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English 2352 {DearestDarling & Dane Stalling}

Hey street boy what's your style?
Your dead end dreams don't make you smile,
I'll give ya something to live for,
Have ya, grab ya
'Til you're sore.

He could hear the old song blaring in the cab before Rosalie even popped the door for him. He climbed in, took a huge breath, and let his head fall back against the headrest.

I'm your ch ch ch ch ch cherry bomb

He laughed and turned his head toward Rosalie. She was grinning, smoking hot, the wind blowing her hair.

"You just saved me from my worst fantasy," he said, the smile wide on his face, "and pulled me into my best one. I'm all yours."

Dinner, dancing, swimming. He felt the weight of the world lifting off his shoulders. Her hand on his, the smooth electric touch of her skin on his fingers. He felt like grabbing her, burying his face in her hair for sheer gratitude, but they would end up dead and on the front page of the newspaper. Not the media debut Rosalie was hoping for, he was sure. "You know I don't have a swimsuit," he said, and laughed when she scowled at him.

"Last night. I would have given anything to see you. I made a huge mistake. I told Isobel I'd help her with the stupid party. Ended up... never mind. It was too boring for words."

He slid his hand up her thigh a little, pushed her skirt up. "You want revenge? Tell me how brilliant you were. How you seduced everyone in the room with your voice. Emo's. Such a good vibe. I saw Spoon the first time they played Emo's. I'm never going to forgive myself for missing it. I hope you will though."

He pushed her skirt up further and traced letters on her thigh:

w-a-n-t

"Pay attention to the road," he said, "and pay attention to my fingers, or you'll miss it."

m-o-s-t
 
His relief to be in the car with her was almost palpable; did his life suck that badly, or had she just rescued him from some sticky situation? She turned his words over in her mind... What was his worst fantasy? Being married to a pretty wife, living in the cushy suburbs? Something else? She wanted to ask, but she didn't. He had said what she needed to hear-- he was hers. She was winning, and it felt damn good.

She laughed when he mentioned he didn't have a swimsuit. "I do know that. Perhaps that's why I didn't mention the itinerary until you got into my car." She laughed, turning the radio back up, just a bit. "Don't sweat it. We're going to have the beach all to ourselves, no one will see you." The sun was barely peeking over the horizon now, the sky awash in autumnal pinks and plums; by the time they would reach the lake, the light would be fully extinguished. She could hardly wait, but she would. He wouldn't fuck up her plans this time.

Was he telling her the truth, or what she wanted to hear? Did it matter? She shook her head as he asked her to tell him about the show, smiling to herself. "Don't romanticize the place. Did you know that they don't clean the bathrooms there, they just paint over them? Yeah. Every time I go, it's a different color-- aquamarine, mango, sunshine yellow... I'm, ah, friends with a bartender..." If occasionally fucking someone qualified them as a friend. "She told me."

He was pushing her skirt up, but she stopped him before he went too far, her hand drifting down and still the hem. She hummed as he was tracing letters on her soft skin, sending ripples of tingling pleasure across her thigh. She made out 'want' and 'most', thanks to the games she had played when she was younger, when someone drew pictures on her back with a finger and she had to guess what it was.

Blindly, she reached for a pen in the small space below the radio, pushing it into his hand. "You're gonna kill us." It was a half-hearted protest. "But I want more, too. Save the lines for later, write whatever you want on me now." There was an edge of pleading in her voice. She wanted him to, it was evident. "I hope you don't mind that I stole your pen, when I broke back into your office."
 
"Skinny dipping on a first date? Sounds like I dressed just right." Luke straightened his grey t-shirt like it was a tux and brushed imaginary lint off his old 501s. He slipped his finger under the edge of Rosalie's stocking, drew a ring around her thigh.

It was true about Emo's. The colors seemed to change all the time. "So this 'ah, friend' of yours- she doesn't get you free drinks by any chance?"

Luke laughed when he saw the pen. "What else did you steal from my office? The red stapler?" Then he pieced together the rest of the day. "Hey, hold on- did you...? You did. You got yourself off in my office after I left on Thursday."

He pulled the cap off the pen. "Where did you do it? The love seat? Sitting in my chair?"

The smell of the felt tip filled the cab briefly before being blown away. Luke pulled her right stocking down until it was just under her knee, then he touched the tip of the pen to Rosalie's thigh and made a careful letter "I," then he went on, making strokes and curves slowly, against the minor bumps and turns of the truck. He wrote the same short phrase several times like a child writing a bad behavior line on a blackboard. He wrote from the inside of her thigh to the outside, from the edge of her skirt almost all the way to her knee.

When he was done, he pulled her stocking back up and smoothed her skirt down.

He pulled her hair back off of her neck then, and with a few careful strokes made the image of a fountain pen behind her ear. He blew on it, kissed her skin, and whispered what he had written:

I will not masturbate in your office unless you are there.
 
"I don't think I've ever paid for a drink." Legally, she couldn't, but she didn't care to mention that.

She smirked as it took him a few moments to make the connection, shaking her head at his questions and keeping her eyes on the road. "Use your imagination." It was more fun to leave him guessing, especially when she couldn't chance a glance at him. It was fun to toy with him, but not at the expense of becoming roadkill. "Though I've gotta say, you could stand to find some more comfortable furniture for your office... Maybe your favorite student would come by to try it out."

She fought the urge to squirm in her seat as he uncapped the pen, but her grip tightened considerably on the steering wheel. The tip of the pen pressed into her skin, and though it killed her not to look and see what he wrote, she kept her eyes trained to the traffic in front of her. It was practically bumper to bumper as she crossed into downtown. The pen strokes traveled down her thigh, nearly to her knee, and she felt a shiver travel down her spine, a soft 'hm' escaping her bitten lips.

She tilted her head slightly as he pulled her hair away from her neck, surprising her by pressing his pen there too, instead of his lips. It was torture to sit so still as the pen nub dragged across her sensitive skin, and she exhaled slowly. When he told her what he wrote, she giggled.

"You're the one who left," she reminded him, "something about raspberry sherbet, I think? You're free to watch next time... You know I love a good audience."

She parked the car in a small, crowded lot. The sun had met the horizon while she drove, and dusk had quickly settled in. She killed the ignition, then finally took a look at her thigh, her fingers tracing over the dried ink. It looked like a strange tattoo.

"Professor... This is positively lewd." She sounded thrilled. She pulled her stocking back up, snapping the elastic back into place. "I just realized... You haven't kissed me hello yet." This is what was going to damn her. Since Thursday she had craved his lips on hers, despite her vow to never kiss a man again. She had turned to face him, thighs parted but not quite enough for the peek he likely wanted, and she reached to touch his jaw.

"Don't blow me off again. I won't be so nice next time." She tilted his face to hers, the closed the space between them, pressing kiss after scorching kiss to his lips. Her hand traveled the length of his neck, his chest, trailing down to his thighs, then squeezing them.
 
"I'll bet you've never paid for a drink," Luke said, checking to make sure he had his wallet with him. He had left in a hurry.

Luke was surprised at how much she seemed to like it when he wrote on her. He'd remember that, the barely contained moan as the ink went on her skin.

