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Suuare 2/2 [M/F Red Shoes Diary]
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
NOTE! I am posting this for a friend who does not have newsgroup
access. Please do not reply to this to reach her, because you'll reach
me instead. Her e-mail address is listed below. --kms
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The following story contains characters trademarked by Zalman King
Productions, specifically, Red Shoes Diaries. No infringment of copyright
is intended.
If you are a native speaker of French, be forgiving.
If you have not seen "Jake's Story" on Showtime's "Red Shoe Diaries" this
story may confuse you. And yes, the story does have sex in it, persevere!
Sarah Stegall
[email protected]
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SUUARE (part 2 of 2)
by Sarah Stegall
Jake turned off the engine and got out.
Suuare was looking up through the windshield. "You live in a
warehouse?"
"Glue factory, actually," he said, helping her out. Her hand was
small and quick in his, he didn't let it go but led her to the stairs. "I
remodeled it."
Stella gave a quick bark and leaped for him, as always. Guiltily, he
realized he hadn't walked her today. Well, he'd make it up to her later.
Suuare stood in the doorway, watching him fondle the dog and rub noses.
Jake turned and motioned her in.
"Come on, Stella won't hurt you. She's not a guard dog, she's a
foot-licker."
"I don't like dogs. They...they scare me."
Jake straightened, amazed. "Really? Did you get bitten when you were
a child or something?"
She hesitated. "Or something."
Jake led Stella to the stairwell and locked her in, knowing that the
security gate at the bottom of the stairs would keep her in the building.
"Sit, girl. We'll be back."
Suuare was standing in the middle of the room, turning around. Her
calm gaze took in the accent lighting, the basketball hoop, the
architectural models. She looked at him and untied her scarf. "You did
all this?"
"Yes."
She walked around one of the models, almost as tall as she was. "You
make the shadows for the city, then."
How had she known? His very thought. "Yes."
She nodded solemnly. She went over to a sofa, tested it gingerly,
sat down, and crossed her legs smoothly. Jake stood and watched her, then
shook himself.
"Dinner," he muttered. "Do you like French cooking?"
"Mais oui, bien sr," she answered flawlessly. "J'aime le cuisine de
Proven e, particularement."
"Peut-etre des poissons?" he suggested. "J'ai les seules de
maison."
"Parfait," she said languidly. "Fish will be fine."
He made poisson d'aubreville with a sauce minuit, a salade des
albres, and dove to the bottom of his closet for a Chardonnay. While he
worked, his sleeves rolled up, he watched her out of the corner of his
eye. He damn near cut his finger off.
Suuare wandered around the big room, touching, looking. Surprisingly,
she was not nervous. Perhaps she was too confident in her ability to talk
her way out of any uncomfortable situation--maybe she didn't care. Maybe,
she admitted to herself, maybe she liked being here with him.
She came to the sleeping area and eyed the big bed. She rested a hand
for a moment on the bedspread, feeling the silk under her fingers. She
swept the backs of her fingers over it, feeling the texture, the cool
surface of it. Behind her she heard Jake drop something and a muffled
curse. She didn't turn, but a small smile curved her mouth. Oh, yes, he
wanted her. She could tell, it was radiating off of him like heat off a
hot rock.
But that didn't mean she owed him anything.
It was wonderful, the ability to say no and make it stick. Poor and
hungry, with only her body and her face left to go on with, she had had to
say yes to too many men, too many situations she would have preferred to
turn down. Now she could say no and mean it. She'd been saying no for
months now, and fully intended to go on saying it.
The picture beside the bed drew her eye. A dark-eyed, laughing young
woman, standing in the circle of Jake's arms. His sleeves were rolled up,
his collar askew. He was laughing into the camera, cradling her proudly,
protectively. Suuare felt a ripple of curiosity. Who was she? And why
wasn't she here? She saw no clothes, no evidence of a woman in the whole
huge place. If she was gone, why did he cherish her picture?
