His smooth shaft slid between her thighs until he was positioned against her entrance. He rubbed his thumb against her clit and plunged into her hard and fast.
She cried out, oblivious to the possibility of anyone hearing, oblivious to anything but the plunging of his cock inside her, the friction on her clit, the pinch of her nipple between his fingers.
“I’m going to come,” she gasped. She’d waited too long. She couldn’t wait anymore. “I’m going to come so hard.”
She’d barely gotten the words out when she heard something behind them.
She looked up at the mirror and saw that it was the younger man from the bar, the one with cowboy boots.
He met her gaze in the glass.
“Jack…” She grabbed onto the counter.
“Do you want me to stop and ask him to leave or do you want me to fuck you until you come?”
The man had unzipped his pants behind them, and while she couldn’t see his cock, she could tell from the gentle rocking of his reflection that he was stroking himself as he watched them.
Jack withdrew and she reached back for him. “No!” She bowed her head, her hair falling around her face. “Just fuck me, Jack. Just make me come. Please.”
He drove into her again and she closed her eyes, rocked with this rhythm, pressed into the fingers working her clit.
She was panting, gasping, barely able to breathe, the orgasm seeming to stretch her skin in its desire to escape, the pressure unbearable as she teetered on the edge.
She opened her eyes as she tipped over, caught the man’s eye in the mirror as he stroked his cock, his own breath fast and heavy as he watched Jack fuck her from behind.
She didn’t know if the scream she heard was in her head or if it was real. She didn’t care. She came again and again, her body wracked with contractions as Jack groaned, spilling his hot semen inside her.
She didn’t know how long it lasted. How long afterward she stood, braced against the cabinet, her dress up around her waist, her ass and dripping pussy exposed.
When she finally opened her eyes the man in the mirror was gone. Jack reached for the paper towel holder on the wall and leaned around her to get them wet in the sink.
She ducked away from him and pulled her dress down to cover herself. She felt sick, and she hurried to one of the shadowed stalls and vomited into the toilet. A moment later, Jack was there, looming behind her.
His fingers grazed her neck as he reached to move her hair out of the way. The fog was clearing from her brain, the reality of what had happened, what she’d allowed to happen, sinking in now that she wasn’t a slave to her body’s need for release.
“Don’t touch me,” she said.
She stood, wiped her mouth, and stared at him. “I thought you loved me.”
“I do.” His eyes were cold, but there was pain in his voice.
She shook her head. “This isn’t love.”
“Nina…”
“Let me pass,” she said.
He hesitated, then stepped aside.
She slid past him, grabbing the paper towels from his hand as she went. She wiped herself quickly, then dumped the towels in the trash can on her way out the door.
“Nina…” he called after her.
She felt strangely alert. Not quite sober, but awake.
She didn’t return to the bar. Instead she pushed through the door at the end of the hall marked with a red Exit sign. Then she was out into the cool night air, the sound of crickets and bullfrogs engulfing her as she took off her shoes and started walking.
24
She stood in the shower, the hot water beating down on her back as she bowed her head under the spray. It had taken her three hours and a nearly three hundred dollar Uber ride to get home, including the hour and a half she’d spent walking the side streets of the small town where Jack had taken her.
She’d stayed off the main road, not wanting to see him, knowing he’d come for her.
She’d been surprised to find she still had her clutch. She had no memory of grabbing it off the bar on her way to the bathroom, no memory of having it in her hand when Jack fucked her in front of the other man. She must have grabbed it by instinct, and she’d comforted herself with the knowledge that while she was running from another of Jack’s games, this time she had her phone.
The night air, cooler in the country, had helped clear her head. It took a long time for a driver to claim her fare, but by the time the older man in a gray Honda Accord pulled up alongside her, she was mostly sober.
She could have called Karen, but Nina wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about what had happened, especially not Karen, who would probably want to hunt Jack down and cut off his balls.
It wouldn’t be justified. Even now, Nina could admit that she’d known what she was doing. Being humiliated after the fact didn’t mean Jack hadn’t played fair. She could have stopped the game at any point along the way — when he’d asked her to wear the dress, when she’d had the bad feeling in her stomach, when he’d lifted her dress in the bathroom, when he’d asked her if she wanted him to stop.
It hadn’t been the alcohol talking. She’d known what she was doing, had wanted every bit of it. If she was being honest with herself, she still wanted it, was still turned on by the memory of Jack fucking her while the other man jacked off behind them.
Even now she wanted Jack’s hands on her body, his cock inside her, the promise of more games.
She was sick. Fucked up.
She’d waited to get home to start sobbing, stripping off her clothes and climbing into the shower without even turning the lights on in the rest of the apartment. She wasn’t crying because she felt violated, or even because she felt betrayed.
Her tears were all anger and frustration at herself, at her own twisted desire — desire that was inflamed by being dominated, even humiliated, pushed past the edge of what most people would consider healthy sexual behavior.
