Girl After Dark (38 page)

As I played with my pussy, I kept my eyes fixed on Blake, and with an electric shiver of surprise I realized that he seemed to be watching me too, his steely grey gaze flashing out into the darkness where I stood, piercing me, rooting me to the spot just a few meters away as he pumped his cock.

Just then, I saw his muscles tense, and there was a delicious pause before the head of his cock swelled, then pulsed out squirt after squirt of pure white cum, deep into Gina’s open mouth and willing throat. She whimpered, raising herself up on her haunches, closing her gooey lips greedily around the swollen head of his cock. And as Blake came, he kept me pinned in his steely gaze.

I wasn’t far behind, feeling that unmistakable electric rush building first in my tummy and then quickly flashing outwards, all around my trembling, shivering body.

With a whimper and a shudder, I felt myself spasm, my pussy clenching around the fingers I’d buried deep inside it, my eyes closing and a long animal moan escaping my lips …

§

“Where to honey?” the taxi driver asked a little later.

As I slid myself into the backseat and told him the address to my apartment, I wondered if he had any idea what I’d just been doing, where I’d just come from. Could he tell, just by looking at my face? Or did I simply look like any young girl, who had been out for the night with friends?

I kicked off my heels.

Thank God.

As I rubbed my aching feet, I smiled to myself at the realization that, contrary to what I’d thought as I’d got ready this evening, they were practically the only part of my outfit I’d managed to keep on.

I couldn’t believe what I’d done, what I’d seen.

The memories came back in flashes: skin, silk, nipples, sweat ...

Blake wasn’t kidding, there really was a side to him I knew nothing about. But then again, maybe I had sensed it. After all, hadn’t my fantasies all been about him being so in control, so dominant, so sexual?

As the taxi drew closer and closer to my apartment, I looked out of the wet black streets of Brooklyn, realizing that part of me had changed that night, had perhaps in fact grown-up.

But I didn’t feel soiled or dirty ...

I felt open, changed ... brand new.

§

It was well after 2 a.m. when I finally returned to the apartment. I felt glad that Greg was still out at work for another hour or so yet. As I looked at his empty side of the bed, rumpled and unmade, at his possessions, and at the little life we’d made together, I felt the guilt begin to descend on me.

I ran the shower, pulled off my dress, stepped out of my panties, and then just stood there for an eternity beneath the water.

What is happening to me?

Is what I did done so wrong?

Of course Greg would think so.

But at the same time, I’d felt more alive in that moment in the club than in the whole last year of our relationship.

And as the warm water ran over my body, I softly began to cry.

CHAPTER NINE

I woke the following morning and for a brief moment I was still enveloped in a blissful innocence, before the memories of last night came flooding back. I turned in bed, feeling the warm heaviness of Greg’s sleeping body next to mine. And I pushed myself hungrily against him, my fingers running through the curls of his chest hair, my leg curling around his as I began to softly grind myself against him.

“Hey,” Greg murmured, his voice soft, his eyes still fuzzy and half-asleep.

“Hey,” I replied in an urgent whisper, first kissing his neck, then climbing up on top of him as I worked my kisses downwards, over his chest, his stomach and then further down, taking his already-hard cock in my mouth, closing my eyes as I sucked him with an unusual ferocity. I felt his hands move into my hair and his thighs tense up as his own desires awakened too. I pulled him from my mouth then thrust myself upwards, eager to kiss him again, to force my tongue hard into his mouth.

I could tell he found my energy unusual, but he responded as much as he could, matching my eager kisses with slower softer ones of his own, his cock hot and hard and twitching between us. He began guiding it between my legs, but I reached down and stopped him.

“No,” I whispered, pulling away from him, then turning around, positioning myself on all-fours, offering myself to him that way — a position I never normally took, thinking it too degrading, too animal … “Like this.”

I arched my back, thrusting my ass towards him, closing my eyes with a shiver of anticipation as I felt him clambering eagerly up in the bed, felt his hot hands gripping my waist, and then his cock slowly slipping inside me from behind.

I waited for his thrusts to become harder, more urgent, but they remained slow and steady, soft and tender, as if he was afraid to hurt me.

“Fuck me,” I whispered, looking over my shoulder at Greg, grinding myself back against him, wanting to feel him pound me hard and fast. “Please … Fuck me, hard.”

His eyes were closed, but when I said that he opened them, fixing me in his gaze for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. But then he tightened his grip on my hips and increased the speed and intensity of his thrusts.

