Waiting for her answer, I watch the lights coming from outside dance with the shadows of the night on her body as we speed through the streets of Manhattan.
“It isn’t that. It’s just …”
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid of what you make me want.”
“And what’s that?”
“To feel,” she says, her words barely a whisper.
I smile ruefully, lift her hand, and kiss it. “That’s exactly what I don’t want.” What I’m running away from.
TONIGHT’S FUCK ISN’T ABOUT connecting with someone. Tonight’s fuck is about seeking an emotional stupor, where I can lose myself in her body and stop living in the hell that mine has become. It’s about reaching that point when I’m buried in her pussy, my cock surrounded by her warmth, pounding away my feelings for another woman in her. Where there are no emotions, no memories, no expectations—nothing. Just pure, unadulterated, and selfish ecstasy.
Beyond the few sentences we shared on the ride here, we haven’t said anything. It isn’t like there is no need for words—there is—but not of anything that is relevant to what we are about to do. Besides, the silence allows each of us to battle our own ghosts. I turn to look at her and take in the rich color of her blonde hair that looks as though it were spun out of pure gold, the two small laugh lines shaped like the curved brackets of a parenthesis that imprison her mouth, and the way she holds herself so upright. She reminds me of a soldier about to face his enemy. The only sign that betrays her cool and unperturbed exterior is her damp palm in mine. Or maybe it’s mine.
Standing outside my apartment, I turn to look at her. “Last chance to change your mind,” I say.
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re trying to get me to change mine?” She glances in my direction, our gazes connecting briefly before she goes back to stare straight ahead. “Or maybe you’re afraid that I’m—”
I pin her against the wall, my front crushing hers. “I’m not afraid. I just want to make sure that you won’t change your mind, because once we walk past those doors”—I nod in the direction of my apartment—“I will fuck you. And you will love every single second that I’m inside you, fucking your pussy. Over … and … over … again.” Until I numb myself and forget that I can’t have her. “Do you hear me?”
Maybe I’m being purposely cruel to her because deep down a part of me is afraid. Afraid of having this woman erase the last traces of Blaire lingering in my apartment, in my body, and in my soul.
“So I’m going to ask you one last time. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Shhh… Don’t say another word.” She cups my face with her hands and brings our mouths so close I can feel the whisper of her breath hitting my lips. “I’m here because I want you. Nothing else. Nothing more.”
Without saying another word, I push myself away from her and head to my door. I open it for her and watch her go in, her shoulder brushing my chest as she walks past me. When she’s inside, I bolt the lock and turn to face her.
She browses my small, messy apartment without touching a single item.
I rub the back of my neck. “I have to say that I’m surprised that you’re still here after what just happened.”
Without looking at me, she says, “Me too. Honestly, I’m surprised that I even left with you in the first place. Throwing caution to the wind and going to a stranger’s apartment aren’t things I’m known for—quite the opposite, actually.”
Her voice is soothing and calm, and I find that I enjoy listening to her talk. I lean my back on the door, my shoulders touching the flat surface, and cross my arms. “What are you known for?” I ask, curious about the woman standing in front of me. “You seem the type of person who never breaks rules. Am I close?”