Her skin was puckered by the time she finally turned off the water. She wrapped herself in a towel, then went to her room where she found the biggest, most comfortable underwear she could find. She pulled them on along with an old T-shirt, the cotton worn to silky softness.
Intense sexual experiences can be overwhelming. Responsibility extends to aftercare…
She heard Jack’s voice in her mind as she slid between the sheets. Her phone buzzed from the nightstand where she’d put it to charge. She looked at the display.
Nine missed calls from Jack. Six voice mails.
She deleted the voice mails and hovered over her last text to Karen before turning off the phone and putting it back on the nightstand. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to sleep. That was her aftercare, and she would provide it herself.
She lifted her head from the pillow as Virginia jumped on the bed. The cat had never slept with Nina before, and she walked cautiously up the mattress before laying next to Nina’s thigh.
Nina reached out a hand, half expecting the cat to run. She stroked the cat’s fur softly, settling into the comfort of her mattress. Virginia immediately started purring.
Nina closed her eyes and let sleep come.
25
Two days later she was on the bench at the park, sunglasses shielding her eyes from the sun. She’d tried calling Judith, knowing the other woman wouldn’t tell her she looked like shit or press for details Nina didn’t want to give, but she hadn’t answered her phone and Nina had headed for the park alone, reasoning that it was just as well.
She’d slept until one o’clock in the afternoon, waking only when the buzzer on her intercom started shrieking. The noise had lasted for nearly half an hour. Nina had ignored it, making coffee and forcing herself to breathe until it stopped.
She’d known it was Jack, but she wasn’t ready to talk to him. She was still processing the events of the night before, still figuring out how she felt about it, what she was willing to accept — from him and from herself.
She’d spent th
e day curled up on her sofa in her underwear and T-shirt, petting Virginia, who suddenly wanted to be her best friend. She’d watched old movies and ordered takeout, replying to Karen’s texts in a way that wouldn’t elicit suspicion or questions.
It had been a world of her own making, a precious few hours when she could pretend nothing else existed. The last time she’d run from Jack, Karen had been there to put her back together. Nina had no doubt the same would be true this time: if Nina called her, Karen would come.
But she couldn’t keep relying on other people to put her back together, especially not when she knew what she had to do.
She took a deep breath and looked around the park. All around her life marched on. That was one thing she'd learned: no matter how bad things got, life never stopped, and as long as there was life, there was hope that things could be better.
She’d been devastated when she’d left Jack in Paris, her pain doubled when she’d said goodbye to Liam a couple days later. It would be no different this time. She could feel the hole opening up in the parts of her heart that had belonged to Jack. She already missed his voice, the smile that broke across his face when he couldn’t hold it back anymore, the tender way he held her after sex.
Her body would miss him too. Conditioned to his mouth, his touch, it was already demanding more. Even after what had happened in the bathroom at the bar, she wanted him — craved him — with a fever that made it hard to breathe.
All the more reason she had to leave him.
She stood, picked up her bag, and started for the park’s entrance. The next time she came here it would be over for good with Jack. It was comforting to know the park would still be there, the fountain crashing, people laughing and walking and lounging on the grass. She would come with Judith and she would try to learn what it meant to live fully and well, to have no regrets and no judgements about the way it had all played out.
To love all of herself, even the dark parts she wanted to hide.
26
The doorman seemed to be expecting her when she arrived in the lobby of Jack’s apartment. He immediately came around the desk and let her into the elevator.
She glanced up as the elevator rose, looking at her distorted reflection in the shiny brass ceiling. Her heart beat faster as the elevator slowed and came to a stop. A moment later the doors opened.
He was there, standing in the entry, waiting for her.
She stepped off the elevator and he pulled her into his arms. “Thank god.”
She stayed there for a long time, soaking in the feel of his arms around her, the unique safety offered only by him.
He pulled away and looked down at her, worry evident on his face. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I will be.”
“Come in,” he said. “Sit down. We can talk.”
She shook her head and looked down at her feet. “I’m not… I’m not coming in, Jack.”
He didn’t say anything, and she reached into her bag and withdrew a few items of clothing and a pair of shoes, all things Jack had bought for her at one time or another. Thankfully she’d left most of his purchases at his apartment, sparing her having to haul a suitcase through the lobby and into the elevator.
She held them out. “I’d like to return these to you.”
“What are you talking about?” He shook his head. “Come in so we can talk.”
“Please, just take them, Jack.”
He took them from her hand and tossed them aside. “Don’t do this, Nina.”
She forced herself to say the words she’d rehearsed on the way over. “This isn’t about you. I’m not mad about what happened in the bar. I knew you, I knew who you were, knew what I was getting into.”
Don’t try to change me, Nina.
“Then why?” he asked.
“I’m scared of myself, Jack. Sacred of what I’ve become, of what I’ll continue becoming if I stay.”
He reached for her but she took a step back.
