Poles Apart

One of his eyebrows rose. “So, it’s not that you’re bored by it, just that you’re worried about me?” he teased, his hands kneading my thighs as his nose rubbed against mine in a little Eskimo kiss.

“I’m definitely not bored by the leather jumpsuit you wear.” I giggled sheepishly.

“Pervert,” he chuckled.

“Says the guy who’s pinning a lap dancer against the wall,” I shot back, smirking at him. He grinned wickedly and pushed us away from the wall, getting on his knees and laying me on my back on the coffee table instead, pushing the dirty magazines onto the floor. Grabbing my wrists, he held them down either side of my head, pressing his toned body to mine, making my stomach quiver with excitement.

“Not anymore. Now I’m pinning a lap dancer to the table.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully before bending and touching his lips against mine softly again. His hands slid from their restraining positions on my wrists to my hands instead. He interlaced our fingers, just kissing me passionately. He was always like this: tender, adoring, gentle. It didn’t feel like sex, it felt like he was making love to me. It had always felt the same, like we were connected: one person, one soul, one entity.

BY THE TIME WE WERE DONE, I was totally breathless and ready for sleep. I closed my eyes and held his sweaty body close to mine, trailing my fingers over the tattoo on his upper back. The guardian angel with its wings spread across his shoulder blades. I loved the design and always prayed it kept him a little safer having that permanently etched onto his skin.

He was breathing deeply, his face pressed into the crook of my neck, every inch of his body pressed against mine as we lay in a tangled mess of limbs on the floor. He pulled back slightly, kissing my neck just once before sitting up, tugging the condom off and throwing it in the plastic bin. He looked back at me, just staring at my face as if I were the most interesting thing in the world. Reaching out, I traced my finger over the tattoo he had running up the side of his chest in fancy script.

I smiled at the words; they were so appropriate for Carson. “Are you gonna get more tattoos?” I asked curiously, tracing each one with my finger before moving to the next. He wasn’t covered in them, but he had a few. I touched my favourite one of his, the one on the base of his stomach, well below his navel; you could only see it when he was naked. It was a black and white butterfly, but the outline of the wings was made of beautifully scripted lettering. The intricacy of it awed me every time I saw it. ‘You give me wings and make me fly’ made up the outline of each wing. He also had a poem in Latin written down the inside of his right forearm. His body was breathtaking and incredible, and the art on him just seemed to add to his beauty.

He shrugged, his eyes not leaving my face. “Maybe, if I think of something I want to get. Why, are they a turn-off or something?” he asked, settling down against my side again, wrapping his arm around me and scooting closer so there wasn’t an inch of space between us.

I hid my smile and nodded. “Yeah, they’re getting to be a little off-putting,” I lied.

He laughed. “Then no, I won’t get anymore. Just for you, Em.” Letting out a deep sigh, he kissed my forehead before pushing himself off the floor. He reached down a hand to me and I slipped mine in his, letting him help me to my feet. His eyes wandered my body and suddenly his forehead crinkled with a frown. “Did you lose weight?”

I gulped. Crap, what am I supposed to say to that? I had lost a little in the last couple weeks. The club had been slow; I couldn’t afford to eat properly for the last few weeks what with my rent going up and now Rory’s trip. I didn’t think anyone would notice four or five pounds, but obviously I was wrong.

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

His frown deepened as he gripped my hips, turning me to the side as he looked me over, making me cringe under his intense scrutiny. “You did,” he confirmed. “You know, you shouldn’t lose too much. There’s barely anything to you as it is.”

I smiled at his concern. “Okay, baby, whatever you say.”

Rolling his eyes, he pulled away from me, gathering up my almost non-existent uniform and passing it to me. I smiled gratefully and shrugged it on, watching as he did the same, pulling on his designer clothes, which probably cost enough to pay my rent for a month.

Once dressed, he grabbed my shoes and inspected them, wincing. “Don’t these hurt you? They don’t look very comfortable.”

I laughed and rolled my eyes, taking them from his hands and sitting on the table to put them on. “They’re okay. It’s only a couple of nights a week,” I answered, trying not to show him that, yes, they did in fact feel like they were lined with razorblades as I pushed my feet in.

“How many days do you work now?”

I shrugged; I worked as many shifts as I needed to. I didn’t want to do more than just the weekends, but sometimes, if I was having a tough month, then I worked more than that. This week I had worked every night. “Just weekends still,” I lied.

“How’s uni going?” he asked, crouching down at my feet so he could look at my face as I buckled my shoes.

“All right, I guess. I’ve got a lot of work at the moment. It’s coming up to end of term, so I get a couple of weeks off which will be good.”

He nodded, smiling. “Cool.”

When I was done with my shoes, he pulled me to my feet, grabbing his wallet and counting out a load of notes. I looked away; this was the bit I hated. The payment. When it was happening, I fooled myself into thinking Carson was actually making love to me. I didn’t want payment for it; I wanted him to want me, for me, not just for my body. I would happily give my body to him for free, but if he wanted to give me money then I wasn’t in a position to turn it down. The money I got from Carson went on something else – the most important thing in the world.