TJ had been nineteen the first time Bailey met him; now he must be twenty-two. Bailey wasn’t sure just what the relationship was between him and Lilith, but it obviously wasn’t sexual — the fact the kid was still here, and alive, pretty much made that clear.
“Shoot, I wanted to get the room ready before you got here. Don’t go in there, Bailey, it’s a mess and the sheets smell like bad pot.”
Bailey gathered from the tone that the Peke hadn’t been popular with Teej.
“Don’t worry, I’m not keeping score.” And I probably won’t be sleeping in there tonight anyway. “You’re looking good.”
There was that wide Teej-smile. Given the kid’s natural good humor, the Peke must have worked hard to irritate him. “I’ve been trying free weights. You look tired.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Teej laughed. “Man, it’s good to see you. You had dinner? It’s nearly five, and I brought fried chicken back with me. Spicy enough to take the roof off your mouth.”
They ate, or at least Teej and Bailey did, while Lilith sat with them, talking about San Cristobel and the last elections in Washington and whether the London cast of the new production of Tom Jones would come to New York. This was custom too, this delicate avoidance of anything personal, like the first steps of a dance. Teej had developed some opinions, Bailey saw, since they’d last spoken; opinions on drama, mostly — he’d fallen into George Bernard Shaw’s plays, apparently, with the naive joy of someone who’d never heard of them before, and a dozen library books later he was frighteningly and narrowly well-informed.
It was almost funny when you thought of what he’d been like when Bailey had first met him, scarfing down a bag of McDonalds in Lilith’s living room. Teej hadn’t been especially promising, back in those days, with a dislike of personal questions, no visible means of support and a tendency to sleep around with older men. He’d come on to Bailey almost immediately. Bailey hadn’t mentioned it to Lilith, but the next day Teej had apologized a little sheepishly. It was a tribute to the kid’s natural personality — which had been a little squashed, granted, by the life he’d been living — that he’d managed to be so damned likable underneath the bullshit.
After dinner, they carried the dishes into the kitchen and put them in the washer, still talking. Teej made coffee in thin china cups and they sat in the living room as the darkness of the black vista of ocean surrounded them, beyond the open shutters. Eventually Teej excused himself, with one last pleased smile at Bailey, and vanished into his room.
Lilith sat on the white sofa, legs curled up beside her. Bailey was in a club chair on the other side of the unused fireplace. The sound of crickets and cicadas came from outside. To Bailey, who had often imagined variations of this, it was dreamlike; he felt his own blood pulse in time to the rhythm of natural sounds, his own desire, but it held no urgency. It was going to happen now. There was no point in any further effort or anticipation on his part; it wasn’t necessary. This was more like daylight coming up in the morning.
After half an hour Lilith rose, took his hand, and led him to the bedroom.
It was light and cool there; another bank of shutters let in the night breeze. The room was uncluttered, and like all Lilith’s rooms, neither feminine nor masculine. There were a couple of low bureaus, a table with papers and books stacked on it. The bed was a wide four-poster with clean white cotton sheets and a lemon-colored thermal blanket neatly folded at the bottom. He shivered, and although she knew quite well why he did, she closed some of the shutters and lit a hurricane lamp. The light flickered over her face and his throat went dry.
She pulled him over to the bed, sat down on the edge, and began unbuttoning his shirt. Her fingers caressed his skin as she undid each one, and he stood there, still dreamlike, watching as she bent her head to his chest and placed her lips where a button had been. Her tongue flicked out and back. She looked up at him.
“I never forget your taste,” she said. He felt himself sigh.
The shirt went onto the floor. She unzipped his trousers and gave a brief stroke, through his shorts, to the erection already there. “Always so timely, Bailey,” she said, amused; and then she moved back in one quick motion, took his arms and pulled him onto the bed with her the way a cat might lift a mouse.
It broke the spell. He laughed and was suddenly aware again, behind the sound, of how long he’d waited. Desire, always breathing down the back of his neck, moved for the reins. It was good that she was against him right then, her thigh between his and her arms curled round him like a leaf, but he wanted her closer still. He tried to roll them both over, needing to press the whole weight of his body into her. She halted the roll while she was on top and pinned him down effortlessly. “We have to be careful,” she rebuked. “You know that.”
He nodded, breathing hard. He did know. It was dangerous to provoke Lilith to lose control; it was fatal, in fact. Fortunately that had never happened, or he wouldn’t have lasted a night, let alone six weeks. He pushed back a handful of her hair and found his mouth conveniently near her ear.
“Please don’t leave your tour guide,” he said, the first thing that came into his head. “We cannot be responsible for any accidents. Hand in all waivers before boarding the bus.”
He felt chuckles shaking her body as he kissed her, and wondered at his own flippancy. How could he want something this badly and still be making fun of himself?
He tasted her then, kissing her face all over, unbuttoning the white blouse, moving his hands under her skirt. Lilith would stop him if he pushed it too hard, if it got dangerous. She gasped and then, abruptly, shoved him back on the bed.
He heard his own breath. Now.
Her lips touched the side of his neck and he felt the familiar tingle that went right down into his brain and his cock. Then came the nick and the first sharp pain. It was brief, just another tease, accustoming him to the start of the dance, then leaving off to let it be swallowed up in the haze of pleasure that surrounded it.
She moved back to see how he’d taken it. He smiled.
She lifted one hand to stroke the side of his cheek and he flinched; then he deliberately took the hand that had reached for him and kissed it.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You know what it’s like the first time.”
“I know,” she replied.
The first time was always the sweetest, before his body’s reaction kicked in. And the scariest, in some ways; there was always that sharp blossom of pain, at least in the beginning; and although once his nervous system had relearned its lessons, it wouldn’t care, that didn’t apply to tonight. The addictive process had to be re-started.
She slid her hand from his and a second later he felt her stroke his cock, as though she were petting a housecat. He closed his eyes.
His breathing became ragged. Out of his hands, now, literally.
The rhythm built; he opened his eyes to find hers directly above his, dark and intent. Running an equation while he spiraled out of control. He was panting, on the edge of desperation, and she was judging that edge to a fraction. He felt like a deer after a long run through the forest. He nodded.
The teeth penetrated his skin deeply this time. It was like a tidal pull, lifting out his soul.
He closed his eyes, shuddering. There were no defenses against pleasure like this; go with it, or it would tear you to shreds.
Then he felt his body pumping from both ends, as wave after wave of pure sensation swallowed him, pulling him helplessly down to the ocean floor, and she took him into herself. His soul stretched apart, unable to contain the unbearable sharpness of the delight. His brain told him that nothing human could live through this, or maybe without this; it was impossible to tell.