The Importance of Being Alice (9 page)

“I'm sorry if I was poking my nose into something you wish to keep private.”

I said nothing, just looked into his eyes for a few seconds, then brushed my mouth against his. “I hope this doesn't make me a tramp, but there's just something about you that makes me want to do all sorts of extremely illicit things to you.”

“Thank the lord,” he said with a sigh, and kissed me, really kissed me, not just a little peck, or even an openmouthed snog, but a full-bodied kiss, the kind where every inch of him worked along with the kiss until it overwhelmed me and left me feeling boneless, and very, very aroused.

“Elliott,” I said, my lady parts tingling for all they were worth.

“Yes,” he said, pulling my shirt off me, stopping to add, “There's no rebound in this?”

“None whatsoever. This has nothing to do with Patrick, and everything to do with needing your flesh applied directly to my flesh this very instant,” I answered, quickly unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. He shucked his shoes. I peeled off my retro plaid Capri pants, shoes, socks, and, after a moment's hesitation and regret that I hadn't stuck with the Zumba class, underwear and bra. By that time, he was naked, as well, and without any amount of awkward standing around assessing the other person's body, we toppled into the nearest bed (mine).

“I suppose we should be adult about this,” I said,
writhing when his mouth closed around one needy nipple. “Oh dear god, yes, do that thing with your tongue again.”

His tongue swirled. My body hummed.

“What was I saying? Oh yes, adult. Responsible. All that crap. Do the other one, Elliott, it's getting jealous.” He obliged by swirling his tongue over my other nipple, making my fingers dig deep into his shoulder muscles.

“You taste like honey,” he said, looking up from my breasts.

“Is that good? Do you like honey? What kind of honey? The kind that's put on wounds that won't heal, or honey from happy and contented bees? Please god, tell me it's the happy bee honey!”

“It is. Very happy bees. Bees that are so happy they're about to burst into show tunes. You smell like flowers, and you taste like honey, and your skin is so soft I want to lick it.”

“Far be it from me to stop you—wait!” I remembered what it was that I had been about to say when my breasts distracted me. “I've had my shot last month, so I'm fine so far as birth control goes, but we don't really know that much about each other, and—”

“I have no diseases, social or otherwise,” he interrupted, leaning down to rub his cheeks between my boobs.

My toes curled into the sheets. “Neither do I. Great. So we're good to go?”

“Roger, as you Yanks say, wilco and out.”

“Well, I'd rather in, because, frankly, if my lady parts tingle any harder, they might just go up in flames, and I can't tell you how painful that's going to be.”

He squinted up at me. “You are making jokes during sex?”

“We're not having sex. We're having foreplay.”

His hand slid down my belly, one finger curling into me. I almost came off the bed at the sensation of it. “My finger is inside of you. I think this qualifies as sex.”

“No, it's just very, very good foreplay. Oh, dear god, two fingers? Really? Holy crapballs, that's good. To the left, please. Nnrng!”

“Your
nnrng
pleases me,” he said with a wholly male, extremely smug smile as his fingers danced a seductive dance. My hips bucked, my hands clutched at the sheets of my bed (unmade, because I am basically a slob), and I swear my eyes all but rolled back in my head. “But I think we can do better than that. Shall we try for a
foowah
?”

“What's a foowah?” I panted, trying desperately to keep from falling over the edge into Orgasmland.

“It's the sound I make when someone pleasures me to the limit of my tolerance. Can you foowah for me, Alice?”

“I will if you let me get my hands on you,” I said, desperately trying to reach that part of him that caused the foowahing.

He moved just enough that he was out of my reach. “No, I believe we will focus on you this time.”

“That doesn't seem fair, although I'm hardly in a position to complain.”

“Indeed you are not. Later, perhaps, if you are very good, I will allow you to pleasure me in ways that have me nnrnging, but until then, we are striving for a full-fledged foowah.”

His thumb brushed sensitive flesh, and that was all she wrote. So to speak. “Foowah!” I shouted, my intimate muscles spasming around him. “Oh, holy hell, foowah and then some! Foowah squared! My god, Elliott, where did
you learn to do that? You haven't been to those kinky German sex dungeons, have you?”

