At Your Beck & Call

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  He shook his head as if to clear it, then smiled at me.

  “A beautiful woman comes to my house in the middle of the day—nope, absolutely nothing wrong with that scenario.” He kissed my cheek softly.

  The smell of oil paint and turpentine was so strong as I walked inside, I wondered if he could get high on it. I hoped he kept the windows open while he was painting.

  “What are you working on?”

  He rubbed his hands over his hair distractedly, smearing the ends with paint.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you about that,” he said, ominously. “You can see … just don’t get mad at me, okay?”

  “I can’t promise anything!” I said, sharply.

  He looked like he was going to say something else but then he took my hand and led me up the stairs.

  The smell of paint was even stronger now. I blinked rapidly, stepping into the studio saturated with light. But my attention was immediately riveted to the enormous canvas that Hallen had been working on.

  My mouth popped open and I stared slack-jawed.

  A naked woman lay the length of a chaise longue, dark hair curling around her shoulders, a seductive smile on her lips. Her breasts were creamy and smooth, her skin suffused with a golden glow. One hand rested languorously on her hip, the other was curled suggestively above her dark pubic hair.

  A set of small, fresh, pink scars stretched the length of her abdomen.

  I stared in utter shock.

  “That’s me! You’ve painted me!”

  “Yes.”

  “But … she’s beautiful!”

  “I paint what I see, Laura.”

  I stared at the unfinished canvas again and it seemed like my reflection was staring back; except this was a confident, sensual woman—nothing like how I’d felt for so long.

  “Why?” I croaked.

  He shoved his hands in his jeans.

  “The last couple of months, it’s like you’ve been so lost, and I didn’t know how to find you. I thought if … I wanted to show you how you look to me. Since … Anika … the surgery … you’re still you, Laura.”

  I couldn’t hold his gaze, as those blue eyes searched inside me.

  “Some things have changed,” I whispered, my voice aching with regret.

  “There’s always change—it’s how we meet it that matters. You and me—together.”

  “You and me?”

  “Always.”

  My heart jumped and jolted in my chest.

  “That’s a big word,” I whispered.

  He nodded, his face serious.

  I looked again at the portrait. It was so physical, so alive. That woman knew what she wanted. That woman wasn’t afraid of not measuring up all the time. Could I be that person?

  He was standing closer behind me now, and I could feel his breath on my cheek, the heat from his body scorching my back.

  “Yes, she’s beautiful,” he breathed. “She’s you.”

  He let out a shuddering breath as his hands hovered by my hips. I thought he was going to touch me at last, but then he dropped them suddenly and stepped back. I could feel him withdrawing emotionally, too.

  “I’ll get those drinks now,” he muttered. “I don’t have herbal tea—is coffee okay?”

  “No!” I said, my hand shooting out to touch him, only to hang futilely in the distance between us.

  He seemed light years away, as if I were looking down the wrong end of a telescope—starlight glinting in a soft, black sky.

  His eyes flared as I gazed at him and I saw desire in those depths.

  “Hallen, I…”

  Why were the words so hard to say? They rolled like pebbles in my mouth.

  “What, Laura?” he whispered, his voice tight with want, harsh with need.

  “Will you take me to bed?”

  He closed his eyes briefly as I held my breath.

  “God, yes,” he murmured, his eyes springing open. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m really sure.”

  He held out his hand to me, a slight tremor evident in his fingers, but his face was alight with expectation and hope.

  He’d been so strong for me, so patient and selfless, but right now I needed to know that he wanted me as a woman.

  We walked to the bedroom hand in hand, then he pulled his t-shirt over his head and brought my hands up to his chest.

  I ran my fingers over his taut, toned skin, warm and silky. I could feel his heart pounding frantically, although on the outside he remained calm and controlled. But I knew. And his reaction was thrilling.

  He was still hesitant to initiate anything, and I appreciated that he was letting me lead the way, showing what I was comfortable with.

