Toxic (23 page)

“Phoebe?”

Jeremy had stood and was talking to me, but my mind was wandering. The sound of his voice pulled me back. “Hmmm?”

“What do you say we make some coffee and see what Max left for dessert?”

I stood too. Thinking about Avery had rattled me and I had to shake my thoughts away. Tomorrow night would be fine.

“Here, I can help,” Lindsay offered.

“No, no. You two go sit down over there.” I motioned to the large living area. “We’ll bring everything in there.”

“Great, there’s a b-ball game on; I can catch the score,” Jamie said.

I shook my head at him. “Did you bet on it?”

He gave me a coy look. Of course he did. My guess was he hadn’t told Lindsay about his penchant for gambling. All in due time, I thought.

I grabbed some plates and took them over to the sink. The dirty dishes from the dinner prep were piled next to it. Jeremy didn’t have anyone to clean so it was him and me. I liked it that way. I turned the water on and while I waited for it to warm, I stole glances at him as he made the coffee.

“What?” he said when he caught me.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Nothing.”

The TV turned on and the sound of the Knicks playing and Jamie cursing at a play made me laugh. I turned back and started rinsing the stack of dishes. We could load the dishwasher later but it would make the job easier if I removed the leftover food before it dried onto the plates and bowls.

Arms circled around me just as I finished the first stack. “Did I catch you staring at me?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you know what that does to me?” His low groan across my neck sent shivers down my spine. But it was his hand sliding inside the elastic of my skirt that made me tremble. Before I could lean against the counter to stop him his fingers found my clit and instant heat flooded me.

“Jeremy,” I gasped.

“Keep doing what you’re doing and no one will notice when I make you come.”

Oh God, I was already halfway there.

I wanted to protest but it was too late. His thumb was already circling my clit with just the right amount of pressure. I bit my lip to keep from crying out as that familiar oblivion overtook me. I squeezed the metal bowl I was holding and dropped my chin, hoping my moans of pleasure would get sucked up into the flowing water.

“Hell yes,” Jamie yelled from the other room. At least I knew he wasn’t paying attention to us.

“That’s it,” Jeremy prompted me. “Let go.”

And I did. I bit harder on my lip as he coaxed every lingering drop of pleasure from me.

“You are the one I want.”

“I know,” I said with small huffs of breath.

He put his hands on mine and grabbed the bowl, rinsing it with me under the warm water. “I just wanted to make sure.”

I was not good at hiding my emotions and obviously he knew the talk of Avery’s party had rattled me. In that moment, with the two of us standing together at the sink, I knew my feelings for him were stronger than they should have been after only one week together.

The problem was, I didn’t know how to stop them from flourishing.

•   •   •

“I want to watch you make yourself come.”

I shivered at his breath on my ear.

Jamie and Lindsay left shortly after we finished dessert. Jeremy and I had started to clean up but I sent him out for his nightly club check and finished it myself. I was too tired to go out anywhere. While putting things away, I knocked over his pile of mail on the counter and a letter drew my attention. The name on the return address, a J Truman in North Carolina, seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Once I finished in the kitchen I read for a bit. When I couldn’t keep my eyes open, I changed into one of Jeremy’s T-shirts and was brushing my teeth when he returned.

I spit out my toothpaste and looked up at him in the mirror. Then I turned to look at him. “What?” My throat was dry despite the fact that I was rinsing my mouth and I knew this was coming from earlier this evening.

His lips were on mine in a long kiss before he broke the suction of our mouths and buried his face in my neck. “I want to watch you make yourself come,” he groaned into my throat.

I didn’t know how to reply so instead I stared at his reflection in the mirror. His handsome face was so serious and I watched as he studied me without an ounce of amusement dancing in his eyes this time.

The intensity of the moment caused goose bumps to rise on my skin.

He was serious.

Dead serious.

He dropped his head to the curve of my shoulder and with his teeth bit me gently. He lifted his mouth and looked at me in the mirror. “I’ll help you.”

My blood felt like gasoline as it flowed through my veins. Hot. Explosive. Ready to catch fire. With his eyes still on me, I swallowed and gave a slight nod.

“Take your shirt off,” Jeremy commanded.

I didn’t hesitate.

Jeremy stepped back and started to pull his own clothes off and I couldn’t help but watch him. His eyes were burning with desire and his body was utterly glorious. Once he was naked, he pressed his body to mine and I could feel him starting to get hard.

