“Are you ready yet, Wes?
Weâre going to be late!” Faith yells in the
general direction of the bedroom. There's a muffled curse and she can't
help but giggle. “Am I gonna have to come in there and drag you out?”
“This conversation sounds tiresomely familiar, Faith, although I
daresay the situation is usually reversed,” comes the rather terse
reply.
“Oh, stop prevaricating, Wes. You even choose a tie yet?”
“Donât think that your choice in vocabulary is going to preclude my
noticing your appalling tone of voice.”
“Counting on it. And, yâknow, this place weâre going to is really,
like, casual. You donât even need a tie.”
“âCasualâ?” He says the word like it has cooties.
"Yeah, casual. Itâs a little different from the fancy-ass places youâre
used to. But you can handle it. Câmon, shirt and jeans and letâs go!”
When he finally emerges from the bedroom, she canât help but beam. “As
much as I love you in suits, I have to say that you can really work a
pair of jeans.”
“Why, thank you,” he grits out.
“Oh, come on. Donât be like that. Thisâll be fun. You remember fun?”
“I find fun vaguely traumatizing.” He looks dead serious but she can
tell through his Long Island-via-London lockjaw that heâs suppressing a
chuckle.
She rises on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thatâs my Wes.” She steps back
and gives a little twirl. “So, does my outfit meet with your exacting
standards?” Much as she loves wearing Miu Miu and Marc Jacobs 24-7,
sheâs just as happy in her beat-up pair of vintage Levis and a cheapo
drapey top she bought in her favorite slut-wear shop.
“If I told you that you look as adorable as ever, would you let it go
to your head?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and looking
her over appreciatively.
“Possibly,” she replies coyly, fluttering her eyelashes and waiting for
the swat of his hand on her ass. But his attention is already
elsewhere. Heâs grabbed his coat and has her beloved Miu Miu coat
draped delicately over one arm.
“Youâre so single-minded when youâre nervous. Itâs cute,” she chides
him. “But then, youâre so single-minded pretty much all the time.”
She gets a smirk for that comment. “Am I going to have to tip you over
my knee beforeweâve even got to the restaurant, my darling?” he
asks, holding her coat open so she can slip her arms into it.
“Arenât we running late?”
“Oh, but weâre never too late for that.” He smiles slowly. “And anyway,
wouldnât your friends approve?”
“Well, yeah, although theyâd be sorry to have missed out on all the
fun…”
“Well, we could engage in some participatory activities after dinner,
perhaps,” he adds coolly, totally deadpan, taking her arm in his and
guiding her towards the door.
“Damn, Wes. Living with me has loosened you up. Maybe too much, “ she
laughs.
“You know I prefer to keep you all to myself.”
“I sure do. Speaking of which, have you given Rupert my regards
recently?”
“Oh, he asks after you all the time…”
“Really? How …in-ter-esting,” she sing-songs, eyes sparking with
only-slightly-feigned curiosity.
“Youâre skating on increasingly thin ice, Faith,” he drawls, patting
her playfully on the ass and propelling her towards the door.
“Yeah, yeah,” she retorts, bounding ahead of him to grab the door and
yank it open. “Iâm setting a tone so get used to it. I donât
get you
out of the house or the office enough, dammit, and youâre gonna have
fun if I have to…”
He doesnât let her finish that statement. “I can tell youâre going to
be a handful tonight, Faith. Iâd best keep you away from the champagne.”
“You just try, Wes!” she yells back, as she runs ahead out into the
hall, toward the elevator.
Once theyâre in the elevator, he pushes her up against the wall,
wrapping his arms around her. “Are you determined to be a handful this
evening, my willful girl?”
He brushes her hair back and leaves these devastating little kisses
along the taut line of her neck.
“Canât lie to you when youâre… mm… doing that,” she says, a little
breathlessly.
“But even you must admit that youâre being frustratingly evasive,” he
adds, between even more kisses.
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, dammit, Wesley!”
