3
HUDSON
I’m outside Club Forbidden. Tonight is different, though. Tonight is gonna hurt and I promised that I wouldn’t let anything make me feel this way again. But I can’t help myself.
Raven is fragile, but in some ways stronger than I’ll ever be. She’s blue, but still holds so much hope in her heart. She’s shy and cautious, but somehow confident enough to ask to meet me in person. We are strangers, but in some ways we are already closer than lovers.
As I walk into the club my heart is beating way too fast. My head pounds with my pulse, just above my left eye. I rub the spot and curse the nervousness I’m feeling. I’m Hudson Caine. I’m a bull not a mouse, but when you’ve opened some of your soul to someone, it makes you weak, and I don’t like feeling this way.
I make my way to the side of the club where I’ll have a good view of the dance floor and the bar. I need time. Just a little bit of time. I need my head to stop pounding enough for me to enjoy this next couple of hours. It’s all we’re gonna get.
I think about the image I have of Raven in my head. We never really talked about what we look like in real life, but I think I’ll know her. I imagine her as having short black hair in a bob style, petite with slender arms and legs. I have a face in my mind; dark eyes framed with kohl. Maybe it’s the online name she gave herself that’s driven this mental image.
I stand with my back to the wall and wait for the girl dressed head-to-toe in black to appear. The music is pounding and trance-like — the kind of beat you can lose yourself in — but it only makes the pounding in my head worse. The crowd moves like one seething mass, swelling and falling under the colored flashing lights. It’s hot. Hot enough to make me sweat.
At least twenty minutes pass, but she hasn’t appeared. I get a sinking feeling inside. One so terrible it takes me by surprise. I’ve tried to tell myself that Raven has been a way for me to pass the time, but I’ve been lying. I tried to tell her this was a bad idea because it is, but that doesn’t take away the fact that I need to see her, even if it’s just this once. I want to take her hand in mine and press it against my cheek. I want to touch her lips with my thumb and smell her hair. I shake my head at my own thoughts, not really understanding why these strange tender images have taken root in my head, especially about someone I’ve never even met.
Someone, it seems, who might not even turn up.
Maybe she’s frightened. I can forgive that. If she’s feeling as nervous as I am, then it’s easy for me to understand why someone who’s been through so much might not want to face the person they’ve shared it all with.
If she knew what I’d been keeping from her, she’d definitely stay away.
I make my way to the bar, desperate for a drink; something to take the edge off my nerves. I take a seat on a stool and flag down the barman, ordering a neat whiskey. I want to feel the burn. Someone takes a seat next to me and I turn to find a girl in a pink dress, with the palest blonde hair cut short and choppy. She turns to me, the clear blueness of her eyes taking me by surprise. Maybe it’s the way she’s framed them with smoky brown that makes them look so ethereal. She doesn’t smile, just looks at me like she wants to say something.
She’s beautiful, but all I can think is ‘she’s not Raven.’
I down my drink and look towards the entrance. Maybe my little bird is running late? There could be some traffic, I guess. Or maybe she’s coming by some other means. A group of men make their way through the door. No dark-haired girl dressed in black. No girl dressed in black at all.
How long will I wait for her? Maybe another half hour.
“You look like you’re expecting someone,” the girl next to me says. She has a nice voice. Soft and light.
“I thought I was. But I don’t think she’s going to show.”
She sips the drink the barman just brought her. It looks like lemonade but I bet it has some spirit in it. People don’t come to Club Forbidden to drink soft.
“Why’d you think that?”
I shrug my shoulders. It would take all night for me to explain the complexities of River and Raven and even if I had time, I wouldn’t want to. Some things are private.
“I know you,” she says, cocking her head to one side and studying me intently.
“I don’t think so.” I hope she doesn’t work it out. I really don’t need a conversation about the ins and outs of my career right now.
“Maybe you look like someone?”
“Maybe.” I nod but I don’t smile. It takes a lot to make me do that these days.
“Man of few words, huh?” I snort out a huffing sound because that’s the last thing I’ve ever been accused of. Words get harder to come by when you’re under pressure. I feel like I use up so many of them thinking, that I can’t seem to get them to come out of my mouth anymore.
“That’s okay.” She gulps the drink down to the bottom of the glass and places it back on the bar with purpose. I think she must be pissed at me and is getting up to find someone with better conversational skills, but then she turns on her stool and just stares at me. “When I was a teenager, I had this teacher. Everyone else was fed up with my shit; the bad attitude, the late homework, the unexplained absences. But she had something about her that made me feel calm. You remind me of her.”
“Great. I remind you of some hippy teacher.”
“I never said she was a hippy.”
