The Poison Morality (15 page)

“I didn’t make you watch, you could have left any time, I wouldn’t have stopped you.  Besides you know better than that,” he watched curiously as Sophie pulled bills out of her wallet having already deposited all her coins in the man’s hand without regard for cleanliness.  She was completely unaffected by the man’s filth.

She handed him what she had, “Thanks,” he cheerfully meandered off as the cab pulled up.

Oliver opened the door, pausing, pointing at her wallet, “Dinner’s on me then is it,” he mocked as if it wasn’t already.

“You’re the one who likes to cook,” she said sarcastically crawling in the back of the cab behind him.

“Were you two in that place,” the cabby asked unabashed, noticing the woman’s arms crossed angrily across her chest like she had been scolded after being caught with her hand in the cookie jar, when they both answered, one answering yes, the other no and then both answering the opposite of what they just said.  Sophie gave the cabbie a ‘mind your own business look’ with raised eyebrows and his mouth clamped shut.

Everything seemed erotic to her.  Was that what sexual arousal did? City lights, the moving traffic, the mannequins in the windows, Oliver’s breathing, his jaw clenching; these things made her react when usually she didn’t notice, much.  She closed her eyes replaying not what she saw but his body behind her, his hands on her shoulders, the breath on her ear, and his hand gripping her wrist. 

Oliver stole a look at her, her eyes closed, bottom lip between her teeth, her head rested on the seat, her coat had opened, her nipples protruded under her blouse.  Her hands were rubbing her neck, her legs were moving back and forth.  Her body was portraying her very thoughts. 

Not wanting to look away, he did so, cringing.  Regardless of what could happen tonight he had to keep himself under control.  She was in charge, letting her lead and he wasn’t going to torture himself with watching her if he was going to be rejected.

The taxi stopped suddenly in front of Oliver’s building, he threw money at the nosey cabbie and pulled her out behind him, rushing her inside but once in, he hung his coat and took a deep breath to slow his nerves.

He took her coat off slowly, his fingertips sliding down her arms, touching her at every opportunity this small gesture would offer, both kicking their shoes off unceremoniously making themselves at home.  He loved that she felt that way in his flat.  “Open some wine,” he said indicating the kitchen while he chose a music selection, something slow, quiet, sensual, settling on Enigma.

The opener already on the counter, she repeated the way she had seen him do it and the cork came out easy and she poured two glasses, one half full, handing him the full one.  She couldn’t help but smile, Oliver had a soundtrack for life, choosing music for every occasion apparently and by this selection she knew what he wanted because she knew how the music made her feel it was just an additional sense to what she was already experiencing, underlining it.

Oliver stood across the room with one hand in his pocket and the other swirling the wine in the glass, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his top two buttons undone. 

“Are you still hungry,” he asked, hoping she was and cooking would be a welcome distraction.

“Not really,” she licked her lips and glared at his intently.  “I don’t really have an appetite now.”

He put the glass down and stepped forward, she stepped back, “I think you do,” his voice low, “I think you’re ravenous.  Whatever you want,” he stepped again and she stepped back again, “however far you want to go is up to you.”

Sophie had backed up against the table and gripped the edge tightly.  Oliver caressed her face with the back of his hand and she instinctively turned away at first but then turning back into his touch she closed her eyes,
savouring the feel of his hand.  His palm brushed her cheek and his fingers embraced the side of her head, his thumb glided back and forth across her mouth and she gave into the feeling even though she couldn’t look at him without the heat of embarrassment warming her cheeks.

Placing his hands on either side of her face, he tilted her head.  “You told me you weren’t worried that I would kiss you.”  His voice so deep it resonated through his hands and into her body.  Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked into his questioningly.  “Did I,” she whispered.  He kissed her forehead as an answer. 

His lips lightly brushed the tip of her nose and he tilted his head sideways, his mouth came close to hers, unconsciously her lips parted slightly and she could taste the sweetness of the wine on his breath and the heady scent of his warm skin. 

Holding her breath, her chest constricted her body tense in eagerness of
her first real kiss.  A first kiss not by an awkward teenager as it should have been or a man invading the mouth of an inexperienced teenage girl as it had been but a man who was adept and a caring nature that emanated in every movement and every way that he touched her.  She had never been touched like this in her life and she could see the appeal. 

Oliver’s lips brushed back and forth across hers, sensing for her reaction and consent.  He could feel her lean forward slightly when he released her.  He lingered there, his lips touching hers but no longer moving.  He pulled away slightly and she followed his mouth with hers, wanting more.   This was the acquiescence he was looking for and he kissed her fully, his arm gently around her waist careful not to put pressure on her cut and pulled her against him.