He chuckles softly. “Have I told you that I love you today, Faith?” he
asks as heâs pushing her top up with restless fingers, letting them
brush slowly over the thin material of her gauzy bra, and sheâs arching
into his touch.
She giggles. “How could you forget, Wes? It was in the shower, right
after you fucked me up against the tiles—“
“Ah, yes. It's all coming back to me now.”
The elevator grinds to a halt and they rush to rearrange themselves
before old Mrs. Devlin —who walks her little drowned-rat dog every
night at the same time, like clockwork— sees something she shouldnât.
“Good evening,” Wes says pleasantly, nodding in her direction.
She smiles broadly, and a little vacantly, before she steps into the
elevator, dog trotting jauntily behind.
They spend the rest of the short ride in silence, giving one another
meaningful little looks as Mrs. Devlinâs dog glares at them.
By the time they hail a cab going downtown, Faith is chiding Wes that
theyâve never managed to actually fuck in the elevator, knowing only
too
well that he's going to take it out on her ass — she's counting on it.
Instead though he gives her a long-suffering look, which she canât
remember ever having seen before.
“Where are we going again, Faith? Youâve been awfully cagey.”
“You donât like being surprised, do ya, Wes?” she teases, jabbing him
in the ribs.
“Not unless Iâm the one doing the plotting, no. “
“I rest my case.”
“You think itâs that simple?”
Wes stops Faithâs line of questioning by kissing her ardently, quietly
unzipping her jeans and slipping his fingers between her legs.
“Weâve done this before, though, Wes,” she whispers.
He pauses. “Are you saying Iâm getting predictable, Faith?”
She doesnât really answer, because sheâs concentrating on holding back
a moan. Thatâs all the answer he needs, really. They get to the
restaurant eventually, despite the fact that the cabbie practically
runs the cab aground on the sidewalk trying to ogle them in the
rear-view mirror.
The Bowery isnât all flophouses and dive bars anymore. Theyâre meeting
Spike and Dru at this drab-seeming little hole-in-the-wall that reveals
itself to be cozy and chic once theyâre inside. Nevertheless, to say
Wes looks out of his element would be the understatement of the
century. Faith peers around, a bit nervously, only to spot Spike and
Dru at a corner table. She waves.
“Dearheart,” Dru says fondly and opens her arms to Faith.
“Dru! Itâs so good to see you.” Faith hugs her, and kisses both her
cheeks.
“Spike.” She wraps her arms around him too as she catches Wesâ
reflection in the mirror thatâs behind them. He doesnât look especially
pleased.
“Love,” Spike says, kissing her on the cheek. ”He treating you right?”
he whispers in her ear.
“So right,” she whispers back, with no hesitation and the worldâs
biggest smile on her face. She doesnât flash the engagement ring yet
because itâs not yet time and she doesnât want to make Wes
uncomfortable.
“Good. Because I worry. And youâre too far away to keep proper tabs on.”
She laughs. “Thereâs really nothing to worry about.“
“Well, you look positively radiant.”
“Now youâre going a bit far.”
“Not at all.”
“You keep whispering sweet nothings in my ear and Wes might get a
little jealous.”
“Really? Well, then… You look wonderfully well-fucked. Thereâs a glow
about you…”
“Spike…”
He chuckles softly. “Iâll be good. Promise.” But the puckish smile he
gives her says something else entirely.
Wes clears his throat. Faith steps back, pointedly slipping her arm
through his.
“Spike, Dru, Iâd like you to meet Wes.”
Wes shakes Spikeâs proffered hand, a little awkwardly, and kisses Druâs
cheek perfunctorily, not prolonging contact any longer than he has to.
When they all sit down on opposite sides of the table Faith can sense a
certain unease emanating from him. She leans close against him,
squeezing his hand, and he relaxes just a fraction.
“Shall I order drinks?” Spike asks, flagging down the first waitress
who passes by.