Her kiss started simple and got complicated fast. Luke tasted her tongue, let his hand run the length of her thigh, his other hand pushed up under her breast and felt her though the thin fabric. There were a few people around, but he couldn't care less about what they thought. Rosalie tasted fantastic. He let her lips burn wetly on his. He kissed her under her eye, gave her a necklace of kisses, tried to move down, but the console was in the way.

"Damn modern trucks. Why couldn't you borrow a car with a back seat?" he said, grinning, their noses touching. "Could they have made it any harder to make out?"

"Come over here. Sit on my lap, I'll tell you a little story."

"Forty minutes ago I was minding my own business in my corner of the garage. You know- perving over pictures of you on my phone. The one where your eyes are closed, hands under your breasts. I like that one. Anyway, you know Professor Shandling? Drama department. His wife, Juniper... I really should not tell you this."

Luke saw the dangerous look on Rosalie's face. He sighed. "Juniper Shandling has a stunning and voluptuous figure which she likes to press against her friends' husbands when she's drunk and wearing lingerie. She likes to propose... she wanted to fuck me. Your text came and I scarpered for the curb."

Luke ran his finger along the edge of Rosalie's tank top. "Thing is, two weeks ago, I would have jumped at the opportunity and today I bolted." He licked her chin playfully. "What changed, I wonder?"
 
At his request, Rose eased over the console, settling quickly into his lap. The tight space only allowed her to press snugly into him, but it was hardly a problem for her. Her legs were spread across his lap, the position causing her skirt to rise to accommodate it. Her lips found his neck as told his 'story', her kisses wet and hot against his skin.

As she realized where his tale was going, her mouth left his throat and she sat up to look at him, her eyes flashing. Who the fuck was this Juniper, and why was he talking about her now?

"Luke... It's rude to talk about other women when you're on a date." She tilted her head, speaking between kisses. "But you know what I think? You ran because you don't just want sex. If that was what you wanted, all you wanted, you would've came home with me after that first night. I wanted you to. You wanted to."

She nipped his skin, biting and sucking for a long moment, then pulling away and admiring the reddish mark she had left on his neck. How he would explain it to Isobel, she didn't know and hardly cared. She liked the way the it looked, and what it meant.

"So tell me." She found his hands and snuck them under her tank top, so that he was cupping her hips the way she craved. "Tell me what you want." She kissed her ear, taking the lobe between her teeth and toying with it. She had half a mind to just fuck him now, but that would spoil the evening.
 
Rosalie's lips made it hard to concentrate and he had the feeling he was probably saying things he shouldn't. It felt good to get it off his chest though. He couldn't tell Josh and he sure as hell couldn't tell Isobel.

"You're going to lecture me about being rude?" Luke raised his eyebrows, but he kept his tone light. He rocked her back and forth on his hips a little, grinding against her gently. He liked this position. "It's true," he said, "I don't just want sex."

What did he want, though? It was easy to think of what he didn't want. He didn't want to be controlled, he didn't want to live a life that someone else defined. "I want to be free, Rosalie. I want to be in a relationship that's free. Sexual and honest and trusting. I want to be able to screw up and shrug it off and try again instead of going through some shitstorm of a shame spiral."

She latched on to his neck and he could almost feel the mark form. He knew why she did it, too. "I want to get my cock into you so much I can barely stand it." He bit her left nipple through her tank top gently, ran his hands up her back inside of the tank top. She wanted to mark him? He sucked her breast into his mouth right through the thin fabric, ran his tongue across her nipple. He left a dark wet mark on her top,

"So," he said, "Where are you taking me for dinner?"
 
As he spoke, the fervor and frequency of her kisses slowed, until at least she was hesitating, her lips just touching his skin. He had struck a nerve... Or maybe struck a chord, but either way she was stricken. She hadn't known what to expect when she asked him what he wanted-- maybe something saucy and playful, but he had dug deep for that answer. It scared her. What he wanted... It was too familiar a thought. How many times had she asked the universe for the same thing?

And now maybe she had found it, in the tight cab of a truck, straddling her English professor... Fuck. This was never going to work. But if it crashed and burned, she would try to enjoy the inferno. "Relationships aren't free, Luke, by their very nature." She didn't know if she believed her own words, but she said them, anyway.

She was dragged away from her thoughts as his teeth closed around her nipple, tugging and sucking it into his mouth, and even through the shield of cotton, the sensation was enough to make her sigh with want. Chills followed where his hands trailed up her back, and she rocked slowly over his hips, eager to fulfill that aching emptiness and just fuck her professor already. He released her and her top was nearly translucent where his mouth had been, the pink of her nipple just barely visible.

Dinner. That's why they were there, and she had all but forgotten. "I look a mess now, thanks to you... Hardly dinner appropriate." Her fingertips touched the ink on her leg, then trailed up to her nipple, lingering on the wet fabric. Despite her words, she was smiling. It hadn't phased her.

The sun had fully sunk below the horizon, blues and purples chasing the fading warm colors. She opened his door and eased off of his lap, straightening her skirt as she stood. "How long have you lived here and never been to Spiderhouse? I would've thought you've been here before... It seems like the kind of place you'd end up while you're supposed to be getting capers." She took his hand in hers, trying not to think of how nice it felt just to hold it... She nearly liked it better than sex.

They were seated outdoors, bathed in the light of rainbow lights that were strung overhead, and wrapped around wooden posts. It was crowded, noisy with dozens of boisterous conversations and the sounds of a band starting a sound check. Rose asked for the house white, and the server was too busy looking at the wet spot that Luke had marked her with to think to card her. "I think you'll like this place, maybe," she said, her leg brushing his under the table. "They have poetry slams and things like that sometimes... Maybe you could read that poem here." She was still dying to know what the last two lines said, but not here... Not now.
 
Relationship and freedom. Did there always have to be restrictions? Boundaries? Or did the boundaries define a wide space of freedom?

"I'd love to prove you wrong, Rosalie." She was too young to be this cynical. Luke was the one who should have been raining on the parade. She seemed thoughtful as she climbed out of the door. He followed her and she took his hand. He walked next to her, close, touching shoulders sometimes. He touched the back of her hand to his erection briefly and smiled. The fit of her hand and her easy gait were intoxicating.

"I've always meant to come here, but nobody in my crowd ever wants to. They want to eat at places that have white tablecloths and waiters in tuxedos. Stuffy, boring, expensive places."

Spiderhouse was like a web of light, a carefully crafted fairyland with a distinctly grown up feel. There wouldn't be families here tonight. He ordered a pint of 512 IPA and sat next to Rosalie in the colorful dark. The band ran through a chord sequence and launched into a slow burning version of Aretha's One Room Paradise.

Rosalie's leg brushed his and he dropped a hand to her thigh. It was pretty and dark and he leaned over and kissed her lips slowly, enjoying the softness of her lips, then he picked up her drink and sipped and kissed her again, letting the wine trickle into her mouth.

"There can be freedom in restraint," he said, and slid his hand up under her skirt. "Put your hands on the table and keep them there." He slid a finger across her panties, slipped down the center, caressed back and forth, lightly, barely touching her. "It just takes a little trust." When the server came back, he took her hand and kissed it to release her.

He ordered an Aphrodite sandwich and when the server left after taking her order, Luke put his arm around Rosalie. "I like it here," he said, "and I'm glad you're the one who introduced me to it."

She had mentioned the slam nights and he grinned. "Your poem is too short and too tame for a slam. Let's come to the next one, maybe we can do the open mic. I'll get something ready, but I want you to sing too. I want to watch you make love to a whole room with your voice. I was distracted last time."
 
