A Mother’s Love
Today is June 14, 2016, just four days until I turn 36. Today is the day I die. The sun has been shinning bright the past couple of days and the weatherman is confident it will stay that way for the rest of the week.
I wish it would rain, if only for an hour, like it always seems to do in movies. Unfortunately, I'm not the hero or the one who dies tragically and everyone mourns. I suspect, just as the rest of the world believes, that I'm the villain of this story.
I've had my chance to plead innocent, but I spent that day in silence and it has long past. I can't change the public's opinion of me, but I can speak three truths before I'm condemned to death. I don't dare write any of this down; there's no explanation that could fix this tragedy. At the end, I hope there will be at least one person who'll shed a tear.
"I'm a single mother." I married my high school sweetheart the day after graduation and two years later I gave birth to a beautiful boy. It turned out to be the best and worst day of my life. I was so excited to show our new baby to my husband, but when the nurse wheeled us back to my room, it was empty. He left while I was in labor and I never saw him again.
"I'm an alcoholic." I used to argue this fact with claims that my drinking never affected my daily life. It started slow, a drink or two to take the edge off once a week. The habit soon spiraled out of control, started to draw attention from the one person I never wanted to find out. It took 16 years and one car crash for me to admit my problem.
"I love my son." People can say what they like about me, but never doubt that I love my son. He is more important than anything else in this world. The only problem is, he loves me just as much. Once he got his drivers license he would pick me up from whichever bar I was passed out in and take me home. He's the light of my life, I would do anything for him.
One night, we were coming home from another dirty bar when it happened. It was late, well past the time my boy should have been in bed considering he had school in the morning. I don't remember much of the actual drive, but I do remember the bang of impact, the screech of metal scraping. As the truck started to spin, my head hit the window and I blacked out.
When I woke up, the vehicle had come to a stop and I couldn't see the car we hit anywhere. The adrenaline rush from the crash, from the glass embedded in my skin and the throbbing pain in my chest gave me the clarity of mind I so desperately needed. I had to help my son, my well being wasn't important at the moment.
Releasing the seat belt, I fought to get the door open wide enough to slip out. Stumbling in the debris from the crash, I scrambled around the vehicle toward my son. The door was jammed, but I kept pulling until it gave way. The broken handle dug into my fingertips, a stinging pain I barely felt at the time. It was until I saw his face that I realized I'd been screaming his name the entire time.
The seat belt unsnapped easily and I gently pulled him out from behind the steering wheel. He wouldn't wake up and for a moment I feared the worst, but a closer inspection proved he was still breathing. Sobbing in relief, I held him to my chest. Sirens wailed in the distance and I prayed they would get here soon.
I would later find out that the other vehicle had rolled over the guard rail, flipped down a hill to crash upside down in a small ravine. No one in the family of four survived long enough for paramedics to arrive.
Reality caught up to me when two police officers arrived in my son's hospital room. The doctors wanted to separate us for treatment; I refused. Thankfully, my son wasn't awake to hear about the death of that family. The officers started talking about consequences and blame; asking uncomfortable questions.
They kept talking, the words running together, turning into nonsense I could understand. One question got through, possibly the most important question of my life.
"Who was driving the car?"
There was no hesitation, I looked him in the eye and told him I was driving. My response brought a whole new slew of questions, but I didn't hear a word. As far as I was concerned, there are only three truths worth saying. I'm a single mother and an alcoholic. I love my son.
A Reason To Celebrate
Fireworks boom and crackle as they soar through the night sky. A kaleidoscope of colors rain down until my view is blocked by the old church steeple; the mounted cross tinted green with rust. Children race through the streets with sparklers in hand while adults gather around grilles and drink cheap beer. I bring the pilfered cigarette up to my split lips for one last drag, the tip burning red in the darkened room; the smoke fading in the humid air.
My husband would be furious if he caught me smoking his precious menthol's. That fat, lazy hypocrite. Tossing the used cigarette out the window I walk toward the kitchen, stepping over the broken lamp still spitting sparks across the dirty hardwood floor. The pool of blood had congealed into a tacky mess while I was watching the vibrant explosions in the sky.
In a way I’m grateful for the noise. the initial distraction. Any interruptions to the TV would have once heralded screams and fists much stronger than my own. Now, the thundering fireworks had covered his pleas for help as I stabbed him with a carving knife.
Looking down on his motionless body, a smile curls my lips for the first time since our wedding day. Happy Independence Day to me.
