Chapter Thirteen
The next week, JC canceled our date.
I’d still never given him my phone number—strange, he hadn’t asked for it either—so I had to find out in a call from Alyssa.
It was almost seven on Wednesday morning, and her name on my caller ID surprised me. I might not have answered except I was too curious. “Hey. JC was in last night,” she said, not bothering to say hello.
“Uh…and?” Of course he’d been in. It was the night he had booked in the Viper. But why she was telling me about it was beyond me. JC and I had kept our arrangement—our whole relationship—completely off the radar.
“He wanted me to get a message to you. Said he’s not going to need to book tonight. Said you’d know what he meant.”
“Oh.” It was cryptic yet clear. My heart fell to the bottom of my chest with a sickening thud. Yet now that it had happened, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought it might be a possibility. If I’d had any doubt that we’d truly connected the last time we’d been together, it was gone now. We had connected. He’d felt something, even if it hadn’t been to the same extent that I had. He had to have. Otherwise he wouldn’t be running now.
Or maybe I was jumping to conclusions. Maybe he had a good excuse.
“Did he say why?” After I asked it, I realized it was probably a weird question when he’d framed his cancellation to seem like he was cancelling a room at the club. Which meant I had to let that go unanswered. “I mean, did he say he wanted another night instead?”
“Nope.” She inhaled deeply—smoking a cigarette, I assumed. Or a joint. I really didn’t know her that well.
I also didn’t really know JC. And while I’d never asked or wondered about his evenings in the Viper, I suddenly wanted to know very badly. I hated that Alyssa got to see him in that environment and I didn’t. I hated that he felt comfortable enough for her to be his messenger. I hated that he felt comfortable enough to give her that particular message.
I hated that he was giving that particular message at all.
I knew I was potentially making a fool of myself, but I asked, “Did anything…unusual happen last night? With JC, I mean.”
“Nope. Same old, same old.”
Which meant…? “So he seemed…okay then?” I pounded my fist against my forehead, realizing how stupid I sounded but not able to control myself.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking me. He was JC. Same as always. Do you have a thing for him, Gwen? He’s hot-to-trot, but I have to tell you—he’s not the guy for a girl like you.”
“What does that mean—a girl like me?” I tried not to come off too offended. But the whole conversation had me turned around. Alyssa wasn’t usually this relaxed with me. This straightforward. This blunt.
And I wasn’t usually so off my game. So easily defensive. So desperate and needy.
“I mean that you’re the type who expects fidelity. The type that would want commitment and monogamy in a relationship.” Another inhale. When she spoke again, it sounded like she was attempting it while holding her breath. “Am I wrong?”
Until I’d met JC, I’d been the type who didn’t want relationships at all. And it had been him who had insisted on monogamy. The idea that he was fooling around with others bothered me, and not just because we hadn’t been using condoms.
I didn’t know how to respond to her question.
When I didn’t speak, she did. “But if you don’t mind being a flavor of the month, go for it.”
I knew I shouldn’t ask. It was the worst thing I could know. “Have you ever been his flavor of the month?”
She laughed. “That’s very funny,” she said, as if I’d purposefully cracked a joke.
Except I hadn’t. I truly wanted to know. Now even more so. Did she find my question humorous because she would never go for it with JC or because she had and everyone knew so why was I asking?
I wanted to dig further, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it without seeming like an idiot. And I already felt like an idiot. I’d been dumped for the night, after all. Through a messenger.
“Anyway,” she said. “I’m about to crash. Just wanted to give you the heads up.”
“Thanks.” But I wasn’t grateful in the least.
The next week, I got the notice that JC canceled on Monday. I’d been melancholy and moody since the call from Alyssa, but when I saw the note on my locker as I came in for my shift, my disposition plummeted to something akin to despair. I didn’t have to read it to know what it said.
I read it anyway. Have to cancel. Something came up.
He didn’t even sign it, which incensed me. He couldn’t even bother to write his initials? Was my heartbreak only worth twenty-seven letters of his time?
