Elina

It’s a panic attack. Nothing more. This is fine—I’ve never actually seen someone have one before, but it doesn’t seem so different from one of Joey’s tantrums. By that logic, all I need to do is get him away from whatever’s freaking him out—hey, already done!—show him I still love him, and put him down for a nap.

Well, maybe not the nap part. But some physical affection might not be out of place. He seemed to respond to having his back rubbed.

Good thing I remembered where we left the car. Nick just stands by the door, so I rummage through his pocket till I find his keys, and herd him into the back seat. Most of his junk’s still pushed to one side from when we fucked back here, so there’s plenty of space for me to gather him into my arms.

He’s not trembling so bad any more. That’s got to be progress. He was vibrating like an electric toothbrush for a while. Now, it’s just the occasional shudder, shaking him from head to toe. I squeeze him tight, like I can somehow hold him together with just the strength of my arms.

After a while, he makes a shaky little noise—at first, I think he’s crying, but then he does it again, and I realize it’s a laugh. I push him away enough so I can look him in the face.

“What’s so funny?”

“You were scratching me behind the ears like a dog.”

I bite back a retort about him acting like a dog at a fireworks show—now’s not the time. I shrug and tell him he has soft hair, instead.

“Mm. Not as soft as yours.” There’s something heavy about his voice, something sleepy. Oh, no you don’t.

“C’mon—we can’t sleep in the car.”

“I know....” He sits up partway, rubbing his eyes. I keep my hand on his back, not wanting to let him alone quite yet. “I, uh... Sorry about that, back there. I just....”

“It’s all right. I probably should’ve....” It occurs to me I’m not actually sure what got under his skin. Looked it was the suicide on stage, but what if it’s crowds he doesn’t like, or the dark, or...or something I did?

He’s shaking his head, anyway. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Should I?” I start stroking his back again, as I feel him tense up. “Know, I mean?”

Nick nods. “Nobody does. Not even—no one. I couldn’t....” He draws a deep, uneven breath. “I had a brother, a twin, Mark.”

Oh, no.

“All this....” He does a loose sweep of his arm, pointing at nothing in particular. “My whole life, it’s a plan we came up with in high school. It was—from MIT to Wall Street; from Wall Street to fantastic wealth. That’s really all there was to it. We were kids....”

“My dream in high school was to be this unstoppable hacker, and get recruited by the NSA,” I tell him. He seems embarrassed. Not sure it’ll help to know my dream was worse, but it’s all I can think of to say.

He does that unsteady chuckle again. “Guess you—guess you thought better of that one.”

I nod. He can’t see me, hunched over the way he is, but I figure he can feel my head move.

“We were really doing it, though. We’d got into MIT, and I thought... That was supposed to put him back together. He’d been different, for a while. Like he wasn’t really there. Didn’t talk, didn’t care about much—but I could still get him excited about the plan. Sometimes.”

Nick stops to get his breathing under control. I find his hand and start massaging some warmth into it.

“We went on this road trip, right before we were supposed to leave for college. He seemed almost like himself again. Like—like the way I remembered him, before our parents, uh....” He turns his head away from me. “There was a car wreck, when we were eight. We went into foster care right after. Mark always said he could barely remember anything from before... But I think he just didn’t want to. Didn’t want to think about better times, when there was no way to go back.”

“I can understand that.” I don’t like to think about everything I’ve lost, either. Even tonight, slipping into my one leftover nice dress... It felt like donning the uniform of a job I’d loved, and got fired from.

“Anyway, the last day of our trip, he sent me out for Slurpees. They didn’t have any at the 7-11 by our motel, so I walked around for a while. Half an hour, maybe. When I came back, there were cops—they were—“ His head drops into his hands. The rest comes out muffled, but there’s no mistaking the words. “He’d got his hands on a gun, somehow. They were bringing him out. His face was covered, so I knew....”

“I’m so sorry.”

“The Slurpees... I dropped them, and that was... They were the strawberry kind—red everywhere—it was...” Nick slumps against my shoulder. I stroke his hair some more. For a while, neither of us says anything.

“I just...kept going, after that.” I can feel the rumble of his voice against my arm and chest. “It’s like I never came out of shock, that day, like I...like I kept going, in a dream, and that dream turned into my life.”

“Do you like it? Your life?”

