by Nola Sarina
I rested my hand against the beautiful skin between her breasts and felt her heartbeat escalate. “Aria Hyacinthe,” I chastised her, “I’ve just told you you’re the only girl for me and insisted you live with me. You don’t think that gives you the right to ask for my monogamy?”
She rolled her eyes. “Monogamy implies we’re fucking.”
“I have no hesitation to fool around with you. I’m just not comfortable with penetrative sex with you.”
“So we’re monogamous mouth-fuckers?”
I laughed. “And hand-fuckers and possibly toy-fuckers, if we decide to go shopping together again.”
Her eyes lit up. “That sounds fun! Think of the dildos I could buy with a credit limit like yours. I could deflower myself.” She smirked at me, a bit of annoyance showing through the playfulness.
But it wasn’t a bad idea, I figured, grinning.
She sighed. “Do you want to tell me about what happened, what traumatized you away from fucking a nice, tight virgin?”
I groaned and put some distance between Aria and I at the graphic description. “No. I really, really don’t want to tell you.”
“Does Gypsy know?”
“Yes. She helped me recover from it. It’s one of the weird side effects of being one half of a male-female twin pair: there really aren’t any secrets between us, even when it comes to the most personal issues.”
“So she knows you far better than I do.”
“Yeah, and she probably always will. We shared our mother’s womb. It’s nothing personal. I don’t have any friends, either, since all I’ve ever had was her.”
Aria’s brow creased so I kissed it to relax her. “Does that bother you?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. But if it does, I’ll let you know. When can I meet her?”
“Whenever,” I shrugged. Fuck. Gypsy. She’s not going to like anything about this.
“Speaking of personal stuff . . . ” Aria chewed on her lip as she spoke. “Well, you know how I said I can’t have children, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay with that? I mean, you suggested that you wanted my company temporarily or otherwise. In the case of ‘otherwise’ . . . ”
I stroked her shoulder with the backs of my knuckles. “It’s fine. Children are not exactly high on my priority list.” Because you have to be alive to bear my child, Aria, and I can’t knock you up once you’re dead!
She nodded. “My doctor doesn’t know why I am the way I am. My body reached full maturity but not . . . reproductive maturity. I suppose it could still happen, at some point, but it hasn’t yet. That’s probably another reason I’ve shied away from sexual contact—my body is dysfunctional, sexually, and that’s embarrassing.”
How similar we are, yet how different.
“So you don’t menstruate?” I asked.
Aria rolled her eyes and partially hid her face. “No, I don’t. But thanks for pointing out the obvious with a very clinical and uncomfortable word, Asher.”
I laughed. “And you’re worried I’ll disapprove of this? No PMS? You really are too good to be true!”
She punched me in the chest with enough force to halt my laughter and elicit a grunt.
“Are you okay with my silence about my sexual past?” I asked, my nerves vibrating in my chest.
She blew out a breath. “For now, I guess. I have a lot of questions, but I don’t want to pry, or shove you away. Just . . . don’t deprive me of answers forever, okay? I’ll want to know eventually.”
“But for now, we’re okay?” I asked, perplexed by my level of fear at the idea of Aria and I being anything but okay.
She smiled at my anxiety, leaned forward and kissed me, her lips inviting my tongue. “We’re okay.”
Chapter 15 – Aria
I pretended to sleep longer than I actually slept. Asher was beside me, warm and breathing on my arm while he traced the flowers of my tattoo with a light stroke. It tickled a little bit, but I didn’t mind. I liked his curiosity about me, and as much as I wanted to know more about his issues, I certainly wasn’t forthcoming with my own, yet. Perhaps if I opened that door first, he’d follow me through it.
I was the only woman for him. My heart soared as he continued to touch my back, tracing petals of blue and leaves of green, the little swirls of smoke beside the stem. The touch was so inviting, I wanted to roll over and pull him inside me.
