A 21st Century Courtesan (18 page)

AFTER THE THERAPY
I feel… strange. As though all of my nerve endings are on high alert, sensitive. My muscles are tight; my
skin
is tight. Restless, I go to the Century City mall for a while, wandering the shops, but nothing catches my interest. And I can't stand the people today, everyone so damned polished and pretty. It's all so fucking artificial. I get in my car and head home, cutting over to Wilshire and heading east, into Hollywood.

It's smoggier here, inland, than it was in Santa Monica. And simply seeing that familiar sky brings me back to my earlier musings about my childhood.

I do not want to think about this.

Regardless, images flash through my head: the half-darkened living room, my mother sitting on the couch, her hair
askew, the air thick with her hot cigarette smoke, the stench of stale booze. And me on the couch next to her, trapped while she goes on and on about what an asshole my father is. While she tells me that men are supposed to be good for fucking, but my father, that useless bastard, isn't even good at that. How much she hates having to sleep with him, how hard it is to smile and play along, letting him do what he wants to her, just so he won't leave again.

But he always did, didn't he?

I feel sick, suddenly, my stomach churning. Unbearable.

I pull over, right in the middle of the perfect emerald lawns of Beverly Hills, and throw up on the street.

After wiping my mouth with a Kleenex pulled from my purse, I take a swallow from my water bottle, sit a moment to catch my breath before I pull back onto the road.

What the hell is wrong with me?

All I want now is to get home. To crawl into bed as though I'm ill. Maybe I am.

I'm shaking by the time I get to my house and make it through the front door. Tossing my keys and my purse on the table in the entry hall, I kick my shoes off, start stripping off my clothes. And see the blinking light on my answering machine. I don't feel like talking to anyone.

Except Joshua.

I punch the button.

“Valentine, it's Joshua. When can I see you?” A pause, then, “I want to see you tonight. I want to see you
now.
Call me.”

My stomach flutters. Relief rushes through my body, leaving me weak-kneed. I am dying to see him, in a way that frankly scares the hell out of me. But I'm too shaken up to talk to him now.

I get naked and crawl into bed, pulling the covers up
over my head. I don't care about anything but hiding away for a while, sleeping off this sense of shock. The rest of the world can go away. I can't deal with anything. Not even him, as much as I want to see him, talk to him, touch him. Feel his arms around me.

Oh yes, I want that more than anything.

I curl into a tight ball beneath the weight of the covers, reach over and grab the bag of gummi bears from my night-stand, pop one into my mouth. And with the sugar melting on my tongue, sweet and comforting, I drift off.

IT'S DARK ALREADY WHEN
the phone wakes me. I make a grab for it, fumbling, drop it on the floor and have to get out of bed to retrieve it.

“Hello?”

“Valentine. It's me.”

His voice is like a hand caressing my naked skin in the dark.

“Joshua?”

“Are you okay? Were you sleeping? It's only eight-thirty.”

“No. I mean, yes, I'm fine. I was asleep.” I run a hand through my hair, silently ordering my brain to function. “I think I slept most of the day.”

“Are you coming down with something?” Concern in his voice. Lovely. Soothing.

“What? No, I'm fine. I was just… tired. What are you doing? How are you?”

“I'm dying to see you.” He laughs. “I guess that's obvious.”

I smile to myself, warming all over. “That's okay. I like it.”

And I do.

“Come out with me tomorrow night. I promise to buy you dinner this time.”

“Why don't you come over now?”

Yes. Get him here, in your bed.

“Now? Really?”

“Yes. Please. Just come here. Can you do that?”

“I'll be right there. Don't go anywhere.”

“I won't. I can't. I'm naked.”

“I may get a speeding ticket, Valentine.” He chuckles softly, desire lacing his voice. “Stay just as you are.”

I nod as though he can see me. “Alright. I'm waiting for you.”