It occurred to Suuare that any woman who left this man would be a
fool. She was shocked to know the feeling in herself. It had been a long
time since she had cared for any man. If she had ever cared. What would
it be like to care for this one?
She encountered the stereo, and stood a moment going over the music
there. What an odd mix, she thought. DeBussy and Devo. Most of the
records and CDs, the ones that looked as though they were used most
frequently, were jazz and blues. But at the back, under a light film of
dust, were classical records and disco. That didn't seem to fit her image
of Jake.
"Play anything you like," he called to her.
She chose an Oleta Adams CD and put it on. The lazy, sensual notes
floated out into the big room, swelling softly through the echoing space.
"Everything must change,
Nothing stays the same...
Winter turns to spring
A wounded heart will heal....
'Cause that's the way of time
Nothing and no one doesn't change..."
"Dinner is served," Jake called. He was standing by the table,
holding a bottle of wine. His sleeves were stilled rolled up; she noted
the cuff links on the kitchen counter. How many men wore cuff links in
this day and age?
She let him seat her, feeling him linger behind her a moment as he
pushed her seat in. Then he sat across from her and served her salad.
"Congratulations," he smiled at her.
That smile would destroy her, she thought. She had always remembered
the intense sadness in his eyes. She hadn't imagined what his eyes would
look like if he smiled. She watched his mouth, the full curve of his lips.
"For what?" she asked.
"On winning the lottery. I've never met a lottery winner before."
She shrugged and picked up her fork. "It's hardly anything to be
congratulated on. It's just luck, like being born with black hair or blue
eyes."
"Still, it looks like it's made a change in your life."
She looked at him warily. "Yes. Quite a change. This is very
good."
"Merci," he said. "There are strawberries for dessert."
"I never knew a man who could cook anything but hot dogs."
"A...a lady I used to know liked French cuisine. We would cook
together, sometimes."
"The one by the bed?"
Shadows in his eyes--that was the look she remembered. A pang went
through her; she hadn't meant to hurt him.
"Yes."
Suuare glanced around. "Does she live here, too?"
"No. Not anymore," Jake said shortly, and sipped his wine.
"But you keep her picture."
"Yes."
"Were you going to put mine next to it?"
That stopped him cold. He put down his fork and looked at her.
"No."
"You have no plants."
"Excuse me?"
She glanced up at him, met those intense hazel eyes. "There are no
plants in this room." In fact, she noted, apart from the dog there were
no living things at all here.
He blinked, then looked around. "Well, no. I never thought of it
before, but you're right. I never have had any plants here."
"I love plants," she said. "My place--"
He waited, then said, "Yes? You were saying?"
She hadn't meant to tell him anything about herself, but she said, "I
have lots of plants in my... place. I love plants, green things. They
change the air, make it more...like home. I would live in a jungle if I
could. That's why I want the solarium."
"You're changing the subject," he said.
She looked full into his eyes. "Yes," she said. "I am."
They finished the dinner in silence. It was neither hostile nor
uncomfortable, but a little wary, as they sought some common ground
between them. He was rising to gather the plates when a frantic whining
at the door drew his attention.
"Damn," he muttered.
"What is it?"
"Stella. I forgot to walk her." He looked at her helplessly. "I
can't leave her out there like that. It's not right."
Suuare folded her napkin and stood. "Well, if you give me the
pictures, I can call a cab and you can walk your dog."
He stood with a plate in each hand, undecided. "Suuare, come walk
with me. Just a short walk, that's all. Please."
She looked at him, the tall, long grace of him, and nodded. She felt
safe with him.
The night was mild, and although the lights of the city drowned the
stars they could enjoy the breeze off the ocean and the coolness of the
air. The streets were deserted. Stella frisked along, now in front of
them, now behind, as Jake strolled towards the rail yards at the end of
the street. At first he had kept apart from her, shortening his stride to
match hers, but after he helped her over the railroad track he didn't let
go of her hand, and held it all the way down to the water front.
