The Offer (21 page)

He’s smiling.
I’m smiling.

And a flash of
danger comes across his eyes.

Maybe it’s
lust.

But it’s all
danger to me.

Beautiful,
delicious danger.

For once, for
once, I’m ready for it.

But before
that thought even has a thought to process, the look in his eyes
smolders, drunk with desire and he grabs my face with one hand, the
other hand going behind my hair and he’s kissing me.

Kissing
me.

Kissing
me.

I thought I
was ready for this but I wasn’t.

His
kiss.

It’s more than
I remembered. It does more than knock me off my feet. His tongue is
insatiable, explicit as it thrusts into my mouth hungrily, his lips
crazed and needy. It’s wet and violent and makes the want inside me
throb, over and over. His hand at my head is gripping my hair as if
he’s holding on for dear life and each tug shoots fire down my
nerves. Every part of my being feels alive, soaking it all in,
desperate for more of his touch, more of him, more of
everything.

He pulls back
half an inch, just for a second, just enough time to let out a moan
while his other hand holds my face in place, captive. His
heady-lidded gaze fixates on my eyes, then my lips, as if I’m some
sort of apparition.

Then I grab
his shirt collar and yank his lips back to mine. The need in me
builds and builds and I’m dying to wrap my legs around him, to feel
every inch, to feel his want for me. I think I whimper. I gasp. I
kiss him with the same kind of abandon as he’s kissing me, his
mouth all encompassing as if wanting to swallow me whole. I
wouldn’t mind his mouth somewhere else.

As if he reads
my thoughts, he grabs me around the waist and quickly lowers me
backward to the ground, the padding inside propping my shoulders
up. We’re lucky that the couch frame or coffee table wasn’t in the
way but I’m not even sure if that would have mattered. To hell with
all the furniture.

With rough,
eager hands he shoves up the tunic so my breasts are exposed and
then pulls down my bra until my nipples are hardening in the
air.

“I knew you’d
be so fucking perfect,” he says, breathing hard. The feeling makes
my nipples even more sensitive and a low moan escapes from my
mouth. “Oh, sweetheart, if you keep making noises like that, I’m
afraid I’ll come all over you before I can come inside you.”

Our top halves
are still inside the fabric and he places his wide, hot tongue on
my stomach, trailing a path up and over my breast and to my nipple.
He swirls his tongue around before flicking it. I moan again,
unable to keep it inside, my hands gripping onto this soft, thick
hair like a lifeline.

“It’s like
licking a fucking buttercup,” he says between groans and I look
down. My breasts, heaving and wet from his tongue, also glowing
yellow from being inside the fabric.

Now he’s
undoing my jeans and sliding his fingers down the front of my
underwear. I want to spread my legs to give him easier access but
he’s pulling down my jeans and locking my thighs together. His
finger pushes in through the slit and I close my eyes to the
feeling, succumbing to him.

When he finds
me soaking wet, I’m almost embarrassed at how desperate my body
is.

“You’re
gushing,” he says, in a low voice that connects with me on this
primitive, visceral level. “Oh fuck, babe, you have no idea how
badly I need to be inside your tight, pink little hole right now.”
And with his words, two of his fingers slip inside me and I gasp,
automatically clenching around him.

“God, you’re
greedy, aren’t you?” he whispers. “Totally underfucked and I’m
about to change all of that for good.”

Oh, God.
Please do.

He bites at my
breast, plunging his fingers in further and my back is arching,
wanting so much more, harder, longer, deeper. I want to be stripped
naked, bare to the marrow, and I want him to take me so fucking
completely I’ll never need anything else again.

“Mommy?”

Ah, fucking
shit!

“Damn,” I cry
out softly and Bram immediately retrieves his hand, zipping back up
my jeans. We exchange a wild, bashful look between us and then,
once my shirt is on properly, he lifts the couch fabric up and over
us.

Ava is
standing at the door to my bedroom, rubbing her eyes and looking
sleepy. Thankfully from her position, she couldn’t have seen all
that much.

“Hi, sweetie,”
I say to her, trying to catch my breath.

She peers at
me and Bram. “What are you doing? Your hair is all windy.”

