I Love My Secret (Nicole's Erotic Romance) (3 page)

“Stop fighting me!” The second I say it, I gasp
and cover my mouth with my hands. These are the very words Grant said to me no
more than two hours ago.

Without a flicker of emotion, Michael says firmly,
“Goodnight.”

I’m so angry at him, at myself, at… everything! My
eyes jealously dart to the canvas, to the easel, precariously set on three
slender legs and so easily thrown, if I just give in to this.

“You don’t find me attractive… that’s what it is.”
I march to the stairs.

“Nic!”

I spin around.

“It’s not that… I find you fascinating.”

“Then make love to me!”

His eyes set and his jaw tightens. “No.”

“Fine. Whatever. Fine. I’m leaving.” Not waiting
for his objection, one that would never come, I run down the stairs and slam
the door.

Out on the street, I see the soft glow of the
candles drifting out of our window, deceptively calm. I want to yell at the
window, throw something at it. I contain myself with all the strength and
courage I can manage, walking away so I can’t see anything related to Michael
anymore. I don’t see the people I’m passing, my mind swimming from the pain of
rejection. But I know I don’t want to go home. I’m too worked up. I have to do
something with this thing that I’ve got going on right now. Michael doesn’t
want to fuck me? Fine. I have someone who does.

Snatching my phone out, I dial, impatiently
waiting for an answer. “Come on. Come on. Come on.” I say until I hear him.

“Hey you,” he says.

“You alone?” I ask abruptly, avoiding the eyes of
a transsexual who’s giving me the once over as she passes. I smooth out my hair
and get myself together.

Jason yawns and I can hear his smile through the
phone. “Yeah. But I don’t want to be.”

“Good. I’m coming over.”

Twenty-Three Minutes Later

Jason opens his door wearing only soft plaid pajama
pants. Unlike me, he hasn’t found his passion in life yet, other than making
love to women in a way that makes you wish he could turn it into a profession
and turn a lot of women’s frowns into shit-eating grins. Jason’s only twenty-five,
built with muscles as big and shiny as a Mack truck, and he never, ever, gives
me a hard time about wanting to fuck off some steam. He got attached once, a
few months ago, but I put it to him that we were only going to be friends. The
kind of friends who devour each other whenever we’re in the neighborhood, that
is.

His naked chest is dark mahogany, the same shade
as my own. He’s addicted to the gym and since he’s naturally sinewy, every line
is extra chiseled; the bits of hair short, curly, barely there. His eyes are
deep brown, almond shaped, intelligently amused and always undressing me. As he
looks at me now – still half in the dream world I woke him out of –
I don’t smile. I’m still worked up and feeling angry. I walk to him nice and
slow until I can feel the reassuring warmth of his body, just out of the bed
not minutes ago. I sigh and bridge the distance; close my eyes as I mold my
body against his, soften myself in the hard nooks of him. He wraps his arms
around me and starts massaging my back, taking off my jacket and lowering my
bag to the floor somewhere to the side of me. I rest my head on his shoulder,
tucked in against his strong neck. His hand comes up and takes my chin, pulls
it up. I open my eyes and look into his, making him lean down and kiss me. Our
lips are so deliciously familiar to each other, hot and understood. It sparks
my blood immediately, although the fire began by someone else. He kisses me
with those full lips of his, full like mine, in a long sensual luscious caress
and his skill and the fact that I know he cares about me, takes me away to
another place where I am no longer angry.

When he pulls away and gives me a little smile, I nuzzle
my cheek against his, and say, “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” he says, sliding his hands down
my back and cupping my ass, giving it a firm squeeze. I need him.

I turn my head for another long kiss, the embrace
of our mouths making his cock grow against my middle. Behind me, he kicks out
his leg and shuts the door, lips locked, tongues teasing as our kiss escalates
like a match to gasoline. He furiously pulls off my shirt and bra – grabs
each of my breasts in his mouth, one at a time laps them up, making me moan and
hold onto his head. When he rises and kisses me hard, his passion overtakes him;
the groping and kisses become rougher, hotter. This is why I came here.
Make it all go away, Jason. Make it all go
away.
He pushes me against the wall in the foyer. Yanks off my boots, my
jeans, my panties – everything, gone. I even yank out my hoop earrings
and toss them onto the floor behind him as he wrangles his flannels off and
unleashes that amazing cock of his, naked and standing at attention at an easy
ten inches and thick as hell.

