Color Me Your Color

*****

When we got back to our apartment, I looked at my phone and saw that I had three messages from Tate. All were asking me where I was, and that he wanted to do dinner tomorrow night at 7. I had a message from Lou, my boss from the diner. He wanted me to come in during the weekend to work a bunch of odds and ends shifts no one else wanted to take. I made the decision not to call him back. I didn't need to work there anymore, anyway. That part of my life was gone. That Johanna was dead.

Then I saw I had a dozen texts from Iggy. He wanted me to come over and see him as soon as I could. Maybe that was a good idea, though I was more than pissed that he had abandoned me when I needed him the most.

I headed straight for the shower, tearing off that red dress and jumping beneath the boiling hot spray. I wanted to wash off his handprint from my cheek, the sickening sensations of his touch on my body. I wanted to wash away the memory of that whole bar. I thought about sleeping with him and dry-heaved. How the fuck would I ever go through with it?

When it seemed I used all the hot water and I was pruning up, I turned off the faucet and pulled back the shower curtain. Morgan was there, leaning against the wall. Her face was so sad. "Do you see now, Jo? Not as glamorous as you thought."

"I never thought it was glamorous," I muttered. My voice was unrecognizable.

Her lips twisted. "You want revenge, but like Hanzo says in Kill Bill, revenge is never a straight line."

I rolled my eyes. "Leave it to you to quote a Tarantino movie."

"Seriously. I know you're pissed at Tate. Good. Fine. But don't do this. You can still back out. I'll find you someone else if you don't think you can deal with Tate anymore, and you can just be on our own. You don't need Thomas."

I sat down on the edge of the tub, still dripping from my shower. I was cold as the air blew against my wet skin, but I didn't feel like getting dressed. I didn't feel like doing anything. I was bone-tired. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know who I am."

Morgan laughed. "You'll find that everyone feels that way, hooker or not. Now get dressed. Let's go get drunk."

*****

I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was because Thomas had instilled enough fear in me that he would somehow know if I complied. Maybe because it was the only outfit I had clean. Maybe it was because I was still punishing myself. Whatever the reason, I pulled on another red dress I had. It really suited me.

Because I felt like I was betraying him, I put Tate's necklace on, too. That way I was equally paying tribute to two men who wanted to own me.

Morgan frowned when she saw me wearing red, but she didn't say anything. The club she brought us to had lots of flashing lights and people who were barely dressed. It was the kind of place I'd never have dared go to before. Now, I walked straight inside, not even thinking about being uncomfortable. Slowly but surely I was growing more confident with my body, and with those eyes that followed it. They were considerably less harmless than other monsters I'd encountered.

We hauled ass to the bar. I ordered vodka, and she got tequila shots for the both of us. We were already feeling loose-limbed and happy by the time we skated out to the dance floor.

A hypnotic beat began to vibrate through the speakers, humming through the floors and pulsing through our bodies. We writhed against one another, laughing when our breasts touched. Guys came and went around us, pounding their hard pelvises into us to the music. We paid them little attention; they were faceless. Morgan moved away to dance with a handsome guy who asked to buy her a drink. She laughed, waving at me before she disappeared into the throng of bodies. I danced alone, winding my arms up above me and rocking my hips back and forth.

I felt the chest of a man press into my back. I rested against him. The exertion of dancing for God knows how long, plus the vodka and tequila working its way through my bloodstream made me weak. His rough hands ran down my arms, resting when they found my own. The man intertwined our fingers and set us on a slow erotic dance that contrasted with the slamming quick song currently playing. His hips pushed into my ass and I gasped when I felt him there, hard and hot. He was wearing trousers, not jeans, so it was much easier to feel the outline of his cock. In spite of not knowing who he was or what he looked like, my body responded.

I twirled in his arms, the liquor loosening my inhibitions enough to suggest just that. Then I saw who it was. Tate continued to dance, his glare murderous in the flashing lights of every color. He dragged my body back to him, grinding his cock against my stomach as the music went on. He said something but I couldn't understand him, so he moved his wet lips to my ear.

"Found you."

We danced like that, angry but desperate for the feel of our bodies rubbing against one another, for what seemed like hours. He licked the sweat from my neck and I scratched at his back. He roughly stepped between my legs, fucking my hip as I rode my pussy against his strong thigh.

