12 / 15
Chapter 12 The River
Chapter 12 The River
Lu Chen lived on the eighteenth floor of an old tower in Puxi. The stair hall smelled of paint that had been there for years. The door was dark. The peephole had been wiped clean. Jiang Ruoxue stood outside for ten seconds. Not regret. She was running the sentence I can leave once, truly, through her mind. She did not leave. She rang.
The door opened quickly. He had changed into a dark T-shirt for the house. His hair was still damp, as if he had just washed too. Seeing her, he looked first at her eyes, then at her hands, which held no document bag. His shoulder let down a little.
"Come in. You don't have to change your shoes, if you mean to leave at once. You can change them. The slippers are new."
"I'll change," she said. "I didn't come to pay a visit I can escape at any moment."
The place was smaller than she had thought, and cleaner than the legend of a negotiator. One window in the living room faced a bend of the river. You could see a stretch of water and the lights of the bridge. You could not see the vanity of the whole city. On the shelves there were books on cost, on the law of leases, and a few volumes of poetry worn by reading. The poetry surprised her, and then seemed reasonable. A pot was sounding in the kitchen. He was actually cooking.
"I can only do tomato and egg," he said. "If you look down on it, we can order something else. I only didn't want you to walk in and face a bed."
"Tomato and egg is good," Jiang Ruoxue said. She hung up the coat. The black dress looked too solemn under the indoor light. She did not mean to change again. "Turn the heat down first. Eggs go tough and then they aren't good. That sentence is not a metaphor."
He really did go and turn the heat down. The two of them ate noodles at a small table. The sour of the tomato covered a day's hunger. He poured her water. He did not press wine. She watched him eat and suddenly realized she had almost never seen him at a complete mealtime. The man in meetings was cut into clauses. The man here picked the egg into her bowl, and only ate himself after he had picked. The detail was dangerous. It was more like a life than sex was.
"Don't be too good to me," she said.
"It's an egg," Lu Chen said. "Not a bride-price. If you have to guard against even an egg, tonight will be tiring."
She laughed. After the laugh she ate the egg. A boat passed outside. A band of light dragged on the water. After the meal she washed. He dried. In the narrow kitchen their shoulders met. The third time they met she turned the water off, turned, and kissed him. Tomato on the mouth. The kiss was slow. None of the office's fierceness about snatching time. His palm lay on the small of her back and heated through the dress.
"Bed or sofa," he asked.
"Shower first. Together. I want to see you wet. Then the bed. If your bathroom is slippery, we don't finish in there."
"It is slippery," he said. "So we only wash. We do it on the bed. If your legs go weak in the water, I need a place to catch you."
The bathroom was not large. Before the mirror fogged they had both got their clothes off. Her black dress fell on his T-shirt. The two garments tangled, like a sentence that had arrived early. When the hot water came down she flinched. He put his body in the way of part of the stream so she could adjust first. The movement was too natural. She set her forehead to his chest. Water divided over both their shoulders.
She washed him. Her palms went over his neck, his chest, the pale scar, his belly, and then closed around his cock, already half hard, and stroked, slow. Lu Chen's head rested on the tile. His breath went heavy at once. He washed her too. When his fingers passed her nipples she made a sound. His hand went lower, parted her, found that point in the hot water, and rubbed, light. The water thinned the slick, so he slowed, and used only the pad of a finger in circles, in no hurry to enter. Jiang Ruoxue's knees softened. He did hold her. He turned her so her back was against him, one arm across under her breasts, one hand left between her legs.
"Still here," he said at her ear. "But it will slip. The bed. I want you lying steady before you come."
She shut the water off. The towels were dry. He wrapped her first and wiped himself in a few careless passes. In the bedroom only the bedside lamp was left on. Outside the window the river had become a dark band. The sheets were gray. Very ordinary. When she lay down, her wet hair soaked a dark print into the pillow towel. Lu Chen knelt between her legs and kissed her knee first. On the left knee there was an old scar, pale, about two fingers long.
"This," he said.
"A site, three years ago. Rebar left uncovered. Lin Hao was at a conference out of town. I went to the hospital myself. Four stitches. Later almost no one asked, because a skirt always covered it."
He put his mouth to the scar and stayed a moment. "Now I've asked. The pain is past. But you going to the hospital alone, I am keeping that."
"Don't keep it as me being pitiful."
"Keep it as you being hard," he said. "And then let me be a little soft with you. Open."
