An Outtake from The Professional
This post contains mature content and is intended only for appropriate readers.
Okay, so I’m starting to hear rumblings on social media from readers (okay, lady readers) who want more of Lucas. It just so happens that I left a lot of his story on the cutting room floor, short stories and outtakes and snippets of ideas that would have added another pound or two to an already weighty book. But because I appreciate that readers (okay, lady readers) are still interested in the Lucas character, I grabbed a candle and ventured down into my dank and dusty, cobweb-strewn cellar to find one of his bits that didn’t make it into The Professional. More may follow.
The Professional: Quickie
Noreen’s nerves had been bad all night, and as he drove her across the bridge from Philadelphia back into New Jersey, they got worse. This was really going to happen. She was really going to do it.
She stole glances at him as he drove them to the hotel. He wasn’t what she’d expected when her girlfriends told her what they’d chipped in and bought her for her fortieth birthday present.
Part of her gift was tickets to see her favorite artist Prince, along with The Time and Vanity 6 in concert in Philly. The other part of her present was something to play with after the show: This guy. And he definitely wasn’t what she’d expected.
“You shouldn’t be nervous,” he said. Then he moved closer.
She backed up, until her back was pressed against the car and she couldn’t move away any more. She stole apprehensive glances around at the people moving through the hotel parking lot.
He was right up on her, practically pressed against her. The way he was gazing into her eyes, the way he smiled at her as if he knew secrets about her that she hadn’t yet discovered, the heady fragrance of his cologne, they all combined into a concoction that made something drop from her heart and explode into quivers in her stomach. Then the quivers dropped, down there, and in their passing made that part of her pulse. Finally the quivers attacked her knees and made them want to buckle.
But he was standing right in front of her, and now his hands were on her waist. Like he knew that he’d made her weak but he wasn’t going to let her fall.
“Noreen.” His voice was soft yet powerful.
“Yes?” She could barely find enough breath to make that one word more than a whisper.
“May I kiss you?”
There were people around them in the parking lot. It was dark out but they could still see them.
He acted like he didn’t care, like he didn’t even know those people existed. Like all he could see was her, or that she was all that mattered.
She couldn’t speak, but he must have known her answer. He leaned to her and kissed her, and stole away the rest of her air.
“I feel like I’m the one getting the birthday present,” he said.
They were in the hotel room. Somehow her clothing had melted away and she lay on a bed that seemed to be moving, spinning. Or maybe the spinning was all in her head because she was in recovery after he had transformed her body into something volcanic; had made her erupt and erupt and erupt until she almost got scared. He had turned her into something else. Someone else.
He did things to her down there with his lips and his tongue and his fingers that were so good that she felt like she was discovering herself for the first time, like until tonight she hadn’t known herself or how good she could feel. He made her feel so good that she wanted to scream, and when he was done she wanted to cry.
She fought back the tears as he kissed his way up her body.
Against her throat he said, “I want to ravage you, Noreen. I feel like it’s my birthday, but it’s yours. So tell me what you want.”
Tell him what she wants? There was more than what he just did to her?
I say this a lot, but people often don’t believe me. Sometimes it isn’t even about the sex. Sometimes to touch a woman—to really touch her—we have to reach for the soft, secret places in her spirit before we reach for the soft, secret places of her body. A man who handles his business knows how to touch both. If we touch her spirit, even if only for moments, then in those moments she’ll be anything for us and do anything for us. If we give her what she needs, she’ll give us what we want.
Trust me, it’s a fair trade.
© December 2010 The Black