Chapter Five

 

 

 

“The off the shoulder Donna Karan is very nice, too, if you’d like to try it…” I held up the coat hanger to show off the satin gown.

The client drew her shades down to scrutinize my offering and, much like a jealous goddess, dismissed it with a wave of the hand. “I prefer Dolce,” she drawled in perfectly articulated French.

“It suits you,” I agreed, sycophantic to the last. Pushing products was part of my job, but so was blowing smoke up my clients’ asses. I couldn’t very well say that the Dolce that my client had selected was an unfortunate design, or that it made her torso seem twice as long.

I accompanied the client and her two friends to the register, making small talk about the collection, what we were expecting for the summer—leaking tidbits of so-called privileged information to whet her appetite. I did it with every client. Sometimes it panned out.

Yvonne caught up with me as I was making my way back to restore the cocktail dresses to their appropriate racks. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure…”

She brushed past me toward the back of the shop, where no clients were currently browsing. I suppressed a shudder of apprehension and followed her.

Yvonne didn’t waste time beating around the bush. “You want to go on holiday? Now?” She kept her voice relatively low, but there was no disguising the flash of fury in her gaze. The lines around her mouth pulled taut. “We’re changing the whole collection this week and you’re leaving to sun yourself on some Spanish beach! I can’t believe you’d be so selfish.”

The fist squeezing at my heart released. For a moment there, I’d thought that Yvonne wouldn’t treat me as her underling. I’d gone over her head when I’d filed the request, hoping that she wouldn’t block it once she found out. Someone in HR must have called to get her approval. I knew I should have warned her, at the very least. I smothered all sense of remorse.

“I need a few days to clear my head,” I breathed. “After Javier…”

Yvonne had always fancied herself my champion, my wingwoman. I was counting on her to have my back on this one.

“Football didn’t help?” Her tone of voice dripped with I told you so’s.

I shammed a rueful smile. “Not so much, no.” I wouldn’t plead with her. Bad enough that I was lying through my teeth. “I know this is a bad time. I’ll make it up to you when I get back, I swear.”

“You can’t leave this week,” Yvonne relented.

“Okay.”

“Next week. Perhaps Friday.”

I nodded, albeit reluctantly. Next Friday put me right on the cusp of the anniversary. I’d been hoping to avoid a potential media frenzy. The last thing I needed was Yvonne finding out my real motives—or my grandparents discovering that I’d broken their trust to seek out my dad.

Yvonne squeezed my arm. “Next time, come to me.”

It might have been friendly advice if she hadn’t dug her fingernails in for emphasis. I withdrew as quickly as I could. Providentially, we had enough clients to keep us busy enough that staying away didn’t take too much effort.

I made a beeline for the Métro as soon as my shift was over. Didn’t even say goodbye.

 

* * * *

 

His fingers plucking lightly at the back of my neck, Ashley turned another page. Mitterrand’s latest biography was a heavy brick and going through it would’ve taken time even without Ashley’s anecdotes to pad the retrospective. Still, there were worse ways to spend an evening. My belly was full—homemade sushi rather than burgers tonight—my body lax against his.

Ashley thumbed over another page, voice rumbling pleasantly above me as he stroked my hair.

I had no memory of falling asleep, but I came to alone on the couch, a blanket covering my body. The lamps were off in the living room, nothing but a thin, bluish gleam of moonlight to guide my steps. I padded into the bedroom in silk stockings, leaving a trail of clothes in my wake. Here fell my shirt, there my bra, so that by the time I crawled under the covers with Ashley, my flesh was bare against his.

He mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over to throw an arm around my waist. I let him slot our bodies together and closed my eyes.

Sleep found me quickly.

My dreams were feverish and confused. I jolted awake with the dead-eyed stares of mannequins haunting me, the closed-in smell of the department store back room teasing my memory. My pulse throbbed in my throat as I recalled fleeing through the hallways of my apartment building and losing count of the floors only to realize—with the kind of clarity only possible in dreams—that there was no end to the spiral, that I would always be running and running.

