Love Easy

by Roe Valentine

  Her eyes widened. “You know Henry—err—Mr. Chapel?”

  “Everyone knows the paper man.”

  She looked down. What could she say to that?

  “Are you…with him?” Harold’s eyes darkened.

  With him?

  “Uh…no…” Her last conversation with Mr. Chapel replayed in her mind. She tried to forget what he said and how she felt. I am your boss. That is all I am. She was exposed again, and it made her uncomfortable.

  “I see.” Harold stopped dancing.

  Norma didn’t notice the orchestra had stopped playing.

  “He’s my boss…” Desperation tinged her tone.

  “I figured.”

  The dance floor was empty again.

  “We have a strictly business relationship.” Why was she trying to convince this stranger of anything? She didn’t know Harold from Jack, but she couldn’t stand his accusatory gaze. He didn’t believe her and couldn’t have been more obvious about it.

  “I believe the song is over, Norma.” He extended his hand and waited as Norma frowned and placed her narrow hand in his and allowed him to lead her off the dance floor.

  ****

  After Norma returned home, she sat in the silence of her apartment at four in the morning, removing the black kohl around her eyes and the thick red lipstick that surprisingly didn’t budge the whole evening. It paid to have fashionable friends, she thought as she removed the brown lace dress and lariat pearl necklace, much like the one Elsie had worn that night. She sat nearly nude, falling back onto soft sheets.

  Her mind escaped to Mr. Chapel’s office. No surprise. It seemed the more she tried to forget him, the more she remembered. As if he were doing it all over again, she felt his caresses against her thigh. The kiss at her neck. Squirming, she attempted to force away the recollections. No luck. In so few days, a lot happened, changed her. But she couldn’t decide if it was better to have a taste of him than none at all. Unfortunately, that taste stayed with her far longer than it should have. She’d have to harden her heart somehow. He’s your boss, Norma.

  She brought her hand to her mouth, imagining they were his lips. How much more obsessed would she be if she in fact did kiss Mr. Chapel?

  Desiring a man like Mr. Chapel couldn’t be good for any woman’s health. She closed her eyes, willing the night to fade away with yesterday’s thoughts, even if it was impossible. She didn’t want to yearn for that pompous man.

  Norma’s body sprouted goose bumps in the drafty apartment. Early morning was always the coldest time of the day. She grabbed a velvet robe, sliding her body in it, feeling some relief from the biting cold. Her gaze shifted to the fireplace. It was dark and full of ashes; she’d regret not lighting it. After leaving her bed, she walked to it, debating whether she should start the kindling. She may just have to tough it out—she’d done it many times before. Before she could decide, a knock sounded at her door.

  Who on earth would call at that hour of the night, or morning as it were? A glance at the grandfather clock said it was a quarter after four. A second knock, harder, but still not threatening.

  Norma quietly padded over the hardwood floor to the door and peered through the peephole. She couldn’t recognize the dark figure on the other side. Her heart thumped, shaking her body with each pulse.

  “Norma,” the familiar voice called from the other side of the door. “It’s Henry. Henry Chapel.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Her heart stopped. She didn’t know what to do. Should she acknowledge Mr. Chapel or stand still until he went away? The idea of Henry Chapel on the other side of her door shook her insides in all directions—it exhilarated her and scared her at the same time. Every cell in her body raced with electricity. Why was he there at that bewitching hour? Her mother always said nothing good happened after midnight. Was Mr. Chapel up to no good? Would she participate in his no good if she opened the door?

  Hesitating, she thought of all the reasons she shouldn’t answer the door. How could she allow him to see her in disarray, disassembled from a festive night at the Jazzy Cat? Would he be able to smell the cigarette smoke in her hair and the gin on her breath? She simply couldn’t let him see her that way, but she also couldn’t let him stand out in the cold. Could she? The real question was did she want to let him in? Even though she instinctively knew the answer, she hesitated.