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” he said. “There are no rules, only the ones people tried to tell you existed, the ones they want you to follow so you can be like them. And you’re not like them, Nina. I knew it the first time I saw you.”
She nodded. “You’re right: I’m not. But I don’t want to be this person either. I don’t feel good, Jack. I don’t feel… well. And after all this time, after everything I’ve been through, if I haven’t learned to listen to that, what’s the point of it all?”
“The point is to feel,” he said vehemently. “To feel whatever the fuck you want instead of what they tell you you’re allowed to feel.”
“Even the things that make me sad, Jack? Even the things that make me ashamed?” She shook her head. “What’s the point of feeling something if it makes me sick?”
“Because it’s real," he said coldly.
“Maybe that’s enough for you, but I want to be happy. I want to feel good.” Something lightened in her chest as she said it, as she realized it was true. She drew in a deep breath. “I want to recognize myself when I look in the mirror.”
“Nina…”
She stepped toward him and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Goodbye, Jack.”
She had to force herself to turn away, to walk to the elevator and push the button.
To step inside and leave him behind.
When she turned around he was still standing there.
“I meant what I said.” He sounded confused. “I love you.”
“I believe you.” The doors started to close. “But it’s not enough.”
27
Nina sealed the box on the last of Morris LeGrange’s photos, taped it shut, and looked around with a sigh. It had taken her the better of part of the day to get everything sorted and packed. She was always a little sad to see the photos go, but she was glad they went to people who appreciated them.
In spite of Nina’s mistake with the caterer, Morris’s show had been a success. She’d come clean with Moni, promising to pay for the mistake out of pocket, but Moni had laughed away the idea.
“Girl, if you think this is the first time we’ve made an expensive mistake, you’d be wrong. It’s just part of doing business. You solved the problem. Don’t worry about it. Besides, I could use the write-off.”
Tracy had delivered on the vegetarian menu and no one had been the wiser. It would have been easy to discount Moni’s generosity as a playing of the friend card after Nina told her about breaking up with Jack — although not the details — but Nina knew Moni by now: she would have forgiven the mistake anyway.
Nina had felt like she was sleepwalking as she moved through the show, talking to buyers, keeping Morris’s wine glass full, picking up empties left behind by gallery visitors who hadn’t known what to do with them.
Jack’s face as she’d left his apartment was emblazoned on her memory: the pain in his eyes had been as real as the pleasure he’d shown her, as real as the tenderness he’d shown her after they made love, as real as the love he’d confessed to her in Croatia.
That’s what Jack didn’t understand: it was all real.
The pain, the pleasure, the confusion, the absurdity, even the boredom.
But you had to let it in to make it real, and since she’d left Jack, Nina had let it in in spades.
She didn’t try to explain away her feelings as some kind of sexual addiction, although she still wanted him with a fever that sometimes took her breath away. She sat with it instead, let herself feel the pain when it hit her, the sorrow, even the cravings of her body. She let it all roll through her, let the tears come when they wanted to come.
She still hadn’t been able to connect with Judith — the other woman must be out of town, maybe at the apartment in Paris mentioned in the article Nina had read — but Nina tried to take a page out of her book by accepting it all without judgement.
She’d given only the barest of details to Karen — that she’d started to feel sick being with Jack, that she didn’t think it
was a healthy relationship. She’d even been guilty of using a phrase she once would have made fun of: the relationship didn’t serve her anymore.
She’d almost cringed when she said it, then realized it was true. She’d been thinking about the phrase ever since, about the fact that it was up to her to choose the experiences that served her, about the fact that it was okay to walk away from ones that didn’t.
She couldn’t be responsible for Jack’s pain, his loneliness. It wasn’t her job to fix him, any more than it was his job to fix her.
And really, neither of them needed to be fixed anyway.
She got to her feet and stacked the boxes against the wall. She needed to call FedEx and schedule delivery, but she was suddenly starving. She would do it from the apartment while she waited for a large pizza from Gino’s. Maybe wings too.
It had taken her a few days to regain her appetite, but after that it had returned with a vengeance. She felt like someone who’d been on rations for the past six months, and she ate with a fervor that made Karen stare at her in awe.
Nina’s clothes were fitting properly for the first time in weeks — not the designer garments Jack had bought her, she’d left all of those at his apartment, but her own clothes, the ones she’d painstakingly chosen from sales at Bergdorf and Bloomingdale’s, the ones she’d thought hard about before plunking down her credit card.
She was starting to feel like herself again, starting to recognize the face staring back at her from the mirror and the thoughts that wound their way through her mind like old friends, no longer a slave to memories of being in bed with Jack, about what he’d done to her last, about what he’d do to her next time.
The bell over the door chimed and she looked up in surprise. She’d been about to close, and they rarely got walk-in traffic on a weeknight.
A messenger in bike shorts and a helmet came toward her with a large manila envelope and a small package.
The Surrender of Nina Fontaine (Awakening Book 2) Page 13