I scrubbed the mirage from my eyes.

The lights were still off in the bedroom, shadows blanketing the covers. Through the window, I saw the distant summit of the Eiffel Tower spear the night sky like a shard of glass.

Ashley had rolled away from me during the night. I lay on my back for a while, watching him breathe. Then I kicked off the covers.

Nightmares weren’t unusual for me. I’d grown up with some sleep affliction or another since I was a girl. What was unusual was the idea that I could do something about them.

I made my way into the living room and retrieved my cell. I had enough battery left to look at flights from Paris to—wherever would get me closest to Kansas City. There were possibilities connecting in Chicago, Philadelphia or Atlanta, all of which would set me back a pretty penny.

I hovered my finger over the Select Flight button a couple of times.

“What’re you doing?” Ashley mumbled from the bedroom doorway.

The sound of his voice startled me.

“Nothing.” My first instinct was to lie. I grimaced. “I’m looking at booking a flight.”

Ashley rubbed at his eyes. “Oh.” The biggest advantage of laying our cards on the table was that I didn’t have to explain myself. I didn’t know how long that would last, but for now it was nice to feel understood on a basic human level. “Boss signed off on an impromptu vacation?”

“Yeah.” Ten days away was still better than nothing.

The blue-white glow of the cell phone shone between us as Ashley lumbered to the couch and sat down beside me. “Go through Chicago. Customs at Hartsfield is brutal.”

“Don’t tell me they pull you out of the line for an up close and personal pat-down…”

He took my teasing on the chin. “This can’t wait until tomorrow morning?”

“It is tomorrow morning,” I shot back, never too tired to split hairs. The clock on my phone read 4:32 a.m. Still, I shut off the display, plunging us both in darkness. “Give me a good reason to come back to bed and I will.”

I don’t know where my sudden pluck was coming from, but it was easy not to second-guess my every move when I was with Ashley. His capacity for forgiveness seemed endless. I knew that if he took me to bed, I wouldn’t be disappointed.

“You should have said that sooner,” Ashley murmured as he covered my hand with his and plucked out the phone. I was in his arms before I knew what I was doing, drawn in by his soft, silken voice and the scent of his skin.

I’d taken to showering at his place in the mornings, which meant that more often than not I’d go to work with the cedar and bergamot perfume of his body wash on my skin. It was subtle enough that the fragrant notes faded by lunchtime, but more than once I’d strolled over an air vent and sucked in a big gulp of Ashley on my way to work.

I caressed his neck with my lips as he pulled me to him, my body pliant beneath his hands. I turned when he bid me to, somehow winding up with one leg hooked over his and my naked back against his chest. I squirmed a little, eager to feel his cock against my tail bone, but Ashley wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me still. I capitulated quickly, the fight leaving my being as he brushed his fingers along the underside of my breast.

“Here I was, being a gentleman and letting you sleep,” he whispered darkly in my ear, “and you complain that I don’t pay enough attention to you.” He clucked his tongue. “I’ll have to do something about that, won’t I?”

I opened my mouth to protest—I wasn’t complaining, I was teasing him, there was a world of difference between the two—but Ashley silenced me with a fingertip over my lips.

“Quiet. I don’t want to hear you unless you’re begging me to let you come.”

His domineering streak should have made me anxious. I knew it with every rational, feminist fiber of my being. But the same spidey senses quivered when he got all rough and high-handed with me in bed. I didn’t know what to make of it, so for now I relented. It seemed to work best.

I nodded and parted my lips against his fingers to lick at the lines etched into his palm. Two could play that game. Ashley had only said I should be quiet, not that I wasn’t allowed to tease him right back.

My efforts were rewarded with a twist of fingers around my nipple. I bucked into his hands, a moan tearing loose from my throat. I loved having my nipples played with. Sharp electric shocks curled deep in my belly with every tug, my breaths quickening. I squirmed in the V of Ashley’s thighs as need pooled in my belly.

“Look at you… I barely touch you and you’re already a mess.”