His tongue slipped past her lips and back again teasing until her mouth opened slightly and cautiously to him in a way of momentary surrender.  She allowed herself to breathe but her body remained taut.  He opened her mouth more with his.  His tongue touched hers encouragingly.  Sophie started to mimic what he was doing and slid her tongue to his lips but hesitated and abandoned it immediately.  He withdrew slowly, sucking her bottom lip slightly so the sensation would linger after he had pulled away.

“So,” it came out a sigh, “what
are
you worried about then,” he went to kiss her again but she went rigid.  Her hands went to his chest and she pushed him away.  Oliver kicked himself; obviously what bothered her was hurtful and deep. What he thought was the result of a bad breakup was something much more profound and he realized her reactions at the club, her naiveté, stemmed from that pain. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.  It doesn’t matter,” he tried to kiss her cheek but she turned away, her arms across her chest defensively.  He stepped further away from her, hands up in surrender so that she could feel safe again.  “It really doesn’t matter.”

“That’s easy,” she cleared her throat, pushing tears back, “for you to say.  I have to go.”

“No you don’t, you don’t have to go anywhere.  You can have….”

“No I have to…I won’t annex your bed again.  You sleep in it tonight,” she didn’t finish but put her coat on.  She didn’t even look at him, afraid the concern look would be there and she would cry in his arms because she was comfortable enough to do that with him and she had let her guard down.

“And think about you,” he asked, hands in his pockets again.

“Don’t bother.”  She left head down.  He raced up behind her, hands outstretched to take her arms but to keep her from leaving meant to grab her so he stopped, clenching his fists in frustration instead and backing away.  The door shut, his heart dropped, it wasn’t meant to be a game but it seemed like it was, and was lost, game or not.  He dropped on the couch, putting her glass to his lips where hers had been and finishing the wine. 

His mobile rang; still replaying the events of what just occurred in his head.  One mystery solved and now another arose.  Absently, he turned on the phone but didn’t say anything still lost in thought.

“Oliver?”  It was Mona.

“I’m here.”

“Adam and I are at the pub, you want to join us?”

“Yes,” he hung up.

Sophie took the train to Waterloo and then ran the rest of the way to her flat, pulsing with a strange energy she was unaccustomed to.  Instead of experiencing with Oliver, she left him frustrated and bewildered also leaving her frustrated.

Once back at her flat Sophie still felt wired and her nerves were on fire.  There was an unrelenting throbbing between her legs she didn’t know how to get rid of.  It was something that, if she became Oliver’s lover, he would have taken care of she was sure but she ran instead.

If only she had let his hands roam free over her, would that have been enough to make this tension go away?  She ached and decided to take a shower, hoping the water would caress her enough to appease what her body was wanting.  The spray hitting her nipples, the foam of the soap sliding down her body, her wet hair tickling her back made all the feelings more apparent, making her want more of a release not less.

Maybe she could try what he suggested, her fingers sliding between her legs moving back and forth her foot propped up on the side of the bath while the warm water trickled down over her.  Trying to remember what she saw tonight was only bits and pieces and she didn’t have enough experience to fill in the gaps.  There also wasn’t enough of her imagination to simulate what she thought Oliver would do if she had given the opportunity. 

But thoughts of Declan intermingled, his hand around her throat, cutting off her airway.  Not like Oliver’s fingertips brushing the hair off of her neck or lifting her chin to watch the couple on the stage.  Not the swift movements of the man’s hand that was under the woman’s dress in the theatre until she quivered.

She closed her eyes, replaying the events of the night, not in the club but in Oliver’s flat.  Until she remembered, something he said triggered memories relentlessly forcing their way forward until they overcame what happened tonight.

Her body switched off like a light switch, the feelings retreated and she didn’t manage to feel anything but ridiculous.  There was nothing to take those feelings away; not touching herself, not Oliver touching her, not becoming a voyeur, and not all the sex clubs in the world.

***

“I think Oliver is distracted,” Mona said, pouring him another glass of wine.  He had already drunk a little too much but didn’t stop her from refilling it.  However, instead of drinking what she offered, he opted for something a little stronger, going to the bar and coming back with vodka tonic.  Why she thought she had to get him drunk to have sex with him, he didn’t know.  Maybe it wasn’t her, he thought, looking down into his glass.  He still needed release, Mona would give it to him but he had a pang of guilt.  He was getting himself pissed, not her.

They had an understanding, the two of them.  Both of them doctors, they became lovers between their failed attempts at relationships; fulfilling physical needs while still maintaining their friendship.  He was already aroused from the events of the night but he wasn’t going to share that with her.

