The Nature of Cruelty (30 page)

“I have to do something,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

Fifteen

R
ushing to the back of the stage, I tell the sound guy to play track four instead of track six. I think I see him roll his eyes at my enthusiasm, but I ignore it and put it down to him being jaded with working at these crappy open-mic nights where you have to endure the good, the bad, and the ugly on a weekly basis.

I hurry back to the booth and sit down, my body pulsing with renewed energy. It’s odd how a song choice can be such a decider in whether or not you feel confident performing. Now that I’ve got the perfect song, I’m almost eager to get up there.

The next few performers do their thing, and even Robert seems to get a little excited. He keeps touching me softly in places that make me feel high on the contact and seductively telling me he can’t wait to hear me sing, while running a lock of my hair between his fingers. Soon enough, my name is being announced over the speakers, and I’m pulling my wooden box and drumstick from my bag. I see Robert eye both instruments with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

My heart thumps loudly in my ears as I walk through the crowd and then up the steps onto the stage. Standing in front of the mic stand, I cough to clear my throat. Now that I’m singing for Robert and Robert only, I don’t care what anyone else in this place thinks of me.

“Hello,” I say, introducing myself. “My name’s Lana, and this song is called “Prince Charming” by Adam and the Ants. I’d like to dedicate it to my friend sitting in the audience over there.” I gesture to Robert, and he brings his hand up to his mouth, letting out a loud wolf whistle and then shouting up at me, “Boyfriend!”

I blush and laugh.

“Yeah, you’re a friend who’s a boy,” I joke back at him, forgetting the crowded bar for a moment.

He whistles again and then shouts, “Take it all off!”

Smirking, I lean into the mic. “Shush now.”

Robert falls back into his seat, a smile plastered across his face. The handful of people actually paying attention laugh at our interaction. Look at me, I actually
can
speak in front of a room full of people without spontaneously combusting. There’s hope for me to become a lecturer yet.

When the intro starts up, I lift my drumstick and begin beating it down on the box to match the rhythm of the song. Robert’s mouth tightens with suppressed laughter as I chant the opening part before launching into the first verse.

I focus my eyes on him when I sing, telling him not to ever stop being dandy, showing me he’s handsome, that ridicule is nothing to be scared of. I hope he gets my meaning that I’m talking about his dad. I’m only a couple of lines in when he loses control and his laughter flows out. It’s not the cruel kind, it’s the joyful kind. His eyes tear up, he’s laughing so hard, and he wipes at his cheeks with his fingers.

Soon he’s holding up his camera and snapping shots of me.

I sing for him to never lower himself, forgetting all his standards. I sing for him to respect himself and all of those around him. Soon his laughter dies down, and his face sobers as he really listens to what I’m telling him through the lyrics. His eyes heat up, making it look like he wants to drag me off the stage and into a secluded corner where he can do wicked things to me.

I’m so consumed with communicating my message that I forget to worry about whether or not he thinks I’m a good singer. By the time the song ends, I look around myself and realise that the whole bar is staring at me. I swallow and take a bow, hoping they’re only staring because I’d been standing there banging a drumstick off a box like a mental case.

A second later they all begin clapping like crazy. Okay, maybe I was actually…good?

When I come off the stage, Robert is at the bottom of the steps, waiting for me. He gives me a small flourish and presents me with his arm. “Madam,” he says, “I bow down to your originality. That’s definitely not what I’d been expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Honestly? I was worried you were going to sit by the piano and do a Tori Amos impression.”

I giggle. “Well, I’m glad my unpredictability impresses you…” I trail off. “So, did you like it?”

“I liked it so much I think I’m going to make you sing me to sleep every night from now on in that husky voice. Though we probably wouldn’t get much sleep after,” he teases, leaning in to kiss my neck. “By the way, every time you beat on the box, it made your breasts jiggle. It was kind of mesmerising.”

I push him away, laughing, but he pulls me back into him and plants a smouldering kiss on my mouth that’s all tongues and hot wetness. I draw away, gasping for air, and before I know it he’s leading me out of the club and straight into a taxi.

