NINETEEN

Flattop lived in a large art deco block in a spacious, very modern apartment. Ella was immediately intimidated by its grandeur - her own modest abode could easily fit inside his living room alone. The colour scheme was monochromatic throughout - stark white walls with mostly black furnishing and silver accents, an occasional splash of blue. Ella followed Flattop through the foyer and into the living room, running her eyes over everything and trying to imagine him selecting out the items he wanted for his home, and failing. It just didn't seem something he would do.

In the living room he gestured that she sit down on the black leather sofa and flicked on his victrola, a very shiny and new-looking model, which immediately began piping softly with mellow jazz. Flattop dimmed the lights, the starkness of the room softening to burnished gold, the white walls reflecting the yellow light. He went to the black enamel and silver sideboard, pulling out a decanter of gin and another of dry vermouth, getting chilled glasses from inside a small black refrigerator next to the sideboard to chill the glasses. Ella felt strange and hot when she saw that refigerator, knowing there must be another, larger one in the kitchen. He lived very well indeed and she once again felt embarrassed to think that only a couple of nights prior, he had seduced her in her run-down rooms, screwing her on an old bed with sagging springs. God, what must he think?

Flattop made them both martinis and they clinked glasses. He'd made the drinks very strong and she tried not to sputter over her mouthful, nervousness returning as they sat so close to each other in the large, private room. The sounds of the city did not drift through his walls and she had no need to fear a landlady potentially listening nearby - she felt a little like they were the only two people in the world.

"You have a beautiful place," she murmured, looking about her. The carpet was white pile, a black rug with silver geometric designs positioned in its center. On top of that, there was a low, long and heavy glass coffee table, on which was a silver ash tray and a racing form. In one corner, on top of a tall black ornament stand, a white grecian statue of a naked woman stood, her long hair coiling about her, the soft golden light reflecting off her shiny nipples and stomach.

He looked around interestedly as though trying to see it through her eyes. "It ain't bad," he agreed, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "Though I prefer havin' something new to look at." With his head he indicated her, sitting on his couch, and Ella's cheeks strained with her smile. It was probably the most direct compliment he'd given her yet and set her somewhat at ease.

Flattop looked at her, half-smiling, his hand leaving her shoulder to toy with her hair. It tickled her a little, a pleasant sensation that made her skin prickle and her nipples peak. She took a large sip from her drink for a little more dutch courage and then he took the glass from her and set it aside.

He took her face in both gloved hands and kissed her softly. She returned it, tentatively at first and then growing bolder as he lengthened the kiss, then deepened it. His hands dropped from her face to her waist and he pulled her close next to him. She let her arms slide up his arms and then his shoulders, having just time to reflect that she had gone to a man's home for the express purpose of going to bed with him, before he yanked her against him, the kiss now hard and passionate, leaving her no ability but to surrender to it. Ella wrapped her arms around Flattop's neck as his hands on her back held her close, pulling her halfway onto his lap. She was being devoured in the kiss and found that she didn't mind in the slightest. The harder his mouth probed hers, the more responsive she became, returning the kiss with equal fervor, barely noticing when he shifted, a hand lifting to cup the back of her head as he lowered her down onto the sofa, covering her body with his. For her part, she lifted one leg and wrapped it around his waist, an action that seemed daringly liberal to her.

They weren't there long before he grew dissatisfied and sat up, shrugging off his coat, then the ubiquitous shoulder holster, the gun making a dull thunk on the carpet as he lowered it, before fumbling with her gown, finding the zip at the side and pulling it off her. She worried for just a second that it might rip but then she remembered where they were.

"Shouldn't we move into the bedroom?" she whispered breathlessly as he pushed her back down on the sofa to yank the last of her dress off from around her ankles.

He paused for just a second, looking down at her with sharp amusement. "No," he said simply, and then grasped hold of her and pulled her up to him, sliding off the couch and onto the rug below, he still mostly dressed in his shirt, suspenders and trousers and her in just her brassiere, girdle and stockings.

Overwhelmed and awash with desire, Ella allowed herself to be tugged along with the racing tide of his lust, the illictness of it all a powerful aphrodisiac. In short order he'd tugged down her brassiere, freeing her breasts from the cups, the fingers of one hand teasing and tugging at one nipple while his mouth assaulted the other, sucking and nipping. The powerful waves of sensations crashed within her and without even realising it she was kneeling with legs astride, aching for him to touch her.

When he did, a shudder ran through her. He had not yet taken off his gloves and the feeling of the material provided a friction that delighted her. Ella could hear herself making noises, and tried to swallow them down, but then he was sweeping her off her feet and laying her back on the glass coffee table.

The table? she thought in dismay, it seeming beyond all depravity. She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down, bending over to kiss her again. She didn't want to be screwed on a table, how could any decent person? But then - she supposed she wasn't decent, not anymore - and she knew Flattop wasn't. Still, it was too much to tolerate! He held her pinned by the wrists flat against the glass, ice-cold on the backs of her thighs where her stockings ended and the lower round of her buttocks before her girdle began, kissing his way down her neck and over her breasts again, sucking on her nipples in such a way that the sensation resonated elsewhere, right at that tender spot between her thighs, and she forgot her offended sensibilities, so enraptured did she become in her own pleasure.