But then he took my hands, which were gripping the counter, and lifted them to my chest and a nervous flutter swept through me. I had twenty fingertips touching me as he slid our hands over the small swell of my breasts and my nerves dispersed into full-out desire as the eroticism of it all took over.

“Do you feel how hard your nipples get with the slightest touch?” he whispered in my ear.

I nodded while he slid our hands lower to my navel and flattened my palms against it beneath his. Four hands covered my lower body and desire pulsed in my core.

“Open your legs wider,” he growled.

God, the commanding tone to his voice made my heart beat frantically.

Once I did as he instructed, he moved one of my hands between my legs and put the other back on my breast. He concentrated below as he manipulated my finger so that I was gently stroking myself in a circular motion.

Stroke.

Circle.

Stroke.

Heat spread through me.

I could hear his deep breaths.

I shuddered in ecstasy when I looked down and watched as his hand moved mine.

“Pinch your nipples.” His voice was hoarse as he bent to kiss my neck. It was more like a lick from my ear to my shoulder.

I pinched.

My pulse was racing.

Jeremy released the hand holding my breast and left me to that task but his hand down below kept up the slow torturous movement.

Stroke.

Circle.

Stroke.

Each stroke across my bare flesh was better than the last.

God, I wanted him.

Suddenly, his free hand went to my behind and his fingers trailed down the middle of it. He stopped in the spot he had caressed earlier that night. Jeremy gently circled it, just applying the slightest bit of pressure, all while his other hand was still guiding mine.

Stroke.

Circle.

Stroke.

His mouth covered my ear. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

To be honest, I was having a difficult time processing all of the sensations I was feeling but in no way did I want any of them to go away.

Slowly, he stopped his circling and even slower, he slid his hand farther down, meeting where our joined fingers were already stroking my clit. His hand though, didn’t move, it just hovered over my opening, teasing me with the thought of what he might do.

I had no hair down there, on my legs, or under my arms. Laser hair removal had been my mother’s gift to me for my sixteenth birthday. The sensation I was experiencing wasn’t something I’d felt before. Maybe it was because I was standing naked in front of a mirror with Jeremy’s hard body and lengthening cock behind me, maybe it was the eroticism of the moment, that I was doing what he had asked me to do, or maybe it was simply the stimulation all over my body. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it to stop.

Jeremy took a step back away from the counter and I instinctively followed. “I’m going to let go of your hand. Don’t stop. Keep doing what you’re doing and I want you to look in the mirror. See how beautiful you are. See what I see.”

My lids flicked up. My body was visible until about midthigh.

Jeremy’s free hand went to my other breast. He circled my nipple and then pinched it. Circled it again, and then pinched it. He kept the same rhythm up and I followed with the hand I had on my own breast.

“That’s it. Don’t stop. How does it feel?”

I let my head fall back. “Incredible.”

Jeremy captured my mouth and hungrily kissed me for a few moments before releasing my mouth and resuming his stare in the mirror. “Fucking hell,” he groaned as he watched me.

My whole body hummed in delight and I knew his had to feel the same. Just to make certain, I arched my back so I could feel his hard cock, how much he wanted me.

His free hand rested on my navel, the other slid back up my behind and circled that spot again. “Now I want you to rub even smaller, gentler circles around your clit. You’re already so wet it shouldn’t be difficult. But not a lot pressure. Not yet.”

My entire body was tingling now, not just my core but rather from my head to my toes.

He slid his hand back down and put a finger inside me. “Oh fuck, you’re so tight, so hot and so wet,” he hissed. He added a second finger, and a third, and I was moaning when he pulled them out. But then he moved his hand back to my behind and resumed circling that tender spot, adding a little pressure, and the tingles turned into tremors.

“Jeremy,” I screamed. “I want to come.”

“Not yet,” he breathed. His own voice was ragged. “Not yet, just hold on a little longer.”

My eyes met his half-lidded ones in the mirror. “When I tell you, add some pressure to your clit. When you start coming, I want you to bend over and grip the counter. I’m going to fuck you while you’re coming.”

“Where,” I asked. At that point anal sex wasn’t something I was opposed to, in fact I think I wanted it but I just wanted to be prepared.

“Not here,” he said as he added a little more pressure. “Not here yet. This is just for added stimulation.”

“Oh God,” I cried out. “It feels so good.”