“Just putting
the couch together,” I say, smiling way too broadly. “Bram stopped
by.”

“Hi, Bram.”
She yawns and then plods along through the living room and sits
down on the couch. The normal couch. The couch that doesn’t
practically force two neighbors to have sex in it.

I look over at
him as he pats down his hair with a smile. What the hell just
happened? I’m still turned on as hell, my breasts feel heavy with
desire, my clit throbs from where his thumb was pressing. Good
Lord, I need him to continue.

But maybe this
is a good thing that we stopped. Getting carried away would have
been a bad idea.

Right? I
realize I’m just asking myself and I don’t have the answers. I just
want to get fucking laid by this Scottish sex god beside me.

“Well,” I say
to Bram, clearing my throat. “Thanks for your help.”

He nods and
slowly gets to his feet, pulling me up to mine as he goes. “Sure.
But I wasn’t done helping you, you know. I was just getting
started.”

I know what
he’s saying and as much I want to ask for more, I’m not sure how
and if I should.

“Well, thanks
for the help you did give. You know, with the couch.”

He shoots me a
wicked smile and then runs his fingers – his same fingers that were
inside me just moments ago – underneath his nose and breathes in.
“I’ll be back for more of this,” he says thickly.

Then he turns
and leaves and I’m standing beside an almost finished piece of shit
couch, wondering if my legs are ever going to stop shaking.

I don’t see
Bram for the rest of the night and when I wake up the morning, my
body’s still groggy from the previous hangover and my insides ache
for the brief moment that some part of Bram was inside me. It all
feels like a dream, a really good wet dream, except I never got a
chance to come and now I’m feeling embarrassed and sexually
frustrated to boot.

Jesus, the
things he said to me were so fucking hot, I don’t think any guy had
been so explicit and we had barely gotten started. I wanted to see
where that filthy mouth would have taken us – figuratively and
literally. I wanted him to come back for “more of this.”

But as
the morning stretched on, I’m stuck with one almost finished couch,
another in a box I can’t even fathom putting together and I’m this
close to taking the largest blunt object I have – probably my dildo
– and smashing the shit out of both of them. Fucking IKEA! But it’s
not really the store’s fault (not really), it’s mine for getting so
wrapped up in him already. It’s like one little touch, one little
taste, and I’m ready to give him more. Although, I would say
neither his touch nor his taste was
little
. His tongue is strong and long and his fingers even more
so.

Even though
it’s Tuesday, Lisa can’t make it in to cover my shift today since
it starts at 3pm but luckily my mother can. I’m starting to feel
awful for dragging her out here more often. Shift work just isn’t
as predictable as the jobs of my past but she’s a trooper and loves
spending time with her granddaughter as much as possible.

“Hey,
darling,” she says to me as she comes inside. She stops and
immediately eyes the IKEA crap in the corner before waving at Ava
who is lying on the original couch, buried in cushions and
mindlessly watching TV.

Ava gives a
half-hearted wave back, as if she can’t muster the energy. Normally
I’d freak out that there’s something wrong with her but I just
measured her blood levels and she’s in perfect range. She’s just a
bit blah – must be picking it up from her mom.

Yet my mother
says to me, “You’re looking good.” As if it’s a surprise, as if I
normally walk around looking like a bag of crap. Hmmm. Maybe I
do.

“Oh, thanks,”
I say. I’m just wearing my normal bar uniform of black
cleavage-producing tank top and jeans but she’s peering at me like
I’m hiding something.

“Really,”’ she
says, pinching one of my cheeks, something she hasn’t done since I
was a little girl. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. Don’t forget
you’re still young, you know, no matter how old this troublemaker
makes you feel.” She jerks a thumb at Ava who pays no
attention.

“Yeah, yeah,”
I tell her. I grab my leather jacket I’ve had since the Dark Ages
since SF decided to be a real asshole this week and drop the
temperatures to about minus a million. I’m getting ready to head
out the door, when my mother says, “Should I expect a visit from
Bram?”

Even though
the door handle is in my grasp, I let go and step back to face
her.

“Mom, listen,”
I tell her. “Bram’s a very nice guy.”