Itâs New York City, so they donât card. Faith gets the house special
—something called a French Kiss that has pretty much everything but the
kitchen sink in it. Wes sticks to Scotch, and Spike and Dru split one
of those lethal, death-by-kitsch Scorpion Bowls that come complete with
parasols and giant wedges of pineapple. As they sit in slightly
less-than-companionable silence, Faith prays for early inebriation.
As the long minutes drag on, itâs up to her to break the silence. “So,
what brings you two here?” she asks, her feigned perkiness barely
covering up her nervousness. “When Dru told me youâd be visiting, she
was kinda short on specifics.”
Dru waves her hand dismissively. “Well,” she starts off, throatily.
“Supposedly itâs for this silly coiffure convention. Work stuff. But
weâve got some other things going on.” She stares down her lashes at
Wes. “Iâve got a little performance lined up for tonight. Weâd love for
both of you to join us.”
“Oh. Thatâd be lovely.”
“Yes, lovely,” Wes parrots, without much conviction. Then his curiosity
gets the better of him and he asks, “What sort of performance?”
Druâs eyes light up at the question. “Well, itâs a little bit Cosey
Fanni Tutti, and a little bit Annie Sprinkle. Itâs a new mode for me,
totally different from—“
“Cosi Fan Tutte? I love that opera. So lyrical…” Before Wes can
wax
nostalgic on his favorite arias, Dru cuts him off.
“Are you familiar with COUM Transmissions? Late 70s performance art,
validating sex work and taking back the public spectacle of the female
body? I took that as inspiration, updated with a post-feminist
approach…”
“Ah. That sounds like a lot of rhetorical justification. Or, to be
blunt, A-level wank.” Wes locks eyes with Dru, his expression
flat, but
thereâs a spark of amusement in his eyes.
Dru laughs sharply, clearly surprised to hear such a barb emerging from
someone with Wesâ apparently reserved demeanor. “Youâre absolutely
right. Well, then—“ She leans in close to Wes, a little
conspiratorially. “Iâm going to set a girl on fire.”
Faithâs French Kiss goes down the wrong way and she splutters
helplessly for what seems like a small eternity before she can say,
“What?!”
Dru smiles slyly. “Youâll just have to come and see.”
“You gave the milk away for free, pet,” Spike drawls from the corner, a
bit the worse for wear after three-quarters of a Scorpion Bowl and god
knows what else before theyâd even gotten there.
“Hush, Spike,” Dru hisses. “I did nothing of the sort.”
“Iâm just saying.”
“And, as usual, itâs sound and fury, signifying nothing,” replies Dru,
sourly.
“Oh, donât be like that, sweetheart. ‘S going to be beautiful, I know
it will. Iâm just drunk is all. Donât mind me…” He struggles to light
his cigarette, in flagrant disregard for the no smoking sign, finally
succeeding and blowing an aggressive plume of smoke across the table,
directed right at Wes. "Looks like you're keeping our Faith in fine
form, Wes. So, tell me —you don't have any plans to break her heart
again do you? 'Cause I have to say, I'd be a little cross."
“Spike!” Faith grabs his arm. “Donât you fucking dare
talk about me
like Iâm not even here. And how could you even say that here, now? What
is fucking wrong with you?“ Sheâs just about ready to throttle him but
holds back when she sees Wesâ reaction.
Wes barely moves. Just sits there, completely still. All his anger is
coiled up, but when he speaks his voice is even and calm. "Spike. As
weâve only just met I feel compelled to tell you, quite bluntly, that
were I to have plans of any sort I wouldnât share them with you. I know
youâre only looking out for Faithâs best interests, as I imagine you
donât have the best impression of me, but I would appreciate a modicum
of tact and civility at this table. We all seem intent on ruining this
evening as quickly as we possibly can. I donât really think thatâs what
any of us intended, do you?”
Dru falls just short of clapping her hand over Spikeâs mouth, instead
stilling him with her hand on his arm. “Spike here gets a little
…excitable when heâs in his cups. You wait and see: in two hours heâll
be apologizing and begging your forgiveness. Isnât that right, my
sweet?” she asks prettily, throwing Spike a pointed glare.