Yeah, I’m a slut. So what? I didn’t care enough about having the last word when I could have his touch casting leisurely down my belly to cup my pussy instead. He chuckled, breath warm on my skin, as I rolled my hips up to draw his hand where I needed it. I wanted to smack him.

I wanted to kiss him.

I did neither, fisting my hands into the leather couch instead. I trusted Ashley not to disappoint me.

He ran a fingertip between my folds, so gentle I thought I might weep, then pulled back. Through slitted eyes, I saw his digit glisten with my juices.

“Open your mouth,” he purred. And I did.

I knew what was coming, I’d seen the pornos, thank you very much, but to my surprise I didn’t feel humiliated by the act. I sucked his finger into my mouth, tasting myself as we both trembled with want.

“That’s it,” Ashley breathed huskily in my ear, “get my fingers nice and wet…” He pressed another against my lips and I opened my mouth wider, taking whatever he gave me. All I had to do was follow his lead.

Ashley took over after that.

He circled my clit with spit-slick fingers, getting me riled up, then thrust gently into my clenching vagina. I groaned—a shameful, greedy noise I might have regretted if not for the reward of a caress against my flank as if to say Good girl. I craved his praise. I was ready to do whatever it took to please him—including staying as still as I could while he toyed with my pussy.

My self-consciousness had checked out earlier, but it flared to life again as Ashley curled his fingers and stroked me from within. He wasn’t screwing around. He’d started slow, but he was building up to strokes I would’ve been hard-pressed to keep steady on my own.

The timid flame of my excitement became a full-blown, blazing inferno. I sucked in breath after breath, trying to temper the torrent rising inside me. Ashley’s whispers in my ear didn’t help at all.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he goaded. “I can feel you pulling at me… A little more and you’ll be done for, is that right?”

I nodded like a maniac. “Please, please…”

“Please, what?”

“Let me come,” I choked out. My face was flushed hotly. I turned my head to press a burning cheek to Ashley’s shoulder. “Please let me come, I need it. I’m so fucking—”

I howled when Ashley pulled his hand away. The sense of loss was immediate and cruel. I writhed in his grasp, but he held me tight around the waist, grabbing my hands in his hard enough to bruise when I made to finish what he’d started.

“Did I say we were done?” He sounded irritated, and yet the heat in his voice only served to stoke the fire sweltering inside me. “Did I?”

I shook my head, biting back the sting of frustrated tears. “You didn’t. Asshole.”

The last time I’d cussed at him in bed, he’d fucked me so hard I’d still been able to feel him inside me hours later. It was a gamble, but I both hoped and dreaded that history would repeat itself. Carpet burn was preferable to the receding tendrils of pleasure unspooling at my core.

Ashley snickered against my cheek. “Sweetheart, you haven’t seen anything yet…” He swatted my cunt in retribution. I cried out, because it fucking hurt, but not enough that I lost my resolve.

It bothered me a little that immediately on the heels of a sharp, humiliating sting followed an overwhelming wave of pleasure. I shelved that thought to pick apart later, when I wasn’t hovering on the edge of release in my torturer’s arms.

“Keep your hands to yourself, understood?”

“Fine,” I growled. I couldn’t tell the difference between arousal and rage anymore, but I knew which took over when Ashley filled me with two fingers.

I rocked up, trying to take his digits down to the knuckle, then rocked back down again when I thought of his cock stretching me instead. He’d begun to harden against the small of my back, which was its own kind of compliment, but if he wasn’t going to acknowledge his erection, neither was I. I flexed my muscles where I could—insofar as it didn’t distract him from fucking me with his hand.

It didn’t. Ashley was nothing if not dedicated in turning me inside out as he rubbed my clit with his thumb. The angle was as familiar as anything I would’ve done when I masturbated, but I had no control. He meted out my pleasure as he chose—now and again gentling his thrusts so I could catch my breath, then flicking my clit so roughly that my hips nearly shot off his lap.

Every time I neared the edge and my moans rose to a pitch, he’d pull away completely, laughing if I hurled slurs or impotent, teeth-grinding pleas. I lost track of the number of times he teased me to the verge of sanity without granting me that final push.