For a moment, I think I’ve offended him. He goes rigid again, and I feel him stop breathing. Finally, he lets out a long sigh. “Some of it. I’ve been doing a lot of charity work the last couple of years. The food pantry where we met: I started that. It was the first—there’s six of them now. And I put together an after-school theater program for kids, y’know, in the foster system. I...kind of want to do like Bill Gates—hand over the reins of my empire to someone who wants it, put my time and attention into something good.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I haven’t so far because... For the longest time, it never even occurred to me to abandon the plan. Felt like abandoning him.”

“But now?”

“Now, I....” He’s playing with my fingers, tracing the shapes of my nails in the dark. “I got a nine-year-old kid her first volunteer gig the other day. Just doing window displays at the food pantries, but... You should’ve seen how proud she was. I saw that look on her face, and I wanted to give her dreams beyond having money. Wanted to leave her a rosier world than Mark and I could imagine.”

Is he talking about his kid? The way he chokes up, the way he fidgets and looks away, he can’t be talking about some random nine-year-old.

If he is... That’ll make the whole Joey conversation much, much easier. In fact... “You should come home with me tonight. Stay over. You shouldn’t be alone.”

His head jerks up, like I’ve thrown him for a loop. “Really?—you wouldn’t mind?”

“’Course not. Long as you don’t mind squishing into my single bed.”

“I like a tight squeeze.”

That seems like my cue to pull him as close as I can, so I do. I hold him steady till I can’t feel a hint of a tremor in his body, till his breathing’s gone slow and deep. “You okay to drive?”

“Yeah. Unless you want to.”

I press his keys back into his hand. “Nope; no way. Can’t drive a stick. Actually, I’m not sure I remember how to drive at all. Don’t want to run us off the road.”

He laughs at that, and it sounds healthier this time, his normal low rumble, instead of that weird, shattered thing.

Of course, now it’s my turn to be nervous. This is kind of the point of no return. In about twenty minutes, I’m going to have to tell him to hold on a second, while I collect my four-year-old from next door. Maybe this isn’t the right time to spring it on him, but I haven’t exactly left the option open. He’s going to see where I live. He’s going to see my kitchen-slash-living-room, with its cracked Formica surfaces and no furniture. He’s going to see the tablecloth hanging over the window, and the cushion pile we’ve been using as a couch. And he’s going to see Joey.

And Joey’s going to see him. Probably not tonight—I doubt he’ll even wake up all the way, when I scoop him out of bed. But in the morning....

My stomach’s crawling with butterflies by the time we pull up on my street.

“Here?” Nick gestures at a parking spot.

“Yeah. But you’ll have to get up first thing, plug the meter.”

He pulls neatly into the space. “Not a problem. My internal alarm’s pretty much set for six.”

This is it, then. The moment of truth. I wait till we’re inside, so I can look him in the eye, and.... “I’ve just got to run next door, grab my...my son.”

“Oh, sure.” Nick looks around. “Do you want me to, like, hide in the bathroom or something, so he doesn’t get weirded out by the strange man in the kitchen?”

He doesn’t even seem surprised. That’s... That’s good, right? “No—he’s only four. He’s not going to wake up. I’ll just tuck him in; he’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’ll be here, looking non-scary, just in case.” Nick sits down on the cushion pile like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Maybe he’s seen worse, growing up in foster care. Hell, for all I know, his place looks like something off Hoarders. His car certainly does.

Just as I thought, Joey barely opens his eyes when I lift him out of bed. He mumbles a vague protest, but tucks his face into my neck all the same. Mrs. D hands me his blanket and tips me a wink, which I take to mean she approves of me getting back on the market. Had to tell her I had a date, even cough up a few details, before she let me sneak out the door dressed for the opera. She said it was so she’d know who to point the cops at, if I turned up missing... But whether a guy has “pecs you could bounce a quarter off” is not required information for a missing-persons report.

I can’t resist checking out Nick’s expression on my way to Joey’s bedroom. To my relief, he’s got a soft smile on his face, like he approves of what he’s seeing.

We wind up in my room, whispering like kids at a sleepover.

“I knew you had to be a mom,” he tells me. Even whispering, he sounds smug.

“Oh, yeah? How’d you know that?”

“’Cause you’re so nice, and you give great hugs, but you can be strict when you want to be....” He presses a quick kiss to my temple. “And you like to get home early. I’m the same.”

