by Liana Key
PAOLA
It wasn't the best of feelings, having him run out on me. I realized there was so much about him that I didn't know, that in fact I knew nothing about him. Actually that was possibly my own fault. Perhaps I needed to update my application forms, garner more information from my employees. Family members, sexual experience, favorite sex position? I giggled at the silliness of it all. But it made me think that I wanted to know him, wanted to know everything about him, every detail, what made him tick.
I texted him the next morning, saying: I hope you slept well. I worried that I was becoming too needy, suffocating him with all my contact, but he rang me back straight away.
"Not really," he chuckled, "how about you?"
"Like a baby," I said teasingly.
"I've known babies who scream and cry all night," he said.
He, of course, couldn't see me raise my eyebrows and then frown. What babies, I wondered. Should I pry? Yes, I should.
"Mmmm, you have experience with babies?" I asked.
"I have a younger brother and sister," he said with a laugh.
Interesting, I thought. Plus he had the sister who called him. He had a bit of a family, my Cassian, I wanted to know more. "Are you training tonight?"
"Yes," he replied.
"I have today off," I said, not caring that I sounded too forward.
"Are Monday's and Tuesday's your days off then?" he asked.
"Yes, they're supposed to be." My heart started racing. There was a silence. Did I have
to initiate every move? The silence continued, I wondered if he was even still there. Was he doing something else while talking to me, facebooking, reading the newspaper, masturbating? "Are you there?" I ended up asking.
"Yes, I'm here," he sighed. "It's just so long till I can see you then. I won't finish till eight tonight."
I was smiling wider than a Cheshire Cat, whatever that is. "The wait will be worth it," I promised.
"If I'd known it was your day off I would have gotten up early and come round," he said.
My heart nearly burst out of my chest. Why hadn't I thought of that? "You would have?" I asked, genuinely amazed. "Really?"
"Yes, really. But I'll see you tonight?"
"Yes," I said contentedly, "tonight."
And he wished me a good day and rang off.
He arrived soon after eight. He wasn't interested in my offering of leftover lasagne and we made a bee line for the bedroom. He was apologetic for his sweaty state, I didn't care. He said he hadn't wanted to waste time showering, did he want me to shower first? No need, I'd said. We stripped as if there was no time to waste, but the love making was unhurried. His hands caressed me, his fingers tracing delicate lines across my skin, around my nipples, his touch so gentle it was excruciating, it left me wanton, demanding more. His tongue flicked, the piercing causing waves of sensation, my nipples hardened, his lips rested in the valley between my breasts. I felt like the Queen of Sheba, Egypt, wherever. I was wet with longing. I rolled myself over, positioning myself on top of him, legs straddling his body. I eased myself down onto him, my body enveloping his manhood, such a perfect fit. I felt in charge as I rode him, able to look at him, to watch him watching me. He steadied me as I moved, telling me to be still, or else it would be all over in seconds. He grinned apologetically, I weakened, falling in love with him, right then, right there. He recommenced movement, my body in time with his, it felt fluid, choreographed and then he groaned, coming as his hands slid around the back of my ass, squeezing me, and his eyes hooded, staring into mine, and then the traces of a smile on his lips as he relaxed and recovered.
I rolled off him, nestling myself into his side. I kissed his cheek, he kissed me back on the lips. "Worth the wait?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, his fingers lightly running up and down my arm. Such a simple touch, but it stirred in my core, pulsing, wanting more already.
"You drive me crazy," I whispered, wanting to say the L word, but suddenly afraid to. What if I had it wrong, what if it was only lust. How could it be love when we didn't even know each other?
"Tell me something about you," I said, needing to know anything, just more.
"Like what?"
"Tell me about your family." My fingertips were lightly circling around his belly button.
"My family?" he asked, giving a slight shrug, "it's pretty standard. I live with my Dad and stepmom, and two sisters and a brother."
"Are you the oldest?"
"Yes."
Was it going to be like getting blood from a stone? "Where's your mother?"
"She died."
