‘I’ll get the mojitos,’ he says and walks away. Strange. He is the criminal and yet he is the more honorable of us.
TWENTY-ONE
BJ
When I come back with the drinks she has slipped into my t-shirt and is seated in a recess of one of the tall windows. Twelve feet of pale yellow glow from the wintry evening sun falls on her wonderful, thick hair and tinges it with a light that I have only seen in paintings from the great Dutch masters. Perhaps a Rembrandt.
A living spectacle.
She turns to look at me and smiles a smile that nearly knocks me backwards. I have been with countless women, all of them beautiful, vibrant and sexy. But she makes them all pale into insignificance. The thought is terrifying and beautiful. Never again will I be with a woman who can satisfy me the way she does.
I stand over her and hold out the drink. She takes it with both hands. She is the first woman who has persuaded me to drink a mojito. And now I fucking like it!
‘You promised me a tour,’ she says. There is a hint of laughter in her voice. I love that about her. Only children and the truly innocent have that. I don’t really want to show her my sex room, but she stands and holds out her hand. So we go through the entire house until we get to the sex room. I open the door and she goes in, flicks the switch, and the disco lights come on. She touches the switch beside it and Kanye West’s Gold Digger fills the room. For a few seconds she says nothing.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I see what I have never seen before. I see how bad it really is. How stupid and vulgar and truly ugly and cringingly embarrassing it is. What was I thinking bringing her here? She is too grand for this gaudiness. I want to usher her out immediately and rip it all up.
Slowly she turns to look up at me and I swear I stop breathing. Her shoulders come up as she is about to be sick, but instead of being sick, her mouth trembles. I’ll be damned. She is trying not to laugh! I don’t know what is worse. That she should think it hideous or laughable.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ I say brusquely.
She grabs my arm. ‘No, no, I think it’s great. Really.’
I look at her curiously. Is she serious?
She gestures around her. ‘Everything all at once like this. I’ve just never seen it before. That’s all.’ She becomes serious. ‘But in fact, I should have expected it. It’s you. You say it like it is. There’s no pretense. No veneer of what is socially acceptable. It is what it is. A room for sex. If someone gets brought here, they’ll know without any doubt what you want from them.’
She walks into the room, heads for the bed, and sits on the edge. She pats the space next to her and strangely I don’t feel my cock rise to the occasion. Instead I feel a horrible feeling in my gut that even just sitting on that bed would somehow contaminate her.
She pats it again and smiles slowly.
I walk over and sit next to her. She climbs into my lap. My cock forgets its reservations and stirs to life.
‘I was thinking of dismantling this room,’ I say.
‘Why? I like it. We can have funny sex here.’
‘Funny sex?’
She draws away from me. ‘Yeah, like when you bang your head on the headboard, laugh, and then have sex anyway.’
‘Right.’
‘You’ve never had funny sex?’ she asks incredulously.
‘I guess not.’ And judging from her description it’s not something I’m going to rush to try either.
She tilts her head to one side and I feel something inside me melt. Shit, I’m done for. This woman has me all tied up in knots. She tries to tickle my midriff. I’m not ticklish. Her fingers move to my armpits. I shrug. ‘Sorry.’
‘You’re really not ticklish?’
Her expression of incredulity is adorable and I laugh.
‘There you go,’ she says laughing and pushes me backwards towards the bed. She puts her palms on either side of my face and brings her open mouth to mine. Ah, the kiss. This is not me kissing her. This is her kissing me. Soft. Her mouth is so soft and sweet. Smelling of mojitos and sugar and Layla. My Layla.
It seems that I like funny sex after all.
What part of her flesh have I not tasted? Her smell adheres to my hands and nails.
TWENTY-TWO
Layla
‘Congratulate me. I’m an aunt,’ I shout excitedly into the phone.
‘Brilliant. How’s the mother?’ BJ asks.
‘She’s fine. Now ask me how the father is.’
He laughs. ‘How’s Jake?’
‘Freaking out. You should see him. He’s so crazy about his baby he won’t even let anyone else carry her. I had to elbow him out of the way to even look at her.’
‘So everyone is happy.’