The Second Time (One Thousand Moments of Weakness)
My husband returned home from his friend's house at 8:45pm. His dinner on a plate in the microwave went untouched as he flopped onto the bed, mumbling.
I started to bitch and then just gave up as he lay back and began snoring before hitting the pillow. Driving drunk again. Because we could really afford another DUI. Because I had to take the blame for his accident last year to keep his drivers license from being revoked. So his continued refusal to quit drinking and driving did more than annoy me. It made me angry. And since my anger towards him was against the rules, I swallowed it down time and again. Eventually, that anger would burst free in a violent explosion of repressed fury completely irrational for the final straw. And never was it directed to the real problem.
I popped an Ambien, about ready to say "Fuck this day," now that I was good and pissed. It would kick in with 30 minutes, and in my dreams, I wasn't married to a abuser who was also a fat, hateful drunk.
I took a picture of his ashen face, making sure to capture the trail of drool already soaking his pillow. The sour smell of Jack Daniels and pisswater beer emanated from his skin like Pigpen and his dirt cloud. I captioned it "Best Husband Ever!" Added some appropriate emoji and sent the snapchat to him.
Him being the person I'd been growing closer to in recent weeks. The one who would go back and forth with me all day with silly snapchats and Words With Friends. One of the only people who'd ever beaten me at it. He was steadily becoming the one I confided in, and the one I wanted to call first with good news. He was the person I would text every weekend to invite over, he liked to party as much as I did. And even when there was a house full, he and I were almost always the last two standing.
He was also the man who I'd broken my marriage vows with one week before. One of those crazy drunk desert nights. He was handsome, charming, flirtatious, and relentless. He was only 23 years old, 13 years my junior, the grown child of my husbands best friend.
Sleeping with him a week ago was a terrible mistake! Right?
My snap opened a conversation which initiated a dare. Suddenly wide awake, sitting straight up in bed, my husband grunted, rolling towards me and belched, blanketing me in a poison cloud that smelled like a mix of the hospital's geriatric wing and the bathroom at a seedy bar. My stomach turned, repulsed at the noxious odor. My eyes took in his unconscious form, seeing the layers and rolls of my husband's pasty, fat stomach where he had lean muscle. Seeing the wiry, gray, old man hair coming from his nose and ears. Growing on his shoulders, covering his round, white gut. He made my decision for me when he farted.
Quickly scribbling a lie on a post it note which I leave in the bathroom. Sneaking out the front door of the house to avoid alerting the children. Parking on the street instead of the driveway where I usually park. It wouldn't be fitting for his roommates to see me.
I tell him to drive, the Ambien has kicked in, and while I'm not sleepy, my vision is a little wonky and I'm feeling a little fuzzy. Besides, I want to know where he'll take us too.
We've made it to the other end of town in 7 minutes. Passing through one stoplight, and traffic is nearly nonexistent at 9:30 PM on a Thursday night in April. Driving up towards the mountain, the streetlights are spaced farther apart. It's darker, and soon we turn off on a dirt road towards Cherry Hill, a place where the high school kids like to build bonfires and have keg parties. We turn left again, onto a bumpier, more narrow dirt road. Looking out my dirty windshield is useless, my Ambien eyes see nothing out there but swirling, dancing darkness.
He makes an unexpected wide turn and puts the car in park. "This is the circle track," he tells me and I recall stories of his shenanigans in this part of the desert. Every person who ever lived here has at least one good desert shenanigan story.
Suddenly shy, I can't quite meet his eyes now that he's turned his full attention to me. Which is silly, I've known him since he was 18, and I'd already had sex with him a week before. I realize that I'd been brave with whiskey courage last time. Or maybe just realizing that "I was drunk!" might fly as an excuse for last weeks sexcapade. But not tonight.
A million thoughts whirling through my brain. Suddenly silenced when he cupped my jaw and turned my face gently to his. He pressed his soft lips against mine softly, slowly. This kiss was different than last week's urgent, stumbling scramble to shed clothing and maul greedily at each other like starving prisoners of war. This kiss was a tender caress, a reminder that he likes me for more than my face or my body. It's a lesson, he's showing me that his prowess and bedroom skills are varied enough to meet any and every sexual demand. It's a reassurance that I'm desirable, as well as an ego boost that this sexy, younger man who could be with gorgeous girls in their 20's, picks me, wants me, has pursued me. This kiss is a promise to distract me from every ugly, unwanted part of my life that I work so hard to ignore.