  “Uhhh…” She fumbled with her robe belt, tying it very tightly around her waist, and put both hands through the tangled mop on her head.

  “Come on Norma, let me in.” The deep voice sounded again with another urgent knock.

  How she managed to find the strength to turn the brass locks counterclockwise was beyond her. Once the locks were undone, she pulled at the door with all the energy in her shaking arms until he filled her eyes.

  Finally, face-to-face with Henry Chapel, she didn’t know the first thing to do. The breath fled her lungs like she’d been punched in the chest, and her knees nearly buckled as if the person who punched her chest also kicked her knees.

  The sight was otherworldly. He was larger than life and beautiful standing under the gas lamp on the steps to her apartment. The last time she got a load of him was Tuesday when she stood in his office. Last time she saw him, he told her there was no chance they’d ever be anything more. So, why was he here?

  His eyes were wild and tormented. Perhaps it was the effects of gin. She wasn’t sure. The scent of cigar smoke and sweat wafted from his body. He probably was at a speakeasy doing the good Lord knows what with the good Lord knows who. He stepped closer, his balance perfectly still. Maybe he wasn’t drunk. Norma looked beyond the steps, and the silence of the street echoed in her ears. He was alone, but something nagged at her. Had he been with the blonde Sheba Annabelle from last Friday?

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Chapel?” Norma stood fully in the door way. She didn’t give him a sliver of space to lunge in, though he was moments from entering uninvited.

  “I’m going to catch my death out here, Miss Hill.” He frowned, rubbing his hands together.

  With no time for thinking, he pushed past her small body, invading her space. The whole room seemed to light up with his aura—nothing new there. How did he do that? How did he attract any and everything by just being there?

  Unfortunately, she was not immune to him, even after facing his rejection. If anything, she’d become more affected by him. Her body was drawn to his—nothing new there either. Brushing the length of her arm and hip as he strode by, he singed her as he crossed into the interior of her two room apartment. With still shaking hands, she pushed the door closed.

  “My word, Norma, it’s colder in here than it is outside.”

  He walked over to the fireplace, lifting a match from the small box sitting on top of the fireplace mantel, and lit it without asking. Clearly he didn’t need permission to do anything. He tossed it onto the kindling, which he quickly organized on top of old ashes. The kindling caught a spark and began to smoke and ultimately caught fire to the log above it.

  Norma stood back and watched, amazed at how quickly he had started the fire. She’d never been able to start one that quickly. But of course Mr. Chapel could spark a fire in no time flat. The man was capable, and no one could argue otherwise. For the time being, she decided to her hold her tongue about him coming over unannounced at that unacceptable hour.

  “Were you out tonight?” He sat on her plush bed, again without asking.

  The fire blazed, lighting the room. Norma caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirror nailed on the wall opposite where she stood near Mr. Chapel. Gathering her robe tightly around her, heat pounded against her neck and eased up to her face. She drove a hand through her hair again, taming the curls, wishing he didn’t see her that way. What must he think? He didn’t seem to notice her attire—or lack of it—as he watched the fire gather strength. She wondered again why he ended up at her doorstep. Did he get word she used his name at the Jazzy Cat?

  She scanned
the small apartment, surveying the items thrown about in haste when she came back from being undercover. Stockings hurled over a nearby chair. Garter belt haphazardly hung from the top of the bedside lampshade. The proof of her outing was all over the room. Perhaps he knew she’d been out but just wanted to hear her admit it. She didn’t answer right away. It wasn’t any of his business.

  “I wasn’t out,” she lied straight through her teeth.

  “You’re a tough broad, aren’t you, Norma?” He wasn’t smug for once. She shifted her eyes from him.

  “Men don’t like weak women. At least not men who are worth their salt,” Norma spit out, walking toward the door. Where did that come from?

  His presence caused a war inside of her. The feeling was foreign, and she didn’t know what could give her relief. She didn’t know how to trust herself now that he was in her home, in her space.

