She twirls a crimson curl around her finger. “Teach me to dance?”
I set my glass down on the nearest flat surface and throw my hands up so there’s no misinterpreting my answer. “No!”
“Aw, come on! You said you were always here for whatever we need. And I need to learn how to drop it like it’s hot. To shake what my mama gave me. To work my groove thang.” Ally sets down her glass to clutch her hands together in front of her chest. Then she walks towards me with an impish grin. “Please, oh please, Justice Drake. Teach me how to Dougie?”
I can’t even pretend to be put out by her. She’s just too damn adorable, looking up at me, those eyes shining with innocent mischief. I smile and shake my head, knowing that I don’t stand a chance against her ridiculous super power.
“Fine,” I exhale, rolling my eyes.
“Fine?” Those animated eyes dance with delight.
“Fine. I’ll help you.”
She makes that dying pig-cat crossbreed sound and jumps up and down. Then she’s grasping my shoulders. And it happens. Her lips are touching me—kissing me. It’s half a millisecond and she turns away just as swiftly, as if she doesn’t even register what she’s done to me. To her, it’s just an innocent peck on the cheek. To me, it’s enough to make my dick try to manually unzip my slacks, in hopes that it’ll get a kiss too.
Ally makes her way to the Bose sound system situated on my entertainment stand and hooks up a little pink iPod she’s retrieved from the pocket of her cardigan. “I have to be honest with you—I have no rhythm and have been blessed with the cruel gift of two left feet. So be gentle with me.”
I raise a brow at her choice of words, but she’s too busy scrolling through her playlist to notice. “How do you even know I can dance?”
She gives me the side eye momentarily before turning a knob to adjust the volume. “I saw you with those strippers. I’m sure you know exactly what kind of dancing guys like.”
Booming bass lines puncture the room, coupled by digitized drumbeats. It initially startles the shit out of me, before I’m nearly in stitches at her ironic song choice. Ally whips off her cardigan and swings it around over her head, laughing hysterically.
“Come on, Magic Mike! Show me how to ride that pony!”
And she’s right—the girl cannot dance. Not to save her life.
She breaks into some remixed version of the funky chicken on crack before trying to twerk. And while that dance should not be performed by anyone – man, woman, or child—Ally most definitely should never, ever try it. At first I think she’s got butt cramps. Or her ass fell asleep and she’s trying to wake it up. I can’t even begin to ask, too overcome with hilarity to form coherent words. Shit, even I’m snorting a little.
“Oh…God, stop! Stop! You’re…killing…me!”
“What?” she asks innocently, still bent over and convulsing. She furrows her brow in concentration. “Am I doing it? Is it moving? I’ve been practicing for weeks!”
“Ally! Stop! You’ll hurt yourself!” I bend over to place my hands on my knees, struggling to catch my breath. I look back up to see her clapping her hands, trying to get her ass to shake in time with each clap. I die laughing again, and tears roll down my face.
“Whatever. I got this. I got this shit. Miley ain’t got nothin’ on me!”
I’m cackling so hard that I’m coughing, nearly brought to my knees with exhaustion. “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna choke! You’re killing me with your horrible dance moves!”
Finally she straightens up and places a tiny fist on her hip. “Well, what am I doing wrong? How am I supposed to learn if you just keep laughing at me?” She’s trying to give me the stern, serious face, but I see a smile at the corners of her mouth, clawing its way free. When she can’t fight it any longer, she howls with laughter right along with me, until we’re both on the floor, clutching our stomachs.
“I told you I couldn’t dance!” she says, jabbing my arm with her finger. We’ve spent the better part of ten minutes just catching our breath. Whenever I thought I was over it, I’d get a flashback of her bent over, her narrow hips willing her ass cheeks to move, with that look of sheer determination on her face. Luckily, the song has long ended and changed to something less unfortunate, or I probably would’ve hacked up my spleen.
“Holy shit, Ally. You can’t. You really can’t.”
She rolls over on her side and looks at me, a few tears of laughter still in her eyes. “So do you think…do you think that’s why Evan does what he does? I mean, if I suck at shaking my ass, I probably can’t do…other stuff, right?”
I turn to face her, an odd feeling replacing the hilarity I felt just seconds before. It’s something like sadness and sympathy and anger all rolled into one, and compressed into the hollow of my chest. It’s too intense to feel, too complex to describe. But I feel it. I feel it for Ally.
“Come on,” I say climbing to my feet. I stretch out a hand to help her up. “I’d never be able to forgive myself if I let you believe that was anything remotely close to dancing.”
Ally lets me pull her up, smoothing her dress over her hips. “Well, then. What would you call it?”