Really, I didn’t care about his signature or the goddamn twenty-seven letters. I wanted him. In person. Wanted to see him and touch him and kiss him and tell him I loved him. Even if he were only going to tell me he wasn’t going to make it on Wednesday, I wanted him to tell me to my face.
I knew in my gut that face-to-face wasn’t happening. Just as sure as I knew that he was done with me. Done with us. How many notes would I get before he stopped leaving them all together? How many phone calls from Alyssa? How many missed dates before he felt like I’d gotten the hint?
But Norma had said to give him the benefit of the doubt. And while I hadn’t entirely decided to follow that suggestion, it was the best choice I had. What else could I do? I wanted to lash out. I wanted to mourn. By keeping me in limbo, he made those options seem rash and unfounded.
All I could do was hope.
Well, and I could check in at the club the following night.
I never went in when I wasn’t working, but I staged it this time by leaving my phone in the office so that my appearance on a Tuesday wouldn’t seem odd. Of course, after I’d retrieved it, I still hadn’t seen JC. I lingered at the first floor bar, looking up at The Deck. Going up there wasn’t an option. I hadn’t seen Matt, so it was possible he was up there. If I walked in on him with patrons breaking the rules then he’d know I knew about his deals.
And even if he wasn’t, JC could be. And he’d know why I was there. He’d know it was for him.
I went up anyway. Climbed the stairs two at a time and burst into the room like I belonged. There was a group of men drinking and playing cards. Smaller than the time before. Only a couple of women. Everyone was dressed. Matt wasn’t around. Neither was JC.
“He’s not here tonight,” Alyssa’s voice came from behind me.
I turned to find her with a serving tray of appetizers. “Who isn’t?” Like she’d fall for that. We both knew who I was there for.
She smiled with that gleam that said she wasn’t going to play that game. “He has the room booked every week, but sometimes he sends his people without him. Nice making a move, though. You should probably wear something a little more…” she eyed my jeans and T-shirt “…accessible…if you’re going to try again.”
I rolled my eyes and stormed out. It was silly to be so mad since she was so wrong about what was going on with JC and me. But she was right about one thing—I was not dressed to get the guy. I should have planned that a little better.
As for JC’s absence, I was torn. I hadn’t thought through what I’d say to him if I saw him. Mostly because I just wanted to see if he’d be there, not confront him. Finding out that he wasn’t made me feel…better? Like maybe something really had come up, and he wasn’t even in town.
But also, he could have guessed I might have shown up and so he’d stayed away.
Really, I hadn’t learned anything. And I really didn’t have any reason to be mad at him or not trust him. So I’d take Norma’s advice and give him the benefit of the doubt.
For as long as I could justify it, anyway.
***
By the following Wednesday, I hadn’t heard from JC at all. I barely slept that day, trying to decide what that meant. I wanted to assume it meant we were still on. But it could also mean that he thought that’s all it would take to dissuade me.
He couldn’t think that. Because he knew, he knew me.
Which made all my debates pointless. I’d go, and he’d know how I felt whether I told him or not. I’d go, and if he let us be like last time, if he let me in and held me there, then I’d know how he felt too.
I put on the underwear from La Perla. Plus the garter. And the stockings. I blew out my hair and did my makeup. Sultry eyes, mascara. Light lips. I found a coat in the closet that was light enough to wear on a warm April night but long enough to hit my knees. I put it on over the lingerie, slipped on some strappy high heels, and took a cab to the Four Seasons.
I was late when I got there; still I lingered outside the door for several long minutes. What if he wasn’t there? What if tonight was the night he officially ended our deal?
What if, what if, what if.
What if he’d gotten scared, tried to back away, and realized he couldn’t? What if he was on the other side of the door waiting for me with as much trepidation as I was on this side of the door? What if I walked in there and he took me in his arms and loved me? What if it was wonderful?
I slid my key in the slot and went in.
He wasn’t in the living room, but when I walked in a few steps, he appeared in the doorway to the bedroom. He wore suit pants and an undershirt. A wife-beater. I’d always hated them, not only because of the name, but well, no, mostly because of the name. But there was nothing I hated about the way JC looked, his forearms resting on either side of the frame, his muscles tensing from the pose. He looked surprised to see me. And relieved. And worried. And maybe a little lost.
