Chalk Butterfly: Part One (First Time Erotic Romance) Read online

  Chalk Butterfly: First Time Erotic Romance

  by Audra Red

  Published by Audra Red at Smashwords

  Copyright 2012 Audra Red

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ***

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actions, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Excerpts from Chalk Butterfly: Part One

  “You can talk to me, right? I want that. I want anything, no matter how small.”

  Alexander turned, tears in his eyes again. “Why?”

  “Because on the subway you were the only one wearing red,” Daniel said simply. Alexander’s eyebrow quirked up. “And because you hid your friends in the bathroom, and your cat hates me, and because, because I bet you’re the worst public speaker in the history of public speaking.”

  “I’m a story teller,” Alexander said quietly.

  “A what?”

  “I work at a library. I read stories to the children.”

  Daniel took a few moments to digest the information and then said, “Because you’re the worst public speaker in the history of public speaking, yet by occupation that is what you do. That makes your brave.”

  “No,” Alexander said softly. “I’m not brave.”

  “I’ve known you for a grand total of three days and I can see that you are,” Daniel replied. “You’re here and you’re telling me all of this, and it seems difficult for you, but you’re still telling me. Are you in pain? I think you are, and you’re apologizing to me. Alexander.”

  “You don’t understand,” Alexander replied slowly. “This is my life, this grief.” Immense sadness filled Alexander’s eyes and he held up his bandaged hands once again. “My skin is as delicate as butterfly wings. They call us butterfly children, how easily we are rendered flightless.”

  ***

  Daniel couldn't help but slide a hand down his muscled stomach, hands toying closer and closer to the growing erection in his boxers. He wanted to feel ashamed for thinking of Alexander in this way, but it was impossible. The young man might have exuded innocence, but he also gave off intensely sensual vibes.

  He pretended Alexander was as innocent as he appeared. This only made him harder and he had to release his cock from the confines of his boxers. He moaned as his cock was set free, and immediately began to stroke himself from his thick base to sensitive, wet tip.

  He yearned for the young man, squeezing his cock hard as he imagined the young man writhing beneath him, neither of them touching. They would be so close, but without an inch of skin meeting. He stroked himself faster and faster to the thought of Alexander moaning at he gentle caress of Daniel's breath on his throat.

  “Oh god,” he moaned, hips arching.

  He'd breathe hotly on Alexander's throat. He'd lower his mouth and let his lips brush the petal soft skin.

  And then he'd open his mouth and devour Alexander.

  ***

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Prologue

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  It was to be an unusual day.

  Alexander sat quickly, the mattress dipping under his weight, a strip of Vaseline gauze hanging precariously between trembling lips, the frayed end wrapped tightly around his right wrist. His left hand was already bandaged and was mostly useless as he tried to wrap his other hand in the medicated gauze.

  His brows furrowed and he breathed raggedly through his nose as he twisted his hand, winding the gauze around and around. The bland taste of the Vaseline lingered on his lips.

  Between each finger he wound the lubricated gauze, white and sterile, coldly slick and a bit rough. When he was through, he gingerly lifted a roll of dry gauze and began the process all over again. His hands felt numb now, making his fingers clumsy and his concentration wavered. The strip fell from his hands, hanging from his arm to settle in the crook of his elbow.

  'Not too far,' he thought. He moved his arm up, frowning hard as the bottom portion of the gauze hung just out of reach. Shaking his head, he bent his neck, catching part of the gauze in his teeth only to lose it a moment later as it fluttered down his arm once more.

  His teeth ground together and a flush of anxiety washed through him, tears prickling at his eyes. This was the struggle he went through every morning. Not to wrap his hands, but to halt the tide of emotions swelling below his delicate skin. The wrapping was a less frequent event than the frustration.

  He stared down at the gauze. He’d been very rough on his hands and feet in the past months and hadn't been very careful managing the resulting blisters. An infection in his right hand had made things more difficult and now he wrapped everyday, something he hadn’t done for years.

  Thirteen years of this disease and he still fought the surging helplessness that plagued him. The disease encompassed nearly every aspect of his life. He didn’t have time for tears today, though. He looked at his left hand, and grimaced.

  A small drop of perspiration rolled down his forehead, and he lifted his left hand, similarly wrapped, raising the gauze from his arm and wincing.