I tap the freckled bridge of her nose. “Seizing.”
“SO LIKE THIS?”
“Yeah, just like that. Dip your hips a little more.”
“Like that?”
“Yeah. Good. Now grind your ass on me.”
I know what you’re thinking.
I’m obviously asking for it. I’ve got to be some masochist that gets off on giving myself blue balls. But hear me out.
Ally needed help, and after seeing her so vulnerable and exposed, grasping onto any hope that she could redirect Evan’s attention, I had to give it my best shot.
Plus, I just really wanted to feel her brushing her ass against me while my hands grip her hips. Eh, I’m only a man. Sue me.
“I feel stupid,” she says with a huff. I feel her trying to slip away, but I hold her tighter, cursing the thin layer of soft cotton that keeps my fingers from touching her skin. I don’t even care if she feels my erection pressing against her ass. On some level, I want her to feel it. Maybe she’ll get just an inkling of what she does to me.
“You don’t look stupid though. You should see yourself.”
“Really?”
Hit with a sudden stroke of genius, I spin her around to face me. “Really. Let me show you.”
I lead Ally to my bedroom just as the song chances into something slow and sultry, yet equally provocative. The room is dim, with only the light from the hall filtering in to light our path. I switch on a bedside lamp, illuminating the space just enough for her to see what I see.
“Stand here,” I command gently, positioning her in front of the floor length, gold-framed mirror stationed beside my closet.
“You’re kidding, right? You want me to dance in front of this mirror?”
I take my place behind her, just barely leaving an inch between our bodies. “You wanted to see how sexy you look. Here’s your chance.”
Soft, muted light graces the contours of her cheekbones and lips as she looks at me through the mirror. “But this is so…” Her voice is merely a husky whisper, but I hear her loud and clear. From this angle, I can see all of her. I can admire the flush of her skin and the way it travels from her face to the tops of her breasts. I can see the way her eyelids droop to narrow slits when she sways her hips from side to side, like she’s intoxicated from the energy flowing from my body to hers. And she can see the way my hand snakes around her waist to rest on her stomach, pressing her into me as I lightly push against her.
Ally’s mouth parts, and something animalistic and hungry escapes her lips. She keeps moving, rolling her body with mine in time with the beat. The music is slow, yet the beat is infectious, like sex on Audible. I feel the drums in my chest, the strings in my soul. My movements are as fluid and instinctual as if I was sliding into Ally right here, right now. As if I was f*cking her from behind, here in front of this mirror, watching her come apart in my arms.
My hands move from her stomach up to her ribcage, and I feel her breaths become deeper as if she’s gasping for precious air. Yet, she looks completely serene in this moment. So much so, that she lets her eyes slide closed as she loses herself to music and sensation. And as I watch her bite her bottom lip, her head reclined back on my chest, I lose myself in her.
This is where I should stop. Where I should make some stupid joke that’ll break the palpable tension that has our bodies fused together, my chest to her back, my front to the curve of her ass. It’s what’s smart and responsible. It’s what I would do if this were another time, and another girl, and another lifetime. But all I have is now, and I can’t see beyond the vision of her tight frame nestled into mine. I can’t feel anything but my body fitting around her like a glove, and her hands sliding their way up to my neck before fisting my hair.
She turns her head towards mine, and her breath fans over my neck like a whispered kiss. I pull her closer, and my lips just barely graze her forehead. She doesn’t flinch, just keeps moving with me, eyes closed. My lips move down to brush the soft velvet of her eyelid, then her warm cheek. And when she doesn’t make a move in protest, space and time diminish under the weight of this moment. This single moment that could very well destroy everything, yet crushes all consequence into a speck of dust too infinitesimal to even acknowledge.
My lips find hers like they’ve known them forever. Like they’ve never kissed another set of lips that were this soft, this sweet. They submit to me, and my tongue touches hers, gently at first, as we learn each other’s taste. Then we’re all hunger and passion as Ally turns her body to face mine, allowing my mouth to connect wholly with hers.
We communicate without words, settling for throaty moans and grasps of clothing and hair. I push her up against the mirror, cradling her face so I can taste her deeper. She brings a thigh up to my hip and I gladly grip it, lifting her body up with my palms. Ally wraps her legs around my waist, locking them at the ankles, and giving my hands access to the skin revealed by her gathered dress. I should be gentle and take this slow, but I’m starving for her. Too famished to think about stopping now or coming up for air.
My fingers digging into her ass, I grind my rock-hard length into her thinly sheathed sex. I f*ck her through cotton and lace, while my mouth makes love to her jaw and neck. Damn these clothes; I want them off. I need to have her skin on mine; I need to make her moan from more than just my kiss. I need my lips and tongue to taste the parts of her that are so damp and humid that I can feel the heat through my slacks.
