30. Liv
Liv
Theo ushered me into the cab, which smelled of curry, and then slid in after me. “Ninetieth and Columbus,” he told the driver, who grunted and pulled away from the curb.
In addition to having a fondness for curry, the driver apparently liked bad retro pop music. Britney Spears blared from the speakers, Hit Me Baby One More Time filtering through the glass partition that separated us from the front seat.
Still reeling, I tried to make light of the moment. “Well, at least no one can accuse him of having good taste.”
Theo hummed in agreement, but it was a cursory sound. He was too busy shrugging off his jacket and laying it across my lap. Even through the material of my skirt, the warmth from his body seeped into mine.
“What are you doing?” I asked, confused.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he slid close to me, draping one arm over my shoulder. His other hand crept under my skirt, now covered by his jacket, and slid right into me.
His fingers were cold, and I gasped, both from the icy temperature and from shock. “Theo, we’re right in the middle of—”
“Shhh.” His free hand brushed my breast, sending a tingling sensation through me. “Don’t worry,” he said, his lips ghosting over my hair. “My jacket covers everything. Unless you don’t want to, in which case…”
I was suddenly grateful for the terrible music, which covered the whimper I couldn’t help but make.
Outside my window, Manhattan blurred by: traffic and construction and an endless flow of life.
I felt at once a part of it and separate, traveling in a bubble that only contained me, Theo, and what he was doing to me.
My body clenched around his fingers, an action he correctly interpreted as consent.
A low rumble of amusement rose in his chest as his tongue traced its way down my neck, pausing at the sensitive spot at the base of my throat as his fingers moved inside me. I moaned, my nails digging into the worn fabric of the seat in an effort to contain the sound.
“Christ.” He sounded choked. “I’ve been dreaming about that sound since the night I met you. Make it again.”
His fingers thrust inside me as he pressed outside, his rhythm inexorable, and I began to tremble around him. My head fell back against the seat as a desperate moan escaped my throat. The sensation was too big, too much, like it was going to wreck me. “Theo, yes,” I whispered. “Theo, please . . .”
“I love it when you say my name.” The words were a vicious, tight whisper. “God, Liv. What you fucking do to me.”
My eyes fell shut as his free hand closed over mine, tugging me closer. Then he was pressing into my palm, the denim of his jeans rough and the button cold against my skin. The hardness of him strained against the zipper, and when I closed my hand around him, he groaned.
Hit Me Baby One More Time ended and the DJ segued into Bruno Mars’s That’s What I Like.
The cabbie turned up the volume, bobbing to the beat.
Never had I been so glad for someone’s dubious taste in music—or their distraction—because even though I knew Theo and I shouldn’t be doing this, I had no intention of stopping.
His breath was warm against my ear. “I need to be inside you so badly, it hurts. Since I can’t, I’m going to make you come, and we’re both going to enjoy it. And when I get you back to my apartment, I’m going to fuck you until neither of us can stand.”
I’d never thought of myself as an exhibitionist, but the image stoked the fire building inside me to an even hotter pitch. I rode his fingers, and his breath quickened, as if the sight gave him as much pleasure as his touch was giving me.
The cab went over a bump, and horns all around us blared as the cabbie swerved. Theo took advantage of the noise to thrust faster, a low groan rising in his throat. I sucked in breath, my nails digging into the fabric of the seat, and came hard around his fingers, my body shuddering.
Dimly, as if from a great distance, I registered the cab coasting to a stop.
Theo’s hands left me, and he pulled his credit card from his wallet, swiping it through the machine mounted on the back of the passenger seat.
A small smile lifted his lips, but otherwise, he gave no indication of what had passed between us.
It seemed impossible that we were still inside the taxi, that we hadn’t been transported to some other place entirely. That was what Theo did to me when his hands were on my body. He made me forget everything except for the spark that flared between us, the one he’d just coaxed into flame.
It was absurd, but here in the back seat of a cab that smelled like curry, with a man I’d known for less than a month, I felt more at home than I ever had before.
I could be any version of myself I wanted—curious scholar, devastated daughter, worried mother, uninhibited lover—and he accepted me just as I was.
Ridiculous as it might be, this was where I felt like I belonged.
Legs shaking, I stepped onto the bustling pavement of West 90th, and he followed right behind me. He slid a hand beneath my elbow, holding me upright when my knees threatened to buckle.
“Now,” he said, giving me the wicked smile that had captured me the night I met him, “I intend to give you the opportunity to return the favor, wearing those boots and nothing else. That is, if you think you’re up to the challenge.”
“Oh, really?” I tilted my head to look up at him. “Is that a dare?”
“Oh, no.” The grin deepened, echoed by the growing, familiar darkness in his eyes.
It was the way he’d looked right before he’d slid inside me, every time.
“It’s a promise. If you had any idea how hot you were in that cab, Liv—what seeing you like that did to me…
You’re lucky I don’t pin you up against my building, and the hell with the entire Upper West Side. ”
His words sent a shudder through me, an echo of the smaller ones that were still rippling through my body. He saw it, and tightened his grip on my elbow. “Walk faster.”
In response, I quickened my pace, and Theo chuckled. But then he froze. His grip on my elbow fell away, and he made a noise that sounded very much like a growl.
I stopped and looked back at him, concerned. “Theo?”
He stood like a rock, ignoring the flood of people forced to dodge him. His lips were set in a thin line, his eyes hard. He didn’t say a word.
“What is it?” When he didn’t answer, I followed his gaze.
A woman stood in front of the building I assumed was his. She was blond and thin, her face drawn, dark circles under her hazel eyes—which were fixed on the two of us.
“Fuck,” Theo muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He drew a deep breath and straightened, squaring his shoulders. Then he strode forward, carving his way between the pedestrians, who scattered as if in response to his mood. I followed, a sick feeling in my stomach.
We came to a stop in front of the woman, who ventured a small smile. “Theo,” she said.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. When he answered her, his voice was ice. “Hello, Mom.”