Authors: Miranda Veil
I managed to keep myself rather tight-lipped about my past, and instead, encouraged him to share pieces of himself with me. By the time our trip to New Orleans came up, I felt like I knew him better than I knew my own family, and it helped to ease my anxiety and nerves.
Having him this close to me plucked the tightly wound strings of my heart. It made me ache with longing for a simpler life. I’m not the best with relationships. Not really. I’m a solitary creature, and often find it so hard to express myself, unless I’m sitting in a fading room with poison on my lips, spewing out my desires in a drunken haze. It’s at those times that I can stagger over, wrap Riley in a giant hug and whisper, ‘I love you so much!’, and I do mean that in the most platonic way possible… I think.
And yet, here I am, with Ethan sitting by my side, enticing me with thoughts of that evasive white fence and a beautiful wedding. With wishes and fantasies of an ivory dress and matching beaches, while walking amongst crystalline waves in the fading sunlight. With his arm around my shoulders, and his whispered promise of love forever…forever. Who is to say I don’t deserve it? Doesn’t everyone deserve a happy ending? Is there such a thing as a happy ending?
No, that’s silly childhood fairytale bullshit.
The drooling beast is there in the darkness, pulling at me…ripping at me till my mind is sent screaming as it pummels my memories with thoughts of Delacroix. He will always be there, with coiled rope and cold, metal cuffs. Those brown eyes swallow me, drowning me as I relish in it, crying out in exaltation at the feeling of helplessness against his touch. Instead of being with him, I’m trapped in a metal box with a man I couldn’t possibly have. He’s too good for me. Too perfect.
He moves to the driver’s side door and holds it open for me to climb in, then settles in to claim the passenger’s side seat. Riley and Tom slip into the backseat, and honestly, I don’t want to know what they plan to do back there. As long as the clothes stay on and the windows don’t fog, I’m more than happy to concentrate on the road. Sometimes they are hard to distinguish from teenagers when they’re together.
After an hour and a half, we finally cross the line into New Orleans. Moving through the side streets, we take in the sights. My phone is resting in the cup holder between Ethan and me, when it begins to vibrate wildly. I turn the car down another road littered with bars and restaurants that sidles along Canal Street, and pull off to the side to check my phone. Flashing on the screen was a missed call and subsequent text message, the name that followed was Alexander Delacroix.
I can feel Ethan’s eyes fixated on me, my cheeks blushing as I read the name. Taking a breath, I stumble to unlock the phone.
It’s been two months now since I’ve heard from him. I had already pushed him to the furthest reaches of my mind, and buried him beneath several hundred boxes of false memories. No matter what I may have told myself, I know I hadn’t forgotten completely. I had cast aside my addiction to touch, and forced myself to suffer the absence of sex in the vain hope of him calling upon me again.
How pathetic.
The contacts in my phone had collected dust, and thinned, as I went through once every few days and deleted another couple of names. I had pushed myself through months without sex; it’s not something I ever thought was possible, but I found if I just ignored it…if I could pretend it wasn’t there gnawing at my flesh, it’d go away and I could live as any normal person would.
Sometimes, ignoring it worked. Other times, it didn’t, and I would drown the monster with a bottle of wine or far too many shots of vodka till I paled and fell sick to the floor. I wanted to forget. I wanted to rip apart the loop that went ‘round and ‘round my head, and stomp it down until it exploded into cloud of dust specters that slipped beneath the floor boards.
I struggle to keep my face in a relaxed state, choking down the pounding of my heart as I read over the text message.
*Meet me at the following address. Now. *
What is it that he wants with me? What excuse could I possibly give for ducking out on Riley and the guys? I don’t know what he wants, or how long I’ll be, and I don’t really care. The memories I thought were fading with each sunrise, had rushed in and overcharged every part of my body, and I didn’t care.
Am I actually considering going?
My mind is a jumble of thoughts and scenarios rushing by, colliding, and merging with one another until I’m left with a runny mix of splattered ideas. I’ll just fall back to the tried and true excuse; work.