Tears stung my eyes—not because it hurt, but because forcing myself not to take matters into my own hands was a brutal exercise in self-denial.

Ashley ran his slick palm over the length of my sex as I came down from my most recent near-miss, idly brushing my anus with a fingertip.

I shook in his arms. I wasn’t averse to that kind of play, but I doubted I could take any more teasing. My thighs were quaking as though I’d run a marathon. I couldn’t get my breathing under control.

“Next time,” Ashley promised, cupping my wet pussy with a proprietary hand. “Think you deserve to come?”

“Don’t know,” I mumbled. I was afraid—irrationally but completely—that if I said Yes he’d come up with another reason to deny me.

Ashley laughed, but he sounded choked. I felt slightly vindicated—I wasn’t the only one struggling to keep it together. Good. “I think you deserve it. You’ve been such a good girl for me…”

He flattened his palm to my cunt and plunged three fingers into my vagina. They slid in easily, my muscles stretched loose. I made an embarrassing noise deep in my throat as he started to stroke me back and forth, friction swiftly building where I needed it most. I knew I wasn’t allowed to touch him, but I hooked a hand around his forearm anyway.

“Let go,” Ashley urged me. “Let go now. I want to see you…”

I still didn’t believe he’d allow me to crest over the edge as need coiled tighter and tighter at the center of my being. When my orgasm hit, it was with gale wind force. I’d been so close, so many times, that I had no rudder and no ability to temper the violent shakes that ripped through me.

I felt myself gush as Ashley pulled his hand away, my hips bucking against empty air and a thin stream of liquid spurting out. Mortification gripped the last coherent inch of my brain, then Ashley stroked me again, notching up the savagery of my aftershocks, and I forgot to care.

I was sobbing by the time he let me bring my legs together, my shudders as violent as the tremble of an earthquake. Ashley clutched me to him, his hold warm and safe even though he’d been the one tormenting me for the past half hour.

“You’re okay,” he kept murmuring into my sweat-soaked hair. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

For long moments, I could do nothing more than suck in harried breaths and try to recover my voice. Even after I’d stopped quaking, I still felt raw and used, a far cry from the femme fatale I once aspired to be.

“Sorry about your couch,” I slurred, low and nearly incomprehensible.

“Fuck the couch.”

“I peed all over it.” My face burned just to bring it up. How did he not mind? I would’ve been pretty ticked off with surprise watersports if our roles were reversed.

Ashley’s strokes faltered, his hand warm on my shoulder blade. “You’ve never squirted before?”

“What?” I thought that only happened in porn.

“Female ejaculation,” Ashley clarified. He didn’t sound repulsed. If anything, I thought he seemed slightly smug.

I pulled back to meet his eyes and, sure enough, he was smiling. “You look pleased with yourself.”

“Always nice to make an impression.”

I smacked his shoulder weakly. It was the best I could do. “What about you?” I’d felt him harden earlier. Tired as I was, I wasn’t above reciprocation.

Ashley shook his head. “Think I’d rather get you to bed before you fall asleep on me.”

“You smooth-talker, you…”

I didn’t resist. He was right—our tryst had left me wrung out and achy in all the right ways. I wanted nothing more than to doze off.

“I’ve got work,” I mumbled as Ashley pulled the comforter up around my shoulders. “In the morning…”

Ashley shushed me. “I’ll wake you up.” He curled up around me, the big spoon to my little spoon, and urged me to get some sleep. It was sound advice, but the way things were shaping up, I probably would have heeded him if he’d told me to run naked through the hallways of our building.

I was too tired to fret.

 

* * * *

 

I didn’t realize we had fallen into a sort of routine until Thursday morning, when Ashley apologetically told me he had a work thing that evening. He didn’t call it a work thing, but I was too caught up in my disappointment—and the sound knowledge that it was completely irrational—to grasp the details.

“…unless you want to join me?” he offered, expression wary.

