Requisite Vices Read online

  What was he saying?

  It was an engaging conversation that I was actively participating in, but I’m having trouble really grasping what’s spilling from my lips.

  What did I just say?

  Words are sliding unrestrained from my mouth before I’ve finished fully forming the thought. I hope I don’t sound like an unintelligible mess.

  “Are you enjoying it?” he asks, with a small glance toward my drink.

  I nod, smiling broadly. I can feel his gaze slip from my eyes to other aspects of my body; feel them piercing through me. Everything in the lounge has taken on a soft haze, and I’m drunk on the atmosphere.

  “It’s quite good. I’ve never had anything like this.”

  As I take another sip, he leans back in his chair, resting one ankle on the knee of his other. He lights a cigarette, takes a drag from it, and lets his arm dangle languidly over the edge of his chair. He regards me with warm eyes, never taking them off of me as an infinitesimal smile tugs at his lips.

  “It’s an awful habit, I know.” He sighs, as he glances down at the cigarette resting precariously between his fingertips. “I haven’t gotten around to kicking it yet. Does it bother you?”

  “No, not at all.” I reply, though in a normal setting, I can’t stand the smell of cigarette smoke. It makes me cough and gag, but something about the smoke spilling from his lips seems to draw me into a trance, and I find myself craving the sight and smell of it more and more with each passing second.

  “This is much more comfortable for me. I’m quite fond of this establishment, and I’m glad we were able to work this out. So, tell me more about you.”

  I take another sip to calm my nerves and it surges through my body, sending liquid courage into every inch of my being. Parting my lips, the words materialize before me with no regard to keeping myself aloof. I scramble to grab them, to hold them close to my chest and bury them deep, but it’s no use. They’re drawn to him as if he were a hypnotic flame, coaxing them closer and closer to their death.

  I open myself up completely, spilling my hopes and dreams on the table for this man to scrutinize.

  What has gotten in to me? I’m never this open, and certainly never this honest. What happened to my composure? Where was that professional and distanced personality that I was due to wear this night?

  Regarding me intently, he leans forward, his eyes holding mine. His fingers reach across the table and rest on my arms, which have crossed in front of me in an unconscious attempt to hide myself. I have this terrible hate of my own body; a hate that’s only ever shed in the dim of night while wearing a personality that isn’t quite my own.

  Gently stroking my forearm with his fingertips, he pulls my arms aside, exposing my body to him.

  “You don’t have to hide yourself from me.” He says tenderly, his eyes piercing through my veil.

  I blush, my words floundering on my lips.

  “I’m sorry… It’s a bit of a habit.” I stutter. “I didn’t realize I was doing it…”

  “I understand. Continue. Tell me about your work.”

  “It’s, well honestly, I’m not very good at describing things in general. I haven’t prepared or rehearsed anything…”

  He smiles and strokes the back of my hand with a single long, slender finger. The sensation turns my blood to ice in my veins then pours napalm on my skin. Everything is thrown into a heightened state. I can smell the faint aroma of cigars on the air mixed with the scent of wood, and feel the electric current jumping from his fingertips to my skin.

  He waves for a member of the staff and orders a second drink for us, though I don’t remember when I finished my first. I glance over and see the lemon wedge sitting alone in its glass; the only trace of the cocktail is on my lips and tongue.

  The night slips by in a flurry of colors and scents, the flame burning ever hotter between my thighs as he coaxes a confession about my secret little blog and previous work experience, for the sake of research, I assure him.

  I don’t remember the second drink, nor can I place its taste or texture, or the way it coursed through my blistering veins. Every ounce of my attention is solely on him as his voice lulls me into a trance-like state, leaving me unable to break myself away. I don’t want to break away. I’m his puppet; his play thing.

  “My dear Miss Roman, you have yet to tell me your first name.”

  “It’s Cassandra, or Cass, really.” I stumble over my words as I reach out my hand in an awkward attempt at a hand shake.

  He chuckles and takes my hand in his, stroking his thumb over the top of my hand.