This wasn't her first time there. It wasn't even her first time there with a guy, a guy she planned to fuck, so why did she feel so nervous? She had said it was a date, this little excursion with Luke, but it had been a joke at the time... Now she felt unsure. The music was dark and romantic, undulating behind them and nearly lulling her into this weird headspace, this place where she wasn't in control anymore. She tapped her foot in effort to relieve the nervous energy that coursed through her. "I'd love to prove you wrong, Rosalie." How the fuck would he do that? Did he forget he was married?

She took a healthy sip of her wine when it came and asked for chips and salsa; she felt too anxious to eat much else. What was she thinking, bringing him here? He kissed her as though they really were on a date, as though they had nothing to hide, here in a public place where they could easily be seen by other students... Her lips knew what to do, even if her mind couldn't settle on the correct course of action, and she hummed in delight as she tasted the wine on his lips. He was nothing like the losers she usually brought into her bed; he was witty and creative, mature... It was the difference between seeing boys, and seeing a man.

Freedom in restraint? "You're wrong," she protested, but she went through with his little demonstration anyway, flattening her hands against the worn wood as he explored her. She bit her lip, her fingers twitching with the urge to stop him, or maybe to encourage him to go further. Though his touch was faint, the thin, damp cotton did nothing to shield her as he slowly dragged his fingertips across her soft flesh. Her nipples perked and pressed through her top, straining for the same attention.

Their server returned with the food and Luke broke the hold he had over her, to her relief and frustration.

"You're wrong," she said again, now that the fuzz had cleared from her mind. "You're mixing up freedom and pleasure. I find a lot of pleasure in restraining... And being restrained." She smiled and winked, despite herself. "But that doesn't make you free, just because you feel good, just because you like it..."

Then he talked of coming here again with her, of open mic nights and doing things together and then his arm was around her, and that panicky feeling began to rise again. What was this, this thing they had going? Did he really think it was a date, that there would be more? That he would even want to once he had gotten his fill of her tonight? The whole thing made her uneasy.

She mentally shook her head and tuned back into his words, leaning into his shoulder, inhaling the now familiar scent of bergamot. "What distracted you?" She neither confirmed nor denied that she wanted to return here with him.
 
The sandwich was huge, and he had taken several bites of it before he even realized he had ordered a vegetarian dish. He laughed at himself.

“I could be a vegetarian if all of the food was this good,” he said. The beer was excellent too, and it must have had a pretty high alcohol volume because he was only halfway through the pint and feeling warm, relaxed, talkative. He kept looking at Rosalie out of the corner of his eye. She had wonderful hair, wonderful breasts, and he kept seeing the words he had written on her thigh earlier.

“Mixing freedom and pleasure?” Luke shrugged and took one of Rosalie’s chips. “I don’t think so. You’ve got it backwards. I think the reason restraint is pleasurable is because of the unexpected freedom. Think about it this way. Let’s say you wanted something, but you couldn’t express it to me in so many words. Something sexual, let’s say.” He took a sip of beer. “Asking for it might be dangerous or embarrassing or risky. Or it may be something that would be destroyed in the asking. But if I do something to you when you are at least nominally powerless to stop me, then I take responsibility and you are free, free, to enjoy every last struggling moment of it. It’s mind reading and body reading and a tremendous amount of trust.”

He reached up and brushed her breast, almost as though a crumb had fallen on her.

“It also means needing to ask forgiveness, and to forgive sometimes because, well that one thing wasn’t sexy, or I triggered some gag reflex.”

She seemed nervous. He had his arm around her, but it was dark and nobody in his crowd was likely to be around. She hadn’t ever seemed to care about arousing suspicion, in fact she courted it. He hadn’t had a chance to look in a mirror, but he could still feel her lips on his neck, her weight on his lap, the suction, the teeth, the crazymaking rocking against each other in the cramped cab of the truck. She wanted him marked as hers. Was she afraid that he would leave her, or afraid that he would stay? Luke was happy and horny and a little tipsy, and the odds were about even. All he could do was to enjoy the moment, the food, the perk of her nipples under the tank top.

“I’m sorry, that was pretty cold psychology. Josh gets to me sometimes. I swear, that man is icewater, but he talks a lot about control relationships.”

Rosalie leaned into his shoulder and he softened against her. What had distracted him?

“I was fucked up that night,” he said, remembering the anger, the frustration, the desire. “I was pissed about the stupid capers, I was pissed at you because of the way you hijacked my class and I was fascinated with you at the same time. You’re so smart it’s intimidating, and you were so sexy, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. So when you pulled Dazed and Confused out at that bar, you lit up my mind.” He was saying too much, but it felt good to talk. “Then Isobel called and I had to skip out to the restroom and she accused me of being at a strip club. She heard you doing the Dazed break and thought someone was getting laid in the same room. So yeah. I was distracted.”

The band slid into Do Right Woman, Do Right Man, and Luke stood and took Rosalie’s hand. “Let’s find a private place for a warm up dance,” he said.
 
Ah, buzzed Luke. She had missed him. She was nearly ready to dismiss what he was saying-- what was she afraid of, sexually, that was dangerous or risky? What was she too fearful to chase, that would require her to trust someone enough not to ask? But then he offered another possibility. Something that would be ruined in the asking. She was so tired of leading guys by the nose, as much as she liked to toy with them. It would be refreshing to relinquish that power, just for a moment... But that was where trust came in. Trust that she didn't possess.

Her finger traced around the rim of her glass as she considered his words, his face bathed in the pinkish glow of the lights, or was he flushed? Her free hand found his thigh and she pressed her palm against the denim, smoothing over it slowly, up and down.

He asked to dance, revising her script once again. "I planned on us popping over to 6th and finding a club," she said, and the smart part of her, the one that struggled with the idea of just letting go and seeing where the night might take them, insisted that they stick to the schedule. She pressed her lips together, holding him there with her gaze as she struggled.

"But I really like this song." She picked up her glass, downed the rest of her wine, and took his hand. It wasn't quite private, but she led him to a darker corner of the yard, away from the stage where the band played, the web of endless color, the chatter of the other people who had congregated there. They weren't alone, far from it, but the sheer amount of people going about their own lives afforded them a sort of privacy.

She settled his hand onto her bare hip, the hem of her top not quite meeting where her skirt began. She hesitated for the slightest moment, then slid her palms up his chest, her touch light and teasing, until her arms had slipped around his neck. They were close, her body flush to his, and she was aware of just how dangerous a position she was in. This was intimate... Almost romantic.

When his hands were where she liked, she started to sway in time to the music, moving slowly as they pressed together in the dark. This was worlds away from grinding at Pop. Her lips found his neck, nuzzling him for a moment, then finding his pulse and kissing, sucking, until another mark had appeared.

"You distracted me, too." She flicked her tongue over where she had branded him, soothing it. "When I saw you, when I was playing.... I was a beat late with the next verse. Alex was so pissed." She punctuated the sentence with a kiss, slow and dark and wanting. "Then you left, and I wondered why... Has your wife actually been to a strip club, by the way? It's not an orgy, you don't just fuck people..." She laughed a little at the thought. "Oh, wait, no places without tuxedos. I guess the kind that tears off with Velcro doesn't count."