At the end of the street, across the rail yards, was a small dock
that had once served as an offloading point for the ships that met the
rail. Rusty and abandoned now, it had fallen into a sort of careless
charm, a small private nook of a place. Suuare noted the wooden chair
placed to look out over the water and concluded that he came here often.
Alone.
He bowed her to the chair, and sat cross-legged beside her to watch
the lights of the passing ships. He was still holding her hand, and she
was intently aware of his touch, his warmth. She could hear him
breathing. Stella barked and trotted off to sniff around a pile of beams.
"Rats," said Jake. "Now and then she actually catches one, and I
have to disappoint her by not eating it."
She inhaled, smelling the sea, the smells of the city.
"Why did you buy the pictures, Jake?"
"Because you were beautiful. They are wonderful photographs.
Because I didn't want Kate to have them anymore." His voice was warm,
low, intimate. She closed her eyes, hearing it.
No, she told herself. I will not get involved with this man. I will
not. Not when I finally have my freedom.
"Alex--the girl in the picture by the bed--killed herself," he said,
so quietly she could hardly hear him. "We had been planning to get
married. I...I thought I might die, too. I was alone for so long...and
then Kate came. I thought...well, never mind what I thought. She lied to
me. I didn't know anything about her."
He looked up at her, she met his eyes squarely. "I don't know
anything about you, Suuare. And I'm not going to ask."
"Jake--"
"She used you to ambush me. She lied to get what she wanted. I've
had enough lies. Tell me the truth or tell me nothing."
She heard the steel in his voice, felt his hand on hers tighten.
"Then you must tell me the truth, as well," she said. "Why did you buy the
pictures?"
There was a long silence. He held his breath, then let it out
softly. "Because I couldn't stop thinking about you. I haven't been able
to stop thinking about you since the night I first saw you. Even when I
was with Kate."
In the light from the street lamps she saw his eyes, open, trusting.
Slowly, she pulled her hand free of his and put it on his cheek, feeling
the stubble there. His skin was warm, smooth. She felt her breath
quicken.
"I have thought about you, too, Jake," she said.
She placed her other hand on the other side of his cheek and drew him
up to her mouth.
His lips were soft, warm under hers. He drank her in, open mouthed,
eyes closed. Her tongue met his gently, then more urgently. She felt him
breathing short and quick, felt him trembling under her palms. He tasted
like wine and flame and salt. He burned under her hands.
She lingered, enjoying the taste and feel of his mouth, and finally
broke the kiss slowly, leisurely. He remained motionless for a moment,
and then hung his head. He was utterly silent.
"I have to go," she said after a while.
"Suuare," he whispered. "Don't go."
She put a hand on his hair, so soft and thick, and stroked his head
as one might stroke a cat. She stood, turned back towards the warehouse,
and extended her hand to him. "Come. I want you to call a taxi for me.
I want to go home."
He nodded, misery on his face.
Back at the studio, he unlocked the door and led Stella in. The dog
sniffed at the table, the remains of the fish, and then bounced up onto
the bed and curled up at the foot. It was obviously her accustomed spot.
Jake didn't look at Suuare, but went to the dresser beside the bed
and pulled open the top drawer. When he turned around, holding the stack
of photographs, his eyes were miserable. Reluctantly he held them out to
her.
"You don't owe me anything for them," he said as she reached for her
purse.
"I know what they cost you," she said. "I don't need charity, I can
afford them."
"I won't take your money," he said fiercely.
She reached out and took the photographs in her hand, feeling a great
relief. He stood there, looking tormented, not meeting her eyes.
Finally, he reached for his raincoat.
"I'll drive you home," he said dully. "Unless that's a secret."
"No," she said, surprised. "Not at all."
On the way he drove the car with only half of his attention. His
mind was in a turmoil, his heart wrenched. They drew up in front of the
towering apartment building. He recognized it, had voted for it when it
won an AIA award five years ago. He knew the woman who had designed it.