  “Shit,” he swore, biting his lip and wrapping his right hand as quickly as he could.

  He always felt a little sore after wrapping. It would take an hour or so before the gauze softened, becoming a sort of second skin.

  Finally, tucking the tip of the gauze between his thumb and forefinger with tense fingers, his hand was completely wrapped.

  He smiled, attempting to calm his heavy breathing-- the shakes all up his thighs. The numbness gave way to pain and it was enough to make him dizzy, to form stinging tears in the corner of his eyes.

  “Not bad,” he said.

  He stood weakly and caught a glance of himself in the mirror before exiting the bedroom. His hair was plastered to his forehead, face shockingly pale. His feet stopped in their tracks, and he leaned towards the mirror, lips down turned slightly.

  “Okay, breathe,” he told himself. He watched his lips part on a pained breath and a single tear rolled down his cheek. The drop of saline slipped across his lips and into his mouth, and he swallowed it forlornly. It was only one tear, but it pulled at something inside his gut, and the breath felt knocked out of him.

  Looking in the mirror then (messy flyaway curls, dark wet eyes, pale flesh) he knew why he lived alone, why no one would try to take his unholdable, useless hand in their own. He squeezed his fingers together, pain racing through him.

  But the pain lessened, becoming a dull throb.

  He couldn’t think of his nights alone, battling with his mirror. He couldn’t see what the mirror actually reflected-- soft, warm, brave beauty, and the sweet, vulnerable willingness to be loved. The mirror reflected thick mahogany curls, spilling down a long, graceful neck and skin smooth and pale as alabaster. Wide, innocent brown eyes, small flecks of yel
low warming the dark irises, looked up from under long lashes, closing against threatening tears. Alexander's body was built lean and tall, with high cheekbones, and soft frowning lips.

  He saw none of this as he stood before his mirror. He only saw the slight bend of his nose, the dark circles under his eyes. Painstakingly brushing the sweat damp hair from his forehead, he turned from the mirror.

  He’d seen enough for now.

  Pulling on his jacket, carefully adjusting his small black bag on his shoulder, he padded through the living room of his small apartment, eyes on the door.

  “You’re needed. Don’t worry about pain, it’s temporary,” he said aloud, steeling himself for the day ahead. He passed his fat tabby cat on the way out, and patted the dozing beast on the head. “You be good, Cat,” he said. He turned the door knob as delicately as he could. It stung a bit, but it was pain he could manage. The door opened and he stepped out into the hallway, readying himself for the strenuous task of locking the deadbolt shut.

  None of this was unusual. These were familiar things, things he’d lived with since before he could remember. Pain was normal, stress even more so.

  No, what was unusual wasn’t about the pain, but about the day.

  Wednesday.

  Pressing the key into the lock, he sighed in relief-- it would be an easy task today. But then his cellphone rang from behind the closed door. He'd forgotten it again. He scowled, unlocking the door and stepping inside to find his phone.

  “Yeah?” he said weakly into the phone. His own voice betrayed his strength and his hand shook. Just the mere movement of squeezing the phone sent pain all up and down his arms. His entire body seemed rather sensitive after wrapping.

  “Alex, you sound awful! You’re not coming in today,” his friend and coworker, Elijah, scolded over the line. “We don’t need you that badly. Go lay down, you British bastard.”

  Alexander smiled despite the discomfort. “Hey now, you bloody wank, no need for name calling. And don’t even start. You’re short David, and Elizabeth is shit with the kids. And you’ve got that entire new cataloging system to work through. I’m coming in, and that’s that.”

  “Alex…”

  “Listen, I am already half out the door, no sense in staying in now,” Alexander said. His voice was near pleading and Elijah sighed over the line. Elijah knew, of course, about Alexander’s mornings.

  “You can’t help with the catalog yet, you know that, Alex,” Elijah said, affection easing its way into his voice.

  “Yeah, but I’m brilliant with the kids, and you’ll have a large group today. I’ll read them Peter Rabbit and be done with it. I’ll be out of your hair before you even know it,” Alexander said. He shifted the phone to his other hand, wincing, and Elijah again sighed heavily across the line.

  “You know I didn’t mean it that way, Alex. Come on, I love having you here, but it’s your day off, and you need it.”

  “No, you need me. And you need me now. I’m gonna be late for the subway, and won’t that be perfect? See you in thirty, Eli.”

