to have to fuck you again,” he said, unable to keep the grin off his face.
I guffawed. “That’s not the deal breaker you think it is,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I’m just surprised to see you’re almost ready to go again.”
He took a knee to the bed and crawled over, and as soon as he laid down I rolled into him. Without hesitation, he enveloped his body around mine. I nestled my face in his neck, breathing in.
He chuckled. “Are you sniffing me?”
I gave a quick nip. “I am. Deal with it,” I said, liking how he played with my hair, running his fingers through it. “I like the way you smell.”
“Same. You taste like sugar and smell like jasmine and coconut, like I’m on vacation,” he said, letting out a soft laugh.
“You know, recent studies are reporting that the apocrine glands hold special promise as the source of smells that might affect interpersonal interactions.”
His lips were pressed to the top of my head. I felt them break out in a big smile. “I’ve been wondering when I was going to get a slice of that hot, geek brain of yours. Continue.”
Now it was my turn to smile. I couldn’t help it. I liked the fact that he got off on my inner nerd girl.
“Well, all the other glands have uses that have been identified. But the apocrine glands aren’t for temperature-managing functions in people, as they are in other animals. They occur in dense concentrations on hands, cheeks, scalp, breast areolas, and wherever we possess body hair—and are only functional after puberty, when we begin searching for mates.”
He snorted. “So, are you saying you primarily drawn to me because of my apocrine gland secretions?”
“Not if you keep using the word secretions, I won’t be,” I said while
running my palm back and forth over his chest hair, liking how it tickled. “And, for future reference, I also loathe the words gelatinous, moist, viscous flaccid and yeast.
He cracked up. “Those are truly awful,” he said, while tilting my head, looking into my eyes. “Do you have a list of words that turn you on?”
“You turn me on. You and that dirty mouth.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked through a sly grin.
“Are you kidding? I thought I was going to come just from listening to you.”
His eyes searched mine for a couple of seconds. “That reminds me . . . we’ve gone through this whole evening and we haven’t even talked about your case study, the one for Professor Inappropriate.”
“My sister would sure agree with that nickname,” I said. “And you’re right. I can’t believe I forgot to bring it up. But now that you have, what do you want to know?”
He shrugged, rolling onto his back, elbows out and hands cushioning his head. “I don’t know. I guess I’m curious what it entails.”
“Well, I’m supposed to keep a written record of our relationship. You aren’t required to, but if you wanted to keep a log, it’s certainly encouraged.”
“I guess I can do that. What else?” he asked.
I rolled onto my stomach, propping myself up on my elbows. “Well, he’d love it if we had one of the major categories of sexual dysfunction, but I’m thinking we’re going to disappoint the hell out of him, if tonight’s any indication.”
“True, but I imagine a lot of couples start off hot and heavy, with issues coming up later.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever had one serious relationship and my desire for him lessened because I realized he was an entitled ass, not because of some psycho-biological malady. And growing up, I didn’t exactly have models of sexually healthy relationships. What about you?”
He scrubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t think she ever got over my father,” he said, staring out at nothing in particular. “She dated after him, but I rarely saw the same guy come around more than twice. She says she got her one great love and the rest were just someone to go to dinner with, but I never bought that.”
“That’s kind of sad,” I said.
He grimaced. “Yeah, well, for some, the heart is a resilient muscle, but for others, when their heart breaks, they’re eviscerated and they just don’t have it in them to put the pieces back together. That’s my mom. It wasn’t about getting over the man. It was about not getting over the hurt. She never trusted any man after that and she certainly drilled it into my head to not be an asshole, especially to women.”
“It sounds like they’re one and the same,” I said, staring off. “I had to take this upper level bio class in undergrad where the professor showed us a cadaver’s heart. Inside were all these tiny tendons. They looked like heart strings. He said it’s not uncommon for these tendons to break, especially after a deep emotional trauma. Enough of them break and the heart loses form and is unable to pump blood the way it needs to, leading to heart failure. It’s called broken heart syndrome.”
He didn’t say anything for a while.
Eventually, his eyes found mine in the dark. “All the more reason why I’m glad I let what you said when we first met sink in.”
I drew a blank. “What did I say?”
“About me being an asshole, saying either I was always one or had become one. That I had shown you my true colors.”
Ah, now I remember.
“Well, I like you now,” I said, patting his chest.
He laughed. “Well, I hope so,” he said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me over him. I laid on top, skin to skin. “I’m realizing something.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I never got dessert tonight,” he said, his cock growing hard between us. “And I’m still hungry.”
“Oh my God, you’re kidding, right? I’m still so full,” I said.
He stilled. “Not that kind of hungry, Dixie.”
I barely got the “oh” out when he grabbed hold under my arms and hoisted me forward and up, so I was straddling his face.
“Now, feed me what we both need.”
It was a request I was happy to oblige.
Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep that night.
This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear:
she got up in great disgust, and walked off;
the Dormouse fell asleep instantly,
and neither of the others took the least notice of her going,
though she looked back once or twice,
half hoping that they would call after her . . .
―Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Dare
Like clockwork, I’m always up with the sun. No matter what. I could be sick. I could have stayed up most of the previous night.
Doesn’t matter.
At one point, I even had black-out curtains put in my bedroom, hoping I could fool my Pavlovian brain into getting the rest my body needed.
It didn’t work. Neither did pills, booze, weed. So, I gave them up as forms of self-medication a long time ago.
Of course, my ma said my early rising was God’s hint to get my lazy ass out of bed and back to church. She was Italian Catholic and went three times a week. She said the extra visits were meant to compensate for my piss poor lack of attendance.
Yeah, she’s a pistol.
My building faced east, which meant I was able to attend my own version of church every day and bask in God’s glory, each rising sun a unique creation that I could fool myself into feeling was just for me.
This morning was another beauty, but this time it was the brunette with the big blue eyes sleeping next to me, taking all my attention. Her long, thick hair was splayed across the white pillows, as she slept on her back. The sheets were at her waist, so I was treat
ed to watching her beautiful, bare breasts slowly rise and fall with her soft snore.
“Alice . . . Alice?”
“Hmm?” she mumbled, still half asleep.
“Want to sleep in or come down to the studio with me?”
She turned, mushing her face into the pillow. “If you are a sadist, you should’ve told me that from the get go. This is wicked early.”
That made me laugh. “Then sleep, baby. I’ll make some coffee. Come down when you’re ready. It’s the third floor.”
She grunted and nodded.
I made myself a big mug and took the elevator down to my studio. I was surprised to see Ingrid already there. She also wasn’t a big fan of early mornings.
“Is it the end of days or something?” I asked, being a smartass.
“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” she said, not taking her eyes off her work, paintbrush in hand, the same piece from the other day. “And I’m the only one who can make Book of Revelations jokes around here.”
“That’s fair,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. “So, what’s up?”
She frowned. “I have the group show at Sean Kelly at the end of the month, remember?”
“Of course, I do, ‘grid,” I said smiling down at her, trying not crack a smile at the sight of her. That blue hair of hers was all over the place and she was wearing her favorite unicorn onesie. Yeah, the kind with the pajama feet and the flap in the back, just like they make for little kids.
“Didn’t Petra already choose the pieces she wanted for the show?” I asked. Petra was in charge of curating group exhibitions for Sean Kelly Gallery.
She tossed the brush down, fisting her hair with both hands.
“Yeah, but I don’t know. I think I should give her a few more choices, don’t you think?”
The show was her first big break, and I knew it meant a lot to her. Sean Kelly was one of the most influential galleries in the New York art scene, representing big name artists such as Marina Abramović and Mariko Mori. This show was something she’d earned all on her own, outside my influence. As close as we were, I couldn’t blame her for wanting something of her own. I was like the big brother with an even bigger shadow.
“Do what you’ve got to do, but don’t make yourself sick over it,” I said.
Behind me I heard, “Well, I haven’t seen the others, but the one you’re working on is truly compelling.”
I knew that voice.
I turned around and there was Alice, coffee in hand, wearing her clothes from last night. Just seeing her made something inside me instantly lighter.
I beamed. “Morning, baby.”
She smiled wide. “Hey you.” She gave a half wave to Ingrid. “Hi, I’m Alice. We sort of met at your party.”
“My bad,” I said. “Alice, this is Ingrid. Ingrid, this is Alice.”
“Oh great, another Chloe,” Ingrid murmured, but loud enough for her to hear.
Alice’s face paled, lips parted.
“She’s nothing like Chloe, ‘grid, and it’s completely uncool of you to make that comparison.”
She ignored me and focused on Alice.
“Thanks for the art critique, Peggy Sue, but I think I’ll pass on valuing the opinion of someone who probably took her cousin to prom.”
Wow, that was bitchy, even for her. “Ingrid, what the hell?”
“What? She can’t speak for herself?” she asked still scowling. “Let me guess. You’re from a small town in the middle of nowhere, you’re new to the city, and you’re hoping for your big break in something artistic. Am I close?”
I walked over to Alice, standing between them.
“Congratulations, Ingrid, you’ve just described most of the people in the city who live below Houston,” I said, giving her a death stare.
Meanwhile, to her credit, Alice was just sipping her coffee, her shoulder leaning against one of the pillars, watching the show.
“Are you this threatened by every woman in City’s life?” she asked.
Ingrid’s jaw moved side to side. “City?”
“It’s a nickname, ‘grid,” I said, crossing my arms.
Alice stepped forward. “Well, you got two out of three. I am from a small town in North Carolina. In fact, it’s so tiny, I don’t think even Google Earth could find it. And while I am new to town, I’m here for grad school—not to star in my own Fame movie remake,” she said. “Listen, Ingrid, I don’t know you, and stereotypes aside, you certainly don’t know me either. I appreciate you have your own relationship with Dare and I’m not looking to get in the way of that. So, maybe we can start over?”