He turned off the ignition and sat, his mind in chaos. "Suuare...."
She sat, a hand on the door latch, watching him quietly. He suddenly
turned to face her.
"Suuare ... when I watched you, I felt something. I thought maybe
you did, too. Was I wrong?"
Her mouth was solemn, her eyes in the shadow thrown by the roof.
"No," she said. "You weren't wrong, Jake."
"Will I see you again?" She knew he wasn't talking about her
commission.
Her hand on his cheek was cool and soft. "If you like."
He caught her hand in his. "I like. Oh, god, I like." He turned his
cheek and kissed her palm, inhaling the scent of her. She smelled like
sandalwood and sassafras.
"Dinner. A movie. The theatre. A ball game, anything," he said.
"I just want to be with you."
"I would like...I would like to listen to music with you," she said
slowly.
"Opera? Jazz? Rap?"
A tiny corner of her mouth turned up, ever so briefly, and he
realized that he had never seen her smile. He wondered what it would be
like to be smiled at by her.
"Blues," she said. "Pick someone you like."
"Tomorrow?" he asked. "Eight o'clock?"
She drew her hand out of his grasp. "Yes. Meet me in the lobby."
She was getting out of the car. Jake knew a moment of panic--what if
she was lying? What if this was all a trick, a deception? She would
disappear and he would not even have the photographs any more. Could he
trust her?
She walked into the building, carrying his heart.
Suuare was there, at eight o'clock, as she had promised. With
infinite relief he saw her small figure, cool and poised, sitting in the
lobby when he arrived. When she stood up he went weak in the knees.
She was wearing an emerald green silk dress with spaghetti straps and
deep cleavage. He could see the tops of her breasts, remembered how they
had looked, so soft, so round. Almost involuntarily, he wondered what
they would feel like in his hands, and immediately after wondered how he
was going to get through the rest of this evening without embarrassing
himself.
She walked towards him, solemn as a judge, her dark eyes huge in her
face. She was so beautiful he was going to die, he thought. Her hair
fell like ink down her back, straight, shining, unadorned. The emeralds
in her ears were as real as her mouth, her eyes.
Her eyes were like black velvet holes; he would fall in and drown, he
was certain.
"You look very nice," she said as he reached for her hand. "I like
cuff links." She turned his hand over in hers, looking at the heavy gold
links. His heart pounded in his ears.
"You look...stunning," he said when he found his voice. "I'm going to
go in fear of my life tonight."
She drew her arm through his and turned to the door. "Then we will
have to stay among crowds," she said. "Where are we going?"
To hell, he wanted to answer, but held the door for her. "A little
club out near Venice. I know the band that's playing tonight. Are you
hungry?"
He drove in a daze, wondering how he had gotten so far in so fast.
He wanted her so badly. He didn't know what to do. He felt lost and
helpless.
At the club, the doorman waved in Jake without a second glance,
staring at Suuare. The lights were low, the music sharp and sparkling in
the near darkness. The balding piano player nodded at Jake as he came in,
winked when he saw the woman beside him.
"Would you like to dance?" he asked her.
She came into his arms, and he thought he would die right there. She
was warm and soft and smelled incredible, and she stood looking up at him
with those enormous eyes. He put an arm around her and pulled her in
tighter than he had intended, though not half as close as he wanted. Her
hand in his was light and strong.
The music was seductive, low and melancholy and hypnotic. The
keyboards set a slow, rhythmic tempo, with the saxophone weaving in and
out of the melody like a wandering lover. It was sad and sensuous and
evocative, all at once, and their bodies moved to it marvelously. He
closed his eyes to feel her better, wondering at how perfectly she fitted
under his chin, in his arms.
You never really know, you never really know.
You make your plans so carefully, but it burns out of control.
You never really see--no, you never really see--
Something hiding in the shadows brings you screaming to your knees.
You can hold it in your hands, think you feel it in your soul;
You never really know, you never really know.
