By Liz Everly
This week we are celebrating C.M. Kempe’s release of ONE NIGHT IN ROME by writing about our fantasy-adventures in cities.
Here is my story which, of course, starts off with food. Grin.
I wrapped my mouth around the most exquisite pizza I’ve ever eaten. Not just New York pizza, but Brooklyn pizza, the best of the best, a perfect melding freshest ingredients— cheese, spices, sauce on thin crust. And I was sitting across from an equally delicious man.
He was a stranger to me. We had only meet a few hours ago and yet it was as if we’d known each other our wholes lives. I was just in the New York City for a few days–and he had come to my rescue while I tried to get a cab on Fifth Ave., during rush hour.
He was my knight in shining armor. Well, not in armor exactly. He was wearing a Peter Pan shirt and hat and driving a pedicab. He pulled up along the curb.
“You need a ride?” He said with a Brooklyn accent that set me on edge. Was it a hint of danger I felt?
“No, I don’t think so,” I said, looking at the flimsy carriage he was pulling. I couldn’t imagine climbing in it and maintaining any sense of dignity. There was that and then there was that accent, which hinted at danger and sex.
“C’mon,” he said, with a lopsided dimpled grin and warmth exuding from his dark eyes. I wasn’t sure he was exactly what I’d call handsome, but sex oozed from him in a kind of forbidden bad boy way.
I took one more look around. Didn’t look like I had many options. I swore that my feet were probably bleeding–they hurt that bad.
I shrugged. “Okay,” I said.
Something happened to me during that ride. I felt each bump in the streets, with the city air kissing my skin, and every detail in the city was in my view. So unlike a cab ride with a huge door and window between you and the city.
New York City is a magic place, pulsing with life. You can’t see it from inside of a cab.
Somewhere between climbing into the pedicab and climbing out of it, I also fell in a kind of love with the cabbie. He was conversational, asked me about myself, and we found we had a lot in common. There was also this: The view from where I sat was exquisite. Biking around the city was good for a man’s backside, not to mention thighs. Muscled and plenty to grab onto.
I was not the kind of woman to act on thoughts like these, but then again, I was not the kind of woman who’d climb in a pedicab with a hot man from Brooklyn biking me through the city.
When he helped me exit the cab and his hands touched mine, sparks flew. My eyes traveled from his hands to his eyes. He cocked an eyebrow, signaling that he felt those sparks, too.
“I’m taking one more run. Would you like to get together, after?” He said.
I just looked at him.
“I mean, you know,” he said, shrugging. “We could grab a bite.”
I had to admit that my stomach churned at the mention of food, but other parts of me were more than alert.
And now, here I sat with a full stomach, and couple of glasses of wine later, across from Brooklyn-Italian Peter Pan. I liked Brooklyn from the moment I arrived. Yeah, sure it wasn’t as slick, clean, and shiny as Manhattan, but it felt more real to me. And something about Peter Pan made me trust him enough to go to his place to enjoy the pizza. I was longing for respite away from the hubbub of the city. I squelched the little voice in my head warning me of being so adventurous.
We sat with a table between us and I suppressed the urge to climb on his lap. It was almost as if he read my mind. He stood and held out his hand to me. I hesitated, then reached out to take his hand. A working man’s hands. At home, at work, I was surrounded by men with soft hands. He pulled me in to him, where I felt the hot length of him pressing into me. It was the kind of a kiss that made parts of me sink and other parts rise. He sent my mind swirling in a mass of confusion, but my body seemed to know exactly what it wanted.
He led me to his bed. My legs were as wobbly as jell-o. I hadn’t felt this rush of heat, that longing for submission in a long time. I wanted to open myself up and reveal myself to him. He touched me in ways that made me feel safe and wild at the same time.
I sort of melted on to his bed.
“This is up to you. It’s okay if you decide not to,” he said. So sweet. Yet hunger poured from him. He was steaming. I admired his control and loved that he was so concerned about my feelings. “What do you think?”
Was now the time for soul searching? I think not dear reader, but I never kiss (or not) and tell.
In any case, my night in Brooklyn was one I will never forget.
Speaking of sexy nights in sexy places, I have a new installment out of EIGHT LAYS AROUND THE WORLD: FRANCE (A SEXY TRAVELOGUE). The place is Saint Tropez and the night concerns one woman and two men. And it’s free until Thursday.