“Fuck me, Greg, fuck me harder,” I urged, still wanting it to be harder, wanting him to hurt me. “Harder, harder …” I urged, knowing now that no matter how hard he fucked me, it wouldn’t be enough.

Slowly but surely, I felt my orgasm build, and I buried my face in the sheets as I came, whimpering and crying, my ass thrust high in the air, my teeth clamping down on the sheets as my body shuddered and bucked beneath him. Greg came soon after, a low grunt escaping his lips, his cock buried deep inside me, his hands gripping my hips, his sweaty body falling down on top of me, the animal heat of his skin burning like a fever against my back.

“Wow,” he whispered a few moments later, his breath still trembling, his voice full of surprise, “that was certainly … different.”

I sighed and pressed myself back against him, screwing my eyes shut tight, fighting back the tears that had started to prick at the corners of my eyes.

“I love you,” I whispered, my voice cracking slightly.

“I love you too, baby,” he whispered back, kissing my neck softly, totally unaware of my deep, churning guilt. “I love you too.”

§

“You’ve hardly touched your food,” Fallon said, polishing up the last of her sweet potato fries, the following Monday lunchtime. I’d met her in a cute little cafe diner, just around the corner from her print studio in Bushwick.

“You can have mine too if you want,” I replied, pushing my almost completely untouched burger and fries towards her.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, shooting me a concerned smile. “But I’ll take it, I’m ravenous ... Everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” I snapped back, a little too quickly. “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s all going great.”

At this she held up her hands as if to say, ‘don’t shoot’, and I immediately felt bad about snapping and about my weird, shy, moody behavior — not just with her today, but also with Greg all the rest of the weekend, picking at him in between bouts of confusing silence. And I’d been this way, I realized, ever since my Friday night at Blake’s party.

Blake, I thought, again, for what felt like the millionth time.

I just couldn’t seem to get him out of my head; he was like some kind of infection.

And just then, I heard my iPad chime in my bag, letting me know I had a new email. I felt a strange pang of dread, suspecting I knew exactly who it was from.

“Sorry, I’d better just check that,” I said, reaching down and lifting my bag onto the table, opening it and slipping out the iPad, tapping through to emails. Sure enough, there was one new message from Blake Matthews, just a single line long:

So, did you have fun?

I quickly exited back out of emails and slipped the iPad back into my bag with shaky fingers, feeling a hot rush of blood to my face, as if the whole diner suddenly knew about my kinky little adventure on Friday night.

“You alright?” Fallon asked.

“I’m fine,” I replied, trying to shrug off the email. “It’s just Blake Matthews, again. God, he’s so fucking annoying.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I continued, not even really sure what I was about to say next, just wanting desperately to throw Fallon off the scent, to try to convince her that he was just some normal boring guy, not this person I was developing a weird obsessive crush on … “He’s just such a total spoilt prick. Gives me no clue what I’m supposed to do then shouts me down when I get it wrong. Thinks the whole world should bow down to him just because he owns a couple of hotels … God, I hate him.”

“But I still don’t quite understand why it should get you so riled up,” Fallon replied. “I mean, who doesn’t hate their boss?”

“I’m not riled up!” I hissed, my breathing becoming shallow, my eyes narrowing, the words flying from my mouth, way more venomous than I’d planned.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Fallon said, again holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Whatever you say. Listen, I gotta shoot …”

She stood up from the table, pulling a few bills from her wallet and laying them on the counter.

“I’ll leave you to composing a reply to that guy you definitely hate and don’t have some kind of mega high school crush on even though you seem totally desperate to keep dropping his name into the conversation,” she deadpanned.

And then, just like that, she was gone, leaving me alone in the diner, my face flushed once more in embarrassment, wondering just how I was supposed to reply to Blake’s email, let alone look him in the face ever again.

CHAPTER TEN

Friday Night

Blake Matthews

To: Jessica                                         

So, did you have fun?

Blake

__

Re: Friday Night

Jessica Clark

To: Blake

I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Jessica

__

Re: Re: Friday Night

Blake Matthews

To: Jessica                                         

Oh, really? Because I swear I saw you at my party on Friday night. You absolutely positive you didn’t swing by, even just for a little while?

Blake

__

Re: Re: Re: Friday Night

Jessica Clark

To: Blake

Oh, your party! So sorry. For a moment there I didn’t know what you meant!

No, I’m afraid you must have mistaken me for someone else. I mean, I totally wanted to check it out and everything, but then at the last minute Greg took me out for this cute surprise meal. He’s so nice. You’ll have to meet him sometime.