“Actually, I have, just once, and no, I did not particularly enjoy myself. I prefer my women willing and not tied down.”

It took a few minutes for me to come down off the orgasmic high, but when I did, I couldn't help but ask, “Wow, you really went to one of those places? I've always wondered what they were like. I mean, you see shots of them in porn—not that I've watched porn, although Patrick loved some weird studio out of Lithuania, and was always trying to get me to watch it with him—I wonder if that's why he dumped me?—but I've always wondered if they were as wicked as they looked. Was your place as wicked as it looked?”

“Do you always talk this much during sex?” Elliott asked, licking a path up my belly to the valley between my breasts.

“I'm afraid I do. Is that a turnoff for you? If it is, I can try to be quieter, but honestly, I've found that people who don't like me for who I am really aren't my problem.”

“It's not a turnoff; I simply didn't know if you are nervous, and chatting because of that, or if you are normally this vocal. As a matter of fact, I agree with you about other people's perceptions. They usually don't concern me. Do you like it when I do this?”

He gently took my nipple between his teeth. It wasn't a hard bite, and I had to admit, the sensation fired up my already steaming-hot blood. “Oh, yes! You're very gentle, aren't you? Do they do this sort of thing in the German sex clubs?”

He stopped molesting my breast to look up at me. “Do
you happen to wish to visit one of those establishments, but don't want to suggest it?”

“I can't help it. I was raised Lutheran. Lutherans never go to German sexy-time clubs.” I waved a hand in the air. “Was I that obvious?”

“No. I am simply that perceptive.” He looked down at my breast for a moment, then slid his gaze lower to my hips and belly. “I will make a deal with you. If you allow me to choose the restaurant in which we shall dine, I will accompany you to one of the clubs your Lutheran heart so desires to see.”

“Deal,” I said, stroking my hand down his chest, pausing just long enough to gently tweak one of his nipples. “So long as you don't leave me in the hands of some leather-clad dominatrix who has a whip and one of those benches they bend you over and do wicked things to you.”

The look he gave me could have steamed clams. “Oh, we will have the bench, have no doubt about that. The whip is optional, but the bench? Yes, my sweet little Alice. That is one Wonderland you will most definitely remember visiting.”

“Oooh,” I said, my legs moving restlessly next to his. “I like that glint in your eye. Elliott?”

“Hmm?”

“Are we done with foreplay? Because my engine is more than warmed up, and I think I may go out of my mind if you don't continue.”

“I couldn't agree more,” he mumbled as he nuzzled my neck. “Do you prefer to be on the top or bottom?”

“I don't care,” I said on a gasp, pulling him down on top of me. Just the feel of all that warm, solid flesh made me feel as if my skin were alight.

“Bottom, then.” He slid into me, making my intimate muscles give a cheer of happiness and embrace the welcome intruder.

“Wow, you are . . . Oh, yes, that is a really nice move. . . . You are a lot more robust than I thought you were. Not that I'm saying you were inadequate in any way.”

“It's all in the technique, or so I've been told,” he panted against my shoulder. “Would you mind doing that again?”

“What, this?” I tightened all my inner muscles around him.

“Oh, Christ. Don't do that again or it will be all over for me.”

“This, then?” I dragged my fingernails softly down his back. I had been careful to be gentle the first time, since some men didn't care for the sensation, but evidently Elliott really did, because his back arched, and his hips thrust forward, and I saw stars for a second time.

“Nnrng!” I gasped, wrapping my legs around his hips and giving myself up to the unprecedented second orgasm.

“Foowah,” he corrected, and gave in to his own climax.

“I can't believe,” I said some minutes later when I had the brain function and coordination to use my mouth again, “that I had two orgasms. I've never been multiorgasmic. Usually, it's just bang! One, and I'm done for the night.” I squinted at the hair resting against my cheek, Elliott still being clasped in my arms. “You must have learned things at your previous visit to the German sexland. Secret things.”

“Am I too heavy for you?” he panted into my shoulder.

I stroked my hand down his damp back, to the lovely muscles of his butt. He had a very nice butt, with those little swoopy indentations on either side that bespoke a man who had a regular exercise regime. That or fabulous butt genes. “Not in the least. You might be a big man who eats like a horse, but I'm no frail, delicate flower.”

