by Lisa Lace
I put my arm around her. She leans into my chest, letting her head rest on my shoulder. Her eyes close, that smile still resting on her face.
“It’s weird how everything feels new and exactly like before, all at once.”
“It feels perfect.”
“What now?” She twists and looks up at me. “How is this going to work?”
“I guess we do it the old-fashioned way. One country, one woman, one date at a time.”
“The old-fashioned way, huh?”
“Yup. The good old-fashioned way.”
I pull her closer and hold her tight. She nestles into me, wrapping her arms around my waist. I can’t reach my wacky coffee mug. I let it go cold. All I want to do is be here with her.
Sophie
I watch Cole as he looks around my apartment. I love this place; it’s home, but it’s always hard to let an outsider in. It makes me feel exposed, even though I should trust Cole enough to feel safe. I’m worried he’ll change his mind.
Cole heads straight for the bookcase against my living room wall, the one that’s cluttered up with travel books and trinkets. He picks up a set of faux-ivory chopsticks with a gleeful grin. “Are these the ones you got in Kyoto?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe you kept these! Remember spilling noodles all down your cleavage?”
I laugh. “It’s actually a very fond memory.”
“And this, too?” He picks up a little golden Buddha statue that I got in Thailand. “You always had the greatest knack for finding the most touristy souvenirs you could. When was the last time you prayed to Buddha, huh?”
I snatch the figurine from him and place it carefully back on the shelf with a teasing smile in his direction. “I like to look at him. He makes me feel calm.”
“All right, but what about this?” He picks up a snow globe with a famous castle inside.
“What? I got that from Disneyland.”
“There’s no real theme to this bookcase, is there? A book on learning Italian, a roadmap of Eastern Thailand, a miniature Buddha, chopsticks, and a Disney snow globe. So, do you consider these to be ornaments?”
I slap him playfully on the arm. “Leave me alone! These are my trinkets.”
“Trinkets?”
“Yes. My trinkets and treasures.”
Cole pulls me into his arms, his teasing turning quickly into affection as he stares into my eyes with a deep, loving warmth. “God, I missed you.”
He places a hand on the back of my head and pulls me toward him until his lips are opening mine, his tongue slipping into my mouth, warm and urgent. My heart beats faster; I press my hands against his chest.
I sink down into his arms that encircle me, completely entranced in his kiss. The feel of his lips on mine, his touch on the side of my neck when he deepens his kiss, the endearment in his eyes when he pulls away to look me: it’s all so surreal. A perfect man, a perfect seduction. He can have any woman he wants, yet here I am in his arms again.
We had something so good once upon a time. His career came first. His dreams didn’t include me. So, what makes this time any different? His lips on mine help cloud my thoughts, and my internal fight isn’t so important—not yet. Maybe later. For now, I will simply enjoy him.
I feel his hands on my sides. He caresses me and pulls me closer. His hands move to my back and then down, cupping my ass and pulling me into him. I can feel his arousal through his jeans, and it ignites my hunger for him. He leans back and cradles my face in his hands.
“Make love to me, Sophie.”
My heart flips, and my body responds immediately, a tingling sensation beginning between my legs. I nod, and he kisses my forehead, holding up a finger telling me to stay put. He leaves me there in the middle of my living room and walks across the room to my bedroom door, shaking his butt and unbuttoning his shirt with each step he takes. He doesn’t look back until he goes inside and disappears, dropping his shirt in the doorway to entice me. I chuckle at how adorable he is. I can’t help feeling completely enamored with him. Yes, I still have a lot of doubts about us, but he feels so damned good. Is it too much to want what we once had?
I walk closer, keeping my eyes wide open, waiting for him to pop out and scare the bejesus out of me. Right when I reach the door, I peek in and giggle. His back is against the wall, the palms of his hands pressed tight behind him. His head is turned toward me, and his eyes are closed.
“Take advantage of me,” he says breathlessly.