"I really want you to watch me again. We play again on Tuesday; are you allowed to be out late on a school night?" Even in the dark, the smile in her voice could be heard. "If you want to, come see me. No strings attached this time." There, that was the kind of trust she could afford to give him.

"As for what you said, earlier... What could be so dangerous or risky in that lit up mind of yours that you couldn't just ask for it? What do you want so badly that you're afraid of admitting it?" There must've been something, the way he spoke about it. The wine had lulled her into a state of ease now, and she wasn't as concerned about the turn the night had taken, or what it meant beyond how wonderful the weight of his hands was on her hips. "Do you trust me?" She smoothed her hands down, until the rested over his. She found his ring, the one that Jessica had paid no mind to, and suddenly she didn't like it, or its presence there on his finger. She pried his hand off of her and tugged gently at it, until it slipped into her palm, so heavy for such a little thing. All the while she watched him, daring him to stop her, to take it back and admonish her for it.
 
Dancing. It had been a very long time since Luke had let music and a woman rock him into that particular euphoria. Rosalie pressed into him, her lips on his neck, pulling her own mark out of his skin. “It’s just one song, and a crime to waste it,” he said.

They swayed, stepping together, turning in unhurried unison, not thinking about the steps or the beat, just being. Being there, hands on each other, aware of heat and motion, muscle, skin, and the moist touch of Rosalie’s tongue awakening a new, different arousal in Luke. A wordless keening of his body against hers.

Luke met her lips mid-sentence, sweetening her swearing, making each of her words fascinating jewels, pretty stones.

“We are mutually distracted,” he said, and let her lips travel his jaw. “But there’s nothing else I want to pay attention to right now.”

He didn’t want to talk about Isobel. She made a hobby of belittling him, she was a master of the art of shame and her comments on the phone were just more of the same.

“I’ve been to strip clubs,” he said, “Josh’s bachelor party, if you can believe it. Found out a few things. Strippers are best viewed from a distance, and sober. Josh learned the hard way. Isobel didn’t think it was funny.”

How was Rosalie familiar with strip clubs, Luke wondered, but she distracted him again with the tantalizing possibility of seeing her perform again. He’d have to get out of the house, but he cared less and less what Isobel thought. It seemed like she had been out to get him all along and he was just realizing it. She treated him like he was always cheating, even when he wasn’t. So now that he was actually cheating, or planning to cheat, whatever this was, her reaction hardly mattered. He was just finally actually committing the sin he had been punished for for the last six years.

“I am not allowed to be out on a school night,” Luke said, “but I’m fucking tired of being told what’s allowed."

She had said, “I really want you to watch me again,” and he couldn’t help thinking that she knew his watching would be different. Not just a spectator at a show, but as a man who had made her body squirm, who had made her curious, frustrated her, surprised her. She had left him free to refuse. He wondered what that small concession had cost her in pride.

“You know, you’ll never be fully clothed for me ever again,” he said. The thought slipped out of his mouth unbidden, but he found that he did not regret it. It was true.

She responded by working his ring off of his finger, staring defiantly into his face. She compounded it by asking hard questions. Dangerous, risky questions.

“What am I afraid to admit?” Luke thought, watched her hold the warm gold ring in her palm. “That you could be the first to discover something I love, something I don’t even know about myself.”

He reached around the back of her neck and unlatched her charm necklace. He took the ring out of her hand and slipped it onto the necklace, then he put it back on her neck.

“That’s how much I trust you,” he said.
 
Their shared gaze didn't break as his fingers touched her throat, and she slowly pulled the strands of black silk out of the way, so that he could unclasp her necklace. Was he making a trade with her? Did he know where it was from, what it meant? Then he took the ring from her, threading it onto the dainty silver chain, and she exhaled as he replaced it, her sweet breath brushing his lips. He was fucking crazy. Absolutely fucking crazy. Inexplicably, chills traveled down her back, and she had half a mind to drag him to some back alleyway and fuck him senseless. He terrified her and it was electric, setting her every nerve alight.

She touched her hand to her neck, briefly slipping her finger through the much-too-large band. She said nothing, choosing instead to close the space between their lips, taking his bottom one between her teeth and tugging gently before claiming his mouth.

"You're free." Her eyes were wide and wild as she pulled away. "You're always surprising me. I thought I had you figured out, but maybe..." Maybe not. "You really shouldn't have given me this. What if I throw it in the bottom of the lake tonight? Or sell it, or wear it to class? What's going to happen when you go home without it?" Her eyes glittered with curiosity, crystal blue. Why did he trust her so freely, when just yesterday she had humiliated him in front of his entire class? When today she had threatened to come to his front door and kidnap him?

This is what he had meant. He was giving her the control, so that he could be free to enjoy whatever she did with the ring that hung from her neck. "I can see the destiny you sold..." Her voice was so quiet and thoughtful that with the band playing and a nearby fountain trickling amongst the greenery, he was likely to miss it. That very first night he was eager to shed his ring, baptizing it in her mint water. Now he was wrapped around her finger... Or was she wrapped around his?

The ground vibrated from the bass from the stage, and she took his now-bare hands in hers, sliding them up and down her sides. "Do you want to get out of here?" The air was hot and summery, though the calendar claimed it was fall. "What's your curfew for tonight? I want to make sure we break it." He was at her mercy... Unless he called a cab, he had no ride home.
 
Luke thumbed the blank space on his finger as Rosalie slipped the tip of her finger into his ring. Maybe he was insane, but watching her shiver was worth it, and when she kissed him, he felt like someone new, an undiscovered territory.

“Explore me,” he said, his eyes bright. He felt thrilled and peaceful all at once. “What if you throw it in the lake or wear it to class? What if you swallow it or give it to the next person who walks by? What if you put it back on my finger or leave it around a flower in the garden, or make a wish and throw it in the fountain? Would that wish be worth more than a penny—or less?”

I can see the destiny you sold...

He read her lips, touched his cheek to hers, swayed with her to the music. He could smell her hair, the wine, the faint fragrance of salsa on her breath, hummus and olives on his own. He smelled her skin, sweet and deep. There was no hint of strawberry on her tonight. She was a woman, not a teasing schoolgirl at this moment. He listened to the water in the fountain, the rumble of the band, the clink and chatter of a dinnertime crowd, and further off, between one song and the next he heard cars on Guadalupe, going places.

“I feel like I’ve just stepped out of a bomb shelter into a much more dangerous world, a much better world. I’ve seen what you’re capable of, Rosalie. You could destroy me, but I don’t think you will. I think you’re too curious.” He let her hands guide his, along her sides, then he slipped his hands over her bottom, pulled her body into his so there was no space between them.

“I broke my curfew at 6:15,” he said, “Get me out of here and let’s see what else we can break."
 
Rose reeled with the possibilities he gave her; his eyes were too bright, too eager to give her the key to ruining his life as he knew it. She felt like the script was all wrong... He should be begging for it back, terrified of what she might do with it. Instead it seemed as though each suggestion he made enticed him more than the one before. She stared up at him, her brow furrowed as she struggled to understand him, what he wanted, and why on earth he wanted it. He disturbed her.

