by Riain Grey
(11/05/03)

Nick was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed in front of him, talking to a customer. I went and hid in the history section and spent fifteen minutes trying to think of something to say. Eventually I gave up and decided to go for the direct approach. I wandered back towards the counter and took a deep breath.

"I just spent fifteen minutes in the history section trying to think of something to say to you."

His eyebrows rose.

"Come up with anything good?"

"No."

"Too bad," he answered pleasantly. "I think I would have enjoyed talking to you."

"Hmm," I said. "Well, if I think of anything, I'll let you know."

"Okay," he said, and I thought I saw a tiny corner of a smile on his face.

"I'll try Fiction," I said. "There's always a lot to think about in the Fiction section."

"I'm Nick," he said.

By this point in my life I had more or less given up on the idea of having a normal relationship. For the last three years I had been sharing company with a vague but life-threatening illness that left me exhausted and furious. My hospital stays became characterized by the intense, complicated fantasies I created, in which my body was the innocent but willing victim, and my illness the cruel, handsome lover who took me apart, piece by piece, only to put me back together again. As I drifted in and out of morphine-induced calm, I thought I saw shadows, felt them tie my wrists and ankles, felt my master pushing his way on top of me, a shining knife blooming in his hand.

Eventually I was free to go, though the doctors never figured out exactly what was wrong with me. They cautioned me against heavy exercise or sudden shocks, apparently unaware that sudden shocks had been the highlight of my hospital stays; just leaving the room slowed my heartbeat. I moved back into Chelsea and adopted a cat. I worked nights at Dino's and tried not to behave self-destructively. I went to bed every night at 2:30 or 3:00 AM and watched the shadows of passing cars flicker across my wall. I lay awake and thought about things. As soon as the first smudges of light crawled through my window, I would feel something give way, loosening inside me, and I would fall into a helpless sleep.

My days became drowsy, hazy things, but my nights flickered into sharp focus. I felt myself moving into a higher gear. Things that had never made sense before were suddenly clear, like when your eyes get adjusted to the dark. At Dino's I waited tables with an easy grace that I had never felt before: my body in smooth, constant motion, my smile flashing out into the darkness. I started walking home from the restaurant, some twenty blocks, and always late at night, but it felt good to be outside. The summer air was sweet and sticky and coated my throat like cotton candy. At home I closed my eyes and listened, stroking myself to the outside sounds, waiting for something to happen.

Nick was an unexpected surprise. The first time I saw him, I felt the sleep crumble away from my eyes, leaving me fragile and bare. He made me want to tell him things. His gray eyes turned flashing silver when he smiled. He had beautiful hands and curly brown hair that tumbled around his face when he looked at me. I wanted to talk to him for hours and touch him for days. There was a silver ring on his left hand that left me hot with lust; when I looked at it, all I could think of was his fingers wrapped in mine.

Nick didn't like to talk about himself, as a rule. Even after repeated visits to see him at the store, I knew almost nothing about him. "I'm a pretty boring guy," he would say apologetically, though this was untrue, and while he avoided mentioning specifics of his life, he was fascinated by even the smallest details of mine. I would leave his store in the afternoons feeling dazed, like I had had too much sun. I spent a lot of subway rides speculating about his life, all the private time he kept hidden from me.

I tried to imagine Nick in his bedroom -- what would he be doing? Reading? Writing? Jerking off to Hustler magazine? I imagined myself in his room, lying on his bed, listening to records and smoking endless cigarettes. I imagined myself kneeling beneath him, sucking him dry. I imagined him looking down at me, his cigarette burning away to nothing between his fingertips, a thoughtful expression on his face.

One night I surprised myself by allowing these thoughts into my head while I got myself off. Usually it was nameless, faceless men, doing unspeakable things to my body, but this time it was Nick, sweet Nick, kneeling over me with a beautiful, painful expression, watching my face as we fucked. What the hell? I thought to myself, but I went with it because I didn't want it to stop, and Nick was there, touching my face and hair, holding me tight, his face buried into my neck. I rubbed myself until I came, twisting in my sheets, almost moaning out loud, and Nick's name came rushing out of my mouth -- Oh Nick, oh Nick, yes -- and I fell asleep that way, with my hand between my legs and his name sweet on my breath.

We kissed for the first time almost a month after we met. I went to visit him at work and stayed until it was time for him to close up. We locked the door and shut the gates, and when I asked him what I could do, he looked at me almost helplessly, and pulled me down with him until we were both kneeling on the floor in the cookbook section.

"Can I…?"

"I wish you would."