  I continued to run my hands across his chest, and around his waist, my palms drifting over the muscles of his shoulders and back.

  He was breathing deeply now, his full lips flushed and pink.

  Slowly, he lowered his face toward me, brushing a trail of kisses from my throat to my chin, then across each cheek and finally to my lips.

  Then, carefully, patiently, he slid his tongue along the edge of my mouth, still kissing lightly, holding himself back, giving pleasure and reassurance to me.

  He let me control the kiss, acknowledging my nerves but not letting them overwhelm me either.

  “So sweet,” he whispered. “So good.”

  He rocked his hips lightly toward me and I could feel that he was aroused.

  Which was a little terrifying. Knowing that I was so—for want of another word—different down below, I was anxious about how it was all going to work. No one could have called Hallen small—he was more what you’d call well endowed. Oh God. Was this going to hurt? How much was this going to hurt?

  The thought made me tense up. Sensing my discomfort, Hallen went back to soft kisses, stroking the backs of my arms gently.

  “It’s okay,” he repeated, over and over. “It’s okay. I love you. It’s okay.”

  He eased me toward the bed and we sat on the edge, exchanging breathy kisses and no more.

  Then he glanced at his paint-smeared hands and raised an eyebrow.

  “I think things could get messy.”

  I laughed, still very tense.

  “I’m going to take my jeans off now,” he said.

  He stood and slowly unzipped his pants, letting them slip to the floor and stepping out of them.

  His boxer briefs molded to his firm ass and did nothing to hide his hard length behind the black fabric.

  He stepped closer, until he was standing between my legs.

  “Touch me, Laura,” he breathed. “Please touch me.”

  I looked up into his eyes, hearing the note of pleading in his voice. And I realized that I wasn’t alone—he needed to know that I still wanted him, too.

  My hand shook slightly as I ran my fingers over him then palming his balls. His whole body shuddered and his eyes closed. When he blinked open again, he smiled.

  “Okay if I unbutton your shirt now?” he asked, his voice soft and slightly hesitant.

  I nodded, holding my breath.

  “Anytime you want me to slow down or stop, just say. You’re in charge,” he said, seriously.

  A nasty little voice in my brain told me that he’d just morphed into work mode, and that this was how he’d reassure a nervous client. But then I looked into his beautiful blue eyes, so full of love and sincerity, and I felt a little sickened by my thought. I pushed it far, far away, and concentrated on rediscovering his touch and his body.

  He opened one button then kissed his way down my neck to the top of my chest. I gripped his shoulders and arced my head away from him, stretching and lengthening my neck to give him a better angle.

  He murmured a soft “thank you” against my skin, and continued nuzzling and kissing. His hands rubbed gently on my arms.

  Slowly, he eased his gentle fingers toward my shirt again and loosened another button. It was love in slow motion and it felt delicious, waves of desire beg
inning to overcome the anxiety that was still hovering.

  Eventually, my shirt hung open and he teased it from my arms. He sat behind me on the bed, his long legs resting on either side of mine as he kissed my shoulders and back, while his hands gently massaged my breasts.

  Then he eased us sideways until he was lying spooned behind me and I could feel him pressing into the base of my spine.

  I’d never had anal sex in my life; never, ever wanted it or considered it, but a tiny part of me was wondering if it might hurt less than letting him enter my poor bruised and battered vagina.

  Why did this have to be so confusing?

  Hallen’s hands ran along my thighs and gently stroked my hips through the cotton of my pants.

  His breath was warm in my ear as he whispered, “Can I take your jeans off now?”

  When I nodded, I felt the heat along my back disappear as he sat up. Carefully, watching my face the whole time, he unzipped my pants and pulled them down slowly over my ankles.

  Sighing, he knelt by my feet and started to shower soft kisses over my toes and up my shins, teasing my knees with his tongue, and warming my thighs with his hands.

  I thought I was aroused. I felt turned on, but I had no idea if I was wet.