His lips found my collarbone. His tongue snaked out to wind its way up and down. Then he blew against the sensitive and damp skin and I shattered into pieces.

"Take me home," I begged in his ear.

He moved away from me and took my hand, practically dragging me to the door. We took a cab and he mauled me in the back, heedless of the driver watching us in the rearview mirror. He murmured the address to the driver while I collapsed against the seat. Tate turned back to me, eager to exact his revenge on me for avoiding him.

"I don't like having to chase you," he grunted. He popped my breast out of the dress, concealing me from the driver's eyes. "Morgan told me you were going to a club when I called her. I didn't know where you were, that's why I called her, so don't freak out about that."

Dimly it occurred to me the cabbie might crash over the show we were giving him, but then I remembered we were in New York. He probably saw this all the time.

"I do like when you don't wear a bra, however." Tate's tongue circled around my nipple, sucking it into his mouth. It would have been painful if it was anyone else, but the sight of the back of Tate's dirty-blonde head made my pussy even more drenched than before.

He took his mouth away. The cool air against my wet breast made me moan. "You're mad at me."

I just nodded.

"Because of last night."

I nodded again.

"I'll have to fix that, I guess. But in the meantime..." His hand reached between my thighs. I tried to clench them, consciously aware we were speeding along city streets and stopping at endless red lights.

He kissed my lips, pushing his tongue through them to dance with mine. His clever fingers tickled the soaked panties that were practically sticking to me now. "How I want you."

Like the little whore I was for him, I made a whimpering noise. Tate snuck his thick middle finger around the side of my panties and slipped the whole thing inside of me. I shook around it, an orgasm just in reach. The cab stopped, which made Tate stop, and I nearly cried. Tate paid the driver and then he pulled me out into the blistering cold. It almost sobered me up enough to forget the delight Tate's body could bring me. Almost.

Then I looked around me and realized I was not at my apartment building. "Tate, what..."

"Shush. We're at my place." He yanked my arm and dragged me up the stairs, nodding at his doorman as the older gentleman opened the large doors for us. My mouth dropped open. I'd never seen such a magnificent apartment building before. Not even my father lived in such a place. I was still a little drunk so I wasn't even sure where we were in relation to my apartment.

And why the hell was Tate bringing me there? We got on the elevator with a few other couples. I stared at his profile the whole time, trying to figure him out with my clouded mind. While we made the ascent, I got out my cell to text Morgan.

Am with Tate. Are you okay?

She texted me back right away. Figured. I'm home. Have fun. :)

It crossed my mind that maybe he had asked Morgan to bring me there so we could "run into" one another, but then I wondered if it even mattered.

We got out on the thirtieth floor. I followed Tate, completely mystified. He unlocked the door to his apartment and practically pushed me inside.

It was dark and he didn't bother turning on the lights. He took my hand and led me to his bedroom, tossing me on the soft bed. I couldn't see him, but I could sense him standing in front of me. "You can snoop around my apartment tomorrow. I need to fuck you tonight, and I need my cock in your mouth right now."

He turned on a lamp that shed a little faint light on his bedroom. It was simple and very masculine with dark grey walls and black bedsheets. A painting of a flower in full blossom hung above the back of the bed. A dresser with a large mirror on top was to the right of us. Other than that, the bedroom was unadorned. I liked it. It was very Tate: understated but refined.

He pulled my head toward him so I could refocus. He removed his shirt and lowered the zipper of his trousers to reveal the silk grey boxers underneath. I could make out the wetness his pre-cum caused and I just had to squeeze my legs together.

He smiled at me, cupping my face. "Suck me," he whispered. It was half-command, half-plea.I was eager to do just that. My mouth watered at the thought of sucking him in.

I wanted to make him as unhinged in my hands as I was in his. I violently tugged his boxers down, using much more force than I normally did. I was drunk with the desire to possess him. There was little room for bashfulness now.

