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“How much would you give for one moment of perfect pleasure?”
“A great deal.”
“Would you give anything?”
“Anything. Everything.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Can you deliver?”
“I can.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Doesn’t pleasure always hurt? In the end?”
* * *
She held his hand as they walked down the narrow hallway of Crislip Arcade, a testament to nostalgia and commerce, just as they were. Was his grip somewhat tentative? Obligatory? Under the circumstances, she was astounded he was willing to touch her at all. Perhaps this was attributable to the enormity of the promise she had made. Who wouldn’t take a chance to obtain the elusive butterfly they had pursued their entire life?
“Look,” he said, pointing to the display in one of the shops. “Can you believe it? Old-style vinyl records. Everything old is new again.”
“Vinyl probably seems more romantic if you weren’t there for it the first time around,” she replied. “All I remember are the skips, scratches, and hisses.”
“But still.” He picked up an album. “Some of these are seriously old, not reissues.”
“The owner only carries classics. Nothing later than 1985.”
That caught his attention. “You’ve been here before?”
“Oh yes. More recently than you might imagine.”
“Should I be jealous?”
“Why bother?”
“So true. Life is too short.”
She just smiled.
They continued strolling down the hallway. A sudden gust of wind brought a chill and he slid in closer, taking her arm. He was hers now, she knew it. Their shoes clicked on the Cuban floor tiles, creating a syncopated soundtrack to their long day’s journey into twilight. The tall ceilings, the iron chandeliers, the retro vendors, conspired to create an ambience suggesting all things were possible, failure could become success, and what seemed most hopeless might yet hold promise.
“Oh no. It’s her.”
They stopped. The soundtrack ceased.
“Who?”
“Her.”
At the far end of the walkway, someone attracted a small crowd.
“Did she spot us?”
“I don’t know. She’s turning this way.”
“Run!”
They pivoted and bolted, still clutching one another’s arm. They burst through the crowd, carving a path through strollers and scooters and gangs. They spun and twisted, moving like ballerinas, maintaining poise while desperately fleeing. They panted and gasped and even laughed a little, not sure if they should be amused or terrified, happy to feel either emotion or both, delighted to feel anything at all.
They passed through the tall iron gates onto Central Avenue, breathless and sweating and fully alive.
“Do you—Do you—” He could barely catch his breath. “Do you think she saw us?”
“No.”
“Should we leave?”
She shoved him against a brick wall, pressing close. “No.” Their lips were barely an inch apart, eyes locked tightly together. She spoke a language he could translate with ease.
“We...don’t want to attract attention,” he said, not breaking her gaze.
“I know a place. Thirsty?”
“Very.”
She pulled a small metal flask out of her jacket pocket. “Take a long swig of this.”
He did, then winced. “That stings. What is it?”
“Brandy.”
“There was more in it than brandy.”
“I enhanced it.”
“With what?”
“Paradise.”
She led him to a bakery, currently closed. The doors were shut and the windows were shuttered. It looked as if it had been sealed for some time, but scaffolding nearby suggested some kind of work was about to commence.
“I don’t think it’s open.”
“I can get us in.” She slid a key into the lock. The door complained but ultimately yielded. She closed the door behind them and secured it.
The interior was dark and fusty. A bit of sunshine trickled in from the skylights, but not much. She could see the counter where the bakery once sold its goods, and tables of various sizes where people consumed them.
“How long has this place been closed?” he asked.
“Not that long. The machinery still functions. New management is revamping.” She grabbed his butt cheeks and pulled him close. “Are you ready for that moment of perfect pleasure?”
“What, here?”
“Why not? Don't you feel it? Stirring inside you? Something new, something exciting. An aching from the core. A yearning.” She pressed her lips against his, hard and rough. “You want me.”
“I do.” He swung her around, slammed her against the wall and hoisted her skirt.
“Not like that.” She swept the napkin holder and salt-and-pepper shakers off a table, clearing it. “Here.” She lay down on top and invited him in.
He ripped off his trousers and climbed aboard. Once they connected, he gasped. “Oh. Oh. Yes.”
“Tonight will be different. Like nothing you’ve ever done before.” She rocked her hips, pulsing. He moaned in rhythm. “Starting now.”
She flipped him around and in an instant, she was on top of him, astride and in control.
The thrusting was urgent and furious, but not fast, not fleeting. His eyes rolled back into his head. She could read his thoughts. He had never experienced anything like this, never felt anything so intense in his entire life. This was perfection, this was the sanctuary he had sought for so long. This was worth the danger, perhaps enhanced by the danger, being with her again, putting everything on the line, throwing caution and common sense to the wind. This was being alive.
When he finished, it was not so much a release as a full-body nirvana. He cried out, loud and unrestrained.
“Was it all you hoped it would be?” she asked, snuggling beside him.
“More. Much more.” He laid his head on her chest, ready to rest.
“One moment of perfect pleasure?”
His eyelids fluttered and closed. “So good. So hot.”
She patted him gently till he fell asleep, which did not take long. She knew he would be out for at least an hour. Enough time to accomplish her next task. While he slept, she bound his arms and legs and lowered him onto a sheet so he would be easier to move.
You thought that was hot? She was unable to suppress her pleasure.
Wait till you see what comes next.
* * *
“What’s going on? Why am I tied up?”
“So you can’t leave, obviously.”
“Why am I here?”
“You said you’d give anything. Everything. Now you will.”
“What is this?”
“The moment of perfect pleasure.”
“We already had that.”
“No. You had yours. Now I’m going to have mine.”