I zipped up my skirt and brushed imaginary lint off my thighs. “Do you want me there…or would it be awkward?” I knew that Ashley was divorced, but I’d mistaken his daughter for a girlfriend for a reason. The age difference between us wasn’t insignificant.

“Both,” Ashley admitted. “It’ll be mostly people I work with…”

I could hear the addendum loud and clear. People who follow the news.

With the Internet being what it was, one newsworthy rumor in the States became a bee in the bonnet of journalists in Paris.

“Oh. Right.” I cast around for the black dress shirt I’d brought with me yesterday. “I guess it would be awkward if you show up with Kane’s elusive daughter.”

Ashley scoffed. “Yes, but not for me.”

We hadn’t broached this topic since the night he’d come clean to me about his job. I had questions, but I was wary of bringing them up and making Ashley feel like he needed to defend himself.

I stiffened as Ashley came up behind me. His hands were warm at my hips, searing my flesh through the thick wool skirt. “I have to get to work,” I mumbled.

He kissed my nape, heedless of the interjection. “Don’t make this into something it’s not. If you want to come with me, I’ll be thrilled. I just don’t want to be the one exposing you to scrutiny you’ve been trying to avoid.” His sigh stirred that part of me that felt impossibly tender toward him no matter how many hurdles made us stumble. “Does that make sense?”

“As frustrating as it is,” I breathed. “Can I see you afterwards?”

Ashley nodded, his lips warm on my skin. “How about I come knock? If you’re up, great. If not, you can catch up on sleep and we’ll see each other tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll bring croissants?”

“Sure, unless some crazy Frenchwoman knocks me off my feet over first…” He pulled away with a chaste kiss against my shoulder blade.

I felt it beneath my clothes for the rest of the day, a pleasant distraction when dealing with a particularly difficult client or Yvonne’s needling questions. The hours seemed to tick by at a glacial pace without Ashley’s company to look forward to. I busied myself with reordering shelves as the stream of clients thinned after lunch, then took my break at a bistro two streets away, all by my lonesome.

I let Yvonne perfume me with Fleur de Chine and told myself I liked it.

My brave face slipped as soon as my shift ended. The press of bodies on the train annoyed me. The reckless driving of Parisian motorists put me in an even fouler mood.

Then my phone rang and I saw Javier’s name flash on the screen.

“What?” I snapped. My gracious invitation to let him rummage through my things had been met with silence. As far as I was concerned, the window of opportunity had been latched shut.

Javier clearly disagreed. “Are you still at work?”

The driver of a Renault Mégane honked pointedly not ten feet away. I curbed the urge to tilt the cell phone his way.

“Does that answer your question?” I retorted.

Javier heaved a sigh on the other end of the line. It was his Jedi calming technique. “Is it okay if I come by to get my glasses?”

It wasn’t. I didn’t want to see him, I didn’t want to watch him scoff and shake his head at me like I was the one being difficult. I didn’t want him to be right just because my guard happened to be down tonight.

“Yes, fine.”

“Great,” Javier drawled. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

I hung up without a goodbye, feeling less smug than I did foolish. So we were broken up. Did I have to punish him for it from now on to eternity? It’s tempting.

I was barely through the front door of my apartment before my phone rang again. I picked up without checking the caller ID.

“Hi. It’s Piotr. Um, Komorov. We met at—”

“Piotr, hey. Of course, I remember you.” I tried hard to infuse my voice with some other sentiment than irritation. What was this, the floodgates opening because I dared feel lonely for a change? “How’ve you been?”

I hadn’t thought of Piotr at all since dinner at my grandparents’. Then again, I endeavored to put those bi-monthly clashes out of my mind as soon as I was past the town house door. It was the only way I could move forward.

“Good, good,” Piotr said. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” Judging by his sigh, he sounded like he’d reached breaking point.

“Your parents are giving you hell?” I ventured.

He laughed tightly. “To put it delicately, yes. I was calling to ask if you wanted to meet me for a drink? I’m in the neighborhood.”

I peeled back the curtains and looked outside. The scrum of cars and pedestrians four stories below didn’t lend itself to picking out a lone man with a cell phone pressed to his ear.