My words must have undone him because a barely audible, “Now,” escaped his throat.

Jeremy let go of me and his eyes were on me in the mirror and I added that little bit of extra pressure and my orgasm consumed my entire body. I was riding the intense waves of delicious pleasure when I felt him enter me from behind. His body slammed against mine. He was thrusting fast and I absorbed each and every one. Reveled in it. My orgasm started to wane but then out of nowhere started to rise again. I was climbing higher than I ever had. His hands were gripping my hips, mine were squeezing the countertop so tight that my fingers hurt. He was slamming into me.

I didn’t care.

He called my name as he came, whispering something I couldn’t hear.

I closed my eyes. “Jeremy,” I cried out again. Beneath my lids, I saw stars, the moon, and lightning. With my eyes closed, I felt the earth move and the sky shift. In my own darkness, I felt a million different things but I didn’t feel lost in him. I knew then for certain, I wouldn’t get lost in him.

There was no way I could.

Not when I had found myself in him.

The Green-Eyed Monster

It had officially been one week.

Jeremy and I had been together for seven days but I felt like it had been so much longer. We seemed to have come so far in such a little time.

I won’t lie. I was slightly scared.

Intense.

All-encompassing.

Consuming.

Passionate.

Did I say intense?

And those were just a few words I would use to describe our relationship.

It was Saturday morning and Jeremy woke me up with a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

I blinked up at him, those thoughts tumbling through my mind. “Where are you going?”

“My weekly manager’s meeting.”

“I thought you held those here?”

“Normally, I do.”

I shaded my eyes. “And you’re not because of me?”

He kissed me again, this time on the mouth. “No, not entirely. I’ve been thinking of rotating between Jet Set locations so each manager can familiarize himself with the other operations.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” I felt better that it wasn’t because I was there.

He grinned. “It does. But not every week, I was thinking every other. I can stay in bed longer when they all come here.”

The smirk on his face was a turn-on and my insides turned to liquid.

His mouth found my ear. “You stay in bed and wait for me. I’ll wake you up when I get back.”

His tone told me just what he had in mind. The very thought had my sex clenching but then I remembered that I had plans. “I can’t. I have to go home and clean my apartment.”

He raised a doubtful brow.

“I do. Every other Saturday, I have an eleven a.m. lunch date with my mother and she always picks me up.”

He lowered himself on the mattress and lay beside me with one elbow propped up. “That’s really nice.”

My gaze traveled the length of his body. He wore a simple long-sleeve black T-shirt, distressed jeans, and his scuffed boots. He looked edible in his Saturday work attire. I was certain a baseball hat would be going on his head—backward. “I guess. We’ve been doing it since I got my own place. She says it’s the only time she gets my full attention.”

He looked a little sad.

“What about you? Do you see your mother when you go back to Miami?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I try to.”

“I thought you were close.”

“We used to be but we haven’t been for a long time.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head no. “When will you be done with lunch?”

I laughed. “That depends on how much my mother has to talk about and how much shopping she wants to do.”

He leaned closer. “Then come back after.”

I pecked him on the cheek and slid my mouth to his in an effort to lessen the sting of what I was about to say. “How about you pick me up at my place at seven?”

He leaned back and looked at me puzzled. “Ummm . . . sure, but what’s this about?”

I ran my fingers through his hair. “Nothing. I promised I’d stay a week and I did. I have to go home sometime. I can’t stay forever.”

He captured my wrist and rolled on top of me.

The sheet separated my naked body from his clothed one, but the heat was undeniable.

“Move in with me,” he rasped.

My body tensed. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not? You told me you were moving out of your place next month anyway. So why not move in here?”

“I just can’t,” I repeated.

He took my face in his hands. “So you’ve said. Now tell me why.”

My eyelids fluttered shut at his close proximity. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

His thumbs stroked my cheeks. “Not until we talk about this.”

I sighed and pulled back. “First of all, I can’t walk to work from here. And don’t say you’ll drive me because you can’t drive me every day. That’s just not realistic.”

His jaw twitched as if he was trying to hold back some of his amusement. “I could but you’re right, it’s not realistic. But there are other ways people commute in this big city of ours. We can arrange for a car service, you could take a cab, or”—and then he allowed himself the grin he’d obviously been holding back and said—“or you could take the subway.”