He reared back to give me an outraged look. “You said you were not going to make any further references to the quantity of food needed to give me energy to perform secret German sexual techniques.”

I giggled, and kissed the tip of his nose, swatting his butt when he rolled off me. “Sorry. Since there's not enough room in the shower for two, and we're both too messy to go out without one, do you want to go first, or shall I?”

He collapsed onto his own bed, waving an airy hand. “You go first. I must recover from your voracious sexual demands. I hope there's time for me to consume a side of beef or the like before we must tour the Dom.”

I giggled again, and took a fast shower, focusing my attention on just how wonderful a lover Elliott was, and shying away from the fact that I had just jumped into bed with a man I'd known for two days.

I did not once think about Patrick.

Diary of Alice Wood

More of Day One (version three)

E
lliott's voice echoed in a suitably dramatic manner. “I believe the cathedral is best tackled in the following manner: first we will explore its history, then view the important artworks and discuss the various points of architecture, and following that, we can descend to the lower levels to explore the history of the crypt, after which those people who do not mind heights can ascend the viewing platform, which has an excellent view of the Rhine. The platform has five hundred and nine steps, so be warned. And now, a few dimensions to get us started. The external length is one hundred forty-five meters—that's about four hundred seventy-five feet for you, Alice—and it's eighty-six meters wide, or two hundred eighty-three feet. The cathedral was begun in 1248 in order to house the relics of Three Kings, which had been
pillaged from the Basilica of Saint Eustorgio, in Milan, and was still undergoing work two hundred years later. In fact, one could say that it wasn't really completed until the Victorians got their hands on it.”

“Fascinating,” Deidre said, clinging to Elliott's arm and simpering in a manner that made my hand itch to yank her hair. Or smack the smug look off her face; either option appealed to me at that moment.

“Sod that. I'm not going to have all the joy stripped from the experience by a recitation of facts and figures. Besides, this is one of the most visited tourist sites in Germany—Dahl and I shall be conducting some research, if you want us,” Anthony said, and, with Dahl, wandered off down the nave, no doubt intending to snag unwary visitors and question them about their experiences.

The Japanese schoolgirls giggled. Even the teachers snickered.

“Mr. Ainslie, much as I appreciate your comments on the history of the cathedral, I should point out that I have given this tour many times, and I am fully qualified to do so again today.” Tiffany held up a pamphlet that had been heavily highlighted and annotated.

“Then I'm sure you're ready for a break,” Deidre said smoothly, actually batting her eyelashes at Elliott. Thankfully, he was looking at Tiffany, and didn't see such a shameless act of hussitude.

“I'm so sorry about this,” Laura said softly next to me. “I tried to talk to her, but for some reason, she has set her sights on him, and refuses to admit that her actions are not at all reasonable.”

“Not to mention the fact that Elliott here has a much bigger guidebook,” Deidre cooed, putting her hand over
his to hold up the (admittedly quite thick) guidebook that Elliott had picked up in the gift shop. “It's even in German. That has to be more authentic than an English abridged version, don't you think?”

“Oh, dear,” Laura said, glancing worriedly over at me.

I smiled, fully committed to hanging on to my temper. Just because Elliott and I had become a bit more than mere roomies didn't mean I had to act like Jealous McJealouson. Deidre could maul poor Elliott all she wanted—within reason, of course—and I wasn't going to so much as bat an eyelash. “It's fine, don't worry about it. Elliott and I are both aware that she's got the hots for him, so it's not like she's going to have any effect. Or at least, not the one she desires.”

“I can assure you that there is nothing the least lacking in the tours that we provide,” Tiffany meanwhile said huffily, and went into an explanation of all the research she'd done on the cathedral to make her qualified to talk about it.

“I have to admit,” I said sotto voce to Laura, who was standing with me at the back of our little group, “I'm kind of with Anthony on this. I'd rather just wander around and see the cathedral without all the facts and lengths and widths and discussion of architectural types used.”

“To be honest, I'm with you,” Laura said with a little smile. “I'd much rather just soak in places like this. I mean, does knowing how and when the cathedral was built make you appreciate it any more?” She waved a hand at the high vaulted ceiling, which was indescribably gorgeous. “Not that I mean any insult to Elliott, of course. He's obviously one of those people who values structured learning.”