My hand stopped moving, I shifted on my elbow. I felt truly shocked. "Died?"
"When I was born," he continued. "She had been in a car accident, but she was pregnant with me and they kept her alive till I was born."
My heart seemed to sink. "Oh Cassian," I said, thinking it was the saddest thing I'd ever heard. I sat right up, touching the side of his face. A motherless boy, it made me just want to take him in my arms and just stroke his hair. So I did.
"What about you?" he asked, unexpectedly. Maybe he didn't want to talk about it.
"Mine is just my parents and my younger brother Stefan. He's an environmental planner. He's going to save the planet for us." I laughed and he laughed with me.
"I'm gonna have to go soon," he said, as if he'd had enough of the conversation. "Can I..." And he moved his finger down to rub me.
"Be my guest," I murmured, and he slid his way down the bed, and I realized he wanted to explore me with his mouth. He positioned himself off the bed, pulled me by my legs so they hung over the edge, he squatted down, his fingers touching, inspecting, almost like he was doing a gynecology examination. Then his tongue went in. I wriggled, I writhed, the sensations almost too much. I clutched at the bedcovers, clenching them, I panted and finally let my body give in, calling his name, his blessed name. He then scooped me up and standing, he thrust himself into me, my legs steadied by the bed, but I felt off balance and I tumbled backwards onto the bed. He laughed, I laughed with him. He continued to thrust, to pump harder, my arms reaching for his shoulders, his neck. His supporting hands crumpled and he fell on to his elbows as he came, his weight temporarily crushing me, but he quickly moved aside, apologizing. He flipped himself onto his back and laid there, his chest rising and falling as his breathing returned to normal. He turned his head to me and smiled. "Paola," he said.
"Cassian," I answered, smiling back.
He put his arm around me and pulled me up to sitting. "I want to stay all night," he said. My eyes lit up. I could think of nothing better, nothing I'd want more than to sleep and then wake up with him the next morning. But he stood up, and I knew it wouldn't happen, maybe ever. "But I gotta go." He stood me up, pulled me to him, holding me. I loved it, I loved him, of that I was sure. But he dressed, and after a glass of water and one of my home baked cookies, he left, my heart, my mind in twists, thinking of my sweet boy, a boy who never knew his mother.
I couldn't get it out of my head, that his mother had died when he was born. Such a tragedy, such misfortune. What did it mean? Did it mean anything. That he was attracted to me, an older woman? Was I an unconscious substitute for a mother figure, I wondered? Yet I was sure that he didn't even know my age, had never asked.
He worked the next evening, rushing in a few minutes before four thirty. Punctuality wasn't his strong point, but I was hardly likely to mention it. I had his vest ready. He didn't try to touch or kiss me. He treated me impartially, which pleased me, that he knew he was in the workplace, but it also killed me, having him so near, but untouchable.
He worked efficiently, as always, there was no disputing his work ethic and he warmed himself to my regular clientele, many had spoken personally to me about him, Caroline of course his biggest supporter. My heart swelled with pride as I watched him, hidden from sight in various corners of the restaurant. I felt transfixed by every movement he made.
"Who are you spying on?"
Eddie's low voice at my shoulder made me jump.
I fumbled for an explanation. "Eddie? What's up? Is something wrong? No one." Nothing I said even made sense.
"You like him, don't you?" Eddie was looking straight at Cassian. In the dim light I hoped he couldn't see my cheeks redden. There was no point in pretending I didn't know who he was talking about, but I knew he wasn't talking in a sexual way, just as a doting boss.
"He's a good worker," I said too briskly, too defensively, and in a softer tone, "the customers like him."
"He seems a good kid," Eddie put his hand on my shoulder. "I like him too." And I knew that was a compliment in Eddie's eyes; he'd had to put up with a lot of douchebags over the years.
"He works hard and he's polite. You don't get that combo much these days," Eddie laughed.
I laughed too. I let Eddie go. I told him I'd do the lock up and we said goodnight. I texted Cassian: wait in your car for me? I didn't want to single him out, have him seen as the last one to leave. At work I had to maintain professionalism, had to keep distance from him, had to treat him like any other employee. Even though it was killing me.
