Keep Me in the Dark (3 page)

I glance down again. Damn. The ground is still there, and still disgusting.

“I’ll carry you so you don’t have to touch the ground. You look like you want to disinfect your shoes.”

I totally do. I weigh looking like an idiot with my own disgust. My pride wins. I take a shaky step forward. “I’m fine.”

He reaches into his pocket. “I’ll let you think about it a moment.”

It sounds like he’s laughing, which kind of irritates me. “What are you doing?”

He pulls out a small object that fits in his palm. “Do you still hate my phone?”

“I don’t…” Wait, I’d said I hated his phone, didn’t I? Right before I threw myself on him and started pawing at his crotch like a sex-starved maniac. My cheeks burn. “I mean, uh, I don’t actually hate it.”

He looks up. I feel the heat of his gaze through his mask. “That’s too bad.”

It shouldn’t be humanly possible to get any hotter, but somehow I do. I get so hot, in fact, that I feel like I’m about to pass out.
Maybe letting him carry me isn’t such a bad idea…

Then I remember how much his touch affects me.

Actually, it’s a horrible idea! I need to make sure he stays as far away from me as possible!
I am obviously sobered up. Well, mostly. I couldn’t turn into psycho-sex-lady now when I had nothing to blame it on!

“Don’t worry, Laura.”

Oh great. He’s worried. Well, I don’t blame him. I’m worried too.

“I’m just calling my car,” he explains. “You said I could take you home after…”

We fuck
. My mind finishes when he doesn’t.
Oh God. Did I actually say that to him? What is wrong with me!

Luckily he doesn’t expect a response from me. He spouts off a few phrases of Russian softly before returning the phone to his pocket and turning back to me.

“Do you still not want me to carry you, Laura?”

We’re back there again? After everything? I clasp my hands. “I can walk. I mean, of course I can, usually, but I am also able to now.”

Wow. Could you possibly have thought of a more stupid response?

“Even if I want to carry you?”

Especially if you want to!
“I…let’s just go. No carrying. Just…”
Let me retreat to my bed so I can pull the sheets over my head and pretend like this was all a hallucination!

He touches me with his good hand. When I don’t pull away, he laces his fingers through mine.

It takes me a moment to figure out why he’s being so hesitant—why it’s almost like he expects me to bolt. I don’t need to think too hard to figure it out. Before now, I’ve always run off or pushed him away after we were done with…the good stuff. This might be the longest time we’ve spent together talking.

He bends down and whispers near my ear, “After you.”

I walk slowly. My ankles wobble. After the second time it happens, he wraps his arm around my side. It feels nice. Warm. Even through his coat, I feel how strong he is.

I wobble again.

He holds me a little tighter.

This happens so many times that, by the time we reach the end of the alley, I can barely breathe. God, why do women even wear heels? It isn’t a shoe, it’s an archaic torture device!

A blast of cold air hits me as we hit the street. An expensive black car is right outside the alley. A large man waits by the back door.

I lean into my companion.

“That’s us,” he says as the large man opens the back door.

My companion doesn’t let go of my hand until I’m in my seat. If heaven were made of leather, I think it would smell something like this. However, this could never be heaven. It just feels too damn good. Everything is soft and black and suggests luxury—the kind mortals can never touch unless they make a deal with the devil.

The door closes. Though its warm in the car, I start to shiver.

Something about this feels wrong. I told Cassie I was taking a taxi. She doesn’t even know about this guy—no one knows about this guy. I realize it’s a little late to worry about stranger danger. As I said, and he so kindly repeated, we’d already fucked like fifty billion gazillion bajillion times.

I’m running my hands over my arms when masked man gets in, closing the door behind him before I can get out a response.

“Hi,” I squeak.

He studies me a moment, leaning against the seat. “Are you upset, Laura?”

The driver gets in and starts the car.

Kinda, but it’s a little late for that now
. “Uh…” I shiver. Why didn’t Dolly let me wear a jacket? I feel too exposed in front of him, which wouldn’t be such a problem if I didn’t want to be so exposed.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“I’m fine, why?”

“You’re rubbing your arms.”