Flattop knelt upright between her thighs, beholding her as she lay across his table, partly dressed and spread out for him, her neck arched back and her eyes tight shut. She heard the fastenings of his trousers being undone and opened her eyes, lifting her head as he grabbed hold of her hips and pulled her towards him.

It hurt a little again as he pushed inside her, despite her readiness, but the pain was over with quicker than the last time. She bit her lip as he gripped her hips hard and began to thrust into her, making her slide back and forth on the smooth glass table top. She grew shy, feeling her breasts bounce, and moved to cover them but he stopped her and slid a gloved hand over the soft white orbs. The feel of the leather was decadent and delicious and she tried not to heed the voice in the back of her mind, berating her for wantonness.

When his gloved fingers stroked the nub between her legs, the spot that had been begging to be touched, she couldn't help but cry out then slapped a hand over her mouth. In response, he rubbed her more insistently, thrust harder and she shut her eyes again and let her head fall back against the table, flooded with embarrassment but wanting desperately to achieve again the pleasure he'd brought her to the other night, not wanting him to stop even as she couldn't face him.

When she felt it building deep inside her, she experienced a sense of single-minded greed she had never known before. In that moment, she didn't care what it was going to take, not even being screwed on top of a table like some tramp - not even being a tramp, which she was beginning to feel she must be. When it finally washed through her, making her quake and tremble, absolutely consumed in the endless-but-too-brief moments of bliss, she was truly shameless, gyrating back against his pelvis, hearing herself moan.

But as the bliss subsided, her self-consciousness returned and she was gripped anew with a sense of guilt and fell silent and still. Flattop had taken hold of both her hips again and was driving forward so hard and fast her teeth rattled. It felt marvellously good even as it began to hurt a little and she peeked up at him through lowered lashes, seeing on his face an exression of low-lidded lust and intensity. She pressed her eyes shut again and wondered what a sight she must make, but then he was stiffening, groaning low and guttural, barely a sound as he reached his own climax. He panted as he finished, pulling her against him one last time before letting go of her hips and pressing his hands against the table top, his head bent forward, inhaling deeply to catch his breath.

Then he huffed a laugh, sat up straight and pulled out of her, sitting back on his haunches and refastening his trousers as she self-consciously pressed her thighs shut, sitting quickly up, fumbling to pull her bra back up.

Flattop chuckled to himself a little, slightly glazed eyes looking at a spot across the room before he snapped back into focus and looked at her, his quirked half-smile a curious blend of satisfaction and wryness.

"I need a drink," he said.

ooo

She asked to use the facilities while he mixed more drinks and he walked her to a door down the hall, cigarette hanging idly from his mouth, giving her bottom a light smack as he moved back to the living room.

His bathroom was very modern, of course, having the full facilities all in the one room - the bathtub, sink and commode, along with inbuilt storage. Continuing the colour scheme, the walls were tiled white and bordered in black and the floor was made up of an alternating pattern of black and white. His linen was royal blue, and connecting this with the occasional marks of colour throughout the apartment, she decided it must be his favourite.

Ella paused at the vanity to look at herself in the mirror, a little dismayed at what she saw. Her hair was in total disarray, strands falling over her face, and her lipstick was smudged quite off. Although her undergarments were all still on, they seemed askew slightly and there was a deep run in one stocking, evidently put there at some point during their liaison. She looked down, a little surprised to see her shoes were still on. It had definitely been a sordid affair and frankly, she thought she looked exactly as though she'd been doing exactly what she had been doing.

She wiped the dampness from between her thighs and glanced hesitantly at the blue and violent silk robe that hung on a stand near the door. She wanted to cover herself a little, but was not sure he would like her to wear his belongings. Besides, she didn't know what was going to happen now - perhaps he would expect her to leave.

Finally, Ella left the bathroom and went back to the living room, subconciously tugging at the bottom of her girdle to keep herself covered. He was standing by the window gazing out across the city skyline, having lifted the blinds, hands in pockets and cigarette in his mouth, tapping his foot a little to the Fats Waller record playing on the victrola.

"Get comfortable," he said over his shoulder. "Kick your shoes off."

Ella was glad he wasn't sending her home straight away and did as he said. He'd left a drink on the coffee table for her and she sipped it, again grimacing at its strength, sitting on the couch bent at the waist to cover herself a little. Flattop finished his cigarette, went over to a drawer in a side table and withdrew a small leather case.

"Want some nose candy?" he offered, sitting beside her, and ignorant, she just blinked at him. He caught her surprised look and snickered as he opened the case, laying a variety of instruments on the coffee table: a small mirror, a gold razor, a small gold tube and a tiny jar with a gold screw lid containing a white powder.

Cocaine! Of course she had heard about cocaine, but never, in all her life, had she been near the stuff - nor had she ever wanted to be! She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa as he tipped some of the powder onto the mirror.

"No thank you," she said meekly and he flickered his eyes over to her, still the faintest smirk on his pursed lips.