  “It’s a pleasure, Miss Cassandra.”

  Hearing my name slipping sensually off his lips sends me teetering off the edge. He’s charming and intelligent. Every word that has come from his mouth is a finely crafted symphony of tones and inflections, purposely created to coax me under his spell. And it’s working. I barely know this man, and I’ve exposed my soul all too willingly.

  The second drink is gone, nothing more than an empty glass on the table. I try my best to sip from the overfilled glass of water placed by the staff to try and sober myself up, even the slightest bit, and in my clumsiness, a single drop slips down the front of my dress. His breath catches, and his eyes follow the bead of water as it slides down my skin and between my breasts. He smiles, and leans in close, his hand slipping beneath the table to rest on my outer thigh.

  My brain is hazed…I can barely think; the release of my wound up nerves and the alcohol has resulted in me becoming a babbling mess of truth and lowered inhibitions. His hand squeezes my outer thigh gently and the fire roaring through my body explodes into an engulfing inferno. It’s only been two drinks. I really need to get ahold of myself, but I’m aching. All I want is more of his touch, his words, his smile, and his eyes holding me firmly in their grip. I need him.

  With a deep, shuddering breath, I squirm in my seat at the feel of his hand as it slowly slips up my thigh, bringing with it the smoldering heat of his fingers against my leg.

  Breathe. I just need to breathe.

  My eyes flutter as I struggle to concentrate on something other than him. Anything, just to steady my thoughts long enough to hold on to some small part of me that isn’t completely overwhelmed with a consuming lust, but my thoughts come up short and leave me abandoned in a roaring tempest of desire.

  “I should really move my car. The parking attendant made it sound like I couldn’t leave it there long…I should go…” I manage to stutter. I came here on business. I mustn’t mix them…I can’t, but can I even figure out the stick shift in my condition? Maybe there’s a hotel in walking distance where I can crash for the night, or I can grab a cab. Surely there are cabs around...

  “Alright…” He responds hesitantly.

  Giving my thigh one final, impassioned squeeze, he slips his fingers away it reluctantly, and I stifle a groan of disappointment. Why did I have to interrupt? How far would it have gone, if I hadn’t? I’d give anything to feel his hand back on my thigh…

  “Let’s go then.” He says without any further hesitation. “I’ll have a talk with them.”

  He pays the tab in cash and helps me out the door, his fingers lacing between mine as we step out into the dark night and stifling humidity. Is this charming gesture simply to help stabilize my unsteady steps, or is it out of affection? Either way, it’s a welcomed feeling that draws an ache from my chest. When was the last time someone held my hand like this? Actually, no one has held my hand like this.

  We wander up and down the various one-way roads, my mind grasping at landmarks, trying to remember which parking garage I left my car in. Aided by alcohol and the steadily increasing desire pulsating through my body, the memories of the landmarks I’d convinced myself to remember beforehand, are running into one another.

  “I think it’s down here.” I state, uncertainly, and lead him down a road where the towering skyscrapers of the business district meet the smaller buildings of the French Quarter.r />
  He stops in his tracks halfway down the road in front of a large shattered hole in the sidewalk, his fingers gripping mine tightly and causing me to jerk back against him. I lose my footing, and he reaches out to hold me fast. When I look up, his face is inches from mine.

  The scent of alcohol and musk of smoke mixes with his words as he cautions my steps. It’s an intoxicating mix that fills my nose, my mouth and smothers my body.

  My mind blanks; my body a bubbling cauldron of hormones and booze ready to boil over. I hold my breath as he stares into my eyes, then in one fluid movement, press my lips against his. And in that moment, nothing else exists. The couple walking by us no longer exist. No one on the side walk, no cars and no buildings. No cracking, fractured asphalt, no stifling heat, no brilliant lights or noise wafting through the streets from Bourbon.

  The world around us falls away, each sound and scent and touch melding into a single moment filled with everything and nothing at all. A blank canvas splattered with the swirling colors that dance beneath closed eyelids.

