Jessica and Sharon (2 page)

I pulled the top of her dress down.

Gorgeous in the moonlight. Those breasts, with little rocks for nipples at the tips. I sucked them and tasted her. The taste of me being normal again. The taste of morning dew and cut grass. I rolled her nipple over my tongue and pushed my hips into her. I whispered her name in a fog of relief and delight. I could barely breathe.

“Are you sure, Jess?” She’d better be sure. Between her and that delicious little girl in Echo Park, I was a throbbing rock.

“Yes, baby. Make love to me like you used to. In the beginning.”

Yes, I wanted to. And I might have. If she hadn’t asked for the old me back, I might have been as sweet and gentle as our first night. But in my ear, as if she sat right next to me, I heard Monica moan, “Hurt me, Jonathan. Tear me in two.” I got even harder, if that was possible, and I was at the point where I could expect to walk out of there with a pair of ten pound weights between my legs. I was too old for that shit.

I faced Jessica. She was beautiful. Exactly the girl I remembered. Her lips were parted, her breathing shallow as she pushed her hips into me. So close. I was so close to having her again.

“I’m sorry, Jess.”

“For what?”

“This.” I pulled myself off her and sat down by her feet.

She propped herself on her elbows, legs still spread. “What? Why?”

I stroked her calf and looked in her face, half cast in the moonlight. “Because. It’s been too much. I just... I can’t.”

She tucked her legs away and crouched, kneeling by me. She touched my face, and I saw her hurt. She had a deep fear of loneliness. Leaving her alone would undoubtedly be the hardest thing I ever did. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Is this spite? Or revenge?”

I got up. I owed her honesty, at least, after everything we’d been through, after all I’d promised her, after all the times we’d hurt each other. “It’s too late. I’m sorry. I’m not the same man.”

“Is it that girl?”

“Which girl?” I knew exactly who she meant. I was suddenly sorry I’d brought Monica to the show. Had I known Erik had walked out, I would have kept her home and writhed around with her all night, just to shield her from my ex-wife’s eyes. The thought of that bruised ass, and her attitude about it, even the guilt I’d felt at giving it to her, made my dick twitch to the point of pain. “It’s a dalliance, Jess. Don’t try to read more into it.”

Jessica didn’t answer. She just stared at me as if she was reading a book. She must have seen right through me.

“Just go, then,” she said quietly.

I wanted to say more, to apologize again or offer some comfort, but in a quarter of a second, I thought better of it. The front door. I just had to make it to the front door. I took long strides, looping my fingers in my keyring as I stepped into the night air. My Mercedes was five steps away. It had been her favorite. That’s why I’d brought it. Maybe it was time to get rid of it.

“Jon,” she called out. I took another step, getting my hand on the car, not looking back. I didn’t want to change my mind. I didn’t want another argument. I thought maybe I could get back to Echo Park in time to not make a rude ass of myself in front of Monica.

I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard Jessica. I looked back, just to say good-bye. I didn’t see her immediately, but once my eyes scanned the front walk, I saw her, balled up on the ground.

The visit was getting more dramatic than I’d anticipated. Did she feel this way when I’d gotten on my knees and begged her to stay? I’d been such a mess of tears I couldn’t remember her expression. God, I’d never do that again.

She cradled her arm. I went to her, and from the way she looked at me, I knew I wasn’t getting to my little goddess of Echo Park that night.

***

Dr. Fuhr was in Aruba, but a few phone calls and he’d managed to get us skipped ahead in the emergency room if we could get to Cedars in twenty minutes. It was late enough that the 10 was clear, and we zipped along with the top up, an ice pack on Jessica’s arm and a sulk on her face.

“She’s pretty,” Jessica said.

“Who?” I asked as if I didn’t know.

“The girl from tonight. Are they all that pretty?”

“Mostly,” I lied.

She looked out the window. “Do they all let you fuck them the way you like it?”

The foul language brought my breath in. That wasn’t her way of speaking, and her tone prodded. I took the bait because it was late, my balls ached, and Dr. Fuhr hadn’t been available.