He rested his cheek to hers and she pressed against the stubble, focusing for a moment on just this, her eyes closing. "I'm not giving it back." She wasn't sure of much else. It would've been the most satisfying option-- to disappoint him, to spoil what he wanted... But she couldn't bring herself to do it. The ring was like a trophy. He hadn't answered the question she'd asked, about what Isobel would do when he returned home without it, and with the purplish marks that she had gifted him instead. She traced the places her lips had been, reading the bruised skin like Braille. Nothing phased him. "What if I showed up to class on Monday wearing nothing but this ring?" He would probably be pleased as punch.

"You could destroy me, but I don't think you will." She pressed her lips together, considering that, and kissed his ear. "Is it really destroying you, if you want to be destroyed?" What could she do now, other than leaving him stranded there under the colored lights, the unspoken promises she made to him unfulfilled, that would truly devastate him?

He cupped her and dragged her body to his, her skirt barely skimming her thighs as it bunched in his grip. She had been on the precipice of deciding to break one of her own rules, and now he pushed her over the edge. Tonight they could break it all, and clean up the mess they made later.

As he paid for their dinner, she thought of leaving the ring as a tip, but decided better of it. She took his hand as they walked back to the truck, and she swept her thumb over the newly vacant skin. It had taken her, what? Two weeks to snag it from him?

It was dusk now, the air hazy and dark as the city cooled, the moon high in the sky and nearly full. She felt buzzed, but not from the wine-- she wanted to push Luke further, to understand him... Her expectations for the night had gone out the window, but maybe that was good. She couldn't decide. She liked the challenge he presented her with, but she hated the uncertainty, the loss of complete power.

Would he give her anything she wanted?

They reached the truck and her hand fell out of his, slipping into the back pocket of his jeans and emerging with the treasure she wanted, his cell phone. Once he was back in his seat, she settled into his lap instead of the driver's side, her body snug against his as she unlocked the screen.

"Wow," she said softly, opening his texts. "Your wife is livid. Do you think she knows how to track you with this? She seems like the type that would." She smirked, scrolling as her hips started to rock. "Should we call her? Tell her what you're up to? Maybe send her a picture?" She took his hands and skated them up her skirt. "Listen to this one-- 'If you're not home by 7:00, I'm calling the cops.' It's nearly eight. I wonder if she actually did it."

She opened his photos, immediately confronted with the ones she had sent him in class. "Hm... Maybe she'd like to see some of these. You didn't delete them from your phone." Not like the first. "My contact picture, too... I thought that would be cleaned up, by now. 'The Band' has a name, by the way-- The Violent Delights. I never told you."
 
She wasn’t giving it back. Luke fought down a wriggling fear. He had wanted things to change, and now they were. She accused him of wanting to be destroyed, but that wasn’t what it felt like.

“I don’t want to be destroyed at all,” he said, “but what I really don’t want is some slow, soul crushing grey descent into safe irrelevance. If it costs me, it costs me. And honestly, what do I have to lose? You, my good tie, a wedding ring, and a job you think I’m not all that good at? You’re the only one I would miss. You’re what I don’t want to lose.”

She pulled his phone and flipped through. He was amused at first. She was checking up on him, seeing if he kept her pictures. Then she pried, text messages. Boring, frantic text screaming from Isobel. Predictable in every detail.

The unpleasant anxiety of the mass of waiting messages faded as Rosalie rocked in his lap and Luke ran his hands right up her thighs under her skirt and hooked his fingers around the band of her panties. He tugged a little as Rosalie teased, made halfhearted threats to see what he would do. He pulled again, sliding the thin underwear down her thighs.

He hugged her from behind, arms around her waist, ear against her back.

“I can hear your heart, Rosalie,” he said. “I want to make it pound.” He reached for the marker. and lifted the back of her tank top. He touched his left ear to her skin, found her heartbeat and listened to it for a few breaths. Then he wrote.

I’m fine. More than fine. Don’t wait up.
L

He blew on the letters, then reached around Rosalie’s waist and slipped the phone out of her fingers. He aimed the camera at her skin, catching the note diagonally across the screen and snapped a picture. He listened to her heart.

Luke hit the share button, picked Isobel’s contact, and handed the phone back to Rosalie.

“Hit send,” he said, and slipped a hand between her legs.

He let her top drop back into place and thought about the band. The Violent Delights.

He listened, caressed, breathed the ancient words to condense in the thin cloth of her top.

These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
And in the taste confounds the appetite.
Therefore love moderately. Long love doth so.
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

“The old priest wasn’t one for torrid affairs, was he?” Luke said, “But maybe he had never had the right kind of violent end.”
 
He was a man with nothing to lose. Nothing except... Did he think she was his? What would he do if she decided she wanted nothing to do with him, after tonight? "You're bad at your job, yes. And you know it. That's the rub-- that's what infuriates me about you. You know you're phoning it in and not really challenging your students. And if you're not afraid of losing your job, you have no excuse anymore." She thought back to her list of suggestions, the ones he had refused. Maybe she was in a better position to get what she wanted.

He pressed into her back and she slowly inhaled, watching as he fumbled for the pen and trying desperately not to squirm when she heard him uncap it. The sensation of his slow, careful writing against her moonlit skin was nearly too much to bear, but she gripped the end of her skirt instead of wiggling away. Her grip was loose on the phone and she gave it up without a struggle, beginning to ask what he'd written now, when she heard the faint sound of a camera shutter. He was taking a picture of it. She stiffened but said nothing, and when he handed her back the phone, she exhaled in disbelief.

"Hit send?" she repeated, the glow of the screen illuminating her face. "You know once I do, you're dead..." She hit send. She didn't understand why he put so much trust into her hands, why he gave her the torch to burn this particular bridge.

She wasn't surprised that her professor knew the lines off-hand, and she closed her eyes as he breathed the words against her, the iambic pentameter flowing off of his tongue in a fascinating tattoo, keeping time with her accelerating heart beat.

"Love is a fallacy. You had a big wedding, didn't you? How long did it take for you to realize that the whole institution is fantasy, and not even an exciting fantasy? You spend thousands on the venue and the cake, the rings and the dress... For what? So you can sit in a garage and hide when your wife invites her friends over?" She shifted as he slid her panties down, lifting her hips so that the dainty lace could fall down her thighs. They matched the nightie she had tricked him with. His hands seemed eager to replace them, tracing back up her thighs, and she struggled to withhold the moan she knew he wanted to hear.

"It's scary to face the void, the idea that all there is, is this. Pleasure, fun, delicious risk. How could a friar admit that and expect people to show up to Sunday service? You can't blame him for peddling the lies, even if that's what they are..." He was exploring with her, playing with her, and she didn't know what was hotter: his touch or waxing philosophical with him. "Hedonism is the only true religion, and it's threatening to people who've bought into the... mmm, lie of the picket fence, the two-point-five kids and the dog. Jump into the void and don't look back."

She gently took his hands and pried them off of her, the grin audible in her voice. "We should probably go, before I end up losing my virginity in this truck." She paused for a full, long moment, giving him time to contemplate that before she added, "Kidding."

She hopped out of the truck, stepped out of her panties, and tossed them on the dash before crossing to the driver's side. The night air was warm and snug, just dry enough to be comfortable. It felt good on her skin, but water would feel even better.

Luke's phone buzzed intermittently as Rosalie drove, until finally she reached over and turned the damn thing off, the radio on full blast, wind tugging at her hair. "So are you going home tonight?" She didn't see how he could, tonight or ever.
 