“I guess you didn’t.” I sip my whiskey and look across at her. Her hair is like a golden halo around her face. She looks a little like a darker version of Tinker Belle, with her striking make-up and the crazy black boots I’ve noticed she’s wearing. The heels are about four inches and the leather comes up over her knees.
“She didn’t say much. Weird for a teacher, I guess. In her lessons, she’d tell us what she needed to, then she’d set us off on our work and walk around the room quietly observing. I liked it when she’d come and sit next to me and watch what I was doing. She never pointed out what I was doing wrong or what I could do better. It’s like, just by having her there, I became a better student. Like I was capable of more.”
“And I remind you of her.”
“Yeah.”
“So what is sitting next to me gonna make you more capable of?”
She studies me carefully, her fingers playing with the hem of her dress where it rests against her thighs. I can feel her hesitation and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise in anticipation.
“Every night when I go to sleep, I die.”
Those words seem to slice my heart. That’s my line. No one I’ve ever said it to has seen my face. How the fuck does this girl know about that phrase? How the fuck does she know who I am? I look her dead in the eye, trying to figure this out. Have I done her before? Could she have caught enough of a glimpse of me to recognize me again? I don’t think I have, but she could have changed her hair.
She gazes back with a blank expression, waiting. Waiting for the words that will tell her this is on. For a moment I imagine sliding my fingers up the soft inside of her thigh and finding the hot, wet center of her. I imagine pressing my face into her short golden hair and inhaling her scent. I imagine the sound she’ll make when she comes and my cock comes to life between my legs. She blinks slowly, as though my silence is rejection.
The truth is, I don’t know what the fuck to do. This isn’t how it works. I don’t swap childhood stories with the women from the chatroom. I certainly don’t let them know what I look like. It’s anonymous for a reason; a kink for the women, and purely practical for me. I can hear Flint’s voice in my head telling me that I need to get a grip. That I don’t have to live my life the way I’m choosing to. But it doesn’t feel like a choice. It feels like the only way.
“How do you know about that?” I need to know for sure so I can figure out what the hell I’m gonna do.
She blinks but doesn’t answer.
“Do you know what you're asking for?”
She nods once and I catch the way she presses her legs together at the thought. Fuck. I’m only human, but I feel like a traitor for getting turned on by this stranger when I’m waiting for Raven.
I look to the door of the club again, taking a deep breath, hoping I’m going to see my dark angel making her way through the crowd, but there’s no one there. I glance around, thinking that maybe she’s watching me talking to this pixie-girl, but how would she know it was me, anyway?
My heart is heavy with disappointment. I’d vowed that Raven and I would never meet in person, but when she’d asked, I’d wanted to so badly there was no turning her down. I should have trusted my instincts. I should have realized that by agreeing, I was risking all these feelings of hurt and loneliness that I can’t fucking bear.
The girl sitting opposite me rests her hand on my knee and squeezes gently. There is such tenderness in her touch that I feel as though she has reached into my chest and wrapped her delicate fingers around my heart.
“All you have to do is say the words,” she whispers. Her eyes are bright with hope, but soft too.
It’s as though she knows my fears and wants to help me forget them. If I say the words, then I suppose I will, for just a while.
“This isn’t how it works,” I say, running my fingers through my hair, wondering what she must think of me. Does she care what I look like? None of the other women have wanted to see my face. Does she like what she sees? For a moment, I remember the me from before the news; indestructible, confident and brash. The man who could get almost any woman he wanted. Who would she like better? The old me or the man I am today. I don’t even know why I care.
“Aren’t you in charge? she asks softly. “Don’t you get to decide how it works?”
“It feels like you're the one running things tonight, though.”
Her lips twitch at the corners with the beginnings of a reluctant smile, and she leans back on her stool, considering me, her cute little nose raised in the air.
“Say the words,” she says softly. “I need it so bad.” There’s so much yearning in her voice and a crisp edge of desperation that makes me want to give her everything she wants and more. This isn’t how it’s done, but suddenly I don’t give a fuck. Who gives a shit about the rules? Not me. Not anymore. Everything’s changing.
“Go to the balcony and wait for me. We’ll do this right if we're going to do it at all.”
I expect her to do as I’ve asked immediately, but she doesn’t. Instead, she slips off her stool and stands between my legs. I can smell the soft floral scent she must have sprayed before she left home. This girl, whose name I don’t know, cups my cheek gently and strokes her thumb across my lips. I haven’t felt a touch like it in so long that I close my eyes as my throat tightens with emotion.
“Enough,” I growl. “Do as you’re told or you won’t get what you want.”
“Okay,” she whispers and walks away.