  I tensed suddenly. Damn it! I’d left the lube at my place, not having even considered that I’d be doing this today.

  “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, his hands stilled on my hipbones, a look of apprehension in his eyes.

  “I … I…” came my stammering voice. “I don’t have any lube. I’m not sure if I can…”

  His smile was sweet and loving, but his eyes sparkled with wickedness.

  “You’re not going to need it, love.”

  “I think I will. The doctor said that…”

  He silenced my quavering words with a kiss.

  “Trust me,” he said, his voice dark and husky. “You don’t need lube.”

  “How do you know?” I asked, still jittery. “You haven’t even touched me there yet.”

  His grin grew wider.

  “I can smell you,” he whispered into my hair.

  My whole body flushed with embarrassment and a flood of desire.

  “You’re hot for me, Laura. You want me, don’t you, love.”

  I nodded, even though it wasn’t a question, and I felt his smile against my neck as he pressed the full length of his body into mine.

  He moved until he was hovering over me, the heat of his erection warming my stomach. He held his weight on the palms of his hands as he dipped down to press open-mouthed kisses onto my chest.

  “I think this bra should come off,” he murmured. “What do you think, Laura?”

  “Yes, take it off.”

  He reached one hand behind me and expertly snapped it open. He tugged the straps over my shoulders with his teeth, then nudged the cups away from my breasts.

  My nipples sang at the touch of his tongue languidly winding around them. When he fastened his teeth around one, I cried out, they were so sensitive and hard.

  He settled down on his forearms and kissed both breasts until my whole body was writhing, every breath, every touch leading us to the next moment.

  I pulled the bra off, tossing it away where I heard it hit the floor.

  Hallen was still in his briefs and I was still in my panties. I reached out to touch him and I heard his breath catch. I pushed my fingers inside and he couldn’t help himself from thrusting into my hand as I massaged a dew drop around his broad head.

  “Can I touch you?” he asked, his voice rough and deep.

  I hesitated just a moment, trusting him to be gentle and to stop if I needed him to.

  He brushed the heel of his hand against my mound then dipped down to place a kiss on top of the material.

  Slowly, he eased the thin cotton over my hips and down to my ankles. I kicked wildly to free them from my feet and managed to clip Hallen’s hip with my knee.

  He let out a gasp, more from the proximity to the family jewels than anything else, I think. He rolled onto his back and rubbed his hipbone.

  “Christ, Laura,” he groaned. “You promised you’d be gentle with me.”

  I couldn’t help laughing.

  “Sorry, I will be.”

  “I’m not sure I trust you,” he said, placing a loud kiss on my stomach.

  Then his voice became serious.

  “I’m going to touch you now.”

  I nodded and he smiled, kissing my stomach once more.

  He knelt at my feet again and kissed up from my knees to my thighs, nuzzling at my folds.

  “Don’t worry, Laura,” he said, softly. “You’re wet—very wet. This is going to be fine. It’s going to be good, love.”

  His hot tongue circled me gently as fingers carefully parted my legs. I bucked violently and he looked up at me concerned.

  “Good,” I managed to croak out. “All … good.”

  He smiled and gave a long lick, making me cry out again. His movements were gentle and slow, never hurried, the erotic massage going deeper and deeper.

  He pushed in one long, strong finger up to the knuckle.

  “Is this okay?” he breathed against my hip.

  “Yes,” I clipped out, my answer brief, but not from discomfort.

  When he eased a second finger inside, that did make me gasp, and I couldn’t help thinking, He won’t fit! He’ll never fit!

  He continued working me patiently until my whole body felt hot and feverish and I needed to come.

  “Hallen, please!” I begged.

  He let me increase the speed as I bucked my hips into his face. Coiling in my belly and fizzing out through my thighs, an orgasm began deep inside me.

  “Oh, oh, oh,” I chanted.