We hang up and I curl up on top of the covers, letting the cool night air breathe over my skin, bringing up goose bumps. But I don't care. I don't want to cover myself. He said to stay here, naked, and I will. And I will take a deep pleasure in doing exactly what he asks of me. Doesn't matter why.

I am in an almost meditative state by the time he arrives. His knock at the door is a solid thud that echoes in my empty chest.

When I pull open the door he's smiling, a crooked, lustful grin. And my body is on fire even before he pushes through the door and takes me in his arms.

He kisses me, those long, lovely kisses again. And I am aching for him, longing,
needing.
His hands are everywhere, stroking my bare skin, that hard, demanding touch that makes me swoon. The darkness is like a cocoon around us as he sheds his clothes, pulls me up against his body, naked now, as I am. His erection is like a velvet-sheathed weight against my stomach, pressing, pressing, until I can hardly stand it.

Heat radiates from him, warming me, all but my bare feet
on the cool floor. And then he is pushing me down on the long sofa, his body covering mine. The weight of him is erotic to me, just his big body holding me down. I want it just like this, need it: that sense of him being the one in control, of turning myself over to him, to my need for him.

My pulse is racing as he brushes his cheeks over my breasts, nuzzling them. My nipples are hard already. Wanting. My thighs are spreading as if of their own accord, opening up my body to him. And his hand slips down between us, stroking the wet flesh of my aching sex. Stroking, stroking, making me shiver all over with pleasure. God, he knows just how to do it, two fingers sinking savagely inside me while he circles my clitoris with his thumb. And when he pulls one nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing the tender flesh, then really biting, I arch, my hips straining. His fingers sink deeper, his mouth sucking me in, one hand on my hip holding me down, pressing my body into the cushions. And my sudden climax is like an eruption of pleasure in my belly, in my sex, my breasts.

“Joshua!”

“Yeah, come for me, baby.”

I am coming and coming; I can't stop. He's working my clit still, his fingers pumping as he whispers encouragement against my parted lips.

“Oh, yeah, baby. Come for me. So good …”

With my climax still shimmering through my system in small, lingering waves, I wrap my legs around him, beg him, “Please, Joshua. I need you inside me.”

“Wait…”

He reaches over the side of the sofa, comes back with a condom pulled from his pocket, I imagine. I'm just grateful he's thought of everything. Then he's kneeling up over me, slipping the condom on while I run my hands over the taut
muscles of his stomach. He is watching me in that way he has as he lowers his body over mine. So slowly, making me need him even more, and his hands holding me down, pressing onto my shoulders, in that way he has which makes me feel completely taken over. That intensity is there, in the way his eyes glitter in the half-dark, in the tension in every muscle of his beautiful body, in the electric current in the air between us.

When his cock probes at the opening to my body, I pull in a deep, gasping breath, my hands going to his hips, trying to pull him in.

“Wait, Valentine. I want to enjoy every moment of this.”

“Yes …”

Yes, he's right. I am in too much of a hurry. I can't help myself. I know he'll make me come again.

Oh, yes.

He presses, and the tip of his cock slides right in, like steel over silk, I am that wet. My entire body throbs with pleasure, with anticipation. Then a little deeper. He stops, his expression one of exquisite pain, except that it is pleasure.

“Jesus, Valentine. You feel so good, I can barely stand it.”

My hand goes to his cheek; he is too beautiful at this moment for me not to touch him. Pleasure is like a thousand stars, burning into my body as he begins to move, just the tiniest surge of his hips against mine. And my chest feels tight, drawn, simply watching his face. My fingers trace along his jaw, over his lips, and he smiles. Then one hard, lovely thrust, and we are both groaning, panting.

His hands bear down on my shoulders, really using his weight, until I am unable to move. I love this sensation of being held, of being helpless beneath him. Of being
his.

I am losing my mind.

