by Maria Luis
Blood thunders in my head. I’m unaware of my feet moving, carrying me forward until my chest is inches away from hers. When she inhales sharply, I feel it, too. When her fingers curl in tightly, I put my hope on the map and slip my hand into hers. And then I repeat the words that she holds close to her heart: “Nothing you say will make me look at you any different.”
Because I love you.
“Do you remember that day on the beach when I lost my bikini top?”
I give a low laugh. “How could I ever forget?” Against all better judgment, my dick had a different perspective view on the situation—particularly when I awoke each morning from wet dreams of a topless Mina and my hand gripping my dick like my only mission in life was to get off.
Mina tugs on the hem of her sweatshirt with her free hand. “I was embarrassed, obviously, but more so because of how much I wished you had made a move.”
“If I remember correctly,” I drawl, “I almost died in the riptide.”
“Your memory is faulty.” She rolls her eyes—there’s that sass of hers I love so much. “You came up for air within ten seconds.”
“Longest ten seconds of my life when I was robbed of the opportunity to keep staring at your tits.”
Mina throws her head back with a laugh. “After that comment, I feel better confessing how that was the first time I ever . . . you know what.”
Fuck. Me.
Cheeks flushing, she presses her palms to the sides of her face. “Yup, okay I just said that. Moving on.” I have no interest in moving on, now that I know Mina spent years playing with herself to fantasies about me, but she plows forward, clearly determined to air out all her deep, dark secrets. “The point of all of this is, I’ve always liked you, Nick. The night of your wedding, I felt so torn—stuck between wanting to do the right thing and offer only comfort and thinking maybe you’d finally realized that I was the girl for you all along.”
“Mina, I—”
Severing our connection, her hands come up and she shakes her head. “But there’s a difference between liking someone you think you know and loving someone who matches you in every way.” She snaps her gaze up to mine. “You match me, Nick, like no one else. And I’m so sorry for letting lifelong insecurities get in the way of us. I let three little words, that have always come with conditions, influence my reaction. I’ll never forgive myself for letting you think, even for one second, that I don’t adore you. That I don’t wake up every morning and wonder if I’ll see you or if you’ll make fun of me for having pom-poms on my snow boots.”
“Koukla,” I rasp, emotion clogging my throat, “I’m gonna be makin’ fun of those pom-poms of yours until we’re old and gray.”
“I hope that’s a promise.”
For the first time in my life, words fail me. I stand there, mute, my heart on a platter—and she knows it.
“Hold on,” she whispers, leaning over the back of the sofa to reach for something. My gaze unapologetically slips down to her heart-shaped ass in those baggy sweats before meandering north again in time to see her pulling an object out of her purse. If I’m not mistaken, it’s antler bone. The frame is sleek, not bulky, and then she grazes her finger over the back end and a blade pops free. A small, shy smile curls her mouth. “I bought this at the outdoor store in Bethel when you went to the bathroom. The owner told me this one is the best for whittling wood, and I . . .” She snaps the blade shut. Then, with hesitation gripping her features, she hands me the pocketknife, handle first. “I wanted you to think of me while you worked.”
Heart racing, I study the face I’ve known for years—this woman, my sister’s best friend, who can obliterate every wall just by saying my name. I skim my thumb over the inlay of the whittling knife. It’s a stunning piece of work with detailed carvings bordering each side of the silver blade. The fact that it was Mina who thought to get it for me? “I love it, koukla. Thank you.” I squeeze it once, feeling the weight and texture of the bone, before slipping it into my jeans. “It’s my turn now.”
Her nod is clipped.
Christ, man, do not cry.
I summon up every bit of self-control that I’ve got in the reserves. “I’m gonna put this as eloquently as possible—I’ve never been one for pigeonholing people, Ermione. I don’t give a fuck if you’re all Greek or half-Greek, if you speak the language fluently or only know how to properly curse me out.” Eliminating the last remaining inches between us, I spear my hands through her wild hair. I love that it’s untamed and curly and impulsive today. Tipping her head back, my hands cupping the base of her skull, I meet her gaze. “Those things make up one small part of who you are, but they aren’t what make me stop in my tracks and know that I’m one lucky son of a gun.”