Who can ever tell? Who can ever tell?
Will it lift you up to heaven or drag you down to hell?
You can hold it in your hands: don't ever let it go...
You never really know, you never really know.
Suuare felt the music moving through her, sweeping her away on it,
relieving her of the need to talk, to guard, to watch. She felt relaxed
and safe in Jake's arms, feeling the strength in them. The music changed,
the bands changed, and sometimes they just sat and listened to the music.
Neither of them drank much, but at all times she was aware of him beside
her, undemanding, but overwhelmingly present. Most of the time he just
held her hand quietly. She was not unaware of the passion trembling
through him, but she put it out of her mind and concentrated on the music
swelling through the darkness.
It grew late, and the band announced the last number. Jake stood and
drew her into his arms again. He danced well, she thought. So many men
thought they could dance, but Jake was graceful, unconscious, deft. She
looked at him, caught him looking at her.
She smiled.
He froze, as though in shock, and then halted in the middle of the
dance floor as the other dancers swept around them, an island in the
middle of the music.
"Suuare," he said, and she dared not guess at what was in his voice.
His hands, the touch of him against her, were persuasive enough.
As though seeing him for the first time, she looked at him and felt
an enormous change seep through her. His eyes were dark in the half-light
and sleepy-lidded, but the intelligence behind them was unmistakable. His
mouth was full, his lips large and sensual. She wanted that mouth; she
wanted it on her lips, her neck, her nipples. She could imagine its fine
velvet, its soft insistence, his tongue wet and slow...
She pulled out of his arms and caught his hand, leading him off the
dance floor. He stopped her when they reached the hallway leading out to
the parking lot and turned her to face him. Without speaking, holding her
eyes with his, he lowered his face to hers and kissed her. No warning
from her body prepared her for her response. Her mouth opened greedily
under his, and suddenly he was pressing her up against the wall, his hands
in her hair, holding her face, stroking her earlobes as his tongue took
her mouth. She welcomed him, feeling the fabric of his suit against her
nipples, his big body pressed up against hers, his erection between them
like an unacknowledged promise.
And then he placed both hands against the wall on either side of her
face and pushed himself away from her. He stood looking down at her, his
face open and vulnerable, and then looked down.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have done that. You
just....overwhelm me sometimes. Please don't be angry at me."
"I'm not angry with you, Jake," she said. "May we go?"
He held the door for her.
She was silent in the car, at the apartment, in the elevator; he
wondered what she was thinking. When the elevator stopped at the
penthouse level, she motioned him out first. Her door was locked not by
keys but by a touch- pad: she made him watch while she punched in the
combination.
"No secrets, Jake," she said, with a small smile. "I want you to see
this."
It was a jungle indeed. As they stepped into the entryway, Jake
could feel the change in temperature. It was humid, hot, and green.
Plants were everywhere, in enormous tubs, in planters, hanging from the
ceiling. Here and there sat a chair, a table, looking out of place. It
was extravagant, this indoor jungle. Suuare touched a button and
music--melancholy, exotic--floated around them.
She took his hand and led him out onto the terrace.
The sky above them was midnight blue; Los Angeles lay below them like
diamonds scattered thickly across black velvet. The terrace was lush with
greenery. A small table and one chair sat in the center of it. To one
side, an artificial pool held goldfish. Among the plants, Suuare in her
emerald green dress looked like a nymph come to life.
"It's...amazing," he said finally. "I feel like I'm in Tahiti."
"But it is all dying," she said. She held up the underside of a
leaf. Knowing nothing of plants, he looked at her quizzically. "Too much
heat. Too much smog. They need protection."
The way she said it did strange things to the inside of him.
"I can build you a solarium," he said. His practiced eye took in the
line of the roof, the lintel over the French doors. "If you don't want it
too big."
She shook her head. "It doesn't have to be big," she said.