She walked closer to us. “It’s not that, Alice. He’s like my brother and nothing’s going to change that,” she said while shoving her hands in her pockets. “I don’t know what he told you about Chloe . . .”
I interrupted. “We haven’t gotten to that part of our scheduled programming, kiddo,” I said.
Ingrid’s eyes rounded. “She hasn’t Googled you or heard from her friends?”
“No, I haven’t,” Alice said. “And I can’t promise someone won’t slip, but I’m certainly not going to ask. I’m curious as hell, but I’ll wait ‘til Dare’s ready. I know what it’s like when people think they know all about you from stories they hear.”
“Holy shit, you’re like a unicorn,” Ingrid mumbled under her breath.
I gave Ingrid’s arm a playful back slap. “I know, right?”
We must’ve been staring because Alice shook her head. “It’s like suddenly I’m part of the exhibit,” she said, looking at her phone for the time. “Listen, this has been a certain kind of entertaining, but I’ve got to go. I just came down here to say goodbye.”
“You and I are going to talk about this later,” I muttered to Ingrid before following Alice through the studio.
As soon as we were in the elevator, I said, “Hey, I’m sorry about that. Ingrid’s actually a really good kid, salt-of-the-earth.”
She smiled. “I’m not upset about Ingrid,” she said. “It’s obvious she’s very protective of you. It’s also obvious there’s nothing sexual there for either of you. In time, she’ll mature and learn to be more . . . nuanced . . . when trying to assess people.”
I studied her, to make sure she was really alright.
She really was.
I smiled, shaking my head. “Sorry, I’m not used to such a level-headed approach. The art world tends to attract a lot of drama.”
“We attract what we are, City,” she said, sporting a wry grin.
Smart-ass. “Are you trying to say I’m the drama magnet?”
“No,” she said. “You just did.”
I crossed my arms. “Is this what it’s going to be like, to date a shrink in training?”
Her smile fell.
Shit, that sounded harsher than I intended.
“Hey, I didn’t mean it that way,” I said, reaching for her. She softened, letting me take her hand. I buried my face in her neck. “You still smell like me.”
“I do?”
“Oh yeah,” I said, rubbing my nose and mouth against her skin.
“You smell like me, too. I like it,” she said, her voice coming out breathy. “I like the idea of marking you and you marking me, part of an array of some darker fantasies I have.”
Fuck, she’s perfect for me. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
We walked out of the elevator, but she seemed in a rush now.
“I’ve got brunch with the girls,” she said, getting shy on me, not meeting my eye.
What the hell? “Wait, what just happened, baby?”
She gave a forced smile. “Nothing. I’m all kinds of good.” She leaned in and gave a quick kiss. “I don’t like to be late is all.”
I didn’t say anything. I certainly didn’t believe a word she just said, but something had spooked her. “You know where to find me,” I said, unlocking the front door and holding it open.
I got another tight smile. And then, she was gone.
“You don’t know much,’ said the Duchess; ‘and that’s a fact.”
―Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Alice
“If I had spent the whole night sampling the delectable man buffet that is Dare Grangeworth, y’all would’ve been on the receiving end of a ‘see you later’ text, that’s for sure,” Caroline said, dropping a sugar cube in her tea.
Rayna nodded. “Seriously, chica, we would’ve understood. Right, Lulu?”
Lulu startled, lost in her thoughts. “Oh! Yes, of course we would’ve understood. It’s not like our Sunday brunches are mandatory.”
I shrugged. “I know, I know. Did you ever consider I just wanted to hang with y’all? If it weren’t for this little ritual, we could go weeks without checking in. We’re all so busy.”
“Oh poo, was he a possum in the sack? Did he not know basic geography?” Caroline asked, keeping her voice low.
Both Lulu and Rayna cracked up.
“Your Southern expressions kill me,” Rayna said, shaking her head.
“What does that mean?” Lulu asked, leaning close.
I rolled my eyes. “She’s asking if he is either playing dead in bed or doesn’t know where the clitoris is,” I informed them. “And to answer your question, that’s not the issue. He’s exceptional in bed and it was only our first time.”
“That bodes well,” Lulu smiled over her teacup.
“So, what’s the issue?” my sister asked.
I looked over. “What? There isn’t an issue.”
Caroline gave a ‘don’t BS me’ look.
“It’s new,” I said. “Aren’t you always the one who says ‘let them miss you some’?”
“You do say that,” Lulu smiled while giving me a little wink. “And I, for one, appreciate your application of classic gaming and economic theory onto social, interpersonal relationships.
I may have let a giggle slip.
Caroline let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. You just want some girl time. That’s your story and you’re sticking with it.”
“Thank you kindly,” I said, high fiving myself on the inside.
“For someone who’s working so dang hard to be a head peeper someday, you’d think you’d want to address your own bullshit head on. Because sister, you’ve got more issues than a doctor’s office waiting room.”
The Wonder of You (A Different Kind of Wonderland Book 1) Page 9