I read every single emotion with clarity because they mirrored how I felt exactly.
A stream of heartbeats passed with our eyes clinging to each other, our bodies frozen while we took each other in. It was like physically touching, the way his gaze skimmed over my skin. Like he was caressing my every inch. Embracing me. Stroking me. Adoring me.
I saw the exact second that he saw them. His expression had been soft and searching, then, as he scanned down my legs and registered my stockings, it turned dark and carnal.
“Take it off,” he said, his voice scratchy with barely contained desire.
I tugged at the tie at my waist, my focus never leaving him. My arms tingled and I couldn’t decide if I felt a flash of warmth or a flash of cold as I dropped the coat to the floor.
JC exhaled heavily. “Turn around.”
I spun, slowly, letting him see me in the underwear he’d purchased for me. Letting him see how perfectly they molded to my shape. He visually devoured me and it turned me on. Set me to flames. By the time I’d made it all the way around, I was wet and needy. A glance at his tightly bulging pants only made it worse. I yearned for him to touch me. Ached for it.
It only took him three strides to cross to me. But when he got there, he didn’t reach for me. Instead, he circled me, drawing a perfect perimeter around me. As if he were setting his boundaries. Here, his confident saunter said. This is the farthest I’ll be from you tonight.
It sent sparks down my spine that ricocheted and traveled to my very core.
“I think,” his tone was rough and raw, “that we,” every word purposeful and promising, “should push your limits.”
A thrill shot through me that was equal parts fear and excitement.
“Follow me.”
Goose bumps shot down my arms as I tailed him to the bedroom. It was so sexy how he commanded me. How I obeyed.
He stopped at the edge of the bed and turned to me. “Take off your bra. And your panties. Leave everything else.”
Each word was thick and raw. They fell on me like little grenades, exploding on impact and annihilating my composure.
I trembled as I complied, nearly sick with anticipation. He’d yet to touch me. I was dying to have his lips on mine. I was hot and horny.
I was also afraid. Because besides the silent exchange we had when I’d first arrived, we hadn’t addressed the last time. I still didn’t know where we stood. And while his aloofness was provocative as fuck, I feared it was purposeful.
So when I’d finished undressing—naked except for the garter, stockings, and shoes—I couldn’t stop myself from moving toward him, seeking his embrace.
He stopped me before I reached him. With a curve of his lip, he said, “On the bed. On all fours.”
I hesitated for the briefest of seconds. It doesn’t mean anything, I told myself. This is the game tonight. Follow where it leads.
And because it was a game I fiercely wanted to play, it wasn’t hard to do as he said.
I climbed onto the bed, on all fours. It was a vulnerable position. I was exposed to him, my cunt on display, the slick evidence of my arousal plainly visible. Even more vulnerable because I was facing away from him and couldn’t see if he was looking at me or not. If he were pleased with what he saw. I had to trust.
“Very nice,” he said, and I beamed inwardly. He began to strip. I heard his zipper. I heard his belt buckle as it fell to the floor with his pants.
Now would he touch me? I hoped. I prayed.
“Crawl to the edge of the bed.”
I moved forward, and as I did, I felt the weight of the bed shift. I shivered with apprehension. Wondering. Waiting.
His hands settled on my hips just as his tongue slid up my seam.
I gasped, and he immediately did it again. This time, he dipped into my pussy. He licked a circle around my hole, rousing my nerves as he passed over them like the wave at a baseball game. I fought the urge to squeeze my thighs together. Let the pleasure build and tease as he taunted me with his attention.
As he serviced me, his palms moved to knead my ass. It was heavenly and unexpected. He’d gone down on me plenty, but he usually focused on my clit. This time, all of his treatment was on my pussy, and while it was fucking fantastic, the swollen bundle of nerves above throbbed and begged for a turn.