“How do I like it, Jess? Maybe you can just repeat back to me what you told all your friends?”

“I needed to tell someone!”

“Everyone. You told everyone that I wanted to beat you. Beat you?”

“You changed, Jon. I was scared.”

We’d been through it so many times, the tracks of the argument were smooth and well worn, but that felt different. It felt like the last time.

“I changed because you changed me. And I’ll always be grateful. You made me right with myself.”

“And right with yourself means you want to tie women up and hurt them.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. You’re so fucking vanilla, Jess. It’s like a religion. You can’t see outside it.”

I turned into the ER at Cedars, not facing her until I parked. Tears dampened her face. I hadn’t heard her crying in the white noise of the freeway.

I put my hand on hers, but she shook it off.

“I wish we could go back to the way we were,” she said.

“I don’t.”

***

Erik came an hour later, as she was in the x-ray room. We shook hands like gentlemen.

“Nothing happened,” I told him. “She’s all yours.”

The blonde lock drooping over his forehead swayed. He owned a surfboard company, but his face was permanently tanned from twenty years on the waves. “She never was.”

“Well, honestly, this is the last time I’m coming running. I’m done. And I’m sorry I had my foot in your yard for so long.”

We shook hands again, and I put my hand on his arm because I was really, terribly sorry I’d caused him grief over a woman who was completely wrong for me.

***

It wasn’t until I got on the 10 that I started to feel as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I pulled off on Mulholland to feel the Merc take the curves like a lumbering behemoth for the last time. I hated that goddamn car. I would get rid of it immediately. A smile spread across my face, and I laughed so hard I had to pull over. Laughter overtook me, turning to tears and back to a deep, silent laughter in my chest again. From relief. From a break in tension. From sheer joy. I was free. Fucking free.

The car was too small to contain me. I got out and sat on the railing, looking over the city, quiet, tearful bursts overtaking me. I looked at my phone, wanting to say something, connect with someone, but I couldn’t conceive the words.

When I recognized where I was, I sobered up. I’d kissed Monica for the first time there. I felt a stabbing twinge in my twisted balls. Oh God, I could have her. I could own her. She could be mine, without hesitation or reservation. Mine. The relief turned into excitement.

I looked at the time. I’d have to wait.

Thinking of Monica, I got calm and focused on my phone.

-------------------------

To: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

Fr: [email protected]

SUBJECT: open a new account

Matt –

Long time.

I need a favor. I need a diamond navel bar. Not a ring. The other kind. Platinum with a 1.25 to 1.375 carat stone. As perfect as you have on hand. Can you deliver it to the east side before noon tomorrow?

Address to come. Let me know.

J Drazen.

-------------------------

To: [email protected]

Fr: [email protected]

SUBJECT: Kevin Wainwright/Faulkner Coal Mine

KK –

Ivan Sinchot is on the board at the L.A. Mod. I need him on the phone first thing. I want to buy Kevin Wainwright’s piece from Eclipse. All documentation. All copyrights. All assets, period. Do it through the Ibiza trust, immediately. Drop everything.

-JD

-------------------------

My finger hovered over Monica’s number. I wanted to talk to her.

No. I didn’t want to hear her talk. I wanted to hear her scream my name. Hours. I wanted her for hours, and time was one thing I didn’t have. I had real business in San Francisco that couldn’t wait, and I had to break it off with Sharon if I was going to be honest. I texted my pilot, Jacques, telling him I was on my way.

I looked out over the city, feeling as though I owned it.

Beautiful goddess, when I get back, you are mine.

***

SHARON

Having lots of money beat the alternatives, for sure. But having a plane didn’t mean more privacy. It meant less, because everyone on board was there to serve me. I ended up in the bathroom taking care of the dead weight at the bottom of my balls, as if I’d taken a 727 like everyone else. On my mind was Monica, our first night, when we were so sore and tired I didn’t think we’d have another go. She came out of the bathroom, naked, her dark hair a mess, mascara and lipstick worn to nothing. I sat on the edge of the bed waiting for her. She kneeled in front of me, looking up with those big, black eyes. Without a word, she kissed my dick, licking up the shaft, bringing the blood with her until it got hard again.

