8: In Which She Finds a Fantasy

**********************

“Thanks again,” I said for the hundredth time, glancing in Prince’s direction.

“Don’t mention it,” Prince replied gruffly, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

A long moment of silence elapsed and his Toyota seemed to become smaller.

“So that was Book Club Guy,” he said casually. Too casually. “I thought he’d be more... bookish.”

“Bookish?”

“You know, look like he actually read?”

I let out a shot bark of laughter. “Prince, no books were involved in last night’s...private meeting.” Glancing out the window, I saw that the sun was just beginning its flight across the horizon. Prince’s wristwatch beeped that it was five a.m.

“You two are dating?”

He had asked that exact same question at the station when he’d come to bail me out. He and Stephen had glared at each other like two bulldogs in a ring.

This time, I was annoyed. “You know what? You have no right to question me about my love life after what you did to me.”

“After what I did to you?” He threw me a glare. “I don’t remember ever taking you without your consent.”

“Yeah, well, it won’t happen again. Trust me. Have you found a new apartment?”

“I’m moving out at the end of this month.”

“Great.”

“Yeah. Great.”

The rest of the car ride went by in silence.

*

“So I haven’t heard from you in a week and I was worried that your dad might’ve murdered you when you two got home,” Stephen said.

I readjusted my phone in the crook of my shoulder while I stirred the chicken curry. “Oh, he tried,” I replied with a laugh. My “dad” was currently on the couch watching an episode of 1000 Ways to Die and chain-smoking. We’d made up after our little ‘fight’ in the car and slept in.

“The guy’s a díck,” Stephen let me know, sounding extra vehement over the phone.

“No, he’s not. Besides, he thinks you’re cute – just not his type,” I teased, giggling.

“Shut up.”

“Oooh... make me,” I childishly retorted.

“I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

I bit my lip. “Why not?”

“Because you could be reading The Holy Grail and I’d still get hard. Hasn’t anyone told you that your voice is...well, sexy?”

“Really?” I had to laugh. “Hey, no wonder I get all kinds of special favours! It must be my voice box!”

“Ha-ha. Very funny. I know I sound like a pussy but I’m serious.” Stephen paused. “Where are you?”

“At home... and I bet you’re still at the restaurant.”

“Correct. I’m rotting away in my office like a – Janelle, what are you wearing?”

I let out another laugh. “Talk about a short attention span!”

“Just give me a visual,” he insisted.

“Well, I always cook butt naked, which is why having guests is always a big –”

“Wench.”

“And you love it. Hang on a sec.” I padded into the living room. “Prince, please watch the stove. Dinner’s cooking.”

He looked up at me. “But my show –”

“Thank you, babe!” I sang over my shoulder, scampering off to my room. I slammed the door shut and locked it, flopping onto my bed. “Stephen, you there?” I said into the phone.

“So what are you making?”

“Shut up about that,” I told him, smiling. “I’m wearing a dress. And no, it’s not backless or sexy. I’m a little journalist.”

“What colour is it?”

“Blue. No. Turquoise.”

“Is your hair up?”

“Down. Brushing my shoulders. I washed it today.”

“I love your hair. You know that weird hair-fetish guy from Charlie’s Angels?” He laughed out loud. “I might be that guy.”

“You’re starting to creep me out,” I replied with a smile. “Stephen...we were strictly supposed to see each other at the book club.”

“We’re on the phone. Technically, we’re not seeing each other.”

“Yeah, I know,” I conceded, “but we shouldn’t be.”

“And who made that rule up?” Stephen said, and I could tell he was becoming exasperated with me.

“It’s not a rule. I just –”

“Janelle, close your eyes,” he commanded, cutting me off.

I bit back a waspish response. “Fine.”

“Now, listen to my voice,” he said gently. “If I were there in your bedroom right now... what would you want me to do to you?”

I sniggered. This man never ceased to make me – a self-christened nympho – blush. “What would I want you to do to me? I don’t know.”

“You’re a writer; you’re supposed to be good at expressing yourself.”

“I am.”

“Then tell me.”

I took a deep breath. “OK. I’ll be honest,” I said, digging my toes into the bed. “I would want your díck inside me. No brainer.”

“Jeez, Janelle – what happened to foreplay?”

“You asked,” I laughed.

Stephen cleared his throat. “I would want my díck inside you too. Fúcking save me from staring at these books in this goddamn office.”

“Would you like to come over?”

Do I really want him knowing where I live?

“Would you like me to?”

“I’d like that very much.”

*

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I said.

“This is the part where you invite me in.”

I stepped aside. “I was getting to that.”

“Nell, who’s at the...door.” Prince said the last part monotonously as he came up behind us. “Oh, hello. Sean, is it?”

“Prince, you know very well what his name is,” I said loudly, shooting him a glare.

“It’s all right, Janelle,” Stephen said, placing a hand on my arm.

I grabbed his hand and dragged him to my bedroom. “He’s really starting to act like a díck,” I mumbled, slamming my bedroom door shut. No wonder he got on Erin’s nerves. I glanced at Stephen, who was currently fascinated by my teddy bear collection on the window sill. “I don’t play with those anymore,” I told him, reddening.

He chuckled. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well, I could see the judgment in your eyes.”