Parting my lips, his tongue dancing with mine, pressing a little firmer. I'm pulling his tank top over his tousled blonde head. My hands are sliding along his chest and arms and belly, marveling that a man can have such soft, beautiful skin. The callouses on his hands are the only rough part of him. His hands slide down the straps of my tank top, then gripping, squeezing, kneading my breasts which mold themselves into his hands. A runaway moan when his tongues flicks across my nipple. Immediately, it hardens to a nub which he draws between his lips and suckles with intense deliberation. My other nipple is being rolled between his index finger and thumb, pinching, tugging, teasing, until he leans down again and I jump at the unexpected sensation of his teeth nibbling. And a firework blossoms in my belly and I'm giving in and ripping my shirt over my head and then his and I'm climbing over the passenger seat into the back and he's following and pulling my skirt off in his way.
We're in the backseat of my car and his tongue is in my mouth. His hand in my hair holds my face immobile as his kiss breaks long enough to begin trailing kisses down my throat and back to my breasts. The clear night sky is visible out the back window, a million stars illuminate his face enough to show me that passion has darkened his blue eyes to a dark, intense indigo that makes me squirm under its full attention. But then I'm squirming because his fingers are toying with me and I'm dripping wet, so wet that I'm embarrassed for him to realize my level of excitement. But he's murmuring his approval, and I can feel his excitement growing as his slippery fingers slide in and out, a preview of sorts. He brings that hand up to his mouth and licks the moisture, then he's reaching to me and my lips are parting and I'm sucking his fingers while his eyes are locked with mine. He's groaning as his mouth joins in, until the hand is removed from the equation and it is again my tongue and his, the taste of my wetness mixed with the irresistible flavor of forbidden fruit.
My legs are parting and he's contorting and then he's inside me. I've got one foot flush against the Camry's roof while my other foot is in the drivers seat, ankle draped over the head rest. The top of my head is pressed against the door and I have the fleeting thought that I haven't had car sex since high school. He's moving in and out, slow, deep thrusts that fill me and force a cry from my lips each time he's buried to the hilt. One long, sinewy arm is braced next to my ribs, holding himself over me and he's asking "Do you like that? How's that feel?" And I'm breathlessly gasping my approval with each deliberate, delicious thrust, "it's good baby, it's so good, all the way in, so deep."
And he's moving faster, and I'm squirming beneath him, bracing my foot on the ceiling, lifting my hips to draw him further in, as far in me as he can go. I'm moaning, I'm so damn close to the edge and our breath is heavy and labored.
I'm right there when he withdraws suddenly, then I'm scrambling to bring my legs back to me as he's squirming to slide his shorts lower than mid-thigh where they'd been. He's seated now and I'm climbing on top, straddling him, and he's groaning as I'm impaling myself on his length. All the way, I'm even fuller at this angle and it takes a few seconds before I'm able to take all of him. But then I have, I'm sitting flush on his lap, his hands are on my hips and my left knee is digging into the seatbelt buckle, but I'm uncaring, it is nothing compared to this euphoric sensation as I begin moving. Slow for about 3 thrusts, then faster while his fingers dig into the soft flesh of my ass. His hands spread over my cheeks and he's pulling them apart while I ride, and then I'm bouncing harder. He's watching my breasts bounce, and I lean forward, neck turned to accommodate the Camry's ceiling, and I'm watching his tongue dart out of his mouth trying to catch a nipple like a frog trying to catch a fly. I'm slapping his face with my breasts and he's squeezing my ass harder. The firmness of the backseat makes it easy for me to thrust my weight onto him, I'm moving fast, my entire body is vibrating with tension as I'm working hard to find that O. Then it's there, as his lips finally catch one breast and I tell him to use his teeth, my orgasm rocks my body as his teeth clamp onto my nipple. My cries are loud as the waves wash over me, I'm bouncing up and down frantically, milking him for every ounce of pleasure I can get, using his hard length for my own needs and there's a rush of liquid and its me, I'm cumming so hard, every nerve ending is standing straight up, every cell in my body is alight with fevered passion. "Oh my god" he says, feeling the wetness of my orgasm all over his stomach and thighs, and then his hands are under my armpits, he's lifting me as he begins thrusting upwards, now he's driving into me, his pace furious as his teeth are chewing on my nipple.