My lipstick is everywhere and my hair is a mess
from his hands grabbing it. I look at that beast of a cock and tell it, “I need
you.”

Jason’s eyes twinkle and the smile that spreads
across his handsome face makes me think of how Michael never smiles, how he’s a
dark cloud of suspense. How exciting it is to be around him.
Shut up, Nicole.
Don’t think of Michael.
Wait… no.
That’s exactly what I’m going
to do.
I’ll close my eyes and picture this is Michael and maybe that will
make this yearning for him subside. My eyes flutter closed and it doesn’t take
my vivid imagination long before I see Michael standing in front of me, feel
his lips pressing against my skin. Jason kneels down to bury his face between
my legs, throwing one over his shoulder as I stand in front of him, and I
imagine that it’s
Michael
kneeling
before me,
Michael’s
head I’m holding
onto. Jason slides his tongue into the crease of me, and I picture it’s Michael’s
tongue licking my clit and making this sweet warm glow overcome me.

I bring my hands up over my head, and imagine that
the tongue reaching deeper inside me is finally Michael’s. He’s finally lapping
me up like I’m lemonade on a summer’s day. My breath catches over and over as I
gasp with the wet teasing of his tongue. When his fingers – Michael’s
fingers – come up to help, and two of them burrow themselves up inside
me, pulling in and out as his tongue kisses the little hardened bean, I moan
loudly – so wet – and bend my body to his skill.
 
I throb as his fingers penetrate me in
timed sensual rhythm, throb and vibrate, my pussy getting hotter and hotter,
the vision of his face shoved deep in between my legs to pleasure me, makes me
start to cum. I ride Michael’s tongue and fingers and rub myself against his
mouth until I feel the orgasm taking over me, no turning back. His hands grip
my ass tight and he’s eating me as I yell out, my body writhing and moving
against his strength. When it’s over and I’m over stimulated and need to rest,
he gently kisses my pussy lovingly, holding me up so I don’t fall.

I whisper, “Oh, Michael. That was amazing,”
smiling, as little feather kisses stop. My eyes fly open. Jason stands up and
looks at me, and I’m surprised to see him. I want to run, and I really don’t
want to meet his eyes! But he’s only inches away and there’s nowhere to hide.
He looks at me, sizing me up, putting together what he just heard. As he wipes
his mouth, glistening with my juices and his saliva, he gives a barely
perceptible nod and steps away.

I want to say I’m sorry, but I’m so shocked and
disoriented, my voice is gone. I’m watching him gather up my clothes and hand
them to me. “Put these on and go home, baby. That’s all the fun we’re having
tonight.”

I take what’s handed, horrified. “Jason… I’m so
sorry.”

“You got it bad for this
Michael
, don’t you?” he says, cocking his head to the side and
sizing me up from the corner of his eye. I suck both my lips into my mouth and
hold them there, unable to answer. He nods again. “Yeah. You got it bad.”

“Jason, I care about you,” I say quietly, slowly.
“You know I do,”

“I know, baby. We’re just friends, and that’s all
we’re ever gonna be. I get it. But still…”

“Yeah. I know. I’m going.” I put on my panties.

 
“You
can let yourself out,” he says, and walks off in the direction of his living
room. I put on my clothes, but I shove my bra into my bag. I can’t wear it right
now. If I put it on, I’m afraid it would suffocate me.

Eighteen Minutes Later

Standing on the subway platform, I sneak a look at
the many posters of upcoming movies and see one where someone’s drawn a
mustache on Vince Vaughn. I bet he’s the kind of guy who’d think that was
really funny. If Jess were here, we’d be amused together and she’d lighten my
mood. As it is, I’m alone. I stare ahead and wait with a small group of three
other New Yorkers, a group that grows to ten, fifteen, twenty, then forty, within
less than five minutes. The wind picks up, the one that says a train is
speeding toward you. I close my eyes because the idea of rat-poop, people-spit
and dead skin cells blowing through the air and into my mouth and eyes, is
something I’ll never ‘unsee’ once Amber pointed it out to me that that’s what
happens. I used to think the wind from the trains down here in the tunnels was
romantic. And Jason used to think he was enough for me. Knowledge kills.