The pub was loud and smoky with the dinner crowd just finishing about the time the three of them came in.  Mona and Adam had both worked that day while Oliver was following Sophie into a sex club to verify his suspicions that she was a killer for hire.  It seemed so absurd even now to think that, to know that. 

They had a habit of talking shop, Adam, a surgeon, always had the most interesting stories; the more bizarre and gruesome.  Amanda was a GP so she was about as interesting as Oliver’s terminal patients.

“I’ve seen that look in your eyes before,” she said, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.  By no means beautiful but pretty and accommodating.  She looked over at him and sipped from her own glass, licking her lips.  “Have you found someone a new girlfriend again?  Is she moody like Grace or serious like Valerie?  Or….,” she paused long enough to light a fag and took a deep draw, not taking any new relationship seriously.

“How nice of you,” Oliver took the opportunity to interrupt, “to mention my failed relationships.  Should I be so flattered that you find my girlfriends so interesting,” he said looking down into her flushed face, she was smiling knowingly at him while her foot slid up the shin of his left leg.  The smell of the smoke that usually didn’t bother him tonight made him cringe as it circled their heads.  The pale skin of her face flushed from the wine and her eyes partially closed, her hand stroked his thigh.

“Leave him be, Mona, can’t you see he’s become Romeo to someone’s Juliet.  Forget him and sit closer to me, I can easily pick up where’s he’s left you off.  At least until he gets over this one and comes back around to you,” Adam sat comfortably back in the chair, watching Mona flick the hair off her shoulder, her big blue eyes staring at Oliver wantonly when he was clearly not into her tonight and Adam had as of yet to taste her.   It just meant she had to try a little harder, that’s all.

She was right; Oliver was distracted because of what happened with Sophie and he was still slightly aroused from the club.  Maybe Mona was the distraction he needed from thoughts of Sophie, there was no reason to feel guilty when it was hard to get Sophie to even share a meal with him and Mona shared her body. 

In the mirror behind the bar, he thought he saw a figure hovering outside, the same as outside Sophie’s flat the night before but when he turned to look it wasn’t there.  He probably needed to stop drinking for the evening. 

“Adam, really.  You keep offering,” she stated sarcastically almost laughing at him, “and I always turn you down.”  Mona’s hand slid between Oliver’s legs, she was feeling the result of a couple of hours ago.  He had not really heard the conversation between Mona and Adam, talking about him as if he wasn’t there.

“Is she fit, Oliver?  Is she pretty?”

“Oliver doesn’t care about things like that.  He’s not as shallow as you are.  I’m going to guess she was in some kind of trouble and he just had to help her.” 

“What do you mean,” Oliver suddenly part of the conversation again, frowning at her.

Adam and Mona laughed, she answered, “Oh Oliver, you love to be the hero, especially where a woman is concerned.”

“That’s not quite true.  I’m no more of a hero than you two.  We do the same job.”

“Oliver, you’re just too sweet, you love the damsels in distress,” she whispered in his ear and then her tongue flicked the lobe.

He sipped more vodka, the thoughts of Sophie and her pale skin, the curve of her waist when he put stitches in, the goose pimples of her flesh when he touched her, the sad look, the broken girl in the woman he kissed tonight.

“Oliver.  Oliver, would you like to leave now,” Mona asked.

“Yes,” he wanted to leave but answered before he realized what that meant to her.  There was no way to reject her now.  He and Sophie were not exclusive and he was not intimate with her at all and as he became more erect and Mona licked her red lips, he knew he would have her tonight. 

Mona smiled with delight at the power she felt over him, making him forget this new woman he didn’t admit to but she knew him and had been down this road before but the longer they were together, the stronger her feelings for him. 

Mona was satisfied with that momentarily; at least, she could make him forget this ‘Juliet’ and his body responded to her advances.  He never knew the secret of her heart.  Every lover and every boyfriend had been compared to Oliver and not one had made her feel as he did but she hid it well. 

Oliver downed his drink quickly and slid his chair back.  “Who is she, Oliver?” Adam asked with a smug grin and placing his hand on the back of Mona’s chair, sipping his lager.  It was obvious he was jealous that Mona chose Oliver over him and this game was played every time he had the chance.  Mona looked over her shoulder at him and gave him a stern look of disapproval and shook her head. 

Adam’s satisfaction however, would come from his attempt to sabotage her advances.  If he couldn’t have her, Oliver shouldn’t either.  Lust consumed him, the top buttons of her blouse undone revealing the curves of her breasts teased him when she bent over to pick up her purse.  Her rejection of him only spurred him on but he found temporary consolation with several women at the hospital.  He liked Oliver but his jealousy and pride formed the words he spoke. 