I'm encouraging him with a "yes, yes, yes!" I can hear my tone rising as he's bringing me right back to the edge. There's a wet, slapping sound accentuating every thrust, and then I can feel my entire body clench and my scream is caught in my throat, I'm frozen for 3 seconds or 3 hours, my entire body is a hard, tight coil of sexual energy. Then it's released, I'm screaming, every inch of my skin has joined this orgasm, there is another rush like a waterfall and it's not stopping as his fingers are furiously toying with my clit, as he's driving himself deep inside me, as I'm drenching him again with my own juices and then he's cumming with me and it's the most intense orgasm I've ever had.
Breathing hard, legs trembling, weak now, my head resting on the seat rest behind him. We sit there that way for a few moments, breathless after our exertions. Finally, I lean back and as I dismount, our eyes meet. My earlier shyness is gone and I smile at him. He smiles back, and I wonder if he felt the intensity the same way I did. "That was amazing," he said and I have my answer.
Opening the doors, letting the cool night air dry our sated bodies. I find a towel in the trunk that we use to wipe away the evidence of our passion. We smoke some cigarettes, I don't remember how many or what we talked about while we smoked. I don't remember driving back to his apartment, or what we talked about in the car. I remember opening the passenger door and walking to the drivers side, on the street in front of his apartment. I remember being gathered me in his arms, a soft brush of his lips across mine, and a hug before he went inside.
Pharrell is singing about his happiness and I'm humming along with him as I pull in the driveway. Sneaking inside quietly, careful not to wake up the kids. Bare feet padding softly over carpeted floor, turning my bedroom door softly, slowly pushing open, a little bit scared. What if I'm caught?
My trepidation put to rest with the loud snore like a grizzly bear that greets me. I walk the short hallway, glancing into the master bathroom and see my post it note is still where I'd left it. Past the bathroom, his stench hits me like a slap in my face. I shake my head, incredulous that I'd been gone for hours, getting fucked in my own car by his best friends kid, as he lay here, stinking and oblivious.
I wonder if I should feel guilty as I pull on pajamas. I do, a little. But I push that down and focus instead on replaying our second encounter in my mind. I'm climbing into bed with my unconscious husband with the scent and the spunk of another man all over me. And it's thoughts of that other man, and when I'm gonna be able to see him again that lull me into sleep. One time could've been an accident, or a mistake. Two times, not so much. God help me, there's a smile as I drift to sleep. It's going to happen again.
Lessons Learned
Every year on my birthday, my Father would tell me a story. A tale of something he had accomplished by the time he was my age. Well, I call them tales because my Father loved to lie like he loved to drink. Uninhibited and with no sense of moderation.
On my fourteenth birthday, after my daily beating, he stood over my prone body and slurred through another story.
"Your generation is weak. Soft in the head and soft in heart. When I was your age, I killed a man who broke into our home." He paused to drain the remains of his ninth beer before chucking the bottle at me. He missed, but I've been told it's the thought that counts.
"He killed your Grammy and then your Grandad just as he finished unlocking the gun case. By the time I got home, he was rummaging through our china cabinet. I didn't hesitate to grab a gun and I shot that fucker twice in the back." He moved toward the Lazy-boy recliner and flopped down.
"I learned a valuable lesson that day. That robber was twice my age and had a gun to boot, but I wasn't scared. I didn't stand by and cry. We all bleed the same. Don't matter who you are, no one's invincible." With that sage advice passed on, he promptly passed out.
Later that night, I stood outside the place I was raised and watched the flames devour everything within reach. I threw the empty gas can in our neighbors bushes and realized he was right. We all bleed the same and as my Father's learning right now, we all burn the same.
CONTROL: part four: “Nightcap”
"My home, of course."
"Why not mine?"
"If it's all the same to you, I would much rather have sex in my own bed."
"Ouch, you really know how to set a romantic mood, Liz."
Lizzy sighed. "Sorry, Collin," she said, glancing at the phone mounted on her car dashboard. She had called his number immediately after she left Lucy's place. "I'm not really in the best mood right now. This week was the worst."
"Work?"
"Yes. And some concerns with my sister."
She didn't know why she was talking to him about this. Their relationship wasn't exactly ... well, it wasn't a relationship at all.
"Look," Collin said, "seeing as it's pretty late--"
"Fine, forget I called." She moved to hit the end call button.
"No, don't hang up."