Wait—is he saying—?

“Mine’s nine. A little girl—Katie. I’ve had full custody four years now.”

“I thought Joey was going to be a girl. Doctor said he was—I bought him all kinds of cute little dresses, then... Out he popped. In all his boyish glory.”

“What’d you do with the dresses?”

“Oh, he wore ‘em anyway.” I try to shrug, and can’t quite pull it off, enveloped as I am in Nick’s arms. “I mean, newborns grow out of everything so fast. A few questionable fashion choices weren’t going to kill him.”

“Doesn’t it bother you, having him named after, well...?”

I’m so comfy, not even the mention of Joe can spoil it. “It was worse when his full name was Giuseppe Rodolfo Bentivoglio Jr., to be honest. Soon as I got away, I changed it to plain old Joe Petrov.”

“Much better.” Nick sounds as sleepy as I feel. I find myself snuggling closer, drawing my toes under the covers for warmth. Pretty soon, I feel myself drifting. My head’s kind of hazy, swimming with something between thoughts and dreams. I should get up, take out my contacts, get ready for bed. And I will, in a minute, soon as I...soon as I’ve....

Five more minutes can’t hurt.

I jerk awake to darkness. Must’ve dozed off, and... Either Nick killed the light, or the bulb burned out. There’s something black and hulking where my alarm ought to be. A cautious poke reveals it to be a stray pillow. I shove it aside: 1:37 AM. Couldn’t have been sleeping more than... When’d we get back? When’d we lie down? Half an hour, maybe?

I’m debating whether to extricate myself from Nick’s heavy embrace or go back to sleep when I feel him softly, lazily kissing the shell of my ear. It’s a soft feeling, tender, thrilling. I’ve never brought anyone back here. The walls are thin as cardboard. We can’t go too far, can’t make a sound, but....

I grope for his hand in the dark. His palm’s warm and dry. Just a little hand-holding. Nothing scandalous here. Only—

He flips my hand over. Pins it to the bed. His other arm curls around me like a brace, holding me firmly to his chest. His thighs fence me in on either side. Those legs feel strong enough to crush me between them, but he just holds me tight.

I’m thoroughly enclosed by his body. Safe...warm; my own body thrills to it. I could almost drift back to sleep, if it weren’t for the traitorous current of excitement surging through my veins. I tilt my head till it’s resting on his shoulder. He lifts his hand to my throat, thumb and forefinger spanning my jaw, resting against my pulse. Can’t help but think of the size and power of that hand, cradling me so gently. My breath comes quick and shallow, though he’s not cutting it off in any way.

“My prisoner,” he whispers.

I actually feel my pulse quicken. “What are you going to do?”

“Carry out your sentence.” He moves suddenly, sweeping me into his arms as he rises from the bed. I barely suppress the kind of yelp that would definitely give us away.

“My sentence?” He can’t mean.... “Here? Now?”

Nick sets me lightly on my feet, face to the wall. My hands fly up for balance, and he captures them, forcing them to the wall above my head, palms flat. He kicks my legs apart, like a cop getting ready for a body search. I lean forward involuntarily, suddenly hyperaware of my body. My ass is perked up, on display, and if Nick hadn’t noticed my complete lack of a panty line before, there’s no way he’s missing it now. Not the way his hands are groping, squeezing, stroking every inch of my body, lingering over my hips and thighs, the swell of my buttocks.

“You were so bad at that restaurant.” He punctuates the words so and bad with a pair of sharp little bites, one to my shoulder, one to my earlobe. I gasp. “Made me so hard I almost popped my fly.” He grinds his clothed erection against my ass. “Like you were sucking me off with your voice, right there at the table.”

“I could—“

“Sh!” The harsh hiss shuts me up more effectively than the hand he claps over my mouth. “Don’t move. Don’t speak. Don’t make a sound.”

His hand slides off my mouth, inch by inch. I feel him smear my lipstick with his thumb, slow and deliberate. I can picture it, the way it must be smeared across my cheek, like I’ve already been—

Cool air tickles my skin, raising the hairs on the back of my neck, as he frees me from my dress. He takes his time, working the buttons free one by one. In the silence, every pop, every rustle, every sigh seems impossibly loud. I can even hear the faint, silvery tinkling of the tiny metallic stars on my skirt, as it slides off my hips and crumples to the floor.