Rosalie was right. He'd be a lot better at doing his job if the college just got their fucking fingers out of his classroom. The last thing he needed was morality police in the form of human obscenity filters infecting his classes and running to their board member parents every time he held their feet to the fire.

"Oh, I'm not remotely near dead," he said, "if only it were that easy. Most of Isobel's friends' husbands have already had affairs. Secretaries, neighbors, women they met at hardware stores, even an escort. They whine about it all the time, compare notes, pat each other's backs. It's pretty much a status symbol for them to be cheated on in some way.” Luke drew lazy figure 8s on her back with his nose and matched them with his fingers. "And I would understand the outrage if they were actually trying to be married, trying to stay together, trying to build instead of tear down. But they're not. The husband's affair is part of their narrative, a checkbox on their pathetic little bucket lists and they savor it. They love the sympathy of their friends. They follow the pattern of betrayal, revenge, and reconciliation that improves their power in the relationship."

It was all true. He had seen it over and over again and had determined not to follow that script. It disappointed Isobel. He wondered how much of her undermining commentary was just to get him to where he was right now. Having his hands pried away from flesh that actually wanted him. He watched, fascinated, as Rosalie tossed her panties on the dashboard in front of him.

Luke laughed at her teasing. “Oh. I thought you were trying to protect my virginity. I wonder what you haven’t done- what you’d like to try?"

The truck bumped on to "Marriage is a weird thing. Not simple. There are true marriages. I've seen them, but I don't know how they work. I don't know how, at the beginning, they figured things out so that it's still going strong decades later. Isobel and I, though, we married fantasies. And yes, the wedding reflected that. She thought she was marrying a promising novelist, and I thought I was marrying someone who would understand a writer's life. The temporary professorship turned long-term and she joined the bitchy wives club. But if I had married a different woman? Who knows?"

"Maybe this is all there is. Hedonism. But a pure hedonist doesn't endure the pain you went through getting those callouses on your fingers so you could play an hour set on your bass. The present is too important and the future too far away."

The wind in the cab blew Rosalie’s hair, made it float. She was beautiful in the sweeping headlights and flashing streetlights.

“There are lies in the picket fence American dream,” he said, “and there are truths, just like there are lies and truths in the hedonist doctrine.” He laid his head back against the back of the seat. “The trick is to tease out the truths and expose the lies and that,” he said, “is work for a brain that is not in the embrace of alcohol.”

The song on the radio was thoughtful, and it seemed to resonate with everything- the road, the wind, Rosalie, the giddy freedom and its corollary terror, the stupid ringing of the phone.

Rosalie turned it off and tossed it on the seat. Luke went one further and yanked the battery. If anyone could pull strings and track the thing, she could.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next ten minutes, let alone later tonight, tomorrow, or in a year. And if home is where the heart is, well, my heart is only here right now,” he tapped his chest, “sitting in your borrowed truck and barelling towards water.”

The song ended and the KROX station ID kicked off the commercial loop. Luke reached over and turned off the radio.

“Sing me a song, Rosalie. I want that more than anything else in the world right now.”
 
He talked, she listened. There were times when she wanted to interject with her own thoughts, but it seemed as though he needed to expel all of these thoughts that had weighed on him for a while, and Rose didn't mind. It was weird, but a part of her felt sorry for him. He was locked into a narrative that would be her own personal hell, and he seemed to have accepted it. He was doomed to be whatever monster his wife had made him out to be. Self-fulfilling prophesy.

She waited until he laid all of his miserable cards on the table before she finally spoke. "Wow. You couldn't pay me enough to marry somebody." She glanced at him briefly, wide eyes, her plump lips turned in a frown. She pitied him. "It's not really the same, but I've been in some relationships... Like, formal ones, boyfriend and girlfriend. Not whatever this is." She still had no idea what this was, what it was going to be beyond tonight. "It seems like you give so much up and get nothing back. The odds of it actually working out are stacked so high against you, it doesn't make sense to try when you could have all of the good parts, and none of the bad." She thought of Alex, of how he would likely react if he found out she was fooling around with her professor. Her frown deepened. "So what happened to the novel?" He sounded so fucking miserable. She liked making him miserable, but not like this. He sounded doomed, like no matter what he chose, he was stuck on a track to dull discomfort.

"No one knows what's going to happen beyond this moment. That's why it's where you need to live, not somewhere in the past or the future. If you're not happy with the way things are-- and it really sounds like you aren't-- then stop passing the buck to Isobel, to the board members, to anybody except for yourself. You are responsible for your happiness. You're not some... some prisoner. You hold the key. You can leave at any time, and not look back." She said this coolly, but not unkindly. It seemed so simple, all the answers right in front of his face but he chose to wallow instead.

"You're smart, you're fucking hot... You're what, about thirty-five? It's not too late to say 'fuck it', flip the chess board and set up the pieces again. You could live for a hundred years or we could both die tonight in some tragic accident, but it would be even more tragic for you to waste a single moment more, living the sad life you are now. Seriously."

He asked her to sing and she grinned, not taking her eyes from the road. "If it'll cheer you up. If you reach under the seat, there's a bottle of bourbon I was saving for later. Sorry, I know you usually drink beer but I can't stand the taste." Except on his lips, she didn't mind it then.

She was driving out of the city proper, into the outskirts of town where the road twisted through the green hills, fancy houses worth millions tucked neatly into the trees. The noise and the bustle of the city fell behind them, and suddenly they were much more alone. Aside from the first few shows she had played, Rosalie had never experienced stage fright-- she knew she was good, too good for the places she played at. But here, in the cab of the truck with Luke... It was so much more intimate. God, everything was with him. She thought briefly of sharing with him a song she had been working on, but the thought scared the hell out of her. Sharing dirty pictures was nothing, but her songs, her lyrics... Those were precious.

Her tongue darted out to her lips briefly, and then she sang for him, her voice mingling with the wind, pleading and dark.

"Under blue moon, I saw you
So soon, you'll take me
Up in your arms, too late to beg you
Or cancel it, though I know it must be
The killing time... Unwillingly mine..."

By the time she had reached the end, she pulled onto a dirt road that was hardly noticeable from the street. Less than a mile down the dark tunnel of trees, they had reached a gate with a sign that flashed in Rose's headlights.

NO TRESPASSING.

"Here we are." She threw the truck in park, flashing Luke a devious smile. "For my next trick, I'll need help from my dashing assistant... Come on, you get to hold the flashlight." She grabbed her purse from the floorboard, then hopped out of the truck and crossed to his side, waiting until he was out before walking up to the heavy gate.

She fished the flashlight from her purse, passing it to him. "Okay, hold it up and steady over the padlock. It's an easy pick, easier than your office door, actually, even though it looks so big and intimidating... Rich people. For all the money they have, you'd think they'd invest in a quality lock." Her hand dove back into her bag, this time clutching a little pouch. She opened that, collecting the pick and tension wrench, and stuffed the empty pouch away.

It took her about two minutes to pop the lock, and she was grinning the entire time. "The first time I tried this lock it took me forever; I'm probably making it look easy now. Don't worry about getting caught. No one lives here, they just own the property, this and probably a dozen other spots. The chance that anyone will bust us is positively minimal. Ah... There it is." One hand held the tension wrench and twisted it gently to the right, the other gently wriggling the pick until she felt the pins ease up. The lock popped open, and she freed the chain that held the gate closed from its clutches. She pushed the gate wide open, then took the flashlight back from Luke.