She stopped, and put her hand back on the steering wheel. "What?" She knew she sounded curt, but he'd already turned her down twice earlier this week. Her pride could only take so much rejection before she had to start getting defensive.
"I was going to say that seeing as it's late, maybe I could just come by tomorrow night and make you dinner."
"I guess ..."
"And after that, you may have your nasty way with me all night. In your own bed, of course."
"Fine. But you don't have to make me dinner."
"You have to eat, Liz."
"I can grab a bite on my way home."
"I refuse to kiss you and be stuck with the taste of cheap greasy pizza in my mouth. I'm coming over at six and I'm making Vietnamese noodles and that fish soup you like."
She smiled despite herself. "Okay. But let's make it seven p.m." Asher Darcy was going to be at the office tomorrow for a long editorial meeting, so she may not be able to leave work early.
"Seven p.m. Great, I'll see you then."
Lizzy sighed as she pulled up to her apartment. It was a shame Collin couldn't be convinced to come over tonight. Though she would be the last to admit it, she could really use a good lay right about now. Her former assistant and current fuck buddy was hardly stimulating company, but he was young and attractive -- he was a model after all -- and had the stamina befitting a man of twenty-two.
She sighed. I guess I'm reading a book tonight.
It wasn't fair. She was a young, fairly attractive woman. She had a career and her own apartment. This was L.A. It shouldn't be this hard for her to get laid.
Her cellphone rang as she was about to get out of the car. She took it off the car dock before answering.
"Hey Shar," she said, picking up her laptop and purse from the front passenger seat.
"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" Sharlene said.
Lizzy locked the car and started toward the elevators. "Oh, no. Just got home from dinner with Mom and my sister. What are you up to?"
"The usual. Netflix and — well, wine and popcorn. I thought you might be with Collin tonight."
"Nah, I thought I'd turn in early." The lie left a faint taste of bitterness as it rolled off her tongue. "We're meeting our brand new publisher tomorrow, after all."
"Right. I'm kind of nervous about that."
"He's not coming to fire us, Shar. He just wants us to get him up to speed with where we are and what we're doing." She got in the elevator and punched in her apartment floor number.
"I know. It's just that he's so hot. You know how I am around insanely handsome men."
Lizzy snorted. "I remember you once put your hand inside a punch bowl because you were reaching for a glass and while staring at — who was that, Jamie Dornan?"
"Yeah." Sharlene sighed. "I'd been fantasizing about him for weeks, and bam! He shows up at that Cosmo party."
"Are you over him yet? The man can't act."
"No, but who cares?"
"Do you realize that if you and Jamie were dating, you'd have to watch all his movies."
"If it means I get to take him home at night, then I accept that burden."
The elevator doors opened and Lizzy stepped out, turning right. "Yes, well, try not to lose your head over Darcy, okay? He's technically your boss. Also, the man is a notorious man whore."
"I know, right? I mean those rumors have to be exaggerated. He couldn't possibly have slept with every model at last year's Victoria's Secret fashion show. Not in one night."
"I hope so." Lizzy unlocked her front door and let herself inside. "If not, let's hope he's as willing to work just as hard at the office as he is screwing around."
CONTROL: part three: “Red Velvet”
The red-headed young woman blushed, and sat down next to Asher. After a moment's hesitation, she slid her behind to close the distance between them until her thigh was pressed against his. "I thought maybe you knew me from work or something," she said.
"Absolutely not. I make it a point to never get involved with people I work with." He raised a hand and called for a waiter.
"Really?" She relaxed and leaned against his arm. "And do you always use cake to pick up girls?"
"I thought maybe you must have already had so many gentlemen buying you drinks tonight."
She giggled. "True."
"So I thought you might like a cake instead."
"I do, yes." She snuggled even closer. "My name's Danielle."
"Asher Darcy."
"Wow." Her green eyes lit up. "The Asher Darcy?"
"You've heard of me, then?"
She nodded. "Wow, you look so much hotter than in the photos on the Forbes website. Oh god," she said, and covered her mouth with her hands. "I can't believe I just said that."
"It's all right." He smiled. "What else do you know about me, Danielle?"
***
"So," Lizzy said, setting down her drink. "What's the big news you wanted to tell us? Mom already filled me in about your new reality show."
"Oh my god, Liz," Lucy said. "You won't believe it, but I may be starring in my first film this year."
"Sweetie, that's great," Mrs. Bennet said, putting down her fork. She and Lucy stood up to hug. "I knew this would be the year you'd finally make it."