But when JC’s tongue left my cunt, it traveled in the opposite direction—to my ass. He nibbled along my crack, burying his face between my cheeks. As he grazed his teeth against sensitive skin, I whimpered. As he licked around the perimeter of my hole, I wrapped my fingers tightly in the bedspread and fought back a curse. Because…shit…what was he doing? And why did it feel so goddamned brilliant?
He pulled away, and his mouth was replaced with his hand.
“Has anyone ever touched you here, Gwen?”
“Uh, no.” And no one was going to. Well, except he was already touching me there. The swirl of his finger around my rim traced the path his tongue had taken, and as it dipped in, pushing just the tip inside, I felt myself grow wetter.
The warmth of his finger disappeared suddenly. Disappointingly. Then a second later it was replaced with something else—something cold. It twisted outside my hole then slipped farther inside.
I tensed.
“Do you remember when you first touched yourself for me? How strange it felt? How foreign? And then you relaxed. How did it feel then?”
“Amazing.” I glanced back at him over my shoulder. He nodded so I went on. “It felt…I felt beautiful. Because I could do that to myself. I could make myself feel good, and you could see it. Which was the best part. The way you enjoyed watching me.”
“Remember that. This is going to feel foreign to you at first, too. But if you relax, it’s going to feel beautiful. It’s going to make you feel good. And I’m going to enjoy that very much.”
His words held promise and allure. They also alarmed me. How could they not when there was an unidentified object pressing against my back door?
I twisted my neck to try to see what he was holding.
JC pushed my head forward. “Don’t look. It will frighten you, and I don’t want it to.”
“Hearing that frightens me even more.”
“Don’t let it.” He pushed the object a fraction deeper into my ass and rolled it around the sensitive walls. “I promise you that it isn’t going to hurt. If we do this right—if you trust me—there will only be pleasure. Do you trust me?”
God, my legs were quivering just from this.
Yet, even on the edge of pleasure as I was, I didn’t know if I could go through with it. I was also starting to worry that JC wouldn’t give me a chance to say no. That amped my anxiety.
“I don’t know,” I managed, my voice breathy. “I mean, I do trust you. But I’m not sure about this. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. And that makes me nervous.”
“I understand, and I’m going to help you with that.” With the plug still partially at my hole, he leaned his body over my back so that his mouth was at my ear and his erection poked into my asscheek. “Let me tell you what’s going to happen, Gwen. I’m going to put a lot of lube onto the plug so that it’s really slick. Then I’m going to slide it into you. Slowly. As I do, I want you to push out and relax. When it’s inside, you’re going to feel your nerves wake up. It’s going to make you nice and snug so that when I fuck you, your pussy will wrap tightly around my cock and you’ll feel me everywhere. And all those nerves that have woken up will be on fire. Then you’re going to come harder than you’ve ever come in your life. Multiple times. You’ll barely be able to stay on your knees and I’ll have to hold your hips while I pound into you. You’re going to feel so good. You’re going to be beautiful. And I’m going to enjoy that.”
Words. Words! The man had me with his beautiful, filthy words. I was more turned on than I’d ever been in my life.
He nibbled on my earlobe. “Does that sound okay to you?”
My yes was more of a grunt than a syllable. Partly because I was already there, already halfway to orgasm where speech became less and less intelligible.
But also there was the part of me that was wary. Not because of what he was going to do or how he was going to fuck me, but because of the giant chasm that had formed between us. We were touching, we were connected by skin, but emotionally, he’d closed himself off. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he’d positioned himself behind me so that our eyes couldn’t meet. So that he would make sure that as he slid in and out of me, as he stroked the most private parts of me, he’d still never actually let me reach the most private parts of him.
This would be sex for sex’s sake, he was telling me. Like we’d agreed. It would be good sex. Amazing, mind-blowing sex. And that’s all. Nothing more.
If I didn’t like it, he’d given me the chance to say no.
And I didn’t. Because as much as I didn’t like it—as much as I was falling apart inside—my body was completely fine with the situation. It was humming and buzzing and wet and greedy for whatever JC had to give me. I was like a crack whore who would do anything to get her fix, including giving up the things that were most important to her. The things she really cared about. I was desperate for my high.