I inhale deeply, trying to slow the pace of my beating heart. Getting a rush from what I’m about to do is the whole reason I do it. The surge of adrenaline, of power, makes me feel alive. Tonight, though, it feels different. I have an urge to walk away. I could slip out of the front door and make my way home and there would be no consequences outside of leaving that girl hot and bothered on the balcony. It’s not like I owe her anything, except I told her I would follow through, and I don’t like not making good on my word.
I gaze around the bar area again, hunting for someone that might be Raven, but there’s no one by themselves. She’s well over an hour late and I know in my heart she isn’t going to show. Raven is braver and stronger than she would ever give herself credit for, but I’m not really surprised that she has decided to stay away.
I take another deep breath and finish my drink, then set off towards the balcony. It’s quiet out there as usual, with a few patrons sitting around at small tables and a few others gazing out over the city. The heavy beat of the music is a low throb that seems timed with my heartbeat. I spot little Tink with her arms resting on the edge of the balcony in exactly the right place. The way she’s standing, bent over slightly, makes her curves even more pronounced. In another lifetime I’d have wanted to take her home and make the most of all her body has to offer. I might have even taken her out on a date, if it was good between us. Tonight, all I have to offer is a finger and promise of a short burst of ecstasy.
Every step I take feels huge, and I don’t really understand why. She’s just another woman who’s looking for some relief. But it takes more for me to get up close behind her than it ever has before. When I’m there, I stand and wait. When I speak, my voice seems to crack with emotion.
“Every night when I go to sleep, I die,” I say.
“And the next morning when I awake, I am reborn.”
She nods just once, and I step forward, pressing my hips against the softness of her ass. The column of her neck is as graceful as a swan's and her short blonde hair tickles my lips as I curl myself around her. When I put my right hand on the outside of her thigh, she tenses and I stop. If nothing else, I need to know that she’s okay with what we’re about to do.
“It’s okay,” she whispers, shifting against my cock. It’s hard as an iron bar and throbbing for relief I won’t allow it. Her short dress is made from a tight, stretchy fabric which moves easily as I run my hand upwards. The inside of her thigh is soft and warm and I get the familiar rush, knowing I’m so close to feeling her most private of places. I wonder how many others have been before me, but I don’t really give a fuck. Tonight she’s given me access. Tonight she trusts only me. Tonight I’ll give her what she wants.
Maybe I’ll make her fantasy come true.
Her leg trembles as my hand rises, her breathing quickening as her ribcage moves against my chest. A rush of protectiveness surges inside me and I stop again. I don’t understand what the fuck is wrong with me. This girl is a stranger who’s prepared to use me for pleasure, so why do I feel like I want to hold her tight and tell her everything’s going to be okay?
She rests her hand over mine, as though she can sense the war that my mind is engaging in and wants to help me. With slender fingers between mine, she presses my hand upward. I’m expecting to feel the fabric of her panties but my first contact is with bare skin.
She lets go of my hand as I slide my finger through the slickness between her legs, parting her soft lips and finding her clit. The sigh she releases when I press lightly hits me straight in the cock. My hips have a mind of their own, nudging against her ass, desperate for contact. I circle my finger slowly, feeling her little button swell under my touch. She’s panting and rolling her hips, chasing her pleasure with a ferociousness I didn’t expect. Just as her legs push together, crushing my hand, I stop, knowing she was on the edge of coming. My mind rushes, not really comprehending my actions. I’m not in the habit of denying pleasure. If a woman can come in seconds because I’m touching her, then that is all good with me, but for some reason, this felt too fast.
I tap her clit and her knees go weak, hands clutching at the railings to support her weight.
I’m usually silent when I do this but tonight I want to talk.
“You like that?”
“Fuck, yeah,” she gasps as I pinch her clit between my thumb and forefinger and squeeze.
“You want me to make you come?”
“Yeah. Do it.”
I slide my fingers downwards, finding her entrance slick and ready. My cock kicks, knowing how good it would feel to slide inside all that hot, wet heat. I can’t resist pushing a finger up inside her, and the way her muscles contract makes me pant. I want to stuff her full of my fingers, stretch her little pussy open so she’d be wide enough to take my big cock. Two fingers in and she’s up on the toes of her boots, legs straight as arrows. I push in a third and she grunts, dropping down to drive me in deeper. It’s only when I get a fourth in that she comes, pussy clenching so hard around my fingers that I feel it between my legs. My palm is wet with her juices, and my wrist. I think I made her squirt; not the first time it’s happened, but the first time I have the urge to lick myself clean. Her whole body trembles against mine.
Then she does something I am not expecting at all. She turns and kisses me on the lips, and just like that, everything changes.