“Seriously, though, well done. I’m proud of you. I know you were scared to do this, but you pulled it off beautifully,” he tells me in a tender voice.

I blush. “Thank you, Robert. That means a lot.”

We sit side by side in the back seat, Robert trailing his hand up and down my thigh. There’s an electricity about him, and his bad mood from earlier has completely vanished. After a while the taxi driver switches on the radio, and a song starts playing: “The Blower’s Daughter” by Damien Rice. It’s all soft and romantic, with the singer telling a girl about how he can’t take his eyes off her. The air in the taxi thickens, but Robert and I are the only ones who can feel it.

The small space is quiet except for the gentle flow of the song drifting around us. Robert’s deep eyes look right into me, his hands travelling over my arms. His mouth falls open as his gaze drops to the rise and fall of my chest, my breathing quick and shallow.

He brings his mouth to my neck and drags his tongue from my collarbone all the way up to my earlobe.

“Shit, this song,” he whispers.

“I know,” I whisper back.

“I never stop thinking about you, Lana. It feels like I’ve been thinking about you my entire life.”

“Don’t say that,” I breathe as he nuzzles me gently.

“Why not?”

“Because it will make me fall in love with you,” I tell him in the quietest voice, feeling like I might cry.

“Good,” he says, sighing and letting his face fall against my skin. “Because I’ve been in love with you for years.”

My eyelids flutter in surprise as I grab his chin and pull him to face me. “What?”

He grips my upper arms and looks me dead in the eye. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

“Robert,” I say shakily, the sound of impending tears in my voice, “don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. In fact, I’ve never spoken more truthfully in my life.”

My mouth falls open and my brain won’t work, won’t come up with anything to say. Then the taxi driver interrupts us, completely unaware of the life-altering moment currently taking place, by announcing, “That’ll be twenty-five eighty when you’re ready, please.”

I look out the window and see that we’ve arrived at the house. I’d been so caught up in Robert that it felt like the whole journey took mere seconds.

Robert draws away from me and pulls his wallet from his pocket, handing the driver a fifty and telling him to keep the change. When we get inside, he backs me up against the wall by the staircase and kisses me tenderly. A tear streams down my face as my heart tries to comprehend the declaration he just made.

“Do you really love me?” I ask, pulling back.

“Yes,” he breathes. “You are quite possibly the only woman I will ever love. I’ve been with so many, so fucking many, Lana, and none of them ever even lived up to the feeling of just standing near you in a crowded school hallway. Seeing your blue eyes glisten under the sun when you didn’t know I was watching. Catching sight of your red hair as you walked across the field between our houses.” He runs a hand over my cheek.

His words hit me right in my centre. All along,
all along
he’d been in love with me but covered it up because he didn’t know how to deal with it. God, we’ve wasted so much time pretending to hate one another.

It feels like every molecule of air has left me entirely as he tenderly takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. In his room I sit on the edge of the bed while he begins rummaging in a drawer, searching for something.

“I used to think I had a fear of sex,” I whisper, and he pauses to look at me. I fidget, bashful. “It’s an actual thing, you know. But now I’m not so sure. When I’m with you, I feel the opposite of afraid of sex.” He laughs, his dark lashes shading his eyes. My cheeks go red with embarrassment. “It’s not like nobody ever wanted to be with me, I just couldn’t bring myself to be with them,” I explain.

“I know that, Lana,” he replies, eyes soft like melting chocolate. “Although it’s probably not the best idea to be telling me that right now. Thinking of you with another man makes me want to commit GBH.”

I smile at him. “How do you think I feel, thinking of all the women you’ve been with?”

He pulls out a stack of CDs, flicking through them as he answers, “Don’t think of them, then.”

Giving him a sheepish glance, I reply, “Okay.”

At last he finds what he was looking for, a cream-coloured album. “Is that Damien Rice’s ‘O’?” I ask.

He nods. “The song from the taxi is on this.”

“I know.”

Looking at me with smouldering eyes, he sticks it in the stereo by the shelf and hits “play.” A soft acoustic guitar song comes on as Robert strides towards me and then kneels on the floor by my feet. Slowly, he slips off my ballet flats, placing them to the side of the bed, and then runs his hands up and down my bare calves. A pool of lust coils deep in my belly as I stare at him, breathing heavily.