He laughed as he kissed me, the vibrations deep in our throats. I leaned into him, feeling my skirt ride up against my thighs as I pulled my body closer to his. We kissed breathlessly and his hand reached for my breast, his thumb rubbing my nipple absently.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his hand pausing against my chest.

"Christ, yes. Isn't it?"

"Oh, yes," he answered, seeming surprised.

"Well, don't stop," I said.

"No," he promised, and bent to kiss me again.

The next time I visited Nick at work, I hung around trying to act casual and waited for it to be seven o'clock. Nick was full of secret smiles for me. I shelved books and helped clean up. We stole kisses in the narrow aisles. Looking at him left me shaking and lustful. His hands drew fire across my back. When Nick finally locked the door I felt a tingling rush of heat deep inside my belly. He turned to look at me and I felt something give way inside me. Holding his gaze, I walked backwards, step by careful step, until I was surrounded by bookshelves, covered in shadow and hidden from view. I dropped to my knees and waited.

When Nick knelt down next to me, I resisted the urge to kneel down even more. I wanted to lower myself, give my body up, give him everything. Instead I reached out to touch his face and we kissed, sweetly and then harder. My breath caught in my throat and he looked at me intently.

"I know what my girl needs," he whispered, and I felt waves pulling me down, pulling me under, pulling me in.

He put his hand under my skirt, running his fingers up and down my inner thigh. I looked at him, feeling hot and liquid. Eyes locked on mine, he reached his hand up higher until his fingertips just grazed against my cunt. His surprised look turned to a hungry one when he realized I wasn't wearing anything under my skirt.

"Did you walk around like this all day?" he asked, his voice low, one finger just barely touching me, flicking against my clit.

"Yes."

"Were you wet like this all day?"

"No."

"Wet for me?"

"Yes."

"I don't think I've ever touched a girl this wet."

I could feel the blood rushing through my head, pounding, leaving me dizzy and breathless. My face burned bright-red as I stared at the floor.

Nick laughed a little.

"I like seeing you like this," he commented, "I really like you like this," and he pushed his finger up inside me. I watched his hand moving under my skirt and felt myself falling into an ocean as he played with me, his thumb on my clit and his finger sliding up, slick and hot. "Lay down," he said suddenly, and pushed me gently backwards. I leaned back until I felt the floor, hard and cool against my back.

Nick pushed up my skirt with one hand, his other still dipping and twisting in my cunt. He knelt over me, staring down at my face. I closed my eyes.

"No," he said, "don't close them. Look at me."

I watched him silently.

"I want you to come," he told me, "and I want to look at your cunt while you do." I gasped as he slid another finger into me. He turned his gaze to my pussy, fascinated. He fucked me harder, bracing himself with one hand on the floor, and I arched my back, trying to push his fingers in deeper. Nick glanced up at me to see my reaction. When he saw me watching him, he caught his breath, his eyes turning liquid and still.

"My sweetheart," he breathed, "my sweet girl," and with that I was coming, hard, exploding into his hand, all seawater and salt, waves crashing against rocks in the tide.

The first time I went to my monthly doctor appointment after things started with Nick, I was flushed and out of breath. The nurse noted my elevated heartbeat with raised eyebrows. I sat in the examination room, almost dizzy, waiting for the doctor to come. The next month I was late -- those fifteen minutes spent instead in Nick's store, leaning across the counter, eyes shining. And the month after, I told the doctor I didn't need to see him anymore.

"What do you mean?" he asked blankly. "Melinda, this is a serious illness. We need to keep an eye on you. What if you have a relapse?"

"I've got someone," I answered, buttoning my shirt. He didn't ask me what I meant.

A few nights later I knelt before Nick again, my heart pounding in my throat. He tried to pull me up, but I stopped him. I looked up at him but couldn't express it.

"What is it?" he whispered.

I couldn't seem to do it. He put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed.

"Tell me," he said, a commanding tone in his voice.

Something gave inside.

"I -- there's something I like."

"Yes?" he prompted.

"I like it when you -- well. When you sort of take control."

His grip tightened on my shoulders. "You mean like now?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"You mean like before, when I fingered you?"

Fingered. God. I was wet already. I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Why do you like it?"

"Because -- I don't know."

"Because it makes you hot? Wet?"

"Yeah," I muttered.

"Hmm," he said. "That's interesting."

"Um," I squeaked.

"What else?" he asked, grabbing my hands and twisting them behind my back. "You like that?"

"Yes," I managed, trying to hold in a gasp.

"How about this?" he continued, shoving me down to the floor. "Want me to play rough?"