She opened her legs. His shoulders set against her thighs. He bent down. Without the tension of the office, he ate her very slowly. The tip of his tongue went up and down her labia, learned her shape inch by inch, and only then took her clit, sucked once, let go, and pressed and ground with the flat of the tongue. When two fingers went in she was already very wet, and they went in easy. He crooked them, pressed the place she liked, and kept the rhythm separate from the tongue, deep and shallow, fitted together. Jiang Ruoxue gripped the sheet. She did not need to bite herself. This was his home. The neighbors were far. She could make sound.
"Harder. Yes. Look at me. Lu Chen, don't take your tongue off. I want to come looking at your eyes."
He looked up. The lamp made the deep brown warm. The look pulled the pleasure tight all at once. Her waist lifted. His forearm pressed her lower belly so she could not escape that point. When she came she cried out. She cried his name. Her vagina clenched his fingers, wave after wave. Her thighs shook. Wet spread on his chin. He stayed until she let her waist down, then drew his fingers out, kissed her belly, kissed her breasts, kissed her mouth. She kissed him inside her own taste and did not hide from it.
"Come in," she said. Her voice was still scattered. "Face to face. I want to see you. Where is the condom."
In the drawer of the nightstand there was a new box. His fingers were not steady opening it. That made her want to laugh, and made her want him more. She helped him put it on. Her legs circled his waist. He set himself at her entrance and stopped.
"You can still stop."
"I am not stopping," Jiang Ruoxue said. "I want all of you in. Slow. Let me see your face."
He pushed in. Inch by inch, until their bellies met. The depth heated her eyes. He began to move. Each stroke drew back until only the head was left, then sent the whole of him in. Her legs tightened. Her heels set against his waist. Chest to chest. Nose to nose. No variety of position. Only being filled, again and again. His hand cradled the back of her head so she would not strike the headboard. The protection moved her almost into an angry tenderness.
"Faster," she said. "I want you thrusting until I can't finish a sentence. Then slow down again. Listen to me."
He did as she said. The speed came up. The sound of flesh was wet and clear. The bed sounded, lightly. Her breasts shook with the thrusts. He bent and took one in his mouth. His teeth grazed the nipple, light. She swore in pieces, and begged in pieces. Begged him not to stop. Begged him to touch her. His thumb found her clit and rubbed inside the fast strokes. She climbed again quickly. The inner walls spasmed and sucked him until he had to stop two seconds, or he would come at once. When he stopped, his forehead was all sweat. She kissed one drop away.
"Slow," she said. "I still want it. Onto our sides."
They turned onto their sides. He entered her from behind, holding her. The angle was deep and close. His hand still rubbed in front. His mouth was at her ear. He called her Ruoxue. Not Director Jiang. The name changed, and her heart went soft before her body did. She reached back and held his hip and made him deeper.
"I'm here," she said. "You don't have to be afraid I'll disappear at a moment like this. I won't. Tomorrow I am still the person who has to go and sign. Tonight I am this person in your bed. Both are me."
"I know." His voice had gone rough. "Ruoxue, may I come. You're too tight. I can't hold much longer."
"You may. Come for me. I want you shaking inside me."
He thrust a dozen times more, each heavier than the last, and at last buried himself at the deepest point. His whole body locked. She felt his cock jump inside the condom. She felt his arm cinch her waist, cinch until she could hardly breathe, and then loosen into a holding. His face was in the hollow of her neck. His breath was hot. The last strokes ground her into a smaller coming of her own, not so violent, but long, like tide still washing the ankles while it goes out.
They stayed on their sides a long time. He pulled out, dealt with the condom, and brought a hot towel to wipe between her legs. The temperature of the towel was right. While he wiped he was serious, as if this were a part equal to entering her. Jiang Ruoxue looked at the top of his head. Her fingers went into his hair.
"If you do this, it will be harder for me to leave," she said.
"You don't have to leave tonight," Lu Chen said. "Leaving or not is tomorrow's matter. I didn't hide a condition in the towel."
She let him lie back and put her face into the hollow of his shoulder. The river was still outside. Another boat's light went past. Her body was soft and heavy. The old scar on her knee was pressed lightly by his leg. It did not hurt. She thought: if life were only this hour, she would recognize herself. But life was not an hour. Life still held a seal, a tent, and Han Yu's mouth tomorrow morning. She set those, for the moment, outside the bed. On the bed she only listened to his heart. One beat, and another, gradually mixed with hers.