“This is a very romantic album,” I say, trying to divert his attention to something else. Anything other than how he’s touching me.

“You bring out the romantic in me,” he says, his attention not diverted at all, his eyes remaining focused on the curve of my calf.

He lifts my leg, bringing it to his mouth so he can place kisses all along my skin. He stares up at me and vows, “I’m going to make this good for you, Lana.”

“This feels good,” I manage as his other hand reaches up my body and strokes my belly.

“Fuck, I worship you. I love how big your eyes get sometimes.”

A small moan escapes me as he pulls me closer to the edge of the bed and then starts unbuttoning my dress down the middle. It hangs loose at my sides, revealing my underwear beneath. I’m wearing the bra and knickers set he bought for me. Robert takes my forearms in both his hands and rubs them up and down, just like he’d done with my calves.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispers, his eyes intent on my body, like he’s figuring out how to take me.

“I want this,” I say with a quiet whimper.

“Undress me, then.” His words come out a gentle instruction.

Doing as he asks, I remove his shirt as he watches the movement of my hands. I lean forward and place a kiss to the centre of his throat as I unbuckle his belt, and he swallows deeply. He pushes me further onto the bed and holds himself over me, taking his time removing my dress and my bra. He blinks, taking in my nakedness, and then pulls down my knickers. He strokes the soft tangle of curls between legs. My hands get a bit shaky as I bring them up to rest on his shoulders.

“Are you nervous?” he asks.

I gulp. “Just a little.”

“Don’t be. I’ll take care of you.” His eyes flicker between mine.

“It’s going to hurt.”

He draws a long breath. “It might sting, but it’ll get better on the second or third time. So I’m told, anyway.”

“You’ve never been with a virgin?”

He smiles softly. “It’s a first for both of us, baby.”

Bringing his mouth to my nipple, he begins stroking between my legs. I can feel how wet I am already. It seems like this entire day has been one long stream of foreplay. He makes slow circles on my clit until I come in heaving gasps, my face pressed into his warm shoulder.

He kisses down the middle of my breasts, and when he reaches the lowest part of my belly, he flicks his tongue right across in a long, wet, tingling caress. Leaving me for just a second, he goes to his drawer and pulls out something small, a condom. He crawls back in between my legs and tears open the wrapper with his teeth. Just seeing him do that is a huge turn-on. My mind scrambles with anticipation. I have no clue what this is going to feel like — all I know is that I want it so badly I ache.

I watch in curiosity as he pumps himself with his hand a few times and then slides the rubber over his erection, standing proudly to attention. Once it’s on he pauses, staring down at me. Then he comes closer, taking my earlobe into his hot, wet mouth and positioning the head of his penis at my entrance. It feels like a blush has crept its way over my entire body.

“Slow, deep breaths, okay?” he whispers in a low voice. “If you need me to stop, just say it. This is all about you, Lana.”

I feel him easing into me, and I bite down hard on my lip. He sees me tensing up, so he holds himself above me with one hand and laces the fingers of the other through mine. The contact soothes me, and the deep breaths seem to work in calming me down.

“Love you,” he breathes, claiming my mouth in an earth-shattering kiss as he thrusts himself into me fully. I cry out, feeling like I’m being stretched. The pain is sharp and stingy, just like Robert said it would be. His tongue meets mine, and I try to focus on that instead of the pain.

He groans, pushing himself in and out of me slowly. I can tell he’s holding back, and I’m glad, because I’m not sure I could handle it if he didn’t. My body burns hot like an inferno. It feels good and bad at the same time, almost a relief to have a part of Robert inside me. This is the deepest connection we can possibly have, and my heart is beating fast; butterflies are flittering through my chest.

“You feel amazing,” he says, and then groans. Being able to see him like this is worth any pain I might be feeling right now.

I reach out and run my fingers over the drops of perspiration on his forehead. “You’re so beautiful,” I tell him in an awed voice.

“Only now because you make me so,” he says, his words penetrating deep.