The Babysitter

_______________________________________________

It was late when Ava got back from the play. Or rather, when she got back from the bar. Some chic mid-town place that didn’t card and had more than enough business types offering to not-so-subtly ply her with drinks while offering to “take care” of her. Right, like any of them really wanted to be her fucking daddy.

…In a way that wasn’t kinky.

The night desk man smiled at her and she inclined her head, the grandfather clock in the corner read two fifty. She wondered if he were even still awake. On the elevator she debated with herself. Should she or shouldn’t she. If she did, would she feel like a total whore? And if she didn’t, would she live to regret it?

Because this was most definitely a one time offer.

On their floor she glanced sidelong at his door. It beckoned softly, seeming to know that even though she dutifully put the key in the lock to her room, she was planning on going across the hall anyway.

Once in her room, Ava stripped quickly, then ripped through the suitcase again, pulling out a slip that she usually wore over jeans but Billie had never seen her wear. She didn’t know why she cared, but staring into the mirror that hung over the dresser she thought longingly for a minute—just a minute—about her natural hair color.

Then, laughing at herself, she quickly removed the nose ring.

The slip was vintage, something from the forties that was so simple it was laughable. It hung to past her knees with a tiny line of lace at the V-neck and then along the flared hem. It made her look different. Softer. She smiled, reaching up, fingering the ridiculous hair. She looked pretty.

It only took a few seconds to wash the makeup from her face and leave the hoops on the bathroom counter. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and thought briefly of her mother and her artists’ clothes. The gauzy, floaty things that seemed to have lives of their own. Vintage lace and antique satins that smelled like old flowers and mothballs. Dad said she was like Ma.

Ava still didn’t believe him.

But in this stolen slip, one of the ones Emma never wore because it was to simple and yet to involved to wear under something or as it was, Ava didn’t care.

She turned off the bathroom light and locked the bedroom door behind her.

Her knuckles brushed Billie’s door and the handle gave easily under her fingers. True to his word the door was unlocked. She wondered if he were still awake. There was a lamp turned on in the living area and sounds coming from his room. She closed the door silently behind her, padding on the thick carpet to his bedroom.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his guitar slung over his knee, head bent over it in concentration. She pushed the door open a little farther, leaning against the doorjamb she watched him, silent, waiting for him to notice her. His fingers played over the strings, the sounds soft, soothing. He must have sensed her because slowly, slowly his head came up. And she got to watch his face as he took her in, from the bottoms of her chipped-toe-nail-polished-feet to the slip, to her face.

“Hey, Pretty,” He murmured, and the smile that lit his face made her want to blush and hide behind the couch.

His fingers stilled on the guitar, his palm covering the strings to stop the sound then sliding up the neck and then laying it gently on the floor before he rose from the bed, walking to stand directly in front of her.

She bit her lip, her heart suddenly tripping on itself. “Hi,” she managed to bite out finally, her voice shy. Her left hand fluttered at her neck, teasing her collarbone. He caught it, lifting it to his lips he opened the palm, his lips sliding across the heel of her hand. She fell slightly back and then swayed forward.

“I was starting to wonder if you were coming,” his eyes told her he didn’t believe that for a second.

“You knew I’d be here,” she whispered and he inclined his head, his finger brushing the place on her nose where the gemstone stud should be.

“I knew you’d be here.” His body slid closer to her and she sighed almost against his lips. One of his hands went experimentally around her waist and he flicked his eyes to hers for a moment, self-deprecatingly, “I’ve had dreams about this,” he held her closer when she rested her head against his chest.

“Me too,” Ava’s voice was husky, she wondered why she admitted that. Dreams only half remembered but that made her wake ashamed for wanting something so far out of reach, yet suddenly so very close. Dreams she rarely admitted having to herself.

“You’re beautiful,” his lips brushed her hair.

Ava found that she believed him where she never believed Matt when he said it. Something in the way he said it, no inflection, no hidden meaning, just two words flung out into the open air. It made it truer. “My hair’s not natural,” she said finally, because she felt she had to, and her hand went automatically to it, fingering the strands that shone berry red in the lamp light.