  Pulling back, my heart hammers against my rib cage as my cheeks flush the color of blood.

  “I’m so…I’m so sorry.” I stutter as my brain wrestles my thoughts and body under control. This is supposed to be a business meeting. You don’t make out with the guy you’re interviewing. It’s unprofessional!

  So is getting drunk…

  He reaches behind me and rubs my back gently, his eyes blazing. His hand moves up further and further until his fingers are touching the base of my neck. Pushing his body against mine, his muscles tense against me as he looks down into my eyes.

  I move my hand away from him, drop my eyes and try to step away, embarrassed at my behavior, but his hand reaches along the last inch of the back of my neck and grips my hair firmly from underneath. Tugging my head back, my eyes are now forced into his. An animal has now taken the place of this well-spoken, well-mannered author I had met with just a short time ago.

  Pushing my back against the brick wall of the building behind me, he holds my hair firm, and presses his lips passionately against mine. I relent, every muscle in my body surrendering to him. His hand tightens in my hair as his tongue hungrily seeks passage through my lips, and as he deepens the kiss, his free hand roams down my side.

  Strong fingers grip my hip, then slide their way down the front of my thigh and beneath my dress, teasing along quickly dampening panties. I groan against his kiss, my knees trembling and growing weaker by the second. The need to maintain the line between the two sides of my life becomes thinner by the second, but my god, this is incredibly hot. I’m finding it hard to navigate through my murky thoughts.

  I manage to break from his lips, our noses and foreheads still touching.

  “We shouldn’t…not here…there are so many people around.” I whisper breathlessly.

  What am I saying? Am I honestly considering this?

  He smirks, the devil dancing in his eyes as he strokes his finger between my thighs once more.

  The moonlight shimmers against his glasses as he takes my hand. His fingers slip between my own, and his thumb softly strokes the top of my hand.

  “As you wish.”

  We manage to walk, carefully, another block before finding the parking garage. He grips my hand and leads me up to the desk.

  “How much would it be to leave the car overnight?” he asks as he approaches a woman behind a desk enclosed in glass.

  I can do nothing but stare at him, my jaw hanging open. Overnight?

  He looks over at me and reads my expression.

  “Well you’re certainly in no condition to drive tonight.” He muses.

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  I can barely stand up straight. Even driving the short distance down the road would be incredibly dangerous and idiotic.

  “It would be $25.” The woman behind the counter yawns.

  He pulls out his wallet and hands her the money and I ask for the keys. I’m certainly not going back to his place without at least a change of clothes. Thankfully, I stash a bag in the trunk of my car for such emergencies.

  She prints the receipt, and hands them over.

  “Your car is up on the 5th floor.”

  “The 5th floor?!”

  I’m having enough trouble walking in these heels with the alcohol coursing through my veins, as it is. I don’t want to imagine how much of a challenge it would be to walk up five flights.

  “It’s not as bad as you may think. Trust me! The stairs are right there behind you.”

  She smiles, a sly spark in her eyes as she looks over us. I’m sure she has seen this dozens of times before. We shouldn’t be an anomaly.

  I place the keys in my purse and turn around. The stairs are dangerously narrow and steep, and my pulse is racing just thinking of all the terrible things that could happen.

  Squeezing my hand in reassurance, he leads me to the first step.

  “After you, Miss Roman. I’ll walk behind you in case you lose your footing.”

  “How comforting…” I mumble dryly.

  My hands rest on the railings and my heart picks up its pace as a wave of claustrophobia crashes against my body. The railings are far too close to my hips for comfort, and I feel as if they’ll take on a life of their own and strangle me between them. How does anyone manage to squeeze up these stairs?

  After braving the first eight steps, we’ve reached the 2nd floor and after another four, we’re at the 3rd.

  “I guess this isn’t so bad.”

  “Not at all. Besides, I have a great view of your ass.”

  I can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks, and feel his hands reach up to grab my ass, then smack it playfully. Stifling a moan, I grip the rails of the stairs just a bit tighter to keep myself steady. Someone could be watching us, and I love the thought of it.