He held me down, my hands pinned above my head. He put his hand across my mouth, gently. I moaned into it. He laughed and pushed one of his fingers into my mouth. I moaned again and started to suck it, as sweetly as I could. I looked up at him and tried to tell him everything with my eyes. He was so, so beautiful. I wanted to fall, drown, sink under with my Nick. He looked at me as if considering something. I pleaded silently for more, twisting under his hands.

"Shh," he suggested, pulling his hand away and resting one finger on my lips. "Don't move. Don't think. Just be here. With me."

Nick touched my cheek, slid my hair behind my ear. "I don't want to play around," he said, his voice clear and quiet. "If we do this, we do it for real."

I nodded.

"You understand? No games."

"I know," I whispered. My breath shallow and fast.

"Good," he said, his voice short and crisp. He pulled away from me, letting go of my wrists. I caught my breath when I saw how he was looking at me.

"Get up on your hands and knees," he ordered calmly.

I climbed up onto my knees, struggling awkwardly for balance.

"No. Hands. And. Knees."

This was a Nick I had never seen before. Still slow to anger, but with a cold, blue flame. I positioned myself as best I could, feeling clumsy. I bit my lip and stared at the floor.

I felt Nick move behind me, looking me over.

"Good," he said, a satisfied tone in his voice, and I shut my eyes tight against sudden tears.

His hands were smooth against my back. He pushed my skirt up over my ass, his fingers catching in the material. He brushed the skirt smooth and rubbed his hand over my cunt. I felt hot indentations where his fingers pressed down. In one sudden motion, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties and pulled them down around my knees. Cold air flooded my cunt and made me stiffen.

"I can smell you," he remarked conversationally, and pushed two fingers up into me. A pathetic noise escaped my mouth. Holding his hand there, he wrapped his other hand in my hair, grasping my neck with steady, sure fingers. I was tingling and tense, shivering a little. His hand stroked my neck, holding my head perfectly still.

"Is this what you meant?" he asked softly.

Yes, yes, yes, I thought. I wanted so desperately to look at him. I could feel my heart beating steadily, hot pulses in my chest.

"Yes," I said quietly.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Sir," I said.

"Good girl," he answered approvingly, moving his fingers in and out of my cunt, slipping into a rhythm, his other hand still on my neck. I could feel myself edging towards oblivion with every breath. "You're so perfect," he said suddenly, and I could hear the surprise and admiration in his tone. "So well-behaved. So beautiful. I think this suits you."

"It does, Sir," I managed.

"I think I could get used to this." He leaned over me and shoved two fingers into my mouth, hard. He let me suck them for a moment and then moved away, casually wiping his hand on his jeans. "I'll be right back. Don't move."

Nick walked away and I closed my eyes, feeling a rush of blood buzzing in my ears. When I felt him near me again I held my breath, trying to tell what he was doing from the movement in the air. There was a pause, and then the unmistakable sound of a lighter clicking into flame. I heard a tiny whoosh and then heard Nick exhaling, smelled the smoke drifting towards me. I felt something nudging at my lips and took a grateful drag of his cigarette.

He inhaled again. "Look at me," he said, the words circling around his cigarette lazily. I opened my eyes to find him kneeling above me, eyes narrowed and dark. The cigarette hung suspended in the corner of his mouth.

"When you look at me, I can see all the way in you," he said, smoke trickling from the corners of his mouth. "I can see all your secrets."

I looked up at him, my heart pounding like it might burst.

"I can see that you're a girl who wants to be held down and fucked on the floor of a dirty bookstore. I can see that you want me to own you."

Nick unzipped his pants, the movement of his hands making me sigh with pleasure.

"Now you know your secrets, too."

He pulled out his cock and guided it into my mouth, cradling my head with both hands. I relaxed into his hands as I sucked him.

"You're mine, now," he said absently, his fingers tangled in my hair, and I felt myself starting to cry. "Shh," he said again, and reached one hand between my legs. He stroked me carefully, teasing with two slow fingers, slipping in and out.

"Let go," he said urgently. "Let it go, Melinda." His fingers moved faster and I whimpered, trying to pull him deeper into my mouth and arching beneath his hand. "Let it go," he repeated, and I felt it happen, felt myself slide away into hot, dizzy streams, blood rushing through me, my heart hammering until I felt myself burst, hot and wet. Nick pumped his cock in and out of my mouth, his hand clutching at the back of my neck. Somehow I knew everything was different now. I reached up for him and sucked harder as he slid in and out of my mouth.

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