  “But there is a weakness in trying to pretend to be strong, don’t you think?” His words were heavy, his eyes were, too.

  “I don’t know why you’re here. You made yourself clear the other day.” Heat crept up her face again. Walking to the door was a challenge, but she needed to take back control. Especially since what she wanted to do wasn’t feasible. “I think your unwelcome has come to an end, Mr. Chapel.” She pressed a hand to her hot forehead.

  His languorous walk to the door defied her command for him to leave. He wasn’t going anywhere. Her blood boiled with his blatant disregard for her. How was he always able to get to her? She never knew such men could exist.

  Perhaps this is the type of spell that caused Bonnie Braun to refer to herself as the former Mrs. Charles Hill after years of being divorced.

  Norma underestimated the power of the dominant sex. Just one word—the right word—from Mr. Chapel, and she would drop her guard and in a flash.

  Steady in her resolve, she pulled the door open. She needed him gone more than she needed air.

  He didn’t make a move right away, just watched her with eagle-like precision.

  She’d stand there all night if she had to as long as he didn’t say a word or touch her. Though that is exactly what he did. A warm hand wrapped around the circumference of her slender arm, tight and commanding.

  If she looked at him, it would be over.

  “It’s not what I want. Is this what you want?” he asked.

  Silence. She didn’t know what to say. Her gaze shifted to the floor, heart pounding so hard it ached. He wanted to stay?

  “Norma. Look me in the eyes and tell me you want me to leave, and I will.”

  His musty scent lingered in her nostrils, heat radiating from his body. Warming her.

  No rationalization for what was happening. Only that what they felt was mutual in that moment. How long would it last? Would he reject her in the morning? Her lazy eyes lifted to his, dark and raging, and that was all he needed to move forward.

  His strong hand pushed the door shut, and with both hands lifted her in one effortless motion. She yelped at the loss of control. Only his heavy breathing sounded as his urgent legs crossed the room to the pinnacle of her bed.

  He didn’t say a word, neither did she. Their bodies spoke when their mouths went silent. Her body crashed against the bed moments before his lips slammed against hers. Finally, lips against lips; it was heaven.

  How could she go on with possibly never kissing him again? She couldn’t think of that; she could only kiss him back with as much intensity and lust. His kiss enraptured her. Scared her. Took her to another dimension. With his lips, he took her to another world she never knew existed. A world where she wanted to give herself to him, fully.

  Henry opened her robe with delicate precision, mouth still on hers, and found her warm body heaving and desperate for his touch. Desperate didn’t begin to describe what she was. Her mouth opened for him further as he deepened the kiss while his hands explored the long lines of skin. She whimpered at the touch of his fingertips. Not enough though. She wanted them inside her somehow. She wanted him to touch her soul with those fingers. Loving him would be easy.

  The robe slid to the floor. His eyes lit up and turned dark again as his face lowered once more. His jaw clenched. He controlled himself—like he always did. Her nether region pulsed. She was falling uncontrollably; even her breathing was difficult to control. She wanted to faint with the sensations he gave her. So much for not swooning in his presence.

  His lips danced above her mouth, teasing her, warning her of what was to come. Whatever was to come, one thing was for sure. She passed the point of no return. She passed imagining what the moment of utter surrender would feel like. Since college, she’d romanticized this day in her mind, though she never thought she’d succumb to a man like Henry Chapel.

  Her naked body pressed against the silky sheets underneath his hands. Fully clothed, he hovered over her, hands running over every curve of her body. She was intoxicated with him, if it was possible to be intoxicated with a person. Gin didn’t have anything on Henry Chapel. She moaned, wondering if being with Henry was always that delectable. She wondered what the full extent of his capabilities was, forcing away the thought of how many other women knew what those capabilities were.

