The Kiss

3.

"Did I do well?" she asked, as if unable to help herself.

Pipe in hand, he paused to look on her. She had opened her eyes a little, a little tiredly. A certain dewy brightness had settled on her like fine fairy dust. "Yes. You did well."

The tide had receded. A calm settled, though no cool wind could cut through the balmy air of the chamber. The girl laid on the coverlet, limbs stretching, dewy as a newborn babe. She closed her eyes again. Satisfied that she was unhurt, he went into the water closet to get rid of the contraceptive and finish quickly; the girl's tender body still ached within him.

Rough start, but all in all, a good night. The girl responded well, with minor resistance. He had been worried she would balk out of fear, and he unable to know the right erotic key to her lock. For maids as she, kept strangers to their own desires, would not have been able to tell him what she needed. But he had vastly underestimated the raw, erotic power of these young girls. His typical love talk had cut dangerously close to the bone of honesty. He let the last of his body's excitement drain away before returning.

When he came out, the girl had wrapped herself in the velvet tasseled decorative blanket of the coverlet. She looked away, cheeks flaming. Pity. He had rather liked her shameless moans, her supplications. He stopped to pick up his clothes and put them on a chair, not bothering to cover himself with them. He fished out his pocket watch and checked the time against the mantelpiece clock. He could feel her awe of his brazen nakedness, the light-dark curls of his shaft exposed. A side effect of this business was that it gave him a casual attitude towards nakedness.

"We have a little over half an hour left," he told her. "We can penetrate again, fool around. Talk. What you will."

She hesitated for so long he was beginning to feel she wanted some craven, forbidden thing, or at least craven to her modest mind. Her actual request surprised him. "Can we kiss?"

He was about to remind her of his personal rule, but caught himself at the tentative hope on her face. He found a surprising patience within him for this girl. "I don't think that's possible."

She flushed. "Right. Sorry. Then...I want to lie beside you. Could you come to bed?"

Could this girl be any more innocent? Utterly bemused, he slid next to her, not bothering to cover himself. What for? She curled in an S about him contentedly, clinging to him, resting her head on the crook of his shoulder. Maids, he thought, but he rested his arm about her waist. He shifted uncomfortably.

"So," he said. "What's the story?"

"Hmm?" She looked up, alarmed. "What do you mean?"

"I've seen maids at university, at stodgy, brown-brick townhouses with their stodgy, brown-brick parents. I've seen girls younger than you are on the arms of fifty-year-old lordlings and merchant tycoons. But no maid ever comes here soliciting sex from strangers." She was silent. "What's the trouble?"

"No, no trouble," she murmured. After a long pause, through fits and starts, she said, "Marcella, my friend...my roommate's friend, rather...she came up with the idea of this excursion as a dare. I was fool enough to take her up on it."

As he had thought. He had read the group dynamics right; Marcella must have been the friend with the wine-colored hair. But something was off. It sounded too pat, too plausible. She did not elaborate, only playing absentmindedly with the down of his chest, determinedly not meeting his eyes.

Then, without a word or sign of warning, like an electric shock, she pressed her lips to his skin in a quick kiss.

"Thank you," she whispered, eyelashes cast shyly down. "For everything. That was..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "You are so beautiful, and kind, and I'm...nothing, really. So thank you." Her round face had a soft, beatific glow.

It happened quickly then. A flash of vision, hot and brief and lurid: Their mouths against each other, passionate, senseless. Just as suddenly as it came it vanished, leaving him shaken. He shook his head as if to clear it.

"You're a sweet girl," he said distractedly. He cleared his throat. "I have forgotten. I should have warned you beforehand."

"What?" She straightened, alarmed. "What is it?"

"Not to fall in love with me."

"I haven't," she said lamely, eyes darting away.

The time had come. He had avoided settling accounts before on account of her innocence, but he couldn't avoid it now. "This is the first time you've lain with a man. You're new to love, it's only natural. But you know that this isn't real, and that I can't requite you. You're a very lovely girl, and there are plenty of men out there who'd gladly love you, and whom you could love."

"Even if that were true," she said throatily, "what use is that to me, when I will only have but one?"

The catch in her voice made him turn. Unshed tears brimmed in her eyes. In her shame, she turned to the side, her back to him, shoulders trembling like a minor earthquake.

No stranger to crying women, in this he was at a loss. He embraced her in comfort but said none; he sensed that it would only backfire on him, lead to unpleasantness.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Fiorcalisso."

"I meant your real name."

He said it as gently as he could. "I know."

She contracted, turtle-like, as if hurt. "Why do you do this?"

"Do what?"

"This work."

A sigh. "Debts. My father's. Mine. Same old story."

She seemed to consider this. "Do you like it?"

His answer surprised even himself. "Yes."

"Really?"

He almost smiled at her naïve moue. "Lust is simple. Uncomplicated. Sex, even more so. It's not the most glamorous of jobs, but it pays."

"What about love?"

"An airy conceit. Cut it to the bone, and all you're left is this."

The hour had slipped from them, like sand in the hourglass. As they dressed, he was aware of a tight knot in the pit of his stomach, a grim, intense reaction to the half-truth. Why did he care? Why should he?

She had trouble with the back pearl buttons, the sash of her dress. He helped her with those. They stood, facing each other.

"Do you have a client coming in soon?"

"In half an hour. Why?"

"No reason."

But she did not move, staring up at him in a kind of silent plea longing and desire. Something in him softened, gave way to compromise. He leaned down and pecked her once on the cheek, near the corner of her mouth. She reddened; he pulled back, careful not to trigger the trap of possibility in the charged air.