Closing my eyes, I brush my mouth over her forehead. “I love how you go for what you want at full-speed. I love that you’ve got dreams—big dreams—and you reach for them with all that you are.” I kiss my way down to her cheek, then over to the shell of her ear, which I nip gently. “But, selfishly, I love that you make me feel alive. You challenge me. You push me to step out of my shell when I’ve spent years keepin’ everyone at arm’s length.” My mouth glides to the right, to hover over hers, and I flick my gaze up to look her in the eye. “I’m done playing at temporary longings, agape mou. I want you, in my life, by my side, in my bed—and I’m gonna push a hard bargain, Mina, because I want you forever.”
A fat tear rolls down her cheek that I catch with the pad of my thumb. “S’agapo,” I confess roughly, “and you can take all the time you need to say it back—”
Mina hooks her hands at the base of my neck and yanks me down, my mouth colliding with hers. She kisses me the way she lives her life: bold, reckless, impulsive. Her tongue tangles with mine. Her fingers, rebels that they are, reach down to hook into the loops of my jeans. Her hold on me keeps her steady on her toes, especially when she tears away, panting heavily, and gifts me with the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. “I love you, too, Nick. And thank you.”
My hands palm the curve of her ass. “For what?”
That smile of hers wavers, a show of sweet vulnerability, and then she whispers, “For making me feel like I’m finally home.”
Ah, gamóto.
I crane my neck back, staring up at the ceiling, and do my fair share of blinking.
“Are you crying?” Mina demands, tugging on my shirt.
“Óxi.” Fuck, man, make them disappear. I squeeze my eyes shut, then press my tongue to the roof of my mouth—only for gentle hands to clasp either side of my face and make me look down, so that all I see is her.
“You’re such a romantic, Nick.” Though her tone is teasing, she uses the fabric of her sleeves to press to my closed lids. I feel her rise up on her tiptoes before soft lips kiss the underside of my jaw. “S’agapo. You can cry all you want and that’s not gonna change. I know you’re a man’s man deep down inside.”
I laugh, the sound gruff. She’s busting my balls again, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing about it. Hauling her up against me, my hands cupping her ass, I crash my mouth down over hers. The kiss is frantic, needy, and she gasps against my mouth as I stalk her backward until the backs of her thighs are colliding with the sofa and I’m lifting her up, propping her on top of it, and spreading her legs so I step in close. Her fingers push at my sweatshirt, tugging it off and—fuck, yes.
The fabric goes beneath her ass. “So Effie won’t kill us if we get messy,” I mutter, reining in laughter when Mina’s eyes fly to meet mine.
“She’ll kill us anyway.”
“Payback,” I mutter against the column of her throat, peppering her with light kisses. “For that one time I went to see Sarah at her office and found her and my sister hooking up.”
Mina’s throaty laughter sends a shiver curling down my spine. She hooks her legs around my waist, squeezing tightly. “Camping trip, 2015. I woke up in the same tent as them, only to hear noises that I would kill to forget.”
“Sex noises?”<
br />
“Oh, yeah.”
The heel of my palm gently collides with her shoulder, tipping her weight until she’s falling onto the cushions themselves. She giggles—giggles—at my foul play as I hop over the back of the sofa, but it doesn’t stop her hands from fumbling with the button of my jeans as soon as I crawl over her. Dipping low, I kiss the underside of her jaw. “It’s only right that we break the house rules.”
“Nick Stamos breaking rules?” Her hands come down to help me push my jeans down the length of my legs. “What’s the world coming to?”
I drop to my haunches on the floor, then swiftly strip off her sweats. “I fell in love, Ermione.” I kiss her inner thigh. Sweep my nose along the tendon leading to the apex of her legs. “And I’m only willing to break the rules with you.”
Her choked laughter only precedes her gripping my hair, keeping my face between her legs. “We’re totally going to be cleaning up the couch when we’re done, aren’t we?”