“Jesus, really?” I’d said.

“It’s been eighteen months since I had sex. It might be another eighteen months before I do it again. I’m stocking up.”

I’d laughed. I did that a lot with her. I pulled her up, sitting her on my lap, her back to me and my fingers between her legs and on her breast. Since she was stocking up and I thought I’d never see her again, I fucked her hard, bouncing her on top of me while our hands met between our legs. We connected, feeling each other sliding together. When her back arched, she lost her balance, and we wound up on the floor, laughing, her on her stomach and me coming at her from behind. She turned her head, and I saw the pleasure in her face, her eyes rolling up. She was a gasping, moaning mess, crying and begging for release without being asked.

In the tiny closet of a bathroom on my six-seater plane, my imagination replayed her brown eyes looking up at me while she took my cock in her mouth, then her lips saying
please please, don’t stop
from underneath me
…
My use for the bathroom concluded soon after.

I texted Monica a few times, just a couple of pokes to let her know I wasn’t running off and to let myself know I was really doing it.

***

Sharon had been exquisite. Attractive, willing, discreet and far away, she’d do what I told her without question, talk to me about anything, and never open her mouth about who she screwed four or five days a month. Exactly what I needed, when I needed it, and I had been the same for her, but in the end, she needed to make a lifestyle out of her sexuality, and I was just a tourist.

I’d texted her when I landed, but I was two hours early thanks to Jacques answering calls during his morning jog and my desire to clean up business before returning to Los Angeles. She didn’t expect me until after my meeting, so I figured she wouldn’t be in ready position, and we could talk.

She lived on a high floor of one of my buildings by the Embarcadero. When we’d started screwing, she was a wreck from a string of abusive, boundary-free masters who beat or fucked her confidence away, and I was broken from Jessica’s complete rejection of my needs. We were two complete disasters trying to teach each other the meaning of safe, sane, consensual kink. Putting her in one of my apartments seemed like the kindest thing to do, considering she was teaching me as much as I was disciplining her.

The lobby was spare, in dark woods and chrome, with an Italian stone tile floor. I nodded to the doorman and went upstairs.

My phone dinged. It was Sharon.

—
I’m ready for you, Sir.
—

Shit.

Sharon had three ready positions. That confused her initially. I liked a little surprise. I wanted her to choose, and she was used to being told what to do from how she brushed her teeth, to what she wore, to which route she took to the grocery store. Having a choice of ready position was unheard of in her sexual life, which was why Debbie had set us up in the first place.

But I didn’t want her in a ready position. I wanted her clothed and ready to talk.

I opened the door. The place was impeccably clean, every inch made of glass and steel. I could never live in such a space. The apartment was too cold and impersonal, but it was easy to rent or sell, and it was just fine for fucking.

The living room was a big open area with a leather sectional and a shag rectangle under a teak coffee table. Sharon had both hands on the low table, palms spread, arms straight. Her ass was in the air, perched on top of a pair of beautiful legs planted in heels high enough to make a lesser woman fall over. Her blond hair hung over her face, and I knew she was watching me in the mirrors and chrome all over the apartment. Besides the stilettos, she was naked. Naked or underwear was her call, unless I stated otherwise. She was a lovely creature, with curves in the right places and smooth skin she carefully maintained.

Normally, depending on my mood and demeanor after travelling, I’d taunt and touch her until she begged, or I’d slap her ass and fuck her without a word.

I held my hand over her ass, because touching it was the first thing I’d usually do, then I stopped myself. I couldn’t tease her because I wouldn’t finish what that touch would start. Or worse, I would finish it and make the whole thing a hell of a lot worse.

“You can get up, Sharon.”

“I’m sorry, Sir?”

“Get dressed.”

“Have I displeased you?”

Fuck. Her voice squeaked with nerves. Bad start. I should have told her to be dressed when I texted her. Total miss on my part.

“No, baby. You’re fine. We have to talk, and it’s hard to do that with your beautiful ass in my face.”