The Winemaker's Dinner: Dessert (The Winemaker's Feast) (8 page)

He entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him, but left it unlocked. In two long strides, he crossed the tiled floor, stood in front of the mirror, and splayed his hands across the cold granite counter. But when he looked in the mirror, the reflection staring back at him was unfamiliar. It was the face of the freak. Anticipation coursed through his body, and he wondered if she would join him or reject him. He wanted her to follow him in. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know who she was—or that she might know who
he
was. He’d grown more and more reckless since the day his addiction took hold.

You’ll thank me later.
The freak rejoiced when the door clicked open and the sound of high heels clacking against the floor reverberated through the space, seeming impossibly loud. As he heard the lock slide into place, Ivan broke the stare he’d held with the desperate man in the mirror and allowed himself a glance at the woman behind him. His heart beat rapidly as his body readied for the feast of which he was about to partake.

Wordlessly, she approached him, sliding her hands under the back of his suit jacket. With her jet black stilettos, there was no need to stand on her tiptoes for her mouth to reach his ear. The tip of her tongue snaked out from between glossy lips and traced the curve of his ear, sending ripples of anticipation through his already aroused body. As her hands came to rest on his chest, he turned toward her and tilted his head, exposing his neck. He shuddered as her hands ran down his stomach and came to rest on the bulge that strained against his pants. She stroked him over the fabric and let out a warm gasp against the nape of his neck. He loved that she took control.

Her hands moved to his waist and she hooked fingers through the belt loops on his pants. With slow and deliberate movements, she slid down the length of his body. Then she was on her knees in front of him. Her eyes—half lidded and full of need now—looked up at him through the naughty-librarian glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and she smiled as she managed his zipper. When the warmth of her lips surrounded his cock, Ivan thrust forward, driving himself into the back of her throat. Undaunted, she took him even deeper into her mouth. She released him just enough to tongue the sensitive spot beneath the head of his cock before taking in every inch of him again and again and again, each time deeper than the last. Harder and faster she worked him, and she didn’t object when he grabbed her hair and forced his cock deeper inside her mouth.

Fuck yes!
Before he lost all focus, Ivan glanced back at the mirror and watched as the unfamiliar reflection mouth-fucked this beautiful brown-haired woman without regard. Then the ringing of his phone diverted his attention away from the show. The sound of Frank Sinatra and the screen, which read AVOID, told a tale of heartbreak starring him as the main character. He hadn’t been able to delete
her
phone number, but he had changed the name associated with it to remind him that he needed to avoid
her
at all costs. The ringtone, however, remained the same. He couldn’t even bring himself to change that.

Avoid!
his mind yelled, yet his heart fluttered as the ringtone continued to play. Meanwhile the freak, oblivious to the phone, begged for more.
More!

Ivan’s hands dropped to his sides and his head fell back against the wall, his eyes cinched shut. When Frank finally stopped singing and the call went to voicemail, Ivan opened his eyes and stared at the beige ceiling above him.
What have I become?
This wasn’t how he treated people, and it wasn’t how he treated himself. This unexpected interruption—the one-two punch of Frank and AVOID, along with an enormous wave of remorse—suppressed the beast that had possessed him for so long, and for an all too brief moment, Ivan felt like his old self. When he turned back to the mirror and noted a hint of familiarity in the face of the person staring back at him, he knew he’d hit rock bottom.

He looked down at the woman, still on her knees in front of him, and suddenly the sight repulsed him. He couldn’t take it any more. He couldn’t move quickly enough as he pulled his dick from her mouth. She looked up, her face full of confusion.

Ivan scrambled for an excuse to forfeit the situation gracefully, as if that were even possible, and stuttered his lame explanation. “I shouldn’t have…I don’t usually…”

“Shame,” she said as she stood and nonchalantly stepped up to the mirror. “Wife?” she asked as she reapplied her lip gloss and smoothed her hair.

“No.” He pulled his pants up, still as hard as a rock, and zipped.

“Maybe next time, hmmm?”

With a quick backward glance over his shoulder, Ivan uttered the only thing that came to mind. “Never say never.”

He pulled the door closed behind him, leaving her in the bathroom—probably not for long, but he wasn’t about to stick around to find out. Ivan thought he noticed more than a few grins and chuckles from patrons sitting near the bathroom in his rush to leave. He pushed through the doors and into the brilliant Miami morning, relishing the warmth of the sun as it beat against his face. He took a deep inhale and felt like he could breathe again. He looked around for a moment. Something was different. As he looked off toward the horizon it hit him: For the first time in a long time, his gray world appeared a bit pastel. A hint of color played just outside his field of vision. He had some thinking to do.

Chapter 11

“Someone Like You”

T
HE
M
ESSAGE
-W
AITING
I
CON
T
AUNTED
I
VAN
over and over again. This wasn’t just
any
unread message. It was
her
—a person he hadn’t spoken to in more than six months. Granted, he’d left many of these messages unheard and unanswered since the night she shattered his world, but for some reason this message, without even being heard, had incited a riot of emotions inside him.

The freak was still pissed that he’d cut short his encounter with the
Comeandlickmypus
, but Ivan now channeled all his need and tension back into the one thing that had always served him and his body best: exercise. He ran harder and faster along the path than usual, working his muscles and flooding his system with endorphins. He ran as if he were trying to outrun something, and maybe he was, but he was thankful that after a while his head and his thoughts began to feel less deadened and fuzzy.