I laugh out loud and look him up and down as I sashay toward him. “I don’t know. I don’t think you’re my type. I could do so much better.” I reach up and feel his muscles. Touching him intensifies the tingle between my legs. I swallow hard and try to play along. “Just too much muscle here.” I slide my hand down his abs and cup his hardness, which tries to push through the thin material of his boxers. “And this? What am I supposed to do with this?” I tease him by rubbing him up and down, and his reaction makes me wet. He penetrates me with his eyes as his lips separate.
“Don’t touch me like that unless you’re ready to take what I’m about to unleash on you.”
“I think I can handle it.” I cock my head and smirk, still thinking we’re playing around. He grabs me, picks me up off my feet and spins me around, pressing me up against the wall.
He isn’t playing anymore.
I wrap my legs around him as he presses himself into me and kisses me hard. I lose my breath, my body aching for him. The heat from my body radiates up into my face, and all I can think about is getting my clothes off so I can feel him inside me. I try to pull my shirt off over my head, but he pins my hands to the wall, pressing himself into me again, denying me access to anything. He loves control, and as before, it throws me over the edge.
Before I can protest or plead with him, he has his mouth on mine, stealing my ability to do anything but give myself to him completely. His strong hands that hold my wrists slide down my arms, over my armpits, and to my breasts, heaving from each breath I take. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin, his teeth biting playfully, his hands finding their way up underneath my shirt.
Each time with him seems like the first: my body trembling under his touch, begging for more, yet afraid for what he will do. My bra loosens as he draws his hands back around to the front of my body. He yanks it up with my shirt and forces them over my head, his mouth concealing my nipple that quickly hardens to a nub. I can feel the tip of his tongue flick over my nipple and each time, little currents of electricity jolt through my breast and slam down through my stomach, striking into my core. Each time he does this, his hands find a new part of my body to roam over, caressing and pressing into me.
He kneels before me, his eyes looking upward into mine. I can’t help but wonder if he shows this side of himself to get my heart to fall harder for him. His eyes show a vulnerability that captivates me. His fingers move up my legs to my waist, encircling me and he leans into me, his forehead on my stomach and his arms tighten around me. I wait for his next move, but he stays still. Looking down at him, I touch his curls lightly.
“Cole?” I try to kneel next to him, but he clutches me too tightly. “Are you okay?”
I feel his chest expand with a heavy breath before he lets me go and looks up at me again. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my skirt, feeds them into the sides of my underwear, and oh so agonizingly slowly, he pulls them down, inch by inch, exposing me and watching my expression as he does. Once the waist of my skirt reaches the bottom of my thigh, he buries his face between my legs, and I feel his tongue everywhere I had ever fantasized it to be.
He laps at me, circles my pearl, and slides between every crevice I have. My breath sucks back into my lungs, my hands slamming against the wall, as he devours me.
He has me so worked up, I can only think about fucking him. I grind against his face, feeling his tongue build my orgasm, pushing it close to the edge of a cliff I would do anything to ju
mp from. His hands grope me, fingers sliding inside me. I want him inside me, but I’m too close now. I try to take a big breath, but no matter how I try it doesn’t seem like there’s enough air. Everything trembles on my body. I feel overwhelmed, the orgasm consumes me then stops, backing down like water being sucked down a drain.
I look down at him, and he’s leaning back, wiping his lips with his thumb, his smile predominant.
“Why did you stop?” I asked, frustrated at the hunger that claws at my insides.
“I like watching you squirm. Your body language, the way you move, wiggle, beg for more. It’s such a turn on.”
My skirt is now around my ankles. He stands and takes my hands. I step out of my skirt as he leads me to my bed, his eyes still on me. He cups my face, kisses my nose delicately before devouring my lips with his. I can taste my sex on him. It fuels my raging fire. My hands work quickly to strip him of his clothes, his arms extended to the sides as I do. He seems amused at my hunger to fuck him, but it doesn’t stop me.