  We quickly reach the 5th floor, and my car is conveniently parked right in front of us. Popping the trunk, I reach in and grab the bag which he offers to carry for me, then we make the precarious trip down the stairs of death.

  Going down is significantly worse than coming up. I can’t push the thought of tumbling headfirst, all the way down, out of my head.

  The trip to his place is a long one, and halfway through what feels like a 10 mile hike, my feet go feel numb. Damn these heels. Had I known I would be walking this much, I would’ve shoved a pair of sneakers in my bag.

  He pulls me into an ‘Irish Pub’ on the corner, only in name, of course. It’s a pretty dingy place, with a few pool tables and some girls huddled in a corner watching two guys play. He pulls out a chair for me, and goes to the bar to get a drink.

  “I vaguely remember you mentioning being partial to rum and coke” He smiles as he approaches the table, and places a drink in front of me. I don’t ever remember mentioning I’m a fan of it, but I’m nervous, sore, tired, and my hormones are raging. The smoldering fire I try so hard to keep at bay on a daily basis has become a blazing, overpowering volcano on the edge of blowing. I want him.

  He reaches over and plucks my purse from my lap, where I was clutching it protectively, and lays it on the chair next to me. I didn’t realize I was holding it.

  “Remember, you don’t have to hide from me. I realize it’s a bit of a security blanket, but you don’t have to worry when you’re with me. Relax and enjoy yourself.”

  He’s mesmerizing. He’s left me exposed with nothing to hold on to and I feel like a flailing fledgling thrust from the warm nest of safety with the ground rushing up to meet me. But that fear is quickly replaced, and all I see are his eyes, his lips, his naked body on top of me, pinning me down to the pool table with everyone watching.

  His hand grips my thigh and it clears my thoughts, leaving me unsatisfied and aching.

  “Finish your drink. We’re not far, now.” He smiles as his fingers dance over my exposed skin, leaving lightning in their wake.

  Smiling sheepishly, I drown myself in the rest of my drink. How unladylike
.

  We continue the trek to his home, passing several couples and a horse drawn carriage with the driver spouting, what clearly sounds like bullshit, about the various structures in an attempt to impress the tourists in his backseat. I draw my eyes upward, happy and content walking hand and hand with him as we discuss the various architectural features found on the homes of the French Quarter. They’re so intricate and beautiful, each iron wrapped balcony joined with the first floor by elegantly curled scroll brackets. Each one unique and beautiful.

  We pass by a store front with neon lights flashing in its window, advertising its chapel services right next to a window with voodoo charms, and his hand is in my hair again. His mouth finds mine, his tongue slithering across my lips seeking entrance, then running, twisting together with my tongue in a forbidden, exotic dance.

  “You’re incredibly sexy” he whispers against my lips, each word searing my skin, oozing against my ears with a carnal need. “I want you.”

  My body tenses as I press against him, my fingers finding the small of his back and gripping tightly, feeling the lean, tensed muscles beneath his shirt. I want to rip his clothes off right here and now, and beg him to have his way with me.

  “We really should get indoors…” I whisper breathlessly, trying in vain to keep my voice from shaking, and to control the runaway desires battering against my body.

  “Not so comfortable out here?” he teases. “I’m sure no one would bat an eye at us.”

  “No! I’m not comfortable…” I frantically check the windows of the surrounding buildings and scan the faces of the people on the street. Several couples are eying us, whether it’s out of curiosity or some twisted amusement, I have no idea.

  Taking my hand, we round the next corner. The humidity of the night has left a sheen of sweat on every inch of my body, and I’m oddly aware of how disgusting I feel in clothes that must be soaked through by now. I really could use a shower.

  “We’re almost there.”

  He leads me to a set of large deep red arched doors, twists the lock, and pulls me through a white stone corridor into an outdoor courtyard. It’s completely sheltered by the surrounding buildings on all sides, but open to the clear, star-littered night sky. It’s a world cut off from the French Quarter surrounding us; like a secret oasis meant only for us.