“A gentleman,”
she says with a weirdly knowing smile.

“Sure,” I say.
“I mean, he’s a real good guy. And also, not…anyway, my point is, I
don’t care if he brought you over a kettle or seems to show an
interest in me and whatever, he’s just my neighbor. He’s never
going to be anything more than that.”

“Oh, Nicola…”
she goes on, throwing her hands down at her sides.

I grab one of
her hands. “I know you and this is pretty much the first guy you’ve
met since I’ve been with Phil, other than that guy Ben, but he
didn’t stick around much either, but really…Bram and I? We are just
friends. I don’t know what the future holds but for now, he’s doing
me a favor and I’m trying to make it as easy as possible on him.” I
pause. “You know what I mean? And don’t do any of your mom meddling
things that you usually do. That’s not going to work, okay? It may
jeopardize the landlord-tenant relationship we have going.”

“What makes
you think I would do any of that?”

“I can see it
in your eyes,” I tell her. “I see it in my eyes too,
sometimes.”

She throws her
hands up in the air and walks over to the couch, plopping down
beside Ava. “All right. I understand. Mom can’t have a little fun.
But I’ll tell you, one day your daughter will be old enough to be
dating boys and you’re going to care as much about the process as
she does. Only she won’t let you.”

“Sounds
fabulous.”

“It’s true.
It’s what happens to all us moms. Time keeps chugging by and you
all keep changing but the love never does. You’ll always be my
little angel and she’ll always be yours. And all mothers just want
their angels to find men worthy of them. Even more than that,
someone that will look at them like they’re magic.” She looks at
me, plopping her legs on the couch. “If you find a man who looks at
you like you’re magic, you hold on to them. I had that with your
father and I never should have let him go.”

I swallow
hard. “But you have to think the man is magic, too. It goes both
ways.”

She nods. “Yes
you do. It has to be both ways and when you find it, it’s alchemy
in its purest form. Don’t cast it aside for anything else.”

I don’t know
what else to say. I tell my mom to call if there are any troubles
and I leave.

I don’t see
Bram in the halls. I don’t know what I’d say if I did. I’d probably
ask for a ride and would end up getting more than I bargained
for.

***

Unfortunately
I don’t end up working the shift that night for very long. The
night is slow and at around eight, James tells me I can go home.
It’s great I still get the tips and a few more hours of my
paycheck, even if I’m not there – he can be a really good boss
sometimes. But the hassle of public transportation doesn’t help and
also, I guess I just really wanted to be out of the apartment for a
long time. It’s easy to forget about Bram when I’m so far
removed.

I walk down
the hall to my apartment, shrugging off my leather jacket and am
about to stick the key in the door when I hear laughter.

My mom’s
laughter.

Ava’s
laughter.

Bram
’s
laughter.

Oh, hell no. I
silently whip out the powder compact and give my face the once
over. Hair is disheveled a bit but I look okay otherwise. I take a
deep breath and open the door.

Inside my
apartment are Bram, my mom and Ava. They are all sitting on the
same couch.

Only it’s not
my old couch and it’s obviously not the yellow shit piece. The
yellow shit piece and the other box are stacked up by the door,
right beside where I’m standing. All three of them are on this
sleek, dark grey sofa that I’ve never seen before.

Actually, as I
shut the door behind me and peer at it closer, it looks like the
same futon Bram had his eye on in the store.

Oh my God, did
he buy me a new fucking couch?

My eyes fly to
his and from the way he’s grinning at me, the tip of his tongue
held devilishly between his teeth, I know that’s exactly what
happened.

“You’re home
early,” my mom says and she looks bashful, as if I caught her doing
something she shouldn’t be doing. She adds quickly, “Bram came by
with this couch for you, isn’t that so nice of him?”

“It’s very
nice of him,” I say, walking over the couch and kneading the top of
it between my hands. It’s soft but sturdy. I like it a lot, but God
how his charity is starting to make me uncomfortable at times. I
think that’s why he does it. Screw the Richard Branson aspirations.
I think Project Nicola Price aka Eliza Doolittle is more because he
enjoys how much it bothers me. He’s becoming a regular old sugar
daddy when I sure as hell never asked for one.