As the train comes to a stop, and the wind with it,
my ears pick up a brief tidbit of conversation next to me, by two girls who
look to be in their late teens. “Is she a model?” one whispers. “Gotta be,” the
other says, eyeing me from the side. I wait until we walk on the train to look
at them. I consider keeping my mouth shut, but tonight isn’t one of those
nights. I turn to let them know with my face, that I overheard them. When I
have their attention, I say, “I’m not a model, actually. Modeling doesn’t
interest me. I wouldn’t wish it on one of my worst enemies and I suggest you
follow my lead. But, thank you for the compliment.”

They share a look and the shorter one asks me, as
she grabs onto the pole with the lurching train, “Why not? I’d kill to be a
model.”

“Yeah?” Memories of my mother spring to mind, how
little she ate, how it killed her in the end. How I’m alone now because she was
so obsessed with being skinny. I look at these young souls and decide at the
last moment to spare them my sob story. But it’s against my nature to hold back
wanting to nudge them in a healthier direction. They’re both staring at me,
waiting for the response they know is coming. I’m sure I look very serious.
Good.

“I don’t know girls, to be judged like that
– all the time? On what you look like, and not who you are? I get that
enough with my skin color. It’s not fun.” I give them my best look of
experience, like I’m one of the wise people who answer questions from snowy
mountaintops.
 

One of them mutters under her breath, “Whatever,”
not trying to disguise her disdain. The other leans in to her friend and
agrees, “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Either I missed my mark,
or my wisdom is lost on these two. Teenagers think they know everything.

Normally I’d keep my mouth shut and write them
off, go back to staring forward and waiting for my stop, but when I hear them share
a knowing giggle and a look, one that clearly says I’m crazy and old –
and I’m only twenty-nine! – agitation gets the best of me and I can’t
help but say, “You know what?! Fuck you guys.”

Their jaws drop open as the bags on their
shoulders sway from the speeding corner. They’ve got that freaked out look I’ve
seen on people’s faces when I’m angry. But I don’t care right now. Both the
little twats are holding onto poles and I hope they’re covered in germs like
Amber says they are.

“You heard me. I’m giving you a piece of knowledge
and you giggle in my face, and act like I can’t see you being rude? Least you
could do is wait to talk about me behind my back. I mean, really. You think you
know things? You know zip. Buckle up, girls.” The train lurches as though to
prove my point. “Life ain’t gonna be what you think it is.” The hissing sound
of the door opening behind me, pulls my attention – this is my stop
– but I hold their eyes prisoner for a powerful extra second, then turn
and glide off the train right before the doors close again.

When I walk up the stairs and out into the streets
of Manhattan, my phone lights up with a text from Jason:
Lose him.

I talk to the text like he can hear me, walking as
I squeeze my jacket tighter against the chilled night air. “I’m sorry Jason,
but you’ll go before he does. Life is short and this chick ain’t giving up yet.”
I tuck it away and head home.

A Couple Weeks Later

“He was a complete gentleman for two dates and
then on the third one, BOOM. Off came the hatches. Clothes gone. Inhibitions
tossed!” Jess leans back in her chair, triumphant, as the server refills her
coffee on the way to another table that’s been waiting longer. Jess has got her
red hair tied up in a messy bun. We’re all wearing comfy Sunday clothes;
bundled up, because it’s cold out. Amber and I are sitting opposite her, as she
prefers to face us when she talks, not turn to the side. I don’t care. I’m just
glad we’re in chairs and inside. We’ve finally gotten seated at the very packed
Café Cluny in the West Village. I’m going to get the poached egg and short rib
hash, and my mouth waters just thinking about it. I’m starving. The girls are
still undecided, but it doesn’t matter because the server is slammed and won’t
be back to take our order for who knows how long.