Jessica

__

Re: Re: Re: Re: Friday Night

Blake Matthews

To: Jessica                                         

Weird. I swore I saw you there — standing in the shadows, taking in our little show —  but my eyes must have been deceiving me.

The invite’s always open — last Friday night of every month. You’ve still got your tickets, right? Come another time. I’m sure Greg would love it.

By the way, you know those bathroom specifications we went over? I want to go through them with you. I’ll see you at my apartment tomorrow − 11am sharp.

Blake

§

Standing once more in the imposing private lobby, my head spinning from the heady scent of orchids and those emerald green eyes of the girl in the painting piercing me with her fierce confrontational gaze, I timidly knocked on the door to Blake’s apartment.

Two questions were shooting around my head as I waited what felt like forever for Blake to answer: first of all, why did he need to go over these bathroom fittings again? Surely we’d decided everything just last week? And secondly, why did we actually have to do it in person, at his apartment? Why couldn’t we just have stuck to email correspondence, which had been working perfectly fine up until now?

No, there was something fishy about all this, something that seemed to suggest he was enjoying the power he had over me, enjoying the fact that he thought he’d seen me at his party and wanted to make me squirm.

But how could he know he’d seen me for sure?

My face was hidden ...

And there had been so many other young, slim women there — women around the same height and weight as me, women with the same color hair. He couldn’t be sure, not completely. And it was this thought I clung onto desperately, as another embarrassing flashback coursed through me, to that moment when we’d locked eyes, my hands buried deep in my panties, his thick hard cock pulsing away, my own orgasm flashing through me, too …

And as I waited, my eyes were drawn once more to that mysterious door on the right, the one he’d seemed not to want to show me on my first visit here, and I wondered just what might be behind it.

Blake binding my hands and feet ...

Blake making me kneel before him ...

Blake fucking me hard in front of a room full of strangers ...

And just then of course, the first door swung open, revealing Blake dressed once more in his scruffy, casual attire: a loose fitting white linen shirt and his favorite blue Levis, his chiseled jaw flecked with dark two-day stubble, his eyes even more intense and direct than I remembered them.

“Oh, hey,” he said, slowly and deliberately, as if his mind too was returning to that moment when we’d locked eyes at the party.

I fought back my rising embarrassment, hoping I didn’t look half as flustered as I felt, hoping the deafening boom of my heart was audible only inside my head.

“So, the, um, the bathroom,” I said, barging a little too quickly into the bare apartment, my steps so wobbly and unsure it felt like I’d never used my legs before.

“Sure,” Blake said, a picture of icy calm, turning and leading the way down the corridor, the defined musculature of his back just the same as when I’d seen it, naked, only a few days ago.

“Right, what changes would you like to make then?” I asked as soon as I stepped into the large bathroom, feeling another twinge of embarrassment about how obviously uncomfortable and awkward I was being around him, rushing straight to the point in my wish to get the hell out of there again before he said something about the party, my stupid voice echoing all around the empty room.

“Not a fan of small talk, I see,” he said with a smirk. “Well, first I had a question about the shower area … You remember the unit we chose?”

I nodded. How could I forget it, it’d taken me days to source any tiles and fittings he didn’t completely despise on first viewing.

“It will fit more than one person inside, wont it?”

I shot him a glance.

Is this guy being serious?

From his expression, which gave absolutely nothing away, I simply had no way of telling.

“I think so …” I murmured.

“And how many people in total do you think we could fit, comfortably, in the current size we have specified?”

“I really don’t know,” I said, taken aback, scanning mentally over the original bathroom plans we’d finalized so painstakingly. It made no sense; it was as if he was willing to change the whole thing over, just to put me on the spot and embarrass me. “Two?” I ventured timidly.

At this Blake shook his head, dismissively. “Then we’re gonna have to change it … I’d need to be able to get three people in there, at the very least.”

You asshole.

I knew for sure now that he was just saying this stuff in an attempt to embarrass me.

I opened my mouth, surprising even myself with what came out of it. “Well, why don’t we just knock that far wall through, too?” I began, unable to even slightly disguise the venom in my voice. “That way you could fit twenty inside, comfortably.”

His grin widened and his eyes flashed, obviously enjoying this back and forth much more than me.

“Good suggestion,” he replied, nodding. “I’ll certainly keep that in mind. Now, moving on to the bath …”

Really?

The bath too?