"Great job, accomplice. Now let's go, I'm dying to be free of these clothes." She hadn't brought a swim suit either.
 
Rosalie had him nailed to the wall. She was right. Well, to an extent she was right, but he didn't feel like he needed to quibble. Blaming Isobel was pointless. She played her games, but he played his part. He followed the script he had been handed and he hadn't ever wondered if it was a show he wanted to be a part of. He just did it because that's what you did when you were an adult.

“The novel is done, essentially. It should probably go through an editor and a few beta readers. I just never stepped into the publishing process. I mean, who reads post-apocalyptic heist novels?” He thought for a moment. “You know, I think it’s really good, but nobody around me gets it. Josh is too literal. Isobel never read the damn thing. I guess I just started to wonder if anyone would be interested in it at all and I convinced myself that nobody would. Hell with them. I’m going to shop it around. I know some people.”

Luke dug out the bourbon, took a swig and passed it over. He closed his eyes as Rosalie’s rich voice filled the cab and he smiled, nodding along to the old song. He sang the chorus with her the last few times.

Fate
Up against your will
Through the thick and thin
He will wait until
You give yourself to him

He didn’t need more bourbon. He felt the heaviness drop off of him as Rosalie pulled of the road, and he remembered jumping fences in high school to dip in people’s pools. Rosalie was clearly more committed though. He watched, fascinated as she picked the big lock and swung the gate open.

“You think I’m fucking hot, huh?” Luke followed Rosalie down a manicured path off a driveway. It led generally downhill. To their right, the mass of a mansion with black windows sat overlooking the lake. He saw that the path ended at a boathouse next to a long pier with a gazebo at the end. As they approached the small beach he stepped around Rosalie and walked in front of her, but backwards, slipped his shirt off and draped it over his shoulder and unbuttoned his pants. He stopped, slipped Rosalie’s tank top over her head and draped it on his shoulder along with his own shirt. The charm necklace hung around her neck, his ring heavy on the chain. He looked at it and it felt like something that hadn’t been his for a long time.

The moonlight made her breasts stand out against the dark. He ran his hands up Rosalie’s sides and cupped her briefly, enjoying the weight and smoothness of her flesh. He knelt down and pulled her left stocking off along with her shoe, then her right stocking. The black ink he had used on her in the car stood out like a complicated tattoo and he ran his fingers over it before he pulled the other stocking off. He dropped the shirts next to the stockings on the manicured lawn, kicked his shoes off and pulled off his jeans. His underwear went with them.

His cock swung heavy, the hours of teasing had kept him in a constant state of semi-arousal and the faint breeze made him feel the simple freedom of being naked outdoors. He stood, arms out and did a slow turn for Rosalie. “What do you think? Still fucking hot? Or do you just like me when I’m in tweed?”

He unzipped the side of her skirt and let it fall to the ground, then he took Rosalie’s hand and they walked the length of the pier, bare and together. They stopped at the end, and Luke pulled her close for a kiss, felt his cock bump her leg. He grinned and spoke to it. “Easy boy. We’re just here for swimming, right?” He looked Rosalie in the eye and shook his head, contradicting himself. Then he turned and jumped in the water.
 
She grinned to see how eager he was, how willing. The warm night air held a magic that they had tapped into, and Rosalie wanted to be drunk on it. He pulled his shirt over his head and suddenly she realized how unfair it had been till now, how much he had seen of her, and how little she had of him. He was toned, but not so much so that he looked like he lived at the gym. Before she had a chance to mirror him, he reached for the hem of her top and stripped her of it, taking it for himself. His hands met her skin and she pressed into his palms, craving the heat, the friction of his touch, but then he pulled away. "Fucking tease..." Her voice was quiet-- she hadn't meant to say it aloud.

"See, this is why I don't compliment guys. It makes your ego swell uncontrollably..." She glanced down pointedly, pressing her lips together as she took in the sight of him, completely bare and bathed in the blue moonlight. "Amongst other things." He was fucking hot, Jessica's imagination hadn't been far-fetched for once. It was sort of incredible how much she had been right about. Rose still hadn't updated her much since the episode in Luke's office, and until she learned the last two lines of the poem, she wasn't sure what she wanted to share. Everything had somehow taken a turn that Rosalie hadn't accounted for, nothing was going according to plan and she both hated that, and was enthralled by it.

"Still fucking hot?" he asked, and she grinned, taking in the sight of him, so much smooth skin, the faint trail of hair that traveled from his chest to his belly... The cock that he had professed he couldn't wait get inside of her. "Tweed does nothing for me. Come to class like this and I'll be such a good girl..." She was lying, but it didn't matter. If he wouldn't teach Lolita, he wouldn't come to class nude. Or would he? He seemed to have jumped off not just the pier, but the deep end.

Her lips tingled with residual heat after he kissed her, throwing himself into the water's embrace instead of hers. She watched, bold at the edge of the dock with nothing to clothe her but his words on her thigh, his ring at her throat. Then she jumped in too, completely submerging herself in the cool silk of the water. She had been here before, dozens of times, but everything felt new, every sensation more exquisite.

When she couldn't hold her breath anymore, she broke the surface of the water, the moon reflecting on her inky hair. "We're just here for swimming," he had said, and what if that was all they did? It would be novel not to fuck him... She touched her tongue to her lips, then smiled, gathering her heavy locks in on hand and pulling them to the side. She took his hands and brought them back to the chain, their bodies close, but not yet touching.

"Swimming is free, but more will cost you." Her eyes shone in the dark, luminous and eager. "Take the ring and throw it in the water. Commit to it, that things will change after tonight, that this isn't just some wild ride that you'll regret tomorrow. If you throw it... We can do whatever you want." She was smiling, the devil on his shoulder, his personal Mephistopheles. "Do it." Her hands found his skin beneath the water, sliding against his chest and urging him gently to action.
 
It was always the same when Luke jumped into deep water. The slight chill was first, but then the deep thrill of weightlessness took over and he had to struggle to keep from laughing and losing his air. He hadn’t known how deep it was, but he didn’t touch, so he turned for the lakebed and kicked for the bottom. He never found it. He had to turn and let his buoyancy carry him toward the moonlight on the surface of the lake and when he broke the skin of the water he sucked in a huge breath. He felt like his smile could outshine the moon.

“I’ve always loved water,” he said, “but I never swim for fun. Laps at the gym sometimes, but there’s no wonder in that.”

He stroked the water and glided up to Rosalie and she took his hands and made his fingers touch her chain, the ring that had been his. She made an offer, a deal. Luke didn’t answer right away. Instead, he ran his hand over the place on her back where he had written the note to Isobel. He erased it, the water washing the last swirls of ink off her skin. It bothered him that he had used her body that way. He let his hands fall to Rosalie’s thigh, and he rubbed away the ink there too. She would come out of the water with her skin clean and blank. Ready for new scribblings.

He took her hand and swam toward the boat house, a slow crawl. “Now there’s a tempting deal I won’t touch,” he said. He turned on his back and kicked, pulling Rosalie along with him. They swam in the water side opening and Luke found what he had hoped to find. On the deck next to a ski boat he found a wooden canoe and a matching oar. He pulled the canoe into the water and helped Rosalie into it and pushed off, out of the darkness of the boat house. He rowed hard, twice, and shipped the oar. He sat facing Rosalie on a cross brace and smiled. He leaned forward, kissed her, and with his lips still close to hers, he spoke. “You sell yourself too cheaply, beautiful.”