“I’m sorry, it looks like Angela needs me to meet up with someone for the magazine. I shouldn’t be more than hour or two, I promise. Why don’t I drop you guys off here, and you can start having drinks on me? I’ll be back before you know it.”
I grab my purse, careful to avoid the scrutinizing gazes from the three of them, and pull out my credit card. I hand it to Riley, a look in my eye that pleads her not to ask any further questions.
“I’m really, very sorry.” I offer apologetically. “I promise not to be more than an hour. Two at the most.”
Riley is tangled deep in her ‘I’m with Tom and not pissed at him, so everything is perfect’ frame of mind and smiles, taking my credit card and slipping it into her wallet.
“Well, if it’s on you, I’m sure we’ll get by. See you in a bit?” she leans forward and kisses my cheek, then leaves the car with Tom.
Ethan glances over at me, his eyes searching my face for some kind of hint to my true feelings.
“Are you feeling okay?”
I reach over and squeeze his hand reassuringly, leaning over to kiss his sexy, dimpled cheek.
“I’m just fine.” I smile. “You’re very sweet to ask. Things like this just crop up now and then for me, but I’ll see all of you in a bit. Keep an eye on Riley for me, okay?”
He returns my smile and slips out of the car, following Riley and Tom down a few doors to a restaurant and lounge on the corner. I return my attention to my phone, plug the address into the GPS and follow its directions. Does he know I’m in the city, or was he taking some off-the-wall chance? Or, perhaps, he expected me to just make the hour drive.
As my car slips down the series of one way side streets, and turns down roads that feel more like hallways than anything fit for a vehicle, the GPS brings me to the corner of a tree lined street. Branches from the oak trees hang over the road, joining fingers with the trees on the other side. They blend their branches into one another, joined by delicately hanging moss. It’s a gorgeous sight; the sun dappling the road, filtering through gaps in the canopy as I drive between the living archways.
The address is about six blocks away, and takes me five minutes to reach. Before me is a five story building which may have been an old factory in a previous life, but has now been turned into some sort of small museum, with loft style apartments occupying its top floor. I park on the street, surprised that I’m actually able to find a space, and make my way into the building.
The bottom floor is littered with glass cases, which hold books and documents that look as if they would turn to dust if anyone so much as breathed on them. I pull out my phone and stare at the message again just to confirm the address. Why would he want to meet in some random place like this?
The phone vibrates again in my palm and another message pops up on the screen.
*When you arrive, come to the top floor.*
I feel my heart face with nervous energy. Is he watching me? Moving to the stairs, my legs begin to climb slowly. Gripping the side rail tight with one hand, I drag myself up one step at a time. With my nerves flashing, flitting from juncture to juncture, I soon find myself easily agitated at the difficulty I seem to be having convincing my body to keep going.
I take a deep breath, round the next set of steps and approach the fifth floor landing. There’s a man with his back turned towards me, fumbling with the lock on the door of a loft. His long slender legs shift as he rummages through his pocket and pulls out another key.
“A…Alexander? Mister Delacroix…I mean…” I whisper all too weakly.
He turns to face me, the silver frames of his glasses glinting in the setting sunlight that’s streaming in from an adjacent window.
“Ah, my dear Cassandra. You can call me Alex, you know.” He smiles. “I’m glad you came, and much faster than I had expected. Please, come in.”
He slides the correct key into the lock, twists, then holds the door open for me. I step into the loft, where a bed sits with its headboard flush against the middle of the far brick wall, framed on either side by large floor to ceiling windows. Sitting adjacent to the bed is a desk pressed against another window, and a laptop. The walls are lined with shelves filled to capacity with varying types of books and periodicals that have been worn by the years; with faded lettering and fraying bindings. These are not for show; these have been loved and tenderly read for many years.