"I know, right?" Lucy said. She turned to hug her sister. "Oh, Liz! I'm finally making a movie."
"I am so proud of you," Lizzy said, patting her sister's back. She felt relieved. All throughout dinner, she worried what fresh new hair-brained idea her twin sister may have cooked up as a publicity stunt for her new show. One that may or may not involve her.
They were having dinner at Lucy's new apartment. It was a lot bigger than her last one, and apparently this was so there was enough room for a camera crew.
"Of course, it's all because of my new show," Lucy said as they sat back down. "The buzz around it is just through the roof. Hannah promised me they'd go all out on the publicity and she totally came through for me."
"Hannah is so talented, I swear," Mrs. Bennet said. "I'm so glad she's taking care of you, sweetheart. But tell us more about this movie."
"Well," Lucy said. She paused to take a drink of wine. "It's a feature film, by this tiny indie company. But the director is just so talented, I have a really good feeling about this."
Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands together. "I'd really like to meet him," she said. "Maybe he could have dinner with us next week?"
"Oh no, sorry." Lucy took another drink of wine. "He'll be in New York all week, and he has this fancy costume party to go to on Saturday."
As Lizzy watched her finish off her glass of merlot, she couldn't help worrying about the fact that it was her sister's fifth glass that evening. She cleared her throat. "Does anyone want dessert?" she said, standing up. "I brought cobbler. Let me just get it."
"No, thanks, Liz," Lucy said. "No gluten for me."
"You know," Lizzy called out from the kitchen, "that gluten-free diet is only necessary for people who are allergic to wheat. Or some other really rare disease which I'm pretty sure you don't have."
"Well excuse me for wanting to eat healthier," Lucy said. "I'm in front of cameras all the time, Lizzy. You don't understand the pressure I'm on to look good."
"You always look great, honey," Mrs. Bennet assured her. "That new shade of blonde really brings out your eyes."
"It does, doesn't it?" She smiled and shook her short, silver blonde bob. "What do you think, Liz?"
Lizzy set down two small plates containing slices of the peach cobbler on the table. "It's very pretty," she said. She felt a small pang of jealously as she looked at her sister. They were not identical twins, and it was obvious. Lucy had lovely hazel eyes, while she had to settle for brown, like her hair.
"You should really think about going blonde sometime," Lucy said. "You'll look really sexy, I think."
"I don't think so."
"No, really! It lights up your face. You'll look great on TV."
"Lucy, for the last time, I'm not doing your reality show. I didn't agree to do it the last time, I won't do it now."
Lucy gave a mock frown, her perfect red lips in a pout. "Spoilsport."
***
"So my boss is really old, but he's really nice to me so I adore him," Danielle said. "Everyone told me I was too young for the job and that he'd never hire me, but he totally did."
Asher nodded, looking at her intently. It was typical of Paul Schuller to hire an inexperienced twenty-three-year-old as a member of his staff, even if her skills were entirely different from what the job required. He wondered if Schuller had fucked Danielle yet.
"You must have impressed him," he said. "I've only met him a few times, but word is he's quite the perfectionist."
"Like, oh my god, totally." She waved her hands. "He once made his secretary redo meeting notes five times. Poor Katherine. If only I'd done a better job with those notes, she wouldn't have had to fix it. Sometimes," she added, looking thoughtful, "I think maybe he kind of likes me. Mr. Schuller, I mean." She smiled shyly. "But that's crazy, right? He's, like, old."
"You don't like older men?" From the way she had kept touching his hand and pressing her chest against his arm during the last fifteen minutes, Asher was assured that she, at least, liked men.
Danielle frowned. "Yeah, like... my Dad?" She laughed. "Paul — I mean, Mr. Schuller is older than my dad, I think."
"You think I'm old?"
"Oh god no." She moved her hand down his wrist. "You're, like ... the perfect age." She frowned. "Sorry, am I talking too much?"
He moved his fingers slowly to clasp her fingers, and he heard her catch her breath when he started to caress her hand. "I like watching your lips move," he said.
She swallowed. "I, uhm, do you wanna ask me out or something?"
Asher looked at her quietly for a moment. "Actually, I thought I'd take you home."
"My home?" Danielle's cheeks colored, and she cast her eyes down shyly. "Or do you want to take me home to yours?"
________________________________________
I'll be posting Part 4 "Nightcap" in a few days. Follow me for updates!
