by Daisy Allen
We've decided to continue not talking about what happened before so that I won't mix up things he told me with what I really remember.
But it doesn’t matter.
I'm happy just to dwell in our present. Our giddy, happy, sexy, perfect present.
Sometime around midnight, we lie down by the window to watch the last of the fountain shows below, our room lit up only by the lights from the Eiffel Tower, and he falls dead asleep in my arms.
I don't really know who are you, Mystery Man Jez, or where you came from or why you're here.
But I've never been happier in my whole life.
I fall asleep, with his breath soft and steady in my ear.
***
It's warm.
And bright.
Ugh, too bright.
My eyes open and snap shut again.
Sun.
Bloody, freakin' too bright, killing-my-eyes sun.
"Ughhh," I groan, pulling the sheet over my head. And then I realize, other than the light, I'm comfortable, more comfortable than I have ever felt. I lift the blanket and see I'm in bed. How did I get here? Did he carry me here during the night? Damn. His poor arms.
But damn, this bed is comfortable. It's soft and firm all at once. Every part of my body feels like it's being hugged by puppies. Fuzzy and warm and soft. A cloud of puppies, hugging me.
"Ahhhh," I sigh, stretching out.
I'm going to need to get me one of these beds.
"AHHHH," I sigh even louder, just for the fun of it.
"Hey. I don't like when you make that noise and I'm not the one making you make it," Jez’s voice looms over me.
I poke my head out from under the blanket. He's already showered and dressed. Where the hell did he get new clothes from?
"Well, come in here and fix the problem then," I grin, moving over on the bed.
"Don't tempt me."
I wiggle my eyebrows and pull the sheet completely away, exposing my naked body.
I can't believe I'm acting this way. I'm not usually so confident, but Jez has shown me in no uncertain terms that he desires me. And it's made me more bold than ever.
He takes a deep breath, drops a knee onto the bed to lean over me and kisses me hard.
I reach for him, but he pulls away.
"NO!" he commands, pointing a finger at me, "Down, temptress, down. I have other plans for you right now."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, come on."
"Do I need to get dressed."
"No, you're dressed perfectly for what I have planned for you." I climb out of the bed, suddenly shy, and wrap the bedsheet around me. I follow him into the bathroom and I can't help but let out a gasp.
"Oh, Jez," I sigh, looking around me.
He's filled the giant marble bathroom with candles, everywhere. The lights are dimmed but every surface is lit up in that soft orange hue that only comes from a naked flame. The large round tub in the middle of the room is filled, steam coming from the hot water, bubbles overflowing the rim, the scent is like a field of lavender. Decadent, luscious, heavenly.
And there's another scent as well. Just as heavenly, just as decadent.
What is that?
Oh god.
Coffee.
I notice a silver tray on the side of the tub, holding a French press and a double walled glass coffee cup. There’s also a plate with a fluffy croissant, and the smell of butter is making me drool.
"Coffeeeeeee." I say, and it sounds like the Cookie Monster's come to visit. I let go of the sheet; it drops to my feet as I reach for the tray.
He laughs. "I thought you might like that. I thought if you've been suffering through the same coffee as me at the hospital, you might be missing a good cup.” He comes up and hugs me from behind. I lean back against him, enjoying the feel of his chest against my back, protective, strong, mine. He kisses my ear gently and I shiver.
“This is amazing, I love it. I haven’t had a good soak in a tub for so long,” I coo, happily.
“Good. I’m glad you like it. I had to light the candles pretty damn quick in case you woke up and needed to use the bathroom.”
I turn around and give him a soft kiss. I feel so spoiled.
“Get in and I’ll bring the tray over to you.”
I wish I could take a photo of this moment to remember forever.
"Hey, turn around," I tell him, as I prepare to climb into the tub. The last thing I want is for him to watch my lack of athleticism as I try to traverse the bath.
"No. You're beautiful." He says firmly, and doesn't take his eyes off me. He watches as I throw my legs over into the tub as gracefully as I can and sink down into the bubbles, almost getting lost in them.
"AHHHHHHHH," I sigh as every pain, every ache, every niggling discomfort in my body dissipates.
"There's that sound again," he laughs.
"Yeah, well, you could join me,” I wink at him, lifting a bare leg into the air.
"Maybe later, I thought you might like to just have a good soak for a bit. I had a long shower before. Someone tired me out last night." He hands me the coffee cup and I take a long sip, ignoring the burn on my tongue and down my throat.
"Bliss," I say.
"Enjoy it, Emmie," he says, kissing my forehead, and hands me the tv remote before tiptoeing out the door.
I sink deeper into the tub, turning on the water jets, letting out a slow hum as they vibrate through my body. Yeah, okay, I could get used to this. The only thing that is going to make this any better is some mood music.
I grab the remote and switch on the TV.
"Ugh, no," I say, changing the channel. The Bellagio has a TV channel completely dedicated to their fountain music. They must have mentioned it five times as Jez was checking in.
"Nope... nope... nope..." I say, flicking through the channels.
"Bingo," I stop on the MTV channel, laying back and turning the volume up as high as it will go.
