Alien Romance: Fall for a Cyborg (Sci-Fi Futuristic Alien Abduction Fantasy Space Warrior Romance) (Science Fiction Mystery Paranormal Urban Short Stories) (67 page)

“Offended? No.” He laughed. “I asked you out because I like you, Charlotte. I like your long brown hair and your youthful legs and your, let’s be honest, your large breasts. That was what first made me like you. And now I find there is both an insecure girl and a strong lawyer wrapped up in one, and I am even more intrigued. Is that honest enough for you?”

Charlotte tried to be offended by his somewhat vulgar openness, but it was refreshing. She laughed. “Yes,” she said, taking another sip of champagne, the bubbles tickling her throat. “That’s more than honest enough.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I don’t care that I’m your doctor. I want to do something to you, Charlotte. I want you to stay silent until I tell you what it is. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Here is what I will do to you. I will reach my hand up your skirt and rub your clit hard until you come once. Then I will put my fingers inside of you and rub deep until you come again. Finally I will suck, bite, and rub your breasts until you come one final time. Do you understand?”

Charlotte’s skin suddenly felt hot. “What, here?”

His gaze didn’t move; the intonation of his voice didn’t change. “Yes,” he said, “here.”

Charlotte stared back at him for a moment longer, waiting for his words to really hit her. She knew she wanted it. Her body all but screamed at her for it. At his words, her body responded like the strings of a guitar. And, once she had finished off another glass of champagne, she wondered why she shouldn’t want it. He was handsome, she had been too long without a man, and the pleasure he promised to give sounded amazing.

She swallowed, and then said: “Yes.”

Like an unleashed wolf he leaned into her. She tried to steady her breathing as his hand, hard and strong, seized her thigh. It was not a gentle touch, but a full grasping. He grabbed her skin and then moved his palm up toward her vagina. Her breath quickened further as he pushed aside her underwear and then pressed his finger upon her clit. If there had been any doubt as to her lust, that first touch pushed it away. Her body writhed for a moment before she got a hold on herself.

She gripped his shoulders as he rubbed her with his finger, quick motions that sent bursts of pleasure through her. The sensation was hot, singing, moving deep within her. She breathed heavily, her heartbeat thumping in her ears. She moaned, and looked into his eyes. He was staring at her with that same, steady gaze: a gaze that seemed to say
you are mine now
. She gripped his shoulders harder as his arm pumped up and down with the rubbing motions.

She felt the beginnings of an orgasm building. She had been worried that the pressure would be too much. She couldn’t just come like that. But she needn’t have worried. If she was an instrument, she was in the hands of a skilled player. He strummed her clit as though performing a wonderful piece of music; she responded by heading toward a crescendo. She willed herself forward, into the orgasm, grasping for it through the white-hot pleasure that pervaded her. Then a fierce, trembling sensation coursed through her body. She bit down a scream, took one hand away from Elliot and put it over her mouth, and the orgasm rocked her, pulsing in every part of her, hot, blinding, and forceful.

It lasted for twenty seconds. When it was over, her legs were shaking and her head had become heavy. She thought it was over, and then he slipped his finger into her wet, welcoming vagina. He pushed his finger deep inside of her and quickly found her sweet spot, causing an intense pleasure as he massaged her there. He continued to stare, a small smile playing about his lips.

“Come again for me,” he commanded, as he moved his finger commandingly inside of her, circling her sweet spot, rubbing it, burning within her.

She rocked with the motions of his finger inside of her, as though it were a cock and she was riding it. She rocked her hips harder and harder down on it. He pushed it deeper inside of her and then rubbed her sweet spot with expert accuracy. She closed her eyes, tight-shut, and saw nothing but whiteness with an inkling of red. She was not aware of Elliot now. She was not really aware of her own body. All she was truly aware of was the hot pleasure that consumed her.

