Dirty Headlines

“Safety first,” I groaned as I drove mercilessly into her. My balls tightened and I pulled out, milking my cum all over her lower back. That was more like it—a fuck, not lovemaking. I gave her ass one last slap and walked into the room, leaving the towel on the floor.

“I’m ordering room service. Clean up and let me know what you want, because your pussy is about to be my starter.”

We never ate the lobster I ordered.

Jude said eating a room-serviced lunch was clinical and sad, that vacation meals equaled dodgy street food from questionable trucks and 7-11 candy bars you didn’t know existed.

She was begging for food poisoning, but I couldn’t deny her. And that was a problem I was beginning to recognize. There was something free and unhinged in the way she viewed life. Her lack of materialistic greed both stunned and ate at me.

So we went for a walk on the beach and ate Cuban sandwiches and drank iced tea on the promenade. The food was greasier than Elijah’s hair, yet oddly satisfying.

Judith then asked if I knew how to skip stones across the water. I told her there were not many things I couldn’t do, and meant it. I didn’t mention that our servant had taught me how to do that during summer vacations at our chateau in St-Jean-Cap-De-Ferrat. I wasn’t normally ashamed of my elite upbringing, but for reasons unknown, decided to keep this to myself.

She asked me to teach her. I did.

“Flat, round stones are best. And you want to go fast.” I wrapped her fingers around a little stone I’d found.

She held it in her hand with a smile similar to the one Lily had flashed me when I gave her the engagement ring. Both were stones. Only one was worth more than a fleet of Bentleys. Yet Jude only cared about the important stuff, which reminded me to look down at her feet.

“Yellow?” I asked.

She grinned impishly. “Figure it out.”

We took a walk, and I didn’t hold her hand, and I didn’t kiss her, and I didn’t fucking breathe, because I didn’t trust myself not to do any of those things if I looked her way. I was torn between liking how it felt to spend time with her and hating how she made me want things I’d never cared about.

“How’s your relationship with your mom?” she asked.

We’re officially in family territory. Fun-fucking-tastic.

“It’s okay. Why?”

“I sometimes wonder what it feels like. To have a mother.”

I raised an eyebrow. I loved Maman, but I couldn’t commit to saying we had a great relationship. For one thing, we were business partners, and I knew she’d run me over for the right price. Still, she was better than my father, not that it said a whole lot.

“Depends on the mother. I have a feeling your father is better than both of my parents combined, so I wouldn’t worry,” I mumbled.

“My ill father,” she added.

“Not for long. The secondary growths are shrinking, and he’s responding very well to the treatments.”

“And how do you know that?” She stopped walking, her entire body pointing at me, like an arrow.

I shrugged. “I visit him every Sunday when you go to the library.”

It wasn’t a big deal. We were both Yankee fans, and it wasn’t like I had anything else to do. My career was my life, which meant that on Sundays, I had no life. My soft spot for Robert had nothing to do with Judith, and I certainly didn’t want her to think I was expecting anything in return. Plus, I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about a relationship. Rob was still certain she was with Milton, so my money was on her not really counting on our fuck-buddies status to last past this season.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” She smiled, but she didn’t look surprised.

I always arrived a few minutes early. I tried to tell myself it was because I didn’t want Jude to bump into me on her way to the train, but in practice, I liked to stop at the Polish deli and watch her through the window as she walked to the station with her headphones deep in her ears. I always wondered what she was listening to.

“Yeah. Well.” I resumed our walk.

She followed, jogging behind me. “You can’t just walk away from this conversation. You’ve been visiting my dad and taking care of him and you haven’t even told me,” she panted.

I liked her little pants. I wanted them against my palm as I fucked her somewhere public, where no one could hear.

“Watch me do exactly that. Walk away from this conversation.”

“Célian, why?”

“Why am I walking? Because I can. Because I have legs. Why am I walking away from this conversation? Because it’s pointless, and it doesn’t mean what you think it means.” I stopped again, this time in front of an old record store with signs in Spanish covering its display window. I wasn’t even sure if it was open, but I wanted us to stop talking, because I wasn’t ready.