Oh. Right. How to explain that? “Just a little bit.”

He takes off his jacket and motions for me to lean forward. I do, and he drapes it over my shoulders. “Should have done that when we got outside. I was just…a little distracted.”

I shrink into the jacket. I guess there’s a good reason for why I’ve avoided after-sex conversations so far: they’re insanely awkward.

“One moment.” The left side of the jacket brushes against my thigh as he removes something heavy from the pocket.

There area million things that could have been in there, but none of them would have been more welcome than what he pulled out. “Hand wipes!”

He hands me the box and I go to town, scrubbing in between my fingers before taking a few and swiping the tops and bottoms of Dolly’s glitzy heels.

“These shoes look a little hard to walk in.”

“Oh, they are,” I agree without looking up.

“You looked hot in them, though.”

I groan. “Yeah, especially when I was falling on my face.”

“It gave me an excuse to catch you, and I already said I didn’t mind carrying you.”

It takes me a moment to realize that precious little comment was in response to the one I made about falling on my face. I glance up. “So, you’re one of those, huh?”

“One of what?”

I keep scrubbing my heels with a vengeance even though I’m still looking at him. “One of those guys who feels manly when women are strapped into torture devices so they can’t walk.”

He chuckles and leans in. “Is that the kind of man you like, Laura?”

“Hell no.”

“Why did you wear them then?”

Shit. What he said kind of made me sound like a self-righteous, hypocritical bitch. Wait, was I a self-righteous, hypocritical bitch? “I wore them because my friend is a sadist and has a rigid fashion sense,” I explain quickly.

“I’m glad you did. I’m not glad that every other guy saw you in them, of course, but it gave me an excuse to put my hands on you.”

Was this guy for real? “Do you want your hands on me even if my nose is gushing blood from a face plant?”

“If you’re hurt, then yes, I want to be the first person at your side. But the truth is, I hope you never learn to walk in heels. That way you’ll only wear them for me, and no other guy will ever see how hot your legs look in them. Also it would give me an excuse to…
carry
you more often.”

“You’re a pig.” I press my knees together. I sound so…breathy. God damn, did that little speech of his just make me horny? What the hell?

“I told you I wasn’t a fair man the first time I met you, Laura.” He leans forward and my sore pussy tightens. His hand slides across a case in the middle of the car, dark against the dark wood, and I remember how it felt slipping up my legs, grabbing my hips, holding me up as he slid into me…

The compartment between us pops open. Inside is a water bottle. “Are you thirsty?”

“No,” I respond automatically. He begins to close it, and I realize at that moment my mouth is a little dry. “Actually, I am. Uh, what is it?”

“Water.”

“Oh. Yeah, I mean, It obviously is water cause it says water on there…” He hands me the bottle. “Thanks.”

I struggle with the cap. My damn fingers keep shaking and I can’t keep my grip. Why the hell do they put these things on so tight?

“Do you need help with that?”

“No, I got it.” I struggle for the amount of time it takes me to realize that letting him open it would be less embarrassing. “Actually, maybe you could…”

He takes it and opens it in a second.

“Guess I loosened it up for you,” I say.

He doesn’t grace that with a response.

Alright, this is just getting stupid. I started off the conversation by cleaning. I took my anger over wearing these bloody useless heels out on him. I told him I wasn’t thirsty, then a second later, decided I was. Then, I couldn’t tell a clear liquid in a water bottle is water. And finally, he had to open the lid for me.

No wonder he doesn’t want to show me his face! When the time comes, he wants a clean, fast exit.
And
he wants to make sure that when he leaves, I don’t grab his crotch and demand that he fuck me first.

Oh God. I really did say that, didn’t I? I want nothing more than to bury my head between my thighs until the ride is over.

“Laura?”

“Yes?” Hey, I didn’t squeak that time! Improvement!

“Do you still want it?”

Did I still? My heartbeats speeds up. Of course I do. I always…

Wait a minute. He still has the water bottle.

