Authors: Alice Severin
“Make-up.”
“I love guys in eyeliner. You should try it.”
“Or I’ll lose you?”
I danced away a few inches. “You came back just in time. I was negotiating for my
first movie role.”
“Casting couch?”
“No, sheer talent.” I winked. “That was coming afterwards. Form follows function,
don’t you know.”
“Why break the rules?” Tristan was grinning.
“Exactly. I’m sure his couch is very comfortable.” I reached out for one of Tristan’s
hands. “Long, too.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Care to compare? I think mine is…fairly substantial.”
“Really? That’s the rumor. But you know how these things get around.”
“Want some proof?” Tristan’s eyes were amused, but there was a darkness around the
edges.
I dropped his hand and turned away to look out to the ocean. It was a beautiful view.
I felt him come closer, and stand behind me, one hand on the railing next to my arm.
His mouth moved against my ear. “Let me prove it to you. All of it.”
I leaned slightly back against him. “I’m not sure I can take all of it,” I murmured.
Both his hands were on my hips now, as we stared out to sea, unseeing. “I think you
can.” His mouth dipped to my neck, and I could feel his throat on my shoulder, his
words rumbling through my body. “Let’s go find out.”
Wordlessly, Tristan took my hand, and we walked back out through the crowd to find
our car and driver.
* * *
The drive back was strangely tense. I felt the energy thrumming through him like a
drum beat, steady and taut. I had no idea what he could feel from me. Without looking
at him, there was no way to tell. This was the time of wait and see. No questions.
I opened the window a bit more and let the cool night breeze in. I looked down. We
weren’t even holding hands. I moved further away, closer to the window. I could sense
his dark smile. The extra distance made it worse. Space meant more terrain to cross,
more to desire. I had no idea how much longer we had left in the car, but as time
passed, and we moved through the miles of cars and palm trees and neon, I could feel
him, coiled up and waiting. The noise of the engine grew louder, then faded. My heart
beat in my ears, the pulse dense in my throat, my legs. I swallowed, trying to lick
my lips. I had the sensation he was watching my every move, waiting for me to break,
waiting for the moment when I’d crumble and crawl to him. Prey. All I had was to resist.
But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t. He would have to come all the way. All the way to me.
I shut my eyes. I could hear the blood echoing in my head, and I wished we were in
a fast car, a race car, one that could downshift hard, and dip down low, roaring,
leaving everything behind. Tearing air and energy out of the sky, one last stand.
Finally, we turned into the driveway, and I pulled at the handle on the door, almost
before the car stopped. The sound in my mind was like a long slide guitar sound, slick
and wet on the night air, taunting. I walked to the door, silently, and I felt him
come up behind me, still not touching. “Here we are,” he said. “Ready?” And he opened
the door, and swung around. The breath caught in my chest when I saw the look in his
eyes.
Tristan backed into the room, beckoning me with his hands, swaying his hips slightly,
the energy unwinding like a dance. Like an animal, an athlete, his body obeying, I
thought, and then there was the intensity in his eyes. Hypnotic. It might be a game.
A very serious game. I shut the door behind me. “Lock it,” he ordered. “No more worries
about thin walls,” he said, with a slight sardonic smile. He kept moving, gesturing
me to follow him, out of the living room, and down the hall to the bedroom that held
the large bed that faced the garden. Tristan was humming softly. I could barely make
out the words. His voice was one long low drawl, a rope lifeline onto a ship of dangerous
thieves. The look in his eyes was almost too much. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he
murmured, “don’t do anything. Just stand there. Like that.” Then a lower whisper.
“The rush you give me…looking that way. Desperate.”
I went to kiss him and he stopped me, his hand on my mouth. “No. Not yet,” he said.
I tried to bite one of his fingers as he trailed it across my lips. His voice was
harder now. “No. I told you to wait.” Tristan was towering over me. I stood there,
watching him, trying not to tremble. His eyes were softer now, for a moment, gazing
at me with a kind of wonder, before he circled around and stood behind me. I leaned
back against his chest. The first solid contact. I had to shut my eyes, it was too
much. I tried to breathe. I wanted his hands on me. I would never ask. His body was
still, unmoving, but I could feel it, every muscle, every curve, every bone. I thought
I would scream. But I wouldn’t beg, and neither would he. His complications were like
my own, they were my own.