CASSIAN
It was hard trying to do my work when I knew her eyes followed me whatever I did. The thing was I knew I couldn't acknowledge her, flirt with her, put our position into jeopardy. There were now unwritten rules we needed to abide by.
I waited in my car and then she texted me to follow her home. I knew I didn't have much time, questions would be asked at home if I got in too late, and I really didn't like lying to my family.
We fell into each other's arms, onto the bed, fast and furious, hearts pounding, legs entwined, bodies melded as one. Her touch scorched me, made me red hot, I was completely at her mercy. And she worked me hard, as if she knew time was limited and she had to make the most of every second. Her tongue explored, first my mouth, flicking over my piercing, which seemed to fascinate her. And to think I'd had it done in an act of rebellion, never knowing it would enhance my sexual skills. Then she went down low, her mouth engulfing me, I fought hard to stay in control.
Staying in control is a big thing for me. I just need to know that I have things covered, that there are no surprises, nothing unexpected, it's how I deal with things. I like to know what's happening, when and why. Predictability is safe. That's what I like.
Meeting Paola had already shattered a lot of my long term beliefs. I'd thrown myself out
there, risking everything I believed about myself, safe, steady, stable Cassian. Now behaving impulsively, recklessly, thoughtlessly. And though there was a degree of uncertainty about my decisions, I'd not regretted a single one.
Grandad got me playing tennis, back in that time when Magdala and I were shuttled between his house and Aunt Kate's. Grandad has a tennis court, and he use to play most days, usually with Manny, one of the men who worked in the stables. They played early, before breakfast. One day I'd been sitting out watching them, eating my breakfast from the patio that overlooked the court. Grandad invited me down to have a play after Manny left. He taught me how to hold the racket and he tossed balls at me. I didn't want him to stop, I could have hit balls all day. Not many went over the net that first day, but as time went on I improved. Grandad got me hitting against the wall on the side of the garage, then we got Magdala playing as well. She wasn't too bad, but her attention span didn't last long enough for my liking. She got bored easily. Usually I had to return to the wall.
Over the years I'd been coached and I played for a club, and I'd been in the school team since freshman year. I played No. 2 on the team, and that was fine with me. Kai, our No. 1 player was looking at a tennis scholarship, but tennis was never going to be a career for me. It was just the perfect sport for me in terms of satisfying my need for control. For me, it's about hitting that ball where I want it to go. Planning the shot and executing it. Sometimes it overrides my desire to win a match, sometimes I just want to hit a perfect shot, I just want to see that ball go where I want it to go. Which doesn't make for me being the most competitive player out there, which often frustrates my coach. Jakey thinks I have mild OCD, he doesn't think it's normal to want to hit the same shot or serve a ball for hours at a time.
Around Paola my desire to be in control deserted me. I didn't mind if she took the lead, in fact I preferred it. I wanted her to tell me what to do. It was some what liberating.
After our love making, she snuggled into me, and though I treasured it, it would only make it harder to leave, so I pulled away, sitting up. I looked at my phone, checking the time. Her eyes looked forlorn, she sighed. "Gotta go?"
"I'm sorry," I shrugged. "I hate leaving you." But I got up and dressed.
She kissed my cheek. "Friday then?" I nodded, picked up my keys. She stroked my cheek, my chin, tiptoed and kissed my lips. I was already hard again. I pressed myself into her. It wasn't fair that I had to go. "You want me again? Already?" she teased in a husky whisper, her hand down touching me up.
"You aren't making this easy," I said, knowing the futility of the situation.
"A few more minutes?" She unzipped the pants I'd only just put on, pulled down my boxers. She was still naked. I pushed her back against the fridge, adjusting my height to enter her. I didn't mean to be rough, but as I thrust the fridge shook and rattled, my mouth on her neck. She groaned, I joined in as I thrust again and again, fridge shaking away. It felt slightly surreal, that I could be doing this, passionately banging a woman in the kitchen, stuff you generally only dream about. Stuff I know Jakey dreamed about. For some reason I thought about him and smirked. If he could fucking see me now. See me fucking now.