And, damn—as he slid the lubed plug into my ass, as I pushed against it, relaxing, opening up, as the nerves I’d never known about came alive and sang—it was easy to forget a little heartbreak.
The plug felt wider as it passed my tight rim. Then it seemed to narrow, and I wondered if it was all the way in. I tested it, squeezing my cheeks around it. It felt good.
“Fuck, you’re so hot like this, Gwen.” JC rubbed the base of my spine. “There’s one more ridge to go. How are you feeling? You’re doing great.” He was gentle and patient, yet his excitement was evident.
It bolstered my own excitement until it overtook the last of my anxiety. All that remained was a ravenous want and desire. “More,” I groaned, bucking back into him. “I want more.”
He half laughed, half moaned. “Hold on, baby.” He reached a hand through my legs to massage my clit, and I focused on the thrum of pleasure instead of the squishy way my chest felt after he’d called me baby.
His fingers slid along my slit and jabbed into my cunt. “You’re dripping, Gwen. Do you like how it feels to be this tight?”
I didn’t want to talk. I was teetering on the edge of orgasm and all I wanted was my release. I opened my mouth to tell him, but what came out was a blissful sob. Because, right then, while he continued to rub and play with my clit, he pushed the plug the rest of the way in.
I came.
My orgasm shocked me with its sudden appearance, making my thighs quiver and my arms shake. I fell to my elbows as it thundered through my limbs.
“Ah, Jesus, that’s beautiful. I’m so hard, Gwen. I’m stone.” He was done being patient. He was past being gentle. I could hear the ragged edge in his voice.
Which was just fine with me. I was reeling in my own ecstasy. And I was ready to be fucked.
JC nudged my knees farther apart and a bolt of electricity shot straight to my core as the new position tightened the plug in my ass. Then he grabbed me at my hips, positioned himself, and entered me on a merciless thrust.
I practically screamed as another orgasm split through me. JC didn’t give me any reprieve. He pulled my slack body tighter against him and pounded into me. Each drive touched me everywhere, stroked me everywhere. His tempo was rigorous, and with each staccato jab, his pelvis knocked against the plug, sending sparks shimmying in all directions. I couldn’t tell anymore where the sensation was coming from. My pussy, my ass—all of it burned. It was impossible to recover. I was a waterfall, constantly falling, constantly hitting the rocks below, constantly creating a splash.
Soon I was begging. Pleading with a jumble of sounds and syllables that didn’t make sense. I didn’t even know if I was asking for him to stop or go on. Just. Just, please.
Then, without pulling out of me, JC wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me up so my back pressed against his chest. My hands flew behind me to clutch his neck—I didn’t have the strength to support myself without holding on. He put a hand on my breast and squeezed, his other returned to my clit. It was too much.
It was exactly what I needed.
The flames spread, licking up, up, until every cell in my body was ignited.
Then I burst.
My vision dimmed, blood whooshed in my ears, my entire body turned rigid and tense with the explosion. It wrecked me. Destroyed me.
JC’s voice wove through the decimation, praising me, cursing me. “Good girl, Gwen. Fuck, you’re killing me. You feel…Jesus. I’m coming. I’m coming.”
He pulsed into me, deeper, deeper, growling as he spurted out his climax.
I didn’t register finishing. Didn’t really notice when he pulled the plug out. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I was numb. Exhausted. I was the ash after the fire. I was devastated. We fell—me facedown on my stomach, he on the bed next to me—sweating, out of breath. Worn down.
Satisfied.
JC came out of the haze first. “That was incredible. Holy fuck, this is the best arrangement.”
Then the haze cleared for me too. Because with those words, I remembered. Remembered it was all a lie. Remembered it was a quick fix. Remembered it was without strings, without commitment, without love. Remembered the chasm between us and the walls he hid behind.
I turned to my side, facing away from JC, and closed my eyes. Tears spilled out the corners, and I couldn’t decide if they were brought on partly from the amazing orgasms I’d just received or if they were entirely from the piercing stab of pain in my chest. How was it possible to have the best sex of my life while my heart splintered into pieces?