“Wait.”
I can’t tell if it’s a whisper or whine, or even just my imagination. Jiminy Cricket and his cock-blocking ass can go to hell.
“Wait, Justice. Wait! Stop!”
Cold water floods my veins, extinguishing the white heat burning in my groin. I slowly place Ally down on her feet and take a step back, so she can straighten her clothing into their once perfectly pressed state. So she can erase any evidence that I was between her legs, reducing her to a disheveled mess of ravenous tongue, frenzied hands and impassioned moans.
I close my eyes for a beat longer than a blink and exhale my frustration, trying to will my pulse to slow. Ally is frantically trying to smooth her hair down. She touches her lips and stills, as if the memory of them merged with mine is just now pouring in.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “Oh my God, what did we just do?”
“Ally…” I step towards her with my arm outstretched, but don’t dare to touch her. “Ally, it’s ok. It’s not as bad as you think.”
She finally looks at me for the first time since before I stood her in front of the mirror. The first falling stars melt and slide down her cheeks, her lip trembling. “I’m married, Justice! This is exactly as bad as I think. I’m not some kinda…whore…that just kisses guys that are not her husband. That’s not me! None of this…none of this is me!”
This time I grip her shoulders, commanding her attention. “Ally, this is you. This is who you are. You can be as awkward and silly and goofy as you want with me. I don’t care about your hair looking perfect or what labels you wear. I don’t give a damn who you know or what school you went to. And I definitely don’t give a f*ck about Evan, who wouldn’t know how to be loyal and honest even if he had a f*cking gun to his head. So f*ck him. And f*ck feeling guilty for finally taking control of your desires. You wanted to kiss me, Ally. You wanted to kiss me just as badly as I wanted to kiss you.”
“No,” she says shaking her head adamantly. She brushes my hands away and turns, giving me her back. “I don’t want this. I don’t want to be a cheater.”
“You’re not a bad person, Ally. There’s nothing wrong with feeling the way that you do.”
She shakes her head again and nearly runs out of my bedroom. I’m right on her heels, refusing to let her dismiss the living, breathing desire that’s been between us since day one. “You can’t run from this. You can’t just act like there’s nothing between us.”
She bends down to collect her sweater, still shaking her head, refusing to face me. She’s not just dismissing the kiss—she’s dismissing me. She’s done with me. I’m not even worth a response or even a glance. I’ve been discharged from her service. She doesn’t need me anymore.
Pain-laced rage boils just under the surface of my skin, and I stalk behind her as she tries to scurry to the door.
“Really, Ally? After all the time we’ve sat here–right here in this f*cking living room– talking, laughing, and just being, you want to act like I don’t even matter? Like what we both felt didn’t matter? Tell me it didn’t matter, Ally. Turn the f*ck around and tell me you didn’t want that to happen back there!”
Her hand is on the door handle and she leans forward, her forehead pressed against the door. I can’t help it. I can’t stand this distance between us. I can’t lose this angel only to be forever cast into hell alone. In a final act of desperation and insanity, I wrap my arms around her, completely covering her body with mine. I want her just as immersed in me as I am in her.
“Please, Ally. Just stay,” I whisper urgently, kissing the shell of her ear. “Stay, or tell me you don’t want this. That I’m a fool for wanting you like I do.”
I hear the click of the door handle and hope splinters like broken glass, falling away into the land of broken dreams and stolen moments. A land where Ally’s smiles are brighter than the sun, and her laughs are the soundtrack of pure, untainted happiness.
“You’re a fool,” she croaks, pulling away from my arms. From me. “And I don’t want this.”
Part of me stands at the door, waiting for her to come back. Hoping that she’ll change her mind and choose me. Choose us.
The other part of me lies at the bottom of the pool drowning, while a million tiny stars look down at me in pity.
“TODAY’S LESSON IS actually very simple. So let’s get straight to the point, shall we? Open the cases in front of you.”
I wait for the sounds of metal latches and the horrified intake of eleven breaths, but I don’t look at any of them. I don’t make eye contact. Not today.
“What are we supposed to do with these?” Lorinda. Or maybe Maryanne. Or…f*ck if I care.
“Suck them.”
“What?” Another Mrs. F*cktease von Clueless.
“You’re going to learn how to suck them,” I say louder, my voice carrying throughout the room. I close my eyes and count to ten in an attempt to get a handle on my shit.
“Now if you’ll all be so kind as to remove the dildos from your case and, using the suction at the bottom, attach them to the table in front of you, we can begin.”