My thumb traces the elastic band of her underwear. They’re pink, high-waisted, and not anywhere close to resembling sexy lingerie. But on the woman wearing them, they might as well be the hottest scrap of fabric I’ve ever seen. “Oh, yeah,” I finally murmur back, boldly tracing my thumb over the damp spot not even the pink material can disguise. “Fabric cleaner. Putting the cushions through the wash. The whole nine yards.” Her legs quiver, and I press a palm to her inner thigh to spread them wider. “She’ll never have to know.”
Mina’s chuckle turns into a moan when I drop my head and kiss her, right over where she needs me most. “I love you.”
I glance up, staring past the line of her underwear, over her sweatshirt, and up to her beautiful face. “Say it again.”
Her fingers curl into my hair, tugging hard on the strands. “I love you,” she whispers, her hips churning upward, desire written in her every move. With glassy eyes, she lifts her head to meet my gaze. “I love you. I love you.”
God, yes.
Hooking a finger under the fabric of her panties, I pull them to the side and inhale sharply. “You’re mine, koukla,” I growl, right before I press my tongue to her clit. Her whole body shudders, her knees clamping inward, her nails scraping my scalp. I don’t ease up on the pressure, not once. Not when she begs for me to fuck her, not when she strains to lift her hips. I plant a forearm over her pelvis, keeping her locked into place, and then use two fingers to hold her folds open.
“Nick.” Her body trembles as I suck on the hood of her sex. “Please.” A low, keen moan rumbles in her chest as I plunge a finger deep in her pussy. I work her in tandem, my finger thrusting, my tongue flicking, until she’s so far gone that I doubt she even realizes that she’s crying out. “Oh, yes! I love you. Please, I need . . .”
Need claws at my body. The need to fuck her. The need to kiss her lips and then again, but this time right over that sensitive spot of hers, where her shoulder and neck meet. She writhes against my mouth, and still I don’t let up. A second finger joins the first, and I curl them together, listening avidly for the hitch in her breath. She gives it, her hands leaving my head to grip the throw pillows behind her as her back bows and her mouth parts on one of her sexy whimpers. Desperation tugs low at my spine, and I pull back only long enough to grip my cock in my hand. Give it a slow pump, twisting at the crown. The second sweep up my length is faster, tighter. My fingers bite into Mina’s thigh, and I know she’ll have bruises tomorrow. But, still, I can’t stop. Not my gaze from landing on her flushed face, not my hand from jerking my shaft like I’m some fifteen-year-old faced with his first Playboy.
“Are you touching yourself?”
At Mina’s soft question, I let out a deep groan. “I’m so hot for you.”
The cushions squeak as she sits up with her hands on my shoulders, her legs on either side of my torso as I continue to kneel on the floor. Under her watch, my hips move on their own accord, meeting my closed fist again and again.
Until it’s me being pushed to my ass and Mina who’s crawling up my body. She cups my balls, tugging gently, and kisses the crown of my cock. Her pink lips sink down, taking me inch by inch. Her cheeks hollow with each downward glide of her mouth, that wild, curly hair fanning around her face like a halo.
Having sex in my sister’s condo isn’t exactly the most appropriate or romantic of places, but I don’t think she cares. I pull Mina’s sweatshirt over her head, feeling a momentary bout of surprise that she’s not wearing a bra. “I want to touch you,” I say, raggedly, fisting her hair and tugging backward. It’s either that or blow my load too early, and there’s not a chance in hell that we’re not finishing this together. Literally. “I want you to know that all of me is yours.”
Her lips tremble, her hands finding my hips. She scrambles up to the sofa, then crooks a finger at me to join her. I do so with my chest feeling light even though I’m wound so tight I could burst on the spot.
Hands on either side of her hips, planted down on the cushions, I line up my cock with her entrance. I meet her gaze, see the heat and the love mingling there. “You were meant for me, Ermione.”