As he ran flat-out along the path, he noticed the sky darkening with a distant thunderstorm, and after a moment he realized he’d noticed the contrast between the brilliance overhead and the looming darkness for the first time in a long time.
She’d
stripped him of more than just his heart and soul. Colors, smells, sounds—his awareness and appreciation of life and the things around him had all been lost six months ago. She’d left him without his usual zest, truly destroyed. He smiled as he gripped his phone in his fist, pumping his arms as he ran, the thin cord of the ear buds bouncing against his chest and classic rock blasting in his ears. For some reason, he felt better.

However, neither the run, the sky, or the darkening clouds overhead could distract him from the voicemail. It promised him the possibility of his life back, Ivan realized. But whether he’d be putting something to rest or breathing it back into existence, he wasn’t yet certain he wanted to know. Redoubling his efforts to force all thought from his mind, he turned up the volume and pushed himself harder. But not even AC/DC could tear him away from his spinning brain.

A storm was coming.

He thought back to the day of the meltdown at The Bath Club, and he could feel the despair, loneliness, and anger build with every passing moment. The thought of her in bed with Damian, the douchebag’s hands touching places he’d once held sacred, made Ivan sick to his stomach. But after a time, memories of the nights he’d spent in Jaden’s embrace and the mornings filled with laughter tempered his hatred. What was he missing? How had this happened? He missed her and found himself wishing for a way to forgive her.

But there wasn’t a way. The betrayal was too big. It changed everything, and that’s what left him with no idea what to do. Why did he even want her anymore? It was as if some parts of him just refused to face the truth. He watched as little by little the looming storm clouds stamped out all hints of vibrancy from the sky. He’d tried to compensate for her loss by making his business his life. What had kept him busy with a constant to-do list in the planning phases now consumed as much of his time as he’d give it with the new practice up and running. There was always another opportunity to pursue, another patient to follow up on, someone’s business to court.

The transition from aspiring, business-minded doctor to CEO of his own company had left him basking in the good life—money coming in, setting his own rules, plenty of prestige. Or at least he’d dreamed it would be the good life. He’d achieved what he’d always wanted, but much to his disappointment, he now knew no career accomplishment could fill the emptiness of his personal life. A whole new level of fancy cars, big apartments, expensive dinners, and lavish trips did nothing to cure his inner sickness. And yet he couldn’t stop. He had no idea what else to do, so he just worked harder.

Ivan shut his eyes and indulged in the breeze that accompanied the brewing storm.
Goddamnit!
He exhaled and opened his eyes. The phone weighed heavy in his hand, and he turned it over and checked again that the message was still there. It was. Through gritted teeth, he pushed his body even harder. How had he reached this point? How had he wandered so far from the person he thought he was?

“
Mind if I join you?”
The sultry Spanish accent of the freak’s first conquest still echoed in his ears. Visions of the Latina bombshell danced across his mind, causing his cock to twitch in his shorts. The white cocktail dress she’d worn had rested mid-thigh and her ample cleavage had been bursting out the top of the sweetheart neckline. Chestnut hair with streaks of blond cascaded down a beautifully tanned back and sat in waves on the shoulders of her athletic build.

“Yes, please do,” he’d purred and pulled out the chair next to him. He’d accepted her company as she slipped in beside him at the bar during one of the many Miami Beach charity events that filled his schedule. He was someone in demand, after all. Yet after three months without
her
and no relief in sight, he’d been wallowing in self pity, and his body had begun to demand that he find another way to compensate for his emotions. He needed to feel something…anything. What he wouldn’t give to experience the vivid colors, beautiful smells, and brilliant feelings of love that had once filled his heart.

After two drinks, their small talk had turned suggestive. He’d marveled at her beauty, and she’d spoken words of passion that made him hard. An inner urge began to build, which at first seemed alien in nature. It had been the first time since
her
that his urges threatened to consume him.

Back and forth they went, dancing to the tune of lust, desire for the inevitable mounting with each graceful step across the dance floor.

“Why don’t we get out of here? We can go back to my place and crack open a bottle of wine,” she’d suggested, and in the same moment she’d turned on her heel, leaving him to catch up to her.

That had been the exact moment his addiction started. With that simple little sentence she’d provided him an alternative to the black-and-white life he was living. Nothing material had satiated his need for happiness, or even normalcy, and no amount of work could keep his demons permanently away, but the promise of flesh had awoken the freak and his carnal needs. But how could he have known where this would lead, what he would become? It was just a casual drink at a beautiful woman’s house.

Before he knew it, they were in a cab and her version of a nightcap would soon become his heroin, the only way to numb, at least for a time, the growing pain that resided deep within his chest. They’d spilled out of the backseat of the taxi in front of a lavish beach house. Step by step he’d followed behind her and paused at the front door, wondering what could come from this act of desperation. What he’d found on the other side of her door was his medicine. His drug. A soothing numbness, and yet also the only way to find any energy or color or beauty in the world. This gorgeous Latina had tempted his body and also gifted him his first fix.

Through all the faceless and nameless sex he’d had since she’d initiated him, he’d never been able to bring anyone back to his own bed or even kiss her on the lips. These two intimate gestures he kept in reserve for someone more deserving, but the freak hardly seemed to notice. It made him feel he’d preserved a part of himself, although lately his grip on that seemed tenuous as well. He knew if he fell much further, the facelessness and namelessness of his fixes would be his undoing.

His legs burned and his lungs felt like they were going to explode when he finally eased up on his pace and began to downshift. A few minutes later, with his hands on his hips, he tried hard to catch his breath and walked in a wide circle as he shook out his limbs.