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The pressure built, built, until my body was thick with it, full of it, and then it spilled out. Out in a burst of liquid between my legs, out in shrieks, out in my hands clawing the carpet. I had to claw at something, had to do something with the pleasure. It was as if it were too much pleasure for my skin to hold. If I'd had a beast inside me, it would have spilled out along with that thick liquid between my thighs.
He eased himself out of me, and I lay on the carpet, unable to move. Hell, I was having trouble focusing my eyes, let alone moving anything else.
He crawled to my head, stroking my hair back from my face. "Are you alright?"
I started to laugh, then blinked and tried to see better. He was still spilling out of his pants, and he was still hard and firm, and though there was liquid on him, it wasn't white enough or heavy enough to be his.
I swallowed the laugh and said in a voice that was still breathy, "You didn't go."
"You weren't in a head space where you could give me permission."
I closed my eyes and willed myself to sober up. When I opened them, I could see again, no bleary edges. Good. "What do you mean, give you permission?" I asked.
"I don't get to have orgasm unless you tell me I can."
The look on my face must have been eloquent, because he said, with a smile, "I knew that would weird you out, but look at the benefits, Anita. I can go for a very long time, because that's the way I was trained."
"Trained," I said.
He nodded.
I closed my eyes again. "You've been begging for orgasm, for intercourse. You had the perfect excuse, and you don't take it." I opened my eyes and stared at him. "Why didn't you take it?"
"I want you to want me, Anita. Not just use me for a metaphysical emergency."
I sat up and was reminded that I had no underwear on. I glanced at the carpet and for the first time was glad it was a dark woodsy brown. The wet spot didn't show as badly. "Where are my underwear?" I asked.
He started looking around as if he weren't sure either. Great. He was also still perfectly erect, and it was distracting.
"If you're not going to..." I started to make a gesture, but stopped, "then can you put... that away."
He turned with a smile that was perilously close to a grin. "Why, does it bother you?"
"Yes," I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, pulling my skirt down over my hips.
He held my underwear out toward me. He was fighting a smile, but it filled his lavender eyes with suppressed laughter.
I snatched them from his hand, but couldn't think of a slick way of getting them on. Truthfully, I was wet enough that I needed towels before I got back into my panties.
I walked, a little wobbly, around my desk. I had baby wipes in the desk drawer. They helped with cleanup when I came into work with a spot of blood I'd missed. I was debating whether I could sacrifice my extra T-shirt that I kept in a drawer for blood emergencies, too, when Nathaniel started talking again. And not about anything I was comfortable hearing.
"You know it's rare for a woman to be able to do that."
I had the drawer open and the moist towelettes in hand. "What's rare?"
"You're a rainmaker." He was kneeling on the other side of the desk, with his arms on the desktop and his chin resting on them. It was a strangely childlike gesture, and it did nothing to make me feel better.
"The only definition I know for that term is a lawyer who brings in big bucks for their law firm. I'm assuming that rainmaker has a meaning that I don't know." I made sure my unhappiness about the whole topic showed in my voice. I was uncomfortable enough just cleaning myself up. I was wet down to my knees and beyond. Jesus, what a mess.
"It's a term for a woman who can ejaculate."
I took in a lot of air and let it out slowly. "Can we not talk about this?"
"Why are you mad?"
That was a fair question. Why was I mad? I had to think about it to be honest even with myself. I got the spare T-shirt from the bottom drawer and dried off with it. So much for extra clothes. I slipped my underwear back on, and felt better. I always felt better dressed. Why was I mad?
I sat down in my chair, getting out the spare hose that I also kept in a drawer. I went through a lot of hose in my line of work. They just weren't meant to be worn to animal sacrifices, bad guy chases, or vampire slayings. Nope, nylons were just not made for my lifestyle. I started unzipping my boots so I could take off the hose we'd shredded struggling on the carpet.
"Why am I mad?" I said, almost to myself. My fingertips hurt, a sharp immediate pain as the last of the endorphins left. I'd torn off half my nails down to bloody quick. Once I saw the blood it hurt worse. Why did it always hurt worse when you saw the blood?
He stood up and zipped himself back into the dress slacks. There were stains on the legs of the trousers that weren't going to be fixed by baby wipes and a T-shirt. I didn't have extra clothes for Nathaniel. "Yes," he said, when he got himself safely inside, still hard, still thick, still ready. "Why are you mad?"
"You didn't go," I said, and started peeling off the hose. It gave me something useful to do instead of meet his eyes.
"You're mad because I didn't go?"
"I'm mad because if you'd gone we'd have that barrier crossed, and now we don't."
"And?" he said.
I sighed. "And, if we'd crossed it, it would be easier to cross it again. But doing it this way, makes it more..."
"Important," he said.
I nodded. "Yes."
He came around the desk and went to his knees at my feet. "I want it to be important to you, Anita. I don't just want to be someone you take because you have to take someone, anyone. I want you to want me."
"You said that before."
He touched my hands where they held the new hose, and he moved them gently out of my hands and laid them on the desk. He took both my hands in his, and there was such a serious look in his eyes that I was afraid. Afraid of what he'd say. "You loved me before today. You loved me without sex. No one's ever loved me, or even wanted me, without f**king me first. No one since my mother died and... Nicholas..." He bowed his head for a second, and I squeezed his hands. I'd seen that memory, and I didn't want him thinking about it. So horrible, and he'd been so little. I wanted to protect him from things like that. I wanted to keep him safe.
He smiled up at me. "Gabriel and Raina taught me that I could be worth something, but that worth was all about my body, the way I looked, and how good I could f**k." He squeezed my hands tighter. "You taught me that I was worth more than just f**king. You taught me that I was worth more than just being used."
I started to say something, but he put his fingertips against my lips. "I know what you're going to say. You think you use me with the ardeur, because I'm your pomme de sang. You don't know what using somebody is, Anita. You just don't know."
There was that look in his eyes that he got sometimes that made his eyes look so much older than he was. A look of murdered hopes and more pain than anyone his age should have had to experience.
I kissed his fingers, then rested my face against his hand. "Someday I want you to stop getting that look in your eyes. I want there to be enough good in your life to balance that out."
He smiled, and there was a tenderness in his eyes that made me have to look away. "See, Anita, you think you're hard, and that you use people, but you aren't, and you don't."
I pulled away a little. "I can be hard when I need to be."
"But not to me, and not to Micah. Not to anyone that will let you be nice to them. If they're shitty, you're shitty back, but you give them the chance first."
I shook my head. "I'm not that good a person, Nathaniel."
He smiled and touched my face where Barbara Brown had scratched me. I winced.
"Yes, you are, you just don't like admitting it."
"We better get dressed and out there before someone calls the cops."
"Bert won't call the police, he's too afraid of bad publicity."
I laughed. "You haven't met Bert often enough to know him that well."
"I've known a lot of people like Bert. He's not as bad as they were, but it's the same... kind of thinking. He wants his moneymaker to keep on making money more than he wants anyone to be safe or happy."
I looked into that terribly young face, and there was no one young looking back at me. As much as I'd seen of life, Nathaniel had seen things that would have broken me. Or at least bent me all to hell. I cupped his face in my hands, and said, "What am I going to do with you?"