Billie chuckled, his other hand circling her wrist, he pulled her further into the bedroom. “Haven’t you figured out yet that interesting is rarely just natural?” He stepped away from her, then swept her into a twirl that belonged in a waltz and they were in front of a mirror. Much like the one she’d just left behind in her room. His lips were just against her ear and his breath tickled down the side of her neck. “Look at yourself Ava, look at who you are. You’re beautiful.”

She looked into the reflection of the two of them. Her head just at his shoulder, his forehead resting against her temple, his arms wrapped around her, and just for a second she thought she saw what he saw. His eyes sparkled like beach glass in the lamplight and she lifted her hand, cupping the base of his skull, holding him to her, before deliberately turning her head. Her lips stopped a centimeter from his and her breath swept into her lungs, a sharp intake. His lips parted, waiting.

She pulled away, turning away from him and then back, the backs of her knees touching the bed. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest that she could see it against the neckline of the dress, making the lace flutter. Billie bit his lip.

“Are you scared?” He took a step toward her.

Ava’s head snaked back and forth. No, she wasn’t scared.

“Do you want to end it right now?”

No, she didn’t want that either.

He was directly in front of her now, his hand held over her chest, so close to the skin above where her heart should be that she could feel the heat of his hand and that only made her heart beat faster. He smiled, and then looked into her eyes, his fingers brushing the lace of the slip. “May I kiss you?”

“I wish you would,” her voice was a throaty gasp and he pulled her to him, his lips soft, but scorching. His fingers at her neck, cupping her jaw, holding her to him, anchored her. Ava’s fingers slid underneath the tee shirt. His skin was warm to touch and she slid her flattened palms up to his shoulders, making the shirt bunch. Finally he stepped back, jerking the shirt off and tossing it before coming back to her. This time her fingers roamed on their own with nothing to impede exploration.

His hands settled on her waist and Ava groaned when his thumbs brushed the bottom of her rib cage. He stepped back, hands at the hem of the pajama bottoms. At the question in his eyes she grinned and then the bottoms joined the shirt. He was naked in front of her and Ava drank the sight of him, her eyes roving over everything, planes, angles, curves, hair, colors with an artists’ eye before she stepped back further. He sat on the bed, watching her. Her hands strayed to the straps of the slip and then slid them over the balls of her shoulders.

The slip pooled at her feet and she stepped out of it and then the tiniest twinge of uncertainty at standing in front of a grown man completely naked. She’d left the thong—her only bit of protection against those eyes—in her bedroom because it was black and you could see it through the slip. A blush tinged her cheeks and he reached out, taking her wrist and pulling her onto the bed. She fell, and then crab-walked backward so that she was in the center. He followed and then leaned on his side, watching her for so long that she shifted, uncomfortable.

Lust she understood. Taking what you needed and then change of subject. Slow fucking was fine, actually kind of fun on a strictly aesthetic, endurance level sort of way. But his eyes confused her right on down to her toes. She reached up, tracing his cheek, “Why do you look at me like that?”

“Like what?” He leaned over her, supporting his weight with elbows on either side of her head. Ava’s left knee bent, her foot sliding upward on the duvet.

“Like that,” her leg curled slowly around his waist, “Why do you look at me like that?”

His nose nudged hers and then his lips flirted with the inch of space before her lips. “I hadn’t thought to look at you any other way,” he slid down her body, “Besides,” his mouth closed over her left breast and she closed her eyes, her hand sliding through his hair, “This is something I want to remember.”

He was methodical. His lips taking every inch of the skin around her breasts before exploring lower. Ava lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, then the top of his head, then finally his eyes because sometime in the middle he sensed her watching him. She didn’t understand this. The way he looked at her, the way he touched her, it didn’t make sense. She wondered if maybe she’d understand this more if he just pulled her to him and fucked her raw.

Because she really couldn’t enjoy it any less.

His palm closed over her hip and she jumped, he pulled back, instantly contrite. “Is it still hurting you?” There was a line across his forehead and Ava grinned, reaching down and smoothing across it with her thumb.

“Only when people press on it.”

He grinned, leaning down to brush his lips across the bandage that housed her tattoo before going lower. His fingers explored, danced, lips branding her in places. When she arched on the bed his eyes smiled and she found she could be herself with him, be honest, the need to growl and grunt and put on a show because of what he was doing was gone.