“You really expect us to do this?” another asks, her whiney voice making me cringe. “It’s disgusting and degrading.”
“And that’s exactly the train of thought that forces your husband’s dick into your nanny’s mouth.”
“That’s sick!”
“That’s the f*cking truth.” I massage the back of my neck and take a leveling breath. It’s completely silent, save for the sound of incessant pounding in my skull.
I’m hungover.
And not, like, a little hungover.
I’m a lot hungover.
Plus, I look like shit. I didn’t shave and only had time to hit the hot spots in the shower before class started. My simple tan slacks and white linen shirt are unpressed and my hair is just finger-combed. And my mouth tastes like a raw oyster that’s been sitting under the desert sun all day.
Like I said, I look like shit. And I probably smell like I bathed in that fifth of Jack instead of drinking it, now that it’s seeping out of my pores.
I swallow against the dryness on my tongue, but to no avail. “Look, if you want to learn how to do this shit and do it right, I’ll teach you. If you’re too hung up on stereotypes, or think Jesus won’t love you over giving a little head, then there’s the door. So what’s it gonna be, ladies? You want your husband to look at you as a housewife? Or as his own, personal whore? You choose.”
No one answers, yet they all stay deathly still in their seats, staring in delightful horror at the 8-inch, flesh-toned dildos in front of them.
“Good,” I nod with a grimace. F*ck, that hurts. “Let’s begin.”
“DON’T BE AFRAID of it, Maryanne. It won’t bite you.”
I watch as the matronly woman slides her trembling lips over the tip of the silicone penis. Her pink tongue gives it a lick before she eases her head down, taking it into her mouth completely.
“Good. That’s good. Let it touch the back of your throat and gently suck as you pull out slowly.”
She complies, looking up at me with big, brown eyes, seeking validation. I pat her on the back and nod before moving on to the next housewife.
“Shayla, use your tongue, baby,” I croon, resting a warm hand on her shoulder as I squat down next to her. “Lick the tip when you pull up. Swirl it around the head. Imagine tasting those little drops of precum. That’s how you know he’s ready for you; you’re making him feel good. Now, when you ease it back into your mouth, put pressure on the underside of his shaft.”
Just like Maryanne, Shayla does exactly what I say, even letting her eyes close as she imagines the feel of a hot, pulsing cock sliding between her lips. I almost smile with pride, when a moan rumbles the back of her throat. She feels it too. The thought bringing a man to his knees with her mouth is getting her hot. Shit, it’s even getting me a little hot.
Beside Shayla, Lacey is trying to suck the plastic off her rent-a-dick.
“Slow down, Lacey. Slow. Sensual. Take your time.” I place my hand on the back of her head and push it down slowly, forcing her to match my tempo. “Slow, sweetheart. Just like that. Taste every inch; savor it. Put more of it in your mouth, baby. Yeah…all the way to the back of your throat.”
I gently grip her hair when she lets out a muffled groan. “Ok, now a little faster. Suck it harder, baby, but still be soft. Put that pretty, wet mouth all over it.”
Pulling her hair a bit, I speed up until Lacey’s head steadily bobs up and down. When she takes hold of the dildo and begins fisting it enthusiastically as she sucks, I let go and take a step back, admiring the little monster I’ve created.
I actively engage the women as they explore the art of oral copulation, getting off on their obvious discomfort and inexperience. This is exactly what I need to distract me from the pressure at my temples, and the rage resting at the back of my neck. Not to mention the niggling ache in my chest. I shut it out. I shut it all out, focusing only on my work. Which is exactly what the f*ck I should have been doing all along. Not humoring a silly woman while she cries about her cheating bastard of a husband and failed fraud of a marriage. Not sitting through dozens of episodes of mindless drivel and eating lard while she nestles against my side like the cocktease that she is. And not letting her lead me to believe that I was anything more than the hired help, damn near the equivalent of a gay BFF.
How did I get to this? How in the f*ck did I lose sight of what I am and what I stand for so easily?
I can’t even really blame her. She’s simple and vapid and shallow. She couldn’t drown in the depth of her petty thoughts. So I can’t hold her responsible for the state that I’m in. I let this happen. I let her in when I swore that would never happen. I should’ve known better. I knew what type of person she was since the day she made it clear that I was an outsider. A nobody. Not even good enough to be f*cking honest with. I was a shiny new toy to play with, then discard when she grew tired of me.
My thoughts lead me to the mahogany desk she’s stationed at, but I don’t look at her. I only know it’s her by her shoes—those same sandals that would slap against the pavement when she’d intrude on my nights by the pool. The same sandals that she’d slip off before tucking her feet under her ass and curling her body next to mine.