Oh God, could this get any more embarrassing? My thigh brushes against his slacks as I take it. The fabric is that strange blend of rough and soft, like a scarf hand knit from wool. I usually don’t think much about what he wears, just the strength of his grip, his scent, the feeling of his chest pushing over my back as I bend over and…

I gulp the water, wincing as it goes down. It’s really cold, which I guess isn’t strange since it came from a refrigerated compartment.

“Slow down,
solnyshko moyo
.”

I remove the bottle from my lips. Whatever was left of my lipstick came off on the plastic rim. It looks purple in the night.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks.

Not really.
“Yes.”

His hand slides down my wrist. “Don’t lie. I want to know if ’m making you uncomfortable.”

It’s actually mostly not you.
“Uh…it’s fine. It isn’t anything you’re doing,” I explain, but my feelings are coming out faster than I can think so it’s hard to find the right words. “I’m just being silly.”

He leans in closer. There’s something almost predatory about the movement. “Not in the way I like you to be silly.”

“You like it when I’m silly?” My lips feel oddly moist.
From the water
, I reason. “Wait, when am I silly?”

He turns his head and I get the impression he’s smiling. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not silly,” I tell him.

He looks over his shoulder. I wish I could see his expression. I don’t know if he agrees with me or not, but I feel like he doesn’t. I don’t know if I should be irritated or comforted. “I’m just occasionally silly,” I amend.

“It’s not bad to be silly sometimes. I like it.” His mask so close to my face. It shouldn’t be erotic. It should either be ridiculous or horrifying, but instead I’m so turned on I can barely even remember what we were talking about. Maybe that’s because I know the passion that hides behind it.

I notice his breathing isn’t quite steady as he leans away from me, back to his seat. “We’re almost to your place.”

My throat is so tight it feels like his cock is already in it. And then my throat tightens again because that was sort of a gross metaphor. And then I feel like gagging because I kind of liked it.

What kind of creature am I turning into?

The car stops. He gets out and then walks around the back of the car to my door. For a second, I’m left with the smell of leather, new car smell interior and smoke. I still can’t see the driver behind the black glass. I really hope that means he can’t hear us either…

I slink out of his coat as he opens my door.

“You can take that if you want.”

“I’m fine.” I don’t want to explain how I got such an expensive man’s coat to my friends.

He takes my hand as I step out. “You sure you won’t be too cold.”

“It’s like, twenty steps or something. I should be able to survive.”

He leans forward, as if to kiss my hairline, but then stops—probably because he remembers he’s wearing a mask. “Stay safe,
solnyshko moyo
.”

He waits until I open the front door and close it before getting back in his car. Then, I hear the hum of tires on the road. I lean back, shut my eyes and hold my chest.

He never signs his letters. They just end. And even now, when he leaves, I never feel like he’s really saying goodbye. Perhaps because he does watch me, always. He’s always there.

And I want him to be.

I tiptoe up the stairs. Slowly, I take out my keys, making sure they don’t jingle as I fiddle with the lock. The door is a bit sticky but if I go slow it shouldn’t make too much noise. I smile as I open it. Good. Mission accomplished.

The room is dark, thank God. Dolly and Cassie probably aren’t back yet. Anna’s probably sleeping. I don’t set down my purse; I’ll wait to make any unnecessary noises until I’m in my room.

“So, did you have fun?”

I yelp as I turn, jumping.

Dolly, Cassie and Anna are sitting on the couch facing the door. Each have a steaming cup of tea in their hand, and a bowl of half-eaten chips sits between them on the table.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” Anna replies, yawning.

“I think it’s time we talk about something,” Dolly says after a long pause.

There’s another long pause. Still, it’s not long enough. But then again, I kind of wanted that pause to stretch into forever, so it would have been difficult to please me.

“So, did your ‘guy’ drop you off?” Dolly asks coyly.

“Uh…”

“You should invite him up next time,” she adds.

That would not be a good idea, considering he’d show up in a mask.

Shit.

“I don’t think there’s going to be a next time. I mean, we’re not really, you know.” I have no idea what I’m talking about. Of course, they don’t either.

Cassie frowns. “You’re not really what? Isn’t this the guy you’ve been seeing?”

Well, yeah, but…
“It’s not really like that,” I say, eager to get out of this conversation.