He watched her move among the plants, touching each one as if it were
a personal friend. She ran a hand along the petal of a flower, drew a
finger down into the bowl of a bromeliad. Hair stood up along his arms.
God, if she would touch him like that...
"This is my sanctuary," she said. "I hide here,"
"What are you hiding from?"
"I was born in Macao," she said softly. "My mother worked in a
brothel. I do not know and do not care who my father was, but he was
probably French or British. My mother died in a bus accident when I was
eight years old. The women of the house brought me up. The madam made
sure I had some education, because she thought men would pay more."
Jake shifted, opened his mouth to speak, but she went on quickly.
"I was auctioned off at age twelve to a much older man. I will not
tell you his name. He is dead now, anyway. He bought me because I was
young and because I was a virgin. He used to lend me out to his friends to
secure political favors, but he also gave me a room of my own and clothes
and sent me to school. When he died he left me some money and I came to
America."
She knew he was looking at her but she could not look back. She felt
him take her hand gently.
"One thing I can say and be proud of, I have never been a drug
addict. In Macao, most of the girls were. But I was enough of a slave
already. I am not ashamed of what I have done. I have had to survive,
and the only thing I had was my body and my face."
She looked at him then, caught his eyes full on her. "Jake, I have
had two abortions. I have sold myself to countless men. I have had VD
seven times; by a miracle, I don't have HIV. I have been raped. I have
been beaten. But I am here and I am free now. I will not be bound by the
past but I cannot ignore it. "
Jake didn't know what to say. He'd suspected some similar past, but
couldn't think how to react. Her experience--her whole world--had been so
different from his past, which now seemed so privileged. So he held her
hand in silence and listened to the wind.
Finally he said, "Alex and I came from different pasts. I once told
her the past was behind, that it didn't matter, that it couldn't shape the
future. I was wrong. I won't make that mistake again. It's not just
some abstraction you can ignore, it's the fabric of your life. You have to
deal with it. Alex couldn't handle the tensions it set up in her life,
and she lost herself. I lost her.
"I don't want to lose you, Suuare. I'll do anything I have to, to
prove that."
He smiled, a small, painful smile. "I won't ask you to sleep with
me, you can stop worrying about that. If all you want is a friend, that's
what I'll be. Just....don't shut me out of your life. Don't cut me off.
Please."
"I won't," she said simply, and came into his arms.
He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. It smelled
exotic and wild, as if some flower had been flown halfway around the world
to die and leave its fragrance in her hair. It was soft and fine, and as
his hands met behind her back, her hair fell over them like a veil.
"What--" He choked, and started over. "What do you want, Suuare?"
Her hands came up, under his jacket, skimming lightly over his back,
coming round to slide up his chest, his neck, pulling his head down to
hers.
"You, Jake," she whispered.
He kissed her very softly. He tasted sweet and hot. His lips broke
free enough to smile at her, then he was kissing her neck, slowly, taking
his time. He kissed under her ear and laughed when her dangling earring
tickled his nose. He closed his teeth briefly on her ear, and then
breathed gently into it.
As she watched, his hands came forward and took hers. She suppressed
a gasp at their warmth. She could feel his pulse through his hands,
pounding. Slowly he raised her hands to his lips. Not taking his eyes
from hers, he turned her hands palm upwards and slowly ran his tongue down
each one, from her wrists to the tips of her middle fingers. He drew her
right hand up to place on his cheek--she felt a light stubble there, and
felt sudden warmth between her thighs. He brought her left hand up to his
mouth and slowly thrust his tongue between her fingers, drawing it in and
out, in and out, all the time with his eyes on hers. His face was very
close now, she could hear the delicate wet sounds his tongue made as it
slid across her palm to lick her fingers, one by one. His eyes were
gleaming with a mischievous sweet brightness.