And then I drive forward, pushing tight into her pussy, and her legs around my hips turn to steel and her lips part in a silent cry. She’s so goddamn wet, so goddamn tight. My legs quiver, the one planted on the floor for leverage downright shaking. I’m already so close to coming.
“Hold on to me, koukla.” My voice is pure grit.
So, she does. She clings to my shoulders as I thrust, nails biting into my skin and marking me as hers. Blood roars in my head, stripping the periphery of my vision until all I see is her. Her honey eyes blazing with passion. Her small, perky tits bouncing with the force of my hips slamming into hers. Her chest arching upward as I piston my hips forward.
In and out, in and out.
“I love you,” I rasp in English.
“S’agapo,” she whispers in Greek.
I drop my head, and—as she once put it so eloquently—do business. I change my angle, my hips moving faster, more urgently. I kiss that favorite spot of hers, my fingers gripping the armrest behind her head. Her palms find the expanse of my back, gliding down to curve over my ass. She meets me thrust for thrust, and heat builds at the base of my spine. Desperate to see her come before me, I lift my chest far enough to skate my hand between us. I circle her clit, pressure increasing, and—fuck, yes—her hips spasm as she cries out my name. Her walls tighten around my cock, and it’s over right then and there. I follow her over the edge, hips pistoning fast and insistent as I spill myself inside her.
Only when I’m thinking somewhat clearly, my chest sticky against hers, do I ask, “Did you see the mural?”
Her voice breathless, Mina quirks a brow. “What mural?”
I hum a little in my chest, and thank God that somehow Mina, who always notices everything, failed to look up in her own salon. I like to think of it as divine intervention because for the last month since the thought occurred to me, I wanted to be there when she finally saw what I had painted for her.
“We’re taking a little trip.” Patting her hip, I pull out of her and reach for my shorts. “Bathroom, clean up so Effie doesn’t murder us, and then we’re going to Agape.”
“To Agape?” she echoes.
But she does what I say anyway, no questions asked. Because she trusts me.
I smile during the entire ride over to Cambridge. We leave my car behind and take Mina’s, and I playfully threaten that if she doesn’t like what I have to show her, that she can’t just leave me hanging with no way back to Effie’s.
She quirks her lips and flashes that sultry smile and even though she has coffee on her sweatshirt and she’s wearing two different-colored sneakers, I can’t help but say, “You’re gorgeous, koukla.”
With a blush staining her cheeks, I pull her car into a parking spot. My heart goes fucking wild in my chest as Mina cracks open her door and steps outside. I follow behind her, content to let her lead. Throwing me a small smile over
her shoulder, she unlocks the front door and crosses over the threshold.
After a month of renovations, Agape looks ready for business. Beautiful slate floors, that mauve color she loved so much coating the walls, silver-embossed mirrors seated at every work station. It’s edgy and elegant and the physical manifestation of Mina’s personality.
I pause just inside, shutting the door behind me. And then I wait.
I watch as Mina tips her head back to stare up at the painted sky now spanning the length of the room. I watch as she balls a fist and presses it to her lips. She turns in a small circle, her gaze locked up above, and I try to see the mural as she does now.
Closer to the door, the ceiling is dusted with white, fluffy clouds and baby blues. Farther down, toward the back end of Agape, the white becomes the pinks and reds and oranges of a sunset, until finally the dark, midnight blue of nighttime. Stars twinkle to life, but they don’t remain isolated in just the night portion of the mural—they’re painted throughout the entire piece, hidden within the clouds and scattered among the bright blue sky.
Without the night there are no stars.
Except that this mural proves that there are.
“When?” she whispers, her closed fist falling to her chest. “Did you . . .?”
“Paint this?” I laugh. “Nah, I wish I had this sort of talent. But I have a friend who might as well be a modern-day Picasso. I sketched out what I wanted, and he made it happen.”
“And he did this while we were in Maine?”
“Yeah.”
I hear her choked sob a second before she launches herself at my chest. Her arms loop around my back, and I don’t mistake the kiss that she gives to my ribcage, right over my new tattoo. She squeezes me, hugging me tightly. “I’m in the mood for a dance.”