He kept rubbing her for five or so more minutes, all the while she was tottering on the edge of a precipice of pleasure. Oh, how she wanted to fall into that abyss! The abyss of pleasure looked back at her, and she looked back at it. She wanted it, and she didn’t. Because if the orgasm came, this immense pleasure would pass. Her mind, someplace distant, was calculating: would the orgasm be worth the suspension of the pleasure she currently felt? But then the choice was taken from her as Elliot moved his fingers with even more purpose.

This time she did scream, before clamping her hand over her mouth. The orgasm moved from her sweet spot in tendrils of pleasure, bursting free in each part of her. She rode the wave of euphoria, letting her body spasm and rock and writhe with the jarring motions. She fell back in her seat and sighed. Sweat dripped down her forehead and pricked her arms. Her hands were slick.

“We’re not done,” Elliot said, in that calm, commanding voice: the voice that made everything sound like an indisputable fact.

He leaned forward and unhooked the straps of her dress from her bare shoulders, and pulled it down. Then, with one quick, expert motion, he reached behind her and unclasped her bra, spilling her breasts free. He looked at them for a moment with a hardness of gaze that almost frightened her, and then leaned in and put a nipple in his mouth.

She put her hand on the back of his head, pushing his face into her chest. He reached up and grabbed her other breast as he sucked her nipple. He massaged the flesh, squeezing and rubbing, tweaking her nipples. She had never had very sensitive nipples, but she had also never had somebody as skilled as Elliot caressing them.

He bit her nipple softly and pulled it gently with his teeth. Pain and pleasure intermingled. He moved to the other nipple, sucking, licking, biting, while he tweaked the other between his thumb and forefinger. Her nipples were harder than they had been in years: harder than she knew they could go anymore. He licked one nipple with a snake-like, flickering tongue, making it hot and tingly. And he grabbed her other breast hard, squeezing the flesh.

She closed her eyes.
I’ve never had an orgasm from this before,
she thought distantly.
I don’t think he’ll have any luck, no matter how long he tries. Perhaps I should just tell him that
—

But then it struck, suddenly. It was not the biggest orgasm, but it seized her for a few moments, her breasts afire, and then she lay back, panting.

Elliot sat back in his chair and watched her calmly as she redressed.

“Good,” he said, when she was clothed.

Charlotte didn’t know how to respond to that, so she said nothing. She just returned his gaze. After a while, he stood and moved toward the elevator, leaving her to follow. He offered her his arm when they reached the roof, and escorted her to the helicopter. The ride back wasn’t as bad as the ride there. Perhaps it was the champagne, dulling her fear; or perhaps it was the remnants of the pleasure that still surged through her. In any case, they landed on the doctor’s clinic with little panic.

Elliot took her by the arm and led her through the clinic to the entrance. She was wondering how she would get home when a car pulled up. He climbed in and nodded at the seat next to him for her to join him.

“I had a great night,” he said.

Charlotte nodded. “Me, too,” she said, and she meant it.

The traffic was light, it was almost one a.m., and soon they were outside Charlotte’s apartment building. She waited to be kissed by Elliot. But he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he climbed out of his side of the car, walked around, and opened her door for her. She had never been treated with such courtesy. Neither had she been treated with such coldness. She didn’t know what to make of Elliot’s sudden change in demeanor. He gave her a brief hug.

“It was great,” he said, staring into her eyes. In the moonlight they seemed to shimmer a deeper green.

And then he was gone, driving away in the car, leaving her outside her apartment building. She climbed the stairs and then she was in her bed, her head spinning. She tottered to the bathroom and climbed into the shower, blasting herself with cool water. Then she went to the kitchen and ate a slice of toast and drank two pints of water. Sobered slightly, she returned to her bed and fell into the sheets naked.

Images of Elliot whirred around her mind, captivating her, escorting her to sleep.

She fell into her dreams with her lips curled into a smile.

****

When she woke she struggled to accept that last night had really happened. The champagne had shrouded everything in a distinct sense of unreality. She tried to convince herself that she had truly flown in a helicopter on a date with a billionaire, but it seemed too fanciful, the stuff of fairy tales. Only a text on her phone convinced her that it was true:
Don’t be a stranger, Elliot
. She didn’t know what to make of that. There was nothing definite about it. Did it mean she should call him? Or did it mean she should wait for him to call her?