But I couldn’t do that. He needed time. Goddamn, I felt like I was running out of patience to wait. My need for him was quickly reaching a level of demand that felt out of control. As if my libido had a mind of its own, as if sex were water and I’d been thirsty too long. Asher needed my patience. I needed him.
I shifted to peek at him, and he smiled, never stopping the soothing motion of his fingertips as he traced each flower head individually. I smiled back and then he slowed his fingers and paused.
“Why seventeen flower heads?” he asked, his touch resting where I knew there was an uneven gap of flowers.
I rolled further and pulled his arm toward me, stroking my thumb over his tattoo. “Why forty-three dots?”
He gulped hard. “You counted.”
“While we were cuddled up on your couch the first night together, yes.”
He shrugged, but his nonchalance didn’t touch his eyes and I didn’t buy it. “Not a happy story.”
I caressed the first row of dots on his arm, and he shuddered, averting his eyes. Could it be that bad?
Time to open that door. “Mine isn’t a happy one, either. Seventeen flowers: one for each of my siblings.”
His eyebrows shot up with shock and he pressed his palm to my back, as though cradling the entire tattoo. Emotion pricked in my throat and I swallowed to keep the tears away.
“You have seventeen siblings?”
I nodded, wishing the sorrow would someday diminish, though so far, it hurt every time I thought about it, no matter what I did. “My mother was on welfare my whole life. She never worked. Once a year, she would call me into her bedroom, swollen with pregnancy, and ask me to get her the special dark sheets from the closet. Then she would ask for towels, and then for water.” My voice shook, and Asher scooted his chest closer to me so he could kiss my forehead as I spoke.
I took strength from his affection and continued. “When she had everything she needed, I curled up on the foot of her bed and listened to her moans become cries and eventually, screams. Terror doesn’t even begin to describe it, Asher—no matter how shitty a mother she was, I loved her, and I thought she was dying every damn time.”
“Aria,” he whispered, but he didn’t say anything more.
“When the screaming stopped, I’d help her change the bloody sheets while she nursed the babies. Ten of them I caught with my own hands when I was older. Some were twins. I wrapped them in towels and gave them to Momma. Every time, I’d ask her, ‘Can I name this one?’ and she’d say to me, ‘No, my flower, not yet.’ And after a month or so, she’d wake me in the early hours of the morning and tell me she took the little one to the hospital to find it a home with a momma and a daddy. I didn’t understand it then, and I still don’t get it now. A year later, we’d do it all over again: our little secrets, babies that would never be ours, given up for adoption over and over again.”
Asher let out his breath in a rush and pulled me on top of him, cradling me against his chest. “Sweetie, I’m so sorry.”
I half-shrugged. I’d never told anyone before, and having it out in the open felt somewhat healing, like I’d peeled the Band-Aid off an old wound to expose it to air, but also like I’d betrayed my past, given up our secret.
“Kittens?” Asher asked in a whisper. “Or babies?”
I turned my cheek into his embrace, pressing my ear to his chest to feel his strength. “They cry all fucking night long, and they won’t eat the food you buy for them and they barf on all your favorite shirts . . . ” I trailed off, sorry I’d lied to him.
“You cared for them,
and then you had to give them away. Oh, Aria, I can’t even imagine. Life without Gypsy, missing her . . . ” he groaned and kissed my hair.
I propped my chin up on my hands against his chest so I could look into his eyes. “When I hit about sixteen, I realized there was something deeply wrong with the way we lived, moving all the time to hide the pattern. So I worked and saved money for my first trip: I was going to Rome.”
“You want to travel?” Excitement lit his eyes.
I nodded. “Everywhere. I want to visit every country and soak in the water of their lakes, their oceans. I want to collect a shot glass from each place and then whenever I’m sitting in a campground by myself, I can do a shot from Italy, and be there again in spirit.”
The corners of Asher’s eyes crinkled a little with concern. “Does it have to be in a campground?”
I smirked. “I suppose it could be in a Best Western, or maybe a really nice apartment above a gym in Duluth.”