I wanted to slap the silly grin off his pretentious face but knew I wasn’t getting out of the conversation on transportation alone. “Well, getting to work aside, all of my stuff won’t fit in here.”

He looked around and then let his eyes scorch me. “Get rid of anything of mine you want. I’m not attached to any of it. And I have an entire empty closet right there.” He pointed to the second closet in his bedroom that I knew for a fact was completely bare.

Everything he was saying made sense but the swarms of butterflies in my belly made the idea seem preposterous. “Well, Mrs. Bardot will miss me and she’s old.”

This time he narrowed his eyes at me. “She’s gone most of the time and besides if you’re moving anyway you’d still have to stop by to see her.”

I pushed his hair from his face and admitted, “Okay. So, I’m afraid.”

With that he let go of my face and rose on his forearms. “Of me?”

I snaked my arms around his neck. “No, not of you. Of us together.”

“What do you mean?” His voice was soft.

“It’s just everything is so intense between us and I’m feeling things I’ve never felt in my life, not even when we were together before. I think space is a good way to help temper some of those feelings.”

He dipped his head and kissed me long and slow with a tenderness that told me he wasn’t trying to be sexual. When he released my mouth he said, “Space and distance won’t cool this down. Trust me. But the bigger question is why would you want it to? I don’t understand—” His phone rang. “Fuck,” he hissed as he sat up. “I have to take this. It’s one of my managers. He’s out of town and giving me his update before the meeting. Just let me tell him that I’ll call him back.”

I sat up too. “No, take your call. You have to go to work. We’ll talk about this tonight.”

His phone rang again. “Hey, Mike, hang on one minute,” he said and put the call on
MUTE
. “If you’re not here when I get back, I’ll call you. I want to finish this discussion, and not in public.”

“Okay,” I replied with a nod.

He leaned in and captured my mouth in a chaste kiss before returning to his call. “Mike, sorry about that. How were sales this week?”

The sound of his voice trailed off. I heard his heavy footfalls on the stairs and then the front door opened and closed.

He was gone and all of a sudden I felt lonely. I tossed and turned but couldn’t fall back asleep. It wasn’t even seven when I hopped in the shower, and by eight I was exiting a taxi and taking the elevator up to my apartment.

I heard Coco barking and knew Mrs. Bardot must be waiting for the elevator.

“Phoebe, darling,” she greeted me as the doors opened.

“Mrs. Bardot, what are you doing up so early?”

“Oh darling, I have much to do. I’m returning to Paris this evening.”

“So soon after your last trip. We hardly had time to catch up.”

“It’s my sister’s eightieth birthday and I thought I’d surprise her.”

I gave Coco a small pat. “That’s really nice. How are you this morning?”

Mrs. Bardot looked me up and down. “Well, but I’m afraid not as well as you. Are you just returning from that James Dean of yours?”

I gave her a smile.

“Come with me to walk Coco and then we’ll get a cup of coffee and chat. I missed you this week.”

I stepped back into the elevator. “Oh by the way, thank you for the clothing. Every piece is exquisite. In fact, I’m wearing the black-and-white geometric one tonight.”

She smiled and seemed to slip into the past as she spoke. “I wore that one to the Academy Awards in 1969. Such a great year for movies. I was up for best supporting actress, you know. The only nomination I ever received in my lifetime as an actress. It was the forty-first annual awards show and the only one I ever went to without a host. What a mess.”

The doors opened and as we walked through the lobby, she continued, “I didn’t win, of course, but it was still such an honor. It’s a night I’ll never forget. It’s the night I reacquainted myself with the man who would become my husband.”

Jack opened the door. “Good morning, ladies.”

We said, “Good morning,” in unison.

“Oh Jack, I’m just going to take Coco Chanel out for a quick walk and then I’ll deliver her to you, if you could see her upstairs.”

“Not a problem, ma’am.” Jack smiled at her.

“You’re such a dear,” she said. As soon as we stepped out into the cool air, she set Coco down and began to attach her leash.

I waited, breathing in the fall air. October would soon be gone and the idyllic weather conditions were already fading. The thought made me sad. My favorite time of year was almost over and soon all the leaves would have fallen from the trees. Once Mrs. Bardot was settled, she started walking. I turned toward her. “Tell me about your husband. You never talk about him.”

She sighed and buttoned up her coat. “Our time together was turbulent. We met again shortly after things ended with Rock. I was cautious at first. I didn’t want to love anyone like I had loved Rock but Gaspard worked his way into my heart. He was very unlike me though.”