She spent the morning tidying her apartment, and then she returned to bed with some painkillers, a large glass of water, and the fantasy novel she’d been reading. Soon she was lost in a world of talking ships and sea serpents and dragons. She read until it was almost five p.m. She placed her bookmark in the book and wandered to her kitchen to make a snack. Simone would call her soon; Simone always called in the evening.

She debated how much to tell her friend. She knew Simone would make a huge deal about it and talk on and on about how crazy the whole thing was. Simone was married, and craziness rarely entered her life in any other form than squealing children making a mess. Charlotte had often got the sense that Simone lived vicariously through her in many ways. She always wanted to know every dirty detail about any liaisons she had with men. And she always wanted to know what was new with sex, since she’d only ever been with one man.

Charlotte always did her best to oblige her friend. After all, that was what friends were for. But this felt different. She wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing the details of her date with Elliot. For some reason she couldn’t imagine doing such a thing. It was as though Elliot was something special; somehow apart from the men with whom she’d been before. Elliot was rich, yes, but that was not all. He was rich in lust and passion as well as money. She relived his hands on her, his lips and teeth and tongue on her, over and over again that night.

When Simone called, Charlotte didn’t say anything about the date. She told herself it wasn’t any purposeful deceit. She simply couldn’t find a convenient place to slip it into the conversation. As far as Simone knew, Charlotte was spending her month-long vacation doing little more than hanging around her apartment and reading fantasy novels. And that was fine by Charlotte.

The next week passed much in the same way. She met with Simone twice and even went with Simone and her children to a playgroup, chatting with the other mothers as Simone’s children played in the ball-pit. She finished the fantasy series and bought some more books. She belatedly returned to her guitar which she hadn’t touched in years. She watched more movies than was probably healthy. She steered clear of romantic comedies, however; they would remind her too much of Elliot.

Elliot, he was the thing.  No matter what she was doing, he never left her mind. He was always there now, even though he hadn’t texted, rang, or contacted her in any way since their date. She wasn’t a self-pitying person, but even so thoughts began to assail her:
Did I do something wrong? Has he gotten what he wanted? Is he done with me?
She hated that she had these thoughts, but they were near-impossible to quash. She only had two weeks left of her break now.

Soon she would cease to be Charlotte the Procrastinator and would be Charlotte the Lawyer. She was looking forward to returning to her work, but the late hours and the constant stress would be a harsh contrast to the freedom she had enjoyed while on vacation. She had talked with some of her colleagues who were all desperate to make partner at the firm. She didn’t share that ambition, and wondered why. She also wondered why she was content to remain in a one-bedroom apartment (admittedly a well-fitted, modern one-bedroom apartment) when her colleagues dreamed of boats and mansions.

She was fairly sure she knew the reason. Her family, growing up, had always been more concerned with the enjoyment of the present moment than the nebulous gains of the future. Her father had always told her
don’t borrow against the joy of today for the possible joy of tomorrow
. She had always remembered that. She had gone into law, not for the money, but because it gave her moment-to-moment enjoyment. She enjoyed working the cases and talking with the clients. Maybe that was why Simone sometimes called her a flake. She was too caught up in momentary pleasure to care much about tomorrow.

But that had changed, now. She couldn’t stop thinking about the next day, and the next day, and the day after that. How long would Elliot’s silence last? It was entirely possible that he had simply forgotten about her, but she did not think that that was likely. It was far more likely that he was waiting for her to contact him.
Don’t be a stranger.

Well, she would. But she wouldn’t send him some pitying text. She’d confront him in person. Her cold had gone completely, but that didn’t matter. She threw on a sweatshirt and some sweatpants and then phoned the doctor’s office. She told the receptionist she wanted to see Elliot Sanderson. After taking her name, the receptionist made the appointment immediately.