He stubs out the cigarette. “Not going to apologize. And I know what it
looks like —that Iâm a tactless arsehole. And yeah, Faith looks really
happy. I just want to hear it from you. ”
Now Wes looks like heâs going to punch Spikeâs lights out. “Why donât
you ask Faith, Spike? Since you obviously donât trust me…”
Faith intervenes before a punch is thrown. “Jesus Christ, would both of
you just stop it? Youâre acting like three year olds! No, three year
olds would have better manners. Spike. Apologize or Iâm going to kick
your fucking ass.”
“I deserve that, yeah. Put my foot in it. Didnât mean to. Well, yeah, I
did. But I just wanted to make sure that—“
“Listen to me, okay, Spike? I cannot believe youâre asking me to
justify my, what? ‘Lifestyle choicesâ or whatever the fuck, because
that is really fucking rich coming from you! But youâre drunk and I
know deep down, somewhere, you actually mean well. So Iâll let you in
on a little secret, even though you donât deserve it.”
She flashes her engagement ring and Dru lets out a little gasp.
“Oh, my darling, how wonderful! Iâm so happy for the both of you!” She
leaps out of her seat to kiss Faithâs cheek. She hugs Wes too. He
doesnât stop her, but looks more than a little unnerved by her gesture
of familiarity.
“Wes asked me when I came here in January. But I didnât want to tell
you both until I was more settled in.” She takes Wesâ hand and gives it
another squeeze.
Spike looks a little weary, but he smiles. “Would you accept my
heartfelt congratulations, Wes? I mean it.”
“I would, Spike. Thank you.” Wes raises his now nearly empty glass of
Scotch by way of a toast.
“You got that wrong, yâsee, Wes. I do believe Iâm sâposed to toast you.”
“Thatâs quite all right, Spike. I think youâve done enough.”
“Youâre not wrong. Well, then. Cheers, mate,” he says as he shakily
hoists the Scorpion Bowl.
That coaxes a sliver of a smile out of Wes —the first one Faith has
seen since they sat down. “That was definitely the least dignified
toast Iâve ever seen.”
Spike shrugs. “I was forced to improvise with the materials at hand.
‘Sides, itâs the thought that counts, yeah?” He fishes the damp paper
parasol out of the bowl and holds it aloft. “Pretend this is a white
flag…”
Dru rolls her eyes and whispers across the table to Faith: “See? He is
apologizing.”
Faith elbows Wes.
“Thank you, Spike. I appreciate that,” he says, as he takes the parasol
and twirls it absently.
Inwardly, Faith is incredibly relieved, because at least sheâs changed
the timbre of the conversation. Although, really, it didnât have
anywhere to go but up considering how low it had sunk.
And things are actually a little better after that. Spike is on good
behavior —or maybe just insensate from the drink, itâs hard to tell.
Faith and Dru start gossiping and Wes probably finds out more than heâd
ever want to know about certain bigwigs in town and their preferred sex
practices, thanks to Druâs new part-time sideline as a domme.
“The New York Times business section? Really?” Faith asks, a
bit
incredulous.
“Every week.” Dru giggles. “I think the poor boy is a bit conflicted
about working in the financial sector, no?”
“Iâm going to thank my lucky stars that Iâll never have another meeting
with him,” Wes quips. “Please, Dru, donât go on.”
“Oh, itâs rather amusing, donât you think?”
“Possibly.”
“Oh, really, now. You can have a laugh at these things.”
Wes is dismissive. “Not my strong suit.”
“But itâs just sex. Nothing more, nothing less. Everything and nothing.”
“Of those last two, Iâd have to choose the former.”
She turns to Faith. “Is he always so serious? My.”
Faith laughs. “Not when I got him stoned when we were at the beach that
one time…”
“Although I am apparently the most uptight stoned person Faith
has ever
seen.”
“I believe it,” Spike mutters.
“Spike! Shut it,” Dru grits out.