She felt wetness now on her thighs, felt a delicious ache in her
fingers, her whole body. She could feel her pulse racing as his hands
came up behind her head, tangling themselves in her hair, pulling her
closer to him. They slipped down her neck to her shoulders, her waist,
and then he pulled her powerfully against him, so that she was pressed up
against him the length of her body. She breathed in his smell, warm and
tangy and male, a mixture of sweat and warm wool and a clean smell of
shampoo from his hair.
His mouth worked on hers, and she parted her lips, feeling his tongue
meet hers eagerly. They darted and slid, working wet and eager together
in her mouth, then his. She could no longer tell which of them was
moaning. His hands came down to grab her buttocks and pull them fiercely
against him. His body heat burned through his clothes to her; she could
feel the bulge of his cock against her. She heard his breathing change
from a light shallow pant to deep, ragged breaths as he kissed her, kissed
her, kissed her...
When he broke free, finally, she was so entwined with him she was
practically wearing his jacket; his hair was in his eyes again. They
didn't speak, only now she could look him in those beautiful hazel eyes
without embarrassment.
After that kiss, she knew everything about him she wanted to know.
Her hands brushed up, and over, and around his chest and shoulders,
feeling the hard muscles sliding under the smooth skin. She loosened his
tie and began to unbutton his shirt. Without taking his lips from her
neck, he shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. With
graceful fingers she pulled his shirt out of his pants, pushed it down
over his muscled arms. His chest was smooth and muscled, the skin firm
under her cool fingers. Dark hair spread over his pectorals, leading her
eyes and imagination downward over a beautifully modeled stomach to where
it disappeared under his belt.
This time when he put his arms around her, she could feel him
trembling. He kissed her, many small swift kisses over her face and neck,
and she murmured, "Yes!" to each one. His hands slid off her shoulders,
but then ranged uncertainly around her back, her side, searching. She
smiled under his kiss, then gasped as his hands slid up inside her skirt
along her thighs. Her hands roamed over his chest, over the dark, soft
hair there that tickled her face when she ran her tongue over his nipples.
She began to unbuckle his belt, slowly, but he covered her hand with
his.
"Are you sure you want this?" he asked. "I can't promise to stop
once we get started."
She laughed in her throat. "We have started." She worked the buckle
loose and unzipped him. Immediately his shaft sprang into her hand, hard
and hot. "Oh, God," he breathed in her ear.
He lifted her dress off over her head and threw it on top of his
abandoned jacket. She wore nothing underneath. The clothes mingled on the
floor like old lovers. His eyes widened when her breasts came into view,
the nipples hard and demanding. He touched them gently, circling the left
nipple, then the right with seductive, teasing fingers. His hands slid
along her skin, from her shoulders down to her breasts. He cupped them in
each hand, breathing on the nipples, then slid his hands down, down, down.
"Oh, yes!" he said. He took her hands and guided them to his waist;
she peeled his pants off very slowly, watching as his thighs, his knees,
his feet were revealed, and then he too was naked. She looked at him, the
fine, lean, muscles, the elegance in the way he moved, the long jaw and
full mouth. He was beautifully built, athletic and graceful. His eyes
were intent, looking through her as they had that evening in the trailer.
He left her standing and knelt at her feet.
Beginning at her ankles, he deliberately and delicately kissed all
the way up her calf to her knee, her thigh. He reached the top of her
thighs and buried his face in her. Her back arched as his tongue slicked
into her--once, twice, again. He curled his tongue into all her secret
places, as his hands stroked up and down her buttocks. As he worked, he
"Mmmm"'d deep in his throat; the vibration swirled up from her inner core
to the back of her throat. She could hardly breathe for the intensity of
it. His lips against her wet folds were warm and soft and luscious,
teasing, nibbling, licking. Shivers cascaded down her body; her nipples
were so hard they hurt. She could hear herself giving little moaning
yelps but she could not stop it. Heat gathered deep in the pit of her
body as the orgasmic energy built in her with every thrust of his tongue.