I was the type of woman who could be with a man without feeling anything for him, without feeling anything from him. But could I be with a man and feel something for him without the feeling being returned? Could I settle for whatever he had to give—the world’s best O’s and rare moments when our eyes would link and we’d fuse and feel?
Or would I insist on all or nothing?
It seemed like a harsh ultimatum, but now, as the afterglow of coming hard faded, and I was left with no touches, no kisses, no embrace, all or nothing seemed quite reasonable. Because this ache, this painful excruciating loneliness, was far worse than the ache he’d eased to begin with. It was trading one misery for another, and I didn’t know that it was worth it.
The bed shifted behind me as JC got up. I heard him in the bathroom. A few minutes later, he returned. “Gwen?”
I didn’t say anything. I was afraid if I spoke I’d end up sobbing or saying something I’d regret. This was supposed to be a no-strings thing. There weren’t supposed to be tears. So I kept my eyes shut and feigned sleep with deep even breaths.
He sighed, and I felt the weight of it as if it were a heavy blanket that he’d covered me with. Then another sigh. As though he could expel me from inside him with enough exhalations. He moved around for a bit. Then he left the room, and I let myself cry.
I didn’t overindulge—my cheeks were wet and my makeup smudged, but my eyes wouldn’t swell. I’d learned how to covertly cry growing up. For the times when saying ouch simply didn’t cut it.
When the tears subsided, I wiped away the evidence and realized that the hotel was quiet. Too quiet. I peeked in the bathroom and found it empty. He wasn’t in the front room as well. I would have heard him if he’d opened the doors to the terrace, but I checked there anyway. No sign of him anywhere. And he’d left no notes, either.
I’d felt lonely before, but this was worse. This was abandonment. The sting that had eased with my weeping now returned with a burn that made my previous ache seem dull. Perhaps I was being overemotional. Perhaps I wasn’t being emotional enough. I wasn’t schooled enough in the processes of love to have a grip on what was the appropriate amount of feeling involved.
What I did know was that I couldn’t wait around. Fuck, I’d been waiting around now for years. Ten of them. More. My whole life. I couldn’t escape one prison only to be chained in another.
I forced myself to clean up and dress. Even as I wrapped the coat around my near-naked body, I hoped he’d return with a good excuse. Hey, I ran down to get some champagne. That could have been delivered. I needed a breath of fresh air. There was the terrace.
I couldn’t figure out how to…be…with you when we weren’t fucking.
Ah. Now that one. That one would be honest. And if that was his excuse, there’d be even less reason to stay. At the door, I considered leaving my room key. It wouldn’t mean I couldn’t ever return—my name was at the desk. But it would be a message. When he saw it, he’d know something about my state of mind when I left.
In the end, I kept it. He’d left me clueless with no note. I’d leave him wondering as well.
I made my way to the elevator with as much stoicism and confidence that I could muster. Inside, I pressed the Lobby button then, on a whim, hit the button to the floor with the Meeting Rooms.
I didn’t hear him until I was just outside the Madison Suite. He was right—the walls were thick. The melancholy rolls of Philip Glass’s Opening slipped through the cracks at the door. I leaned my head against the wood and let it float over me. Into me. Let it simultaneously hold me and set me free.
It was gorgeous. Heartfelt. Not as sad as the songs he’d played for me before, and I wanted to believe that was a sign that, perhaps, JC wasn’t in as much despair as he had been. I twisted it into a daydream, as I tried not to breathe, afraid of missing even a single note. Pretended that this melody was the one that had demanded to be played. Because it was Philip Glass, which reminded him of me. Because it was hopeful and not forlorn.
But it was only a fantasy. And while I felt less abandoned now that I’d discovered where he’d gone, I didn’t feel any less alone. That man in there, the one lost in the sweet intoxication of his instrument, he was out of reach. Even if I went in and interrupted him, and he put me on the top of the baby grand and made me scream and writhe with his mouth and his cock…even then. Even then, he’d still be out of reach.
And I’d still be alone.
I listened until the end of the piece. Then I kissed my palm and placed it on the closed door, holding it for the space of a prayer before I pulled my coat tighter around myself and went home.