“Yes, my sweet,” he replies, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
Dru just ignores him, her attention still fully on Wes. She takes his
hand and opens it, tracing her finger slowly down the long line running
from the joint of his thumb nearly to his wrist. “You have such an
intensity about you —a very physical authority. But until very recently
you were completely out of step with your own wants. But youâre
different now, more …centered.” She pauses. “Iâm glad Faith didnât let
you get away. It would have been …such folly. For you both.”
Wes practically snatches his hand back. “Iâm quite delighted that Faith
proved herself both as heroically determined and as persistent as she
was.” He doesnât sound annoyed, just a little unnerved. Dru seems to
have quite an effect on him.
Faith canât resist needling him, just a little. “Wanted to fly up here
and kick your oblivious ass, Wes.”
“You got your chance, didnât you?”
“Come to think of it —no. Someday, Wes —paybackâs going to be a bitch.”
“I can arrange for a little addition to this eveningâs performance
schedule this evening if you like,” Dru adds, sweetly.
“Uh, I donât think—“
Wes cuts her off. “Thank you for that tempting offer, but no.”
“Well, you are at least going to join us, yes?” she asks, her voice
innocence personified.
“Oh, câmon Wes. Donât be …uptight.”
“I think youâll see just how …uptight… I can be once I get you home.”
She links her arm in his and whispers in his ear: “Iâm counting on it,
Wes.”
***
The club is underground. Tiny. Dark. All bluish, recessed lighting and
people striking artfully contrived poses. Thereâs a tiny stage in the
back and already thereâs an arcane ritual being performed. Or, at
least, arcane to Faithâs eyes. It involves long, thin needles and a
woman who looks pierced enough already. Dru wonât be on for a while
yet, but sheâs disappeared with Spike into the backstage area —leaving
a slightly stunned Faith and Wes to ponder the truly mind-boggling
inappropriateness of some of the nudity on display. Maybe the bad
lighting is a mercy after all.
Who knew simulated sex acts could be so dull? Or spanking for
that
matter? Faith's about to go into a boredom coma and Wes is lost in his
third (or is it fourth?) Scotch. The one reprieve is the Bettie Page
look-alike who does an ingenious, charming strip-tease to “If I Knew
You Were Coming, Iâd Have Baked You a Cake,” which —despite being
wholly out of place— is a delightful surprise.
“This is possibly the least erotic spectacle I have ever seen,” Wes
mutters to her.
“Oh, and sure enough, we got the raincoat brigade, ten oâclock,” Faith
points out.
Wes sighs heavily. “When is Dru going on again?”
Finally, after what seems like a small forever, even if itâs not
precisely that, Dru takes the stage. Sheâs elegant but serious as she
turns to face the small crowd. Sheâs put her hair up in chopsticks,
twisted into a chignon. Sheâs elegant in a black corset and skirt, tall
boots. Very no-nonsense. A girl follows behind her. Sheâs light to
Drusillaâs dark —very American looking, all broad features with
strawberry blonde hair that falls in graceful waves down her back. But
her look is serious and her eyes are downcast. She doesnât turn towards
the audience, but keeps her back to them. She kneels, slipping her
kimono slowly off of her shoulders while Dru watches appreciatively.
The kimono finally drops to the floor, revealing two wings tattooed
across the broadest part of her shoulder blades, ending at the narrow
of her back. They look like something youâd find on a headstone, or in
an Edward Gorey book —all delicate, fussy, cross-hatched lines. Theyâre
beautiful, and when Druâs fingers brush along the girlâs skin she
flinches slightly, giving them the appearance of movement.
Dru stands before her, cupping her chin and forcing her to look into
her eyes. “Are you ready?”
She doesnât speak, just nods.
“Good, Justine. Now, stay very, very still.”
Thereâs a small table at the side of the stage. Faith canât see whatâs
on it, save for a small blue bowl. Dru dips a cloth into the bowl, then
proceeds to daub the liquid generously along the girlâs back until
sheâs covered with a sheen of it.
Dru quickly grabs for something else on the table and Faith realizes it
must be a matchbox because —a split-second later— a flame flares up and
Dru touches it to the girlâs back.