His hands slid under her, lifting her hips higher, supporting her
while he licked and kissed. She could not stand; she slumped against him
but his strength held her up easily. She shuddered with the swelling
power, building in her until finally she cried out, quivering and gasping
his name as the wave broke over her. Her hips thrust against his warm
mouth over and over, his tongue matching her movements. He laughed deeply
and triumphantly when she subsided, eyes wide and fixed on his.
He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth as he caught her up against
him. He grunted into her neck and grasped her bottom in his hands,
lifting her off the floor. To keep her balance, she put her arms around
his neck and wrapped her legs around him.
His shaft was thick and hard, straining against his stomach. Below
it his balls were heavy and swayed against his thighs. She lost her
balance against him, clutching at his shoulders. He shifted, and then
slid into her with one quick thrust, crying out into her ear. He was
heavy and full inside her. She tasted sweat--or tears--on his neck,
smelled his skin as he thrust over and over and over. She couldn't get
enough of him, urging him deeper into her with every move. Grasping one
of her legs in each hand, he spread her wide around him, forcing her
sensory focus onto the sensation of his cock sliding in her. His rhythm
built and built, she felt him inside her hard as a rock, and then he
suddenly stopped.
"What--" she started to say.
But he gasped, his whole body shuddering as his release flooded into
her. "Ah, God!" he cried. It sounded like a sob.
Suddenly his muscles relaxed and she felt his long legs and arms
folding around her, wrapping her against him, lowering them both to the
floor. His breath was in her ear, ragged and broken.
"Suuare...."
He was on his knees, still buried inside her, carrying her with him,
her legs wrapped around his waist. He enveloped her, immersing his face
in her hair, which fell across them both like a cloud the color of jet.
He rocked back and forth, back and forth with her.
"Oh, God, Suuare, I wanted you so long, so long."
She traced her fingers down the back of his neck, across his
shoulders, up again to knot together in his fine, thick hair. "Look at
me, Jake,"
His eyes were sleepy and happy and open. She looked into them and
smiled. "Was it like you thought it would be?"
"No," he smiled. "It was better."
She stroked his face tenderly. "I didn't think I would ever want a
man again."
"Maybe wanting isn't enough," he said quietly. "Maybe there has to
be more."
He breathed lightly over her breasts, holding her carefully. She was
so small, so delicate.
"Will you build me a jungle?"
"Yes," he said, and kissed her lower lip. "And fill it with flowers."
Everything must change.
Nothing stays the same.
Everyone will change,
No one stays the same....
There aren't many things in life
You can be sure of...
Winter turns to spring;
A wounded heart will heal,
But never much too soon.
Yes, everything will change:
The young become the old,
And mysteries do unfold
'Cause that's the way of time.
Nothing and no one doesn't change.
THE END
-----------------------
"Church of Desire" by Richie Sambora. Richie Sambora appears twice on
the soundtrack to RSD but "Church of Desire" is from his album "Stranger
in This Town".
"You Never Really Know" by George S. Clinton. Clinton is the composer of
the music used in "Red Shoe Diaries"; the piano player in the club is
George Clinton (he's also the balding piano player at Alex's birthday
party).
"Everything Must Change" by Bernard Ighner. "Everything Must Change"
appears on the soundtrack to "Red Shoe Diaries" but is not apparently
featured in the movie.
--------------------------------------
I appreciate any and all criticism, at whatever level you are comfortable
with. I have a fairly tough hide, and while childish comments will be
toasted, serious evaluation will be welcome. I hope you enjoyed this
story.
Sarah Stegall
[email protected]
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Sarah Stegall |"Do you think I'm spooky?"
[email protected] |--Agent Fox Mulder, "Squeeze"
DDEB, X-phile |--The X-Files
*******************************************************************
--
Kellie Matthews-Simmons//[email protected]
Member: SFLA&EBS, PSEB, DDEB, X-phile "Ego veno eos in vulcos minos."
"Sometimes the need to mess with their heads outweighs the millstone of
humiliation." --Fox Mulder, X-Files "Squeeze"
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