“You should see how he folds his socks and
underwear,” I told her as Deidre and Tiffany squared off. Elliott, I noticed, was reading a text message. “The man's downright anal when it comes to those things. I suppose it's that attention to detail that makes him a very good writer.”

“I suppose so.” Laura gave me a conspiratorial nudge of the elbow. “I bet that's an excellent cover for a spy.”

Elliott suddenly announced, “My apologies, ladies. I have a call I must take. Tiffany, I'm sure you will do very well guiding everyone. If you will excuse me . . .” He hurried past us with an abstracted look on his face that had me wondering what was up.

“I wonder if that was his mother?” I asked absently.

“Is she ill?”

“No, just . . . kind of funny, actually.” I shook away the need to rush after Elliott and make sure everything was OK in his world. I wasn't really his girlfriend, and didn't have the right—or desire—to push myself into his life.

“You know,” Laura said, the group moving off to look at a famous painting. We trailed behind, our steps lagging. I half hoped Tiffany would forget about us and just let us wander around. “You know, if I was a spy, I'd use a busy place like the cathedral here to meet up with my contacts.”

“Yeah, I suppose it would be a good cover.” I looked around. There were hundreds of tourists all over the place, some in guided tours, others viewing various nooks and crannies, and still others sitting with blissful looks of relief on their faces. Guess we weren't the only tourists who got tired feet. “With all these people, who'd notice if two of them came together for a few minutes?” Laura was silent for a few seconds. I caught her eye, and asked, “You're not thinking what I'm thinking, are you?”

“I wager I am.” An impish look came into her eye. “Are you game?”

I thought for a moment or two. “I shouldn't. I mean, it's kind of . . . underhanded.”

“Covert,” she corrected. “But of course, if it would make you uncomfortable, then I wouldn't dream of going through with it.”

I bit my lower lip. The truth was, I was fairly itching to know what was so important that it stopped Elliott in midstatistics. “Well . . . oh, what the hell. So long as he doesn't see us, it won't be an issue, right?”

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Laura said as we both turned and hurried back toward the entrance. “I've always wanted to be a private detective, you know. I positively consume mystery books! I've watched ever so many American shows about that sort of thing, and I'm quite sure that we won't be seen. Which way, do you think?”

By that time we'd emerged into the sunshine. As we were coming from the dark into the brilliant light and buffeted by folks who were entering the cathedral, it took a moment to get oriented, but as soon as I had my bearings, I grabbed Laura's arm and dragged her away to the left. “There!” I pointed to where I caught a glimpse of Elliott's head bobbing above the crowds. “He's going toward the river.”

We looked at each other. “I thought he said he needed to take a call?” Laura asked.

“So did I.” The mood changed from one of silly companionability to something much more adult . . . and serious. It was one thing for us to joke around that Elliott was involved in something secretive, and pretend to spy on him, and another thing when the man made an excuse to leave the group, only to go off on an unexplained journey.

My curiosity ratcheted up several notches as we hurried after him, dodging people on the busy sidewalks, once losing sight of him entirely, but luckily, Laura found him again after a panicked search in which we split up to cover different streets.
Outside the Ludwig Museum. Have him under observation,
she texted me. I turned and retraced my steps until I came to the oddly shaped building that my map said held a noted collection of modern art.

Am on west side. He's in front, on steps. Meet me by coffee shop.

“That must be one heck of a phone call,” I said, a little out of breath, when I found Laura. She was lurking behind a bus stop sign, periodically peering around it to check on Elliott.

“I know! That's exactly what I was thinking. He's moved to the little garden area. You see it? There are some benches. He's on the third one.”

I peered with her. Sure enough, Elliott sat by himself on a bench, looking down at his lap, not around as if he was enjoying some private time away from everyone (the only reason I could think of why he ran off and left the group). “He's looking at his phone. Probably texting someone.”

“That's what I thought.” She gave me a long look. “Alice . . . look, I know this sounds idiotic, but maybe we should go back to the cathedral. It's obvious that Elliott is here for a reason, and . . . well, it seemed like a fun idea a few minutes ago, but now . . .”