I yank his pants to his ankles and push him to the bed. Before he can control the situation again, I straddle him, stroking him a few times before moving over him and pushing him into me. It feels like a rainstorm in the desert: needy and satisfying, nourishing and messy.
I lean forward, pinning his wrists to the bed the same way he has done to me in the past. He pretends to struggle against me as I ride him, sliding myself up and down on his shaft, building his arousal until he almost lets it go. I try to roll off him, giving him a taste of his own medicine, but he grabs my hips as if he already knows what my plans are. He braces himself on the bed underneath me and sinks his fingertips into my hips, making it impossible for me to move. He raises me up a few inches and slams into me over and over, furiously grunting and stiffening as he pushes deep inside me, holding me there until his body releases and lets go.
His dominance seizes me and throws me into an orgasmic fit I didn’t expect. I was able to come down from the threat of my own orgasm while against the wall, thinking I could do the same to him, but when he flipped the situation and took control, it was all over for me.
Lying next to Cole, I am utterly content, my face flushed and my hair spread out on the pillow. I roll against him, pressing my feet against his calves, and slipping my legs between his so that we’re entwined like a human pretzel.
He pulls me into his arms and kisses my forehead. “What are you thinking about, Soph? You’ve got that look in your eye.”
I run my fingertip in circles on his chest, looking away from him when I speak. “It feels strange for you to be here without worrying that you’re going to jump up and disappear for some crisis or another. Don’t you even have a wedding to go to?”
Cole pulls me even closer. “Not today. And there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
I press my body close against his, resting my cheek against his chest. His strong arms encircle me. Everything feels just right.
“I’m glad you convinced me to give this another try,” I tell him. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this good.”
He gives me a tight squeeze. “I do. It was the last time I was with you.”
I give him a playful nudge. “Always the charmer.”
“I’m serious. I was crazy about you. I still beat myself up over how badly I fucked it all up.”
I close my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here now.”
Cole
I wake to the smell of fresh bacon. My mouth waters, and I sit up. I’m alone in bed, but the crumpled bedsheets describe the night before. The scent of Sophie’s perfume still lingers on my skin and her side of the bed. I imagine her figure. My body remembers the sensations and floods with a satisfied warmth. I smile.
It’s quieter here than at my apartment; quiet enough to hear the sound of a bird chirping outside. Its song blends with the sound of Sophie humming in the kitchen. I close my eyes and let the smells and sounds sink in. I am utterly relaxed.
I twist on the mattress and place my feet on the floor, finding my pants and stepping into them before I head into the kitchen to find her. I appear at the kitchen doorway right as I’m closing the button on my pants. The tiles are cold against the soles of my feet.
Sophie doesn’t notice me straight away, so I take the opportunity to watch her. She’s wearing an oversized gray T-shirt as a nightshirt, her long, slender legs entirely visible. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail; she’s wearing no make-up. I can make out the silhouette of her slim, feminine frame beneath the gray fabric. When she stretches to flip the slices, the hem rises above her buttocks, showing off her perfect behind.
Bacon is sizzling in the frying pan, and Sophie sings to herself as she pokes it with a fork, swaying her hips from side to side in time to her tune.
She’s beautiful.
I fold my arms across my chest and enjoy watching her. As she dances, she knocks the salt over with her elbow, and it spills all over the eggs in the next pan. I bite my lip to hold back my laughter as I watch her attempt at damage control.
“Shit!” She tries to spoon out the oily heaps of salt without getting burned by the spitting pan, then looks around sneakily to see if she’s been caught. She spots me, and her lips curve into a grin. “Eggs may be a little on the salty side.”
I go to her and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her close. She giggles when I sweep her into my embrace and press my mouth against her neck to kiss her. Her fingers tighten around my forearm, and she bites her lip, looking up at me with affection.
“I didn’t notice you sneak out of bed this morning.”