Chapter 3
PAOLA
Mama and Daddy were lunching with Caroline and her friends on Sunday. Normally I loved having them in the restaurant, but for some reason I felt nervous. It meant I had to be on my best behavior, it meant I had to act normal around Cassian, which with every encounter was proving more difficult for me. I craved him constantly, the electricity between us always high voltage. I warned him as I dressed him in his vest, but he just grinned as if it would be a challenge to relish.
Caroline stood whispering to him when she arrived and I longed to know what she was saying. They smiled and her hand touched his back and stayed there. I felt unreasonably jealous, even though Caroline was my mother's oldest friend. She was touching my boy, my man.
I pretended I was busy as he took the orders for drinks and I avoided Mama and Daddy, which was insane, my own parents for god sake. He was doing food orders now and I took a calming breath and walked out to the table, greeting my parents with kisses and hugs. Cassian glanced at me, our eyes briefly acknowledging each other, but I looked away quickly, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl. I heard my mother ask him if he liked pasta and he replied that the spaghetti bolognese here was just the best. Since when did my mother ask waiters what their favorite dishes were? Was she under his spell already? Mama then proceeded to tell him that it was Daddy who came in every morning to make the fresh spaghetti, and whether he knew this or not I wasn't sure, but he acted like it was news to him, and his compliments had Daddy dropping his head in modesty. I'm sure my mouth hung open. Daddy had never been someone to go humble easily, he was usually loud and proud.
And then Mama insisted I should sit and join them for lunch. I tried to refuse, telling them I was working. Jenny could take care of things for an hour surely. She called Jenny over, Jenny said it would be no problem. Daddy had already pulled up a chair from another table, sitting me next to Mama. Cassian came and set a place for me. His hand grazed my arm. I daren't look at him, my heart rate elevated considerably.
He came and took orders, I felt like a fraud sitting there having him wait on me. I didn't allow Daddy to pour me a wine, and settled for water. Simon, Caroline's husband was sitting to my other side, Cassian wrote his order down. He came to me, crouching slightly to lower himself to my level. I was pointing at the menu, who knows why, pointed to the tagliatelle. He made a bit of a fuss
about writing it down, as if he was double checking the spelling. I knew he had a particular method of naming people at his tables so he got the orders correct, a method I did not endorse, but he said it worked for him. With the way he held his pen while writing, it was like he wanted me to see his pad. I could see he'd written Cougar, his name for Caroline, Polo for Simon (he was wearing a Ralph Lauren shirt), Ma and Pa for my parents and then beside Hot Chick my order. I tried to suppress a smile.
The conversation flowed on the table, and I realized I'd not sat and eaten with my family and friends for some time. And as long as the talk stayed general things were fine. Until Marguerite, who Cassian called Botox Face asked me about my love life. My only grace was that Cassian was serving another table at the time. I willed him to stay away. I waved off Marguerite, rambling about work and commitment and being too busy, loving my job, blah, blah, blah. And of course he returned with the dessert menus. He took his time distributing them when he heard the topic. His eyes met mine, and I quickly looked down.
"You can't work yourself into the ground," Marguerite said, "it's not healthy."
"Yes, Francis," Caroline interjected, "tell your daughter she needs more time off. She practically lives here."
"Don't you think I tell her that?" my father said gruffly, "I tell her to get out more."
"She's a workaholic." My mother now saw fit to add her two cents worth. It was as if I wasn't even sitting there.
"You should be having the time of your life." Marguerite again, "Not working every weekend."
"Yes at your age you should be living it up." That was Caroline. "Don't want you left on the shelf!"
"Yes, I always tell her that at her age I was married with two bambinos," my mother laughed, further shaming me. He was stalling; he didn't just hand the menu to each person, he opened it at the appropriate page and pointed at the choices. I'd never taught him that.