Oliver didn’t care for Adam’s sarcasm, he knew how he felt about Mona and if he wanted her, he could have her but she never wanted him.  Oliver wouldn’t have minded the transfer of affection from him to Adam because in her own way she was just as needy as a spouse.  To turn her down tonight would cause pouting for days, so exactly how that made their relationship different from any other he didn’t really know.  That was the contrast with Sophie.  She had needed help but never asked for it, had no expectation other than failure even though he could see the slight glowing spark of hope in her when she coveted normality, whatever that was.

“I don’t think he’s in the mood this time Mona, maybe you’re losing your touch, or maybe he would rather be fucking someone else right now?” Adam smirked at her.

“You just can’t tell from where you’re sitting Adam. If you knew what I knew about Oliver, you would be jealous.” She had struck a nerve and he frowned at her, finishing his lager and glaring at her over the rim.

“How would you know, love?  Are you afraid that if you had it off with me you would never go back,” he smirked.

She slid her chair back and stood looking down at Adam, “Being a wanker doesn’t make me want to be with you.”  She looked down into Oliver’s face with an enquiring look and finished her wine. 

When she mentioned his need to save someone, it resonated deeply and a truth he had not realized about himself caused him suddenly to be quite annoyed that Mona knew something about him that he had not realized before.  He stared off into the distance analysing his relationships in the past.  Did he find himself caring for Sophie solely because he helped her?  No, it was her mysteriousness too and she was beautiful but didn’t know it.  Was this how Sophie felt when he told her that he knew what she did, that he could see her for what she was?

“Oliver, are you all right?” She asked but he just stood and took her hand instead of answering.  She gave one last sneer at Adam as Oliver pulled her behind him.

They walked the short distance to his flat.  Mona’s hands roamed inside his shirt and caressed his chest, her lips traced the line of his jaw, and her tongue flicked at his lips teasingly but he turned his head away.  His arm was around her, he staggered slightly.  She was less intoxicated and took his keys from his hand and led the way.

They were kissing heavily inside his doorway.  He closed his eyes and wished it was Sophie.  He was agitated again by what Mona had said previously and gently pushed her away.  So much for the distraction, he thought.  Mentally and emotionally he wasn’t into Mona tonight but his body defied this watching her slip out of her blouse and skirt. 

She approached to kiss him but he had enough of the taste of her on his lips.  The smell of wine and cigarettes mixed with her perfume was disdainful.  Feeling his hesitation, she jerked open his shirt in one swift move and started to undo his belt.  Normally, he would have been kissing the smooth skin of her neck; he wanted to feel Sophie’s pulse under his lips.  Focus, Oliver, you’re with Mona he thought. 

In a flurry she let his trousers drop to the floor and he stepped out of them, kicking them to the side, the belt buckle jangled.  She slid the shirt off his shoulders, while his hand covered her breast, and he kissed her feverishly, the way he wanted to kiss Sophie.  Sophie’s breast is smaller; he remembered, having accidentally brushed the side of it when he turned her to watch the couple on the stage.  He stopped, his hands falling away from Mona.

She continued kissing his chest, tickling his nipple, her hands sliding inside his shorts, pushing them down and he stepped out of them.  He let her do what she wanted but was not so eager to return favour.  If she noticed she didn’t say or act otherwise. 

She took off her bra and panties quickly.  He walked away from her to get the condom and already had it on when she pulled him down on top of her.  He slid inside her easily, already wet.  He moved in and out of her, slowly, shallow, focusing on the wall beyond, not wanting to look at her and not wanting to think of Sophie either.  Would she be smaller inside than Mona?  He closed his eyes, his mind still fuzzy from the vodka, picturing Sophie.  No, he had to
stop
thinking about her.

Mona was talking; she liked to whisper about how he felt inside her, what she wanted him to do, her habit of verbalizing every naughty thought in her head.  Usually it was stimulating for both of them but tonight Oliver couldn’t’ stand it.  He put his hand gently over her mouth.  She wasn’t talking anymore but moaning more and louder, obviously his attempt to stop her talking aroused her even more.

When she met his thrusts in earnest, he moved deeper inside her and she dictated the speed with her hips.  The lack of foreplay and his change in mood told her this was it for tonight; he was not like this, usually attentive to her needs.  There was always foreplay before and his mouth between her legs always did the trick.  She tightened her muscles around his member.  Her legs squeezed his hips pulling them together.

Mona removed his hand from her mouth, he did so without resistance and clasped his face and pulled his head to her, “Look at me.”  Stopping, he did as she asked and then pulled from her and turned her over, one effortless move; she gave a little cry at the suddenness of the movement but smiled.