  Suddenly, light seemed to spill over me and I closed my eyes against the white glare as I experienced a powerful, fulfilling, draining orgasm.

  I gasped in air, my eyes tightly closed.

  I felt his kisses move up from my belly to my breasts to my neck. Then the mattress moved beneath me and I felt Hallen at my entrance.

  He pushed in a short way, just the head of his cock.

  “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice stretched and thin.

  “Um, just … give me a minute,” I gasped.

  I felt a tremor run through his body and realized how much control this was taking on his part, how much care he was taking with me. Love and happiness swept over me. He was mine. He was really mine. Just mine. I didn’t have to share him. Somehow, through all the silence and sorrow, we were still together to share this moment.

  I stroked his back and eased my hips upward. He inched forward, his eyes locked on mine.

  “Okay?” he whispered, anxiously.

  My eyes were open wide and I nodded fractionally.

  He moved slowly and I felt a twinge. He stopped instantly.

  “Laura?” he questioned.

  When I didn’t answer he started to pull out.

  “No, I’m fine,” I murmured, locking my ankles behind his back and pulling him forward.

  He rocked into me all the way, making me gasp and groan and bite out a curse.

  “Good,” I stammered, at last. “Feels good.”

  He dropped his head to my shoulder and began to push slowly. I could feel the concentration in his movements, and while I wanted him to let go and be as wild as I knew he could be, I also knew that it would be foolish to try, and a step backward at this stage.

  Slowly, he built up more speed, and I knew I was benefitting from a professional fuck. But this was Hallen and he loved me, too. It wasn’t his fault he’d always excelled at everything he’d done.

  When he felt me come again, his movements became a little looser, a little less controlled, but he was still holding back so much of himself as he released inside me. Always the considerate lover. Always mine.

  Tears squeezed from beneath my eyelids.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  “I know,” he said back, his
voice breaking. “I love you, too.”

  We’d been traveling for nearly three weeks. We’d spent four nights in New York while Hallen met with various gallery owners and one journalist who was interested in interviewing him. Then we left the new world behind and flew to Europe, and the old world art that Hallen so loved.

  Florence, Rome, Paris and London followed and finally, finally we set foot on the land of Hallen’s father.

  It was the beginning of winter and the air was crisp with a snap of real cold. We’d done all the usual tourist things, including the famous outdoor bathing and sauna at Ribersborg. I couldn’t get used to walking through snow to get to the hot rooms, but Hallen insisted it was all part of the experience. We went to the shared male-female sauna where swimsuits were required, rather than the gender-selective ones that were entirely nude.

  Hallen had gone a long way toward bringing back some of my body confidence, but I still sighed when I thought of the comparison between his beauty and my okay-ishness.

  If he noticed when both men and women ogled him, he never showed it.

  We ate Kanelbulle cinnamon rolls, or kaffebröd in the famous konditori coffee shops. And we went skating at Lilla Torg, an outdoor rink where you could ice dance under the stars. Well, Hallen could—he was grace epitomized, whereas I lumbered around the rink like a weary heifer until he tucked his arm around my waist and swept me into a waltz.

  We looked for his relatives, too, finding plenty of Jansens in the local phone book but Hallen had shrugged when I’d suggested trying to find more about his father. I think for now it was enough for him to simply walk where his father had walked. If he wanted to know more, well, we had a lifetime to work on that.

  Malmö glittered under a thin layer of frost, the gray-blue sea surrounding us on three sides, reflecting the exact color of Hallen’s eyes.

  We walked hand in hand, our breath misting before us.

  “Teach me some Swedish?” I said, on our third day there. “Some useful phrases—I feel like such a dummy not knowing anything.”

  He smiled at me.

  “Sure, if you like. Ja means yes, and nej means no.”

  I tried out the words, rolling them around on my tongue like hard candy. I sounded ridiculous and I could tell Hallen was holding back a smile.

  “Okay, I think I’ve got the hang of those. What else?”