“You’ve clearly mistaken pure, unadulterated desire for… judgment,” he said gently, placing his hands on my waist. “You lied to me.”

“About?”

“This dress,” he breathed, stroking my bare shoulders, “is sexy.”

“Then why don’t you remove it?” I spun around, pushing him against my door. “Unless you’re shy?”

“Me? Shy?” He snorted. “Stephen Andrew Ritter does not get shy.”

He grabbed the cotton fabric of my dress and ripped the front apart.

I squealed, stepping back. “This was one of my favourites!”

“I thought I was your favourite,” he said, pulling me back to him. My knees buckled when he leaned in and kissed me. “You taste like… curry,” he murmured into my mouth.

“Shut up.” I shoved my hands down his pants. “He’s my favourite.” I squeezed.

He grabbed my right breast and, through my bra, pinched my nipple. “I thought you didn’t want foreplay.”

“I don’t. Because I’m so fúcking horny it would be torture,” I said softly, groaning as he tweaked my other nipple against my lace bra. “Stephen, stop…”

“You are my hostage now, Janelle,” he said softly, and I heard the key turn behind us. “I can do whatever the fúck I want to you.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Get onto the bed and I’ll show you.”

“Will I be satisfied?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just be mean and disappear when you’re right on the edge,” he said. “Your little roommate could finish the job.”

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy in that statement?” I got onto my back, unabashedly lying spread-eagled.

“I don’t get jealous.” He grabbed my ankle and lifted my leg into the air, pulling me until I was at the edge of my bed. “Flexible.”

“I aim to please. Shít, why don’t you just bring that big c0ck of yours over here and let me keep it warm?” I said in frustration, trembling as he began to stroke his way towards my already soaked panties.

He pressed against my pússy. “You’re extremely wet.” He hooked a hand into my knickers and pulled, ripping it clean off. “Touch yourself.”

“What?”

“Pleasure yourself, Janelle. Show me exactly what you like,” he prompted in a gentle voice. He pulled up a chair before my legs and took a seat.

I had never masturbated for anyone, not even Prince. The one time we’d done anything was with his dildo. A complete bust. He probably didn’t even know I owned my own and masturbated. Quite frankly, that was all right with me. Touching oneself was supposed to be a private act, in my opinion, yet here was Stephen asking me to do just that. Touch myself. For him.

Well, my clít was throbbing.

Closing my eyes, I brought my hands to my pússy and pressed a cautious finger against the pulsing nub that was my clít. I was already wet so it was more than easy to slide two fingers inside, finding my most sensitive place. I usually never made a sound – on account of Prince being next door – but this time, I did. Moaning and arching my back as I stuck a third finger inside my cúnt, imagining that it was Stephen fúcking me like this with his c0ck, I climaxed into my hand on a loud wail.

When I opened my eyes and sat up, I found that Stephen hadn’t moved an inch.

Now what? I thought, still gasping for air.

Without saying a word, he climbed on top of me, breathing heavily. His cóck was pressed against my thigh, stiff and desperate. He hungrily unsnapped my bra while I undid his fly. Fumbling quickly, he removed a condom and sheathed himself, promptly entering me, bigger than I remembered. A sharp twinge of pain shot through me and quickly turned into a wave of pleasure. Stephen’s mouth was everywhere – on my mouth, my neck, my ears - dishing out pleasure with his voracious tongue. He thrust into me viciously, almost angrily; gripping my bed sheet in his hands, bracketing my face with his forearms.

“Now,” he breathed into my ear, grabbing a hank of my hair and pulling.

I yowled, arching off the bed. He came harshly, setting off my own release.

“I love you,” he whispered, pulling out and rolling over to his side to take care of the condom.

I bit my bottom lip. “I need a cigarette.”

Rolling out of bed, I grabbed my bathrobe, slipped it on and slid out my room.

“You guys weren’t even trying to keep it down,” Prince complained when I walked into the living room. He was puffing on his millionth Marlboro.

“Gimme that.” I launched myself onto the couch and snatched it from him, pressing it to my lips before he could protest.

“You’ve never been that loud with me.”

“We’re not supposed to talk about us boinking, remember?”

“Right. My apologies.” He rolled his eyes. “So do you love him?”

I shivered. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Does he love you?”

I stood up. How uncanny was it that he’d be asking this right after Stephen said those very words? “Okay, we are not discussing this. At all. Goodnight.”

“Oh, come on! I’m bored! Threesome?”

Idiot, I said to myself, opening my bedroom door.

“What are you doing?” I asked, watching as Stephen pulled on the jacket of his suit. He was now fully dressed, looking like he hadn't just fúcked me in my bed. “I thought you were… I don’t know – spending the night?”

“Janelle, forget what I said after… you know, sex? I meant platonically, like I love you, man. Thanks for the great fúck,” he said gruffly, buttoning up his shirt. “I gotta get back to work.”

“Thanks for the great fúck?” I splutter in disbelief.

His eyes met mine. “Yeah.”

“And I should forget you just told me that you love me?”

“Yeah.”

I might love you too but I’m scared because I don’t know if I’m good at loving people.

“Okay then,” I said slowly. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Anytime.” He stooped slightly and pecked my forehead. “I’ll let myself out.”

After he left, I felt the overwhelming urge to break something.

It could have also been the disturbing feeling that I had just stepped on something good and broken it.