Were we really about to change that also, after I’d spent so long finding something that met his rigorous and exacting standards, just so Blake could make another suggestive joke?

“I know we originally talked about a Japanese wooden model,” he began. “But the taps come set at one end, correct?”

I nodded.

“Well, is there any way we could fix those in the middle instead? I just don’t want them digging in someone’s back, if somebody were so good as to share it with me.”

“Right, very good,” I said, tapping the note into my iPad, hoping we were approaching the end of the meeting now, and I could get the hell out of here before I completely shriveled up and died.

“Now don’t get prudish on me, Jessica,” he said. “We’re both adults, after all. And if you’re going to get like this, I don’t know how you’re going to cope when we come to my new ideas for the bedroom.”

 “Is that everything for now?” I pleaded wearily.

At least we haven’t talked about the party, thank God.

“Oh, there is one more thing …” he said, his face fixed and serious. “I was thinking that perhaps the floorboards could be painted black and then how about a leopard print rug, too?”

For a half-second I thought he was being serious, before I watched his cold expression break into a cheeky smile.

I laughed too, unable to help myself, remembering that spark of warmth that had existed between us, right from that first pitch meeting with Marianne, which felt like an age ago but was, in reality, just a few short weeks.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said, mouthing the words ‘leopard print’ as I tapped them into my iPad before slipping it back into my bag.

I let him walk me back through the apartment, the awkwardness now fading between us, and if anything I actually felt a small pang of sadness when I reached the lobby once more, wishing I could just spend a moment longer with this new, warm, playful Blake — the boyish guy behind that cold, hard, sexual exterior he so often projected.

“Okay, I’ll make sure to follow all this up,” I said as he called up the elevator.

“Hey, Jessica,” he replied. “I just want you to know, I’m really glad I hired you. You’ve done a great job so far.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said, feeling a genuine thrill from this unexpected compliment – so rare from someone like him. 

“And I meant to mention it before, but I’m throwing a small private party, this coming Sunday evening, at one of my hotels. Do you think …”

“No, thanks,” I blurted, before he was even able to finish his sentence. “I don’t think your parties are my kind of scene.”

“Now wait just one second,” he said with a sly grin. “What kind of parties do you think I throw exactly? I thought you said you weren’t there on Friday?”

No!

You’ve given yourself away!

“I-I don’t know,” I stammered. “I guess I’m just not much of a party girl ...”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh really?” An excruciatingly long pause. “Because this is simply a networking meet-up I throw, once every few months. I thought it might be good for you to meet some of my other clients, and perhaps you could bring Greg along too. He’s looking to make business connections, right? Well, perhaps he could find himself a worthwhile internship. Something like this would be the perfect opportunity for both of you. But if you don’t think you can manage it ...”

“I’ll think about it …” I said, relieved to hear the elevator arriving behind me, glad to be turning my back on him at last.

“I’ll email you the invite!” he called after me, the enjoyment of my discomfort so clear in his voice.

“Everything okay, madam?” Collins asked, once we were alone in the elevator.

“Fine,” I sighed, sinking exhaustedly onto the plush little seat. “Everything’s just fine.”  

§

On the subway home, I found myself sitting opposite an adorable older couple, maybe in their late sixties but obviously still in that first intense flush of love. Well, either that or they’d just spent the most amazingly perfect forty years together. Unable to keep my eyes from flicking over to them as they cooed and kissed, their hands clutched tightly together, their bodies snuggled close as could be, I couldn’t help but feel a flash of sadness at the state of my own relationship. Because truth was, it was floundering somewhat.

If you’d asked me a year ago whether Greg or I would make it into our sixties together, I’d have answered yes in a heartbeat.

But now?

Now I wasn’t quite so sure.

I still wanted it to work, but it seemed like we were drifting apart with each passing day. Or at least I was.

Oh, it was all so screwy, I didn’t even know what to think anymore, only that I knew that Blake had something to do with my sudden cooling down on Greg; it was as if he’d shown me all the things that I didn’t even know I wanted until now, things I was worried Greg lacked.

Intensity for instance — this was never an adjective you could use to describe Greg. Laidback, sure. Kind, absolutely. Easy going, great. But intense? No, that was one thing that Blake possessed in spades, something I’d never even considered attractive until now.

But then again, Blake had a cruel side, too. A side that enjoyed watching me squirm. A side that enjoyed binding Gina’s wrists behind her back. A side that I’d seen all too clearly today in his apartment, as he’d tried his hardest to embarrass me, simply for his own cruel amusement.