“You’re in Le Marais? That’s great. Where?”

“Um, does Pagan Street mean anything to you?”

I’d lived most of my life in Paris. I knew my way around, no map or compass required.

I gave Piotr directions to my place and hung up. One look around my flat killed any enthusiasm I might have felt for his visit. I set to tidying up with rare efficiency. Laundry went into the hamper, books into the squat bookcase beside the TV. Dirty dishes were promptly squeezed into the dishwasher—out of sight and, for now, out of mind.

Piotr rang up before I’d had time to change. I took one look at myself in the mirror, decided that I wasn’t preparing for a date, and put on a fresh coat of lipstick.

“I should warn you,” I said as I opened the door, “the only refreshments I have are at least eight percent alcohol.”

“My favorite kind,” Piotr deadpanned, wheezing a little. He was wearing a dark green jacket over black slacks and a checkered shirt. His bow tie would’ve looked ridiculous on another man, but he managed to pull it off. I knew for a fact that nerd chic was in, according to the fashion gurus.

“Sorry. I probably could have mentioned there’s no elevator in my building.” It was a turn of the century construction, the kind that had miraculously survived two wars and countless attempts at modernization. The floorboards creaked, the windows were drafty and I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

Piotr grinned. “Considering this is the most exercise I’ve had in years, I should thank you.”

I fetched us a bottle of Bordeaux and two glasses, and we sat down to imbibe in silent commiseration.

“Are we drinking to your parents?” I asked, already halfway through my first glass.

“Why not?” Piotr raised his goblet. “May they lead long and happy lives… And may that happen far away from me.”

I winced, propping my foot against the coffee table. “That bad, huh? I hope we didn’t break their hearts… I’m sure there are plenty more fish in the sea.”

“Indeed, an up-and-coming soprano my mother tutors, two PhD students who have interviewed my father for their dissertations on the Third Reich, and one mayoral candidate,” Piotr recited, counting them out on his fingers.

“Oh! Which candidate?”

He shot me a sidelong glare. “Their attempts are growing more and more transparent. You’d think, after the first three abysmal failures, they’d get the hint.”

“They’re committed to your happiness,” I replied. “Or whatever they think qualifies.” I was the last person to excuse that kind of behavior, but I had long resigned myself to accepting it as an immutable force of nature.

A knock on the door cut short the pity party.

Piotr arched an eyebrow. “Are you expecting someone else?”

I nearly choked on my wine. “Crap, I forgot. My ex said he’d come over.”

Chief on the list of things I wanted to avoid was mixing my grandparents’ acquaintances with my friends. If my life were a Venn diagram, those two circles were never ever meant to overlap.

“Sorry,” I added, lurching up from the couch. ”I promise he’ll be in and out. We have nothing to say to each other.”

My housecleaning frenzy had dredged up Javier’s glasses as if by magic. I counted on handing them over and sending him on his way, our acquaintance severed forever and ever.

Javier shifted his weight as I opened the door. “Hey.” He looked oddly rumpled, like he hadn’t had much sleep since we’d parted ways. The illusion lubricated my ego into a rare flash of magnanimity.

“Hi.” I beamed, blaming the next words out of my mouth on booze. “Come in.” I was a little tipsy already, the wine uncoiling the tense, irate parts of me that were normally so keen on holding grudges.

Javier obediently stepped over the threshold. “Oh, I didn’t know you had company…”

“Piotr’s just a friend,” I said airily. “Piotr, Javier. Javier, Piotr.”

I turned to close the door, tottering a little from the liquor in my veins. When I swiveled back around, Piotr and Javier were shaking hands, a study in contrasts drawn vivid before my eyes. One was tall and pale and geeky, the other cool and relaxed, his hair the color of the ink blot on his shirt collar.

They couldn’t have looked more different if they’d put their minds to it, but even I could see the spark of interest glimmering to life between them. It was a long time before they released each other’s hands.

I suppressed a groan. “I’ll get you a glass, Javier.”

Their bashful grins didn’t fool me for an instant.