He grinned and rubbed my back. “You’ve been saving for how long? Why haven’t you gone yet?”
“Two reasons,” I said, pursing my lips. “I had to get my tattoo first, so my brothers and sisters could come with me around the world. It was over two grand, and I know that’s chump change for you, but it was a lot for me.”
He shrugged, graciously allowing the chump change comment.
“Two, when I got home from my last tattoo appointment, I found my mother by the fireplace throwing handfuls of cash into it. My savings. All of it. ‘So you can’t leave me to do this alone,’ she said. ‘So I’m with you when you start having your own,’ she said.”
Alarm sprung to life on Asher’s face and he sat up a bit. “She expected you to live the same way?”
My stomach fluttered as anger pushed forth with the memory. “I took my car keys and threw some clothes in a bag and took off. I worked in Chicago for a while, and then in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I had a shot glass from each place—I figured, even if not from other countries, they were still places I visited and memories I made. I ended up here when a waitress in Minneapolis said the tourists up here tip well.”
“I hear the residents of the area aren’t too stingy, either,” he said with a sly grin.
I stretched and smiled at him, trying to keep the mood light through all the ghastly shit I told him. “That they are. And I guess you can imagine why I’m totally okay with my infertility.”
“Yeah, it makes sense. Do you still have your shot glasses, at least?”
“They were in the car, along with the only picture I have of my father. I don’t know who he is.”
“Want me to have Gypsy look into it for you?”
“Would she do that?”
“Sure, if I asked her to.”
Really? What a bonus! “Thank you. It means a lot.” I leaned forward and kissed his chin, delighting in the hint of scruff there. My lips felt hollow when I pulled back. “What about your forty-three dots?”
“I like geometry.”
“Come on, Asher, if we’re going to have a real relationship, you’ve gotta talk to me.”
He grimaced and looked away.
“Does it have to do with your parents?”
He picked absently at a seam in the blanket, refusing to meet my gaze. “I started the tattoo shortly after they died,” he said. “It’s home-done, though. No expensive art here, just Gypsy, a knife and some black powder.”
“Won’t you tell me any more about it?”
He sighed and stroked his hand down the side of my face, brushing back some of my hair. “I want to. But you’ve been through enough pain without the burden of my bullshit on top of you. I’m tough, it’s okay.”
“Isn’t it part of a relationship, though? Helping each other bear the weight of the world?”
“I don’t need help.”
“I fervently disagree, Your Royal Highness of No Penetration.” He needed more help than anyone I’d ever met, but I couldn’t help him if he wouldn’t tell me the problem.
“I’m sorry.” He did look sorry. “Can you deal with my keeping secrets? I don’t blame you if you can’t.”
I chewed on my lip for a moment. It hurt that he wouldn’t tell me, yes. But it hurt more to imagine life without him. And I needed time before I told him my secrets, so if he wasn’t ready yet, I could wait. It was the sex I had a hard time waiting for. “I trust you have good reasons for keeping secrets, and I trust you’ll tell me when the time is right.”
“And if the things I tell you are so horrible that you run far away and never call me again?”
“It’s still a part of trust, Asher: trust me. If your secrets are so dark that you think I’ll run away . . . that you need somebody who cares for you in light of them, that person will be me.”
“You sure do know a lot about relationships for a virgin.” He cocked an eyebrow with mock-suspicion.
I laughed. “Maybe you shouldn’t criticize my so-called ‘shit books.’”
“Perhaps I’ll read one of them someday.” He kissed me, and all the heaviness of the conversation lifted as his tongue melted away my fears and masked whatever words he didn’t want to say.
We walked hand in hand, barefoot, back to his apartment so he could put some clothes on. Then, Asher drove me to the impound lot and I found my father’s picture, and a few broken shot glasses not worth salvaging.
Asher shuddered as I climbed out of the wrecked Camry, picking a stray piece of glass off the lace of my sleeve. I felt the depth of concern in his breathless words when he pulled me against him and held me tight.