  “Fine, you stubborn little f…” Elijah’s voice stuttered. “Fish.”

  “Kids?” Alexander asked, hearing tiny giggles over the phone. He could hear Elijah muffling the receiver with his hand and talking very gently to what Alexander knew would be the eight o’clock group.

  “You guessed it,” Elijah said a few moments later, voice again clear. “I suppose I’ll see you soon. Be careful.”

  “You too, and watch your mouth, Eli.”

  “Ha.”

  “Bye.”

  Alexander left his apartment in Greenwich Village at half past eight and headed to the nearby subway, walking briskly, but carefully down Bank Street, slipping large black mittens over his bandaged hands before he entered the station. It never did him any good to provoke stares, or worse yet, pity. His feet ached from the somewhat fast pace, but he wouldn’t be late and he knew the bandages would hold.

  His breath puffed out like wisps of smoke into the cool air, and he walked in the leaf cushioned gutter, listening to the leaves yield and break as he tread across.

  Entering the station, he slipped his traveling pass from his pocket, barely keeping hold of it in his stiff hands.

  “Soho,” the track listing read, and he stepped onto the familiar train. The passengers were all familiar to Alexander, he knew them well by their briefcases and drab suits; the commuters from Long Island and New Jersey. They were all headed into New York City for their busy days, busy jobs and busy lives. Alexander smiled, settling in his seat, glad for his quiet days in the library.

  The suits barely paid attention to Alexander, though lately there was always a seat left open for him, so he knew they weren’t completely mindless.

  But today was Wednesday, and Alexander never rode the subway on Wednesdays. So when a tall, blonde man shuffled and sat beside him after the first stop, he merely scooted over and turned his head toward the window.

  It was to be an unusual day, indeed.

  ***

  Daniel never rode the subway into work. He didn’t like the cluster of people all breathing on each other in a tightly confined area.

  He enjoyed the short brisk walk from the stoop of his Gothic-inspired apartment to the hidden parking garage across the way. The building was dauntingly impressive, with a cream colored outer facade adorned with elaborate carved moldings, rod iron arches above each window and a sizable veranda just outside Daniel’s spacious living room. It wasn’t much of a walk to the garage, but it got his blood pumping and opened his ears and eyes to the new day.

  Now in autumn, he enjoyed it doubly; the crisp scent of the biting air, the crunch, crunch of the browning leaves beneath his smart leather shoes. He’d take his fill of the cold, and the real, and then he’d shut it out by sliding into his sleek black Porsche.

  It was the perfect balance for him (something he’d perfected over the course of his forty some odd years), but that Wednesday a rather bothersome chain of events lead to him purchasing a ticket for the E-train into Park Place.

  That morning he’d woken to the blasting radio, the disc jockeys slinging inane babble and insults. The traffic report, though, had caught his attention.

  Seventh Avenue, though usually very congested in the morning rush hour, was beyond hope; a completely clogged and unmoving stretch of cement.

  Daniel couldn’t get into work by that route-- at least in a timely manner, and he had things to do. He’d just hired a new chef on staff, a shipment of freshwater salmon would be arriving at ten and Owen was threatening to revamp the menu himself if Daniel showed up late one more time.

  “So much for running my own restaurant,” Daniel had muttered, slipping out of bed and thinking his options over one by one in his head. The subway was a logical choice, and Daniel was nothing if not a logical man-- though a little eccentric in his ways.

  He'd boarded the train car, dressed in all charcoal, mixing in with the suits, though his seams were a bit tighter, and the fit of his jacket a bit fitter. The car wasn’t too full, and he could’ve had his own seat, but the train started abruptly and he sat in the first spot available.

  A young man, dressed in a large wool jacket and fuzzy black mittens shared his seat and Daniel looked down to the floor. That’s how one rode the subway, wasn’t it? Keep your eyes to yourself, hands to yourself-- locker room etiquette.

  But he’d always been a but of an oddball, and he’d always gotten his way. It's how he made his millions in the restaurant business.

  One look at the young man beside him and he found he couldn't tear his eyes away.

  Chapter One

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  Daniel settled his leather case in his lap and turned himself slightly so he could watch the man sitting beside him. The younger man didn't pay him any mind, it seemed he was lost in some faraway thought as he gazed out the window.