“Look at you,” breathes Nick.

I tighten my lips against an involuntary whine.

“If you could see yourself in the glow of the streetlights....” One finger finds its way between my legs, follows the line of my slit almost to the apex, without parting my lips. “Glistening for me already.”

I’m not embarrassed; not even remotely self-conscious. I’m too entranced with the sensations, the faint, icy draft on my back, Nick’s warm breath on my neck, his fingertip making me quiver.

He doesn’t give me time to anticipate his next move, doesn’t give me an instant’s warning. One moment, his fingers are spreading me open, exploring my pink folds—just the way I told him, that night we tried sexting—the next, there’s a brief sensation of cold, a whoosh of fabric, and, smack! His hand comes down on my left cheek, fingertips leaving a faint smear of wetness in their wake.

The sound’s not loud—it’s flat, and a little dull—but I hold my breath anyway. I’m—I can’t describe it. Every part of my body’s responding to what he’s done. My ears are burning; my mouth’s gone dry. My whole scalp’s tingling—a hot, prickling feeling. A light sweat breaks out on my forehead and upper lip. My toes curl; my nipples peak—even in my palms, I feel something akin to a low-powered electric shock. I’m not sure whether it’s the spank itself, the sound in the dead silence, the irrational fear of being caught, but there’s not an inch of my body that’s spared the shock. The light sting on my ass is almost an afterthought.

When he leans in and whispers in my ear, the jolt of ticklish, shivering sensation that races down my side is so intense I almost miss what he’s saying. “How many was that?”

Oh—oh. I was supposed to count.

“One,” I whisper.

“You like that?”

I can only nod.

“So good. So quiet. Won’t make a peep, as I....” He drags his finger down my back, following my spine all the way to my tailbone. He spreads his palm over my ass, right where he spanked me, soothing the last of the stinging away with a firm caress.

This time, when he lifts his hand, I know what’s coming. I still can’t help but jump and gasp. It’s different, this time: instead of the sharp shock of that first, unexpected blow, I feel a deep, warm thrumming under my skin—almost like painless pins and needles, all over my body. Again, the sting of the spank only registers later, as it’s cooling off.

“Two.”

His fingertips find my clit. Somehow, he knows just how I like it, soft brushes alternating with tight, firm circles, till my head’s swimming and I’m biting my lip to keep quiet. That thrumming feeling’s everywhere—I’m not lightheaded, exactly, but I feel like I’m dreaming, floating.

He spanks me again, twice in quick succession, left-right. A vivid mental image springs to mind: my ass red as an apple, Nick kneeling to cool it with his tongue.... Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m rubbing my thighs together, unconsciously seeking sensation. I jerk my legs back into position, and—

“Three! Four!”

Maybe he didn’t notice.

“Mm...no self-control.” He runs two fingers up my inner thigh. I’m mortified to feel them slide against slick skin, right where my thighs kiss. Mortified...and a little exhilarated. There’s no disapproval in his voice; all I hear is lust to match my own.

I feel like the need for silence is the only thing holding me back. I could almost let go, almost tip over the edge, just from the way he’s touching me, the feel of his breath on my skin, his cock throbbing hard against my ass when he leans in to glide his wet fingers across my mouth, down my chin. Filthy....

I notice something else: he’s lost his shirt, at some point, and he’s pressed to my back, skin against skin—he really must’ve been hanging on my every word, that night. He’s doing everything I said, and everything he promised, all at once.

I revel in his embrace. He takes his time exploring me from behind, cupping my breasts, working my nipples, stretching both hands till they almost span my waist. His skin’s hot on mine. I can feel the tendons standing out on his forearms, the gentle flex of his biceps as he fondles my every curve.

I can’t help but moan when he pulls away at last—depriving me of that exquisite warmth feels nothing less than cruel. I throttle the sound back almost instantly, but it’s too late. His hand flies again, much harder this time; I feel his body pivot as he puts his weight into it. This time, it’s loud, and the shock’s back, even sharper than the first time. I swear I see bright lights before my eyes, feel the floor drop away, before he catches me easily in his arms, pulling me back against him.

“Too much?”

I shake my head. “That’s five....”

Nick makes a funny whuffing sound, half-whisper, half-chuckle. He lifts me again, this time depositing me on the bed, so gently it feels almost...reverential.

“Louder than I’d intended, though,” he says. “Gonna save the other five for later....”