“Not so fun,” I finished for her, nodding. “I agree, but I also would like to know what he's doing. Oh, not in a nosy sort of control-freak way. If something is wrong with his mom, or another member of his family, then maybe I could help in some way.”

She didn't say anything to that, taking it for granted that Elliott and I were so well established that I'd have a say in his life, but the truth was much more unforgiving. I did feel a bit like a stalker, but one who quite honestly wanted to help if he needed it. And if he didn't need help, if he was behaving in this mysterious manner because something covert was going on . . . well, I couldn't help but wonder what it was. “Maybe I am being a nosey parker, but I'd dearly like to find out what he's doing—”

Laura grabbed my arm at that moment, her nails digging into my flesh when she yanked me back behind the bus shelter. “Did you see that?”

“The guy who sat down on Elliott's bench? Yeah. I wonder if we can get closer?”

“I think so. Over there is a big cement planter. That screens the area behind the benches. You could probably slink around there without being seen, since Elliott's back would be to you.”

I looked at her.

She made an apologetic face. “I just don't feel right spying that much on him, if you know what I mean. It's fine for you—you're his girlfriend. But he might be upset if he found out I was eavesdropping.”

Well, that made me feel like a great big boil on the buttock of honor and dignity, but not enough so that I didn't make my way over to the screened area behind Elliott and his mysterious visitor. Unfortunately—or, rather, fortunately for my smarting conscience—I wasn't close enough that I could overhear them. But I could get a good look at the man who was chatting so intently with Elliott—he had straight, shoulder-length black hair, skin the color of milky coffee, a short-cropped beard, and hands that seemed to dance in the air when he spoke.
One of those hands held a camera with an impressively large lens on it.

The two men seemed almost to be arguing, although I couldn't detect the sound of raised voices. After about three minutes of this, Elliott reached into his pocket and pulled out something. It looked like one of the leaflets from the cathedral, but I couldn't see it well enough to be sure. He passed it on to the other man, who tucked it away in his coat. He rose, and playfully pretended to take Elliott's picture. Elliott made a sharp gesture, and got to his feet. I didn't wait around to see more—I hightailed it back to where Laura was waiting, her eyes big.

“Did you see? He gave that man something. A secret message sort of something.”

“We have to run if we want to beat Elliott back,” I said, shoving her forward. She didn't argue. We dashed madly down the street back toward the cathedral, careening into both people and various other obstacles, scattering apologies indiscriminately to all.

“You were in a better position than me; could you see what Elliott gave the other guy?” I asked when we raced up the steps of the cathedral. We didn't stop to see how close Elliott was behind us—we ran through the doors and immediately took a sharp left, tucking ourselves away in front of an obscure plaque depicting some patron or other.

“Not really.” Her brows were pulled together in a frown. We both were out of breath, panting from the jolt of adrenaline brought on by our flight, and the heat of the day. “All I could see is that he gave Tall, Dark, and Handsome something white and thin, like an envelope, but not one, if you know what I mean. You don't know what it was?”

“Tall, Dark, and . . . ?” For a moment, I was startled, thinking she was talking about Elliott. “Oh, you mean the other dude. No, I don't know what Elliott gave him.” We both stiffened into attitudes of studied (and awkward) indifference when Elliott reentered the cathedral. Luckily, a small group of elderly women were right on his heels, and screened us from his view.

“That really was strange. Alice . . .” She frowned at the floor for a few minutes. “I wasn't quite serious before, when I said he was a spy and that we should follow him to see what he was doing. It was . . . kind of a fun little game, you know? But now . . . now I don't know. You don't think he really
is
a spy, do you?”

“I don't know,” I answered after a few seconds' silence. Elliott's head bobbed above the crowds as he strolled down the main aisle. “But I have to admit that I really, really want to find out the truth.”

“That's your right,” she said, giving my arm a pat before leading me down the left side to where our group was visible. “You have to live with the man, after all. Er . . . assuming you do live together, not that it's any of my business. Oh, heavens, I really am putting my foot in my mouth today, aren't I? I'm leaving now, before I say anything more embarrassing.” And with that, she wandered over to the other side of our group.