Tristan ran his long fingertips down my sides. I shivered. “Do you like that?” He
laughed. “Yes. Of course you do.” Then he stopped and came to stand in front of me.
Close, not close enough. And he slowly began unbuttoning his shirt, his hips swaying
slightly to a song only he could hear. I watched as each button came under his fingers,
twisted, and opened, revealing with every easy, unbearably precise movement, a naked
strip of smooth skin. I let out a little sigh. He smiled. “Like what you see? Too
much? Let’s slow it down a little bit more. And his body moved as if he were dreaming,
as if we were in a fog. I tried to make sense of the glow that came off him, the energy.
Mesmerizing, to stand there watching as the soft shirt moved against his body, a long
V of skin revealed, now that it was mostly unbuttoned. He was swaying slightly again,
steady. “That’s it. I see it in your eyes. Concentrate. Imagine what you want. Want.”
My body moved imperceptibly closer towards him. He saw it and stopped again. “No.”
His voice was insinuating, demanding. “No.” Then more slowly, in that long drawn out
way he had, his voice becoming deeper with each syllable, “Not yet. Will you get what
you want? It depends if you trust me to give you what you need.” He smiled. Impossible
to argue. He was in control. And he began again. Another button fell under his fingers,
his eyes on me steady, like a beacon in the dim light. Why did it feel as though even
the air around us was becoming cloudy? I wasn’t sure if I could move even if I wanted
to. It was as though he had hypnotized me, my very soul fascinated by what he was
doing. Another inch of skin appeared, now his chest was a strip of taut skin, his
stomach revealed by only an ever increasing swathe of slightly muscled flesh, a dark
line of hair heading downwards. I wanted to look away and hide from the dark electricity
that poured off him, the steady movement of his body. I made myself focus on his fingers,
what they were doing. The slight swaying motion of his body sped up, and his hands
were at the waistband of his trousers now. He breathed in a raspy pulse of air, a
low sigh loud enough to echo through the darkness of the room, lit only with one dim
lamp, and with one motion he pulled his shirt out and deftly undid the last button.
With a slow dip of his strong shoulders, the shirt slid from his body, becoming a
pool on the floor. With another few fluid motions, his trousers followed. There was
nothing underneath. He stood there for a moment, his eyes shut, completely naked,
revealed, feeling the air against his body.
Then his voice rang out. “Touch me now. If you want to. Start with my throat.” I managed
to raise my arm, trying to keep myself under control. There was a part of me that
wanted to just launch myself at him, rub against him like a wild animal in heat, scream
at him to take me, stop all this, make it better, make it end. My hand reached for
his neck, and wrapping my fingers around it slightly, I squeezed. He let out another
slow groan. His voice was low. “More.” I pressed a little harder. That my small hand
around his neck, could have this effect. I tightened my grip.
His eyes were shut, he let out a ragged sound. “Touch me.” To have all this power.
Over him. Over six feet of him, skin like cream and dark haired, his face almost unfamiliar,
twisted with desire in the half-light of the room. All this from just the simple pressure
of my hand on his long throat. Then I let go and he released all that was left of
the air in his lungs as I traced a line down his chest, circled one of his taut nipples,
and dragged it down with a painted fingernail. I looked up at him. His eyes were still
shut. He looked tense, wound up, yet his mouth was still slightly open, his lips soft
and full and curved. I watched fascinated, as his tongue ran a slow sweep of his upper
lip. I touched my finger tip to his hard nipple again and watched as his tongue made
that same motion, tasting the air, tasting the sweat on his skin. It made no sense.
I could feel it when he did that, an electric metal wire from his mouth to mine. He
let out a low moan and the sensation went lower. My hand followed a line down from
his chest, lower, across the steady beat of his heart, his breathing quickening, his
muscles tense with waiting, down, skimming the sheer line of his now lightly shining
skin. It felt hotter in the room. My arms were burning. My legs were numb from keeping
still, trying to stop the shaking. All I could do was focus on the slowness. He hadn’t
even touched me yet. But it was though every movement he made, every precise gesture,
every finger bent just so, every flexing of the veins in his arms was something I
could feel, burning inside me.
Tristan took one of his hands and laid it flat across his stomach. His fingers were
long, so long. They stretched across his torso, his thumb jutting out at an angle.
