A Fear of Falling
A
storm was coming.
Standing on the balcony, Renata watched the thunderheads cycling up from the east, rifting the evening sky with brilliant, twisting arcs. She hugged herself against the crosswinds, feeling the approaching gale whipping at her clothes. The air was charged with the electric tang of cold rain, she could taste it in the dark breath of the night.
Her hair flailed about her face in a tangled, blond cloud. At this elevation, the breeze became a freezing jetstream. Westside Tower was not the tallest building in Chamberlain, but the view was spectacular nonetheless. Lurid neon fire cascaded through the streets, fissures of light fractured the skyline almost as far as the eye could see.
Shivering with a melange of cold, fear and excitement, Renata placed a hand on the thick, steel tube of the safety rail, glancing tentatively over the edge. Her gaze plumbed the gulfs between the skyscrapers. She pushed back after a second's hesitation, her heart cantering in her ribcage. Too close, as always. Heights hadn't really bothered her since childhood, but she'd never completely conquered her fear of falling.
Closing her eyes, she could see herself tumbling though those endless, concrete depths, her sheer, satin skirt billowing around her tapering thighs. It was a remote and strangely sensual image. Renata frequently dreamed of falling, her clothes peeling away as she spiraled into some everlasting, moonlit darkness. She always woke up trembling like a child in an unfamiliar place, feeling both aroused and terrified; a sweet, moist heat glowing between her thighs.
Leaning hard against the freezing mistral, she looked back into her apartment.
A tall, slouching figure was framed in the doorway; a brooding, masculine silhouette in faded black jeans and a creaking leather jacket. He was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, watching her with an expression of amused indulgence.
Jason Hirst was an ex-boyfriend and casual lover of five years acquaintance. Moody and restless and brutally attractive, he was an irresistible womanizer who inspired love and sorrow in equal degrees. The sort of infuriating, indomitable stallion a woman returned to long after the initial relationship was finished.
They'd had a string of on-again, off-again liaisons since her university years; brief, passionate sorties spanning the fleeting interludes between 'serious' partners. Renata thought of it was a way of immunizing herself against his overwhelming, charismatic sexuality. Like most men, Jason could be inexplicably cruel in his dealings with women - particularly those who cared for him the most.
Still, they'd made some progress over the past twelve months. He was spending more time with her nowadays, talking through the silent hours of the morning - something he rarely did with any girl outside the bedroom. He'd even been willing to admit that she was his closest (and only) female friend. Renata supposed that this was the highest compliment he could pay a woman, though she couldn't help reminding herself that friends didn't normally sleep together.
Struggling to control the waves of tension flooding her system, Renata walked towards him, holding down her fluttering hemline - an oddly childlike gesture of modesty, considering the circumstances. It was one of those inexplicable quirks of her personality; she'd shared Jason's bed too many times to number, and yet his presence invariably left her feeling small and vulnerable - almost defenseless.
Precisely how she felt in her dream.
Renata had discussed her fantasy with him some weeks ago, exposing her soul during one of their periodic post-coital D&Ms. It had taken her two months of procrastination and half a bottle of Tequila to finally broach the subject with him. He'd listened with calm, meditative interest, absently stroking her breast while she'd confessed her desires, her voice faltering with anxious, guilty yearning. She'd talked, he'd listened, and a deal had been struck.
A wave of humid expectation began to surge over her.
Her fantasy would come true tonight.
Stepping out to meet her half-way, Jason moved with the easy, confident grace of a man who can have any woman he wants. Her sight swept down the long wedge of his figure, admiring his lean, sparse proportions. He had huge, clever hands that could encircle her tiny waist in a single span; rough, powerful fingers that could play a woman's body like some delicate musical instrument.
"Looks like a storm..." she began, unable to think of anything else to say. She wavered in momentary indecision, wondering how she'd come to this point, why she was willing to take such a tremendous risk with a man she'd never entirely trusted. But then, wasn't that the reason why he was here? Wasn't that why she'd chosen him over all the others? She supposed it was: danger was an essential element of her fantasy.
Jason acknowledged her remark with a silent nod, his face running with shadows. His lips curved in a thin, sharp line. It was an easy, careless smile, one which always set her pulse racing like a jack hammer. She despised him sometimes, loathed his jagged beauty and casually disdainful manner.
His blunt, heavy fingertips touched her hand.
A rash of gooseflesh buzzed across her neck and shoulders.
"You
sure
about this?" he asked, speaking over the wind.
Renata hesitated, staring out over the chaotic skyline, feeling the earth rushing up at her with devastating, concrete force.
