Layers(19)

“I don’t do relationships,” he says in a low, rough voice. His face is composed, though his eyes are narrow and grave.

That’s something I didn’t anticipate, but with my initial plan, and all of these hormones taking the better of me, “Me neither,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”

He seems rattled. I guess he didn’t expect my response either. When what I’ve just said seems to register he grabs me by my hips, pulls me up and turns to lean me against the lighthouse’s inner wall, pressing me with his body’s weight to the cold concrete. The attraction that was charging between us is finally released and we are drawn to each other in an impulsive rush. I wrap my legs around his hips; he quickly unzips my pullover, pushing aside the fabric. His mouth moves to kiss my cleavage. His other hand finds its way beneath my t-shirt, stroking my skin. I kiss the nape of his neck, inhaling his musky male scent. My blood warms in my veins; I want him so much I can hardly think straight.

“Could you grab the condom from my front pocket?” he whispers in my ear, the sound of his hoarse voice making the simple words so promising. As I hand him the small silver package, he releases me for what feels like the longest, most anticipated, and excruciating few seconds I have ever felt. He unbuttons my jeans and helps me out. I kick my shoes aside. He lifts me again, my legs enfolding him as he takes me in a sharp move; and we’re all anxious strokes, frantic hands, consuming mouths, darting gazes and gasps. The combination of the heat he radiates on me and in me with the cold wall against my back overwhelms me. I kiss the scar on his eyebrow as he accelerates his pace, making us both pant for air, short anxious groans escaping our mouths. His lips are back on my neck, his hand behind me, pulling me closer to him; I wrap my legs tighter and tighter, and with his last deepest thrust we both cum together, exhaling rapidly.

He puts me down right after, makes sure I’m stable and immediately pulls his pants up and turns to stand by my side. He leans on the wall, his head back, pensive.

“Always be prepared,” I murmur.

He chuckles and raises his hand in a Boy Scout salute.

“You? Seriously, Daniel Stark?”

He shakes his head with a slim, wicked smile. “On the contrary, juvenile delinquent would suit me better,” he mutters and his lips twist to a full mischievous smirk. We both laugh, releasing the tension between us as we do. Too quickly his smile is lost as he dryly says, “We should get going.” He adjusts his shirt, running a hand through his hair.

Wham bam thank you ma’am, is what comes to my mind as I put my shoes back on. Isn’t this exactly what I wanted, planned? Emotions aside … “Me neither, don’t stop,” ring a bell? But why does it feel so different with him, so confusing and upsetting? I feel so empty inside all of a sudden. I should be amused by this. I don’t feel. I mustn’t. That’s how it always was and yet with him it’s different somehow.

We climb back down in chilled silence, only the sound of our steps echoing through the stillness. He opens the car door for me, avoiding any eye contact. Bringing the car back to life, he sends a quick glimpse my way. There is a bothered look in his eyes that I find hard to interpret. He appears to be slightly confused. So am I. I think about how he couldn’t wait to get back right after our deed, and how disturbingly apparent it was that he deliberately avoided kissing me on the mouth. All of a sudden he is so distant, it seems like the person sitting next to me is a complete stranger, who doesn’t even resemble the one I’ve just spent time with. He acted so into me, so warm and interested. Now he’s shutting down, like he can’t wait to get away from me.

He turns the volume up, allowing the music to break the silence between us. It feels like the temperature in the car has just dropped to freezing.

Reaching my building, Daniel parks the car as near to the entrance as possible. I momentary look at him sitting next to me stiffly, his face flat.

“Good night, Daniel,” I say quietly, thinking it’ll probably be the last thing I ever tell him.

“Good night, Hayley,” he sighs, seeming somewhat troubled.

I step out of the car, closing the door behind me, walking rapidly toward the lobby, not looking back.

~~~

At half past four a.m., I still toss and turn in bed, reprocessing how quickly he’d changed from, “Meet me now, H,” soft eyes, and intense gazes, holding my hand at every opportunity, to “I don’t do relationships.” And then that introversion and avoidance. He couldn’t look me directly in the eyes. And why the hell didn’t he kiss me? I couldn’t have been more implicit. Well, I guess I’ll never know.

In the comfort of my room, in front of god, myself, and my immaculate collection of shoes, I declare tonight the swan song of my sordid lifestyle. No more. I am not marching on that path, ever again.

It takes me quite a while to fall asleep, and then I am haunted by flashbacks of our recent “date” in my dreams.





Chapter 8: Mixed Messages


I am awakened by an escalating knocking sound that has merged into my dream for the last few seconds, or was it minutes? Forcing my eyes open, I’m completely disoriented. What’s the time? Those knocks are loud and persistent now. I finally manage to comprehend that there’s someone at the door. “Hold on, one moment, coming,” I call out as I put on my pullover, the one from last night; it has a faint Daniel smell on it, which irritates me in a self-deprecating way.