His hard cock presented itself for licking, and lick I did. I even traveled down to his balls, sucking one and then the other. I licked at that tender spot behind them, twirling my tongue around and rejoicing when he thrust his cock into my face. I held his balls while my mouth made its way back to his cock. I kissed the tip of the head just gently with my lips. When I pulled away, a long stream of pre-cum came with me. I glanced up at him and licked my lips, drinking it in. His whole face dropped with agonized pleasure as he groaned.I took him in, squeezing his balls just as his cock lodged in my throat.

"Fuck, Johanna," he grunted. His hand grabbed the back of my hair and pulled me off him. I opened my mouth to complain and he took that moment to push me right back. It dawned on me what he wanted. He wanted to fuck my face.

"Fuck, yes. Take that cock."

I did. I took it all the way down, lathering it with my saliva and loving it with my tongue. He really pumped his way in now, going too far down and making me gag. My eyes watered.

He pulled out and muttered, "Sorry".

We went on like this for a while until I felt his balls tightening. He was going to come.He ripped his cock from me. "I want to fuck you," he panted.

He threw me back on the bed and tore off my red dress, tossing it somewhere behind him. He stroked my necklace, his eyes glowing possessively, then he savagely pushed down my panties until they just reached my thighs. He hunched between my legs and penetrated me deeply in one slick slide.

"Oh, God!" I felt the orgasm that had been taunting me peek its head back up.

His hands grabbed my sides, and I moaned every time he sunk into me. It was slow at first but he quickly gained momentum, slamming into me with a grunt.

One of his hands left my side to circle around my soaked clit. "You're going to come around my cock, Johanna. And soon."

He sucked on my nipple. I shook around him. "God."

"Yes," he yelled, fucking me with ferocity. "Come now!"

My pussy trembled. Every muscle in my body tightened. My glazed eyes met his. I released, coming and coming. It wouldn't cease. I could feel me leaking out around his cock, dripping onto my thighs.

Then he pushed further and harder into me, stopping and shaking all over. His cock leapt and then pulsed out streams of cum.

He removed himself after he caught his breath. He muttered something complimentary and ran a lazy hand over my body, catching on a nipple. I gasped when the sensation made my pussy clench again.

We rested for a while. I stared at the ceiling, wondering how the fuck I was going to explain Thomas to him. He was going to be furious. My body was still buzzing from the fabulous fuck we had, but dread was thumping hard in my chest. I had to get rid of it.

"Tate. I did something. Something really..."

"Shut the fuck up. We'll deal with it tomorrow. Everything tomorrow." He pulled me close to him, laughing when he felt his still-warm cum spilling out of me. "You're such a good girl. You make me come so good."

"Tate. Seriously. I..."

"Tomorrow," he mumbled sleepily.

He fell asleep breathing into my hair.

*****

I woke up to Tate's mouth on me, playfully nuzzling my wet pussy. The orgasm was quick but merciless. I clenched and released in silent torture, over and over, while Tate held me. Once I was soothed and practically cooing, Tate moved his cock over my soaked body until he groaned and came all over me. He relaxed on top of me, clinging to my pleasured body with a tenderness that didn't fit with his persona.

The sun officially rose and it was another day. I knew it was time to tell him about Thomas, but I didn't quite know where to start. The whole thing seemed like a nightmare, and I had to admit to myself that I behaved childishly. Of course Tate had a past; I would have been an idiot to assume he had been waiting for me all of his life. He should have told me, as well as Morgan, but they didn't and I had to understand that. It was obvious that things were over between them.

"I met Thomas," I said, deciding it was best to cut to the chase. "You probably know who he is."

Tate shifted in bed. I could just make out the fuzziness of his face in the early morning light. "No, I don't. Explain."

So I did. I told him about how bizarre Morgan had been behaving. He cringed when I told him about my meeting with Rebecca, then became frighteningly still when I brought up Thomas.

"You will not be working for him," he said with a scary edge.

"No, I won't," I agreed.

Tate caressed my face. "Just be patient with me, Johanna. I don't usually get so attached to my..."

"Companions?" I offered once he trailed off.

He snorted and kissed the top of my head. "Yeah. Companions."

He stood up and dressed quickly. I watched him, longing to go to him but feeling once again the wall he put up between us back in place. It wasn't as firm or forbidding as it once was, but it was there all the same. It was bizarre to me that we could share such intimate moments where it felt like his soul stroked my own, then go back to our connection being only a business relationship. That was how he wanted it, and I would have to accept that, too.