Thereâs an intense burst of heat and blinding flash of red and gold and
it takes a second for Faith to realize that the entire exposed expanse
of flesh of the girlâs back has burst into flame. And yet she doesnât
flinch, doesnât move a muscle —just stays as still as a statue, which
must take incredible will-power.
Everyoneâs holding their breath and it seems time has slowed down to
nothing. Itâs agonizing and magical, scary and beautiful. Faith doesnât
move for fear of jinxing it somehow, of upsetting a delicate balance.
Mere seconds later, itâs over. Dru extinguishes the flames with soaked
towels, patting them down the girlâs back with great speed. Once the
flames are doused, Dru kneels down, covering her with the kimono. She
opens her arms so Justine can collapse exhaustedly against her, kissing
her forehead tenderly. If all the sex tourists in the audience are
waiting for something else —something outsized and Girls Gone Wild—
they donât quite get it; the kiss they see onstage is such a small
thing, too intimate. Faith turns away, a little uncomfortable. She
leans against Wes, who puts his empty glass down on the bar and merely
says, “Letâs go.”
***
Heâs silent in the cab ride and doesnât even deign to make any advances
in the elevator. Sheâs seen him withdrawn before, to be sure, but this
is something new. Heâs quiet, still. She doesnât think heâs plotting
some elaborate, devious torment for when they get home, because he
doesnât have that gleam in his eyes. She knows that gleam all too well,
but when she kicks off her shoes and flops down on the couch next to
him, itâs nowhere to be found.
She rests her head on his shoulder and he lets her. But thatâs all. She
doesnât like not being able to read him. But sheâs going to try.
“You found all that sorta …distasteful, didnât you?”
“It was something of a vaudeville spectacle, a bit ridiculous. Not for
public display.”
“But you make a public display of me sometimes, Wes. Donât see you
finding that too distasteful.”
“Yes, but thatâs between the two of us, ultimately. “
“Yeah, I suppose. And, well, Druâs just kinda dramatic that way I
guess. Big gestures with her, but you donât notice because —sheâs got a
sort of quiet grace. She can get away with a lot because of it, you
know?”
“I wasnât speaking of her performance. But everything else was slightly
repellent, not to mention, quite dull.” He pauses. “Well, except for
Bettie.”
“Câmon, tell me it got you a little hot. Your secretâs safe with me.”
“Is it really?” He actually arches a fucking eyebrow at her. Then he
sighs and leans back against the couch. “Not a secret.”
“Try me.” She touches his shoulder. Itâs funny how faraway he seems
right then, how remote.
“Iâm not sure I liked Spikeâs —familiarity with you. Struck me as
rather proprietary.” His voice is curt, like he can barely get the
words out. “Presumptuous. I know why he acted like he did, Faith, but I
found it very difficult to deal with—“
“Heâs a friend, Wes. He and Dru looked out for me. They were there when
I needed them.”
“And I wasnât.” He looks away form her, staring off into the distance,
obviously demoralized and more than a little uncomfortable.
“Iâm not blaming you, dammit! Weâve had this discussion, Wes, and weâre
done with all that. Itâs in the past, okay? Iâm just saying… Look at
me, Wes. Please.”
He doesnât. “You never really told me what happened that night—“
“Is that what this is, Wes? Some lingering jealousy on your
part? Is
that why you could barely be civil to them for most of the night? Iâve
never seen you like this!”
“Iâm not jealous, Faith. Curious? Envious? I donât know. When you told
me, told me that youâd slept with them, that they were a couple, I told
myself not to worry about it. That it was just therapeutic for you,
contact comfort when you needed it, nothing more. But meeting them
tonight, Iâm not so sure any longer. And whenever I think of it, I
remember how fraught our relationship was at the time, how unhappy we
were and how desperate I was to preserve our friendship. I didnât want
to push you or impose or—“
“You didnât push or impose. If anything, I was doing all the pushing.