"Yes," she replied. Her head began to whirl; she suddenly felt small and weak and terribly vulnerable. I must be crazy, she thought. What in God's name was she doing here, tottering at the edge of the abyss while a force-five cyclone thundered down from the merciless heavens? She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, contemplating the dizzying heights over which they were standing. A vague tremor rippled the length of her thighs.
She was frightened.
Very frightened.
"Jason..."
"Yeah?"
"Don't let me fall. For
God's
sake, don't let me fall."
"I won't."
"Promise me."
"You won't fall, Babe."
"Promise
me."
Jason brushed her small chin with the side of his hand. Renata flinched at his touch, her gaze darting up as if expecting a blow. He lowered his head towards hers, his eyes dark and serious. All the amusement left his voice as he put his mouth to her ear, speaking in carefully unambiguous tones.
"I promise I won't let you fall," he said, and kissed her on the right temple.
Good,
she sighed, allowing herself to melt into his chest, taking comfort in his hard, dry warmth. His massive biceps surrounded her, encasing her in ancient black leather. The tantalizing scent of man seemed to smother her from every side; a potent cocktail of Jim Beam, Tuscany and rampant testosterone. Her mind was reeling with anticipation; a nameless, carnal exaltation flooded her consciousness.
Draping her arms around his neck, she glided her lips over his, leaving a moist red smear at the corner of his mouth. His stubble rasped her soft, ivory skin; she lolled her neck to reveal her creamy white throat. His hands slid roughly down her back, roaming the slim arabesque of her waist in search of her lush, ripe bottom. Jamming herself firmly against his muscular, rolling torso, she felt the jutting prong of his masculinity bulging through the black denim.
Jason...
They kissed; her tongue delving into the back of his mouth, flitting and finicking like a tiny rose fish. Fluid, rushing delight deluged her nervous system. His hands roamed up her slender figure and closed around her face. His touch was urgent, insistent: Renata felt herself dissolving in a torrent of delicious lust.
She broke off, moaning in delight as his teeth descended into her cleavage. Her low-cut blouse suddenly felt too tight, too constrictive. The fabric was sheer, nebulous, but now it seemed as weighty as a straight-jacket. She had to free herself, denude her arms and stomach and thighs, force her bare flesh into the press-mould of his body.
Sensing her thoughts, Jason reached down and ripped the blouse from her lithe form; she heard stitches give as the material parted in his hands. An expensive piece; cost her close on a month's salary. It flitted along the balcony like a discarded sweet wrapper, vanishing into the shadows at the far end. She kissed him again, groaning impatiently as his fingers explored further south.
He located the zipper at the back of her skirt; a moment later, her legs were naked in the biting wind. He threw the gleaming satin wisp over his left shoulder; Renata watched it cartwheel over the safety rail and sail away into the night. The image from her dream returned to her: hurtling down from unthinkable heights -
Excitement blazed through her tummy like liquid silver.
She kicked off her high-heels and snaked one of her legs around his denimed shank. She kissed him again, darting her tongue and stinging his mouth with a series of loud, staccato smacks. His sandstone palms wandered across her frail, petite figure, bruising her ribs with a passionate violence. He was hurting her: Jason could be terribly rough in his loveplay. She bit his lip in swift, feline revenge.
He broke off with a low expletive, holding her by the shoulders.
"Want to get started?" he asked, inclining his head towards the railing.
"Yes..." she replied breathlessly, forcing herself not to look over the verge. Her face was damp; a fine, sprinkling rain was sweeping the Tower. The storm had arrived; the furious, dark eye of the night was revolving above them. The fever struck with catastrophic force, Renata was almost collapsing with desire.
Jason's fingers grooved her waist as he lifted her gingerly onto the railing, sitting her precariously on the brink. The safety rail was roughly ten centimetres in diameter. Set slightly higher than waist level, it ran the length of the balcony. The chrome felt cold and smooth under her bottom. Bending lightly from her left hip, Renata looked down over her shoulder.
A frenzied bolt of panic tore through her with the impact of a guillotine. She drove her teeth into Jason's shoulders, snared his hair with her fingers. Adrenalin blazed through her bloodstream; she was wavering at the edge of the chasm; her spine arching back over empty space.
"Jason,
JASON",
she shrieked,
"Don't let go, DON'T LET GO -"
Lightning flashed overhead, splitting the sky with brilliant, blinding forks. An immense, overpowering concussion followed immediately, shaking the building to its foundations. The deck quivered beneath them; Renata felt the balcony shift and rock, threatening to spill her into the dark. She wailed in absolute terror, her hair trailing out in golden streamers. Jason held her rigidly in position, his body an immovable, granite statue braced against the wind. Tendons bunched and clenched along his forearms like high-tension cables.
"Oh
God,
I'm scared," she sobbed into his neck.
"You want to stop?" he asked, his tone astonishingly calm.
"Yes. No. I don't know, just