But when he starts to move, really pumping inside me, I
am too lost in sensation to think anymore. It is just his body and mine, the lovely friction, the scent of him, the power of his touch, his dark gaze, and his smooth skin beneath my grasping hands.

And as he thrusts into me, he moves one of his hands to my throat, presses just a little, just enough to constrict my airflow the tiniest bit, to make my body surge with alarm and hot, sharp pleasure. But I know so deeply that he won't hurt me. And I'm a little dizzy; desire acute, exquisite, incredibly intense. As intense as his gaze hard on mine, glittering. Bottomless.

Pleasure courses through me in brilliant, stinging currents, burrowing deeper and deeper. It builds within me, taking me higher than I have ever been, before dropping me into that abyss, into his dark gaze, into
him.
And I shatter, coming so damn hard I am blinded, breathless, shaking.

He tenses, pumps harder into me, so deep I can feel him hitting my cervix. Pain and pleasure all mixed together, and the hammering beat of my heart, the throbbing of my own climax still heavy in my body.

I am spent. But so content to lie here with Joshua's weight on top of me, with the scent of sex in my nostrils. We are both damp, breathing hard. He lifts his head to brush a kiss across my lips. I want him to keep kissing me, but I truly cannot move, cannot speak.

I am so afraid of what I'm feeling at this moment.

I decide not to think about it.

No, it's too good to think about
him.
About his softening cock still inside me, the warmth of his big body against mine, that lovely pressure holding me down, holding me together in some strange way. His skin is so incredibly soft for a man, with that hard-packed muscle underneath.

I run my hands over him, feeling the texture of his body. And he begins to kiss my cheek, tiny, soft kisses that flutter over my skin like air. Only it's his warm lips on my cheek, then on my mouth. And as I sink into his kiss, my heart fills, warms, and I am crying. I can't stop. Quiet tears that slip down my cheeks.

“What's this, Valentine?” he asks, his voice soft and sweet.

“I don't know.”

And I don't. It's all so damn confusing to me. I don't know why I'm crying, what I'm feeling. But the strangest part is that I don't want to run away from it, from this moment. I'm fine, with Joshua whispering to me, wiping my tears away with his hand. I really am.

He doesn't ask for more explanation, and I'm grateful. I couldn't give him one right now.

This is alien territory for me. And I'm afraid, yes, but also accepting of it. For now. There will be plenty of time to dissect it all later, in the safety of Lydia's office, perhaps. But for now, I just need to be here with him. It makes me feel strong, somehow. It's enough. It's more than I've ever had before. This moment is mine—
ours.
I'm not giving it away to the past. For once.

I
COME OUT OF
sleep with warm hands on my cheeks, his lips on mine. I don't want to open my eyes, don't want this to end, this lovely dream state where the world can't intrude, where everything is fine. And he is kissing me so hard I can't think.

Finally, he pulls away.

“Valentine, baby, I have to go.”

Fuck. And there it is. Inevitable reality.

“I know,” I tell him, my lashes fluttering open, my fingers curling around his wrist. His flesh is warm.

“I wish I could stay with you all day. Just stay here in bed with you,” he tells me, his voice quiet, husky with sleep still. I can smell the soap from the shower on him. His hair is damp when I reach up to pull his face in for another kiss.

He groans. “I really have to go to work.”

“I'm sorry. I don't want to make you late.”

“I'm sorry I can't stay.” He pulls back, his eyes on mine. “I don't want to leave you now.”

My chest hurts, just looking at him, listening to his tone,
his words. If he doesn't leave right now I feel like I'll crack, just break apart. I can't figure it out. He just gets inside me and it's suddenly too much to handle.

He leans in, kisses me again, his fingers going into my hair. Ah, so nice. Too nice.

Please go.

I can't believe I'm even thinking this. But I need some time to assimilate everything that's happening inside me.

“I'll call you tonight, okay?” He smiles, laughs a little. “Hell, I may call you at lunchtime. I don't know if I can wait until tonight.”