And pulling. And prodding. Wasnât going to let go of you so easily,
Wes, you know that. And yeah, I needed the kind of comfort they were
all too willing to offer me, Wes. Iâll admit that. But all it did was
remind me how right we were together. Not apart, trying to keep things
strictly platonic and failing miserably, but together. They saw
that
too, and it helped, you know? Helped me through this dark, fucked-up
time in my life because they listened to me and validated all the shit
I was going through. Do you see what Iâm saying, Wes? Iâm sorry you
felt threatened, or whatever, but thereâs no need—“
“I never felt threatened, Faith. No. Hurt. Because there was so little
keeping me together then. I threw myself into my work utterly. I didnât
leave the office for weeks on end. When you told me youâd had this
little …interlude… and I was —shattered. I couldnât stop thinking about
it. I was unhealthily obsessed with the very idea. And every time I
imagined the scenario—Druâs mouth on you, her hands all over your
beautiful body— I couldnât do anything but watch helplessly, like some
furtive voyeur. You werenât mine any more. And that revelation was
unbearable.”
“Didnât seem so unbearable when you wrote to me with that little
fantasy of yours. That got me so fucking hot, Wes, you know it did…“
Heâs not really listening to what sheâs saying, heâs so lost in his own
reverie.
“You werenât in control of it. That bothers you, doesnât it?” She
touches his arm, gently, but it doesnât bring him closer.
“Itâs complicated. It was something precious of yours. None of my
business, not then—“
“Youâre right. It wasnât. Just like I havenât asked you—“
“Donât.”
“Why the fuck not, Wes? Itâs true, isnât it? We werenât together. Donât
have to dissect every mistake we made. Or didnât make. Whatever, Wes! I
told you then and Iâm telling you now: Iâm not blaming you. Donât make
me a liar.”
“No,” he says so quietly she almost doesnât hear it. “Iâm sorry. “
She leans across his body to kiss him, lingering quietly, almost
chastely on his lips before pulling away and forcing him to look at
her. “And Iâm sorry you didnât have a good time. I think we were all on
edge and—“
“I didnât even see that other girl. You were the one onstage with her.
Bowing down, pale and resplendent under the lights, wings cascading
gracefully down your back. Those tense few seconds as the fire flared
up, burned bright, I could see your face shift from anticipation to
beatific ecstasy to fear to relief when she doused it finally. As she
wrapped your shivering body in a kimono, covering your nakedness, and
you fell into her arms, shaking like a leaf, this look passed between
the two of you. Of recognition, of care, kindness.”
He pauses, swallows. “I let it go. Itâs yours, Faith.” He sounds a
little regretful.
“Itâs ours, Wes. Ours. Because youâve told me, and itâs really
kinda
beautiful, you know?” Suddenly she smiles mischievously. “So, what
youâre really saying is: you want me to get another tattoo?”
“You could certainly choose to interpret it that way.”
She rises up to straddle his hips, slipping her arms around his waist
as she does so. “You want me to get it on with another girl while you
get to watch?”
“Again, itâs all a matter of creative interpretation.”
“Câmon, Wes. You pretend youâre all rarefied and shit, but really
youâre like every other red-blooded American —uh, British— male out
there. I think I know the answer to that question.”
He laughs —the first relaxed, genuine laugh sheâs heard all evening.
“Well, since the other girl is nowhere to be found this evening, shall
we test-drive Son of Mr. Bunny instead?”
She looks at him rather coyly from beneath her lashes. “Gotta admit, I
test-drove him right off the lot, Wes.”
“Really? I donât recall approving such an action, my impetuous, wanton
darling.” He brings his hand down firmly on her ass. She squirms
against him, giggling the whole time, but he holds her fast. “I suppose
you expect some form of punishment for your admission?”
She whispers hotly in his ear. “Long as I get fucked eventually, Wes.
Yeah, I do.”
“Youâll not be disappointed, then. On your knees, Faith. Now, Iâm
curious if you recall how to unzip these jeans with your teeth…”
Part Nineteen
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