“Oh?”

“Wanna hear you....”

Faintly, as if from far away, I hear the crackle of a condom wrapper. I spread my legs a little, shameless. I’m more impatient than I’ve ever been, watching him roll it on. My own hand strays between my legs, playing with my clit right in front of him.

Nick’s eyes widen. His hand grips his cock. He gives it several lazy strokes as he drinks in the sight. Never thought I’d want an audience for something like this; never thought I could bear it. But for him, I spread myself open, putting everything on full view.

“Can’t wait another minute....”

Seems Nick needs no further invitation; just like that, he’s on me, pinning me flat to the mattress.

“Stop biting yourself,” he whispers, thumbing my lip from between my teeth. I’m about to protest that I won’t be able to keep quiet, the whole building will hear, when he seals off my mouth with his palm, sheathing himself in the same instant. One sharp thrust and he’s in me, almost too much, too full, too much to process all at once.

I see stars, actual stars, shimmering flecks of light before my eyes. His face swims in and out of focus. Then I remember to breathe, and I match his rhythm, taking his cock like nothing else matters. For right now, it doesn’t. It all melts away—the thin walls, the squeaking bed, every worry, every care—and everything’s starlight and ecstasy.

I feel perfectly transfixed by him, held tight, filled to satiation, his hand over my mouth keeping my moans in check. Even the roughness of his pant legs against my thighs only adds a welcome friction. The draft from the window feels like a caress.

It’s the simplest of gestures that brings me to an unexpected, overwhelming peak: he takes his hand from my mouth and cradles the back of my head, sealing my lips with a kiss. For a moment, I almost panic—this is new; I wasn’t ready—I’ve never given up that last shred of control in front of another living soul. But it’s too late. There’s no turning back. I give myself over to the tide, letting myself come apart in his arms. I’m dimly aware he’s stroking my hair, kissing my eyelids, my cheeks, my lips, but I couldn’t respond if I wanted to.

I’m so lost in my own orgasm, I’m not sure when he reaches his, but I know he must. I come down from my high to find him as boneless and fucked-out as I am. We’ve sort of crumpled into the pillows, still tangled together, breathing hard.

“It’d be...totally gross to fall asleep like this, right?”

I clap my hand over my mouth to hold back an indecorous snort. “Completely nasty.”

“Hate ourselves in the morning.”

“Mm-hm.” I should peel myself off him. I really should. Just one more moment, till my knees stop quivering. I feel like rubber from the waist down.

I feel his muscles tense and ripple against me as he stretches. Maybe he could just...carry me to the shower. Hold me up while he rinses me clean. Even better—if my bathtub were big enough for the both of us....

“All right. Okay. I’m getting up. Just....” I linger for a kiss, and another...and maybe a few after that. In a moment, we’ll be all elbows and sliding soap in my tiny shower, hurrying to beat that hard five-minute cap on the hot water. I take my time savoring this warm, lazy feeling.

He helps me to my feet, and we get caught up again, making out against the wall. He doesn’t seem to be in any more of a hurry than I am, pausing to play with my hair, wrapping a stray lock around his finger. “Can I brush this for you later?”

“My hair?”

“Mm...it’s really soft. I’ll be gentle. Start at the ends, work out the tangles.”

I like the thought of him taking care of me. Especially now, like this. “Yeah. You can brush it. Paint my nails too, if you want.” I mean that last part as a joke, but I feel his lips curve in a smile against my neck.

“Maybe I will. Like, a nice soft pink. Kind of a dusty rose, so it doesn’t clash with your hair.”

I bite my lip again. “Don’t make me laugh... I’m not one of those quiet, delicate laughers.”

“Mm, I know.” Nick gives my ribs a quick tickle, causing me to squeak and double over. “I like that about you. You love a good laugh: you forget yourself for a while. Get right into it.” He slides his arms around my waist. “I noticed that about you the first time we went out. At the comedy club. Wanted to make you laugh all the time.”

“We can go back when they do an open mic, then. Triple-dog dare you.”

He nudges me in the back. “C’mon. Let’s go shower.”

“Yeah, changing the subject—bok-bok-bok.”

“I’ll do it if you will.”

We’re still whisper-fighting over who has the guts to do the open mic and who doesn’t when we step into the shower. Honestly, in this moment, I’d swear I could face just about anything.