There's a string of pop songs, some I know, and some I know so well that I’m soon singing along as I splash around content in the tub.
The end of a classic Britney song fades out and the beginning of a music video I've not seen before starts up.
It's set in the middle of a forest at night, spot lights focus on the center on the band, set up in a clearing among the trees.
When the music starts, I close my eyes and lay back.
It sounds slightly familiar, I may have only heard it one or two times before. It's starts out like classical music, and then it suddenly blends into a fast-paced lyrical rock song. It's amazing. Strings weaving in and out of simple melodies and complex harmonies. It’s atmospheric and yet punches you in the stomach as well.
I open my eyes to see who it's by. The camera is spinning up and over the trees, not focusing on the band. I squint, reading the caption of song and band.
"Forest Lullaby by The Rock Chamber Boys." I read out loud. “Oh, of course," I say to myself. I'd heard their songs on the radio before, but never an original. Or seen a music video.
The camera flies back in through the trees and zoom in on the band.
One by one.
Right up on their faces.
On his face.
Oh my god.
No.
"JEZ!!!!!" I yell, pulling myself up in the tub, causing a wave of bubbles and water to splash on the floor. "Oh my god. JEZ!" I yell again.
He comes running in, almost slipping on the floor.
"What? What's wrong? Are you okay?" he shouts, looking me over, face stark with worry.
"Oh my god," is all I can say, pointing to the TV, not really believing what I’m seeing. "It's... oh my god. It's you."
He spins around, facing the TV, and freezes as he his own face staring back at him.
I look from him, to the screen and back again, slack jawed. I can’t believe it.
"Oh my god. That’s you!"
"Shit." He says and grabs the remote from me.
"No!" I snatch it back, and focus back on the
screen. He's... fuck. The Rock Chamber Boys have won a Grammy! Maybe more than one.
And he's... he's one of them.
And he's... fucking amazing.
I watch as the camera zooms in on his fingers, moving up and down the neck of the cello like he's tapping out Morse code, calling for help. His head bent over the neck of his cello, sweat dripping from his fringe and catching on the spotlights, his bow thrusting back and forth, drawing magic from his instrument.
I can't turn away, not until the song is over. And then I wish I could hear it again.
There’s a loud drum beat as the next song starts up, and he slowly reaches out and takes the remote from me and turns the TV off, avoiding my eyes.
"Jez. You're…. you’re…” I don't have a word for it.
"What?" He says, his face tight, his hand pushing his fringe away from his face, his mouth in a hard, set line.
“Your playing is… it’s exquisite, Jez.” I suddenly feel embarrassed about all the times he’s heard me play the ukulele. That silly little play instrument, and me playing it like I’m some serious musician, and here he is, one of the best cello players in the world. Fuck. Why didn’t he say anything? “Jez! You said,.. you said you didn’t play. Or… that you don’t play any more…” I try to remember his exact words that night.
He just looks at me, his eyes giving away what the rest of his face is trying to hide.
Oh my god. It all makes sense to me now. Why he hadn’t said anything, why his recovery has been so hard on him.
Because of who and what he was.
Oh god, Jez. There’s a crack in my chest, and I know it’s my heart, breaking for him.
I hold my hand out to him. "Take my hand, Jez.”
He frowns, not sure what I want.
“Take my hand.” I say again, and he fights for a moment, but then his shoulders fall and he complies.
I pull him gently toward the tub, gesturing for him to get in, to join me.
“I'm not-…” he gestures to his clothes. But I don’t care about that.
I tug on his hand, saying nothing, and he hesitates for just one more second before he steps over the rim of the tub and sinks down onto his knees into the water.
The water splashes over the sides but I couldn’t care less.
I push myself up onto my knees so we're face to face, waist deep in disintegrating bubbles and warm water and jet spray blowing against our legs.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. I raise my hands and hold his face between them, staring into his eyes. The pain in them means so much more to me now. I used to think it was just that he was a brooder, with the pain, the scars from his childhood of losing his parents. But now I know, it’s from losing himself.
How can someone play like that, like what I just heard, have it taken away from them, and ever be whole?
My Jez, my sweet, unique, talented, godly, Jez.
I say nothing, but what my eyes express to his. I want him to know, need him to know, that I understand now. That he doesn’t need to say a word. I move my hands away from his face and take his hands in mine, cradling them like they're the most precious things I’ll ever hold.
I open up his left hand, running my fingers over the scars and press a kiss to his palm.
I lift my eyes back to his, and they’re stark with vulnerability. And I know, what I say in this moment, is of vital importance to him.
I make sure he’s looking into my eyes, when I finally speak.
"You are going to be okay.”
And something breaks in him.
His face crumples, his eyes well up and his mouth quivers. I watch it as if in slow motion. The complete and utter devastation of a man. I can barely hold back my own tears for him. But it's not about me. It's never been more about him.
I sink down into the tub and pull him with me, his body drops, his head falling onto my shoulder as he starts to shake.
And I hold him. Body and clothes and healing bones and broken soul as he sobs.
"It's okay, I'm here. You let it out. I'm here."
No wonder. No wonder it's been so hard for him. To be given that gift, direct from the hand of God... and then, not know if you can ever do it again.