He tosses his keys and briefcase onto the desk and turns to face me. As he steps closer, a smile tugs at his lips, his eyes glinting flecks of gold in the deepening orange light. Closer and closer he comes, until his fingers move to my face and brush aside a curl. His chest presses against mine as he wraps one arm around me and pulls me close.
My eyes flutter as I catch the intoxicating scent of cigar smoke, mixed with the musk of his cologne, steaming off of his skin. He presses his forehead against mine, locking our eyes. His touch sends an electric pulse from my skin through my body, sloughing off the days, the weeks, the months of decay and longing that had built itself up around the memories in an attempt to bury them.
“It’s been too long.” He purrs, “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be in town?”
“I hadn’t heard from you in a while. I thought you’d moved on and so, I stopped contacting you. I didn’t want to be a bother…”
“Silly girl.” He muses. He pushes against me, causing me to take a step back, then another until my back is pressed against a wall.
“Alex…” I whimper as I feel his lips press against my neck. The cells of my body are on the verge of combustion, threatening a complete meltdown. “I can’t stay…I’m not here alone. My friends and I came to spend the day here and just…I just left them at a bar.”
“Then they’ll be fine. They’ll get drunk and lose track of time.” He murmurs against my skin. His hand tugs forward on my pants, slipping between the gap of clothes and flesh.
“I…I can’t just leave them there. How did you know I’d be here?”
“Is that important right now?” he whispers. His tongue trails over my neck and cheek until his lips press passionately against mine.
My mind is wiped clean with his succulent kiss. The void left by the hasty retreat of every thought and memory held confined within me, is now filled with his scent; his touch. I need him.
His fingers slip beneath my panties and he pulls back from the kiss, grinning.
“Oh Miss Roman, why didn’t you tell me you were so excited? You’re dripping.”
“I…”
“How long has it been since you’ve pleased yourself? How long since you’ve had sex?”
“I…I haven’t had sex since you and I…”
“Oh my dear; an addict like you?” he chides, his fingers lightly tracing over my clit. “Look at you. You’re absolutely soaked. Let’s save you the trouble of having to find a new pair of pants to go back to your guests in, hm?”
His kiss steals my breath once more, his tongue slipping between my lips as his fingers deftly remove my pants and toss them carelessly over the back of a chair. His hands travel up from my hips; slender fingers gripping my shirt as he breaks the kiss and tugs my shirt from my body. He tosses it behind him, letting it lie lifeless on the floor.
His desire is overwhelming; the gold and brown eyes, replaced by an inferno, are fueled by the setting sun. Unzipping his pants, they fall from his sensuous hips. Grips the back of my knees, he pins me against the wall, guiding my legs around his waist.
The passion in every inch of his body is a shock that courses through my veins, merging our two bodies into one. Every touch is charged; every kiss the taste of sweet nectar on my parched lips and tongue.
Peeling my panties to the side, he slides into me, slowly, inch by agonizing inch. My fingers grip his back; my nails biting into his soft, unmarred flesh. With a heated moan, he deepens the kiss. The feel of him finally inside of me is overwhelming; my body bursting with pure, unadulterated pleasure. Every inch drives into me, and I’m lost in complete bliss.
His hand slips up my side and ventures into my hair, teasing the curls around his fingers and tugging…hard. He picks up his pace; sliding in faster, harder. Every inch of him invades my body, and pushes deeper than I had ever thought possible. His muscles tense against me, helping to pin my body firmly between him and the wall.
“Scream for me.” He growls, as his teeth find my ear and tug.
My body is quivering in ecstasy at his touch, at his taste, and as my back arches against the wall, my thighs tighten against him. A light moan escapes his lips, wrapping me in its silken sound as my own moans of pleasure grow louder and louder.
“Scream for me!” he commands, his lean muscles rippling along his chest and arms as he takes my body and mind, claiming them as his own.
My head tilts back, guided by his hand ripping at my hair, and my vision blurs; the room fading to black, as my body drinks him in from every sense. His scent fills my mouth and nose; his touch overcharges every nerve in my body until it sings with a single need — him.