“In what way?”

“Oh, not like you might think. It wasn’t because he grew up in a working-class family. It was more because he had a lot of pride. Too much.” She smiled when she said that but I could see the distress in her eyes. “I don’t know if I ever told you this but I came from a very bourgeois, pious Catholic family. I grew up in a seven-bedroom apartment not far from the Eiffel Tower and summered in St. Tropez. From age twelve to fifteen, I attended the Paris Conservatory where I studied ballet. Gaspard and I met when I did my first photo shoot. He’s the reason I stopped dancing and started modeling.”

Coco stopped and I looked at Mrs. Bardot’s face, when I realized for the first time she wasn’t actually Mrs. Bardot. She was Miss Bardot or Mrs. De Gaulle.

“You never changed your last name,” I blurted.

“No, darling. The world knew me as Bette Bardot or BB and Gaspard wanted it to stay that way.”

I gave her a questioning look.

“It ensured a good living.”

Mrs. Bardot’s husband was Gaspard De Gaulle. He was one of the most famous fashion photographers of the sixties and seventies.

She seemed sad but then pulled out of it. “Well anyway, when I appeared on the cover of
Elle
magazine in 1960, I was fifteen and shocked the world. I was all curves. My body was toned and strong but not frail. I naturally had an athlete’s build, which had been sculpted by the years of intense ballet lessons. Gaspard was Jean-Pierre Laffite’s assistant and in charge of wardrobe for the shoot. He insisted I wear an un-corseted cotton dress with no lining and a bright colored bikini beneath. He also directed hair and makeup. Insisting that my eyes be painted with a dark kohl liner and that bangs be cut into my long, straight hair. He had a vision. He created BB.”

“What happened? Did you date him back then?”

She headed back to our apartment building. “Oh, no, darling. I was fifteen and he was twenty. He was working for the hottest fashion photographer and had models at his feet.” She laughed. “He was a bit of a slut. And besides, I left to come to the States right after the cover released. We never saw each other again until the 1969 Academy Awards. He had just moved to the States after two divorces and three children. He was broke and looking for a fresh start and I guess I was it.”

I wrapped my jacket tight around me as we fought the breeze walking in the opposite direction. I couldn’t help but wonder what she meant. “But he loved you?”

Mrs. Bardot picked up Coco and tucked her under her arm when we were close to our building. Jack was already outside waiting and took Coco.

Once we were walking again she said, “He loved me in his own way. And at the time, I thought I had enough love for the two of us. But as the years wore on, I realized I didn’t. We fought about everything—from where to live, to his children, over his affairs, and even his drinking. I moved to New York for him because he despised California. I insisted his children visit, even though he thought it best he not interrupt their studies. He drank—a lot. We never had children of our own because he didn’t want any more. But I could have handled all of that. It was the other women. He said they meant nothing. It was part of his job, he’d tell me. But it ate away at me until I hated him and the smell of perfume he’d come home wearing.”

I looped my arm through hers. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“No one did, my dear. I kept it a secret and he was discreet. You see even when we married, I knew we lacked that spark, that sexual chemistry that connects two people in ways life can otherwise tear apart.”

We reached the coffee shop. “Shall we?” I asked.

She nodded. Still lost to the past, we sat in an empty booth and she continued, “He died ten years after we married. The papers called it a robbery.”

“Coffee?” the waitress asked as she handed us each a menu.

Mrs. Bardot nodded and so did I.

As the waitress filled our cups, Mrs. Bardot said, “I’ll have two eggs over easy and dry toast.”

“I’ll have the same,” I said.

The waitress wrote down our order and was gone quickly.

I added cream and sugar to my coffee. “It wasn’t a robbery?” I asked.

She opened an Equal packet and poured it into her cup. “No, Gaspard had been sleeping with a model and her husband found out. He shot Gaspard right in the stairwell of his apartment building as Gaspard left the man’s wife one afternoon.”

I reached across the table and tried to take her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

She waved me off. “It was a lifetime ago. Enough about me. I’m an old lady. Tell me about you and your James Dean.”

Her nickname for Jeremy made me smile. She’d been the one to nickname Dawson as well, calling him my Prince of Camelot.

I took a sip of my coffee. “Well, actually, he asked me to move in with him.”

“And,” she asked before sipping her own coffee.