I wanted to take his fingers in my mouth, feel them on me pressing, down, slowly,
softly. He moved his hand slowly, covering himself, wrapping his fingers around the
hard flesh. He gasped slightly. His voice was sultry, rough. That voice. The same,
and not the same. His commanding tone. I surrendered willingly before it. “Suck on
your fingers.” I did, watching him watch me, imagining it was him, wanting to thrust
my hands in his mouth to feel him on me. Instead, I reached out for him. Wet, they
traced the beginning of a line of dark hair the same color as those tangled in disarray
on his head. He didn’t stop me. His hipbones, jutting out, my fingers tracing them.
He had left his hand where he had placed it, pointing down, covering his length, his
fingertips just sweeping his balls. His hands, big as they were, looked comfortable
there, finally, touching himself, taunting me. I wanted my hand to replace his. But
I could do nothing unless he told me. We waited. His eyes closed.
He breathed out slowly, and as though speaking from very far away, said “Touch my
legs. Don’t touch my hand.” I linked my fingers and ran my hands down over his finely
shaped ass, then back in front, down past the v of muscle, over hard thighs, strong
legs, solid, unmoving, the muscles firm and defined, down past his calves to his feet.
I dropped to my knees, my hands on the front of his thighs, looking up at him, waiting.
Tristan stood there, steady, all muscles, a sheen of sweat on his skin, his hand still
wrapped around his cock. I watched as he carefully moved his hand, sliding around
on the smooth skin. I watched as a slight tremor shook his legs. I stood back up.
We were in a dream, like a dance. I waited for his lead. Just looking at him was almost
enough. Almost. It was hard to take in so much male beauty in one place, skin and
muscles, his face impossibly lost to pleasure. Yet here he was, in front of me, eyes
tightly shut, naked, his hand still touching himself, teasing.
His voice, went it came again, surprised me. “Blindfold me.” His eyes were still closed.
I managed to walk over to the suitcase, and pulled one of the black silk scarves from
the small bag of scarves and silk twisted cords that was always in his possession.
Usually they were for me.
I had to stand on tip toes to reach around his head, and tie the knot, the way he
had taught me. I wrapped the scarf around twice, checked it was secure. I murmured,
“It’s done.”
“Now wrap one around my neck.”
I tied it tight, a thin band across his Adam’s apple and the muscles in his neck.
A vein was full and raised just below the dark line. Tristan’s mouth fell into a thin,
dangerous smile.
“Now lead me to the bed.”
“Tristan,” I breathed out. I took the end of the scarf, and walked him slowly over
to the bed. Then I turned down the duvet, exposing the crisp ironed white sheets.
“Help me lie down.” I knew he could do this without me, but he held out his hands
and I helped him lower his body, then moved him until he was in the middle of the
bed. He stretched out like a mountain cat, slow, strong, his stomach muscles taut,
his glossy dark hair spread over the pillows, the expanse of his burning skin against
the coolness of sheets, a line of pulsing muscle all the way down to his finely shaped
ankles. The man was a sculpture. I had never seen anyone like him. Every bone carefully
made, every muscle a fine sweep of curving power. He pulled his hand away and there
was his cock. Fully erect, silken, shining lightly at the tip, wet. I watched as Tristan
crossed his hands at his wrists over his head, pulling at the scarf around his neck
as he did so. “Undress slowly,” his voice purred. “I will be here. I can feel you.
Do it…but slowly.”
I tried to. My hands went to the zip on my dress. I tried to force myself to feel
the fabric, the skin warm just beneath it. Slow. Another part of me wanted to tear
off what I was wearing and throw myself on him. Beg him to take me. It would be so
easy.
I looked over and a smile was playing on his face. “I know. Don’t you think I know?
That’s why I make you do it. Don’t disappoint me now.” And with a smirk he settled
back on the pillows, his hands now grasping the very hard evidence of his own longing.
I looked at him and I finally pulled the dress over my head. Then the bra, one strap
after the other, dropping over my shoulders, wriggling out of the silky fabric stretched
taut over my breasts. Everything felt stuck, as though something was keeping me from
pulling off all my clothes as quickly as I wanted. I unhooked the bra and let it fall
with a little flourish to the floor.