Part 9 (1/2)
”Ah.” Again, the dirty laugh. They were back, at last, on familiar ground. He took another step toward her, weighed the s.p.a.ce between them for evil vibes. They had been dispersed. Hallelujah, amen. Nora stood before him, defiantly inviting, with her high b.r.e.a.s.t.s and tight belly, long legs and extravagant hips. The streetlight transformed her, made her pale flesh seem to glow, rendering her a hungry spirit in human form, come to claim and be claimed by him.
He pulled her close, felt her body press into his. She was cold fire; Syd, a moth to her flame.
And all, for the moment, was right with the world.
13.
The moment was perfection; one might even go so far as to use the word blessed. The kind of moment that you could spend a lifetime searching for, and once experienced, spend the rest of your life trying vainly to equal. It was wonderful, magical, absolutely unprecedented.
And, like all perfect moments, it was utterly doomed.
In Syd's case, it lasted long enough to get them from the kitchen to the bedroom. He paused just long enough to let her grab one of the bottles of Comfort, then scooped her up in his arms and carried her through the living room, his c.o.c.k bobbing like a divining rod.
The bed appeared before them like some mythical island paradise. Syd laid her down across its white expanse, slid his right hand between her thighs. She was incredibly, gratifyingly wet: his fingers dipped and figure-skated along her slippery length, teasing her to frenzy before burying themselves in her depths. Her reaction was overwhelming, his every tiny motion provoking an avalanche of response. He used his hands and mouth to send her over the brink and back a half-dozen times before they could stand it no longer.
But when Nora went to pull him up and astride her, Syd's brain suddenly kicked in.
”Hang on a sec,” he mumbled, then reached over to the nightstand and began fumbling with the drawer. Just as he opened it Nora pulled his hand back, placed it on her breast, and thrust her tongue deep into his mouth. Syd lost himself in the onslaught; it was with great effort that he tore his hand away, resumed his search.
Nora squirmed in protest, grinding her hips into him. The resulting wave of ecstasy threatened to submerge him completely, and it was all he could do to speak, no less remain even marginally rational. With his last ounce of will he broke the spell.
”Wait,” he said, as he reached into the drawer, extracted a little foil packet, started to tear it open. When she saw what he was doing she pulled back and looked at him like he was out of his mind.
”What are you doing?”
”What do you think? I'm gonna use a condom.”
”Not with me, you're not.” She plucked the packet from his hand, tossed it across the room.
”Very funny,” he said, and reached for another one. Nora leaned forward and nipped him on the arm. ”Ow!” he yelped. ”Cut it out!”
When he went for the drawer again, Nora grabbed his hand. Syd twisted out of her grasp. She wrapped her legs around his waist. ”Nora, stop it,” Syd said, trying like h.e.l.l to outmaneuver her. ”C'mon, baby, I'm serious . . .”
”So am I,” she replied, a fiercely wicked grin on her face. She squeezed her thighs together, locking him in a fleshy Vice-Grip: Syd squirmed, surprised both at her strength and the relentless quality of her resistance. As he struggled the horseplay burgeoned into an impromptu erotic wrestling match.
They whipped back and forth on the mattress, a manic tangle of limbs: her legs squeezing his midsection, his hands scrabbling to pin down her arms. As she reached for him again Syd grabbed her left hand, pinned it to her right. Leaning into her with all his weight, he twisted toward the nightstand, managed to s.n.a.t.c.h another rubber from the drawer . . .
. . . and that's when it began to turn: the thras.h.i.+ng becoming less like loveplay and more like a genuine battle of wills. Nora's left hand broke free, made a grab for the packet a split second after Syd closed his fist around it.
”Gimme that,” she demanded.
”No way. It's the last one.”
”Good,” she replied. She tried to peel his fingers open, couldn't; as he resisted he felt her movements become frenetic, almost ugly in their intensity.
”s.h.i.+t, Nora . . .” She continued to struggle, started wrenching his fingers painfully apart. A sudden wave of anger roiled up inside him.
”G.o.ddammit, I said cut it out!”
He yanked his hand back and away, fist raised up and out of her reach. For a moment it hovered there, looking almost as if he were ready to slug her. Nora's eyes flashed, brightly expectant; as he lowered his hand the light faded, and she pushed him away.
Syd slid off of her and to the side, where they lay panting and staring at the ceiling, as the heat of the encounter ebbed away, left a frigid vacuum in its wake. Syd was monumentally p.i.s.sed, and more than a little confused. He lay in stilted silence, listening to the sound of their breathing and wondering if she was actually going to say anything, explain the sudden lunge into irrationality. Apparently not. The air s.p.a.ce between them remained charged, awkward, tense.
Finally, he could take it no longer. ”So,” he said, as gently as he could manage, ”you wanna tell me what this is all about?”
”Nothing,” she said flatly. There was a cryptic pause, then more softly: ”I hate those f.u.c.king things.”
”Well, I'm not wild about 'em myself,” Syd offered, trying to ameliorate the weirdness. ”But they are kind of a necessary evil.”
”You didn't need one last night.”
”Yeah, well, I was blasted out of my skull last night.”
”But you still didn't use one.”
”Yeah, I guess,” he said warily, again wis.h.i.+ng he could remember more than shreds and fragments.
”So what do you suddenly need one for?” she asked, her tone interrogatory, bristling. Syd looked at her as if she were joking, saw only deadly earnest intent.
”Oh, gee, I don't know, lemme see . . .” he replied, rolling his eyes, ”. . . there's accidental pregnancies, incurable diseases . . .”
”So you think I'm diseased?”
”No! Jesus, Nora, I'm just-”
”I don't have time for this s.h.i.+t,” she spat, sitting up and sliding to the edge of the bed. Syd groaned; this was getting way out of hand. Nora began rooting through the clothing on the floor, found her T-s.h.i.+rt, pulled it on.
”Nora, c'mon,” Syd said, trying to end-run the escalating weirdness. ”Don't be like that . . .” He reached out to her; as he touched her back Nora whirled and slapped his hand away.
”Get the f.u.c.k away from me,” she growled. She glared at him, furious . . .
. . . and for the second time in as many days, Syd got a whiff of genuine threat off of her. As if things could tip at any moment, veer clear from uncomfortable into downright dangerous. He flashed back to last night, the incident with the bottle, Jules's low-key backdoor interrogation. Are you sure you know what you're doing? If you haven't figured out that there's an element of risk here . . .
”Whoa,” he said. His hand froze in s.p.a.ce, backed off very, very slowly. Nora found her panties, angrily slipped into them. He closed his eyes and slumped back on the bed, horrified, the countdown to meltdown already ticking off in his head. Next would come the jeans, then the boots, one by one. Then an angry stalk across the room as she grabbed her jacket, perhaps punctuated by a choice last taunt or two. Then into the living room. Out the front door.
And out of his life.
Forever . . .
As visions went, it was incredibly clear, like fast-forwarding reality. The resulting depression blew through him like a pre-flash of impending disaster, setting off all his internal damage-control alarms. Syd was already bracing himself emotionally by the time the words even left his lips.
”I'm sorry,” he murmured, the ache in his voice heartfelt, genuine. ”I just don't understand . . .”
His words trailed off. The room went still. Syd opened his eyes. Nora was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into the shadows. Her hair obscured her profile; she shuddered, and in the dim light it looked as though she might be crying. She took a deep, halting breath.