I think back to all those times I watched him flinch as he tried to just hold a ball.
All those times he couldn't hold a pen and needed to ask someone else to write me a note.
When he couldn’t reach for a tissue.
How each time it must've reminded him of what he may have lost. And how much physical pain he’s been through.
Yet, he ignored it to carry me. To bed. Twice.
"You are going to okay,” I repeat. For myself this time, to comfort myself for the anguish I imagine he’s going through.
"What if I'm not… there’s so much wrong with me…" he sobs into my shoulder, and the catch in his voice tears at my heart like a rake dipped in acid.
"Hey, I'm not saying your hands will ever fully heal, I can't. But there isn’t anything wrong with you. Not you. And I know, that YOU, my mystery, sexy, gorgeous, beautiful man. You are going to be okay. I promise you."
"You promise?" And I have to bite my tongue to stop from crying at the helplessness in his voice.
"Listen to me. Look at me.” He lifts his head, and I can barely make out his pupils through my own blurry vision. “I promise you. Do you hear me, do you see how much I mean it?
He nods, "No one's been able to promise me before."
"I'm not just anyone."
"No, you're not.” His lips quivers again and I push his head back down onto my chest, so that my heartbeat can steady his breaths.
I feel my own tears fall hot and full down my face as I ache for him. Holding him tighter, hoping the water transfers his pain to me.
Give me it all. I'll take it all, I whisper to any power greater than me that can make it so.
I don't know how long we lay there. This broken man and I. Just that when it's finally quiet, I'm not the same person I was before. And I don't think he is either.
He lifts his head, his eyes red, his hair wet, the clothes clinging to every inch of his body.
"I'm sorry,” he murmurs.
"Shhh, what on earth are you sorry for?"
"I'm sorry, I'm... I'm not him."
"Him?" I point to the TV. "I never knew him. I know you. Baby, I want you."
"Even though I’m broken?"
"Every jagged, delicate, imperfect piece."
I bite my lip and his eyes stray to my mouth. He looks back up to me and there’s heat in his eyes now. Something solid compared to the mist of pain that was looking in them before.
He rolls off me and leans his back against the wall of the tub, the water spilling over the sides as he grabs my hips and pulls me on top of him.
My legs fall on either side of him, and I can feel him growing hard against me. I reach for the hem of his T-shirt and lift it over his head. It's wet and heavy and he laughs as I struggle to throw it over the side.
And then he stops laughing. Eyes dark and serious as he reaches under the water, his hands finding me, the spot between my legs.
I spread my knees further apart, sinking deeper, holding my breath as he caresses me. His fingers tracing along the lines of my skin, as I slide the zipper of his jeans down.
He moves his hand away, just for a moment, as he wriggles out of his jeans.
I reach into the water to fist his cock. He groans as I run my fingers up and down the length; he’s already rock hard. He leans his head back against the side of the tub for a few seconds as my hand grips him harder, pumping him, getting him ready.
"Jez, I want you. All of you," I whisper. And he nods.
I stroke him, hard and fast, watching his Adam’s apple moving up and down his throat as he breathes deeply. Even under the water I can feel the slickness of the drop forming on the tip of his cock.
He's ready.
I wriggle further up his body, lifting slightly, positioning him right at m
y opening.
He lifts his head, his fingers reaching up to flick on my nipples.
“Ohhhh,” I exhale, my chest arching against his hands, wanting more.
It spurs him on and he leans forward and catches my nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. Making my hips rock, involuntarily.
Now it’s his turn to know, I’m ready.
He keeps sucking, and I let go of his cock, reaching behind me to brace myself on his thighs. I keep rocking, the movement instinctive to a woman who’s ready to fuck.
“I’m yours, Noémie. Every jagged broken piece,” he grunts and thrusts forward just as I rock against him, and his cock sinks deep inside me.
"Ohhhhh," I moan, the air pushed out of me as he fills me up. "Oh god, Jez."
"Shhh, baby, take me, take all of me," he rasps, his hips moving fast up and down under the water.
"Fuck!!” I yell. Feeling the orgasm build and build and build.
"You are so fucking beautiful. You're a fucking goddess, Noémie. I can't get enough of you."
"You have all of me," I promise, just as I feel my entire body shudder.
I lean forward, gripping his shoulders as I ride him, bucking my hips, feeling him completely fill me up with his hard, driving cock.
In the distance I hear him growl my name and I see his head throw back, leaning against the tub rim as he drives himself inside of me.
I'm dizzy, and I fall to the side.
And he catches me, pulling me against him, our bare chests heaving against each other, as my legs collapse around his.
"Damn,” he pants.
"Holy macaroni, Tony," I add.
He laughs even through his short breaths. “That's not something you hear every day.”
"I can change that." I wink at him as my face falls to rest on his shoulder.
"You change everything, sweet girl. Everything."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jez
The next two days are spent in complete and utter bliss.
I didn't know life could be like this. I know I told Noémie that I've never been in love, and now I know it's true.
Nothing has felt like this. Nothing has come close.
At one point, I feel a little envious, a little jealous of her that she has felt this way in the past. With someone else.