“I wanted to cook you breakfast.”
“It smells amazing.”
“I can’t vouch for the taste. Me and my clumsy elbows.”
“They’ll be perfect. Can’t be worse than Tokyo.”
She laughs. “You remember!”
“How could I forget?”
We’re sitting at a small table for two in a breakfast bar in Tokyo. Outside, the city is more than a rival for New York. Lights and cement high-rises make up a concrete and neon landscape, bustling with life even at nine in the morning.
Despite not a word of Japanese between us, we somehow manage to order eggs and bacon, craving a taste of home. It arrives, smelling like heaven. My mouth waters and I eagerly pick up the cutlery brought just for us Americans, for our American food.
Sophie picks up the brown sauce from the center of the table and pours it liberally all over her breakfast. “I love that they have brown sauce. It was my favorite in London! I thought I’d never see it again. Must be for the tourists.”
She digs into her bacon, but as soon as the first forkful touches her lips, her face crumples into a grimace. She gags, then starts to cough, her eyes watering. “That’s not brown sauce.”
I look at the label, but the symbols mean nothing to me. “Let me try some.”
Sophie holds up her hand, laughing and heaving at the same time. “You don’t want to. Trust me.” She pulls the bottle away.
“Let me have a taste,” I insist. I grin at her, then lean across the table, pulling her in for a kiss.
Our lips touch; her tongue crosses over mine. Bile rises in my throat. I jump back and cover my mouth to stop the vomit from rising. “That tastes like fish guts, Sophie!”
She looks at the bottle herself. “I think it’s some kind of fish sauce.”
“It burns.”
We make eye contact, both our mouths stinging with the vile flavor. Then we burst into laughter.
“Quick! Stuff your face with bacon before the flavor sinks in.”
“I’ll never taste anything but fish again.”
“It’s the only thing I can think about when I smell bacon.” I chuckle. “Even now.” The memory of the potent fish sauce tingles on my taste buds, and I almost gag again. Instead, I shudder.
“I couldn’t eat it for years,” Sophie tells me. “Took a while to get over the trauma of the fish sauce incident.”
/>
“Ten years later, here we are—eggs and bacon again.”
“Here we are.” She turns to me with a warm, affectionate smile. The sunlight from the window catches her hair, a beam of light cast across one side of her face, giving her an angelic glow. I want to photograph her. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to photograph a woman simply for the sake of her beauty.
Sophie serves the thick-cut bacon and eggs sunny-side up on two plates, then sits beside me on a stool at the breakfast bar. It’s a cluttered kitchen, even more so now that Sophie has left mayhem in her wake. Sauces and seasoning litter the counters, along with splashes of bacon grease and broken yolk from an egg she couldn’t quite scoop onto a plate.
There are magnets on the fridge, the assortment of them as cluttered and sentimental as the shelves in her living room. I can see several pictures of her and Lena pinned up with I love NYC magnets. There is a wooden rack above one cupboard. The shelf is crammed with well-thumbed recipe books; underneath, a number of non-matching mugs hang from little hooks. It’s very Sophie.
I look back to her. Her toes are pointed to reach the bar at the bottom of the stool; her legs go on for miles.
I laugh when she reaches for the brown sauce. “Really?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I can’t believe that you go the effort of importing that stuff. It tastes like a mixture of barbeque sauce, sherbet, and onions.”
She picks it up and squirts it liberally all over her breakfast. I make a face, remembering the fish sauce. She offers it to me, and I’m quick to turn it down. “I’ve learned to live without.”
I smile, then dig into my own breakfast. Sophie sits next to me making exaggerated noises of appreciation as she devours her eggs. “God, this is good!”
With all the hours she spends in that coffee shop and how much she enjoys her food, I wonder how she stays so slim.
She takes her last bite, and I stand. I go to Sophie and spin her whole stool around so she’s facing me. I place my hands on her sides, feeling the slim inward curve of her waist under my palms.