Her breath caught in her throat and she made a sound like a whimper. He grinned, his palm curving over her, his fingers nestling between her legs. “You like that?”

Ava nodded her head, sitting up on her elbows on the bed. “Come here,” she murmured, beckoning with a finger. He slid up her body and she kissed him, wrapping a leg around his waist, holding him to her. “I want to be with you,” she said, talking against his lips, her eyes open and staring boldly up into his with their emotions that scorched her.

He turned his head, his lips angling lower he kissed her chin, then her neck before pulling back. “I’ll be right back,” he slid off the bed and Ava sat up, legs curling under her she watched him find the condom, roll it over himself quickly and walk back to the bed. She shivered, this was really going to happen. Suddenly the intensity of the situation hit her and she found she was trembling. He knelt on the bed, taking her lips and she kissed him back as he eased her back. The corduroy duvet cover felt nice against her back, scratchy but soft.

He slid a hand along her thigh and then to between her legs where he found she was suddenly clamped tight. He looked up into her eyes and noticed the first sign of doubt. Billie’s fingers brushed her cheek, reassuring, “You have to open for me, baby.”

She bit her lip, nodding her head, but otherwise not moving. He kissed her, one of those deep, searching kisses and she kissed him back, when he pulled away from her lips she still looked scared. He sighed.

“What is it?”

Ava shook her head, ignoring the prickling behind her eyes and silently damning herself for it. His thumb brushed under her eye and a tear threatened to fall. She blinked rapidly a few times and caught her breath, “Tell me… tell me that I’m not young and immature for wanting this, and that when it’s all over, even if it’s just tonight, that… tell me you really want to be with me and I’m not just a body,” she traced his lips with her finger and another tear fell, “Tell me you think I’m special and I promise… just for tonight I’ll believe you.”

His thumb brushed under her eyelid again, taking the wet and wiping her lips with it, her lips parted and her tongue darted out, quick, tasting the tear on his skin. It didn’t stop her weeping. He nudged her nose, thinking of what to say.

“Ava,” he laughed and shook his head, “You’re not-I mean, dammit,” he shook his head, “You do realize there’s absolutely no way to say this that doesn’t make me sound like a total pussy, right?”

She smiled tentatively and he grinned, taking that as a good sign.

“If you weren’t who you were, if you were like everybody else and just a fuck, then I would have had you the other night in the living room and that would have been the end of it.”

“Why didn’t you?” Her thighs were looser. He eased them slowly apart and she let him, arching slightly when he settled himself between them. His hands framed her face, pushing her hair back from her cheeks.

“Have you ever-“ he broke off and laughed again, “Because you were trying so hard to show me you didn’t want me,” his lips slid over her nose and he eased himself partway inside her. She closed her eyes, making a sound in her throat. “I decided that when it happened, I wanted it to be because you decided it.” He pulled out, then pushed back inside, farther this time.

“And now?” her hands held his neck and she angled her hips up to meet him.

“If you think this is just a one time thing you’re not nearly as smart as I gave you credit for,” his lips silenced further question and then there was nothing but the feel of him.

It was slow at first, partly because Ava spent the time trying to wrap her mind around what he said and partly because he was trying to make it enjoyable for her. But somewhere in between her thoughts and his, something happened. Maybe it was that he looked at her. He didn’t take his eyes off her for a second, she got the feeling he really saw her, not what he wanted to see. Not eyes squeezed shut and concentrating, or head pressed into her neck so he wouldn’t have to try, nothing that made her think him like the others.

It released something inside her, some gate she didn’t know had been there, and then she was responding to him, giving as much as she got. Hands roving, lips teasing, body arching, she was suddenly a dynamo underneath him and then he let go too. They were wild things together, primal, something from before social mores and rules and thoughts. Something truer, something more themselves. And when he came, she clenched tight around him, her fingers helping herself to follow him after.

When she came, Ava saw colors behind her eyes that she didn’t know existed outside of an Andy Warhol, acid trip, pop-art discovery.

He lay on top of her, breathing ragged. Ava’s arms wrapped securely around his neck and she forced herself to breathe slowly, evenly. He lifted his head, a question in his eyes, she smiled one of those Mona Lisa smirks he knew so well and then kissed his nose. They were a sweaty mess on the bed and the chill, air conditioned hotel air shivered over their skin.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”