  Mouth colliding with hers again, he kissed her fully. With some bank of untapped instincts, she matched his excitement. She wrapped her legs around his waist because it seemed natural to do so at the moment. It also felt natural for her to lift her pelvis against his body. She moaned and wanted so much more; she didn’t know how to ask for what she wanted.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Henry moaned in her ear. “Too beautiful…” His voice sent chills down her spine. He continued to speak in the tight space between her neck and jaw while he urgently threw off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt with contained grace—he had a talent for it. “I want you, Norma. I want to feel you…”

  He tossed his shirt to the floor, his broad chest a network of sinews glistening like a statue of a Greek god in the dim room. All thumbs and fingers, Norma reached blindly to unbutton his trousers. While her hands worked frantically, something hard hit against her fingers. She quivered deep inside. That hard something battled against the taut material and struggled to find freedom.

  When she pulled at his trousers to free him from the constricting material, he spilled out in her hand. Her first inkling was to run away, though her curiosity kept her hand firm around his silky skin. The size was incredible and alarming. What would he do to her with it? Her insides quivered at the thought.

  “Henry,” Norma whispered, his shaft still nestled between her fingers as the uncertainty widened her eyes.

  “If you want me to stop, baby, you better tell me now, because if I touch you one more time, I won’t be able to.” Henry closed his eyes, breathing as if he had just danced the Charleston.

  If he stopped, she could die. She wanted him to continue devouring her, making her feel like a woman should. She wondered how she’d lived twenty-five years and never felt such pleasures—not that she ever gave anyone a chance. Having him inside her became her most urgent need. Forget sleeping. Forget what tomorrow’s thoughts might be. She wanted him to ravish her with every part of him. And she wanted it now.

  “No,” she whimpered. “Don’t stop.”

  He didn’t.

  She opened to him effortlessly. Easy.

  His hand inched down the length of her body until his fingers played with her most secret places. He teased her blossoming folds at the apex of her thighs.

  Delicious and tortuous at the same time, her moaning coaxed him on. She arched her back and moved her pelvis against his hand, the heavy build up in her belly becoming unbearable. How could she find relief from the sensation? She moaned as he touched her further.

  The sounds of his chuckle sent tingles down her spine. Could he tell what was on her mind? Could he see her secret thoughts through her eyes? If he could, she wasn’t sure; his face appeared calmer than she’d ever seen it. If he knew she wasn’t experienced, he didn’t s
how it. He encouraged her with his eyes and welcomed her to lose all self-consciousness—as if she could do anything else.

  “Henry, I want you. So much. I want this,” Norma moaned, arching her back.

  His skin came into contact with hers, it melted on her.

  “Easy, baby. I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice husky and controlled.

  “Hurt me, Henry. Please, I want you to hurt me.” What did that mean? She wasn’t sure and didn’t want to think too much into it. For once, she wasn’t thinking, just doing.

  He chuckled deep in his throat, and she moaned in response. Her body was a beacon for his sexual prowess, and she desperately wanted to know the full extent of what he could do. She wanted to know how far he’d take her—she couldn’t stand it if he didn’t.

  “You should be careful of what you ask for, doll face.” His voice low and full of contained sexual energy. He was a master at containing himself at the Daily and was no different in her bed.

  With those words, Henry caressed her cheek. His stare sliced through her soul—penetrated it. The dim light danced on his face, and though it seemed impossible, he was even more beautiful. His lips were swollen from kissing her until she couldn’t think at all. What must she look like to him? Bringing his lips to her partially opened mouth, he softly coaxed her lips open. His tongue dashed around, tangling with hers then exploring her mouth. She pulsed with every flick of his tongue, every touch of his hands on her skin. She was completely his, no denying it.

  He moaned inside her mouth, kisses grew harder as did his erection against her thigh. She reached down to touch him, doing so with very little grace. Smiling, she knew he appreciated the effort. Stroking him, she liked the hard contradiction that was his silky erection. Up and down, her hand rubbed against both their bodies as she played with him. He responded with a moan, and she quickened her feat. She wanted to please him.

  “Easy,” he said, breaking the kiss.

  She released him, the breath pressed out of her lungs. “Henry...”