‘Thank God you can’t talk,’ I tell it.
I feel the cold mash in my stomach and feel guilty. I’ll be good tomorrow.
Eighteen
When I get back he has lit one of the bedside lamps and is lying propped up against the pillows.
I sit on the bed and hold the glass of water out to him. Strangely there is no awkwardness.
‘Thanks.’
I watch him drink it. He seems beautiful in this soft light. I let my eyes slide away and look around the room. In front of the bed is a metal pole. Surprised, I turn back to him. ‘Is that a lap dancer’s pole?’
‘Yup. This apartment was rented out to a big gun in the City. And when he left, the pole was left behind.’
‘Surely tenants have to leave the place as they find it?’
He shrugs one bare shoulder carelessly.
I swing my legs up on the bed and lean back against the headrest. ‘City boys and their drugs and their sluts and prostitutes. What parties he must have had here.’
‘Pole dancers are not prostitutes. I’ve known a few with hearts of gold.’
‘Oh!’ A stab of jealousy. Where on earth did that come from?
‘Besides,’ he adds, ‘the best lap dancers are artistes who turn their bodies into canvasses, works of art. You should try it some time. It’s a great turn-on for a man.’
I gaze at him. ‘You think I should learn to pole dance?’
‘Why not? Jack might love it?’
‘And you think my body is good enough for it.’
‘The best pole dancers are voluptuous women, but you’ll do.’
‘Do you think Lana is beautiful?’
He frowns. ‘Lana? As in Blake’s wife?’
‘Mmnn.’
‘Yes, very, but a bit too thin for my taste.’
‘Is she thinner than me?’
‘No, you’re thinner.’
‘Really?’ I feel a warm glow in my stomach. ‘I am thinner than her?’
‘First time I saw you I wanted to feed you.’
I look at him curiously. ‘Why do you like big girls then?’
‘They seem more sensuous to me. Their spirit is often more generous.’
The next question seems obvious. ‘So why are you sleeping with me then?’ His answer is not so obvious.
‘Stand up and take your robe off,’ he says very softly and there is an underlying steel in his voice.
‘No.’ My answer is instant and very definite.
‘It is my wish that you are naked, whenever I wish it.’ He looks at me steadily. Again I am reminded of a hunter. Implacable. He is hunting me without moving a muscle. I want to say no, but that look in his eye. It tells me if I take my robe off there might be more pleasure to come. I have been awakened from a long sexless sleep and now I want more.
I stand and drop the robe, but I am unable to withstand his searing gaze. My hands instinctively go to my breasts and the triangle of hair between my legs in a vain attempt to shield them. He crawls forward on the bed and, standing on his knees, takes away and holds my wrists at the sides of my body.
‘Never cover yourself like that again. You were born to be naked.’
He lets my wrists go and sits back on his heels, as proud and naked as the day he was born, and gazes at my body while I struggle not to cover myself.
‘Ah, that is lovely,’ he whispers finally, and, moving forward, takes a stiff nipple in his mouth.
I gasp.
He sucks.
I tremble. I moan.
He buries his face between my breasts. His lashes sweep darkly against his cheek.
‘How can you give pleasure to anyone if you are unhappy in your own body?’ His voice is tender now.
I bite my lower lip. He has awakened a strong desire in me. The breast that has been sucked is tingling. As if he has heard my desire, he slips his finger between my legs, and I sigh and part my legs. He takes his hand away and retreats to his haunches.
‘Clasp your hands behind your head.’
I obey and find the position has arched my back, thrust my breasts forward, made me feel vulnerable, and in some subtle way increased my nakedness. My whole body flames with desire and shame for my position. He does nothing, just continues staring at me while the slit between my legs begins to swell and feel so very hot. Very naked and helpless, I stand in his gaze.
‘You have the most beautiful breasts imaginable. Firm and plump and pink-tipped and so perfectly round they look fake.’
This I know to be true. My breasts are my best assets. They are exactly as he described: pink-tipped, plump and round and without any sag at all. He puts a hand out and curves it around one breast and massages it gently. I shudder helplessly.
‘I must have you again.’
He reaches into the dark blonde, damp curls and inserts two fingers into my aching folds. With those fingers impaled in me, he draws me towards him. I gasp. The hand inside me is exquisite, the thought of being pulled by my pussy filthy and erotic. He licks the inside of my thigh. My knees shake.
It happens fast. The other hand wraps around my waist and I am lifted off the ground and placed on the bed. He parts my legs and, gathering the liquids he finds, works my clit, round and round. My hips rise off the bed, my head presses into the mattress, my spine arches.
‘Will you totally surrender to me?’
‘Yes, yes.’
He smiles. An odd smile. Then he covers my mouth with his hand. Over his hand my eyes open in terror and my body prepares to fight back, but there is nothing to fear, but fear.
‘Let’s not wake the neighbors,’ he says, jams his thumb into me and carries on playing with my clit. But in a special way, as if he is following a set program. Twice my body buckles and tries to find release but at that precise moment he suddenly stops. The frustration builds.
My whimpers are muffled.
Again he looks at the distress in my half-covered face and smiles and carries on playing with my sex even as hot liquid leaks out of it and soaks the sheet underneath. Against my thigh I feel the hard length of him. I begin to twist from side to side, my hands curled into useless fists. My eyes beg him to enter me, finish the job.
Let me have my release.
He shakes his head, bends his head and licks my nipple.
‘Let me come,’ I sob deliriously under his hand. My whole body is afire.
‘Wait,’ he says.
And works me again, and again—start stop, start stop, God knows how long—until my body is shuddering violently. The spasms coming from deep inside me are so violent that I am shocked and fearful of them. I look at him with frightened eyes. What is he doing to my body?
‘Wait,’ he whispers. ‘This is the real sexual energy that human beings have. This is the thing that ancients use for sex magick. Nothing to fear. It is coming from the base of your spine.’
And indeed the spasms are so powerful that my body is being rocked and lifted cleanly off the bed. And then suddenly it is no longer possible for him to hold me back. I come screaming uncontrollably, awfully, under his hand. The pleasure is indescribable. The release is so great I take great gulps of air. Tears are streaming down my face. My sex is throbbing and what feels like waves or vibrations are expanding out of it. I don’t feel tired and wasted, but exhilarated. As if I have taken a really good ecstasy tablet. I look at him through my tears, my shock.
‘Wow!’
He smiles. ‘That is what Yehonala did.’
‘What about you?’ I ask, and even my voice sounds different.
‘Without selflessness even the best technique is useless.’
He leans forward and kisses the hairy pelt between my legs and withdraws his thumb out of me. And I, I immediately crave it back inside me.
‘Are you staying the night?’