"I'll put the money in your account," he said, sounding miles away. It was as if he heard my thoughts and wanted to once again become the professional boss. He was obviously kicking me out of his apartment.

"Okay." I stretched in bed and yawned, wishing he wasn't so attractive. It made it so much more difficult.

Seeing his apartment also made it difficult. I peeked around his bedroom and noticed how bare everything was.

"Call me if Thomas comes around. You are not to deal with him alone, okay? And you can tell Morgan I said she's a fucking idiot."

"We're going to have to help her. You know that, right?"

He gave me a grim nod. "I'm already on it. Emphasis on the 'I'. I don't want you any more involved than you already are."

I knelt on the bed and crawled over to him, mussing up his straight tie before meeting his eyes. "Be careful. He's not preppy, like you."

Tate let out a short laugh, although he looked like anything but amused. "Preppy?"

"Yeah. Or should I call you a yuppie? Is that still a thing?"

"You've been watching too many 80s movies."

I smiled and kissed him, keeping my eyes open to watch him close his own. I loved watching him kiss me; he looked like such a little boy. When we pulled away, I impulsively hugged him. He was a bit taken aback, but he allowed it.

I felt the hug even as I dressed in the cold room, alone as he made coffee. I told him I didn't want a cup, even though I desperately needed one, because I couldn't bear being there any longer. It hurt to be so close, and yet so far.

"Let's go for a walk before you go home," he said to me. We went to the park and walked around. He rested against the gate and looked out at the Hudson.

"I used to go on this walk with a friend." He rubbed the back of his neck and then wrapped his coat around himself even tighter. "Well, she was more than a friend."

I asked the question many a woman has asked before me, and many a woman has deeply regretted asking. As the words lifted to my tongue, I wanted to stuff them back down and smother them with a pillow. I hated myself in that moment—that weak, weak moment—because I felt like the flailing desperate woman my father always accused my mother of being. My sister did a good job of the Dramatic Female, too. I didn't want to be that girl. I didn't want to make this even more fucking complicated than it was already.

But I had to ask.

"Did you love her?"

The wind abruptly whipped around us, tossing up my skirt and angrily shoving leaves around our feet as if to admonish me. He didn't look at me, but I knew he'd heard.

He looked across the Hudson contemplatively. I shivered beneath his coat and rested my elbows against the railing, trying to pretend what he was about to say didn't matter.

"Yes," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. He kept looking out at the water, at the lit-up buildings across it, but I could tell he was remembering her. Whoever she was.

I was about to ask more but for the first time since I met him, Tate volunteered information about himself.

"She was perfect." He shifted on his feet and cleared his throat, standing taller. It was like he figured if he was going to allow a little vulnerability, he better take it as his full height. That's what I imagined, anyway; if I ever suggested that to him, he'd snicker and hunch down. And probably shut down.

"Really?" I asked, because what else could I say?

He looked at me. It was too dark to really look into his eyes, but I realized with no small amount of concern that the moon was shining bright on my face and he could probably see everything. My anxiety. My insecurity. Every feeling flitting through my chest.

"No. Not really. But to me, she was. She was unlike any girl I'd really hung out with before. She went to peace rallies, took up causes, didn't eat meat. She was a pain in the ass about the meat thing." He smirked for just a second, remembering. Then his lips flattened and he looked back out at the river. "Her father was a farmer in Iowa. The vegetarianism was in rebellion, I think. Whatever. I was infatuated with her. She bit her nails. When she was thinking through a problem, she'd lie on the floor and rest her legs on the wall, straight up."

"She doesn't sound anything like the type of woman you would hang out with. You're right about that."

Tate scoffed. "If I met her now, I'd probably not even notice her. But then? God. She made me absolutely crazy. She didn't even wear much makeup. Her hair was, like... a honey blonde. She didn't dye it or cut it or do anything with it. She was... simple. Plain, really. That's what my mom called her: plain. I think that's why I liked her so much. She didn't put on dresses with rhinestones and fake eyelashes and pretend to be some sort of princess. She was a farm girl with sturdy legs and hair that was always, always messy."