“I’m so lucky you’re okay.”
Chapter 16 - Asher
At Gypsy’s office, I asked Aria to wait in the lobby after our pat-down. Meeting Jim and John and getting frisked was an uneasy experience for her, so I whispered as she sat in the vast waiting area.
“Gypsy handles exorbitant amounts of money. She has to be careful. Her security is for my protection as much as for hers, so that extends to you, too. It’s okay.”
Aria nodded and shrank into a chair as I walked into my sister’s office.
“So now,” Gypsy began from her vast desk, her tone loaded with accusation, “you sleep with her in a hotel after a public display in the street—discussing sex, no less—and then bring her to my office.”
I clasped my hands behind my back and waited for the question. She rose and stalked over to me, her hips swinging dramatically in her high heels and narrow skirt. She clasped my chin and tilted me from side to side, inspecting my eyes.
“Your control is thinning, Asher. I can see it. When?”
I shook my head free of her grasp. “I don’t know. I don’t want to do it at all. You were right—I’m having trouble swallowing this one.”
She paced a few feet and stopped again. “What are you thinking? If you want this girl you should at least keep her private, like you’ve always done.”
I shrugged, exasperated. “I don’t know what I’m thinking! I can’t resist her, but I know I need to. She’s got some kind of power over me I’ve never experienced before . . . I want her, but I want her badly enough to try . . . to . . . ” I couldn’t finish my sentence. Gypsy wouldn’t see the hope in the situation. She knew too well how easily I snapped around the six-month mark. I doubted she’d have any faith in my ability to pleasure Aria and abstain from my own needs.
“This is not going to be pretty for either of us. Do you need me to have her killed? To get her out of the way and off of your mind?”
“What? No! No need to be wasteful, Gyp.” Gypsy was even more psychotic than usual with my mental health on the line.
“Why have you brought her here, then?”
I produced the small photograph of Aria’s father from my pocket and handed it over. “Her birth-father. She wants to know who he is. Frankly, I’m curious, too.”
My sister frowned and handed the picture back to me. “You don’t know who this is?”
I shook my head, inspecting the picture. The image was a
profile shot, with no clear view of his eyes or structure of face, just the angle of his nose and his deeply creased forehead.
“Dorian Nikolaos III. He’s an influential lawyer from Greece. Worked charity cases in the UK for ten years—all for free, all in the United Kingdom. This photograph is a magazine clipping, nothing more. Aria comes from Hazel Hyacinthe, a welfare-abusing, part-time whore from the slums of Milwaukee. Nikolaos cannot be her father.”
“Why can’t he?”
She cracked half a grin. “You would know this shit if you had any interest in anything other than chasing tail, like perhaps some experience in business, Asher.”
“You know my condition prevents that,” I said, suppressing an irritated growl.
She rolled her eyes. “I know. I’m trying to tease you. And I somewhat suck at it.”
I chuckled, relieved, and gestured for Gypsy to continue.
“If Nikolaos were Aria’s father, he would have paid Hazel enough money to ensure her silence about the illegitimate child, or else the woman could have sued him for a ridiculous amount of child support. No, I suspect Hazel has no idea who the father of her child is, and simply clipped a photo to satisfy her poor daughter’s curiosity.”
I stuffed the photograph back into my pocket, crossing my arms. “Any adoption records available in Aria’s immediate family?”
“Aria was an only child, according to my research.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Do you even need to ask that question?” Gypsy retorted. “Of course I’m sure. But if it will satisfy your curiosity, I will dig into more privileged information about Nikolaos’s past.”
“Thank you, Gypsy. Really.”
My sister shrugged.
“There is something else about Aria, Gyp,” I hedged, digging my toe into the hardwood floor of her office. Even as easy as we were with each other, I hated initiating these conversations. Hey, sister, wanna hear about my girlfriend’s orgasms? So not comfortable.