CONTROL: part two: “Asher”
Emily tasted like honey and milk. Her body yielded to Asher's caresses like butter to a hot knife. He had made her climax twice in the past half hour as he promised. And without taking their clothes off, because that was an important part of the deal.
He smiled upon seeing her blouse open to reveal a fire-red silk and satin bra. That was not his doing. She had unbuttoned her shirt herself while he was busy pleasuring her.
"I'm glad you think so." She was still breathless from the delights he had introduced in her. "Although this wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I called to meet you here."
"Would you like to go over the latest revisions on the contract now, Emily? I think there are one or two more stipulations I have to insist we reconsider."
"I know what they are. I'll have Portman and Stewart take care of it." She had her hand on his wrist as he ran his fingers up and down her navel, urging him on.
She wanted more.
So did he.
"Are you sure about this?" he said, unmoving. "Your father was adamant about letting his brother have that 10 percent stake."
"My uncle has been a useless piece of trash since he dropped out of three colleges thirty years ago, and my father is a fool for thinking he'll get him to ever amount to anything more than a waste of space." She leaned forward and hooked her fingers on his belt buckle. "My fiancé is on his way here for dinner. Would you rather talk about my loser uncle or get inside me?"
***
THE NEXT DAY
"Ash, where the hell are you?"
"Nice to hear from you too, Charlie," said Asher, leaning comfortably in his seat. "I'm out having a drink, if you must know." His gaze strayed across the old Hollywood style restaurant to rest on a tall redhead in a clingy white dress and come-fuck-me heels. She was with two other young women sitting at the bar, talking excitedly. But every so often, she would glance over and meet his gaze. "I thought I'd celebrate my coming back to L.A. with some good scotch and ..."
The redhead tossed her hair and licked her lower lip.
"... some red velvet."
"You hate cake," Charlie said. "And you especially detest red velvet."
"I seem to find myself in the mood for it tonight. The kind with the white cream cheese frosting." He gave the redhead a small smile. "In fact I can practically taste some of that frosting right now. Would you care to join me?"
He could picture his best friend rolling her eyes. "No thank you," Charlie said. "I have an early breakfast meeting tomorrow. How did the meeting go yesterday?"
"Perfectly. You're speaking to the new majority owner of Ritter Media Holdings." He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill with his free hand and held it loosely in his fingers as he signaled a waitress.
"You got your 90%?" She laughed. "But of course you did. Old man Ritter really has lost his touch."
"Oh I don't know about that. Emily Ritter handled the negotiations. Quite a shrewd businesswoman, I must say. Her reputation is quite well deserved. Hang on."
Asher clasped the waitress's hand so the money was between their palms, and pulled her down to whisper in her ear. "Is it here?" he said.
"Yes, Mr. Darcy," she said. "Would you like us to send it over to your friend now?"
"That would be perfect, thank you, Vera."
She pocketed the cash with a smile, and left.
Charlie sighed. "You slept with her, didn't you?"
"I can say with all honesty, my dear Charlie, that neither of us got any sleep."
"Congratulations, I guess. Will she be your date to my party next Saturday? You haven't informed my assistant whether you're bringing a plus one, but she's learned from experience that it's just more convenient to assume you will."
"Very sensible. It's good to know Darlene's Princeton education is being put into good use. No, it seems Ms. Ritter is entirely engaged to a very boring middle-aged gentleman from Texas with the most appalling table manners."
He smiled as he watched the redhead and her friends gasp in surprise when Vera set down the beautifully designed cake in front of her on the bar top. Vera spoke to the redhead briefly, and gestured towards him. The redhead smiled at him — palms on her chest, her face flush with excitement. He nodded at her, and raised his drink.
"Well, whoever your plus one is," Charlie said, "be sure to inform her of the dress code. I'll not have another costume party ruined by one of your last-minute dates who show up with whatever they were wearing when you picked them up."
"I promise she will be in full costume, even if I have to dress her myself. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm just about to have some birthday cake. Lunch tomorrow?"
"Of course. I missed you, Asher."
"And I missed you, my love. Goodnight."
He put the phone in his pocket just as the young woman came over. "Hi," he said. His gaze moved from her long slim legs up to her exquisitely formed breasts to her face.
"Have we met?" she said. "How did you know it was my birthday?"
"I didn't."
"Oh?" She looked confused. "So why..."
"Will you sit with me?"
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
To be continued.