I hate those f*cking sandals. I should have told her that. No man wants a woman that wears sandals. They want women that wear heels. Platform stilettos. Heels that look damn sexy when they’re sitting on our shoulders or wrapped around our waists. Ain’t shit sexy about sandals. They’re one tier up from flip-flops, which are barely a step away from Crocs.
F*cking Crocs.
“You’re doing it wrong,” I blurt out gruffly, before my little reflective moment takes a turn for the worst.
“What?”
I still don’t look at her. I just keep my eyes trained on those sandals and her little, pink-tipped toes peeking out of them. Even her toes are adorable.
Hmph. Adorable.
I’ve never been a fan of adorable. Chubby-cheeked babies are adorable. Puppies are adorable. Sometimes even little old ladies named Ethel. None of those things equate sexy. So neither should she.
“I said, you’re doing it wrong,” I say more sternly.
“I heard that.” Her voice is small and sad. Just like she is. A small, sad, adorable woman. “What am I doing wrong?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?” She sounds defeated. Like she wanted so bad to succeed at this so she could give Evan the blowjob of his life, ensuring that he’d never stray. Like she wanted to be the Superhead of the Upper East Side and boast her talents on a billboard in Times Square.
“Yeah. You’re doing everything wrong.” Sorry, Superhead Junior. No book deal for you.
I start to turn away, somewhat satisfied with myself, when her small, sad voice stops me in my tracks.
“Can you teach me how?”
Can I teach her how?
Can I teach her how?
I bite back my initial response—which would probably consist of me telling her exactly where she could go, how, and with what shoved up her tight, frigid ass—and take a moment to breathe before formulating a more professional response. “If you need extra help, Mrs. Carr, I suggest you make an appointment during business hours.”
“An appointment?” I can hear the confusion and hurt in her voice.
“Yes. An appointment. That’s what clients make when they find that they require more assistance than usual. When their inexperience stifles their progression. I can’t give you extra attention just because you seek it, and take precious class time away from others. That would be foolish of me, don’t you think?” I answer tersely, giving her back her own words.
Her face contorts as if I’ve just slapped her, her eyes twice their size and mouth agape. “What are you doing?” she whispers, though it’s already too late. We have an audience. And right now, these gossip mongers smell fresh shit to stir. Still, I lean in close, invading her personal space and stealing her air. I want her as uncomfortable as I am. I want her just as exposed and humiliated and wounded as she’s made me.
“I’m doing my job, Mrs. Carr. Exactly what your husband paid me for.”
BY THE TIME I dismiss the ladies for the day, I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically. Everything hurts. I can’t think of one part of me that doesn’t ache with every step I take back to the refuge of my home. And it’s not just my body that feels it. I’m too tense, too edgy. I feel like I could explode at any given moment.
I know I f*cked up in class at the way I spoke to Ally, but shit, she needed it. She needed to see who I am…and what she’s left of me. As much as I hate it, she caused the mess that I am right now. So, Bravo, Allison Elliot-Carr. You’ve single-handedly f*cked up my day and given me blue balls. And you’ve reminded me why I despise people like you…why I hate the world you come from, and why I’ve emancipated myself from it.
Thank you, Ally. It’s bitches like you that create coldhearted bastards like me.
“Hey!”
I hear the slap of those damn sandals again, and my skin goes clammy and hot. I try to shake it off and keep walking, ignoring her approach.
“I said, Hey! You wanna tell me what the hell your problem is?”
“Make an appointment, Mrs. Carr,” I bark out without turning to address her as I fumble with the lock at my front door. Goddammit, I don’t have time for this shit.
“I don’t give a damn about your appointments, Justice. Why are you acting like this?” Her voice is right here, right behind me. I can nearly feel her warm breath at my back. With her this close, her heat mingling with mine, I can’t even respond. I’m too tired for this shit. Too exhausted to even try to make sense of what’s happened between us. Maybe I imagined it all. Maybe Ally was completely innocent and platonic with me. I could’ve misread her signals. Shit, maybe she really did look at me as her gay BFF.
“Hey,” she says softly, placing a hand on my sweat-dampened back. “Talk to me.”
I didn’t realize how much I could miss a simple touch until I didn’t have it anymore. It’s so easy to let her back in. To let her wiggle her way back into my arms and smile up at me like she is the sun and I am every star in her sky.
When you spend your life in the dark, looking up and wishing for something better—something brighter—you don’t realize just how lonely you are. Not until the sun shines, shedding light on all the empty spaces and filling them with beautiful warmth. But when the sun abandons you, everything seems darker and colder than before.
Emptier.
Lonelier.