"Smarter to steer clear," he agreed, using the razor to chop the powder finer. "I only use sparingly. Seen too many snow-birds go to pieces over the junk. Mugs what can't control themselves. Palookas."

Flattop divided the powder into four thin lines, then picked up the small tube, bent over the table and inhaled two lines quickly, one in each nostril. He sat up, sniffed hard and blinked, twitched his head to one side and then a small grin of pleasure spread up his cherubic cheeks. He held the tube out to Ella.

"Sure you don't wanna try some?" he invited, his mean eyes slightly mocking.

Ella shook her head firmly and he shrugged and snorted the remaining two lines. He discarded the tube onto the tray then slid over the sofa close to her, making her more aware he remained fully clothed while she was in only her lingerie. He tucked one arm beneath her knees, lifting her legs so they lay across his lap, then fingered the run in her stocking with a little chuckle.

"You are one cute little trick," he informed her, the pupils of his eyes dilating. "Why'd things end with your last fella?"

Ella coloured at the personal nature of the question but considering all the intimacy she'd had with this man by that point, there seemed no reason to hold back.

"We grew apart," she said simply. "The Depression made him too nervous. He kept wanting to change the date of the wedding, but he got jumpy too. In the end, he seemed just - " she hesitated, trying to find the words.

"Weak," Flattop finished for her. Even after all this time, she didn't want to think cruelly of Harry but eventually she nodded. Flattop examined her face intently, his eyes flickering over her features, the only movement in his still, ever-composed countenance, his cupid's lips just slightly parted.

"Who finished it?" he wanted to know.

"I did," Ella said and then said, after a moment's thought: "But I think he provoked me into it. I think he was too - too cowardly to do it himself."

Flattop nodded sagely. "Was he your first?" She was almost growing used to his bluntness but still squirmed a little beneath the question.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I really did think we would be married."

Flattop tilted his head back, looking at her assessingly from his hooded eyes.

"You from the West Coast, right?" His hand run up and down her stockinged shin and she realised for the first time he'd removed his gloves while she was in the bathroom. She nodded and he chuckled a little.

"All that way for a pansy-ass milksop. Then what happened? You figure you'd stay and make a way for yourself? Why'd you screw Lightfoot anyway? Were you that hard up?"

She shifted uncomfortably on the leather, not liking the line of enquiry and unsure how to deflect it.

"I was," she said shortly, a note of sullenness sneaking into her voice. "Why did you all talk about it?"

Flattop smirked, unperturbed. "Lightfoot likes to make he's one of the crew, tries to be chummy talkin' about the chorus girls he's made with. We listen, cos it makes for good news, but he's just some fancy-boy hoofer trying to play big leagues. Your name came up because you sure made a helluva impression that first day, standin' there in that silly outfit bein' cussed out by Big Boy," he finished with a burst of laughter at the memory and Ella was humiliated, moving to pull her legs away from his lap. Flattop laughed more, possibly the longest show of expression she'd seen him make, grasped her by the ankles and pulled her to him again, scooping an arm beneath her knees and another around her back, lifting her up like she was weightless as he stood.

"You're too sensitive, kid," he grinned. "We were talkin' bout what a fine pair of pins ya had and how cute you blushed. Come on, I'll give you a tour of the bedroom."

ooo

Flattop screwed her twice more that night and each time she enjoyed it more than she could've expected and grew a little more comfortable, a little more at ease with him, only for him to ridicule or taunt her in some way and so drive her back to being shy and self-conscious. He chuckled at her pouts, pinching her cheeks and swatting her bottom, tugging and pulling at her body as though she were just a doll he could manipulate as he liked. He was no gentlemen indeed but he kept making her drinks and got her a robe to wear when he'd finally stripped the last of her clothing off, himself swanning around in his boxer shorts.

Ella had never made love so many times in one evening and was surprised at the responsiveness of her body, which was more willing than her bashful and slightly guilt-stricken mind to be reawoken each time, even as it grew tired and sore.

She also found that, ill-mannered or not, she couldn't help but respond to his swaggering self-confidence and brutish machismo. It appealed to her in a vexing sort of way, that he was so unconcerned with what she - or anyone else - thought, so impassive and composed at all times as though being utterly sure of himself was the difference between success and ruin. Flattop was rough and brusque, but he was not odious or whiny like Freddy nor was he nervous and indecisive like Harry and it was a welcome relief.

By the time she remembered Jean's predicament and how that had been caused, they had finished for the third time and it was too late. He noted the sudden anxiety on her face and snorted, pouring himself straight gin.

"You're loosenin' up whether you like it or not, kiddo," he said round the cigar he clamped between his teeth. "Might as well quit tryin' to fight it."

She let him think what he liked, not sure how to broach the subject with him and guessing it wasn't one he'd care to discuss anyway.

ooo

To those darling loyal readers who continue to stay with me on this fiction: THANK YOU! I actually have several more chapters already finished, just not a lot of time to upload them in! This story is going to be a long one, so strap yourselves in.

I hate to beg, but reviews are always welcome fuel to stoke the creative fire. I know some of you are probably waiting until the end before you review, but I would so much appreciate hearing what you think of the story so far and remember I always welcome concrit! 3

Thanks again, hope you are enjoying it!