He reached for her body then. He felt her heat under his hands, along with the mild chill of the air on their wet skin, he slipped his hands from her hips to her ribs, under her breasts, slipped up over her nipples.

“You called me a ‘fucking tease’ just now, as though it were a bad thing.” He felt her nipples hard against his hands and he rocked his hands against her, letting her tickle his palms with her own hardness. “You thought I didn’t hear you? I could hear the blood in your body from a thousand yards, Rosalie. My compass turns toward you. I want you more than I can say, but you can’t trade something as trivial as the shell of my life, the shell of my marriage for even a single night with you. I won’t give you something fake for something real. I won’t trade a worthless thing for a treasure.”

He reached for the necklace, unhooked it and slid the ring into his hand. He put the necklace back around Rosalie’s neck. “No deal,” he said, “You don’t owe me anything.” He turned threw the ring as far as he could toward the center of the lake. He never even heard it hit the water. He didn’t care to.

The canoe turned slowly on some invisible current in the lake and they rode it in the moonlight, facing each other.
 
"God, do you do anything for fun? I'm afraid this might be too much for one day; you might overdose..."

She frowned as he bypassed the silver chain, his hand gliding down her back smoothly, until he found the place where his words marked her and gently eased them away. Did he regret it then, telling his wife to fuck off? That was likely. His words were pretty but they were just that, just words, suppositions and ponderings that ultimately wouldn't lead to anything more than one fun romp. She didn't care for her own sake-- a romp was enough for her. But his refusal to take his destiny into his own hands proved him to be what she always thought he was. Weak. Indecisive. More apt to blame the women in his life for his failures, rather than actually do something about it.

Not even the lure of anything she could give him was enough to tempt him. She followed him, unhappy with his lack of fortitude, but curious enough to see what he was looking for in the dark boat house. Despite the many times she had been there, she had never touched any of the owner's things, never explored what could be there. At his urging, she climbed into the canoe, a bit confused but not entirely opposed to the game he was playing.

It was a bit chilly as he rowed out to deeper water, but Rose liked the sensation, the way it alighted every nerve. She looked up at the moon overhead, a heavy coin in the star-dotted sky, and then back to her nude, dripping wet professor. She wanted to sit in his lap again, now what they were free of pesky clothing, but she didn't. He kissed her and she met his lips eagerly; somehow it had been much too long since their last. "Excuses. If you don't want to, then own it. Don't pretend you're being noble or something." Selling herself too cheaply? "Sex isn't some precious thing that should be scrimped and saved and fretted over."

She arched into his hands as they explored her, tendrils of midnight sticking to her pale skin. He spoke and suddenly something shifted. She smiled as he called her out on the words that she'd murmured, but the smile faltered as he went on, her heart stuttering before picking up its pace again, double time. As much as she didn't want to admit it to herself... This was different. No mindless excursion, no senseless fuck fest.... His words were earnest and intriguing and that scared the hell out of her. What did he think of her? "Nothing is going the way that I planned. I thought that I'd take you to a club, we could fuck in some alleyway or in the cab of the truck, and then I'd swing you back home and you'd have to think of some clever way to explain those marks at your neck to your wife..." Why was she telling him that? Was that what she really wanted? It would be easier. She could understand that scenario, catch and release, but he wanted more from her. He didn't just want her body-- it seemed like he was more interested in her soul.

He unclasped her necklace, and Rose was certain that he could hear her raging pulse as he did so. "No deal," he said, and she watched with wonder as he flung the ring away, and the black water swallowed the offering eagerly. It was gone. It was just a ring, and now it was nothing, and he seemed not to grasp the gravity of what he had just done. "Luke... What would would your friend Josh say?" She leaned into him, her lips just touching his ear. She kissed it, then nursed the soft patch of skin just behind it. "I don't owe you anything, yes... Is that important to you?" Her nails grazed his thighs, no slacks to shield him now. "You want me to give what I want to freely, but I wonder... I wonder how long you would wait until I did. I wonder what it would take to teach you how to just take the things you want, rather than wait for someone to drop it in your lap. As delightful as your lap is." Her nails dug into his skin as she kissed him fully, her head tilting to accommodate his. She could taste the bourbon on his breath.

"Tell me the last two lines. There's a fair trade."
 
“What would Josh say?” Luke laughed at the thought. “Josh would have died of an aneurysm seven times already tonight. Rosalie, don’t you get it? I’ve been living like I was wearing a ‘What Would Josh Do’ bracelet on my wrist the last six years. What would Josh say. It works out great if you want a mediocre house with a pissed off wife and a job that kills your soul. If you want to be free, though...”

He lost his words as her lips touched the sensitive spot behind his ear. She didn’t owe him anything. “Yes. That’s important. What’s more important is that I don’t owe you anything either. Except...”

He sucked in a breath as her nails burned ticklish trails into his skin, and when she kissed him, his cock wobbled and pointed at the sky. He felt her hunger, and it matched his own. All this damn talking and negotiating. There were simple ways to get laid, and he had made it complicated. They had made it complicated. Maybe it had to stay complicated.

“I want to give you things for free, Rosalie. I would have waited until you were ready to accept them without trying to earn them or negotiate for them. I want you to give to me for free, for the asking.”

“My marriage was always a series of transactions. If I put up the towel rack I got laid. If I took her car in to the clean car club for her I got a blowjob. Every transaction is a loss of freedom. Every time I traded a favor for sex or approval, I was a john and she was a whore. That ring kept me scrambling to perform like some seal turning tricks for fish. Fuck that.”

“The only thing I owe you is the rest of that poem. I made a deal with you, a game deal, a play deal, and you know what? I regret that. I withheld my words from you and you withheld your photos from me. I don’t know about you, but I wanted you to know the whole poem. It burned me, it hurt me to hold it back. I wanted you to have it all right then. I wanted to read it to you while the ink was still wet on your skin, but I was afraid that you would take it and run. I was afraid that I would be left with nothing and you would leave with everything, and laugh at me for being a gullible sap.”

“That was my weakness, Rosalie. The fear of not getting a good deal. I’m sick of deals. I won’t trade any more. Ask me for anything and I’ll give it to you. Offer me something and I’ll take it and be grateful. And when there’s something I want I’ll take it, and you can take what you want. You could leave right now, at this moment, and not feel guilty because you had made some deal with me, some promise you were breaking. It would hurt me, but it would not be wrong.”

Luke closed his eyes and breathed the night air. He half expected her to jump out of the boat right then and swim for shore. He wouldn’t have blamed her.

He imagined her back that day, Rosalie bent over his desk expecting to get fucked, and instead getting words written on her back. He recited them aloud to Rosalie and the moon and the water.

I keep plain secrets behind my gaze,
between my temples, but the sweetest one,
the one that can kill me, leave me
soulless, damned, ecstatic, that secret
I leave with you, on what I
want most to devour,
your skin.

The words were hers now. They didn’t belong to him any more.

“However,” he said, after he had spoken the poem, “If you leave now, you will miss the opportunity to be the first woman I have screwed in a canoe.”
 
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